A Prose By Any Other Name (T)

[jarvyjared]

XVI: News Bearer And Recipient

Mayor Grifford Finch—Boss—waited patiently in the hotel lobby for his guest, looking around the space. Sitting on a soft white couch, he was quite comfortable. A ceiling light lightly reflected off of the glass table that sat in the middle.

He adjusted his coat, placing his hat to the side. His guest was supposed to arrive at any moment, and he didn’t want to appear rude. There were a few ponies around who were giving him some funny looks, though they weren’t at all hostile. Most came up and wished him a good morning, which he responded in kind.

He reflected on how this was how his administration was. Open, public, and welcoming were the best words to describe it. Finch grew up in a time when politicians were a seedy bunch, always hiding behind some hidden agenda, and he did not want those times to return once he was in office.

Was it a fake, though? A facade? His status of mayor not only allowed him to flush out the corrupt, but also gave him the power he needed to guide the Family. But he was not lying when he said he wanted to help his city; all of his intentions were for its benefit.

Then again, though, it was still a mask; an aspect of his character. It shrouded him with an aura of openness, while he operated from the shadows, ensuring that his city would not fall. He remembered the words that one of the members of the Family taught him: A disguise is but a self-portrait, in some way.

So he doubted that such an impression was false in nature. On the contrary, it most definitely spoke of his resolve.

But, then, why did he suddenly feel unsure?

He shook his head; he was probably just a tad stressed out. He quickly composed himself, resuming waiting for his guest.

Finally, the hotel doors swung open, revealing a breathless unicorn mare. Her cherry-red locks rolled behind her ear, her tail somewhat in a disarray. She wore a charcoal-grey suit, with a white undershirt and bright red tie. A white handbag crossed her shoulder. Her sandy coat had a few dirtying patches, complemented by her pen and notepad Cutie Mark. Her eyes tore around wildly, the jaded pupils crazy and wide, before landing on Finch. Her mouth cracked into a wide smile.

She trotted excitedly on over, her smile gleaming in the bright lights of the hotel. “Mr. Mayor!” she greeted enthusiastically, taking a seat across from him.

He nodded to her. “Hello, Miss Ruby Sparks,” he said, smiling back at her. “You were a little late to our appointment,” he added with a slight smirk. “You weren’t planning on being tardy today, were you?”

She blushed furiously. “I can explain! There was this taxi, and an old lady, and they got in the way of each other, and—”

He cut her off with a warm chuckle. “I understand. Manehattan can be quite a busy place, even at this hour.”

She nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I’m just a little flustered.” She fanned herself. “And a bit excited, too.”

“Oh?” He put on a smile. “Excited about what?”

“Why, interviewing you, of course!” She brushed a lock of her hair away, putting on a confident, eager smile. She lit her horn, opening her bag and bringing out a white notepad (very much in likeness to her Mark) as well as a mini recorder. She held it up with her magic, a light green surrounding it. “Shall we begin?”

He nodded. “Whenever you are ready.”

She cleared her throat, before clicking the recorder on.

“I’m Ruby Sparks,” she began strongly, “and I’m currently sitting in the esteemed Grand Star Hotel in Manehattan. In front of me sits another esteemed quest, a certain Mayor Grifford Finch.

“To many who have lived in the slums of Manehattan nearly a decade ago,” she continued, a glint in her eye, “Mayor Grifford Finch is a god among ponies. Though a reserved, simple earth stallion, his powerful zeal to rid this city of the evil that plagued it has been unmatched by any past politician.”

“Oh, please,” he said, waving a hoof. “You give me too much credit.” Not that I can’t take a little more, I suppose.

She continued, “To give a brief summary: Mr. Finch has been one of the few who took pity on the poor workers, laborers, and generally miserable populace—and managed to turn their life around by the end of the decade! And how did the Mayor present his campaign? ” She smiled at him, pointing the recorder towards him. “Why don’t you remind us, Grifford?”

“We wanted,” he answered, “to present an honest, fair offer. We knew that we needed the working poor, the middle class, and the upper class to all work together to bring this city together.” He smiled. “We fought tooth and nail to remove the corrupt politicians in office, and brought in ponies who were concerned for everypony’s welfare.”

“Truly, a philanthropist and worthy bearer of the title of Mayor,” Ruby said, bringing the device back to her mouth. “And he was very successful, bringing in numerous job opportunities for the jobless. Under his administration, Manehattan has prospered, becoming an economic powerhouse as well as regaining its old glory. The public has never been more proud of itself!”

“Hear hear!” a bellhop cried, followed by similar cries from other hotel-goers.

Ruby Sparks laughed. “Ah, yes, I nearly forgot we’re in a public place.”

She turned back to the Mayor. “What are your plans for the future of Manehattan, Mr. Finch?”

He rubbed his chin. “Well, several folks in my administration have suggested we start utilizing the newest technology to increase production and lower energy costs. Solar panels are relatively new; and it could be worthwhile to put them in place. We’ll also be striving to lower street pollution and littering.” He silently thanked Swol and several others for coming up with that idea; he wanted a clean city, after all.

“With that suggestion, we realized that new factories would need to be made. Several blueprints and plans have been submitted, and our most brilliant of architects and delegators are currently at work deciding where in Manehattan to place these factories. This will also lead to more opportunities for jobs.” Not to mention, it will give the Family more financial benefits.

She nodded. “I see. Do you think Manehattan can accomplish those goals?”

He gave a confident smile. “If the last decade has proven anything, Miss Sparks, it’s that anything is possible when we Manehattanites put our minds to it.”

There were more enthusiastic shouts around the lobby, making Finch smile. He could always count on the ponies to rally behind his words.

Most of them I can.

Ruby nodded again with a smile. “Your confidence in us is astounding, Mayor. And I’m sure we’ll do our best not to let you down!”

She leaned forward, an almost hungry look on her face. “Of course, those exploits pale in comparison to the one that you are undertaking at present.”

He raised an eyebrow, before nodding and responding, “You are, of course, talking about Opacare Prose.”

She nodded. “Indeed I am. And, I’m sure the city is wondering what the current state of the search is?”

He rubbed his chin in thought. “I’ll give Prose this; he’s a great hider when he wants to be. So far, our investigation has turned up nothing.” He chuckled. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised; Prose certainly is a clever stallion.”

That caught Ruby by surprise. “You mean… you knew Opacare Prose?”

He quickly waved off the claim. “Not personally. We’ve had interactions via letters, but nothing more. Though, from his writing alone, I could tell he is intelligent.”

“You could keep talking in the present tense,” she noted. “Are you saying you don’t think that Prose has gone for good?”

He shook his head. “That is exactly what I think. I doubt that anypony got to Prose and… well… eliminated him, to say the least.” He looked at Ruby. “If somepony did, there’d be evidence of a struggle. The Prose that we know wouldn’t go down without a fight.”

Ruby nodded. “That makes sense. So, what do you think happened?”

“According to what we have gathered, it is likely that Prose left of his own free will.”

“His own free will?” she repeated, incredulous. “Like, he left on purpose?”

By now, the ponies in the lobby were gathering around, eager to listen to their mayor. Grifford inwardly smiled; he had always liked an audience.

“Maybe,” he answered, rubbing his chin. “The problem is, I—we,” he corrected, “can’t figure out a solid reason. Which leads us to another conclusion.”

“That being?” she inquired.

“Prose might have been forced—albeit passively—to leave. Perhaps by some jealous pony. In that case, he would be unable to leave behind evidence, for if he did, he might have been killed.”

“Who’s to say that Prose isn’t dead already, though, with that in mind?”

“Somepony as famous as Prose wouldn’t just be another victim of some psychopath. And somepony as smart as that author wouldn’t be so foolish to fall into the hooves of a random murderer. No, it’s more possible that somepony equally clever—” At that, his expression grew troubled. “—and possibly, his better—might have gotten to him.”

“‘Gotten to him?’”

“Kidnapped. Blackmailed into leaving.” He shrugged. “At this point of the investigation, those are the most likely.”

She nodded. “I see. Any idea on who would commit such a dastardly act?”

He shook his head. “Unfortunately, not at the moment. The perpetrators remain as elusive as Prose himself.”

She decided to ask from a different angle: “I’m sure you’ve heard Princess Celestia’s announcement that all of Equestria will be looking for this pony. What are your thoughts?”

At that, he let out a low chuckle. “I’m quite surprised that Prose warrants such a large search party.” I suppose, then, I’m not the only one who sees him as a valuable asset. “Her Highness has my thanks for her continued support of the investigation—however slow and inconclusive it may be at the moment.”

He glanced at a nearby clock, seeing that the appointment was nearly over. He gestured to the time, and she nodded, before moving onto her final question.

“Lastly, Grifford, can you tell us or give us any hint as to what to look for? Surely, you’ve seen what Prose looks like?”

He frowned, preparing his careful answer. There has to be a smidge of truth in this one for it to be believable.

“Equestria should be looking for a stallion of about medium build, with some sort of writing emblem as his Cutie Mark,” he answered, somewhat guardedly. “As for specific characteristics… well, I’m not sure they’d do any good, if I knew them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it. Somepony got to Prose and took him away. If he or she didn’t want to get caught, the best way for them to remain hidden would be to hide Prose as well. And what better way than to hide him in plain sight?”

He rose, as did Miss Sparks. “What I’m saying, is that it is extremely likely that the Prose we’re familiar with is completely unrecognizable from how he looked before. That alone makes a huge dent in our investigation; but it’s all we’ve got to work on for now.”

She nodded. “Thank you, Mayor Finch.” She turned away for a moment. “The investigation into Opacare Prose’s disappearance continues. We wish to advise all available ponies to contribute in some way to this operation. Ruby Sparks, of Equestria Daily.”

With a click, she turned off the recorder, slipping it back into her bag. At once the lobby was filled with questions from concerned ponies. Grifford staved them off carefully, assuring them that all their questions would be answered at a later press conference.

“Now, excuse me,” he said, walking to the door with Ruby in tow. “I’ve got another appointment. Lunch, Miss Ruby?”

“Canterlot Gardens, if you please,” she said, smiling as they walked out.

---

The newspaper floated down onto the table, resting next to a cup of coffee that had long lost its warmth. It had a few indentations where a pair of hooves held it, crumpling several pages. Yet the depressions were not of anger, but rather of shock; the impact of the hooves was sudden and pronounced, with no signs of an increased agitated state.

These observations did little to help the stallion’s mood. His indigo black coat bristled as he stared into space, his mind reeling with questions. How did Finch conclude all that? Was he really that smart? Was the entire operation all for naught, now, knowing that Finch had several hunches?

He nervously brushed away a strand of dark-violet hair, his mane cresting back behind his head smoothly. He licked his lips, eyes darting back to the paper, making sure that what he had read was genuine. The black-and-white lettering were enough to clarify; yet, he found himself unwilling to believe it.

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of any emotions. He failed; his confusion and fear increased, overriding his logic. His heart beat at hundreds of miles, and sweat gathered on his brow.

It had been years since he had felt this way. The last time was when he had to hide a secret from his family. Now, it seemed that history was repeating itself once more.

He was hiding a secret from the Family.

His joints began moving again, and he pushed back from the table. With no horn, he had to lift the cup up manually and bring it over to the sink to rinse. Not that he minded; any little activity was welcome, so long as it kept his mind off of the matter.

Scrubbing the cup with a sponge as the water cascaded down the cup, his thoughts began drifting back to the operation. An intense sense of worry filled his gut as he placed the cup in the dish rack.

Was this the end?

He dried the sink with a towel, before walking over to the table. He picked up the newspaper, gingerly inspecting it, as if it could leap out and attack him at any moment. He trotted over to the living room, the paper in hoof, and stood in front of the fireplace. To try and calm himself, he lowered the paper, glancing around the room.

A neutral colored scheme surrounded him, greys and blacks adorning the walls. The fireplace was surrounded with obsidian brick, with dark purple sofas around the center. A deep mahogany rug covered the pine-wood floor, soft beneath his hooves. A few paintings of ponies, from ancient times, hung in bronze frames. Their faces were turned away, as if pitying the stallion who stood before them. Above rested a black chandelier, with several candles in its holes.

To a foreigner—and indeed, many locals—such a room spoke of depression and of disharmony. Yet, for this stallion—and one more—it was home. It was safe. It was the hearth, and the heart, of everything that he had accomplished.

In silence he reflected; on how long this had taken; on how careful they had been; and on the amount of caution put into each measure. It had taken years for them to realize the truth, and only recently had any plans been implemented that would allow that realization to be set free.

It had started with a stallion who, in a brief moment of clarity, realized a true danger, more threatening than any monster. He had little resources; but he was determined to utilize everything to ensure that this danger would pass. Through careful cunning, he had managed to secure a potential route of escape. All he needed was some outside help.

That stallion—the leader—needed the help of this stallion, the detective; as well as the author, and the wanderer. They were a group of ponies who had come together for one goal: freedom.

It had taken so much time, so much effort, so much sweat and blood and tears, but they had managed to do it. One got free, and was now waiting. The others—the author, and this stallion—had stayed back, hiding in the shadows.

But then their numbers dwindled.

The leader had vanished.

They had been careful, trying to throw off everything. Now, though?

Failure seemed to fall upon the operation. The author had unwittingly opened up and spoke, and now that blasted mayor was on their trail. None of them could have expected this; none could have seen how determined the mayor was.

The author needed to be silenced; and so, regretfully, the deed was done. The author would speak no longer.

A great shadow had emerged, ancient, corrupt, and dark, threatening to smother them with the lies told for years. In their desire for efficiency, they had overlooked just how much influence the mayor had. The world now stood against them; either wittingly or unwittingly, it didn’t matter. They were trapped, between a wall that separated the truth from the ignorance they stood in.

How could they get out? Could they even get out?

That hole of ignorance was only for one side; and throughout this operation, the stallion had realized that there was another wall somewhere else. And it was large and threatening, menacing to a fault. Only he knew about this; neither the leader, nor the author, nor the wanderer, were aware of it. It approached, intending to choke and subdue them.

This little war of ours… it distracts us from that growing threat. Right now, I should be telling him about it, and should be making plans to counter it.

But I made a promise to stay loyal to the leader… and I must keep my word.

The stallion turned, looking at the piano that rested against the wall. On it was a frame of a dark green mare, with an olive-grey mane and a trio of white eighth notes for her Cutie Mark. His features fell as he looked into her frozen face. Those eyes… so lovely, so alive, like they were in the past…

She, Jade Sonnet, had been his reason to remain ignorant. He wanted her to be happy, wanted her to live a long life with him.

But the city was cruel, and fate was particularly deadly. In his ignorance, he had lost her. She had been consumed by an evil entity…

The very evil that they were now trying to combat.

He turned away quickly, before his memories overwhelmed him. He faced the desk on the opposite wall, looking closely at it.

Upon it sat several envelopes, opened and revealing their contents. Letters upon letters sat on that desk, written in a special ink with the scratch marks of a certain quill pen. Even from this distance, he could tell the exquisite penmanship of the writer; the dips and bends in his u’s, e’s, and l’s; the straight t’s, perfectly dotted i’s; the curves in o’s, q’s, p’s, d’s, b’s, c’s, g’s, and a’s. Every letter had been penned perfectly, every caricature, every line, every point. Truly, no other pony could write so flawless as this writer did.

He walked up to the desk, placing the newspaper to the side. He picked up the first of the letters. It had arrived four days later than agreed upon, though he had learned that there had been complications in the trip. Wolves had not been factored in, and none of them had thought to bring along some form of protection.

Thank goodness he’s smart on his hooves, he reflected.

The next few letters were more or less status reports. He had managed to settle down, where nopony would find him. Though he was initially impatient, the tone of the letters had definitely gone down in intensity. The stallion detected a hint of fondness for the town that the letterer resided in; and indeed, based on the accounts, he could see why. The bright, bubbly atmosphere was a huge contrast to the bleak landscapes they had grown up in; and for the first time in their lives, they knew it was genuine.

With those letters came, of course, the package. As agreed, the letterer only sent out one package once a certain criteria was fulfilled. It was to A) avoid making the procedures cumbersome, and B) should the delivery be regulated, it wouldn’t look like a pattern was being formed. The stallion glanced behind, at a special safe that was behind an old grandfather clock. Only a few hours before did that safe contain the contents of the first package. They had been sent out to their desired destination, much to their satisfaction and relief.

That’s probably the one positive outcome so far in this whole operation.

He glanced back at the letters. They were all from weeks ago. He wondered when the next one would arrive.

HIs mind drifted back to the dilemma. Despite all their progress, they were still trapped; and had no sure way out of this. The stallion had a sneaking suspicion that the end was near—for the operation, and for the ones involved.

Their leader was gone.

The author had to be silenced.

That left two. Them. The detective and the wanderer, fighting a substanceless creature of pure spite and ignorance and idiocy.

If Murphy’s Law taught the stallion anything, it was that something bad would happen, given time.

And, more than likely, he was reaching the end of this vendetta-filled life. He saw the signs; he saw peril; he saw death.

It was coming; with that threat that only he knew.

He checked back at the clock, noting the time. Any moment now…

He closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath.

One second, two seconds, three seconds, four.

Tap, tap, tap.

He opened his eyes, looking to the window behind the desk. There, looking at him with curiosity, was a raven. It’s beady eyes gleamed in the morning sun, demonstrating its remarkable intelligence. In its beak was another envelope; he already guessed from who.

Raven delivery was, admittedly, slow, at least compared to regular pegasus travel. But it was much stealthier, and therefore served their desires extremely well. The stallion opened the window, letting the raven inside. The bird perched on the desk while he went to grab a few crackers.

He took the letter from the avian, handing over the crackers. As the bird happily ate the food, he gazed at the item given to him. The letter was in a small envelope, a red wax seal stamped to the front. In the top right were the initials RL.

He grabbed a nearby letter opener, and effortlessly sliced the wax off. Unfolding the envelope, he pulled out with his magic the contents: a scroll from Ponyville.

At first, he felt terrible apprehension, certain that this was the bearer of horrendous news. But as his eyes glossed over the writing, he realized that he was wrong.

The first sign of this was the way the letter was addressed.

Dear Raven Lock,

In all the other letters, the letterer had addressed him as simply Raven Lock. There never was a Dear. Such an opening clause meant a less-than-formal greeting. They had been keen on keeping their letters as formal and as terse as possible; but this letter was the complete opposite of the agreement.

He blinked, before letting out a slow breath. He took a seat at the desk, the raven watching him, and began to read.

Dear Raven Lock,

It has been a long time since I addressed anypony with that. I must admit, it feels… choppy. I haven’t written like this for ages, and I would be lying if I said that I’m not wincing at how informal this sounds. But if the vibration on my flank as I write these words is an inclination of anything, it’s that this feeling is familiar and warm—exactly as I remembered it.

I know that this is a surprise. It was a surprise for me, too. I never expected to be writing such a piece of informal writing while this operation was proceeding. Yet, here I am, trying to think of new ways to say “I’m good” without using such a blatant and pathetic adjective.

You can imagine my discomfort.

You are probably wondering, why am I writing to you? This isn’t a status report, nor is it a delivery. You might even guess that this is a coded message, because I was caught, or apprehended, and needed to get this out hidden in plain sight.

I assure you, the reason is none of those things. But to be honest, I hardly know the reason at all.

It’s an interesting dilemma, writing without a purpose. One that, as I’m sure you know, I’ve hated for awhile now. You’ve known that I always held the belief that what you write must have a meaning behind it. Empty words are for the weak, and for the foolish, and for the undeserving.

You will also know that’s one of the reasons for everything that has happened…

I digress. Recent events (nothing that would jeopardize our mission, thankfully) have made me take pause and think. You know from my previous letters that the town of Ponyville is a quaint one, and I have grown somewhat accustomed to its citizens—particularly, a trio of young fillies calling themselves the Cutie Mark Crusaders. I am surprisingly unashamed to admit that I have been inducted into their humble hall of searching (Miss Rarity even went so far as to give me my own cape). At the time, an odd sense of… peacefulness had risen up within me, and I had even thought that this town and its ponies weren’t so bad.

Naturally, I was proven wrong.

The CMC and I were walking down a road when we stumbled upon a terrible scene. You remember Filthy Rich and his daughter from previous business ventures, right?

You can probably imagine where I’m going with this.

Apparently, Ponyville has long been aware of Diamond Tiara’s vile actions—yet has done little to nothing to stop her from continuing. I tried to step in, tried to reason with her; but she would not listen.

To my eternal regret, I slipped back into that… thing that I was before. That monster. That… cretin from Tartarus.

And to a filly, nonetheless! It may have felt right at the moment, but as soon as it passed, I knew what I had done was wrong. It was despicable for me to have fallen back down to that level—and on a mere child in front of mere children as well.

And those fillies; particularly Scootaloo, the young pegasus. I saw fear in them when they saw me approach Tiara. They witnessed the long-hidden side of myself.

But that’s not the strangest nor the saddest part of this tale.

As far as I could tell, the Crusaders were not too shaken up by my actions. The one named Sweetie Belle, she… she wasn’t mad, nor was she forever scared. She wanted to comfort me, as did the others.

Somehow, they knew the truth that lay in my heart; that I didn’t want this. And they sought to mend that broken heart.

And that made me think. About myself, about us, about the operation… and about Opacare Prose.

We had to “remove” him, yes… but now I wonder if it was even worth it?

To remove the demons that the soul holds, one ought to try for an exorcism. But we did different, choosing to break free of our hellish nightmares on our own. For years those nightmares toiled in us, and only recently have we managed to find the strength to fight back.

Yet, as the contents of this letters suggests, perhaps that wasn’t enough.

My nightmares, my demons, my past… they’ve returned, and with a burning vengeance.

It is inevitable that this operation will face humongous hurdles and near insurmountable odds. The past is like a raging inferno in a dry forest; it doesn’t stop until everything is blazing, and the whole land is razed. And it is deadly, and determined, and willing to go the distance just to catch up to us. And it cares not for the lives and innocence that it claims on this war-torn path.

I am now feeling something of old, an ancient sensation that races down my spine and ignites my heart. I chuckle at the irony that this situation has presented. After all, I’m very much an expert in this feeling that I have.

Raven… I’m scared.

Scared for those fillies and what they had to see.

Scared that we will fail.

Scared that our efforts may be for naught, because try as we might, ignorance seems to have spread from Manehattan to Ponyville—and possibly to all of Equestria.

Can we ever escape this pit of damnation? I do not know for certain.

Autem votāmus temptāmus.

But we must try.

We must carry on this quest, to save ourselves and the city.

And… I am certain that she would want us to continue.

My friend, I am scared… but I will not give up. Not until this quest is over. Even though there seems to be no light here in this dark hell of mine, I must try. If I do not, Opacare Prose’s disappearance will have been for naught.

Timendi causa est nescire. Autem, veritas vos liberabit.

I must remember that that is our wish, our goal. An end to the ignorance that blinded us; and a start to the truth that shall be our means of liberation.

Your friend, ally, and companion,

Dusk Prosa

Raven Lock set the letter down. He was surprised to find a tear running down his cheek. It had seemed like forever since Prosa had written so eloquently, so emotionally, so exquisitely. It was beautiful, pure and simple.

And perhaps that was a sign. That maybe nothing, even though Prosa considered it, was for naught. Maybe they could save this entire operation. Maybe they could accomplish this quest.

But more importantly, maybe Prosa could be happy. Maybe that stallion in the west could grow to be the stallion he wanted to be. Free from the manipulations and influences of others, with a strong mind and a golden heart.

Prosa could be free of himself.

And if so, then maybe this was their way out of the darkness. There was hope for Prosa; therefore, there was hope for them.

Maybe, once this was over, once the immediate threat of the mayor and Opacare Prose’s disappearance had passed, they could focus on the new, emerging danger. And maybe they could fight it with something they hadn’t had in years: hope.

Even if Raven Lock had to wait until the end of time to direct Prosa’s attention to someplace else, he was willing to wait all of eternity.

Though he could not claim to be as verbally or as creatively talented as Prosa, Raven nonetheless picked up a quill, inkwell, and paper, setting them down at the desk. The raven had finished its crackers, and was now patiently waiting for its next delivery.

He dipped the pen in the ink, and set it to the paper, and began scratching out the words to his response.

---

Dusk Prosa stopped functioning. Outwardly. His frame seized up, eyes glossing over, as his mind was sucked back into his subconscious. The contents of the return letter engulfed his head, and every word was repeated, as if he was afraid that the meaning would be lost without a constant reminding.

But no fear consumed him. Nor sadness, nor anger, nor anything, really. Blank and dull, emotionless, he sat there, thinking, unable to feel. It was as if he had been shocked out of the very emotional spectrum.

Dear my friend, Dusk Prosa…

Those words had been enough to make him pause. He was quick to guess that Raven reacted similarly to Dusk’s initial letter. It had been years since either had addressed the other as such; and those words pierced his guarded heart with as much intensity as a drilling, pointed sword.

It was with him reading on, however, that initiated the true shock phase.

In comparison to his letter, Raven’s had been rather short; not even a full scroll’s length. His scribbles, less fancy and most definitely not as elegant as his, detailed words strewn together in a beautiful, yet heart-wrenching soup. Between the letters and paragraphs, Dusk had uncovered a truth that he was unable to accept.

Hope.

Raven had told him that there was hope to be found, even in these darkest of days. Light was but only a short reach away, to those who searched for it. Even this infinite abyss, this pit of despair, even this wallowing soul of Dusk’s, could not truly limit that light.

It was only a matter of time, so said Raven, until that light grew bright enough and strong enough to break through the unbreakable walls that surrounded this world.

And that light had already appeared in Dusk’s heart, without him consciously searching for it. So hard had he been focused on the operation, on Opacare Prose, on Mayor Grifford, and on his city of Manehattan, that he had forgotten to focus on himself. He had justified this lack of foresight by saying that doing so would be incredibly selfish; but now he found himself questioning if that even was true.

Certainly, it could be argued that there was no hope in him nor for him. He had already gambled with the devil, dealt with the demons, and danced with the Lord of All Evil in the moonlight. He had fallen so far, and sacrificed so much, that it seemed to him that there was no way for him to escape this self-dug hole.

Yet, here was Raven—an astute observer, amazing detective, former psychologist, and one of the few whom Prosa would regard as a friend—telling him otherwise; that there was indeed a shining, twinkling hope lying before him. Even if he was blind to it, it remained, waiting for him to catch it.

That hope, so wrote Raven, comes in the form of that town, and those children whose company you have come to enjoy.

Could he believe it? No, Dusk could not; his instincts told him to reject such an ideal. It was an unobtainable blessing, given to those who only deserved it. And he had known for a long time now that he was the least deserving of such a gift.

You will, of course, assure yourself that such an idea is false, Raven had continued. I know you well enough to know that you think highly of yourself in all aspects save for the one that matters the most: self-worth.

Understand, my friend, that you are worth more than you can ever imagine. In my experience, I have seen children know the true heart of many ponies before any leading psychologist could hope to make a diagnosis. And just as you know the truth about the nature of Manehattan, I know—and those fillies know—the truth about your own nature.

There is hope for you, Dusk. There is hope for us all.

Think of it this way. You were blind, but then your eyes were opened; only to wake up in a shadowy hall that you think you cannot escape. But those fillies, and that town; they must be your guiding light. You need only reach out, and soon you will find your way out.

Could that be true? Could he be saved? He had no answers; and he was unwilling to delve any further into his soul for “potential” resolution.

It’s an insubstantial conclusion, he tried to reason. That was enough to calm him down somewhat; until he had read the final words that Raven had left.

Nosce te ipsum.

Know thyself.

He who knows others ought to know himself. Yet, he who knows what the world does not, is often blind to the truth of his own self. The outside is the one, true way for him to know for certain who he is.

But that path was riddled with obstructing vines, the road blocked by muddy mysteries that not even he could hope to bypass. And he was too wary to try, knowing that the consequences could prove to be world-changing.

Still, though, such thoughts did not improve his stiffness. And his mind would still pester him with that question, that “truth” that he had rejected, trying to convince him otherwise.

Was there hope for him?

“Dusk?” a male voice asked to his left, shaking him out of his stupor. “Are you okay? You’ve been staring into space for the past twenty minutes of guard duty.”

He turned, facing a certain brown earth stallion—Time Turner. He tried for a grin, though it was weak, and would not have convinced even the most naive of fillies. “I’m fine.”

Turner raised an eyebrow, but did not question further. He turned away, leaving Dusk alone in his thoughts. There would be no rest for his mind this night.

Though, he could not say that was a bad thing.

[jarvyjared]

XVII: Confrontation

The school bell was close to ringing, and Sweetie Belle impatiently waited for the sound that would release her. To her side, her friends also waited just as anxiously. Miss Cheerilee's words became blurred in her mind, overrun by images of that stallion who had become the object of her curiosity.

Despite what had happened with Dinky, Tiara, and Spoon, she still had enjoyed herself in Dusk’s company. Dusk’s sense of justice and willingness to stand up to bullies was certainly worth her respect. His assurance to Dinky that there would be an end to Diamond’s harassment kept coming to mind, assuring her that Dusk truly wanted to help.

It suddenly occurred to Sweetie that she didn’t have that many colts to look up to, other than Big Mac and a select few. In fact, now that she thought about it, she had never heard of colts becoming that explosive when faced with a bully. A part of her wondered what of that made Dusk so interesting; his anger was definitely dangerous when it was unleashed.

Yet, once again, she reflected that behind that exterior lay a vibrant interior. And she knew that there was a deep, resonating, rich kindness in Dusk somewhere. Perhaps his response to the bullies was simply another version of that kindness, a more lively one?

Some would say that her liking Prosa was bad; inherently evil, maybe. Befriending the unknown was, according to history, not the brightest of moves.

Did it matter, though? She liked Prosa, Scootaloo and Apple Bloom liked Prosa; heck, even Rarity, and now Twilight and Fluttershy were beginning to warm up to him! There really wasn’t much of a need to justify her wanting to be around him, to hang out with him.

She may not have been the best at judging the character of a pony, but she could tell when a pony was sincere. And something about Dusk—though, at the moment, unexplainable—told her that the stallion was not a threat.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the loud clanging of the school bell. An excited grin formed on her face, and she looked to her fellow Crusaders, seeing similar expressions. Freedom was now in their grasp, and they practically bolted from their desk with only the briefest of goodbyes said to their teacher. A trail of smoke followed them as they zoomed down the hall and out the doors.

Sweetie’s excitement grew as the welcoming afternoon light hit her face, her smile widening enormously. She and her friends trotted down the steps, and began talking about the enigmatic stallion.

“Ah wonder what Mr. Prosa has in store for us today?” Apple Bloom wondered aloud.

“Maybe something fun!” Scootaloo said. Her voice grew to a whisper, “Hopefully nothing that will end up with a filly on the ground crying.”

Apple Bloom nodded, the memory of Dinky crying still in her mind.

“Um… girls?” a soft voice asked to their side. They turned, and found a timid Dinky standing behind them. She shuffled her hooves nervously. “Uh… I was wondering… if-if…”

Sweetie smiled. “Oh, you were wondering if you could go Crusading with us?”

Dinky nodded. “Yeah, if that’s alright.”

Scootaloo grabbed Dinky and winked playfully at her. “Of course it is, Dinky! The CMC are always looking for new members!”

Seeing their sincere faces, Dinky couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, girls! What are we going to do today?”

Apple Bloom rubbed the back of her head. “We were gonna head over to Dusk’s house. He probably has some idea of what we ought to do.”

Dinky nodded happily. “Sounds like a fun plan!”

“Let’s go!” the three of them chorused.

They bounded down the steps, ready to pursue another adventure—

“Oh, look, Silver Spoon! A herd of stupid blank flanks!”

Apple Bloom sighed. “And Ah had thought she wouldn’t show up today.”

“Oh no, is she going to be mean again?” Dinky whimpered.

Scootaloo placed a hoof around the smaller filly reassuredly. “Don’t worry, Dinky. She won’t do anything dumb. We’ll just make sure Dusk knows about her as soon as possible.” She flashed her a smile. “He’ll curb her in no time!” She and Bloom then turned, facing the oncoming bullies.

“Leave us alone, Diamond,” Scootaloo asserted.

Diamond sneered back. “Why? Are you gonna cry for mommy?”

“You’re being really mean!” Sweetie said.

“So what? I don’t care what other ponies think!”

Apple Bloom scuffed her hoof on the dirt road. “If ya don’t stop, we’ll get Mr. Prosa!”

“What’s he gonna do?” Silver asked. There was a clear hesitation in her voice, though.

Scootaloo smirked. “You mean besides scare you off like he did yesterday?”

At that, the two bullies noticeably stiffened. Silver glanced around the Crusaders and Dinky, as if thinking that Dusk would be summoned at any moment.

Diamond quickly shook it off, though, putting on a confident smirk. “Oh, I don’t think that user will be bothering me anytime soon!”

Dinky looked at her in confusion. “You mean you’ve decided not to be mean anymore?”

The Crusaders giggled at her question, while Diamond fumed. She tossed her mane with a huff. “Don’t be stupid, Dinky. Of course I’m going to mean to you blank flanks!”

“And here Ah thought she’d actually be reformed,” Apple Bloom whispered, garnering more stifled chortles.

“Anyway!” Diamond shouted, cutting off any further jabs. “I don’t think Prosa is going to be bothering anypony else before this day is over!” She smirked. “In fact, he might even leave town!”

They gasped. “What!” Sweetie exclaimed, glaring at Tiara in anger.

Tiara flashed her a bratty grin. “My father doesn’t mess around when it comes to ponies ‘harassing his little angel!’” She said the last part in a mocking tone, cackling afterwards. “In fact, he’s already over there now, having a few ‘choice words’ with that meanie!”

“You’re bluffing!”

“Am I?”

She had meant every word; her overconfident and arrogant attitude were evidence of that.

“We were on our way to watch the show,” Silver Spoon said.

“Why don’t you four join us?” asked Diamond.

The Crusaders and Dinky blinked. “W-what?” Scootaloo stammered. “Join you?!”

Diamond rolled her eyes. “Well, it’s not like we care if you did or anything. But seeing that you girls seem to care about this Prosa, well, wouldn’t it be nice to be there when he’s driven out of town?”

“He won’t be!” Sweetie cried. “You’ll see!”

“Oh, whatever!” Diamond and Silver trotted down the road, callously pushing past the fillies. “I don’t know about you, Silver Spoon, but I don’t want to be late to Dusk’s expulsion!”

The two of them laughed, before they soon became little more than dots in the distance. The remaining four exchanged concerned looks.

“Oh, ponyfeathers!” Scootaloo exclaimed, stomping her hoof angrily. “We can’t just let them go! We gotta warn Dusk!”

Apple Bloom nodded. “You’re right. We gotta hurry!”

“But, what about—” Dinky tried to say something, but was cut off by Sweetie Belle. “C’mon, girls! We’re not letting Dusk leave that easily!”

Soon the four broke into a fast-paced gallop, gunning down the road and towards Dusk’s house.

---

It has to be a mistake. An error of judgement. Dusk shook his head. I know Raven. He would never say something so… naive.

Despite it having been a few days since he had received the letter, it nonetheless remained as his foremost thought. It seemed so foolhardy, so stupid, so idiotic for Raven to say that Dusk could be saved. As if I could have been saved ten years ago! It was only luck that brought me out of that darkened time!

He took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. He still could not understand why Raven’s letter was leaving him so flustered; after all, it was just simple naivete, right?

Right?

Right. Right. So then why do I think it’s wrong?

He shook his head. The remnants of a lightly toasted sandwich sat in front of him, half-eaten. His hounding thoughts had lessened his desire to eat lunch; the coffee was still lukewarm and half-filled. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was only a little past two.

The foals would be out of school by now, he thought absentmindedly. I would guess that the Crusaders’ initial destination would be here.

He frowned, unsure if he wanted their company at the moment. He was a little busy wallowing in confusion and self-spite, after all; he could not be bothered to help them get their Marks in paragliding.

Still, though, if I truly were a blank flank, then perhaps I would have gotten my Mark with them, through their odd methods…

He heard, then, a soft knock on the door. At first, he thought that it was the girls. He stood up, pushing away from the table and walking over to the door.

The knocking continued as he got closer, and he realized that it could not have been the girls. The point of impact was way too high to be a mere filly; and the knocks were much more forceful than any of the girls were. He frowned; who could it be at his porch? An annoying politician, perhaps? A wandering merchant? Or was it somepony threatening, somepony who wished to have a violent word with him?

More likely, it was the latter. But he couldn’t be sure without opening the door.

But did he want to? After all that had occurred, he was unsure if he could face the world. He wondered if he ought to stay inside for a long while, until the danger had passed. After all, hiding in plain sight surely was more advantageous than confronting this risk?

He sighed. He already knew the answer to that question. Risk was necessary; and he had learned that the hardest way.

Being torn from your previous thought-process is a painful experience… yet, it was necessary in the long run. It was a huge risk, haphazardous, deadly; but also, the key to ponies’ freedom.

Resolutely, he pushed aside any thoughts of hesitation, placing a hoof on the knob. With a quick intake of breath, he twisted it, pulling it open, expecting a threat.

He wasn’t wrong.

A light-brown, male Earth stallion met him eye-to-eye, bright blue meeting carnation pink. His mane, a lighter variant of black, was sleek and obviously gelled, based on its shiny appearance, and his tail was of a similar condition. A pair of bushy eyebrows topped off his face. He wore a blue half-vest with white collars and a red tie dangling in the center. A large s with two parallel lines going through it was embedded on the tie, and it seemed to flash in the noon light. A trio of money bags were his Cutie Mark, though he did not appear to be particularly inclined to flaunting it.

Despite these details, what truly caught Dusk’s attention was the stallion’s facial expression. It was a simple frown, but it spoke enormously on what bothered him. Much as Dusk’s eyes allowed one to perceive a stallion of reserved liveliness, this newcomer’s eyes let Dusk see a stallion with an issue.

With whom or what, it was easy to guess. But he opted to not say anything on the matter, simply staring at the newcomer with careful coldness.

“Good afternoon, Dusk Prosa,” the stallion said, nodding briefly. “My name is Filthy Rich.”

Hearing his name caused a flicker of recognition to appear in Dusk’s gaze, but he remained silent. He had anticipated Rich’s eventual arrival, and he could already guess for what purpose he was here.

Dusk stared at him for a few more seconds, before stepping to the side, letting him enter. Rich nodded, taking careful, precise steps through the door. Dusk pointed to the living room to the left, while also closing the door shut. As Rich made his way to a couch, Dusk vanished into the kitchen.

A moment later, he reappeared in the living area, carrying a tray with two cups of coffee and a pitcher. He set the tray down, and offered one of the cups to Rich.

The light-brown stallion had the faintest of smirks on his face as he accepted the cup. “I see you do have some manners.”

Dusk took the couch opposite of him, also holding a cup. “One must never neglect to be a good host to guests,” he responded, taking a sip and closing his eyes.

Rich took a sip, eyes lighting up in surprise. “Just the right amount of cream and sugar,” he noted, looking at Dusk. “How did you guess?”

The pewter-stallion shrugged. “A simple observation.”

Filthy nodded, taking another sip, before placing the cup down on the coffee table. The two of them sat silent for a few moments, Dusk still having his eyes closed. He seemed indifferent to Rich’s presence, though inwardly he was every bit on edge, anticipating and guessing any potential move that Rich might make. An imaginary chess board appeared in front of him—a tactic he had acquired some years ago—and he saw Rich prepare his pieces. In his mind, he set up his own pieces, carefully guarding his King.

Rich moved first, placing a Pawn two units up, in the form of words. “I imagine you to be a rather smart stallion, Mr. Prosa,” he began, his words smooth and obviously prepared.

Dusk said nothing, responding by moving his own mental Pawn a unit up.

“And I also imagine you to be quite knowledgeable about how this town functions.”

“Flattery shall get you nowhere, Mr. Rich,” he replied quickly, moving his Bishop ahead.

Rich nodded, but also moved his own Bishop with his next phrase. “Neither shall bullying, Mr. Prosa.”

Rather than make an allusion to his daughter’s actions, Dusk simply took another sip of his coffee, and waited.

Rich surged ahead. “In this town, bullies are to be spoken to about their actions, and encouraged to no longer be—beasts, as you put it.” His Bishop took down one of Dusk’s Pawns; but if Dusk showed any concern to the loss, he was great at hiding it.

“In a town such as this,” Dusk then said, moving another Pawn forward, “I would expect no less in morality.”

“Then you agree? That you—” Rich cleared his throat, “—that bullies ought to be taught a lesson?”

“In ethics, maybe,” was his careful reply, “though I fail to see the point.”

“What ever do you mean?”

“Can you teach a wolf to be a dog? Could you teach a tiger to be cat?”

“Are you saying that bullies cannot be changed?”

“If not resolved early, perhaps.”

“Is that what happened to you, then?” Rich pushed another piece, this time a Rook, forward, intending to trap Dusk’s Bishop. “You were not ‘resolved?’”

Dusk moved his Knight, taking out the enemy Rook. “Criminationibus irritatus submisit sine testimoniis expositum, potest dimitti sine evidentia.”

“My evidence is a crying filly and a witness!” Rich protested angrily, trying to go on the offensive.

“As is mine,” Dusk cooly responded, creating a strong barrier around his pieces. “It appears we are at a stalemate. Shall we end the initial first blows?” His eyes snapped open, and he leaned forward, not waiting for Rich to respond. “Why are you here?”

“If you are as every bit as smart as the local mares say you are, then you must know why!”

“I do know. It was as obvious as the fact that you are a stallion.” The barest hint of a smirk crossed his lips. “You are a stallion, correct?”

The jest was ignored with an annoyed huff. “I am here to talk about your… ‘experience’ with my daughter, Diamond Tiara.”

Obviously, Dusk thought, taking out another of Filthy’s Pawns. “It was interesting, to say the least.”

“‘Interesting’ is putting it mildly.” Rich narrowed his eyes. “You drove both Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon to tears with your actions, young man!”

“Do not speak to me as if I am but a mere child.”

“Then stop acting like one!”

With that interjection, Rich burst through the defense, claiming Dusk’s Bishop. Hmm. This might be harder than I thought.

“Perhaps you could enlighten me more on your problem?” Dusk asked, casually taking down the stallion’s Knight with his own.

Rich blinked. “I just told you my issue!”

“I fail to see the issue, then.”

Filthy Rich huffed and snorted in anger. “You really are quite stubborn, Dusk Prosa.”

“An endearing quality, I’m sure.” Dusk’s dry wit presented him more Pawns to capture, leaving Rich absent of any initial defenses.

Rich shook his head. “Fine! I’m here because you made my daughter cry!”

“Yes. And?”

“Have you anything to say in your defense?”

“Are we in court?”

“We might as well be prosecution and defense, respectively!”

“… I did what I thought was necessary.”

“Necessary?!” Rich suddenly stood, his fur bristling. “You made them cry and threatened them with death! How is that necessary?”

Dusk was somewhat surprised by the sudden shift in tone, but did not show it. He looked up at the stallion with a bored gaze. “Threatened them with death, Mr. Rich? Is that not a bit far-fetched?”

“Not when it comes from my daughter, it isn’t!”

“Surely that offers up the need for skepticism. You’re daughter certainly isn’t the most honest of fillies.”

“Are you calling Diamond Tiara a liar?”

“Precisely. I’m surprised you haven’t caught on.”

“I won’t stand for such accusations!”

“Then you had better sit down, Mr. Rich.” Dusk’s voice took on a bladed edge, laced with a touch of venom. It was clear he had no intention of asking again.

Filthy said nothing, sitting back down and trying to reclaim his composure. He gripped the coffee cup intensely, nearly cracking the porcelain item.

Dusk decided that he had to approach this differently. While seeing Rich get riled up was, admittedly, somewhat entertaining, he didn’t want to cause a huge uproar. He leaned forward, choosing his next words carefully. “Have you heard of Diamond Tiara’s… less-than innocent activities?”

Rich raised an eyebrow. “Surely you aren’t implying that she’s a user like yourself.”

Dusk ignored the obvious jab. “Have you heard of the tales spread on the playground? Of a pink filly with a crown for her Mark, joined by her spoon-themed lackey, on a quest to bring misery to all those around her? The stories of two fillies, seemingly left untamed and unchecked by society?”

Rich snorted. “Preposterous rumors with little substance.”

Dusk raised an eyebrow. “The multiple eyewitnesses from both foals and teachers alike suggest otherwise.” He took a slow breath. “Need I bring up the various accounts of crying, sobbing children?”

Filthy visibly winced, and Dusk knew he had found an opening. “The 5th of March. A certain Button Mash comes home in tears because a certain pink foal called him a loser for playing a video game. The parents call in, the teachers hold a conference, a certain rich stallion is requested to arrive. He does, and… nothing of importance happens. At least, according to said certain stallion in several accounts.”

He leaned forward, sending out his Knights and Rooks, taking out the Bishops and enemy Rooks. “The 17th of May. Not as heart-wrenching, but equally a cause for concern. A colt by the name of Pipsqueak comes home, not in tears, but in confusion. He asks his father, ‘Poppa, what is dwarfism?’ Confused by the question, the father asks where his son learned such a term. In answer, the son details the encounter with a certain pair of fillies. They had called him such a term—most likely having learned it for only such an occasion—and even had gone so far as to suggest that it would lead to him ‘being lonely and miserable for the rest of his life.’ Once again, the school is called, and a conference is held, and events proceed very much as it did in the past. Nothing happens—according to one stallion.”

He brought his Queen out, preparing her for attack. “And then, just recently, we have accounts of those fillies at it again. But this time, they’re attacking multiple targets. First, a young unicorn filly’s mother is spoken poorly of, purely out of spite. In particular, the mother’s eyesight is called into question—despite there being no evidence of her having impaired vision, despite the obvious disconnect in ocular symmetry. Naturally—nay, impressively—the filly of the mother stands up to these fillies, and they in turn begin to harass her, for having no Mark, for having a mother who supposedly can’t see right. And what do they call this mother?”

Dusk paused, allowing his words to sink in, before landing what he thought to be the final blow. “They called her… retarded.” Venom filled his voice. “Where they learned such a term is not as important as learning why they used said term.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Now, after hearing all of these allegations, do you still deny that your daughter has committed irresponsible wrongs?”

“O-of course! I taught my Tiara better than that!”

“… Then you are as every bit incapable of teaching as you are ignorant.” He held up a hoof before Rich could protest. “Don’t bother denying it. You’ve already proven that you are a very stupid stallion, unwilling to look past his own, hindering schema. Your ideals are false, your ideas convoluted and idiotic. The root of this complete incomprehensibility, is your ignorance, Mr. Rich. Your ignorance to the problems that others face, and to the fact that your daughter has done nothing but evil and malicious actions in the time that you’ve spent here.”

He leaned slightly back, turning more thoughtful, yet still retaining the sharp edge to his voice. “I must wonder why nopony in this town has done anything to completely rectify this error. Why nopony has decided enough was enough, that perhaps they had to fight back against this disgust and filth. I wondered, is this town that stupid? That gullible?”

He shook his head. “I was wrong. This town is by far one of the best. Upholding its values of Friendship, from what I gathered, is one of the prime objectives. And from repeated observation, I discovered that this town is not going to go down that path of righteous fury.”

Once more, he glared at Filthy Rich. The fire in his eyes had turned a deadly bright pink, igniting his heart and soul. “But I am not from this town, and therefore not hindered by its objective. And if I have to stamp down the egotistical, then I sure as hell will.”

Check, he thought, as his Queen blocked the King from moving.

Rich glared back, silent for a moment, taking in Dusk’s words. His side of the imaginary board was pretty much empty; all of the Pawns had been taken, his two Bishops and one Knight and Rook overrun. All that remained was a Rook, a Knight, and his King and Queen.

“Who do you think you are?” Rich suddenly asked, drawing Dusk out of his thoughts. The pewter stallion gave Rich a questioning look, not bothering to answer. “Do you really think you have any power here?”

Again, Dusk did not answer, carefully regarding the stallion opposite of him.

“Mr. Prosa, you have to realize that you cannot force the meanness out of my daughter through intimidation!”

The last word made him visibly stiffen, but other than that, no words were uttered in response.

“Diamond Tiara is very fragile, and I won’t have anypony threaten her while I’m around!” Rich’s strength briefly faltered as his eyes took on a faraway look. “Even if she’s learned a lot more from her mother than from me…”

Dusk didn’t need any clarification. A twinge of guilt poked at his heart, but he shoved it away, trying to maintain a facade of coldness. Dealing with guilt-ridden parents, especially those who felt inadequate, while rare, was something he was somewhat familiar with.

Still, though, that only served to barely craft a blow to his distaste. Ignorance could not be excused, and Rich wasn’t going to get off easy.

“Whether or not your daughter has been influenced by nature or by nurture is of little concern,” he said, gaze only slightly losing its ferocity. “What matters is her actions—both past and present.”

“You mean her—”

“Harassment. Intimidation. Bullying.”

The brown stallion placed his head in his hooves. Dusk pictured his pieces ransacking the board, doing away with the Rook and Knight. It’s over, he thought, strangely satisfied.

The feeling was quickly replaced with repulsion. Why was he satisfied? He just forced a pony to confront the truth about his child. There was no justification for this sudden change in attitude. It was like he was resuming his old role as—

Rich looked up at him. “Then, by that logic, your actions need to be questioned as well.”

His statement seemed to echo in his mind, breaking his line of thought. Dusk raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Driving fillies to tears? Yelling and threatening them?” Rich’s Queen moved, taking out Dusk’s remaining Bishop. “And that’s just the present grievances. What about locking yourself away in this home, doing goddess knows what?” He narrowed his eyes at the pewter stallion. “Diamond has said that you’re in possession of… less than savory items. Who’s to say that you might negatively influence others to follow in your footsteps?”

As his argument took stride, more of Dusk’s pieces were captured. He watched, in morbidly rapt interest, as his own offense was used against him.

“Users, druggies, or addicts; it doesn’t matter what ponies call you. It’s obvious to me that you could be a threat.”

“Your point being?”

Rich narrowed his gaze, sensing an opening. “Leave. Don’t come back.”

“Why?”

“Diamond tells me that you’ve taken a particular liking to those three fillies she sees at school. I have reason to believe that you are corrupting them with your secrets.” Rich stood, looking down at Dusk. “If you truly care for those fillies, you will leave. Because if you stay, there’s no telling how much bad will follow you.”

Dusk stared at Rich, carefully concealing his emotions. However, as his body began to shake, he realized he could not contain what he was feeling much longer.

“A worthy argument,” he said, slowly rising to his hooves, head lowered. “But nonetheless flawed.”

His head snapped up, momentarily surprising Rich. “If I’m a threat, then so is your daughter. To those fillies that I care about. You should leave, too, by that logic.”

Rich bristled. “Are you threatening my family?”

“Are you threatening mine?!” Dusk suddenly shouted, rising to his full height. His anger unleashed itself upon the shocked business owner, emphasized by the harsh glare in his eyes and the quaking furniture. “Your daughter made a child cry! And has a history of constant bullying and harassment against others! Those fillies I care about are her biggest victims! Do you mean to tell me that you are willingly justifying your child’s idiocies and errors simply because she wasn’t raised as well as she could have?!”

“I—”

“Because if you do, then you’re just as stupid as she is! I don’t give a damn if Diamond simply turned out badly! I acted as any sensible adult should have!” Glowering at Rich, Dusk’s voice dropped into a harsh whisper. “If your daughter is not curbed of her insolence, then she will become a greater threat. I have seen far worse bullies fall down that path of self-destruction. You ought to be thanking me for intervening when I did!”

“That is enough!” Rich roared, standing up and rising just slightly above Dusk. “You will not say such things!”

“I will say the truth, the pure black and white, when the world needs it!”

“This isn’t an issue of black and white! This is an issue of greys!” He shoved a hard hoof at Dusk, pushing him back against the edge of the seat. “Diamond Tiara is a child! You are an adult! Start acting like it—”

Suddenly, Dusk grabbed Rich’s hoof and twisted, making him yelp in pain. With another hoof, he shoved him back, forcing him on the ground. As Rich looked up at Dusk, his eyes widened in surprised horror. A red-hot, fiery aura seemingly surrounded the pewter stallion, his entire body shaking uncontrollably. It was as if he was possessed, not by ghost, nor by spirits; but by Tartarus itself!

“Do not try to lecture me on what is mature, Filthy Rich. I will not have a failed parent try to teach me right and wrong, when I have seen true right and true wrong.”

“I will drive you out of town!” Rich cried, glaring equally angrily at the stallion. “We won’t have a user like you around for long!”

“I am more than a so-called user, you irrumator!”

He picked Rich up by his vest collar with jaw-dropping ease, and shoved him against the wall, eyes dangerous and wild. “Do not even try to threaten me, Rich! You are treading on dangerous ground!” He pulled back, before shoving Rich against the wall again, causing the whole house to shake. “I could do so much to you right now; so many things that you would make you beg for death!”

He leaned in close, voice dripping with vengeance. “Do you know what happened to the last stallion who dared to cross me?!

“He’s ten feet under! And if you’re not careful, you’ll be in the same situation!”

He let go of Rich, breathing heavily. The elder stallion slumped against the wall, eyes wide with complete fear. For several, tentative seconds, nothing was said.

“Get the hell out of my house,” Dusk ordered gruffly.

Rich didn’t even nod as he staggered to his hooves. He stared at Dusk, his mouth moving, yet no words forming. Something in his head clicked, and he began shuffling away from the angered pony. In no time he was by the door, and then he was out of it, darting out in a desperate trot to safety.

Dusk watched him go, his anger slowly receding. The board had been cleared, sloppily; he felt dissatisfied with the outcome. Never before had a mind game ended in such a way that made him feel this way, and he regretted ever letting Rich into his home. But more than anything, he regretted allowing himself to reveal his vulnerable anger to that stubborn stallion. Rich’s blatant ignorance, while fury-inducing, was nothing compared to the frustration that Dusk felt for and at himself.

He heard, then, the distinct sound of a bush shuffling, and his eyes immediately darted to the mulberry patch nearby. A white head poked out, with a purple and pink mane, emerald eyes looking at him in shock. He stared back, eyes wide, as if he had been caught doing something bad; but, in retrospect, he had. He then saw an orange head, then a tan, then a pink, then a purple-grey, then a dolphin-grey; and they all had similar expressions of disbelief.

Seconds passed, before he stepped back into his home, slamming the door and locking it shut. He didn’t have time to deal with those fillies now. He was much too busy wallowing in his self-hatred. With a disappointed sigh, he trotted up the stairs, feeling empty, alone, and feeble. There would be no solace, no comfort, for him.

---

Sweetie wasn’t sure what to feel. Fear came to mind, but so did sadness, for some reason.

The six fillies were surprisingly silent—Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon having apparently been shocked into saying nothing. They all returned to their homes, not saying a single word to each other, reeling from what had transpired.

Sweetie had thought Dusk had been angry when he had confronted Diamond and Silver; but now, his rage paled in comparison to his most recent fury. But, instead of finding some sort of justification for Dusk’s anger, Sweetie could only find disappointment.

She hadn’t said anything to Rarity, returning to her room without speaking with her sibling. Currently she sat on her bed, staring at the wall, her mind alight with millions of thoughts. Dusk’s words were terrifying, dark; seemingly out of character for the stallion.

Or was it?

The only Dusk that Sweetie knew was the reclusive one, who had a sense of justice—albeit a very colorful one. He was intelligent, yes, strong, too. Yet, despite his odd nature, he never seemed unapproachable. Simply put, he was guarded, introvertive; but still amicable.

At least, he was.

Now, she wasn’t sure what to think. A part of her wanted to support Dusk. Filthy Rich had no right to barge in and try to drive him out of town. Calling him a user without any evidence to support that was also quite rude of the business stallion.

Yet, that part of her was quickly overrun by the other part: the one where she began to believe that Rich was somewhat right.

Though she had seen the syringes, she had no idea if that made Dusk a user. That did not mean that she didn’t think he could become a threat. Whose blood that was stored in those syringes was still a mystery, and if anypony besides herself and the Crusaders found out about them, they’d come to the conclusion that he was a danger to them all.

Not to mention, Dusk’s anger and throwing Rich around was absolutely unheard of in Ponyville. Nopony had ever lost their temper so much that they would actually threaten to hurt somepony else. At first, Sweetie immediately thought it was a ruse; but Dusk’s tone and the painful sounds of the walls creaking and bodies being slammed told her the truth.

Dusk was hiding something; but now, it was more than the syringes.

It was a violent past. One fraught with hostility. One that might even lead to Dusk becoming a threat.

“Sweetie Belle?” Rarity’s voice called from outside of her room. “Are you alright?”

Sweetie sighed. “I’ll be fine, Rarity, honest.”

Rarity paused, worried, but nonetheless stepped away from Sweetie’s room.

The young unicorn rolled back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Her emotions were in turmoil, rambling with questions about Dusk Prosa, his past, and his motives. She had no answers, and knew that she would likely find none. Whatever that stallion was hiding, she had a feeling that it would come crashing down on him; and she worried that the consequences would be disastrous.

[jarvyjared]

XVIII: Faltering Foundations

Raven Lock tried to stay calm.

Only a few days had passed since he sent Dusk that response letter. At the time, he had felt relatively calm and collected. After all, most of the operation was going swimmingly.

And it still was. Though, now there was another, larger issue at hand.

The other organization—the one that only Raven knew about—had made a move. He had long been tracking it, having kept in touch with various associates, unbeknownst to Dusk. That organization was quickly threatening to rival even Grifford Finch’s group; and it didn’t help that it was near-completely unknown.

He glanced at the picture of his late wife once more, asking it for strength. A part of him thought this was irrational; after all, they hadn’t done anything to directly threaten them. Yet. Raven was a believer of Murphy’s Law; and based on the evidence that he had uncovered, it was only a matter of time before that shadowy organization struck fast and hard.

He wanted to be prepared for the worst. When it hit—and it would hit—he wanted himself and his friend to be ready.

Especially since it’s only he and I now.

He sighed. Dusk had sacrificed so much to pursue this goal. He had shed his old identity, cut most of his ties, and possibly left a few ponies feeling confused and betrayed, all because he wanted to do what he thought was right. Raven supported him, certainly, but Dusk’s stubbornness could be troublesome.

Considering what Manehattan had become under Finch’s influence, it would be hard for the ordinary pony to understand where Dusk was coming from. Raven himself had once fallen into that thought pool. Thankfully, after some time spent with Dusk, he realized that he was, in the end, right, and he had pledged himself to assisting Dusk in his cause.

His cause.

Raven frowned. When had that happened? It wasn’t originally Dusk’s; it was their leader’s.

Then again, their leader was gone, as was the author. He supposed that Dusk simply took over; whether by choice or by coincidence he was unsure.

Dusk’s goal, though, was no longer of the same priority as it had been. Lock would have told Dusk about the mysterious, shady organization that he had been tracking for a while now. But he found that he couldn’t. Something told him that Dusk needed to finish this goal, no matter how seemingly unobtainable it was. And that goal had to be placed above all else.

Did that resolve come at a cost? Did it spiral in obsession? Was it more detrimental in nature than either of them had considered?

Raven shook his head. He couldn’t be bothered to answer right now; he was fighting two different wars, one actively, the other passively. He needed to concentrate on the tasks at hand.

He placed a thumbtack on the wall map. It was a detailed image of Equestria, with all the cities and towns outlined in plain detail. The thumbtack was now next to Manehattan, around the outer border of the city. Several other tacks, like polka-dot markers, adorned the sides of the city as well. Raven observed that they all appeared to be in a wave. This wasn’t a mistake on his part; careful observation and listening had given him enormous information.

At the farthest edge of the tack border, the markers were much more spread out. Looking like a large, inward-curving line, the tacks gradually grew more clustered with each new wave. The layers following the previous were more condensed, with the tacs growing ever so closer to together. By the seventh layer, they all curved at a sharp angle, forming around in a precise circle.

Based on this, then, Raven could conclude that the movement was slowly focusing on one place: Manehattan.

He had no idea when they would strike, nor with what; his observations, while keen, were still limited by the necessity of anonymity. Just as the organization could not know about his actions, he could not know fully about theirs.

That was also partially why he didn’t want to tell Dusk about his actions. His friend preferred specifics, and Raven had little. Rumors and speculation made Dusk impatient, and the indigo-black stallion knew better than to provoke the pewter one.

He wanted to believe that this incoming movement was no threat; yet, all the evidence he had gathered suggested otherwise. And that made him afraid; very afraid.

A storm was brewing, and he was unsure if either he, Dusk, or even Grifford Finch could withstand it. The very thought made his heart race, and his body wanted to jump and flee. But he had to stand firm and strong, no matter the cost, whether that be his relationship with Dusk… or, potentially, his life.

He looked to his late wife again, and prayed for her love to give him strength.

---

Town Hall was abuzz. Most of the town had gathered, and their voices were confused and loud. Twilight, her friends, and Spike were up front with Mayor Mare, trying to calm things down.

“Mayor Mare!” one pony shouted. “What on Equestria are we doing here?”

The mayor shook her head. “I’m not sure. Somepony called this meeting, but it doesn’t look like he’s here yet.”

Rarity leaned over towards Twilight. “Any idea who arranged this meeting?”

The fellow unicorn shook her head. “No idea.” She glanced around the Hall, taking notice of a certain stallion’s absence. “Dusk isn’t here either.”


Rainbow snorted. “That doesn’t surprise me. That stallion is probably doing something creepy right now and doesn’t want to be bothered to show up.”

Rarity quickly reprimanded her while Twilight shook her head again. Rainbow, after all this time, still hadn’t warmed up to Dusk, and that saddened her. He may have been odd, but there was a certain… charm, she supposed, in his presence.

“Please, everypony, calm down!” said Mayor. “I’m sure that whoever called this meeting called it with the best intentions.”

“Was it Dusk Prosa?” somepony yelled out. “I bet it was Dusk Prosa!”

“That lazy, good-for-nothing stallion!” another said.

“You don’t know him!” a female answered. “He could be different!”

“I agree!” called a male. “I doubt he means us any harm!”

“Then you have thought wrong,” another voice said.

They all looked up to the side of the center stage, seeing Filthy Rich standing there. Wearing his signature vest and having his hair gelled and slicked, one might have initially thought that he was quite calm. A glance at his face, however, betrayed the truth; anger and tiredness were the most evident feelings.

By his side were Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon. Rarity and Applejack cast nervous, confused glances at each other, unsure what they were doing here. The Crusaders, sitting up front, also had uneasy expressions. In contrast, Twilight and Fluttershy remained quietly stoic and polite. Pinkie’s smiled faltered a bit, but she managed to keep up the facade. Rainbow said nothing, hovering impatiently.

Rich nodded to Mayor Mare, permitting her to step away from the center of the stage. Twilight noticed that is usual confidence had vanished; as he walked, his legs shook. It seemed it took all his strength just to stand. What could have gotten into him? she wondered.

He faced the crowd. He cleared his throat, waiting for them all to calm down. Twilight saw that Dinky and Time Turner had turned away, an angry look in the mare’s eyes. She frowned, remembering what Pinkie had told her, but did not choose to confront Rich; she didn’t want to cause an uproar.

“Citizens of Ponyville,” Rich began, his head swiveling around and looking each pony in the eye, “as you are all so well aware, recently we’ve had some… developments in our humble town.”

“Ooh!” Pinkie said excitedly. “You mean, like party developments?”

He cast her a stern gaze, and she wavered under it. “No, Miss Pie. These developments I speak of are far more devastating.”

Rarity scoffed, turning to Applejack. “My word, you’d think something apocalyptic was going to happen!” Applejack nodded her agreement.

“To reiterate what has undoubtedly been forcefully ingrained in our minds—a young stallion by the name of Dusk Prosa has entered our midst.” He glanced around. “I see he has not made his presence known. Is there any reason why?”

“Somepony said he didn’t want to come out today,” a rose-haired pony called out.

“Thank you, Roseluck. Good, good; this will serve us well.”

He began to trot back and forth, Diamond and Silver parading by his side. “My fellow ponies, you know as well as I do that Dusk is no ordinary stallion. He came from all the way from the Hollow Shades, and fought off numerous Shade and Timberwolves; all for the end goal of reaching our fair town. To settle in, of all things!

“Some may say that that is an admirable quality, risking so much just to be in our little home. And perhaps in another life I’d have thought the same; had Dusk not established his true motives for arriving.”

He took a purposeful breath. “Though it may surprise some of you… I have every reason to believe that Dusk’s intent is not one that is amicable in nature.”

Murmurs spread throughout the crowd as eyebrows raised and voices grew into whispers. Rich waited for the room to calm itself, though Twilight noticed a certain flare in his eyes. Her hair stood on end as she felt the amount of tension in Rich spew out, amassing in something akin to rage and fear.

She found herself thinking, What did Dusk do to him?

The Hall eventually settled down, looking at Rich expectantly. “What do you mean by that?” asked Mayor Mare.

“I am sure we are all well aware of the… items,” he spat the word like it was a curse, “that Dusk was found holding on to when he arrived here. A torn cloak, ripped vest, unkempt mane that no self-respecting stallion should have—” He paused, allowing his words to achieve the desired effect. “And, of course, a bag of syringes.”

Most of the Hall were not at all surprised, though some, like Rarity and the Crusaders, had uneasy looks on their faces. Where was Rich going with this?

“Syringes!” he repeated strongly, voice loud and commanding their attention. “That is, needles! Joints! Fixes! And a whole plethora of slang terms for one common malpractice!” He clenched his teeth and shook his head. “Believe me, my fellow ponies, I did not want to believe this. But all evidence points to it.

“Dusk is, no doubt, a user of illegal drugs.”

“Hey! Wait a minute—” Apple Bloom tried to intervene, but was quickly drowned out by the gasps of the crowd.

“Users!”

“In our town?”

“Absolutely unheard of—”

“—should not have happened—”

“Furthermore!” Rich continued, not losing stride. “If he is a user, then it is only a matter of time before he begins to corrupt our town with his fiendish ends and methods!”

He suddenly pointed to the Crusaders. “These fillies have been seen hanging out with this dreaded stallion! How do we know that they have not already succumbed to his false ideals?”

“What?!” Scootaloo burst out angrily. “Are you kidding me?!”

Rainbow flew over, leveling a stern glare at the young pegasus. “Is this true, squirt?”

“No! Of course it isn’t!”

“Apple Bloom?” Applejack inquired.

“Sis, Ah swear Ah would never do such a thing—”

“And neither would I!” Sweetie exclaimed before Rarity could ask. “And you ponies shouldn’t assume that he’s a user just because he has needles! If you just got to know him—”

“See!” Rich interrupted. “See how these fillies are adamantly defending that wretch!” He glared at Sweetie Belle. “If he isn’t a user, then what use does he have of those needles?”

“W-well…”

“It could be medical,” Twilight said, gathering their attention. She blushed, before quickly calming herself. “I mean, there’s treatment that involves needles, like shots and the like.”

“Then why doesn’t he go to the hospital for that?”

Twilight couldn’t answer that, her ear wilting to the sides. Rich nodded, the point made, before turning back to the crowd.

“All evidence,” he reiterated, “points to Dusk being a user. And I believe it is in our best interests not to ignore this amount of damming truth!”

The crowd yelled its approval, the voices all excited and loud. Soon the entire hall was filled with cries for change. Rich gathered a slightly arrogant look; his plan had worked. But he wasn’t satisfied yet.

“That’s not all of the crimes that this mysterious stallion has committed!” he shouted over the crowed. He pulled Diamond and Silver forward, nodding to them. They nodded back, before their faces became teary-eyed, looking like they were about to burst out sobbing at any moment. “In his drugged rage, that stallion threatened the life of my daughter and her friend, in front of the three fillies we see here!” He pointed to the Crusaders once more.

“Are you serious?!” a voice screeched.

It was Ditzy; she was beyond furious. Time Turner had to hold her back to prevent her from flying up and decking the stallion. Twilight did not miss, though, the slight flinch that Rich took at the outburst. “As if your daughter and her friend can be justified!”

Rich had the decency to at least look ashamed. He cleared his throat. “I understand that my daughter and her friend have some… problems with properly socializing. But that does not excuse the stallion’s actions!” He narrowed his eyes at Dinky. “Surely you can say that what he did was going too far!”

“The same could be said to your daughter!” she countered.

He nudged Diamond, a bit painfully, and she winced. “Go.”

She nodded, before stepping a little closer to the edge of the stage. She did look genuinely remorseful. The tormenter looked at Ditzy, eyes wide and filled with (seemingly) real tears.

“I’m sorry I bullied your daughter. I promise it won’t happen again.”

Ditzy had no idea how to respond to that. She sat down, a faraway look in her eyes; she hadn’t expected Diamond to apologize. But as Diamond turned around to return to her position, Twilight noticed an out-of-place smirk cross her lips.

Rich continued, “The point is: Dusk Prosa threatened my family. Whether or not the act can be justified is of no concern; what should concern us, is how we will react to this.”

He held a hoof up, shaking in fueled anger. “Will we easily let him off? Will we ignore what he has done to our families, our friends, and our community? Or will we put him in his place? Will we teach him a lesson? Will we do what is right?”

His call was answered just as enthusiastically. Clapping and whistles erupted; the Hall quickly transformed into little more than a rally for reform.

As the noise died down, Mayor Mare approached Rich. “What is it that you are suggesting?” she asked.

He faced her, frowning. “I simply ask for justice, Mayor Mare. Perhaps expulsion from town would suffice.”

She fixed a stern glare at him. “As much as I concur your enthusiasm and desire to improve this community, Dusk’s needles and behaviors are not grounds for expulsion.”

He nodded, visibly disappointed. “Regardless, I’m sure eventually the right decision will be made.”

“I certainly hope so. Goodness knows that Dusk has stirred up some… interesting things, hasn’t he?”

He nodded again, and Mayor stepped back. Twilight saw Ditzy angrily stand, before flying out in a huff, Turner following. Before he had completely left, he glanced once more at the business stallion. Twilight saw absolute loathing in his eyes.

She wasn’t sure what to feel herself. Rich was rather eccentric; and his attitude towards his daughter’s behavior was most definitely troublesome. Yet she could deny the obvious danger that Dusk potentially posed.

Something had to happen, and something would happen, given time. She wasn’t sure if she wanted anything to happen.

The Hall’s clambering eventually mellowed out, and several ponies began to leave. They were still charged from the whole event; several were even talking about actively expelling Dusk from Ponyville through force. Mayor Mare was quick to put down the rowdy, reminding them that the legislature would deal with this. “No matter how convincing Rich is,” she added with a slight frown.

Several residents remained, among them being Twilight, Rainbow, Spike, and the Crusaders. The lavender unicorn was unusually silent, thinking deeply about what had just transpired. At first, Dusk threatening Rich seemed farfetched; but now that she thought about it, she couldn’t put it past the pewter stallion. He had, after all, yelled at her when he discovered the missing syringe. Though, in retrospect, she supposed there was some justification; she had stolen it, after all. In that sense, perhaps Dusk’s threat to Rich and his daughter was just the same.

Nopony really liked Diamond, and most were neutral to Rich. The town had adopted a sort of “neutral” policy, thinking that one day Diamond would grow out of her bullying. Twilight still held onto that hope, and the Crusaders had certainly been less affected by the filly’s jabs as time went on.

That, of course, still made her wonder why Dusk had reacted so violently. It was one thing confronting the bullies; it was another to threaten Rich, one of the most powerful ponies in town.

Inwardly, though, she had to agree with Dusk. If the town wasn’t going to do anything—and it likely wouldn’t—then perhaps it was best that an outsider stepped in and took matters into their own hooves.

She glanced at Spike and the Crusaders, who were busy conversing. The fillies had quickly recovered from the accusations, and were easily talking with the baby dragon. After some words were exchanged, Spike walked back over to Twilight.

“What were you four talking about?” she asked.

“Dusk,” he answered, though his tone was less harsh than she expected. “I asked them what they thought of him.”

“What did they say?”

He shrugged. “They said he’s not so bad once you get to know him. He’s pretty smart, has some varied skills, and can quite friendly and comforting in some situations. From what they’ve said, I think he’s only ever explosive when something major happens.” The syringes and Dusk confronting Diamond and Silver rose to mind.

She nodded. “What do you think of him, Spike?”

Again he shrugged, though he had a slight frown. “I still don’t like that he yelled at you all those days ago. But he did apologize at the party. And… from hearing what Apple Bloom, Scootaloo, and Sweetie Belle have said, I don’t think he’s the bad guy that Rich is making him out to seem. But,” he added, “I still feel somewhat… uneasy whenever he pops up in conversation.” He shivered. “Remind me not to get on his bad side.”

She couldn’t help but giggle at that. “Don’t worry, Spike. I think he’s only against bullies in particular.”

The dragon walked away, satisfied with her response. She felt a sense of pride watching him go, knowing that he wasn’t about to hold any grudges towards Prosa.

Now if only some ponies could do the same…

With a whoosh and a soft landing, Rainbow Dash appeared by her side. A scowl darkened her face, and her mane seemed to flash even more brilliantly. Her magenta eyes were lit up with pure emotion.

“Oh, hey, Rainbow,” Twilight greeted, trying to ignore the obvious fire in her friend’s gaze. “What’s up—”

“What should we do, Twilight?” she suddenly interrupted.

Twilight blinked. “I’m… sorry, what?”

“About Dusk, I mean?”

Twilight frowned. “I… imagine we will leave that up to Dusk himself—”

“No! I mean, how are we going to get him out of here?”

“Get him out—Rainbow, nopony is driving Dusk out of town!”

“But we should, don’t you think?”

Twilight gaped at her friend. “Rainbow, didn’t you hear what Mayor Mare said? There’s no evidence that would give reason to expel Dusk!”

“He’s a user! That should be enough evidence!”

By now, Rainbow’s outbursts were attracting the Crusaders’ attention. They walked over, a bit worried. “Twilight? Rainbow? Is everything alright?”

Twilight sighed. “Yes, girls, everything’s fine. Rainbow’s just a little high-strung, that’s all.” She looked back at the pegasus with a frown. “Besides, there’s no evidence that Dusk even is a user.”

“Uh, hello?” Rainbow waved her forelegs in the air. “Guy has needles and lives at the edge of town! If that doesn’t scream suspicion, I don’t know what does!”

“I’m not saying that your suspicions are wrong,” Twilight said. “I’m just saying they could be misguided. Besides, Fluttershy lives at the edge of town, too!”

“Yeah, but she’s not Dusk Prosa!”

“Yes, and you’re not him either! You don’t get to assume he’s a user just because he has syringes!” She leveled a hard glare on the cyan pegasus. “Somepony could assume that you are a Wonderbolt simply because you have Wonderbolt memorabilia—”

“And I will be a Wonderbolt one day!”

“—but that wouldn’t be true, because you aren’t actually a Wonderbolt at all!” Twilight huffed. “Look, Rainbow, I get that you’re not very trusting of Dusk, given his behavior. But that doesn’t mean you have the right to throw him out of town on a simple hunch!”

Rainbow looked like she was about to retort, but she held herself back. Slowly she lowered herself to the ground, shaking all over. “Maybe if there was more evidence to be found,” she murmured.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!” She paused, thinking about something. She then turned to Scootaloo, who was looking at her worriedly. “What are ya doing for the next few days, squirt?”

“Um, nothing much, I don’t think. Maybe at the end of the week I’ll go Crusading. Mom says I should rest up for a few days. Why?”

Rainbow dodged the question. “Who will you be going with?”

“Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle, of course. Oh, and probably Dusk,” she added, not catching the breath of relief that Rainbow let out.

“Okay, that’s good. Here, Scootaloo, let me take you home.” She grabbed the orange filly before she could say otherwise, and flew out the door into the night.

Twilight blinked. It surprised her that Rainbow had gone from extremely livid to quite calm in the span of seconds. She glanced down, seeing similar expressions on Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom’s faces.

“Ah guess Rainbow’s okay now?” Apple Bloom commented.

“I guess so,” answered Twilight unsurely.

The fillies soon had to go, leaving Twilight in the Hall with only a few other ponies. One of them walked up to her. He was a blue-grey with a taupe mane, his pine-green eyes glinting in warm laughter.

She smiled as he approached. “Evening, Doctor Irons.”

“A pleasure, Twilight,” he responded with a grin. “Just saw Rainbow fly off. Something bothering her?”

She nodded. “A certain stallion, in fact.”

“Ah, yes, Dusk Prosa.” He chuckled. “I had a feeling he would get some mixed… reactions while he stays in our town.”

“If by mixed, you mean practical hostility by everypony.”

“Now, now, there’s no need to be pessimistic. He has the little fillies he’s, how you say, ‘crusaded’ with, to back him, does he not?” He looked up in mild contemplation. “Not to mention, Pinkie Pie, myself, Nurse Redheart, and Ditzy and Time Turner.”

Twilight nodded at that, though a frown crossed her features. “I find it kind of interesting how you’re already allying yourself with Dusk.”

He laughed. “Interesting is one way to put it. Some of my staff call it completely insane!”

“Is it because he was your patient?”

“That’s part of it.” He let out a sigh. “That bugger certainly is an interesting fella, isn’t he?” He glanced at Twilight. “Call it doctor’s instinct if you want. Patent pending.” He squinted at Twilight. “You said I’ve allied with Dusk already. Why that choice of words?”

She couldn’t really know why. “It felt… appropriate, I guess.”

“Like there’s a war going on?”

She shivered. “Really, Doctor? You think Dusk could stage a full-on conflict?”

“Or accidentally instigate one, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” He huffed. “Nevertheless, I don’t care what that buffoon Rich has said. I’m gonna side with Dusk on this one.”

Twilight looked at him inquisitively. “But why? What about him makes you want to side with him?”

He was silent for a moment, considering his answer. “Maybe it’s just an overly optimistic old fool…” He chuckled. “Sounds like something ol’ Prosa would say.” He looked back at Twilight. “Despite the way we’ve seen him act—that is, secluded, cold, even violent—something tells me that underneath that fierce exterior, is a heart that truly cares for his fellow pony.”

“Noblehearted?”

“Or in possession of a heart of gold.” Irons shrugged. “It’s just a hunch. But I’d say it’s a damn good one at that.”

He began walking away, but before adding in a few words. “That stallion fought wolves all the way from the Shades. He traveled days just to reach Ponyville. He’s incredibly smart, with a skill in observing to match. And he’s not afraid to stand up to bullies of all kinds, both child and adult. Call him what you want—crazy, weird, a user—he still has some noble qualities about him that make him good in my book.” He soon left the Hall.

Spike walked up to Twilight. “You okay, Twi?”

“Yes, Spike. Just thinking.”

“What about?”

“Just… the present and future.”

He frowned, before tallying it up to Twilight being Twilight. “Ready to go?”

She smiled down at him. “Yes, let’s.”

---

To Dusk, he measured the sounds coming from the town to nothing more than the establishment’s usual antics. It did not bother him that he had not been invited to the event. He had no intention of ever going.

But that did not mean that the stallion was happy at home. If one were to chance a glance inside, they would see a disheveled pony staring back at them, eyes tired and dull. Prosa had spent the last few nights laying awake, unable to sleep. Nightmares of events from the past, of monsters and ponies and his own dark actions, kept him awake. Slumber now was a rare reprieve, and it never was peaceful.

All he could see in front of him was himself. But it wasn’t the calm, slightly cold stallion that the town had grown accustomed to. No, it was a stallion who was on the brink of his own self-imposed edges. Every barrier he had implemented, in the hope they would prolong the inevitable, were beginning to collapse. He knew that soon, his dark persona would return; and he had no means of stopping it.

Time had not been friendly to Dusk. Not that it showed any bias towards anything, he supposed. If anything, the amount of time he was on worsened his situation.

A chill ran down his spine as he continued thinking. Fragments, shattered and broken, flew past his mind at breakneck speeds. He almost was not fast enough to catch them, only just retaining enough to form coherent memories.

He saw his first mission, breaking into a young couple’s home because they were supposedly corrupt. Yet, as he remembered the distraught face of the marefriend, he now could not say that his actions were honorable.

His mind jumped forward. He had to enter the 50th floor of an apartment building, at night. He had been practicing with several skilled gymnasts, in order to scale the humongous building without tools. He had always felt that one should teach themselves the skills they thought were necessary, instead of relying solely on a given method. He had scaled that building near effortless, silent and dark. He had surprised the pony sleeping, nearly giving him a heart attack.

That memory of the old stallion collapsing remained ingrained in his mind. He survived; but that mission had scarred him immensely.

Dusk’s memories played on, still shattered like shards of glass. For some reason, he only remembered the malicious acts he had undertook. His mind reacted to this bias, making the memory even more sinister and guilt-ridden. Crying faces became loud sobs and wails; fear became absolute horror; his shadow became the silhouette of a demon.

He was a monster, and Filthy Rich’s confrontation had further proven that. Dusk’s anger was infamously explosive; it had served him well in his past life, he supposed, but it did no good here. There was no point in denying what was already told, then. Dusk was, and always would be, a monster, whether he, the town, or Equestria liked it or not.

Such a thought slightly reassured him. Another truth? It seemed that they were popping up all around as of late. Maybe it was the town’s fault that his past refused to leave him be…

No, he thought. It’s not their fault. It’s mine. I chose this life. Therefore, it is my sole responsibility.

Logically, he ought to own up. Admit his mistakes, try to move on, accept his past. But he couldn’t. He could never forgive himself for what he had done. No matter how much seeming good came out of his actions, he still felt that what he had done was unforgivable.

It was ironic, almost. His mantra, omnia mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis, suggested that he appreciated change more than anything. Yet, here he was, unable to change himself. Unable to change his view of the past.

He wondered if that made him a hypocrite, or an ignoramus. Perhaps it made him stubborn; or maybe he was simply afraid of confronting his own self.

After all, he wasn’t the nicest of ponies; and he doubted that his “new” self would be able to handle his “old.” His choices led him to here; he was afraid to go back.

The whole situation reminded him of an old epic poem he had read during his scholarly pursuits in Canterlot. It had inspired him to write his award-winning graduation essay, and had set him down this path. Where had he gone wrong? Perhaps he should have stayed in school. Perhaps he shouldn’t have picked up the pen. Perhaps he should not have gotten that letter, asking him to come home, because his parents were in the hospital and needed him. Perhaps he shouldn’t have fulfilled an old promise.

He blinked as a thought struck him. If such events, such choices, had not been made, would he have been better off? The idealist in him seemed to think so; and his cynical side, though wary, was tempted to make the same call. But the realist inside, the constant reasoner, the true “Dusk Prosa,” said otherwise. He, that side argued, would have been even more ignorant than he was all those years ago.

If, that side said, he had not taken the choices he had chosen, then he would have been on a different path. He would not have had to go to Ponyville and vanish, yes; but in turn, he would not have encountered those fillies that he had grown to appreciate. He might not have even given his friend hope.

Dusk’s situation, then, was unique. Presenting both positives and negatives, to both reality and the hypothetical, he existed in some contemporary yin and yang sequence. Never truly in white, nor black. Though he viewed the world as such, he himself was different. His grey coat was the world’s grey; he was the in-between, the bridge between old and new, ignorance and enlightenment. Never truly escaping, never truly forgetting.

In that sense, he could not hope for a normal life. He was caught up in way too much. Against his wishes and better judgement, he had become part of an intricate world, and he was a central character in that world’s story. Perhaps, Ponyville was the center stage, the main setting. The fillies were the supporting characters. His past was the plot. His actions, the events that had transpired. His present, the rising action and climax. His rumination, the falling action. His future, the resolution.

All stories have to end. With all that has happened, maybe it is safe to say that Dusk Prosa’s is approaching the final act.

He wasn’t scared, nor was he eager. He was simply silent, unsure and yet sure, paradoxical yet logical. Whatever end waited for him… well, it was his end. His choice.

Another truth. He was free to make that decision, away from the manipulation that had conquered him in the past.

But that was a truth born out of tragedy. Once again he was reminded of his mistakes, and was unsure what to do about them. He could not run forever; he could not hide for much longer.

Whether it was the town, Grifford Finch, the Crusaders, or himself who uncovered the truth first was unknown.

Dusk Prosa simply sat there, in his room, lost in his thoughts, not knowing whether or not he would—or even should—ever get up.


[jarvyjared]

XIX: Investigations

The days went on by, growing more short as winter approached. Most of the pegasi were getting ready to deliver the snow clouds from Cloudsdale, getting their shipping routes from the higher ups. While the weather wasn’t particularly cold yet, some ponies were found wearing scarves already, preparing for the incoming freeze.

But while the pegasi worked, one, a cyan, rainbow-maned mare, had other plans for today.

The timing had to be perfect. There couldn’t be any mishap. The distraction had to be just enough to not warrant coming back.

Of course, the distractor had to unwittingly be a part of the investigation; but, Rainbow supposed, that was necessary.

She may have been arrogant and headstrong, but she understood the value in stealth. That said, she had decided to wait a safe distance from the house, doing her best to avoid entering any potential opening. If Dusk was as good at observing as Applejack, Rarity, and several other ponies had been saying, she needed to exercise caution as her highest priority. On her side was a small satchel that had a few select items necessary for her investigation.

She watched as Scootaloo and the Crusaders bounded up the steps, smiles on their faces. She wondered what about Dusk made them smile; surely, it wasn’t his cold persona. No, it had to be something else. Her mind jumped at the possibility of it being something malicious.

But then again, she knew Scootaloo. She had good intuition. She wouldn’t trust anypony right away if she hadn’t already known they were alright.

Rainbow wondered if it had to do with either Sweetie Belle or Apple Bloom. The latter, however, seemed to fall into the same situation as Scootaloo. Sweetie, then, was the prime suspect in convincing them to hang out with Dusk. Rainbow had been tempted to question Sweetie, but she didn’t want to provoke Rarity either.

Considering how Rarity also refused to accuse Dusk, I wouldn’t put it past her to start a riot.

The fillies had stopped at the door, wearing their signature capes. Nervous, Scootaloo took the front. She knocked on the door three times, then stepped back and resumed waiting.

From Rainbow’s vantage point, she saw movement from upstairs. It was shaded, the form masked and dark. She guessed it was Dusk.

She didn’t see his mouth move, but judging by Scootaloo also moving her mouth, she guessed that Dusk had posed a question. The fillies frowned at Dusk’s response. Sweetie then walked up to the door and pushed it open, entering inside.

Rainbow was more surprised that the door was even unlocked.

A short while later, the fillies were pushing Dusk outside. They were dragging with them Dusk’s own Crusader cape. Their voices were growing louder, though they sounded more exasperated than upset.

“C’mon, Dusk!” Scootaloo said as she pushed him outside. “You promised you’d go crusading with us when we asked you to!”

As they hastily placed the cape around him, he looked more than displeased, but did not try to dissuade them. An almost amused frown was on his lips. He looked tired, like he hadn’t gotten any sleep, but that didn’t stop him from making a quiet, snarky reply.

Sweetie lightly bopped him on the head for that. Rainbow had to resist the urge to snicker.

The cape secured on his body, Dusk gave himself a quick look-over. Seeing that everything was as it should be, he nodded, though the frown still remained. The fillies smiled, before pushing him forward, leading him away from the house. They were chipper, distracting him with what they would do today.

To her relief, he didn’t see Rainbow as she sat in the tree, watching. She saw them go down the road and head into town, their voices slowly becoming more distant and faded. Though her entire body wanted to immediately leave her spot, she forced herself to stay put, making sure that Dusk had no intention of coming back.

She glanced at the house, seeing that the door was still slightly ajar.

Just like I told Scootaloo to do.

She grimaced. Scootaloo had been confused as to why Rainbow would want such a minute detail, and she had to lie and say that “didn’t want the house getting too hot.” Conveniently, today was supposed to be rather hot, so the reason made sense.

It made her feel guilty that she had to lie, but she had a strange feeling that if she hadn’t, Scootaloo would not have allowed Rainbow to enter Dusk’s home.

She shook her thoughts away, glancing towards town. By now, Dusk and the fillies were little more than dots on the horizon. Good.

Rather than fly off and risk creating a loud sonic boom, Rainbow opted to lower herself to the ground. Hugging the tree, she slid down the trunk, hooves touching the grassy field softly. She let out a slow breath, checking around to make sure that the coast was still clear. She nodded, seeing that it still was.

She carefully trotted forward at a brisk pace, glancing around occasionally. The house quickly approached, its massive frame hulking and slightly intimidating. What kind of pony lives in someplace so odd? she wondered.

She walked up the steps, noticing that the steps did not creak. She found herself impressed that Dusk had taken it upon himself to fix the building and its numerous initial flaws. With the new paint coated on, one would think that the house had never been in any form of disarray.

She shook herself. She couldn’t be distracted by these thoughts.

She placed a hoof on the slightly opened door, pushing it. It didn’t creak; Dusk had oiled it up quite well. She frowned. This was not what a user was known for.

Stepping inside, she was met with another surprise. The house was clean, free of the clutter that she had thought all users had gathered up. The floor was shiny and clear, the furniture dusted, and the picture frames righted, and the pictures themselves smudge-free. It was by no means an exemplary home, but it was certainly above poor-quality housing.

Applejack had her farm, Fluttershy had her cottage, Twilight had her library, Rarity had her boutique, Pinkie had the Corner, and Rainbow had her cloud home; but Dusk lived in a rather luxurious place, all things considered. She couldn’t tell if she was impressed or confused.

A user living in a nice house? It doesn’t add up!

Seeing all this, she had no idea where to start. She had thought it would have been easy; shuffle around some garbage, find some evidence, fly out of there. But, seeing as there was no garbage, she couldn’t go down that line of investigation.

So, then, where to start?

After a few moments, Rainbow decided that upstairs would do. After glancing around once more, making sure she was all alone, she carefully moved up the steps towards the second level. It crossed her mind that Dusk could be hiding something in the bathroom, so she went in there first.

She paused for a moment, thinking back to one of the stories she had read. Trent Collins, though fictional, was every bit an astute detective. His stories and adventures could probably translate over quite well to real life, despite the character being a fictional ‘human.’ If there was one thing that Opacare Prose had made his character’s methods out to be, it was realistic.

Aside from the usual toiletries, a gel canister, a clean sink, and a spick-and-span mirror, there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. She half-considered checking the toilet, but stopped when she figured that Dusk wasn’t that dirty.

She walked out. She checked the upstairs closet, noticing that there appeared to be several boxes. She opened a few of them; they were all empty. Probably for storage. She frowned. Storage for what?

She had no idea, but decided that was suspicious enough. She turned to her satchel and opened it, pulling out a small camera. It was from Pinkie; where she had gotten the device Rainbow wasn’t sure, but it had proven to be helpful in the past. A few clicks of the shutter later, she had several pictures of the empty boxes in her inventory. She allowed herself a satisfied smirk.

The bedroom was next. As she stepped into it, she shivered. Entering inside felt forbidden, like it was sealed with a curse of some sort. The curtains, though not fully drawn, still held an air of restriction around them. The room was darkened, absent of any light; whether it was a safe haven or a recluse for the dangerous was unknown. She was quick to notice that the bed had been made, a behavior that she wasn’t sure all users were known for.

Her eyes glanced over to the side, where the desk lay. Walking over, she noticed that there were several crumpled up papers laying on top, with a blue quill and black inkwell nearby. She frowned; had Dusk been trying to write something, then had given up? She unfurled several of them, her frown deepening as she saw that none of them had any writing.

She glanced at the ink and quill. The latter looked dry; it had not been used in at least a day. The inkwell had been capped and sealed. That’s strange.

Why would papers be crumpled and rolled up? Usually it was because what was written wasn’t up to standards. She frowned. There had to be more than just empty scrolls here. Where else would papers be found?

Her eyes lit up in realization. The wastebasket! She glanced around the side, grinning as she saw the cylindrical metal container lying beneath. There were several more crumpled pieces of paper in there. She placed her bag on the desk, bending down and retrieving the pieces. She placed them back on top, before unfurling each one.

The first few were blank as well, confusing her. The next were mostly just smudges and incoherent thought, like Dusk had no idea what he was writing. A few were completely illegible, so corrupted was the writing. She took a few pictures, despite knowing the scrolls gave very little.

The last scroll actually had writing on it, though it was mostly just smudges and incomplete phrases. Most of the words had been blotted out by dry rivers of black, leaving a somewhat incoherent message. The lettering was also smudged, leaving behind a bolder set of words.

Raven Lock,

You will never read this; it will die over night. It is not meant to be sent out. There is always a possibility of danger, should you be found reading this.

With everything that has been happening, I am beginning to grow even more worried. It’s at times like these I wish I hadn’t become Dusk Prosa. So much conflict is quickly arising, and my old self is returning in full stride.

I regret becoming this monster. I always have. But you already know that. You know what I’ve done.

I’m rambling. This isn’t so much a letter as much as it is a way for me to get my thoughts down.

The syringes are almost done. They’re locked in my freezer, hopefully sane enough to frighten me no longer. It’s not all the blood that scares me, though…

Opacare Prose is gone. By my hooves. Figuratively, of course. Prose isn’t really dead. To say I killed him… well, now that I think about it, that could be true.

The town doesn’t know, though. And I’m certain that the fillies know about the syringes.

Funny. The syringes and Prose’s disappearance are both my most kept and worst kept secrets.

There I go, off on another tangent. Like I’m insane. Next thing you’ll know, I’ll be returning to Manehattan to rejoin the Family, maybe even bury Opacare Prose’s name.

Forgive me. That wasn’t very funny.

I guess I just needed to write this. Like a confession. Not that it matters. No amount of reconciliation can undo what I’ve done.

I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. I’m not sure what to do. Should I continue this operation?

Of course I should. I started it. And I intend to finish it.

There’s no need for aliases.
Opacare Prose

Rainbow’s mind seized up. She dropped the letter in shock, her mouth gaping, eyes wide. She glanced down back at the paper, rereading it, making sure she hadn’t misread. Questions began flooding her mind.

Who’s Raven Lock? What does Dusk mean by him dying? There’s danger? What did Dusk do? She clenched her eyes against the onslaught of questions. How does he know Opacare Prose is gone? What killed him? What’s true? Is Dusk insane? What does he mean by burying Opacare Prose? What confession? What operation?

She fell on her bottom, trying to slow her breathing. She couldn’t comprehend what the message was saying. She could assume that Dusk had wrote the message; but she didn’t understand why! Why was he talking to this Raven Lock like he was going to die? Why did he talk about Prose like he knew him? Why did he sound like he had some involvement in Prose’s disappearance—

She paused. Was it possible?

She stood, unsteadily, looking back over the letter. “Opacare Prose,” “my hooves,” and “killed him” were all in the same paragraph, so she guessed that he was talking about something relating to the terms. The first thing that came to mind was something nefarious had happened; something that Dusk had to be a part of.

She remembered that Mayor Grifford Finch had been saying that it was likely that Opacare had been abducted by somepony familiar, somepony whom he wouldn’t think had any malicious intent. What if Dusk was that pony? What if Dusk knew Opacare Prose? Did that mean this Raven Lock was involved?

The more unsettling question was: did Dusk Prosa kill Opacare Prose?

She had no evidence, besides this letter. And she found herself doubting the credibility. After all, Dusk had admitted that he was insane in the writing.

She thought back to Rich’s encounter with Dusk, how Dusk had reacted violently and sporadically to the business stallion. He was vicious, which was part of the reason why she didn’t like it when Scootaloo was around him. Given his violent tendencies, would it really be unreasonable to think him capable of murder?

Admittedly, it was a stretch; but a stretch was a hunch, and a hunch could be considered. So, with a strained sigh, she lifted the camera in her hooves, and took several pictures of the smudged scroll.

Afterwards, she re-crumpled up the papers, doing her best to make the desk seem as it was before. She tossed the papers back into the wastebasket and splayed the others out all over the desk randomly, figuring that Dusk wouldn’t care about the order.

Another tense breath escaped her. Okay, Rainbow, focus. I’ll tell Twilight and the others what I’ve found the next time I see them. Hopefully we’ll be able to sort out this whole mess.

She stepped away, leaving the room and closing the door quickly. She shivered, unnerved. Still, though, her investigation wasn’t over yet. There was still one issue left to resolve.

She trotted down the stairs, making her way to the kitchen. With a frown she entered, walking up to the freezer. She hoped that she was guessing wrong; but she had a sinking feeling…

As she opened the door, the sinking feeling became an abysmal sensation.

She stared at the red cylinders in complete numbness, ignoring the cool wind that washed over her face. They glared back at her, and the little measures looked like grim faces.

She felt nauseous.

What… what is this?

She turned away, trying to calm herself down. The wind blew past her, ruffling her mane. It seemed to clear her thoughts just enough for her to do something reasonable. She turned back, a determined grimace on her face. She grabbed her camera and held it before her, facing the syringes. Strangely, behind the lens, they seemed less intimidating. It was like the fear factor was lessened behind glass and wood.

She clicked a few times, taking several pictures, before letting out a relieved breath as she closed the door. Her brow furrowed in worry. Worry for Scootaloo, worry for the town, worry for what Dusk was doing—

She stopped as she heard the cries of a trio of fillies. She glanced out the window, seeing the four ponies returning from town. “What? Already? Buck me!” she whispered fiercely.

There was no time to investigate any further. She had to leave, now. Rainbow placed the camera back in her satchel, zipping it shut. She took two steps backwards, before violently turning and sprinting for the back. She could hear their voices approaching. She knew she couldn’t fly out; she’d be seen, and be questioned immediately, and that was something she did not want to happen. She approached a window, doing her best to open it without making a loud ruckus. The glass was pulled up, and she dove out with a strangled yelp.

She landed, and turned, pulling the window down just as the door opened.

“Did we really have to come back here for this?” she heard Apple Bloom asked.

“Of course,” Dusk responded, his voice sounding cold. “You wanted something for Scootaloo’s scooter, remember?”

She heard him trot on the wooden floor, shuffling around some boxes in a nearby closet. “Let’s see… I was sure they were around here somewhere…”

He stepped closer, growing dangerously close to the window. “Maybe I left it near here?”

She hissed, tense and shaking.

He heard it.

She heard him stop, and could practically see the frown on his face. Silently she cursed her clumsiness. She pushed herself against the side of the house, trying to shrink against the wall.

The window slid up, and she saw the underside of his chin stick out.

Her breath caught in her throat.

His head swiveled around a few times, searching. His head began to lean down, and she knew that it was only a matter of time before he saw her.

“Hey, Dusk! What’s taking you so long?”

The orange filly’s slightly scratchy voice never sounded so relieving. Rainbow promised to thank Scootaloo later.

The chin vanished, and Dusk trotted away. “Sorry, Scootaloo. I thought I heard something.”

She could picture Scootaloo bristling in annoyance. “Nevermind that. I found the wrench you needed. It was in the other closet.”

The stallion grew faint as he left the window. Another moment passed, and Rainbow heard the door shut once more. The Crusaders’ voices then grew distant, and she knew they were returning back to town.

She waited. Five seconds, ten, twenty. Then one minute, then two, then five. Then, she stood. Only now did she see how stressed she was, as her legs nearly toppled out from under her.

She took slow, steady breaths, glaring down the road. Dusk and the fillies had gone; she was all alone.

A shiver ran through her. She had not expected to find what she had found. She almost wanted Dusk to have certainly been a user, than have seen what was inside of his house.

But she couldn’t reflect on that now. At the moment, she had information. She had to get the pictures developed as soon as possible. Only then would the truth be revealed.

With a roaring, nerve-wracked boom, Rainbow took off for Ponyville.


[jarvyjared]

XX: Raven Locked

Fear.

Fear and anger.

Fear and anger and frustration and—

Raven stopped that line of thought with a slam on the desk. He stared at the map once more, worried. The markers had suddenly changed course. Rather than centering and surrounding the entirety of Manehattan, his sources had noted that they were starting to specify which area they were going to invade. At first, he had assumed that the organization would go for someplace important—perhaps a hospital, even the local political offices. And, initially, such a thought seemed reasonable. The markers had amassed on the eastern side of Manehattan, where a majority of vital establishments could be found. If the reports on this organization were right, it was a smart institution that used intelligence as a means of attacking. A good general in this organization would have made plans to attack areas that would cripple Manehattan.

Now, however, it was clear that the organization was more than intelligent; it was cunning, efficient, and thorough.

It had all started when one of Raven’s contacts—thankfully not Dusk—suddenly went silent. He had tried sending out a few messages, but none appeared to have reached the contact. Raven was familiar with radio silence during his old occupation as a police detective for Manehattan, but he knew when something was wrong. Nopony ever went silent suddenly or without a clear reason, and his contact had no motive for suddenly quieting up.

It was as if he had been swallowed, suddenly and stealthily.

A quick call to two other contacts seemed to confirm this. They, too, had been monitoring what was going on, and had taken note of the old contact’s silence a few days prior. They had all initially said it was a simple precaution. But when the days turned to weeks, with none of the other contacts going silent, it became clear that something was amiss.

A few more messages were exchanged, and soon Raven could make an educated guess about what happened.

The mysterious organization had gotten to one of them.

Raven had wasted no time in ordering his remaining contacts to be extra careful, going so far as to relocate several to be miles away from their original position. While these ponies were in the process of moving, he became extra vigilant, watching for any changes in the organization’s behavior. For the first few days following the silence, no changes were perceptible. But recently, something had occurred that made his blood run cold.

As he stared at the map, the same thought kept running through his mind at breakneck speed. He didn’t want to believe it. He had been careful, so careful; and yet, it seemed he had underestimated the tenacity of this unknown opponent.

I’m next.

A chilling thought, to be sure. But even more so when he considered the implications it brought.

The fact that the organization had so quickly picked up on him confirmed that it was a force to be reckoned with. It wasn’t the common crook or thief that Raven was used to back in his Canterlot detective days. It was vicious when it needed to be, and was also methodical in its approach.

As it was quick, it made sense that after Raven, it might end up finding the other contacts. If that happened, everything would fall apart. It wouldn’t just be individual ponies in danger; it would be entire branches of families that would be threatened. Raven at first tried to reassure himself that it did not threaten the entirety of Equestria—but despite this being true, he knew it was still a huge danger.

Once the organization got Raven and the other contacts, there was no telling how much damage it would do. There was a huge likelihood that it might even go after Dusk Prosa if he were to learn about this threat.

Which made secluding him from the truth even more vital. But Raven couldn’t help but feel somehow wrong in doing so.

Based on his calculations, as well as the rate at which the organization was moving, he could guess that they would arrive on his doorstep—literally—in only a day. It was a short timeframe; it was unexpected, and he had hoped that it would never come down to this.

His only condolence was that he would see Jade Sonnet again.

There was a light tapping at his window. He turned, and walked up to it, sliding it up. His pet raven stood there, a small envelope in its beak. He frowned; he wasn’t scheduled to receive anything for Dusk yet.

Taking the letter in his dark-purple hoof, he walked back over to the desk and pulled out a letter opener. He dragged the edge against the seal smoothly, and procured a folded piece of paper. Unraveling it, he found it had only one word.

Run.

He frowned, looking closely at the writing. Based on the lettering, he knew it couldn’t be Dusk’s work. The pewter stallion wrote only with quills; this one was made with a typewriter, based on the perfect lettering and Courier font. A quick run-down on his list of contacts revealed that the true writer was—

Crunch.

He paused, thinking he had heard something. Carefully, he placed the letter down, not daring to make a move.

Crunch.

That wasn’t the Raven. His apartment was a six storey building, meaning that no large animal could possibly be directly outside.

He closed his eyes, thinking back. The crunch originated somewhere behind him. He turned to orient himself.

“… damn it!”

It was a faint whisper; but it definitely came from somewhere up front. He opened his eyes. Before him was the door to his apartment, locked and sealed. Somepony’s out there.

He took a tentative step forward, careful not to make a sound, barely breathing. There appeared to be some shuffling outside, as if somepony was moving something large.

A cannon? A battering ram?

Old police instinct took over. He crouched low, stepping up to a smaller desk near the front. He opened the drawer, retrieving his old Spell Gun, a model 11 Fire Gauge revolver. Feeling the cool metal cross his hoof made him feel somewhat nostalgic. The Gun was something that Canterlot had issued to its Earth pony policestallions who had no magic, and Raven had been smart enough to keep his after retirement. Most Earth ponies preferred not to deal with the gun ever again, but Raven felt that having one meant that you had to keep it.

He checked the dial. It was full, having six shots before it needed to reload. His was specially modified to give a slight magical boost on the last shot with the flick of a switch, to help apprehend tougher crooks. He checked the trigger; it was cleared of any grime, so it wouldn’t jam. He nodded to himself, before glancing back up at the door.

The shuffling grew closer, and he heard something bump against the frame. Low whispers escaped the lips of whoever was outside. Raven walked up, clutching his Gun tightly, placing wrapping his hoof around the trigger carefully.

He pushed back the locks, careful not to make them rattle. Once they were off, he grabbed the doorknob, taking in a slow breath. I’m not going down without a fight.

He swung the door open and yelled, “Hooves up, jerkwad!”

He was met with the startled cry of a young, tan-yellow Earth mare. “Aaah!” she exclaimed, jumping back and hitting the wall.

His eyes widened. “Haybale?”

Haybale looked at him. “Mr. Raven! Jeez, you scared the living daylights out of me!” She frowned, seeing the gun. “What are ya going around waving that thing for?”

“I… heard a noise. Crunching. Then shuffling, like somepony was moving something relatively big.”

“Oh…” She rubbed the back of her neck. “That was me.” She pointed to the side of his door, where a cart with a large vase was placed. “I was moving that down the hall,” she explained, “when it suddenly toppled over. Luckily, I caught the darn thing before it shattered, but some glass fell out.”

“Glass?” He looked down, confused, as he saw several shards of the material on his doormat.

She nodded. “Yeah. When I dove for the vase, I bumped up against your door slightly. Sorry about that.”

Raven sighed, placing his gun inside his vest, safety on. “It’s alright, Haybale.”

“Why so gun-wavy, though?”

He glanced away. “Just… a little nervous, that’s all.”

“Really?” She frowned. “You know, your wife did say that you liked that gun too much. Maybe you need a break. Lock it away somewhere, where you won’t be tempted to wave it in my face.”

He let out a low chuckle. “You think so?”

He helped her to her hooves, before he grabbed a dust pan that was in his kitchen. Returning, he and Haybale began placing the glass shards onto the pan, placing them back into the vase.

“Who stores glass in a vase, though?” he asked aloud.

Haybale shrugged. “I dunno. Some looney, probably. I think the landlord downstairs said that it’s for brewing?”

Raven didn’t know if broken glass could be used to brew, but as he wasn’t a shaman, he couldn’t really question it.

Several minutes later, Raven bid Haybale goodbye, returning back inside his apartment. He let out a tired breath. I have been stressing out lately. Nearly shot Haybale, thinking she was a threat. He shook his head, resolving not to lose his cool.

He walked back up to his desk, the raven still standing by his window, staring at him curiously. He glanced back at the small note. It surprised him that somepony had gone so far as to deliver it by raven mail; usually that was reserved for private messages and urgent talk. It had to be a warning from one of his contacts.

But a warning of what? Surely it could not have been Haybale. Perhaps it was a mistake on a contact’s part. Or maybe it was a prank—though that idea was easily scrapped. It could even have been a message of preparation, telling Raven to be ready to move if the time arose.

Looking back at the map, though, Raven realized that there was no time to run. Whether he liked it or not, the organization was catching on; but he was determined to stay until the end, gathering and storing as much information as possible.

There is a high likelihood I won’t make it out of this war. Someone has to carry on this fight.

He gave the raven a few cracker bits, before shooing it off. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the map, unblinking, unhappy.

Scared. Angered. Frustrated.

Determined.

---

A day passed. Raven had done little but sit inside of his apartment. He had had a light breakfast, and now a warm cup of coffee sat next to him as he went over the files again. They were his old reports on the organization, beginning with when he had first noticed its presence to a few days ago, when his contact went silent. The manilla folders were filled with notes, papers, and images, all relating to this mysterious organization.

He took a sip of his drink, the caffeine quickly waking him up. He had barely gotten any sleep last night, spending most of the time tossing and turning, thinking to what the future held. The caffeine was a welcome treat, helping him stay relatively focused. A few crumbs of a croissant gathered at the edge of the cup, vanishing as he took another sip.

He wrote down a number, then a letter, on a separate piece of paper. He repeated the action several times, until the paper was mostly filled. He then crumpled up the paper, ripping it apart. He adjusted himself on his seat. A small compartment could be seen at the side. He opened it, placing the pieces into the area, before snapping it shut and covering it with the seat cushion.

He nodded to himself, still feeling slightly uneasy. Step one is done.

He glanced at the clock. It read 10:30. Any second now…

Just as expected, there came a light tapping at his window. He grabbed a small note, and opened the window, letting the bird inside. This time, he handed it several seeds—sunflower and pumpkin—letting it chow down as he prepared the note. “Eat well, my friend,” he softly said, “for this may be the last time you ever see my food.”

The raven looked at him sadly. Though no tears were shed, he could see the pain that the avion felt in its eyes. He gave a heartfelt, strained smile, reaching out and lightly petting the animal. It brushed against him, the feathers soft, its body warm and comforting. He brought it closer, pressing it against his chest. The raven chirped something friendly, snuggling against his vest.

For several minutes, nothing was done. He stood there, petting and cooing the pet softly, trying to fight the growing unease in his stomach.

“You’ve served me well, old friend,” he whispered. “Now, I ask you to serve me one last time.”

He pushed the note at the bird. It took it in its beak, and Raven saw determination flash through its eyes. He knew that his pet would not let him down.

That bird had been his wife’s last gift to him. Now, it would be his last gift to Dusk.

“You know what to do.”

The bird nodded, turning. It spread its wings, and took off out the window silently. Raven knew it would take a few days for it to reach Ponyville; and he did not have the fortune of having the same time left.

He glanced at the clock. 10:40, it read.

He remembered what the reports had been saying; that the organization would stop him by today. He wasn’t sure when, nor by what, but he was certain that the warning was true.

He covered the map up with his certificate of retirement. He would not need that chart anymore.

He covered up all the names, all the information, that he had, placing the papers inside the desk. He would not need them anymore.

He put the folders back in the filing cabinet neatly, gently pushing the metal storage shut. They would not need him anymore.

This was his end. He could not stop it. He would not stop it.

So, as with most days, he sat back in his chair, drank his coffee—and waited.

Twenty minutes flew by, and his coffee dwindled. He got up to place it in the sink.

There was a knock on his door. He glanced at it in mild surprise, though he could not say it was completely unexpected. After placing his cup, he walked over to the door. He pulled back the locks and twisted the knob, pulling the door opened.

“May I help you?” he asked.

Behind the door was a zebra mare, with a slightly-grey coat and black-and-white mane. Her eyes were a fuschia purple, glittering mischievously. She appeared to be quite young. She wore a cobalt robe with bronze-yellow highlights. A pair of gold ankhs hung off her ears. Behind her was a small cart, carrying some sort of treasure box.

“Hello,” she greeted, her accent distinctly Zebrikan, but with a hint of Manehattan lying beneath. “Are you Mr. Raven Lock?”

“I am,” he answered with a nod. “Who might you be?”

She smiled. “In my homeland, I am called something akin to ‘shaman,’ or ‘witch-doctor.’ Here, I am called Aryna.” She made a little bow.

“Pleased to meet you, Aryna,” he said with a smile. “May I ask why you are at my door?”

“Back in my homeland, it was customary that when a new neighbor moved in, she would bring a gift to the original neighbors to say she was friendly,” she explained.

“New neighbor?” He looked at her in surprise. “So you’re the pony who moved in just a day ago.”

She laughed, the sound smooth and silky. “Indeed. Though, I do believe that the landlord called me a ‘looney.’”

“I apologize for that.”

“There is no need. I have been called much worse.”

He nodded. “Well, since you’re here, why don’t you come in?” He stepped to the side. She nodded her thanks, walking inside while pulling her cart.

He did his best not to shiver in apprehension.

“You are a policestallion?” she asked, drawing him out of his thoughts. She was looking at his certificate on the wall.

“Detective,” he clarified. “Former detective. 25th Precinct, Canterlot,” he added, somewhat proudly.

She smiled. “Ah, that must mean you are quite smart, yes?”

“I like to think so.” He chuckled. “My wife, Jade Sonnet, certainly said that about me.”

She caught on almost immediately. “Ah. I am sorry.”

“It’s alright. No harm done.”

A small silence fell between them. Aryna walked over to where a picture of Jade was hung. “She is very pretty. Lovely eyes.”

“Yes.”

“She was a singer?”

“In the Canterlot Orchestra Suite. Sung for the Princesses, a few times.”

“You loved her very much?” she asked.

“There has been no other mare in my life that lit up my world like she did.”

“Do you still love her?”

“Of course.”

She smiled at him. “Good. You are a very noble stallion, Mr. Raven Lock. Your love for your wife is truly impressive.”

She walked up to him. “But, you do not seem to be in pain. Would not her absence make your heart yearn for her company?”

“It did in the past. But now, I accept that she is gone.” He smiled wryly. “Besides, she’d prefer that I don’t dwindle on the past.”

She nodded. “She sounds like a very smart mare. You were quite blessed to meet her.”

He nodded silently. She walked away, moving back to her cart.

“Have you ever considered settling down with another mare?” she asked.

“Maybe once. But I doubt that just about anypony would be just as magnificent as my Jade.”

“Mm. Loyalty to your lover.” She glanced over her shoulder. “But you’ve never considered another lady? Like, that tan mare outside a day ago?”

He shook his head. “No. Haybale is just a friend, nothing more.” He couldn’t help but smile. “Though, Jade really liked her.”

Aryna said nothing. She began fiddling with her treasure box, opening the locks. A moment later, she brought the box over. “For you.”

Though initially hesitant, he nodded. He pulled open the lid, gazing at the contents. Inside were a large, sapphire necklace, as well as two cups and what seemed to be an alcoholic beverage. It was unlabeled, and the liquid was a slight sun-orange.

Noting his confused expression, Aryna smiled. “Traditionally, the new neighbor would come bearing gifts of jewelry.”

“I see. And the drink.”

“My own creation. A special drink was usually prepared as a toast to new friends.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Does this mean you’re a moonshiner?”

She giggled. “I suppose so. I prefer the term brewer. But, Detective, would you really want to arrest me?”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, staring at her. He then let out a soft sigh. “I suppose not.” He gave her a stern look, but a playful smile crossed his lips. “None of this escapes this room, understand?”

She giggled, grinning devilishly. “My lips are sealed, as are yours.”

A strange way of saying that she won’t tell anypony, but oh well.

He pulled out the necklace, fiddling with it before snapping it around his neck. It was somewhat heavy, the chain cool against his coat. He was not exactly a stallion of jewelry, but he could definitely say that the necklace seemed to fit him perfectly. A calm, bright exterior did not hinder his emotional, caring interior. It reminded him of the jewelry that some ponies wore on their funeral.

The thought sent a shiver racing down his body; he masked it by looking up. “I suppose it would be wasteful not to drink this beverage, huh?”

Aryna pulled out the cups, placing them on the nearby table. She uncapped the lid of the beverage, pouring the liquid gently into each cup. The orange substance was unlike any wine he had ever seen; it moved slowly, like syrup, but did not appear to be as sticky. It did not splash, nor did it gather at the sides.

He remembered that she was a brewer. It was likely that this drink had its own unique properties.

Unnerving. But he did not show it.

She handed him his cup, which he took in silence. She held hers up in a toast. “To new friends,” she said.

“To new friends,” he echoed.

“To a better future.”

“To a better future.”

“To no future problems.”

“To no future problems.”

They drank. Raven tasted the liquid, noting how bitter it tasted.

He felt his neck stiffen, his joints lock up. He lowered his head to stare at Aryna. He already knew what was happening; but he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of seeing him scared.

She nodded. “You have caught on. It is true what my superiors were saying: you are quite intelligent.” She sighed. “It is a shame we had to meet like this, Mr. Raven Lock. We could have used somepony as smart as you.”

He didn’t say anything (in fact, he couldn’t), staring straight ahead, unblinking. His eyes began to burn, but it was a dull pain, like his nerves were falling asleep.

“Gaethipa,” she explained. “A plant herb. Bitter tasting. Easy to slip into a drink.”

She understood the silent question in his eyes. “I am immune to it.” The explanation seemed to satisfy him, though he couldn’t exactly express it.

She stepped away, looking over his desk. She pulled open the drawers, seeing the numerous papers. She opened the filing cabinet, retrieving the folders. “You have an impressive arsenal of knowledge about us here, Mr. Raven Lock.” She frowned. “Though, how you managed to track our movements is still a mystery.”

She looked back up at the poster with his certificates. After a moment, she reached up, and pulled it down, revealing the map with the markers. She let out a gasp. “You continue to impress me. No foe has ever tracked us so accurately.”

She turned back, smiling at him. “It is fortunate we caught on when we did. It would be highly detrimental if you were to continue your little crusade.”

She stepped closer. “But why? Why were you acting against us? You could have stayed back; let us do what was necessary.”

He stared at her.

“I suppose your motives are of no concern any longer.” She turned away, walking back to the desk. She shuffled through the papers. “Interesting… interesting.” She glanced back at him. “I’ll have to borrow these papers for a little while. No doubt my superiors will be intrigued by them. Hope you don’t mind.”

They’re yours, he thought. For now.

“Oh, and do not worry about your friend, Miss Haybale,” Aryna said. “She and I had a little drink together not to long ago. She’ll be out for a few hours.”

His eyes grew troubled. Oh, Haybale… I’m sorry…

“She spoke highly of you, Mr. Raven Lock. And she put up quite the fight. Her stubbornness apparently enough to deter the effects for a little longer.” She placed a hoof on her chin. “She told me you’d kick my sorry flank to the curb. I would have retorted, but then she stopped talking.”

She peered around, before walking up the the desk that was near the door. She opened the drawer, pulling out Raven’s Spell Gun. “I haven’t seen these in a while,” she commented. “And, in perfect condition, too. You certainly know your away with your weapons.”

She pointed at him. “I wonder… what would happen if I overcharged this, and shot you with it? How much pain would you feel?”

His face did not betray his emotions.

She lowered the gun. “Not that it matters. You will be dead in a couple of hours. The poison will eventually cause asphyxiation. Slow, of course. I would not want to give you a fast demise. Too messy.”

She looked at the gun, before pulling out a small, circular device. “This will supercharge your gun’s magic, making it erupt in a volcanic flame. It will look like a gas main eruption.” She placed it to the side, and pressed a small button. The circle began to glow, magic lighting up the rest of the gun. “The process will be slow, but when it explodes, it will be sudden, and it will be enormous. You will not be able to stop it.”

Still he remained outwardly calm.

“I see… even in the face of certain demise, you refuse to be scared?” She smiled. “No wonder Jade loved you.”

She placed the gun back in the drawer, walking back over to Raven. “Here. Let me give you one last gift.”

She shifted his body so that he faced the picture of his wife. “Poetic, is it not. The face of your loved one being the last thing you see before you die. You can thank me later.”

She leaned up, giving him a small peck on the cheek. “Goodbye, Mr. Raven Lock,” she said breathlessly. “It was a pleasure.”

She left him, and he heard her leave by the door. The frame closed.

He felt a surge of temporary relief wash over him. Aryna had not seen the hidden compartment in his chair. And, as it was protected with a special magic, he knew that the papers inside would survive. That meant his crusade wasn’t finished just yet.

His throat began to constrict, though he could still breathe just about fine. The picture of his wife looked at him, her smile still warm and comforting. Though his muscles were frozen, his tear ducts were still free. He still had one action that he could do.

He made no sound as the tears fell. He prayed to whatever god would listen, asking them to forgive him, to tell Haybale he was sorry, to say that he didn’t want this to happen. He prayed that this would be the only casualty in his war.

He didn’t fear for his end. He only worried for what his friend would do next without him.

The tears blurred his vision. He wanted to smile, but couldn’t. But he felt that Jade already knew what he meant in his heart.

So he smiled with his soul. And Jade Sonnet smiled back at him.


[jarvyjared]

XXI: Apprehended

The Golden Oak Library was normally rather quiet on mornings. Spike would get up and tend to breakfast, while Twilight got up a little slower. Guests usually weren’t around at this time. Twilight would have spent the morning studying as usual.

Then again, today was not a usual day.

“You broke into Dusk’s house?!”

Twilight’s screeching made Rainbow wince. “Calm down, Twilight! I didn’t exactly break in; I just entered through the front door!”

“That was conveniently unlocked!”

“Exactly!”

Twilight sighed. “Rainbow, did Dusk allow you entrance into his home?”

“Well, no… but I doubt he would have, anyway!”

“She has a point,” Applejack said. “Ah mean, Ah doubt that Dusk would let just about anypony into his home.”

“That doesn’t mean that breaking and entering into Dusk’s house was right at all,” Fluttershy said quietly.

“Dash!” Pinkie scolded. “You know how the law works! You could go to jail!”

Dash winced. “Please, don’t remind me, Pinkie. Besides, wouldn’t I get points for doing it for a good cause?”

“And what cause is that, Rainbow?” Rarity asked with a huff. “You still haven’t given proper justification for your actions!”

Rainbow glared at her, before unfurling her wing and revealing a small bag. She opened it, pulling out the camera and the photos. “Here, look!” She spread the photos around the table.

One by one, they each looked at the pictures, their curiosity growing every second. Eyes scanning the laminated objects, their mouths hung open in shock. “Th-this was all in his house?” Twilight asked, nearly forgetting the criminal extent of Dash’s actions.

The cyan pegasus nodded. “Yep, all of it. Right down to the dust.”

Fluttershy held up the picture of Dusk’s writing, her lip quivering. “Raven Lock… that’s the—”

“The pony who died yesterday in that explosion in Manehattan,” verified Applejack. She shook her head. “Poor guy. He and that maid didn’t deserve such a painful death.”

Rarity, meanwhile, gave a start. “If Dusk was writing to Raven… could that mean that he somehow was involved?”

“Involved?” Pinkie scrunched up her nose. “Involved how? He’s here; there’s no way he could have triggered that explosion!”

Rarity frowned. “I know that… but still, he’s a contact. And besides,” she added, grabbing the picture from Fluttershy. “His writing seems to suggest he knew beforehand that something would happen. ‘You will die… should be you found out…’”

Twilight lit her horn, bringing the picture close to her face. “Huh. So he has heard of Opacare Prose.” Reading on, she let out a gasp. “Killed? What does he mean by that?”

“Well, the words have been smeared,” Fluttershy pointed out. “M-maybe he’s talking about something else?”

“I… I hope so,” Twilight said. She lowered the picture, bringing over the one with Dusk’s fridge. The others gathered around her, seeing the syringes. “I guess this explains what the syringes are for.”

“At least we know he’s not a user,” Pinkie said, trying to remain optimistic.

“That doesn’t explain the blood, though.” Twilight frowned, peering closer. “Are those… tags?”

Rainbow nodded. “Yeah. They had letters on them.”

“What letters?”

“OP.”

“OP? What on Equestria could that mean—”

All of a sudden, Twilight froze, her eyes going wide. A million thoughts blasted off inside her head, shutting down all other functions. “T-th—” She couldn’t complete her sentence.

“Twi’?” Applejack asked, worried. “What’s wrong, Sugarcube?”

In answer, Twilight brought back over the writing. She placed both pictures down, side by side, her eyes flicking between the photos. She pointed a hoof out. “Here he’s talking about Opacare Prose… as if he knows him. And as if he’s dead.” She pointed to the syringes. “Blood. The letters, OP.”

Her hooves, like lightning, flicked all around, as she spouted out her conclusions. “He’s… going to Manehattan to bury Opacare Prose, apparently. But to do that, he would need a body… and the blood. The letters. OP could stand for Opacare Prose…”

She glanced back at her friends. “Girls… do you see where I’m going with this?”

Only Rarity and Rainbow appeared to have reached the same conclusion. The others gave her confused looks.

“If… Opacare Prose is dead, like Dusk writes… and, hypothetically, if Dusk is going to return to Manehattan to ‘bury’ Opacare Prose… he’d need a body…” She gulped. “And… it might be possible that the blood in those syringes… is Opacare’s. Dusk is shipping them off to Raven Lock.”

The others let out gasps as they realized what Twilight was implying.

“But, Raven Lock died yesterday. And Dusk speaks of an operation… perhaps something went awry, and Raven needed to be kept quiet?”

“No…” Rarity whispered. “It… it can’t be!”

Rainbow shook her head. “It looks like it, Rares. There’s too much connection between Dusk and these two.”

Twilight nodded. “There is a huge possibility that Dusk is connected to Opacare’s disappearance and Raven Lock’s death. These photos seem to say that Dusk…” Her voice faltered, as she was almost unable to say the word.

“… killed… Opacare… and used his body as a tank for his blood, which he shipped to Raven for some unknown reason.”

Applejack frowned. “But why would Dusk do that? Why would he label the syringes? Wouldn’t that give himself away?”

“I don’t know, Applejack. But one thing’s clear.” She looked up, her face long and worried. “Dusk has some answering to do.”

Silence radiated inside of the library, as each pony took in Twilight’s words. Finally, after tense seconds had passed, Rarity asked, “Twilight… what are we going to do?”

Twilight didn’t say anything at first. She stared ahead, her mind working as efficiently as it could. The girls could tell she was considering many possibilities all at once, all possible courses of action.

Could they do anything? Should they? It was up to Twilight now.

“Spike?” she suddenly called. The baby dragon looked up from where he was sitting. He had a frown on, his face dark and worried. He had not said anything since the girls had begun talking, but he had heard everything. “What do you think we should do?” she asked.

He stared at her quietly, green eyes matching purple in intensity. Finally, he spoke: “We have to stop Dusk Prosa.”

Twilight silently thanked Celestia for Spike being very mature.

Rainbow grew a confident grin. “Good call, little buddy. I’ll grab his sorry flank and fly him here!”

She made to take off, but was stopped by Twilight’s magic. “Wait, Rainbow,” she called sternly. “As much as you want to deal with Dusk, we need to let the authorities know. Specifically, Mayor Mare.”

Rainbow huffed. “Oh, fine. And here I was hoping I’d get to stop a bad guy.”

“Mayor Mare will hopefully assemble the town and we’ll go after Dusk,” Twilight continued. “We’ll bring him back here for questioning.” Her face grew more somber. “Though, I don’t think we’ll be able to handle this locally.”

“What do you mean?” asked Fluttershy.

“Dusk is connected not only to Raven Lock’s death—a Manehattan issue—but to Opacare Prose’s disappearance—an issue for Equestria as a whole.” She leveled a steady look at the others. “Princess Celestia and Princess Luna will need to know about this.”

“A national issue?” Rarity asked, a bit incredulous, but nonetheless resolute. “I suppose it makes sense.”

Twilight nodded, before turning to Spike. “Spike, please… take a letter.”

The dragon nodded, pulling out a scroll and pen. Twilight mouthed off her message, before nodding to Spike. Taking the hint, he held the scroll up, and blew a green flame on it, sending it away.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Now… let’s go.”

They all nodded, and the seven of them walked out of the library, heading for Town Hall with the evidence in tow.

They failed to see the three fillies who, once again, had been listening from outside. Their eyes went wide, and a silent agreement was reached between them. A second later, they were gone, racing off to warn the mysterious pewter stallion.

---

The raven flew away, unsure of where to go from here, leaving behind a pewter stallion.

To say that Dusk Prosa was furious was an understatement.

However, as no other word came close to describing what he was feeling, it would have to suffice.

“Argh!” he yelled, slamming a hoof into the wall, making the entire house shake. Next to him, on the floor, lay the battered remains of a newspaper from a day ago. The headline story read:

DETECTIVE RAVEN LOCK: DEAD AT 30

In a circumstance that was entirely unexpected, former Canterlot Detective and Head of Investigations Raven Lock was found dead in his apartment today. Among the other fatalities was Haybale, a maid of the apartments, and the landlord, a Mr. Gruff Shoes. The building had exploded in a blaze of raw power, apparently due to a faulty gas pipe, leading to the three burning alive inside.

Upon investigation, it was found that neither Raven nor Haybale had seemed like they were trying to escape. It seemed like they knew this was their end, and they had calmly waited for it. Gruff Shoes, meanwhile, was found behind his counter. The fire had burned away most of his skin; his death has been verified as quick and sudden—likely because he had taken the full blunt of the explosion, instantly.

The bodies were badly burned, and many bones were shattered in the blast. The explosion was felt in the apartment complexes on the other side of the block, shattering windows and causing temporary deafness to nearby ponies. Police, firetrucks, and ambulances were called seconds later; but it was too late. The ponies inside were already dead.

Witnesses report that they saw a zebra mare leaving the apartment hours before. Investigation into this, however, has stalled, once the main cause of the deaths was established as faulty gas pipe work.

The building had had a history of gas leaks in the past, though none were this tragic.

Haybale was a mare of 22, with a great personality and even greater ambitions. Though she was an apartment maid, she planned to go into real estate, specifically into country homes. Her friends and family give their thanks to those who are mourning her loss with them. Her brother is Sandy Grain.

Gruff Shoes, aged 54, though not as well liked, was a fair landlord to the tenants of the apartment. He particularly liked Haybale’s friendliness, as well as Raven Lock’s calm attitude. Gruff leaves behind a loving wife and a son and daughter, who have chosen to remain anonymous.

Raven Lock was the widower of the late Jade Sonnet, former singer of the Canterlot Orchestra Suite. He was the former Head of Investigations for the Canterlot Police, leading a decade long crusade against crime. Following his retirement, he became a psychologist, and was loved by all of his patients for his sense of humor and willingness to continually aid those in need. He will be sorely missed by the community.

Mayor Grifford Finch had appeared before reporters later on today. In his statement, he expressed “deep sorrow for these sudden deaths” and vowed to “achieve safer methods of providing heating into homes, without the need for unstable gas pipes.” He personally went to each of the mourners’ homes, giving his heartfelt condolences with tears in his eyes.

“I had a great respect for Raven Lock,” he said. “It saddens me to see him come to an untimely end.”

Several ponies have pointed out that Manehattan hasn’t had a string of tragedy since the corrupted days of old. Some wonder if this is a return of the times of spite and fear on the streets. One thing is for sure: all of Manehattan hopes that no other tragedies will occur.

The end of the newsprint also signaled the end of Dusk’s barriers. “Damn it!” he shouted angrily, again pounding on the wall. “Damn it, damn it, damn it!”

With each hit, the house shook violently. It threatened to collapse around him. His breath came in ragged gasps, and he blinked back tears.

He didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t think it would come to this.

Raven Lock was dead.

And it was Dusk’s fault.

He growled, sinking to the ground, defeated. This couldn’t be happening. Their entire operations was unraveling at the seams. He was the only remaining member; the sole survivor.

His guilt suffocated him, and he blinked back more tears as he remembered the final note that Raven had sent. “They’ve found me. It’s over. I’m sorry.” Dusk didn’t need to be a super-genius to guess who had found him. He tossed the note away, angry.

The Family had gotten to him, no doubt. They got to him, and they did the one action that Dusk had hoped Grifford wouldn’t do.

They killed Raven Lock, Dusk’s best friend.

His only friend, really.

No, now it was something worse; his last friend.

He was all alone, now. All he had to comfort him was his anger and his grief.

“Damn you, Grifford Finch! Damn you!” he cried to nopony in particular.

What could he do now?

Without Raven, there was no way he could continue the operation for as long as planned. He needed Raven to be there to warn him when danger was close. In his absence, it was only a matter of time before the Family figured out where Dusk was, and came after him.

And after him, it would be the others that Dusk had been in contact with. Their lives were in jeopardy. And it was all his fault.

Tears rolled down his cheeks as his body shook uncontrollably. He wouldn’t sob, wouldn’t wail; but he would cry. He had lost nearly everything; his parents, his old life, and now his friend. He saw no reason to continue trying.

They’re going to kill me, he realized, and that’ll be the end of that.

If he stayed in Ponyville, locked up in his house, he might survive the next few months. But there would be a time when the Family arrived on the outskirts of the town. Dusk could perhaps flee, but the Family would ransack the town looking for him, causing even more destruction. He worried that the ponies he had grown to care for—however unintentionally—would be hurt in the ensuing search.

Therefore, should he remain, he would only cause bigger disasters.

Raven’s death was his fault. He put him up to this, placed in in danger, despite knowing the potential consequences. Dusk would not allow, then, for another to be hurt because of his will. He would not allow Ponyville to fall while Dusk stood.

His tears eventually ran dry, and he sniffled. Pathetic. He got up, hooves shaking and body quivering. There was only one thing to do; only one action that, while it would end with his demise, it could save Ponyville from his past.

He needed to run. Away. Perhaps for good.

Slowly, unsteadily, he walked away from the living area. He moved up the steps at a snail’s pace, nearly toppling over from exhaustion and sorrow. He grabbed from his room his quill and inkwell, as well as his satchel. He put on his vest and cloak, the clothes hugging him tightly. He went back downstairs and into the kitchen, and, after a sharp breath, placed each blood-filled syringe into the satchel.

Even if the operation was pretty much over, the syringes were still vital to his secondary mission. Saving lives.

He sighed. It wouldn’t be easy getting away. He had a feeling that there would be barriers to overcome. He shook his head, determined not to let another be hurt while he remained.

He turned, walking up to the door. He reached a hoof out to open it—

—when the door suddenly swung open. The sudden sunlight made him squint for a moment.

“Mr. Prosa! Mr. Prosa!” a familiar, squeaky voice cried. “You have to get out of here!”

He blinked. “… Miss Sweetie Belle?”

She stood in front of him with the other Crusaders, breathing heavily. “Yeah, it’s me, but that doesn’t matter!” she exclaimed.

Scootaloo nodded. “We heard them, Dusk! They’re coming for you!”

Apple Bloom added, “They said they were gonna organize a huge squad to arrest you—”

“Girls, slow down,” he ordered as calmly as he could. He knelt down to their level. “Now… what’s this I hear about me being arrested?”

“Th-the girls think you did something bad!” Sweetie explained. “They went to talk to the Mayor, and then they’re coming here.” She tugged on his vest. “That’s why you have to go! Before they get you!”

He glanced down at himself and his belongings. “… That’s the plan, if you haven’t noticed.”

Apple Bloom frowned. “Wait. You were already plannin’ on leaving?”

“As evidenced by my belongings, Miss Apple Bloom.”

“Okay, good, you’re smart.” Sweetie began pulling him out the door with the other fillies. “Now, you’ve got to go.”

“Why do you care?”

The question wasn’t voiced coldly, but it sounded like a stallion who had given up on easy, happy answers. She turned to face him, surprised.

“Because I don’t want to see you see get hurt!”

“What if I deserve it?”

“You don’t! I know it! The girls, they keep saying that you’re a bad pony and all, but I know it isn’t true! You’re a good pony, through and through!”

He frowned, pushing Sweetie away. He stood, his gaze cold once more. His lip quivered as he tried to mask the swirl of emotions that battled inside.

“Miss Sweetie Belle… when did I become a good pony in your eyes?”

She stared, surprised, but quickly answered, “When you fended off Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon, of course!” The others murmured their agreement.

He sighed. “… Then I have perhaps failed you three as well.”

He turned away as the three stuttered incomprehensibly. This only goes to show how much damage I’ve done. I’ve only made them more ignorant to the truth.

He faced them, frowning. “Now, tell me, why exactly do they want to arrest me?”

Sweetie started. “W-well, they think you k-k—”

“I?”

“Th-that you—and—ponies from Canterlot—” Her voice became garbled, and she let out a frustrated groan. “Sorry, sorry! I’m just super stressed out!”

“I don’t exactly have all day, Miss Belle—”

He cut himself off, looking up to Ponyville. A clamor of different voices could be heard, resounding and loud. Their tones were angry, threatening, like a group of villagers come to apprehend a witch. A shiver of worry raced down Dusk’s spine. “Miss Belle?”

“Oh no! We’re too late!” Sweetie looked up to Dusk. “I’m sorry, Dusk! I tried to warn you, but—”

“It’s not your fault,” he said reassuringly. “It’s mine.” He glanced back up at the approaching crowd, eyeing them with apprehension.

As the large group approached, the head of the group, Mayor Mare, saw the three fillies. “Sweetie Belle? Scootaloo? Apple Bloom? What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Uh… uh…” They couldn’t formulate a good enough excuse. Luckily, Dusk was there to provide one.

“They were saying goodbye,” he quickly said, his voice echoing across the landscape strongly. He noticed that Twilight and some of her friends were also in the group, noting particularly that Rainbow Dash had a sour face on.

“Girls, you need to step away from Mr. Prosa,” Mayor Mare said. The fillies nodded, stepping to the side. Dusk walked forward, meeting the group halfway down the path.

“What is this about, Mayor Mare?” Dusk asked, keeping his voice cool.

Rainbow made to say something, but was quickly silenced by Twilight’s magic. Prosa saw her shoot the pegasus a stern look.

“Dusk Prosa,” Mayor started with a frown, “it pains me to say this, but you are beginning to sound like a threat to the town.”

He nodded. “I suppose that makes sense. Which is why I am leaving.”

“No, you won’t.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Come again?”

Mayor sighed. “Dusk… we have reason to believe that you would be too dangerous to be let go. We are here to apprehend you.”

Like a criminal. Go figure. “Explain.”

She let out a slow breath. “Dusk Prosa, you are hereby under arrest for the unlawful possession of syringes; using said syringes for something not medical; for being linked to Raven Lock’s death; for withholding valuable information that could aid in finding Opacare Prose; as well as being charged with assisting in Opacare Prose’s disappearance.”

His face refused to betray his confusion. Unlawful possession? Oh, that’s right… I couldn’t tell them why, without revealing the truth. But me being linked to Opacare’s disappearance? How did they figure that out?

She waved a hoof, and one of the volunteer “police” stepped forward. It was Filthy Rich, and he wore a sickly smile on his face as he cradled a set of hoofcuffs. Dusk glanced at the others, seeing the Apple family along with several ponies he didn’t recognize. They all stared at him, emotions carefully masked, and he could feel the tension crushing him.

If I’m arrested, then I’ll have to remain in Ponyville. I can’t let that happen.

“Hooves up,” Rich ordered.

Dusk did not respond, carefully analyzing the situation with a crafty eye.

Rich cleared his throat, and spoke with more authority, “Hooves up, Dusk Prosa.”

Slowly, he raised his front hooves, balancing on his hind legs. Rich stepped forward, the cuffs outstretched, a smirk on his face. Seeing that filled Dusk with rage, but he kept it hidden.

Not yet… not yet… now!

Just as Rich was about to clamp the cuffs down, Dusk reached out and grabbed his leg. He twisted, eliciting a startled yelp from the older stallion. With his other foreleg, he pushed Rich back, making him drop the cuffs. In another instant, he turned and bucked the stallion into the large group. Applejack and her family were caught off guard, and Big Mac managed to catch the pushed stallion.

“Hey!” Twilight exclaimed, lighting her horn, intending to freeze Dusk. “Cut that out!”

Prosa kicked up the sandy path, surprising her enough that her magic fizzled out. He rotated, and sprinted off, heading for the town.

“After him!” Mayor cried.

He glanced back, and heard a boom as Rainbow flew fast at him. He had to time this perfectly; it had been a while since he had dealt with enraged pegasi. He kept running, undeterred by the approaching mare.

“Gotcha!” Rainbow shouted as she nearly clipped his tail.

“No, you don’t!” He threw his legs back, kicking her in the chest, doing his best not to severely hurt her. The blow caught her by surprise, and she reeled back in pain, her flight cut short. Dusk ignored the pain his hooves felt as he rolled and got back up, once again sprinting for Ponyville.

He wasn’t sure what he would do when he got there, but he figured he could try and head south, away from the conflict.

He heard the angry gallops of the mob behind him. He glanced back, seeing that Applejack was tending to Rainbow Dash. Good. She’s out of commission for a little while. He looked ahead, seeing the town’s north gate. Several ponies stood in front of it, ready to stop him. Among them were Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy.

“Dusk, wait!” Pinkie shouted as he approached. “You have to stop!”

He was surprised when Fluttershy didn’t shrink away. Instead, she had a look of ferocity in her eyes. “You big meanie!” she half-whispered, half-yelled—it was hard to tell, given her soft voice.

He didn’t respond, still charging ahead.

Pinkie pulled out her party cannon. Dusk saw the faint outline of tears in her eyes, and instantly he felt a copious amount of guilt sink into his heart. “I-I’m warning you!” she shouted.

What does she expect to do, stop me with confetti? He couldn’t answer, but he knew that it would be better if he thought quickly.

He jumped to the side as the cannon fired, seeing the blurred outline of an actual cannon ball—thankfully, small—race past. It hit one of the pursuing ponies, launching them back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

He plowed right through the pony barrier, pushing past Pinkie and Fluttershy. He tried to ignore their startled cries as he ran on.

The houses blurred at the edges of his vision, the wind screaming—or was that Rainbow? He dashed to the side, cutting a sharp right, ducking down an alleyway. Several ponies looked out their windows, surprised to see him out and about. Their faces grew fearful when they saw the pursuing ponies. Most then went and locked their doors, keeping their families safe.

Good. They’re smart.

Dusk eyed a smaller house, seeing a shop wagon nearby. With straining muscles, he leapt up, landing on the top of the wagon. He then leapt up onto the roof of the house, and dashed across the top, leaping from building to building. The pursuers stopped, looking in awe at the stallion. Twilight lit her horn, teleporting herself and Applejack onto the roof, Rainbow flying overhead.

Dusk heard Twilight shout, but he ignored her. Suddenly the shingles behind him flew up. He glanced behind, seeing that Twilight had shot a bolt of magic at him. Rainbow flew up to him, a harsh glare on her face.

“Take this, you jerk!” she shouted, suddenly pushing into him.

He slid to the side of the roofs, bringing with him several shingles. He yelped as his hoof caught on the edge of an indent, tripping him. He rolled of the roof and onto the street below, groaning.

He wasted no time in getting up, for the three Bearers and the other pursuers were already catching up. Turning, he ran around the center of town. He barely dodged each of Twilight’s bolts; but with each jump and twist, he grew more and more exhausted.

He heard a quick buzz, and Twilight suddenly appeared in front of him, having teleported. Sadness was etched in her features as she lit her horn. He couldn’t stop himself from running into her; but he could try something stupid.

She fired the spell, and he jumped and twisted. The spell nicked one of his hind legs, making him shout in pain. The force twisted him severely, and he fell to the ground with a hard thump.

He didn’t have any time to recover. Rainbow plowed into him, lifting him off the ground. She was screaming something incoherent, though the wind managed to deafen the sound. He pounded on her back and wings, making her veer unsteadily. The wind burned his coat and blew fiercely on his mane, making it hard to see.

Rainbow suddenly gasped, having seen something up ahead. Taking this chance, Dusk kicked off of her, intending to jump away.

Instead, as he got free, he crashed through a window, tearing his vest, cloak, and skin. He cried out in pain, his voice weak, as he landed on more shattered glass. He slid on the floor, coming to the stop of what appeared to be a wooden mannequin.

The Boutique, he realized dully.

“Oh, my sweet Celestia!” a familiar voice exclaimed. He heard somepony rush over. He looked up, eyes bleary, seeing something akin to a marshmallow with light blue orbs staring at him in shock.

He tried to say something, but more glass dug into his back, and he cut himself off with a pained hiss.

Rainbow, Applejack, and Twilight entered through the window, their eyes also wide and in shock. “I-I-I didn’t mean—” the pegasus stuttered. “I-I-he jumped off, just as I was about to stop—” She cut herself off guiltily.

Dusk craned his neck, seeing a trail of blood underneath him. That’s not good.

Twilight carefully stepped around the broken shards. Walking up to the fallen stallion, she lit her horn, trying to carry him. Rarity also lit her horn, trying to help in lifting.

The sudden movement made him cry out in pain. Twilight and Rarity winced, at once releasing their magic. He took shallow breaths as he fought back the enormous agony.

Slowly, though, he shifted, sucking in a breath as the glass scraped against him. He curled his legs under, pushing himself up, breathing hard. His legs nearly collapsed under him as he tried to take a step, and the world swirled dangerously.

“G-g—” He spat something. Looking down, he saw the liquid coat his vest, turning it slightly purple. Blood.

“We have to get him to a hospital,” Twilight said to the others. They nodded, guilt in their faces. She turned back to Dusk. “Dusk, I’m sorry—”

She stopped, looking behind her. Dusk looked with her, and saw the pursuers gradually reach them. Mayor Mare held a hoof over her mouth as she beheld Dusk standing there, bloody and scratched. “Oh my…”

Dusk nearly had to look away when he saw Pinkie and Fluttershy with tears in their eyes.

He tried to take another step, perhaps subconsciously still trying to get away, but collapsed almost immediately.

“Get him a stretcher,” ordered the mayor. Some ponies left, returning moments later with a specially designed cart. Twilight lit her magic, and carried him over, trying to ignore his pained squirming. She rested him on the cart, trying to keep him comfortable.

“We’ll deal with you later,” she whispered to him.

The cart began to move, heading for Ponyville hospital. Dusk looked to the sky, seeing the sun shining brightly. The wind had stopped, and now his face became warm. He closed his eyes, finally falling unconscious.

His brief rest was plagued with dreams of a trio of crying fillies, and the guilty looks of the mares he had unintentionally come to care for.

[jarvyjared]

XXII: Confirming Doubts

Doctor Irons frowned as his mind went over his memories one more. Somehow, he found himself disbelieving that Dusk was capable of the accused charges; yet, the evidence presented painted a logical conclusion, one easily supported. He looked at the file on his clipboard, trying to study it, but found himself unable to do so. The words and statistics blurred together as his mind raced back to what had occurred only four hours ago.

He glanced up and over at the bed, seeing his patient lying there quietly. Dusk had not said a word since he had woken up. It at first reminded Irons of the first time he and Dusk met; but instead of the stallion wielding an aura of coldness, now all Irons could feel was a weighty sadness. Defeated was the word to describe Dusk. His eyes had dulled over, losing their intensity; he was obviously deep in thought, but Irons could not say he was thinking with the same brilliance he was known for.

The doctor glanced at the bandages on the patient. He hadn’t lost too much blood, thankfully, and the glass was easily removed in a surgery that lasted only two and a half hours. The scratches and scars would remain only for a little while. Irons was slightly impressed that Dusk hadn’t broken anything bone-related when he crashed through the window.

But then again, this is Dusk Prosa we are talking about.

He let out a sigh that went seemingly unnoticed by his patient. He supposed he could be thankful that it was confirmed that Dusk was, indeed, not a user; but that gratitude was easily replaced with confusion and wariness. Given the facts, Dusk being a user would not only have been less as severe, but also much more appreciated.

To the side of the bed was a little tray cart, carrying Dusk’s belongings. The cloak he had on had its hood severed, and the ash-grey mingled with dark, dry red. His vest was in a similar state of ruin, the collar shredded, navy-blue mixing into a faded purple. The only thing that was relatively unharmed was Dusk’s satchel.

Irons’s brows furrowed as he recalled the contents. Blood-filled syringes were only supposed to be found in hospitals, not in the possession of a mysterious stallion. It confounded him to no end as to their purpose. He at first guessed that they were for a morbid experiment—and, indeed, the labels seemed to suggest some sort of tracking method—but his hypothesis was ultimately abandoned once the accusations were presented.

Dusk Prosa… accused murderer of Opacare Prose, though no body has been found. Linked to the death of Raven Lock. Somehow, Irons gained a tired, wry grin. I always have had a reputation of having some strange patients.

Nurse Redheart trotted in, her pink mane slightly unkempt. She looked at Dusk, then back at the doctor, before letting out a huff. She began going over Dusk’s vitals, ignoring his presence. Irons heard her mutter words such as “stupid” and “idiotic.”

He probably would have begun spouting the same things, had Dusk not spoken up.

“Wise words, Nurse Redheart,” he said weakly. She stopped, turning to face him. An unamused expression was on her face, her eyes narrowed.

“Hello, Dusk Prosa,” she said coldly, glaring at him.

He didn’t smile, but his lips twitched. “Happy to see me?” There was a flicker of light behind his eyes, like amusement, but it quickly faded back into dullness.

Nurse Redheart said nothing, turning away to check his vitals.

Dusk turned to Irons. “Greetings, Doctor. When did you enter?”

“About an hour and a half ago.”

“You’ve been watching me the whole time?”

“I’ve been reading the report that Mayor Mare sent over.”

Dusk nodded, before turning away, looking up at the ceiling. “Give it to me straight, Doctor: am I going to die?” he asked dryly.

Even in his weakened state, he still had a dark sense of humor. Irons resisted the urge to chuckle. “No, Dusk, you aren’t. At least, not until a long time in the future.”

“Shame. Would be much better than what I’m about to go through.”

Irons thought Dusk tried to laugh, but it came out more as a cough. They fell silent, the only other sounds being the beeping of the machines, as well as the occasional pony walking by the room.

Redheart suddenly faced Dusk. He looked up, surprised. That surprise was quickly replaced with pained annoyance as Redheart jabbed a hoof into Dusk’s chest. “Do you at least care to explain what you were trying to do?”

Irons pulled Redheart away, giving Dusk space. The stallion looked at them tiredly, but Irons noticed a familiar gleam beginning to return.

“I was… trying to get away,” he answer after a moment. He didn’t seem bent on withholding the information this time.

“‘Get away?’” Redheart repeated. “Where did you plan to go?”

He hesitated for a moment, before answering, “Someplace south.” He looked away. “Someplace far away. Where…” His voice trailed off as he looked out the window. Ponyville lay beyond, somehow still as lively as when he first arrived.

Irons and Redheart shared a look. He wasn’t sure he wanted to push the issue any further, but Redheart looked like she wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. She made to turn away, but he held her, giving her a stern look. She returned an equally harsh glare. A silent conversation passed between them, ending with Redheart sighing. She gave one last look to Dusk—one that, Irons noticed, was filled with shame and sad sympathy—before walking out to tend to other patients.

Leaving Dusk alone with Irons.

The doctor lowered his clipboard onto the nearby table, before walking over and sitting on the side chair next to the bed. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what to say. It came as a great shock, all this newly revealed information and accusations. He was still having trouble understanding it.

Finally, though, he had to ask, “Is it true?”

Dusk looked at him. “Is what true?”

He made a vague gesture. “All of it. The blood, the accusations, the charges… is it all as they say?”

Dusk stared at him, his carnation eyes looking through and passed him. “They say a lot of things. Some true, some false. It is not my place to give validity; that is up to the interpretation of the individual.”

“But these things… they’re about you. You have a responsibility to determine whether they are right in saying such things.”

“Maybe so… but would it matter? What could I possibly say that would deter their inflamed accusations?”

“The truth, perhaps.”

“Once again, that is up to interpretation. And it is more likely that they would deny that truth, in favor of a false ideal.”

Irons couldn’t argue with that. It made sense, sadly. Dusk had nothing to say, nor was he willing to say anything. He had chosen the safest choice; one of silence, of omission, because he knew that saying something could end in disaster.

“Do you know what they are going to do to you?” Irons asked. “After you’re out of here?”

Dusk sighed. “It’s a stretch… but I imagine they would throw me in prison.”

“This is not a laughing matter, Dusk.”

“Who’s laughing?”

Irons frowned. “Regardless, I don’t think they’ll throw you in a simple prison.”

“Why is that?”

Irons sighed. “You’ve gotten yourself tangled in something bigger than just drugs, Dusk. The evidence that Rainbow found marks you as a national threat. Raven Lock’s death—” He stopped, seeing Dusk wince. He considered asking more about it, but decided against it, thinking that Dusk wouldn’t say anything. “—and Opacare Prose’s disappearance… you are linked to both events.”

“So they keep telling me.”

Irons continued, “Because these two are not local matters, and the latter is something that the Princesses themselves have delved into, this has become an issue on national levels. If I had to guess, they’ll send you to Canterlot after the initial trial in town.”

“They have a court?”

“It’s more likely they’ll do it in Town Hall.”

“… It’s nicer than a courthouse, I suppose.”

Irons smiled. “Still not taking this seriously, are you?”

“Or perhaps I’ve given up caring.”

Irons said nothing. There was a knock at the door. Irons got up and answered it, seeing another staff member standing there with a clipboard. Nodding his thanks, he closed the door, walking back over to the chair.

“I never asked what happened to the syringes,” Dusk suddenly said. Seeing Irons quizzical look, Dusk lifted a hoof and pointed at the satchel. “It isn’t full. You can tell by the lack of imprints from the inside. And, it has fell in on itself, meaning that it’s empty.”

Irons nodded.

“So… where are they?”

He took a deep breath. “We moved them.” Seeing Dusk flinch, he raised a hoof. “Well, I moved them. To someplace safe. Similar in condition to your freezer.”

Dusk let out a relieved breath. “I suppose I can thank you for that.”

“They mean a lot to you?”

“Not the syringes.”

“But the contents?”

He said nothing, which was all the answer Irons needed. He took his seat, reading through the papers on the clipboard.

“Of course,” he began, “we had to analyze the contents to make sure they weren’t anything dangerous.” Dusk stiffened, but he didn’t interrupt. “We ran a few tests with the blood. Don’t worry, we placed it back in the syringes once we were finished.”

Sensing a but in there, Dusk asked for the answer.

Irons took a deep breath. “What we found was… odd.” He glanced at Dusk, the stallion’s face carefully masked. He wasn’t sure if Dusk was feeling fear or curiosity. Nevertheless, he decided to trudge on.

“The cells are unlike anything we’ve ever seen.” He flipped to a picture, showing to Dusk. The stallion did not reveal whether or not he was interested. “The blood is cancerous, effectively killing its own cells with each passing moment.”

“Mmm.”

“But that’s not all.” He flipped to another page, pointing to another reading. “We noticed that the behavior was odd for cancer cells, so, after a bit of testing, we found this.” He pointed to a number. “This is the hemoglobin found in a normal blood cell.” He pointed to another number. “This is the amount found in the blood.”

The number was significantly less than the normal number.

“An abnormal amount,” Dusk whispered, as if in awe.

Irons nodded. “The abnormality results in improper oxygen transport and the destruction of red blood cells. In other words, thalassemia. Or, a variant of it.”

He flipped a page. “But, what struck us as the most intriguing, is that these blood cells all suffer from cancer and thalassemia. That means, the cancer cancels out the effects of thalassemia, and vice versa.”

“But not entirely.”

Irons looked up, surprised, but nodded. “Yes. The cancer is still slightly faster. We noticed that while there are cancerous red blood cells and cells suffering from thalassemia, there is a large amount of red blood cells that suffer from having both. It’s a mutation; and a dangerous one.” Irons shook his head. “Any ordinary pony suffering from this condition would have been dead in only a few year.”

“I’m detecting that even more oddities were found.”

“You catch on quick,” Irons said with a small grin. On another page was a reading on the condition of the white blood cells found in the blood. “Normally, in cancer patients, the cells replicate unstably and uncontrollably. What ends up happening is that these cancerous cells suffocate healthy cells so quickly, that the body cannot regulate the resulting overflow. White blood cells don’t detect them as threats, so we usually use drugs or special treatment to try and kill these malignant cells.

“However, as these are cancerous thalassemia-ridden cells, treatment is hard to come by. Though, I’ve been going over the records, and it appears that a good number of ponies suffer from the same condition.”

“What does this have to do with the white blood cells?”

“As you know, the WBCs are responsible for fighting off hostile germs and microbes. There are cases where the WBCs have gone rogue, attacking the body’s own red blood cells—RBCs. That seems to be the case here.” He pointed to a picture. “Here, we found a WBC attacking one of the cancerous-thalassemia RBC. Since it’s a cancer cell, that shouldn’t happen. But here we see just that!”

He pointed to another picture. “A close-up revealed that the WBC had a trail of antibodies that was aiding in killing the rogue RBC. We’ve determined that the antibodies are of a unique kind; in fact, they’re the only ones of their kind. It seems that they were specially made for fighting these C-TRBCs. They actively seek out these kinds of cells, and help eliminate them efficiently.”

“Of course, that doesn’t fix the problem with the hemoglobin.”

“No, but it keeps the owner alive.”

Dusk sensed something else. He narrowed his eyes at Irons. “That’s not all, is there?”

Irons cleared his throat, not liking what he was about to say. “Well… we were curious. Do you remember the first time you were in Ponyville hospital?”

“Yes…”

“We had to take a blood sample of yours. Just for identification purposes.”

Dusk visibly grew perturbed. “And?”

“Well… when we ran the test just now, we also did an analysis on your blood. What we found was… striking, to say the least.”

He flipped to the last page with the stallion’s readings. “Dusk… you have the same disease. You have cancerous-thalassemian red blood cells in your body.”

Dusk said nothing, knowing what came next.

“We… we found the same white blood cells in your blood as well. They were killing the RBCs.” He looked at Dusk. “Do you know where I’m going with this?”

Dusk nodded silently.

“This would explain how you’ve managed to stay alive with this condition for all your years. The most logical conclusion we could make was that you were making blood transfusion after blood transfusion, keeping yourself alive by finding ponies with this type of WBC.”

Irons sighed. “That, of course, led me to conclude one aspect of your connection to Opacare Prose.”

He grabbed the file on Dusk, looking at the photo of the syringes. “OP. That means Opacare Prose, doesn’t it?”

Dusk said nothing, but a flicker of emotion ran through his eyes, confirming his suspicions.

“Opacare Prose had this type of white blood cell. He suffered from a similar case of C-TRBCs.” Irons gulped. “At first, I thought that meant that you and he had been working together, trying to keep each other alive. But…”

“But when you were confronted with the accusation that I was involved in Opacare Prose’s disappearance, you realized there was a definite possibility that I took the deed too far.”

Irons slowly nodded.

There was silence as Irons placed the papers behind him. He and Dusk sat in silence as they thought over the exchange.

“I’ll have to tell Mayor Mare about my findings.”

“Yes.”

“She’ll have to tell Princess Celestia when you go to Canterlot.”

“Yes.”

“Dusk… I don’t know what to say.”

“Say nothing.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He sighed. “It was my choice, after all.”

“So it’s true?”

“Maybe.”

Irons grunted. “That’s all the uncertainty I need.”

Dusk glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

“You never asked if I truly believed the charges presented against you.”

“Do you?”

“… Not at first.”

“And now?”

“Still not completely.” He looked at Dusk. “I’m a good judge of character, Dusk. And I don’t think you have done anything malicious. While I do think you are somehow involved in Opacare’s disappearance and Raven’s death… I don’t think you truly mean—or meant—any harm.”

Dusk stared at him in silence. Irons could tell he was surprised that the doctor still believed in him, despite all that was concluded. His head slowly turned away, facing forward. His eyes glazed over, and he was lost in contemplation.

Irons heard Dusk mutter, “Iustus amo tria illi…”

Just like those three…

Irons stood. “Of course, that’s just my take on things. We won’t fully know the truth until after your trials. Though, I hope that the truth won’t be so bad.”

He placed a gentle hoof on Dusk’s arm. “Rest well, my friend. Goddess knows you’ll need it for later.” He turned and walked away.

Before he left the room, he heard Dusk ask, “Friend?”

Irons turned and smiled at him. “Beats calling you a user, doesn’t it?”

And at that, Dusk managed a grin of his own, one that was just as vibrant and alive as the one he had at the party. “Friend…” he murmured.

Irons nodded, and then left, the door closing shut.

---

Dusk was given the rest of the day to recover from his injuries. He had a few visitors, among them was, surprisingly, Rainbow Dash. She, despite her misgivings, still apologized for launching Dusk through the window. Dusk had answered with a cold chuckle, and sent her on the way.

The other visitors were Pinkie Pie and Rarity. While the latter did her best to maintain a calm attitude, Pinkie was practically bawling over his bed.

You’d think I was dying, he thought as Pinkie continued sobbing dramatically. He frowned. Then again, I technically am.

“There, there, Pinkie,” Rarity comforted. “Dusk’s alright. You’ll see him tomorrow.”

“I’ll be fine, Miss Pie,” he said, voice cool and composed. “See you in court.”

That last comment was meant as a joke, but it only made Pinkie cry harder. Eventually, Rarity managed to pull her from the bed, leaving her and Dusk alone.

“So,” she began unsurely.

“So indeed.”

“Have you any idea what will happen tomorrow?”

“I can make an educated guess.”

She nodded. “And… just so you know… whatever happens tomorrow, it’s nothing personal.”

He managed to smile at her, though it was slightly strained. “It never is.”

An odd comment, but she accepted it without question. After a few more words, she left, leaving Dusk alone.

He was slightly disappointed that the Crusaders had not come to see him. But he supposed that they were busy. The thought didn’t do much to improve his depressing attitude.

He went to sleep, and though his dreams were not too dark, they still held an atmosphere of sadness in the images.

He woke up, and it was the next day. The day of his trial. Since his wounds were not too severe, he could leave the hospital. A nurse came in, and had him fill out paperwork. He did not bother trying to hide the light glow of his flank as he filled out the form, ignoring the nurse’s surprised look. He handed the papers back, and she nodded to him. Several other nurses came in, and they unplugged the various machine units from his body. She gestured to him to follow.

The ponies up front handed him his torn garments and other belongings. He noted that all that was in his satchel was his blue quill pen and black inkwell. With a nod from Doctor Irons, he confirmed that the syringes were still in the hospital. Irons left before Dusk, likely to prepare his statement as a witness. A few moments later, Dusk was ready to go as well.

“It’s likely not going to be a conventional type of court,” Redheart told him. “Since this is more of a national matter, this is more of a procedural trial.”

She hadn’t said this in a cold tone, and she even sounded worried. Dusk, noticing this, held her hoof in his own. “There is no need to be worried, Nurse. It is as it is.”

She was surprised at the gesture, but nodded her thanks. However, he was still slightly weak, so he turned to her to ask an awkward request.

“Would you mind helping me get to my trial?” he asked.

She smiled kindly, and in answer, stood by him as he walked out the doors.

Conversation was rather short as they walked to the Town Hall. She asked what he planned on saying; he said answers. She asked, what did he expect to be questioned on. He answered, that which needs to be answered.

In truth, she could tell that his terse answers were a result of him not fully knowing what to say. He hadn’t expected to get caught, that much was certain, so he could not have prepared an excuse of any kind.

Soon they reached the Hall. As they approached, Dusk could feel the questioning stares of the town’s locals. Based on the clamor coming from the inside, he guessed that most of the town had gathered to watch this temporary proceeding.

“I have to go back to the hospital,” Nurse Redheart said.

“Go do that.”

She hesitated, before grabbing his hoof and staring at him. “Be careful,” she whispered. Before he could respond, she trotted away.

He blinked, then sighed. He doubted he’d honor that order. He rolled his neck, cracking it, loosening up his body. He turned, facing down the doors to the Hall. Whereas on the night of the party they were welcoming, now they stood as stoic guards, glaring down at him. He fixed his own glare at them, determined not to falter. He confidently walked up, and pushed open the doors.

He was met with stunned silence as the Hall quieted. So many pairs of eyes trained on him that he could practically feel their questioning gazes shoot through him. He gulped, trying to remain undeterred, as he moved forward. Looking around, he noticed that the hall was filled with familiar faces. Ditzy, Time Turner, and Dinky sat up front, watching him with wide eyes. Twilight’s friends were next to Mayor Mare, on the stage. Filthy Rich and his daughter were on the other side of the Hall, glaring at him.

Still the Crusaders were nowhere to be found. His heart fell, but he kept his head held up high.

“Dusk Prosa,” Mayor Mare greeted, trying to appear amicable. “I trust you’ve recovered?”

He nodded. “Indeed I have. Let’s waste no time here.”

She nodded, and gestured him to move up front. A makeshift bailiff directed him to the side—the witness stand, he supposed—and he waited for Mayor to begin the “trial.”

She glanced all around the Hall. “Citizens of Ponyville, this is not your typical trial. We neither have nor need lawyers. As the issues presented are of national importance, Ponyville does not have the authority to properly deal with the ramifications.”

She was greeted with murmurs that, while confused, didn’t seem intentionally hostile. Seeing this, she continued, “That being said, I believe it is still our town’s responsibility to clear up any misgivings with our citizens.”

She faced Dusk with a frown. “The accused is Dusk Prosa. The charges are as follows.” Twilight handed her a list. “Unlawful possession of syringes; being linked to Raven Lock’s death; for withholding valuable information that could aid in finding Opacare Prose; as well as being charged with assisting in Opacare Prose’s disappearance. You are also now charged with assaulting a volunteer officer and property damage.”

“Hold it!” Rich cried, standing up. Only now did Dusk see that Rich had a slight black eye from when Dusk hit him. He smirked, somewhat satisfied. “What about the fact that those syringes were not for medical purposes?”

“I have been informed by Doctor Irons that Dusk has a unique condition that would require usage of the syringes,” she answered calmly. Seeing Dusk’s questioning gaze, she added, “Doctor Irons had to leave for Canterlot to prepare his statements to the Princesses.”

Prosa gulped, knowing he’d have to face the Royal Sisters after all of this.

She turned back to Dusk. “This will be a fast trial, as the real one shall be made in Canterlot. Is that satisfactory?”

“Would it matter if it wasn’t?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

She nodded. “Very well. Dusk Prosa, how do you plead to these charges?”

He thought for a moment, saying nothing at first. The tension in the hall rose. He could hear every breath being sucked in as they waited his response.

Finally, he spoke: “… Guilty to the last two.”

A few breaths were released, but most knew that wasn’t all of it. Mayor Mare nodded, turning to Twilight and her friends. “Jury members, what is your verdict?”

Applejack stepped forward. “Guilty to all charges.” She returned to her position.

Next was Rainbow, her face hidden, emotions masked behind a veil of coldness that matched his own. “Guilty to all charges.”

Rarity walked forward, frowning. “… Guilty to first three and last two.”

Fluttershy was next. She looked like she was about to cry, a stark contrast to her behavior yesterday. “G-guilty to f-first three, last two.”

Next was Twilight. She didn’t look at Dusk. He noticed that her lip appeared to be quivering. “Guilty to all charges.”

Finally, Pinkie stepped forward. Her mane had deflated, her sapphire eyes large and forlorn. She didn’t spare Dusk a glance, and her voice came out monotone and dark. He found himself flinching at the voice; it was completely unlike the Pinkie he had come to know.

“Guilty to all charges.”

He closed his eyes, releasing a sigh. He couldn’t say that this was completely unexpected; but a part of him had hoped that he could prolong the inevitable. He was surprised when frustrated tears appeared at the edge of his vision; blinking rapidly, he quickly removed them.

Mayor Mare nodded. “Four to two to one. Dusk Prosa, this court finds you guilty of all that is accused.” She sighed. “While we do not have a working jail for you at the moment, you shall be under house arrest while we make arrangements for you to go to Canterlot for the real trial.”

He nodded, jaw stiff.

“Very well. Bailiff, escort Dusk to his home. Court is adjourned.”

The Hall began clamoring as the ponies began to leave. Dusk was led out by the bailiff, his face downcast. If ponies could see his face, they would have witnessed restrained tears finally breaking free. They would be dried later, of course, but their stains would remain etched into his very soul.

And for the third time, Dusk dreamt of tears and cries, of a great wall of ignorance, and of his own hatred for himself. He dreamt of dark days, of distant futures, of what could have been. He dreamt, and he cried, and he despaired.

[jarvyjared]

XXIII: Canterlot Court

Three days passed. Three days of simply waiting. Dusk’s mind was growing numb with his house arrest. The days were boring, filled with boring ideas and boring ponies. He mostly stayed in his room, only coming down to eat.

Visitors were not permitted either, meaning Dusk’s only form of entertainment or interaction was his own mind. Yet even his imagination had seemingly dulled from all this time spent alone. Sure, he was a loner; but that didn’t mean he liked being it. Introverts like him may like being alone, but none wish to ever be lonely.

He thought about writing mostly. Writing letters, notes, something, anything—anything that would keep his mind occupied. But he stubbornly refused to follow on through. He was still afraid of what would happen if he was caught. So he refrained from doing mostly anything but thinking.

He thought about many things. He thought about his past. He thought about his present, about his future. He thought about Raven, and missed him, and needed him. He thought about Opacare Prose, about what he had done, and he felt regret. He thought of the Crusaders, and realized he had grown to truly care for them. And he thought about himself—and came to the same conclusion as he did every time he thought about himself.

He hated himself.

It wasn’t as evocative, nor as vibrant, as one would expect. It was a dull hate, tamed by time, muddied by his actions of the past and present. It held him up, kept him strong; but it corrupted his mind, and messed with his thoughts. Every “thing” that involved him all ended with the same conclusion: that he was to be hated. And he kept that conclusion true to himself, not allowing himself the chance to think otherwise, too afraid of what could happen.

He hated himself in the day.

He hated himself in the night.

He hated himself for the three days he stayed inside.

He hated himself for doing what he had to do.

He hated himself for allowing Raven to die.

He hated, and he hated, and he hated—

Dusk took a slow breath. His heartbeat slowed, and he closed his eyes, calming himself. His old self was a stallion filled with hate; and, no matter how vindictive it felt, he didn’t want to fall into the same old trap. Nevertheless, the feeling persisted at the back of his mind.

The curtains were closed, light shying away. He sat in the dark, with his coffee, reading the paper. His name was plastered on the front page like a stain. There were several editorials on Ponyville’s newspaper, all about him. Some, to his surprise, tried to defend him. Most, however, vehemently spoke poorly of him. Filthy Rich in particular had some choice words to say.

It had been years since Dusk had been called an “arrogant, narcissistic fool of a stallion.” He was mildly impressed and amused he had lasted that long.

It didn’t matter what the papers, said, though. Dusk already knew the truth about himself; so he didn’t need to bother defending himself.

But he was going to Canterlot soon. To speak of his involvement in the author’s disappearance, and the detective’s death. The truth about himself would be revealed, whether he liked it or not. He could only hope to stall it, unwilling to let others see it.

But why? Why did he feel so afraid to speak the truth?

He didn’t let himself answer. He wasn’t sure he wanted to answer.

So he sat in his chair and closed his eyes—and waited.

And, for a time, that was all he could do. The house was eerily quiet, as quiet as the residing stallion. The birds had gone silent, the world had closed up its walls, leaving him truly alone.

Life. Death called. He wants his boringness back.

There was a knock on the door, bringing him out of his thoughts. He at first ignored it, thinking he was hearing things. The second knock resounded across the house, filling the empty, deafened void with percussion. He clutched his head in slight annoyance.

“What?” he half-growled, half-groaned.

It was one of the ponies stationed outside, keeping him inside. “You’re ride is here, Mr. Prosa.”

At that, his dark thoughts faded, and he practically jumped out of his chair. Yes! Action! Finally!

He turned, clearing his throat, resuming a calm demeanor. “I’ll be there.”

He heard the door unlock, and walked forward, twisting the knob. He pulled the wooden frame open and pushed past the screen door eagerly.

The sun blasted him with light, and he shielded his eyes with his forehoof. Ah, damn it. He blinked rapidly, willing his eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness. A few seconds passed, and his eyesight returned to relatively normal.

“A chariot?” he asked.

“Apparently you warrant special privileges,” the pony outside said with a smirk.

Two white pegasus Royal Guards, clad in golden armor and with navy plumes, stared stoically ahead. Behind them, on reins, was a large, alabaster-gold chariot, a red velvet seat at the end.The guards, with their sunstone-brown eyes and shut jaws, looked quite intimidating. They were enough to remind Dusk of his old persona; but he pushed that thought away.

With a simple nod, the guards beckoned Dusk onto the chariot. Though at first unsure (he had never ridden on a chariot before), he obliged, carefully stepping onto the vehicle. He placed his satchel on his lap and brushed down his cloak and vest, as tattered as they were.

“At your leave,” one of the royal guards said.

He nodded. “Nunc.”

They didn’t make to move, but he could see their confusion. He sighed. “Now would be fine.”

They nodded, and with a flap of their wings, took off for the north, heading for Canterlot. Dusk was thankful that they were slow; he might have fallen off had they been flying at a faster rate. He gripped the ends of the sofa, allowing himself a brief moment of rest.

---

Canterlot was abuzz. Seeing an ordinary earth stallion flying in on a chariot made for the Princesses was not a common sight. His choice in tailoring, as well as their condition, only served to spark more upturns of disgust. Their faces turned away, and they let out low curses about commoners and their filth.

Dusk, surprisingly, did not feel at all threatened by their actions. It was familiar, from his memories as a student in Canterlot all those years ago. The so-called “high class” ponies really were nothing more but spoiled slobs; perhaps even worse than he, in that regard. He smirked as he landed, getting out of the chariot and stepping out onto the pavement.

He began trotting, the purple tiles clacking beneath his hooves. He looked straight ahead, towards the palace; it wasn’t too far away, thankfully. A few ponies, most them snobbish looking, shot him glares, but he ignored them as he walked.

It had been nearly thirteen years since he had been in Canterlot, and he could tell that several things had changed. For one, the city was no longer as “secure” in the past. There were guards stationed on several street corners, with police flanking them. He supposed that it was due to the recent return of an old king a few months back. The palace itself had also changed; it had become much larger and more regal looking, shining in the light of day. Looking around, he saw that the shops were also much larger; he guessed there was an economic overflow, allowing many businesses to prosper and expand.

If only Manehattan were just as wondrous, he thought.

Soon, he had made it up the steps. A pair of guards protected the main door, the massive entrance bolted shut and covered in various symbols. Dusk’s eyes glanced at the two guards in slight unease. They were as frozen as statues—much like the one in the Canterlot Gardens—though he could sense the dignity and courage in their stances.

He doubted he could make a run for it without getting tackled to the ground by these ponies.

He cleared his throat, assuming a more authoritative tone. “I am here to… die, I suppose.”

The guards didn’t respond.

“I am here to… be arrested? No, I already am.”

They barely hinted at hearing him.

“Go to jail?”

Nothing. He sighed.

“I am here to… go to trial, I suppose.”

“Name,” one of the guards stated.

He looked up, actually surprised, before answer, “Dusk Prosa.”

The two nodded. “You may enter.” They stepped to the side, and lit their horns. The massive bolt was pulled aside, loosening the door. With a wave of their horns, it was swung open, revealing the massive hall into the castle.

“Court is down to the left,” one of the guards said. He nodded his thanks, and walked inside, the door shutting behind with a loud bang.

He released a pent-up breath. He could tell that his days were numbered. Slowly, he walked down the red carpet, moving past the pillars and arches. The sun gleamed through the windows, though not harshly, and it pointed to the right side of the hall. The darker path lay to the left, where the court was. He considered which path to take for a moment, before sighing and choosing the left, the darker, likely more sinister.

Several more minutes passed, and he finally reached the exit. Another large door stood in front of him, with two unicorn guards in front of it. Seeing him, they nodded, and together pulled open the doors, revealing the court to him.

As he walked inside, he looked up in surprise, seeing the ponies who were also there. “Miss Sparkle?” he questioned.

The lavender unicorn turned to face him, and had a small smile on her face. Beside her was Spike, who looked somewhat perturbed. Behind them was Twilight’s other friends—Rarity, Rainbow, Fluttershy, Applejack, and Pinkie Pie. “Hello, Dusk,” she greeted warmly, holding out a hoof.

He did not take it, regarding her with a cold stare. “What exactly are you doing here?”

She retracted her hoof and cleared her throat. “Princess Celestia and Princess Luna asked us to help preside over the court proceedings.” She leaned forward. “You may not know this, but Canterlot courts have a history of getting lively.”

He could only imagine what that meant. Dealing with crazy nobles was not something he had expected.

“Any chance you could tell me how court will proceed?” he asked.

She pursed her lips. “Well… there will be a jury, of course. It will consist of several nobles from Canterlot. One of the Princesses will be acting as judge. Another will take the role of prosecution, though they won’t be trying to get you the guilty verdict.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound like any court I’m familiar with.”

“This is a special case, Dusk—you are a special case. As such, traditional court proceedings will be abolished for the moment.” She let out a breath. “You see, this is will be a trial of investigation, not a court of criminality. We are trying to figure out what is going on, basically.”

He nodded at that. “I see. How will the investigation go about?”

“It should be quite simple. You’ll be asked by the prosecuting Princess several questions, and you are to answer them to the best of your ability. The prosecution will present the facts of the case, give an outline, and let you put in your own account. The jury will evaluate you based on your responses and actions.

“Of course, that’s assuming things go as planned. These things tend to go awry at some point.”

“Oh, that’s a relief.”

She couldn’t help but smirk at his sarcasm. “Anyway, the judge Princess will decide whether the case is to remain open or to close it. If she chooses to close it, you’ll be handed a verdict and have to serve jail time.”

“Lovely.”

“However, if she decides to continue the investigation, another trial may be called. The process will be similar to the original investigation trial. Based on the case, the Princess will decide whether the case will be expanded to more days, or limited to a select few days.”

“Does the court have witnesses?”

“Well…” At that she gestured to herself and the others. “That’s what we’re also here for. Since we know you the best—relatively,” she added, seeing Dusk raise an eyebrow, “we’ll be providing our own accounts to the case.”

She looked directly at him. “Do you understand?”

“It’s a weird way to go about investigating somepony.”

“Well, you’re not exactly the norm yourself.”

He smiled slightly, hiding his butterflies in his stomach. “No, I am not.”

They then heard the hall’s doors open up. They turned, Dusk unsure of whom to expect, while Twilight and the others maintained a calm attitude.

Doctor Irons entered first, wearing his white jacket over his blue-grey fur. His taupe mane was held back by what appeared to be glasses—likely, spectacles—and his pine-green eyes lit up as they saw Dusk.

The pewter stallion made to greet him, but Twilight held him back. Looking back up, he saw Irons step to the side, allowing the true visitors to become clear.

Princess Celestia walked ahead, her prismatic mane flowing gracefully around her. Her magenta eyes twinkled, almost playful, but Dusk could tell she was serious by the frown on her face. Behind her was Princess Luna, with an equally as stunning dark-blue mane. The little stars made her look like a walking constellation. They nodded to Irons—he returned a little bow—before walking up the others.

They all bowed respectfully, Dusk even more so. He had never been up close and personal with any of the princesses before, and he was determined to try and make a good impression.

“Rise, my little ponies,” Celestia said, her voice warm and motherly. They obliged, looking at her in slight nervousness. Celestia and her sister walked up to Dusk, staring at him in silence, and he did much the same.

“So you’re the stallion I’ve been hearing about,” Celestia asked, though it was more of a statement really.

“I am.”

“And you know why you are here.”

“Relatively speaking.”

She smiled. “A bit terse, are we?”

He nodded, unsure if he should answer truthfully or at all with his voice.

He noticed Luna looking at him oddly. “Something wrong, Your Majesty?” he asked.

She blinked. “Oh, no. I just thought you’d be bigger.”

He frowned, not quite sure what to say to that. “Sorry to… disappoint you.”

They nodded, moving past him to talk to the others. Doctor Irons appeared by his side with a tiny smile. “Nervous?”

Dusk nodded. “Though, I’ve lasted this long. I think I might make it.”

“Any idea what they might ask?”

“Questions, I would imagine. Regarding my ‘involvement’ in recent events.”

“What about what you’ll say to them?”

Dusk shrugged.

“The nobles will be here any second,” Princess Celestia said, looking around. “I suggest you all get ready. You especially, Dusk Prosa.”

Nodding, he and Irons stepped to the side, just as the ponies began to enter.

Dusk didn’t keep up with the latest news in Canterlot, so he didn’t recognize most of the nobles. Two, though, he had heard of from the oral grapevine. The first was a blonde-haired unicorn, wearing a white coat and having teal eyes. He noticed Rarity give the stallion a seething look, and it didn’t take long for him to guess who it was.

“Prince Blueblood,” he whispered to Irons.

“Oh, this will be interesting,” Irons whispered back, almost grinning.

Blueblood noticed their presence, and snorted in distaste at Dusk’s attire. “Oh? A mere common earth stallion? How mundane.” He looked at Dusk. “You had better be worth the manicure I had to cancel.”

Dusk gave a feral grin. “Trust me; I am.”

His smile did its job, unnerving the royal prince. Dusk glanced back at Rarity as Blueblood left, seeing a satisfied grin on her face.

He turned back to the nobles, seeing the second recognizable figure. “Mr. Fancy Pants?”

“Ah! Yes, hello, my good fellow,” the blue-haired stallion responded kindly. He looked at Dusk, then, with a grin, at Irons. “Aha! Steel! It’s been ages!” He clapped “Steel” Irons on his back, letting out a hearty laugh.

Irons smiled back. “It certainly has, Fancy. How’s business?” He winked. “How’s Miss Fleur?”

Fancy laughed. “Business is great, old fellow. And Fleur’s just as brilliant. A year in our marriage and she still hasn’t tired of little old me!”

“I doubt anypony could tire of you, my friend.”

Meanwhile, Dusk frowned in contemplation. He vaguely recalled reading that Fancy and Fleur had been dating; guess they had married only recently. That would explain why he hadn’t heard of it. That, or it was because he avoided the tabloids.

Fancy turned to Dusk. “And this is our accused?”

“Yes, it is.” Irons nodded, gesturing to Dusk. “Fancy Pants, meet Dusk Prosa. Dusk Prosa, Fancy Pants.”

“A pleasure!” Fancy greeted, holding out a hoof.

Dusk took it and shook, though he didn’t smile. “Charmed.”

Fancy was undeterred by his lackluster greeting. “Don’t you worry, old chap. You don’t seem all that threatening.”

“Really?”

The fancy stallion laughed again. “You should see my wife when she gets angry. That’s intimidating, I tell you.”

Dusk’s lips twitched into a smile. At least Fancy didn’t seem hostile.

Several more ponies passed by, though few spared Dusk a glance. They each bowed to Princess Celestia and Luna, before walking up the side and into the jury booth. A few moments later, all were seated. Seeing this, Celestia rose, commanding their attention.

“I will act as judge for this trial,” she began. “My sister, Princess Luna, shall act as the prosecution. Dusk Prosa is the defendant. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the court echoed.

“Very well. Court is now in session for the trial of Dusk Prosa.”

---

Luna began by, once again, listing off Dusk’s charges. However, she did so with the vigor and excitement of a foal, like she was eager to play her part. Dusk guessed that it was because it was rare for similar court cases to be presented; and perhaps she wanted to impress the nobles as well.

The charges said, Luna decided to delve more into the backstory of the case. “Around three weeks ago,” she said strongly, “Dusk Prosa arrived in Ponyville. From what Twilight Sparkle has told us, Dusk came from the north. His wounds suggested fights with numerous Shade and Timberwolves—an impressive feat, to say the least.”

He felt a surge of pride. It wasn’t everyday one of the Sisters praised you for staying alive.

“Further interactions revealed that Dusk came from Manehattan, though why had not taken a train is still unclear. He stayed in Ponyville for the duration of those three weeks. I believe Rainbow called it ‘locking himself up in that creaky old shack of his?’”

Rainbow blushed in embarrassment. Dusk frowned. It’s not that creaky.

“However, during that time frame, several things came to light. Number one, Dusk was found to be in possession of numerous syringes, empty at first. It was noted that he was quite… possessive of them, going so far as to confront Twilight Sparkle for stealing one of the needles.”

He saw Twilight winced, as well as Celestia frown. Hopefully she won’t be punished too much for that, if at all.

Luna levitated over a paper that detailed several key events she wanted to bring up. “Dusk, afterwards, did not do much other than stay inside of his home. However, two weeks into his arrival, it appears he had a confrontation with a certain Filthy Rich and his daughter Diamond Tiara and her friend Silver Spoon.” She looked to Dusk, an eyebrow raised. “According to Rich, you ‘threatened his daughter with death…’”

Irons spoke up. “Your Highness, if I may speak for the accused.”

“Go on.”

“Dusk did not say such thing. Merely, he confronted the stallion and his daughter for excessive bullying of a certain Dinky Doo.”

“I see…” Luna’s frown remained. “However, in that confrontation, Rich pointed out that Dusk had spoken of another stallion who had tried to threaten him. Prosa had said, quote, ‘Do you know what happened to the last stallion who dared to cross me?! He’s ten feet under! And if you’re not careful, you’ll be in the same situation!’”

Dusk winced, though he had expected that to come up. He looked to the nobles, seeing their frowns deepen. Fancy seemed to be mildly intrigued.

“Could you perhaps explain your choice of words, Dusk?” Luna asked.

Dusk nodded. “Of course, Your Majesty.” He raised his voice, becoming the center of attention. “I admit, I made a threat. But it was an empty threat in the face of an empty parental figure. I ask the court to recall that Filthy has done nothing to curb his daughter’s habits; as such, I believe that my response, while admittedly extreme, was appropriate.”

Luna nodded, turning back to the paper. Dusk noticed a faint smile on her lips. He looked up, and saw Fancy trying to hide his own satisfied smirk.

Irons leaned over. “Filthy has made a name for himself in the higher ups. Princess Luna and Fancy Pants aren’t very fond of him. I can imagine they think he had it coming.”

That’s somewhat reassuring, Dusk thought.

Princess Luna went on, “A few days later, a meeting in Town Hall was called. Rich was presiding over it, and tried to convince the ponies to drive Dusk out of town. Mayor Mare said they couldn’t do that without substantial evidence of any wrongdoing. Which brings us to the syringes.”

From the evidence box she pulled out one of Dusk’s syringes, still filled with blood, and still having the tag attached. The nobles gasped in shock.

He shot a glance at Irons, who winced, sheepish. “Sorry, mate. I had to bring one of them for evidence. It’s your blood, though; not the other’s.” It was clear who he was speaking of.

Dusk sighed. “That’s fine, I suppose.”

“Don’t worry; I told the Princesses to keep the syringe specially cooled.”

Dusk nodded his thanks, then refaced the prosecutor.

“Mares and stallions of the court, you are no doubt wondering why there appears to be blood in this syringe. We ourselves were wondering the same thing. Which is why I call Doctor Steel Irons to the witness stand.”

Irons nodded, trotting up the walkway and making his way to the stand. After being sworn in, he launched into a lengthy explanation about the contents, the blood itself, its nature, as well as how it had been stored. The nobles listened in rapt interest, though Dusk noticed that Prince Blueblood looked somewhat squeamish.

“In conclusion,” the doctor finished up, “the blood found in this syringe is not like ordinary blood. It suffers from a special variant of cancer and thalassemia, a combined mutation of sorts.”

“So this stallion is not an ordinary stallion?” one of the nobles, a lovely mare, asked.

Dusk actually chuckled, and they heard him. Luna gave him a questioning look. “Sorry. It’s just that I’ve been asked that question a lot.” He looked at the noble, and though he felt somewhat nervous, managed a confident stare. “I am as much of a stallion as Doctor Irons is. Though, perhaps I am a bit more. Or less, depending on how you look at it.”

His answer garnered a frown, but seemed to satisfy her, and she sat down.

“And this blood… you say that only Dusk has it?”

Irons shook his head. “Not exactly. There are several thousand documented cases of ponies suffering from a similar—or even exact—condition. Dusk is simply one of them.”

“So how does this connect back to Opacare Prose’s disappearance?” Blueblood asked impatiently.

“To understand that, we must understand how we first became aware of the contents of this blood.” Luna looked to Rainbow Dash. “I call Rainbow Dash to the stand.”

Rainbow gulped, but flew over, trying to appear as confident as she could. She swore herself in, then talked about how she had come to discover the syringes. The nobles listened just as intently as before, though some had their eyebrows raised at the methods Rainbow had used.

Princess Celestia spoke up once Rainbow had finished her account. “So you broke into Dusk’s home?”

Rainbow cringed at hearing the question for the second time that week. “W-well, I had Scootaloo promise to keep the door slightly opened so that I wouldn’t have to try and lockpick it.”

“Couldn’t you have gone through the window?”

“I guessed that Dusk would have noticed my intrusion, then.” Dusk nodded, confirming he would have.

“Scootaloo?” Blueblood huffed. “What an odd name for an ordinary mud pony.”

He was met with furious death glares from both Rainbow and Dusk. “She’s a filly pegasus,” Rainbow stated angrily.

“Irrumator,” Dusk spat. Blueblood looked surprised, then seethed, as a few nobles chuckled at his chagrin.

Rainbow turned back to Princess Luna. “Anyway, I took some photos of the syringes, before telling Twilight and the others. The rest, you already know.”

“May we see these photos?”

Rainbow opened her satchel and gave them over. Luna levitated the pictures up, letting the court see them. “Dozens of them,” Celestia whispered. She brought one of the photos over to her, eyes squinting. “They have labels that say OP… what does that mean?”

Luna called Twilight to the stand to help explain. “Well, it was a guess at first. It could have been a coincidence that they said OP, but then again, there were other factors.” She lifted up the photo of the note. “Here, in this thrown-out scroll, you can see Dusk talk about Opacare Prose as if he knew him.”

“And of Raven Lock. But we’ll get to that in time. Doctor Irons? If you could tell your findings.”

“Analyzing the syringes found in Dusk’s house, as well as Dusk’s own blood, we found they contained the same white blood cells and antibodies,” Irons explained. “That is impossible for two stallions to have. The only way for that to happen is through blood transfusion, which is the preferred method of treatment for patients with thalassemia. Given the tags, we evaluated that the blood found in the fridge was Opacare Prose. The note seems to suggest this as well.”

It makes sense, Dusk thought. Too much sense. Somehow, I completely missed this possibility.

Luna brought the note back over. “The words have mostly been smudged, but we can see that Dusk definitely talks about Opacare like he knew him. And, as if he were dead.”

Surprised murmurs radiated from the jury booth. Their gazes turned curious, wanting to hear more. She began quoting several lines: “‘Opacare Prose is gone… my hooves… killed him… true… confession.’” She looked around the court. “Indeed, these words suggest that not only did Dusk know Opacare personally, he was responsible for his disappearance. Or rather, his death.”

“Well, then that’s his confession, then!” a male noble cried. “We ought to send him to the gallows!”

Luna shook his head. “Perhaps, but we still haven’t determined everything. We must also figure out what Dusk’s connection to Raven Lock is.” She waved the note around. “We see that Dusk had been writing to Raven Lock about some sort of operation. Two days later, after the note’s discovery, Raven Lock is found dead in an explosion at his apartment.”

She lowered the photo, turning back to face the rest of the court. “Since this is still the opening summary, I cannot yet ask Dusk to explain. However, I can still ask the other witnesses to give their accounts. Starting with Miss Rarity.”

Rarity trotted to the stand, swore herself in, and began her explanation. “Well, on one of the nights of guard duty, Dusk was with us. He was quite the observer, reminding me of a certain fictional detective.” She smiled at Dusk, a smile which he returned, though in a smaller size. “Anyway, I asked where on Equestria he had learned to make such profound observations. And he told me he had learned from a detective friend.”

She sighed. “It was only a few days later, when I heard of that horrific accident. The gas main explosion was grisly. My heart goes out to the families of the victims claimed in that fire.” She shook her head. “I read the paper, and saw that it said that among the victims was a certain Raven Lock. Former Head of Investigations in Canterlot, former Canterlot Police Detective, former psychologist.”

She looked directly at Dusk. “It didn’t take long for me to figure out that this was the detective Dusk was talking about. The note he wrote also completely supported this.”

Stepping down, Applejack took her place. She gave a similar account, though she admitted she didn’t particularly like Prosa at first. She finished, stepping away, letting Luna take the center.

“Thank you, ladies. From these accounts, we can accurately conclude that Raven Lock was a friend of Dusk’s; possibly, an old friend. They’ve been collaborating for a number of days—perhaps longer, unrecorded. So we have determined how Dusk is related to Raven Lock.”

She shook her head. “However, questions still remain. Questions that I cannot answer with the witness’s accounts.” She looked to her sister. “The prosecution makes a movement to transition to the examination.”

“Granted,” said Celestia. She looked at Dusk. “Will Mr. Prosa please take the stand?”

Dusk gulped. This was it. He had to make this as perfect as he could muster, without giving away too much. He still needed time; time that he doubted the court would freely give.

He removed himself from the bench, walking over to where the witness stand was. “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?” Celestia asked.

No. “I do.”

“Take the stand.”

He did so, taking in a deep breath and closing his eyes for a moment. Give everything and nothing, he reminded himself. He opened his eyes, his gaze flashing brilliantly, reflecting the careful, reserved vibrancy underneath.

Let’s do this.

Luna faced him. “Mr. Prosa, are the events I have described as they actually were?”

“That is correct. I did come from Manehattan, traveled from the Hollow Shades, all the way to Ponyville. And I did hide in that creaky old shack.”

“And the confrontation?”

“Also correct.”

“Very well. Could you give us your own account of your three weeks in Ponyville?”

He did so, his voice loud and clear. Here he was in his true element, as a storyteller. For the moment, he forgot he was on the accused bench. Instead, he reveled in the perfect amount of attention; not too much, not too little. He had an audience, and he was determined to please them to the best of his ability. Voice strong and words as clear as day, he told of his time in Ponyville, of his thoughts, of his feelings and ideas and emotions. Yet he refrained from going too deep into detail on his sorrows, his fears, and his uncertainties, doing his best to keep the story flowing, but giving only enough detail to satisfy.

When he had finished, Luna regarded him with a stare. “I must admit, it is quite impressive how you are able to craft such a unique tale from the same story.” She glanced at his flank. “It surprises me you do not have a mark for storytelling.”

He nodded his thanks, but nervousness welled up in him. That was the easy part. Now comes the hard.

She levitated over the note, placing it in front of him. “You wrote this, correct?”

“… Yes.” He picked it up in his hooves, as if studying it. In actuality, he was busy thinking of a way to stall for time. Finding one, he grunted. “I had written it some time ago, but threw it out. I had thought nopony would read it.” He cast a knowing look at Rainbow Dash. “I had hoped that my privacy would be protected.” He looked to Celestia. “I trust that I’ll get some retribution out of this?”

“Possibly.”

It was a start, but it would do.

“Why did you throw it out?” Luna asked.

He searched for an easy answer. “I spilled the ink, and ruined the parchment. I wasn’t planning on keeping a ruined piece of paper.”

Luna nodded. “That makes some sense. Still, though, why did you not try writing the note again?”

“I was… distracted.” He didn’t mention that he been wallowing in self-despair. “I was going to write the note later on, but…” His voice faltered, and Luna guessed why.

“Raven died.”

He breathed slowly. “That is correct. You see, I had written the note sometime before his… leaving this plane of existence. It didn’t feel right to write it again.”

She stepped forward a little. “So why did you write it?”

“To clear my head of some thoughts.”

“Is there any way you could tell us what the smudged writing says?”

“Not to my memory, unfortunately.” Of course, he knew a way, but he wasn’t about to tell them that.

“And these thoughts.” She gestured to the photo. “You, talking about you being insane?”

“Contextual error. Smudged writing eliminated the meaning of that sentence.”

“I see. What about the fact that you spoke of Prose as if you killed him?”

“Same thing.”

“But we have established a possible motive, have we not?”

“We have?”

His barely dodging the question managed to annoy the lunar princess. She sighed. “I suppose I will have to piece it together for you.”

“Take your time.”

“We have established that you and Prose had the very same condition. A blood transfusion would be necessary for you to survive. Would it be a stretch to say that you had met with Opacare with Raven Lock, and the three of you had established some sort of operation together?” She narrowed her eyes. “An operation that involved your and Opacare’s blood?”

He said nothing, staring at her. Inside, his heart was beating rapidly, and he thought that if anypony was near they’d hear it.

“I take it by your silence that you agree that this is in the realm of possibility.” She leaned back, thinking. “This operation you spoke of in your note… it must have gone on for some time. Perhaps even before Opacare disappeared. But something happened. Something that made you decide that enough was enough, that Opacare needed to be silenced. So… you ‘killed him,’ with your own hooves.”

She looked back at the stallion. “Of course, this is all speculation. Why not do us a favor, and clear this up for us?”

She was expecting him to cave him. He knew he could prolong this forever. He decided to try a different approach, one that would dodge this question, and answer somewhat another.

“You’ve said I had a connection with Raven Lock,” he said carefully. “And I’ve admitted that that’s true. From Rarity and Applejack’s accounts, you now know that he was a friend of mine. The connection I had with him was of purely platonic nature.”

All eyes were trained on him as he gave his little speech. “He was a good friend; and I will miss him dearly. Perhaps you understand, Princess Luna; surely you have had friends come by, live, and die suddenly?”

She did not interrupt, calmly letting him talk.

“Raven Lock died in a gas explosion in Manehattan, in his apartment,” he reiterated. “I tell you, I had nothing to do with that. How could I, when I was in Ponyville the entire time? If anything, his death came as a great surprise to me.” He shook his head. “In that note, where I wrote that Raven would die, that was intentional, but for a different reason. You see, as the former Head of Investigations, and as a former detective in the Canterlot Police Force, Raven had established a name for himself in the criminal underworld. He made enemies with the ponies he had locked up; though, he became friends with some who had become his patients.”

He paused, allowing his words to sink in. Luna stared at him, her head slightly tilted, a frown on her face. “Are you suggesting that Raven Lock’s death was due to the actions of a disgruntled, ex-prisoner?”

He winced, knowing he would have to lie. “There is more possibility of it being a gas explosion and nothing else. But so long as that possibility remains intact, I cannot be described as being involved in his demise.”

Celestia nodded. “Intriguing. We may need to set up a separate investigation to investigate this line of thought.”

Murmurs echoed throughout the court, and Dusk let out a relieved breath. He had stalled his investigation just a little bit, and might have even set up an opportunity to avenge Raven Lock’s death. Twilight and her friends were just as surprised as Luna and Celestia with this alternate probability, and for that, he was quite proud. Looking back at the jury, he saw similar looks of shock and confusion on their features.

But just because he dodged the bullet, didn’t mean the court was out of ammo.

Celestia called for order, her eyes settling back onto Dusk. “Thank you for your input on Raven Lock, Dusk. I can imagine that you are still feeling the pain of losing your friend. I think this court can safely say that you are, in all likelihood, not responsible for his death.”

He nodded his thanks.

“However, there are still issues we need to clear up. Issues that, I think, you need to answer for.”

He nodded again, doing his best to hide his growing apprehension.

“Luna? Continue your questioning.”

The younger sister nodded, walking back to the center of the court. Frowning as she faced Dusk, she asked, “Could you tell us more on this ‘operation’ of yours?”

Dusk knew this was coming, and he doubted he could lie his way out of it. Trying to appear undeterred, he answered, “I’ll try.” He took a deep breath, steadying his heart rate. “What do you want to know?”

“Let’s start with the nature of your operation.”

Dusk saw any sliver of hope fade away. Now he knew he could not lie about this. And he guessed that afterwards, the court would connect the dots, and that would be that—no pony coming to save the day, no hero. He would be locked up, and fail, and despair.

The most he could do, he decided, was stall to the best of his ability.

“This operation,” he began, his voice still strong and audible, “was for a better good. Some may call it a monopoly on life, but we considered it necessary.” He hoped that his choice of words would serve to muddle the listeners’ minds. “We were hoping to do something life-changing, perhaps to do some great, something that went beyond ourselves.”

He sighed. “Time was not our friend, however. Things got out of hand. Actions had to be taken, choices made. Work became different, the process slow, everything cautious. The dream of changing for the better became distant, little more than images at the back of our mind.

“We created this operation as a way to fulfill an old promise, you see. Something ancient, a word forged in the fire of the blazing inferno in our hearts. It was born out of a need to do better, and a desire to improve life and lives.”

“You make it sound like you were trying to change the world.”

“Is that not the dream of many? Is not change the one thing that is constant, the one thing we can rely on being?”

Luna didn’t answer, prompting Dusk to continue. “We hoped something good could come out of our work. We wanted to change the world for the better.”

“I… see,” Luna said, though she likely didn’t. “And… what did this operation consist of?”

He swallowed. “Transportation, mostly.”

“Of?”

“Materials.”

“Such as?”

At that he could only shrug. “Important things, I suppose.”

Luna narrowed eyes. “You mean to say you don’t know?”

“Well…” His voice trailed off, leaving the princess to guess what his true answer was. She waited, but he did not seem to have anything else to say.

She decided that that was a good enough answer, and moved on. “What of Opacare Prose’s disappearance? How does that connect to the operation?”

He sighed. “That’s a bit tricky to answer, Your Highness.”

“Why is that?”

“… Prose wasn’t supposed to vanish, I don’t think. But fate had different plans.”

“Were you part of those plans?”

He didn’t answer, looking away. She pressed on, “Did you have anything to do with Opacare Prose’s disappearance?”

“I merely assisted in the operation.”

She furrowed her brow, frustrated. “Dusk Prosa, you will answer the question truthfully.”

“… I assisted in the operation.”

The repetition made Luna sigh. He knew that he couldn’t stall for long.

“Did you or did you not kill Opacare Prose?”

That he could answer truthfully, and also gain a little more time. “No, I did not.”

Luna frowned. “But the note you wrote suggests otherwise.”

“As I said before, it is a matter of blurred context. And suggestion is not solid enough as proof of evidence.”

“Then what did you do to Opacare Prose?”

That caught him off guard. “What makes you think I even did something?”

“Why else would you write of him in this note, this unsent letter?”

He had dug himself into a hole, and couldn’t get out easily. He inwardly sighed. “I—we-we talked, sometimes. About the—” About the what? C’mon, say something! “—blood—” Damn it, Dusk!

Luna raised an eyebrow, and Dusk knew he had messed up. “The ‘blood?’”

He coughed, trying to save face. “Y-yes, the blood.” Might as well say it. “It’s true that Opacare and I had the same condition. In fact, that was partly why we started the operation in the first place. We wanted to find some sort of cure to help those with the condition.”

The court actually murmured in surprise. Dusk paused, confused for a moment. He wondered if he had somehow accomplished something else, directing the attention away from the former topic for the time being. His suspicions were confirmed when Celestia said, “Go on.”

Keep talking! “We knew other ponies had the condition, and we wanted to see if we could come up with some way to help them. We did a few tests, and found similar results to what Doctor Irons found, though limited our resources were. Opacare, he—” Something in his voice caught, and he coughed. “—he evaluated a way to combat the rogue cells.”

At this point, I’m just running circles around the question. But it doesn’t look like they’ve caught on yet.

“So you three were trying to save ponies’ lives?” Luna clarified.

“Yyes,” Dusk said, accidentally drawing out the sound. He quietly berated himself for doing so, knowing that it sounded suspicious. Luna, however, seemed satisfied with his answer.

“And did you ever find a cure?”

“Only a temporary one.” As the Princess waited for elaboration, Dusk glanced around. His bluff had captured the attention of everypony in the court, much to his surprise. He needed to be careful, though; one slip of the tongue could still spell disaster. “I’m sure you can guess what I mean.”

Luna paused, thinking. The court waited tensely for the prosecutor to say something. Suddenly her eyes lit up, and she looked to Dusk. “His blood. The white blood cells and the antibodies.”

Dusk nodded slowly. “Yes. We could use him to save other ponies.”

The court excitedly broke out into hushed whispers, impressed even more by Opacare Prose’s actions. Dusk remained silent as they talked amongst themselves, closing his eyes and slowing his breathing. Okay. I’ve still got this. I think.

Celestia called for order once more. “Impressive, Dusk. The nature of your operation certainly was noble.”

“Was?”

“Oh, pardon me. It just sounds like it’s all over.” She looked away, out of respect. “Especially since your… partners… have gone.”

“Ah.” Dusk wasn’t sure whether to thank Celestia for understanding, or to smack himself for making it obvious that he wasn’t sure he could continue the operation.

Celestia turned to the jury. “I’d like to take a quick break from the examination to ask the jury what they think: was Dusk’s operation negative in nature?”

A majority of the jury answered no, much to Dusk’s relief. Only Blueblood dared to go against the consensus, glaring at the pewter stallion angrily. He looked like a white lemon that had its juices removed and its insides taken. The sight was enough to temporarily lift Dusk’s spirits.

Princess Celestia nodded, turning back to Dusk. “I myself am in agreement with the jury. I do not think your operation was malicious in its original intent.

“However.”

Prosa cringed. Well, that was only going to last for so long.

“We still have yet to answer what you know and how you were involved with Opacare Prose’s disappearance.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’ve managed to dodge the question several times, and open up new paths to explore, but I would ask that you refrain from doing that from now on. Is that understood?”

He hesitated, still hoping to not answer.

“Is that understood?” she asked again, more forcefully this time.

“Understood,” he said quickly.

She nodded. “Good. Luna, you may proceed.”

Luna stepped forward once more, though she appeared to be tiring. The trial had been going on for quite a long time. “Dusk Prosa. Tell the court how you were involved in Opacare Prose’s disappearance.”

He didn’t answer, his mind racing. He could say something convoluted; but Celestia’s tone told him that she wasn’t particularly eager to continue playing around. Perhaps he could say something small; but that would disatisfy the court. If he said anything at all, though, there was a chance he could reveal too much.

What was the smartest route, then?

Luna cleared her throat. “Tell the court how you were involved in Opacare Prose’s disappearance,” she repeated.

Maybe he shouldn’t say anything at all. So he didn’t.

Luna glared at him. “Dusk Prosa. Answer the prompt.”

He stiffened his jaw, swallowed his voice, and stared ahead, defiant.

I can’t stay silent forever. I have to say something soon.

“Dusk Prosa!” She banged her hoof on the floor, making several ponies flinch.

He blinked, staring at the Princess. “Er, sorry. I was… thinking.”

She fumed, but nodded anyway. “Well, go on then.”

He looked away, knowing his response would not be well received. “I… I can’t.”

One could cut the resulting silence with a blade—but one word would suffice.

“What?” Princess Luna whispered.

“You heard me.”

“Y-you can’t?” She sounded more confused than angry. “Why? Do you refuse to answer?”

“No. I just… can’t.” He looked back at the Princess, his frown deepened into a painful grimace.

“Why, though?” she asked again.

He stared at her, but instead of looking intense, he just looked tired. “I… I’m sorry. I can’t answer that.”

Silence once again filled the court, everypony shocked by Dusk’s response. Irons was the most confused, while Princess Celestia had a guarded expression. She stared at him intently, and he saw a question in her eyes that he would not answer.

“He’s crazy,” Blueblood whispered; then, with more conviction, “He’s crazy! No, he’s stupid! Idiotic! We must beat the information out of him!”

“Calm down, sir!” Fancy yelled over him, glaring at the noble. “I’m sure there’s a reason why Dusk cannot say anything!”

Arguments erupted in the booth, and Twilight and her friends did her best to calm them down. Luna was at a loss for words, though she did not seem at all furious with Dusk.

Celestia kept staring at him, and he did his best not to shrink under her gaze.

Finally, she spoke. “You have a reason for this omission?”

He nodded slowly.

“And… it is very important?”

Again, he nodded.

“… You realize that you cannot withhold this information forever.”

His lack of response did not hide his silent confirmation.

Celestia sighed. The jury booth managed to recover its composure, and the ponies anxiously waited for her next statement. Dusk locked his legs, trying to hide his shaky limbs. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the Sun Princess spoke.

“… It would appear that our stallion is too tired to continue for today. As am I.” She glanced out the window. “In fact, it is approaching late afternoon.”

“Princess?” Twilight questioned.

“This court still has questions that need to be answered; but I can extend the trial for two more day. As such, I will call a forty-eight hour recess to allow Dusk Prosa to collect his thoughts.” She stared at him. “If he does not answer the questions posed during the second trial, he will be thrown in jail on grounds of suspected murder, and another trial will be prepared.”

Dusk gulped.

“Nobles, you are excused for today. I expect to see you all in two days for the continuation of this case.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Very well.” She looked back at Dusk. “The trial will be held off until forty-eight hours have passed,” she repeated sternly. “Until then, you will be escorted to Canterlot Prison for the time being.”

With a bang of her hoof, the order was followed. The nobles began leaving, Blueblood casting Dusk a nasty look. Fancy, however, smiled kindly at Dusk. The Princesses soon left afterwards, though Luna had a strange look on her face; almost as if she was amused.

Irons walked up to Dusk, his eyes wides. “What the bloody hell just happened?” he asked, bewildered.

The pewter stallion shook his head. “I just… talked.”

“Talked?! You bloody well orated your own escape!” He frowned. “Well, temporary escape. An escape nonetheless!”

“You sound surprised.”

“Dusk, I have not seen anypony render Princess Luna speechless, and make Prince Blueblood look like a fool, in the span of a few hours!”

Dusk let out a slow breath. “I suppose it is quite impressive. If temporary.”

Irons shook his head. “You really are a strange stallion. What will you think of to shock us next, I wonder?”

Dusk didn’t answer. He walked away, leaving Irons confused. He walked up to the guards who had just entered, his hoof raised in front of him. They were the same guards who had “greeted” him outside of the castle, and they looked surprised to see him.

Dusk smirked, but his expression was weak and tired. “Told you I’m going to jail.” They glanced at each other, before one of them procured a set of hoofcuffs and clamped them on his limbs. They began escorting him to the prison, leaving behind a number of befuddled ponies.

None of them noticed a lone, exhausted tear leak out onto the pavement.

[jarvyjared]

XXIV: Sweet Words Of Encouragement

Unbeknownst to Dusk, the Crusaders had indeed come to Canterlot with their older siblings. They had stayed in one of the castle’s numerous suites on the day of the first trial, not wanting to come to the trial right away. That, and their siblings (and Rainbow Dash, in Scootaloo’s case) told them they couldn’t actually come to the trial. Something about them not being adults and being too biased. Now it was the second day, one day before Dusk’s end.

Not being able to help Dusk really put Sweetie in a bad mood. She moped on the bed, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts airy and dissolute. Scootaloo and Apple Bloom were in a similar state, trying to keep themselves occupied by talking about the stallion.

“… Remember when Dusk was ferried in on Steven Magnet’s back?” Scootaloo asked.

“Eeyup,” answered Apple Bloom.

“Remember those times when Dusk went Crusading with us?”

“Eeyup.”

“Those were the days…”

Sweetie glanced over. “Why? Are you saying that those days are over?”

Scootaloo looked at her friend in sadness. “It sure seems so. They’re probably locking Dusk up right now.”

“No! That can’t be true!” Sweetie jumped off of the bed and raced over to Scootaloo, shaking the pegasus fiercely. “They can’t lock him up for something he didn’t do!”

“Sweetie, calm down!” Apple Bloom pried the unicorn off, giving her a stern look. “Ah know yer pretty upset. Why, Ah’m very upset! But the thing is, there’s a lot on Dusk. There’s more evidence against him than for!”

Sweetie tried to slow her breathing. Eventually she recovered, and she looked at Scootaloo sorrowfully. “I’m sorry, Scootaloo. I-I’m just so upset that he’s pretty much guaranteed to be thrown in jail.”

Scootaloo nodded, and gave her friend a hug. “It’s okay, Sweetie Belle. I’m upset too.”

They fell silent, as all their memories with the stallion rose to mind. It isn’t fair! Sweetie thought. I should have done something to help!

But how could I have helped? Even if I told the court what I thought, there’s too much physical evidence that Dusk did those… things. Even now, she couldn’t describe the charges as anything else than “things.” The word seemed to lessen the harshness of the accusations.

“M-Maybe I should have said something,” Sweetie murmured. “Something about the syringes…”

“What about the syringes?”

They looked up, seeing Rarity having entered the room. She looked tired, though she looked at her sister in concern. Sweetie froze, her mouth open, as Rarity walked over.

“Sweetie Belle?” Rarity knelt in front of her. “What about the syringes should you have said?”

“W-well…”

“Did you know about the syringes?”

“W-well of course! I-I mean, you know, when Rainbow discovered them!”

Rarity stared at her, before sighing. “Sweetie, I know you’re upset… but please, you have to tell me the truth.” She held up a hoof before Sweetie could protest. “You aren’t exactly the most subtle of liars.”

Sweetie gulped. She looked at her sister, and Rarity smiled assuringly at her, letting her know that it was alright. She shivered, and looked at the other Crusaders. They, though obviously hesitant, nodded to her. She nodded slowly.

“Well, you see…”

She told her sister about their initial discovery of the syringes. She described in great detail their shock, as well as their confusion when they saw the blood inside. They didn’t know whose blood it was; all they knew was that it appeared that Dusk was storing it. When she had finished, Rarity gave her a hard look.

“You knew about the syringes before Rainbow found them?”

They nodded guiltily.

Rarity shook her head. “You should have told us, girls.”

“And then what would you do?” Sweetie asked. “Would it really matter if we told you? You’d just arrest him sooner!”

The elder unicorn looked at her younger sibling sadly. “Yes,” she whispered. “We would have. Though…” She frowned in thought. “We might not even have found the note…”

Sweetie gulped again. If she had said something sooner, would most of Dusk’s current charges have been dropped?

“So then why didn’t you tell us?”

The young unicorn took a deep breath. “Because… we knew that you’d want to make him leave. All because he had blood in his fridge.”

“We were beginning to like him,” added Apple Bloom, “and it didn’t feel right sending him away only after a few days.”

“Plus, he was teaching us some pretty cool stuff,” added Scootaloo.

“Stuff? What kind of stuff?”

The young pegasus explained exactly what kind of stuff, and Rarity looked on in surprise. She hadn’t expected the stallion to teach the girls about the merits of a Cutie Mark, and of the importance of family and friends. And telling Scootaloo that she would fly someday? That was something she had not expected an earth pony to tell a pegasus. With each new detail, her respect for the stallion was growing… as was her guilt for having to put him on the spot.

When Scootaloo had finished, Rarity looked away in contemplation. “I see… no wonder you girls like him so much.”

“So you see?” Apple Bloom said. “He’s not a bad pony!”

“And I never said he was, nor have I ever admitted thinking he could be.” Rarity sighed again. “But… you have to understand, girls. Whether or not we think Dusk is good, the evidence presented—the note and the syringes—will be what convince the court of his character.”

The fillies knew this, and Sweetie felt tears gather at the corners of her eyes. “Is he… you know…” Her voice caught, and she swallowed hard.

But, to her surprise, Rarity smiled. “No, he’s not been handed a verdict yet. In fact, Celestia has expanded the trial to two more days. One day for Dusk to gather his thoughts, the next for him to return to court.”

They let out relieved breaths, but they soon frowned. “Why?” Apple Bloom asked.

“It would seem… that Dusk is very skilled in masking the truth behind words. Enough to confuse us all.”

“Where is he now?” Scootaloo asked.

“He’s in Canterlot Jail for today.”

“So tomorrow he’ll be free?” Sweetie asked eagerly.

Rarity shook her head. “I’m afraid that is a low possibility, Sweetie Belle. If Dusk approaches tomorrow in the same way he did to yesterday’s trial, then I doubt he’ll be released. If anything, he might be given extended jail time. Perhaps even life.”

The news dampened their moods, making them fall into a depressing silence. Sweetie looked down at the floor, tears falling from her face. Rarity leaned over and held her head up, wiping away the tears, though she had some of her own in her eyes.

“But there’s still time,” she whispered. “Maybe not a lot, but time nonetheless. Who knows? Dusk may figure out a way to prolong his sentence.”

Sweetie frowned. “He won’t.” Rarity looked at her in surprise. Somehow, in her heart, she knew it was over for Dusk. There was no other niches to be used; no openings to exploit; no holes in the case that could be jumped through. All exits were sealed shut; whether by Dusk’s actions or by some other power, she did not know.

She, however, found herself unable to give up. She wanted to believe in Dusk, despite all the evidence. She wanted to think that Dusk meant no harm. Deep down, she knew that the stallion was a good pony, with good intentions, and an even better heart. Sure, he was strange; but it was a good kind of strange, reminding her of all those times her sister would go on weird adventures with the other bearers. Strange, but not completely alien. Approachable, in most cases.

Dusk didn’t seem to think of himself as “good.” She had to show him; it was his only chance.

She pushed Rarity’s hoof away, gently, but with great resolve. She looked into her sister’s eyes. “The jail. Does it allow visitors.”

Rarity was surprised by her sister’s sudden change in attitude. “Er—yes. I believe so. But children need adult supervision.”

Sweetie nodded. “Take me there.”

“What?”

“Take me to Dusk Prosa.”

Rarity stared, wide-eyed, at her sister. Scootaloo and Apple Bloom, at first, reacted much the same, but, after a few glances were exchanged, stood with their friend. Rarity then stood, closing her mouth and looking down on Sweetie Belle.

For a moment, no words were spoken. Then, Rarity gained a soft smile. “You really care for him, don’t you?”

They nodded.

Suddenly she gave them all a hug. “If you say he’s a good pony, then I have no reason to distrust you.” She released them, still smiling. “Let’s go.”

---

Well… at least it’s a new experience.

Dusk nearly hit himself upside the head for that thought. Was he really trying to be optimistic? He was in jail; this wasn’t a place for optimism. All around him were grim reminders of a dark world, drowning out any good feelings that one might generate.

The walls in his cell were a charcoal grey, as was his floor and ceiling. He supposed that he could thank Celestia for arranging for him to be alone. If he had a cellmate, he wasn’t sure who would die first.

Huh. Humor.

A toilet was in the back corner, and it stank of unspoken substances that made Dusk nauseous. To the best of his ability, he tried not to breathe in through his nose. A small bed to the side could be said to be his only form of comfort. It wasn’t dreadfully uncomfortable, and he could rest on it. However, he had not fallen asleep on his first day in jail. His mind was too occupied with worry and fear. He had only gotten maybe a four hours rest; and it showed, with the bangs under his eyes being rubbed every few minutes. The sheets on the bed had been made (“Thank you, manners.”) and the pillow had been fluffed. It was almost as if he was preparing to remain in prison for a long time.

He sighed. The idea of tomorrow came with a feeling of dread. He had no defense, other than a refusal to answer, which he knew would only land him in more trouble. As much as he wanted to not remain in jail, it seemed like it was the smartest choice. But in doing so, he effectively removed any chance he had of accomplishing his mission and carrying on after Raven Lock. The thought made him cringe; he would be dishonoring his friend’s memory by not doing anything. Yet, he reminded himself that the operation depended on secrecy, and saying something in court could also be dishonorable.

But then he wondered, who depended on secrecy more—Dusk or Raven?

Raven died carrying his secret. Dusk was sure to follow. There was no right answer. He could only choose the nonexistent answer.

In other words, no answer.

The guard outside wore a blue cap and carried a small, black nightstick. A flashlight was on his guard vest, as well as a badge. Dusk had been quick to learn that his name was Smiley—he probably could have guessed just by the smile itself—and he didn’t seem all that hostile to his prisoners. He would often talk to the others in the jail as if they were close (they probably were, given how old they all looked).

His mind returned to the present as Smiley began whistling. Dusk turned, walking over to his bed and sitting down on it. Truth be told, other than the horrible conditions of the cell—it was to be expected, he supposed—he couldn’t complain. It almost felt… deserving, like this was his rightful punishment. Punishment for what, he could easily guess. Perhaps it was for Raven’s death, or Opacare’s disappearance. Or maybe it was for his failure to stop Boss. Or his failure to prevent his parents’ deaths. Or perhaps—

Each passing second came with a new, terrible thought. His guilt grew and grew, until it threatened to suffocate him. He leaned back, letting out a groan, and lightly punched the mattress, all the while cursing in Latineigh.

That got Smiley’s attention. “You speak Latineigh?”

Dusk looked at him tiredly. “Obviously.”

Smiley whistled. “Wow, we haven’t had a smart stallion in here in years! You impressed, boys?”

A few cries rang out, all loud, rambled, and annoying. Dusk hated it, but he didn’t say that, choosing instead to lean back onto his bed, closing his eyes.

He cursed a little less loudly.

Hours passed, with Smiley still whistling and walking around, talking to the others. Dusk grew more secluded, practically hiding away in the shadow of the cell, away from the light coming from the hall. He doubted he was going insane; it wasn’t as if there was any silence. The prisoners were rambunctious and rowdy, annoying him. He nearly considered the Family to be the lesser of two evils; but, of course, he hit himself upside the head for thinking that.

He briefly considered trying to escape, but he shot down that idea soon after. Escaping jail would be stupid and foolish. What did he expect to do if he did escape? Canterlot would be searching for him, and who knew when all of Equestria would get involved?

It frustrated him that he had to wait, then. He wasn’t by any means impatient, but he constantly felt a desire to do something. He didn’t want to sit inside a cell all day and all night. He didn’t consider getting up for breakfast, lunch, and dinner as breaks in the monotony. He needed to do something to keep himself occupied.

In theory, he could ask Smiley for something to write on. And, given the guard’s attitude, he might have gotten numerous pens and paper. But motivation was lost on him, and he couldn’t find it in himself to make the request.

Maybe he has cards…

It was a stupid idea, but Dusk didn’t want to remain sitting on his bed. So he got up, and trotted up the gates of his cell.

He was about to ask Smiley, when something caught the guard’s attention. The guard suddenly turned and walked away, exiting the hall. Dusk watched him go, surprised and frustrated. Sulking, he turned away, heading back over to his bed.

He heard a door down the hall open, and he looked up as he heard the sound of hooves approaching. Smiley had returned, and with him was the warden, wearing a clay-brown suit. Dusk glanced at the two, seeing Smiley’s signature smile and the warden’s contrasting frown. It reminded him of a comedy, almost.

“What.” It wasn’t much of a question as much as it was a statement. Dusk’s voice came out monotone, bored. He half-expected the warden to say that Dusk was heading to the gallows, based on the stoic frown alone.

In answer, the warden walked over and placed a key in the lock. Twisting it, he unlocked the cell door, and pulled it open, eliciting whistles from the other prisoners. Dusk raised an eyebrow.

“You have visitors,” the warden said.

That was a surprise. He wondered who it could be. Getting up, he briefly dusted himself off. He then walked over to the ponies, hooves outstretched. Smiley placed a pair of hoofcuffs around him, still smiling. The warden then led Dusk forward, and they headed for the visitor area.

The prison’s walls and floors blurred before him, and he suddenly found himself in front of a lone door. Above was a sign that signaled this was where he needed to be. He glanced at the warden and Smiley, frowning. They nodded for him to enter.

He sighed. He supposed it couldn’t be anything bad.

“You have thirty minutes,” the warden reminded him.

Entering, he placed himself in one of the stalls, and grabbed one of the prison phones. He waited. Glancing around, he noticed that he was the only one in the area.

On the other side of the glass barrier was where the visitors would enter. A few guards were in front of the exit door, shades on, looks stern. For a few moments, no one entered.

Then, Dusk heard it. Excited, lively cries. Female, definitely, based on the pitch. There were multiple voices; he counted four. Strangely enough, they sounded familiar, and they were fast approaching.

The guards seemed equally surprised to hear that many voices, and they quickly opened the doors, allowing the ponies to enter. Dusk’s eyes widened at what he saw.

Something akin to a purple, cotton-candy head, with a white body and a small horn, entered first, followed next by an orange chicken and a pink, bow-tied apple. Behind them was a walking marshmallow of a mare with a lovely shade of purple mane

Of course, he already knew who they were, but his bored mind thirsted for some sort of creative description—one he had just supplied.

The three fillies looked a bit confused, until Rarity directed them over to the booth. They saw him, and their lips stretched into wide, happy smiles. They practically launched themselves into the booth, their mouths moving rapidly.

The glass and booth, however, were soundproof. Dusk indicated this with an amused frown, and pointed to the phone to tell them how to communicate. They blushed but, after a moment, Sweetie levitated the phone over. Rarity watched them curiously.

“Hiya, Dusk!” she greeted warmly.

“As squeaky as ever, Miss Sweetie Belle,” he answered.

“I told you, you don’t have to address us by Misses!”

He actually chuckled. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed their usual liveliness. He, however, returned to being serious, telling them about their time limit.

“Thirty minutes?” Scootaloo wined. “Aw, that’s barely enough to discuss what we’ll try for our marks next time!”

He raised an eyebrow. “‘Next time?’”

“Of course!” Sweetie exclaimed. “Once you’re out of prison, you’ll go back to helping us find our marks!”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, staring at them. Then, his voice as soft as a gentle sea, yet carrying the same intensity of a ferocious ocean, he said, “What makes you think I’m leaving?”

Apple Bloom took the phone. “Well, of course you’re leaving! Nopony stays in jail for something they didn’t do!”

“That is correct.”

They waited for something else to be said. Their smiles began to falter as they realized what Dusk was implying. Scootaloo grabbed the phone. “Uh, heh heh, good one Dusk. Don’t worry, we’ll get you out of here—”

“It isn’t a joke, girls,” he said softly. His voice carried regret and shame, and it took all his strength not to look away from their shocked faces.

“Y-yes it is!” Sweetie exclaimed. “I-we-we know you wouldn’t do those things!” She frowned. “Well, besides the syringes. And we know you didn’t have anything to do with Raven Lock!”

“I’ve been cleared of that charge already. But the other allegations… regarding Opacare Prose’s disappearance… they have yet to be resolved.”

Their eyes brimmed with tears, though they were quickly wiped. “D-darn it!” Scootaloo said. “If Rainbow hadn’t been so insistent on trying to pin you for being a user; if I hadn’t listend to her—”

“Don’t blame Miss Dash for this,” he replied, genuinely surprised that the pegasus was mad at her idol. “She was just trying to protect you from a very real danger. Me.”

Scootaloo looked shocked at that, and Sweetie used that moment to take the phone. “Come on, Dusk. You aren’t a danger.”

“Aren’t I?” He raised an eyebrow. “Did I not buck a business stallion and give him a black eye? Did I not yell at two foals? Did I not kill—”

“Stop!” Sweetie yelled, making him pause. “You didn’t kill anypony, Dusk,” she asserted.

He didn’t respond to that, looking away slightly. “Why are you here?” he asked.

“To talk,” Apple Bloom answered.

“About?”

“You.”

He frowned. “What is there to talk about? I’m in jail. There isn’t anything I can do—”

“Why were you hiding?” Sweetie asked, interrupting him.

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Back in the trial in Canterlot. Rarity said you were masking something with your words. Like you were hiding.”

He glanced at Rarity, surprised. She didn’t seem to respond, still staring at them intently.

“Hiding?” he repeated, doing his best not to swallow.

“Yeah. You know? Like you were afraid of saying something.”

When he didn’t initially answer, that prompted Sweetie to continue. “Does it have something to do with Opacare’s disappearance?”

“At this point, nearly everything does.” He sighed. “My… involvement… in his disappearance keeps getting questioned.”

“So you were involved?”

He didn’t answer again, turning away. Sweetie could tell he was secluding himself off. “Dusk? Dusk!” she cried, making him sharply turn back to her. “Look, I know what the charges are, but you can’t let yourself believe them!”

“‘Let myself?’”

She ignored the question. “Dusk, tomorrow is your last chance to sort things out. If you don’t…” She gulped. “T-there’s a chance this is the last time we see you.”

That struck a chord in his heart. He had grown quite fond of the fillies, and only now did he realize what could happen if things went sour the next day. Still, though, he did his best to appear neutral-looking.

“Dusk, none of us think you did those things,” Sweetie continued. “Sure, you are strange, but you wouldn’t hurt anypony!”

“Filthy Rich?” he suggested.

“He had it coming. So did Diamond and Silver Spoon,” said Apple Bloom.

“So I did hurt them?”

They ignored his question. “Raven Lock was your friend,” said Sweetie, “and I don’t think he’d be friends with a murderer!”

“Why is that?”

“He’s a detective. He would have caught on if you really were a killer! You would have already been arrested!”

Admittedly, he couldn’t argue with that. Raven had been one of his smartest friends, having been the one to teach him how to be a great observer. Not to mention, Raven was the one who had acted as Dusk’s greatest correspondence, having been smart enough to keep himself secret. At least, for a little while…

He clenched his hoof angrily as the thought was forced away. The fillies noticed the action, and hushed up on Raven’s death.

“A-anyway, with that in mind, you wouldn’t have been involved with Opacare Prose’s disappearance,” argued Sweetie. “What possible reason could you have for getting rid of him?”

He didn’t answer, but he saw Sweetie’s mind race.

“Is it… no… it can’t just be because of the blood!” She huffed. “No, that can’t be it?”

“And why not, Miss Sweetie Belle—”

“Don’t call me that!” There were tears in her eyes as she cut him off. “Why would it be just for the blood? That’s so stupid! That’s so unlike you!” Her friends were trying to calm her down as the guards began giving them concerned looks. Rarity tried to distract them, but she couldn’t for long. Sweetie managed to calm herself, but she still glared at Dusk. “You aren’t dumb, Dusk. We both know that. Nopony dumb would go so far as to deliberately hide syringes filled with blood just because they were blood!”

Once again, Dusk found himself impressed by what Sweetie was saying. If the filly hadn’t impressed him with her remarkable insight before, now she had. What she said, while harsh, made sense; the presented “reason” definitely had its share of flaws.

“So, then what is the reason?” he challenged, cocking his head. “Pray tell, Sweetie Belle, what reason would I have for disappearing Prose?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. Only you know, Dusk Prosa.” She looked at him, frustrated and sadly. “That’s why you have to tell the truth tomorrow. Otherwise, those ponies are gonna think the worse of you!”

“Why should I care?”

“Because what they say isn’t true!” Her voice reclaimed its intensity, squeaky as it was. “They’ll say that you’re a bad pony; a killer! But I know and we know that that’s not true!” The other girls nodded their agreement just as fiercely.

“Dusk.” The warden poked his head in. “Ten minutes.”

He nodded, turning back to the fillies. “So what’s true, then, about me? What is the truth that you know, that I hide, that the ponies out there don’t get to see?”

Flowery language, meant to distract the girls. But Sweetie held strong, refusing to be confused by words. “That you are a good pony, Dusk.”

“Criminationibus irritatus submisit sine testimoniis expositum, potest dimitti sine evidentia,” he repeated, thinking that Sweetie wouldn’t understand.

Once again, though, the young unicorn surprised him. “You want evidence? Fine! Here’s some evidence!”

She pointed to Scootaloo. “You cheered Scootaloo up, not making fun of her for not being able to fly yet!” She pointed to Apple Bloom. “You didn’t consider Apple Bloom as some dumb farmer pony like so many other ponies have!” She pointed to outside. “You fought off the nastiest bullies I have ever met, comforted Dinky, walked her home, and assured Ditzy that everything would be alright!” She pointed to herself. “And, after you scared me the first time we met, you came back and apologized!”

She stuck her hoof out, pressing it against the glass. “And throughout the time you spent in Ponyville, you did not try to really hurt anypony. You never followed through on any threats, you did not try to take over the town in some way, you did not bother trying to appear like this mean, power-hungry stallion. You came across as cold, but not evil—not bad!”

She fell back, the phone line stretched, as she wiped her eyes. “Don’t you see, Dusk? After all you’ve done, you still aren’t a bad pony. Diamond Tiara is a bad pony; Filthy Rich is a bad pony; heck, Discord wasn’t even a pony and he was a huge threat! The town thought you were a user; and you proved us wrong. Now they think you’re a murderer. Are you gonna prove us right?”

Her words cut through and deep, and he stared at her, completely blown back by what she had said. The other Crusaders, though they had said less, were just as fierce in their stances, staring back, undeterred by his silence. For tense seconds, nothing was said; only gazes were exchanged.

Finally, Scootaloo grabbed the phone. “We can’t convince you what to do tomorrow.”

She passed it to Apple Bloom, who said, “But we can tell you that you should do the right thing.”

Sweetie took the phone. “And the right thing… is to tell the truth.”

She couldn’t have timed it better. Rarity walked over, signaling that visiting time was over. They were hesitant to leave but, having said what they needed to say, nodded, and placed the phone back in its compartment. Dusk watched them go in silence, and Sweetie gave him one last look as they made their way out the exit. Their presence soon vanished behind sealed, metal doors.

---

Dusk was ushered out, and he returned to his cell, deep in thought.

He stared at the ceiling. Then at the floor. Then at the wall. And then he closed his eyes. He saw Sweetie’s face, frowning, but not mad at him—at least, not as much as he expected. Rather, the face was filled with worry, genuine worry for him. And, hidden behind the purple bangs, the adorable face of a filly still innocent—was a face of hope.

Hope.

He remembered what Raven had said—that those fillies were Dusk’s hope. He, at first, thought Raven was just trying to be optimistic. But, now that he thought about it, perhaps there was a sliver of truth in his words.

Raven was the smartest pony Dusk had ever known. It would be unlike him, he supposed, to be mistaken. To assume that Raven was wrong—was that dishonorable of Dusk? Would he be only further damaging Raven’s reputation?

Would I be digging his grave even deeper than it already is, burying him another ten feet?

He had no answer at the moment.

His mind reflected on what the fillies had said. He forced himself not to deny them. As their words swirled around his head, they continued to cut deep, exposing old wounds and long buried thoughts. There had been a time, when he had thought himself as good; but that time was as old as the roots of his problems, so far into the past it was. Nevertheless, he realized that despite all that had passed, there still remained that little sliver of good. His actions, whether he recognized them, still reflected that small bit of personality.

In burying his past, he had also buried the parts of him that many old associates would have considered his best traits. He used to be honorable; steadfast loyal to his few friends; used to be a stallion who wanted only what was best for his fellow pony. But then things changed. Something came up, ponies had to be quieted, and he had to run and hide. Only now did he realize this; and he realized, that he had become the object that he had for so long fought against.

Ignorant.

No…

He clenched his eyes even tighter, suddenly afraid. Afraid of what he had become. A hypocrite to his cause, a betrayer of all he had stood for.

Dusk had dug his grave. The final comments and eulogies were made, and he would be buried next to his friend, Raven Lock.

But… those fillies and their words… they were like escape ropes; they could pull him out, if he only reached out and grabbed them. And it should have been easy! And yet… and yet…

Why was he still afraid?

No… what was he still afraid of?

The truth? No. He had long confronted the truth. He knew the truth. He understood it.

No. He was afraid of the ramifications of the truth. He was afraid of what would happen, if ponies knew. It wasn’t that his life would be on the line; but it was other ponies’ lives would be in danger. He couldn’t speak up, he couldn’t…

You have to.

He gasped, eyes snapping open.

You have to, the voice repeated.

It was his… and yet not. It was… younger. Braver. Wiser. And it spoke strongly, stronger than how he had spoken in these past weeks. He realized, it was his old self—not the one he feared, but the one he had been, before life had gotten worse.

This was him.

This was the good pony that the fillies had seen and still believed in.

All that arrogance, that coldness, that cynicism, and that violent, outward attitude—they all simply covered his true self.

They’re right, he realized. I can’t keep hiding this. It would be a betrayal to myself. It would be a betrayal to what made Raven consider me a friend. It would be a betrayal of what I wanted to do in this world.

His eyes flashed brilliantly, returning to their former glory. Yes, he now knew what he needed to do. The only way he could hope to honor Raven, to reveal the truth, and to continue his operation. He had to do it.

For the fillies, who believed in him.

For Raven, who continued to help him, despite the risk.

And for that author stallion, “dead,” who refused to stay dead, even after all this time.

Dusk smiled, and it was genuine and true, if but tired. Tomorrow was still scary; but he could do it. He had a plan. He was ready.

Dusk slept that night. And this time, he saw only smiling faces and felt warm feelings.

[jarvyjared]

XXV: Dusk Fall

The cell door slid open, and Dusk was greeted with Smiley’s slightly unnerving face. With a nod and a wave, he was escorted out to the belongings area. He retrieved his torn vest and cloak, as well as his satchel. He then walked up to one of the prison item exchanges, requesting for his blue quill and black inkwell.

They handed them to him, and his made his way to the exit, still escorted by the guards. While he waited for the guards to suit up, he took off his prison clothes and replaced them with his normal ones. Torn though his garments were, they were his, and they were comfortable. Soon, the guards were ready, and they placed a set of cuffs around him.

The warden came out, saying that he hoped not to see Dusk again. Dusk smiled and nodded back, actually certain he wouldn’t be visiting the prison in the near future. With a calm gaze, he walked out, accompanied by his guards.

The sight of the earth stallion being escorted to the castle did cause somewhat of an uproar in the streets. Some ponies, empathetic to a fault, hastily asked what Dusk was doing in cuffs. The guards answered in gruff tones, telling them that Dusk was being brought to his trial. Naturally curious, they asked where the trial would be held, and soon, a whole army of mares and stallions were making their way to the court.

Dusk sighed. He didn’t want an audience, but he could already guess that there’d be no stopping them from viewing his trial.

The fancy homes in front were soon replaced with the looming castle, though this time, Dusk felt less apprehension. Almost eagerly, he made his way up the steps, pulling the guards with him.

“Excited to return to jail?” one of them asked.

“Nay, guard. Excited to leave,” he said, almost like he was admonishing him. His tone, active and alive, perfectly masked his slight unease.

The doors were thrown open, and Dusk entered the great hall. The sun shone through the tinted windows, illuminating a clear path on the red carpet. He followed the light to the intersection, boldly turning left. The crowd of ponies could be heard outside, clamoring to be an audience to the trial. The guards held them back, assuring them that they would ask Celestia for permission. Another guard accompanied Dusk to the courtroom itself.

With the guard’s lit horn, the doors were pulled open, revealing the already full court. Princess Celestia sat in the judge chair, with Luna before her. The jury booth was already filled, and the Bearers sat nearby. Hearing the doors open, they looked up. Most had a surprised expression when they saw Dusk standing there, seemingly undaunted. Celestia looked somewhat amused.

“Dusk Prosa,” she greeted with a nod. “I trust you rested well?”

“More than I have for the past ten years, Princess,” he answered. “Good morning, Princess Luna,” he greeted.

Caught off guard by his sudden joviality, the Princess of the Night could only nod in response.

“Your Highness?” the guard asked. At Celestia’s nod, he continued, “There is a throng of ponies outside who wish to view the trial.”

Celestia was silent for a moment, before smiling softly. “I suppose they’d be curious as to why a simple earth stallion is causing so much of an uproar. Allow them entrance, guard.”

He turned, trotting back over to the entrance. A few moments later, the voices from the crowd grew louder and closer. Soon, what seemed to be the entirety of Canterlot approached, awed at the prospect of seeing an actual trial. The nobles were just as surprised to see the ponies, though Blueblood had a sour expression on his face. He whispered something over to Fancy Pants; the stallion responded by giving him a swift knock on the head.

Dusk chuckled, and Blueblood glared daggers at him as he rubbed his head in pain.

The ponies of Canterlot took to the pews and seats, all quieting up once they were all seated. They waited, looking apprehensively at the court, as Celestia looked around. The guards behind closed the doors, keeping them in.

“Well, now,” Celestia said after a moment. “I believe we are ready to begin. Is the prosecution ready?”

“Yes, sister,” answered Luna.

“And the jury?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Very well. Dusk Prosa, please take the stand.”

He nodded, carefully trotting over. He avoided looking at any of the witnesses, though he was tempted to half-smile for Rarity. After all, had she not arrived in the jail with the Crusaders, this wouldn’t be happening.

He faced forward, standing tall and proud, ready. Before Luna could say anything, he asked to say something first. It was granted, and he peered all over the room, looking into each pony’s eyes. For a moment, nothing was said. Several ponies found themselves shrinking under his gaze; the vibrancy and life in his eyes was near-unnatural.

Finally, he spoke: “Ponies of this court. Today is the day that Dusk Prosa dies.”

Confused murmurs rang among the crowd and jury, but Dusk ignored them, choosing instead to face Luna. With a simple nod, he told them he was ready.

Celestia banged her hoof. “The trial of Dusk Prosa, investigating his potential involvement with Opacare Prose’s disappearance, is now in session once more.”

---

The trial started off mostly as before, with Luna presenting the facts of the case. A paper was handed over so that she could give a brief summary of the witness accounts, as well as a quick overview of the events from yesterday. Afterwards, she placed the paper down, turning to Dusk.

“All of this, brings us here today, Mr. Prosa,” she addressed, as cool and calm as her night. “You were able to prolong this trial with your charismatic voice and charm, but I assure you, that shall not work today.”

Did she just compliment me? “And I assure you, I have no intention of hindering our progress.”

She nodded. “So long as you keep your word, we should have no problems.”

She turned away, facing the audience and the court as a whole. “Citizens of Canterlot, we are here today to discuss Dusk Prosa’s supposed involvement in Opacare Prose’s disappearance. You are all up to date with what has happened thus far; hence, I ask that we move quickly onto Dusk’s account.”

“Granted,” Celestia said, staring down at the stallion. “Remember what you said, Dusk Prosa. No hiding behind words.”

He nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in his throat. Luna nodded to one of the scribes, silently ordering her to keep careful track of what Dusk said.

No hiding. No masking. Just the truth. They need to hear it. I need to hear it. For their sake, for mine, and for what I have fought for for ten years… No holding back.

He released a breath, feeling his heartbeat. It was slow, steady, comforting, and he suddenly felt extremely in tune with himself. For a moment, time seemed to stop, as he thought about all that had happened, all that had occurred; every moment, every pony, every choice made, that had brought him here. He reminded himself of Raven Lock; he reminded himself of Opacare. He reminded himself of Jade Sonnet, of Grifford Finch, of his past, his present, his future. He reminded himself of the three fillies he had come to care for, and for the town that had become his second home.

Finally, he was ready. He looked back up, staring Luna straight in the eye, eyes flashing as brilliant as a pink, morning sun.

He began with an introduction.

“As you are all well aware, my name is Dusk Prosa. But I believe that, in order to understand what has been done, what I have done, and what I intend on doing, you must first know of where I come from.”

He looked around, seeing that he had commanded the entire court’s attention. Even Blueblood seemed interested in his speech.

“I was born in the city of Manehattan, twenty-eight years ago, to two Earth ponies. My father, Diei Adminium, and my mother, Luxi Grace, were both social workers in Manehattan. They worked to improve the lives of ponies everywhere, large and small, from foal to horse.” He closed his eyes, seeing their faces once more. “Even when the city seemed too stubborn to be saved, my parents never gave up trying. My father sometimes was known as the Adjutrix—Helper—because he was always trying to improve a pony’s life in some way.”

“Could you tell us what they look like?”

“Father was a light-grey, with navy highlights, and he often wore his mane long and down his neck. Mother was a gunmetal color; her baby-blue mane was cropped short, as she had to often deal with the grime that the city sowed.”

Noting an odd detail, Luna asked, “‘Was?’ You mean to say—”

“Yes.” Dusk looked away, feeling grief wash over his heart. “My parents have passed on. They left me when I was but fifteen.”

The ponies gasped at this new information, but Dusk did his best to push away their sympathy. Focus on the story, he thought, looking back at Luna.

“You have my condolences,” she said.

“As well as mine,” Celestia added. “But, please, when you are ready to continue…”

After a moment to gather his thoughts, Dusk spoke once more. “My parents were very popular with the slums ponies, and helped several poorer residents start their lives anew. With their determination, they transformed some of the slums into clean, habitable places, helping many families along the way. But they weren’t always popular with the city’s legislation.” At that, Dusk’s voice grew colder and angrier. “In my younger years, I didn’t quite understand what was going on. Nor did I understand the numerous letters that my parents got, the threats of running them out of the city, the warnings to stop.”

Celestia nodded. “I remember that time. Manehattan had some rather corrupt ponies in office. It was only recently have we begun a new age in their law: a cleaner, brighter age.”

Dusk frowned thoughtfully. “Though these threats and warnings did their job, unnerving my father and sometimes making my mother cry, they held strong. Not backing down, they continued their work, saving every pony they could and providing them with any help. They partnered with other relief organizations, even becoming co-leaders of the Manehattan Progressives. In doing so, their reputation and fame grew, making them harder to pressure.” His frown vanished, replaced with a small, victorious smile. “The politicians in power couldn’t hope to try anything drastic with them. Having fed off of the weak and poor, using them to their economic advantage, the fact that these former downtrodden misfits of the city were slowly becoming more and more civilized was a huge blow to their advantage. Had they done anything remotely threatening like, say, try to kidnap their child, riots would have occurred, destroying whatever power they had over the city in a matter of months.”

“They seriously wanted to kidnap you?” Rainbow spoke up, surprised and shocked.

Dusk nodded. “Though, I am thankful that they didn’t. If it wasn’t the city that would age against them, it would have been my mother rampaging after them. My father would have, of course, followed—albeit at a safe distance.”

His words, despite the bleak exposition, did gather a laugh out of several ponies. The humor was dark; but Dusk didn’t seem at all offended.

“Throughout my adolescence, I was noted for being not like most foals my age. I had begun talking a the early age of fourteen months, speaking full sentences in only another six months. By the time I was five, I could speak about as eloquently as a third-grader. In school, the teachers were quick to notice my… uniqueness. While other foals were out playing with blocks and cubes, I would sit in the back and read the shelves. Sometimes I would read one full book; other times, two.”

He shook his head ruefully. “It was then that I acquired my first insult. Some foal had decided that I was a good enough victim, and used the oh-so-wonderful term, ‘bookworm,’ in hopes of disheartening me. Naturally, I thanked him.”

He paused, letting the scribe finish writing. A few ponies looked incredulous to what Dusk said, but several were utterly enwrapped in his tale. Their looks made him slightly uncomfortable; though fame was not something he was unfamiliar with, he did not actively seek it out, and often shunned from it when given the chance. Nevertheless, after the scribe had finished, Dusk continued his story.

“Similar tales continued throughout my early years of education. I was the most advanced in my classes, and the teachers dutifully noted this. So much so, that when I was ten, I discovered that the schools of Manehattan could offer little more for me, in terms of educational experience. My teachers, knowing this, surprised my family with a letter of recommendation.” He grinned, reveling in the memory. “Would it be so arrogant as to say I expected this?”

“What did the letter consist of?” Luna asked.

“I was recommended to enroll in a school in Canterlot—specifically, the School of Excellence.” He looked at Twilight, seeing her surprised.

“You went to my sister school?” she asked.

“And a good eight years before you enrolled in Princess Celestia’s School of Gifted Unicorns,” he added. That made her frown, as she realized just how old Dusk was compared to her. Odd how, despite Dusk being twenty-eight, one would think he was about the same age as any of the girls. Perhaps he had some unique physicality that kept him young-looking.

“I spent five years in that school, learning everything I could. In the midsts of my studies, I met four other ponies who would later become my friends. I believe we are acquainted with a few of them?”

“You mean Raven Lock?” Luna asked.

“Correct. But also his late wife, Jade Sonnet.” He glanced upward, sifting through his memories. “She was a lovely mare, with an even lovelier voice. Out of the four of us, she had earned her mark the earliest… what was it; seven years of age?” He shook his head. “She and Raven met through me, and they dated throughout the remainder of their time there. And though I was a cold stallion, a loner, they still warmed up to me, and I to them.”

He purposely did not talk about the fourth pony, choosing instead to elaborate on what he learned in school. The school offered classes to all three kinds of ponies, though several classes had pegasi, unicorns, and earth ponies working together. Dusk attended numerous seminars, and found the art of language to be the most interesting. In between his growing interest in language arts, he learned chemistry, biochemistry, a bit of forensics (which would later be expanded upon when he worked with Raven), as well as other miscellaneous classes. He was among the top of his class.

The scribe worked diligently, carefully writing down everything Dusk said. The scratch of the quill was like music to Dusk’s ears, and he was half tempted to bring out his own quill and start writing. An odd quirk, certainly, but one that Dusk treasured. He made himself wait, though, knowing that now wasn’t the time.

His voice turned from a nostalgic tone to melancholy as he transitioned to his fifth year in Canterlot. “I was the highest scorer in the school, and had already numerous schools and companies asking me to work with them. But I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do after school; a part of me wanted to follow in the footprints of my parents and be a social worker, but I had learned in the past that such a role was not befitting of me.” His unnatural coldness to foreign ponies had met him with severe criticism. “I could not have anticipated how mother and father would lead me down my chosen path.”

Voice pained, he recalled, “I got a letter. It was from one of the largest hospitals in Manehattan. They said…” His voice faltered and he had to look away for a moment, fighting back tears.

Celestia waited for him to recover, not interrupting nor forcing him to continue.

“… Sorry. It’s been… so long since I had to think about that letter. Aevitas. Forever.” He sighed. “It is peculiar how even after all this time, the pain remains…”

He shook his head, focusing his best on that day. “That letter… it concerned the well-being of my parents. Little details were given, but there was a clear message there: they were sick, and they were in the hospital. I talked to my teachers, and they allowed me leave. Raven and Jade also came, having finished their own studies for the year and wanting to support me however they could.

“I arrived at that hospital. Those walls, they were white and pure; but I had a feeling that behind them was the blood of ponies in terrible pain. I remember that the sounds of the hospital became blurred as I was lost in my worrying thoughts. Raven had to guide me to the room where my parents lay.

“They… weren’t well.” Dusk swallowed. “They were skinny, even though they were being fed amply. Their limbs were contorted; bones, morphed; and they were in clear pain. My father could barely look at me without wincing in intense agony.

“The doctors told me that they were suffering from a rare disease. One that Manehattan had not ever encountered in the past. Generally, the disease was found in poorer areas of Equestria, where the risk of infection and gene-related ailments are more common. It was too late to try and treat them; they were dying, and there was no cure.”

“They suffered from the cancerous-thalassemia red blood cells?” Luna asked.

Dusk nodded, his eyes closed and breathing slow. “Had we seen the signs before, maybe ten years ago… they might have survived. A blood transfusion, that late in their lives, would have done nothing.

“My parents, however, decided to impart a few more words to me. My friends had tears in their eyes as Diei and Luxi spoke to me. Father told me that he was sorry he couldn’t see me become the stallion he knew I would become. Mother was sorry that I had to see them like this. But…” He gulped. “They were the most remorseful, when the doctor revealed another result.

“I had the disease. I had the cancer-thalassemia mutagen. I was going to die.”

He opened his eyes, feeling suddenly tired. “The doctors gave me less than ten years. I wouldn’t live to thirty.”

He fell silent, the only sound being the scratch of the quill. Dusk rubbed his satchel, finding some comfort in the material and the weight of his items.

“Their final request for me… was for me to try and help Manehattan any way I could.” His breath caught as he remembered his mother’s pained gasp. “They knew I didn’t have the heart to be a social worker; but they knew I cared. And they only wanted me to try to help those in need.”

He became silent, lost in the pained memory, as the court looked at him in sympathy. It didn’t matter that Dusk was accused of something morbid and macabre; losing one’s parents at a young age was something no one ever wanted on any one else. Even the hardiest of Canterlot’s citizens had the decency to sympathize with the stricken stallion.

After a few seconds passed, Dusk continued his tale.

“I stayed in that hospital for the remainder of the week, my friends also with me. I tried my best to comfort my parents, recalling all the joyful times we had. Fleeting, but still memorable.”

Luna had to ask what they all dreaded. “And… what became of your parents?”

His voice grew small, unconfident, shamed. “They were on life support for a little while. But… I learned that they wouldn’t survive off of it, and they’d be in constant pain. My parents asked me to do what I thought was right. After a week passed…”

A breath hissed through suddenly dry lips. “I… unplugged them from the machines.”

Another silence, even heavier than the ones before. Dusk felt tears gather at the edges of his vision, and he wiped them away, stifling a sniff. Stay strong, Dusk.

Luna spoke up, breaking the silence. She had a stoic expression on, mirrored by her calm voice; but Dusk could tell that there was a sliver of emotion in her gaze. “Dusk, I understand that you are in a deep sense of pain. But I ask that you try your best to continue the story.”

Dusk looked at her, before nodding.

“I left the room in complete shock once the act was done. I slumped against the wall, a hoof covering my face. I hadn’t cried in years; but it seemed that all those held-back tears were finally flooding out. I sat there and cried for nearly an hour. When I was done, I was completely exhausted.

“Jade and Raven walked out, and they were shaky and tearful. They couldn’t look at me, but I could tell that they, too, were just as hurt. I watched them go, numb…”

He stopped, going back over his memory.

“I heard another stallion crying. He was from another room. I wasn’t sure why, but I got up and went over to that room. Was it morbid curiosity? A desire to comfort somepony else? I am not sure. Either way, as I entered, I saw him.

“He was a brown earth pony, about my age. His Cutie Mark was a circle outline with a nine-pronged star in the middle, representing order within a habitat. He glanced at me, rushed over, and gripped me in a tight hug. He was the fourth friend; the one who had left the school a few months back. Family matters, apparently.”

“In that room, I quickly understood what those matters were.”

“A light, blue-grey stallion was on the bed, weak and struggling to breathe. Still, though, his eyes lit up in recognition when he saw me. Even in his waning state, he still had the strength of a thousand ponies in those eyes. His mark was of an upside-down triangle, with a horizontal line running through the middle—a symbol of stability. He was my friend’s father, Atticus Poise—and he, in many ways, was my foster uncle.”

The name sounded familiar to several ponies, though none could pinpoint why.

“He couldn’t talk with the breathing apparatus attached, but with one hoof gently holding his son’s, the message was clear. Just as my friends saw my parents convey their love to me, I saw my friend’s father convey his love to his offspring. I saw their pain and regrets and sorrows. I saw respect, fear, and sadness.

“I learned from my friend that his father was involved in a bad accident. He had pushed another pony out of the way of an incoming, out-of-control trolley that had jumped free of its rails. He had crashed through the window and out the back, knocking out the driver pony as well. The driver had minimal wounds; but Atticus suffered bruises, cuts, broken bones, and trauma to the head and chest.” Dusk clenched his eyes shut. “The state I saw him him—bloody, broken, beaten—was just as bad as seeing my parents in their pain.”

“Atticus moved his lips, and I read them: ‘Save this city.’ His son nodded, before we had to leave for the doctors to treat their patient. Atticus would not survive the rest of the week. My friend made the same decision as I did.”

He sighed. “In that sense, the two of us had bonded more than we had ever had in school. It was a grim bond, born out of tragedy. Yet, we were friends; best friends; nearly brothers, in that regard. And while we did not say too much afterwards, we understood what we wanted to do—and how to fulfill our parents’ wishes.

“At least, we thought we did. Though I am unsure…” he whispered, more to himself. The scribe dutifully wrote that last part down nonetheless.

“Who was this friend?” Luna asked. She had a curious and surprised look, and Dusk guessed she had already figured it out just from the mention of the father. He sighed, knowing that some of the court would not believe him.

“You know him as Mayor Grifford Finch.”

Predictably, the court roared, shocked beyond belief. This accused murderer was friends with the beloved leader of that city? And had known the family for a long time? It was near unthinkable that he would have any sort of connection with the mayor!

“Blasphemous claims!” Blueblood exclaimed.

“I wish it was,” Dusk responded, his voice hard once more. His expression revealed he was not comforted by this fact; rather, he seemed even more perturbed.

With a bang, Celestia managed to dissolve the resulting chaos, assuming an authoritarian tone. “Order! Dusk, this is surprising. Grifford Finch has never mentioned you in any of his writings or speeches, despite you obviously having a close relationship with him.”

“He had reason not to,” Dusk responded evenly.

“Doesn’t that make Grifford a suspect?” one audience member called out.

Dusk turned sharply, glaring at the source. “No! Grifford would never do that! Despite everything—” He cut himself off as the pony shrank back under his gaze. He heaved a sigh. “At least, the Grifford I knew wouldn’t… Nevermind that. Finch and I… we grew farther apart in time.”

“Continue your story.”

“… I made a drastic decision to leave the school. I had experienced enough to graduate two years earlier, but I had stayed to be with my friends. I cut my further studies short, to my eternal chagrin, and traveled back to Manehattan to fulfill my parents’ wishes.

“Raven and Jade remained in the school for a number of years, though we did communicate from time to time. Grifford returned to the city only a year after me, to take care of his father’s ‘business.’” He spat the word like it was a curse, though nopony understood why.

“Three years passed. I had not gotten my mark yet, and my inability to fully realize my parents’ dream was frustrating. Eighteen years old, blank, and unsure what I wanted or needed to do!”

“And you never got your mark?” Luna asked.

To her surprise, Dusk shook his head. “I never said that.”

“But you’re still a blank flank!” Blueblood attested.

Dusk glanced back at his flank, seeing the pewter color still there. He sighed. “So it seems.”

He turned back to face Luna. “Three years I spent, wandering, confused, worried, and angry. I wanted to do something; anything. I remembered my studies back in Canterlot; they primarily focused on writing and the arts. I thought that I should try that. Perhaps some answer would come in the form of the quill.

“And so, I wrote. And I found something truly amazing; the pain of my past was leaving just as the ink became attached to the paper. Each stroke and each letter and each word resulted in less pain and torment. Words became paragraphs; paragraphs became pages; and pages became a novel. I realized that I was happy; I felt productive, energized. As I looked over the manuscript, I realized I could do something with this. I could help my parents in my own way: a creative way, one that I could call my own. One that could help.”

He paused, letting the scribe finish writing before continuing. “I sent that manuscript back to the School of Excellence. It was an essay and a story at the same time. It detailed my thoughts and ideas, my pain, my growth, my epiphanies, the dream of my parents, and what I wished Manehattan to be.”

He closed his eyes. “This is the 1035th age of Equestria, I just realized. It’s been ten years since I wrote that document. Since so many aspiring students gazed upon those words and worked for the betterment of the city.”

He opened his eyes, a soft smile on his face. “I called that manuscript Electiones Faciums—the Essay of Choice.”

He saw Celestia and Luna’s eyes widen in realization. Twilight as well had a look of complete shock. The others were less surprised, more on the line of confused. The jury booth and the rest of the court exchanged murmurs that could only be described as random and disbelieving.

“Y-y-you wrote that?” Twilight stammered. “B-b-but—”

“But it was written by a pony by the name of O.P. Not my initials, I know. But they are for a certain author.”

Slowly, the audience was beginning to understand what he meant. He, however, was not finished; there was still one final detail to establish.

“I met Opacare Prose around the same time I sent that manuscript. He and I were kindred spirits, sharing similar goals. We wanted to better the city, and we realized we could do that through our writing. And so, we worked together, in that sense. We wrote stories and novels and sent them off. Mere weeks later, we got letters of publication. The first story we wrote was published and was a hit with the entirety of Equestria.

“I got my Mark soon after I wrote the Faciums. It was a blue quill, with a black inkwell, highly reminiscent of the tools I had used to write that first tale of splendor. And it was the same as Opacare’s.”

Reaching into his bags as he ignored the growing cries of the crowd, he pulled out the signature items. He placed down a piece of paper and, the quill in hand and dipped in jet-black substance, began to write.

The court let out gasps of awe as they saw Dusk’s flank glow and vibrate, no longer hidden. Several recalled that the Marks of ponies were magical in nature, reacting differently but still arcanely with each pony. The glow was evident of the Mark working its magic; and the sparks that flew from the quill, speedily moving, added to the fact.

“I have a gift for writing,” Dusk said as he wrote. “I always have. It’s the one thing that I knew would give me away, should the opportunity present itself. Which was why I masked the Mark with a special substance—the layman call it Illusionary Mud. I came across it during one of my courses in chemistry, you see. I memorized the formula, and made it so that it wouldn’t easily wash off and could perfectly conceal what I needed to hide.”

With a swipe of his hoof, he wiped the Mud away, but his flank still glowed. “I stand here, accused of killing that stallion. But fate had a different plan. He and I would hide. He would vanish, I would help him; he would be gone, and I would survive. His disappearance was for my survival.

“But I didn’t kill him.”

He knew it was near-unbelievable. Continuing his tale, he elaborated to the actual disappearance:

“We left for the same reason; we needed to hide. Something had come up, something dark, something sinister, and if we were to stay, many ponies would be hurt.” He glanced away. “Jade was the first casualty; Raven the second. We did not know who would be third. Our presence stirred up trouble, and I did not want to cause to anypony’s death through my actions.

“We did the only action we thought we could do, to ensure their safety; we vanished.”

“Prose was the one who vanished,” Luna said.

Dusk looked at her pointedly. “And with Prose’s vanishment, I appeared and disappeared,” he answered vaguely. He glanced around. “I never killed anypony. I never have and never will. That I can absolutely promise. And I know why.”

He finished writing, the sparks falling to the side of the podium, flashing multi-colors brilliantly, like a rainbow of the written art. He held up the paper proudly, letting the awed court gaze upon the words that were written.

“Ego Opacare Prose.”

With those words read, his flank flashed again, blinding the majority of the room for a few seconds. When they could see again, they saw what Dusk had spoken of: a sharp, blue quill pen, crossing in front of a black inkwell, pulsating in the morning’s glow.

“I am Opacare Prose.”

---

At once the entirety of the court—guards included—erupted. Ponies rose from their seats, some tempted to start cheering, others willing to start throwing. Twilight and her friends did their best to the audience down, but they could not placate themselves. Wide-eyed, they stared at Dusk—Opacare—and saw him as a complete stranger, not the mysterious stallion they had, paradoxically, come to know so well.

The jury was in an equal state of disorder. Blueblood spluttered something incoherent, while Fancy grinned from ear to ear. Most of the nobles shared confused and utterly astonished looks, though some were tempted to start joining in on the cheering.

Irons was the most erratic. He stood, roaring and laughing at the same time, spouting incomprehensible nonsense.

The stallion on the stand knew he had glossed over several details of his story. After a moment of waiting, with the cries eventually waning down as they noticed him standing still, he looked back at Luna. He was surprised to find her with a hoof on her mouth. Glancing up at Celestia, he saw a similarly shocked expression.

“N-n-no w-w-way!” Rainbow stammered, flying over to him. “Y-y-you’re him?!”

He nodded.

“I-I-I don’t believe it! Prove it!”

“And how shall I, Rainbow Dash, the ‘biggest fan of Trent Collins the Human?’”

She blushed. “How did—”

“I did receive your letters from time to time, praising the Trial by Fire series of books. Though, I was quite surprised to hear from a Daring Do fan.” He smirked somewhat. “I didn’t think Miss Dash here liked those children books.”

Rainbow couldn’t tell if she wanted to squeal in delight or punch the stallion for making fun of her. Either way, she flew away back to her stand.

Celestia cleared her throat. “T-this is a rather… interesting turn of events. But… nopony has ever seen Opacare Prose before. And you say you are him…” Glancing at his flank, then at his eyes, she examined every bit of detail he had presented. For a moment, the silence grew enormously, weighing heavily on the shoulders of all who watched.

Then, just as suddenly, Celestia broke into raucous laughter. Luna gave her older sister a confused glance.

“S-sorry,” she apologized, blushing. “It’s just… I never expected this type of outcome ever occurring. Really, I thought Dusk would confess to being the killer.” She looked at the stallion with a sense of awe, and he felt a surge of pride in knowing that he had tricked the Princesses. “Never in my years has a pony gone so far as to craft a new identity to escape his old.”

She frowned. “But that begs the question. Why?”

He looked back at her, his voice as calm as he could muster. “The missing author, found; the stallion, gone. But that wasn’t the end of the tale, now, was it?”

Their attention was entirely transfixed back onto him. Like a true storyteller, he gathered their attention with his words.

“In the time after I became an author, some events transpired that caught my attention. I was asked to return an old favor for an old friend, just a year after my parents’ deaths. That friend, was Grifford Finch.

“He had taken over his father’s ‘business,’ and wanted to know if I was interested in a job. Even though I was a successful author, the job didn’t pay the bills, so I gladly accepted, not knowing what I was getting into.” He sighed. “From an outsider’s perspective, such a business would have seemed benevolent. I myself thought that for the first few years; indeed, it was only until my early-to-mid-twenties that I realized the truth.

“Grifford’s father, Atticus, was part of an organization of ponies operating in Manehattan. They were dedicated to overthrowing the corrupt politicians that had long plagued the city, using every bit of advantage they had. The organization was large and had many members, as well as several positions for delegating what the organization would do.”

“This organization… you speak of it like it was something bad,” noted Luna. “Why is that?”

He sighed again. “It… it wasn’t supposed to be bad, in the beginning, I don’t think. The intentions were pure and clear. But… some things changed.”

He looked at the two Princesses. “Are you aware of the period between AOE 1026 and AOE 1029? Specifically of events that occurred in Manehattan?”

Celestia nodded. “I remember. Historians called it The Great Upheaval. Corrupt politicians were being exposed and quickly being removed from office.”

“It was more than that. It was an entire reform movement that sought to change the very foundations of Manehattan. Ponies had grown to realize just how corrupt the city was; the higher-ups, the rich, the politicians, were all taking advantage of the middle and lower classes. My parents’ nigh impossible work in the slums was evident of this, and there were many more cases of the rich abusing the poor. Rights were obstructed; basic welfare denied. It was truly a dark time.

“But out of that darkness rose what some ponies would call a light, had they been there to see it. From the outside, it looked like the citizens of Manehattan had gotten tired of the politicians of old, and simply overthrew them. But in reality, it was much more complex.

“For years, I would learn, this ‘light’ had been gathering information on these politicians, intending to use it all to completely ruin their reputations and run them out of office. Charges on bribery, blackmail, embezzlement, and some even murder were among the list of grievances. This organization that I speak of was the same one that Atticus Poise was a part of—and the one that his son took charge of.

“It has no official name in the history books. But members call it the Family: a large-scale network of ponies working to rid the city of Manehattan of its corruption and lies.

“And I… I was a member.”

He sounded ashamed, like he was confronted by a grim reality he had never wanted. Intrigued, Princess Luna gestured for him to continue, after letting him take a moment to compose himself.

“Grifford put me in as what was known as a comminator, not to be confused with the word common. In fact, the very nature of that word is the exact opposite of the word it is sometimes mistaken with. Comminatoris were rare to find, I learned, because not all ponies had the stomach to do what they did. Grifford had seen me confront many bullies in the time we had schooled together; and he had seen my anger up close personally, when he had made a callous comment about Jade. He concluded that I had a natural talent for the job, and was not deterred when I told him that I had found my true talent in writing.

“‘You can be a writer and a comminator,’ he had told me.”

“What’s a comminator?” Rainbow interrupted.

“It means intimidator in Latineigh,” Twilight explained, looking at the stallion with more concern.

He continued his story, “At first, I believed him. The Family’s goals mirrored my own to a degree; all we wanted was to save the city, through any means necessary. To that end, we used whatever resources our members offered. Some were great lawyers; others, great investigators. My role was more personal and more hard-hitting, however; and it was not an easy role to fulfill.

“The job of a comminator was to intimidate stubborn, corrupt ponies into giving up their positions. Through methods of fear and/or torture this was done, all in the name of the people.”

“Torture?” Luna questioned, at once alarmed.

“To an extent, yes.” He flinched, recalling a memory. “I… I had to waterboard a particularly stubborn stallion once. I didn’t get too far into the procedure; he relinquished his power after a few splashes. But I was horribly terrified by what I had done.”

“And yet, you kept doing it?” Celestia asked.

He nodded, ashamed. “I thought it was necessary. And I was good at what I did; I rounded up more politicians and corrupt ponies than any other comminator. I didn’t want to let my friend down, either.”

“That is absurd!” a pony cried out from the crowd. “Mayor Grifford Finch would never allow such terrible actions to be taken!”

“The Grifford I knew all those years ago in school certainly wouldn’t. But… his father’s death changed something in him. He became more driven, more angry. He and I went down similar paths, and had both found an alternative. But our perceptions were largely divergent in the end…”

He paused, catching his breath. He had been talking for a long while now.

“My work was well-respected within the Family. When I turned twenty, I was promoted to a new position, one unique only to me. It was called the Comminator Protos: the Prime Intimidator. It was not a position to be taken lightly; with it came the risk of detection, perhaps even elimination.”

He was about to continue, until Celestia stopped him with a questioning hoof. “How did you get away with all your acts without being thrown out?”

“I used the same substance that marked my Mark: the Illusionary Mud. Those times, I produced a larger batch, and made it a different color that would alter my appearance. I could be a brown stallion one day; and a light-blue stallion another. With each mission I was presented, I used a different disguise to be somepony else.” Celestia nodded at his explanation, letting him continue.

“I was the Prime Intimidator for about a year. But it was then that things… changed. I had written several books now—you may know a few of them? X25 was my first delve into the science-fiction genre.” A few murmurs of recognition were heard. “Soon after that story was published, I was called away for another mission of intimidation. I assumed that it wouldn’t be anything too drastic.” He sighed bitterly. “Of course I thought wrong.”

He turned away, seemingly unable to meet the Princesses’ or Twilight’s and her friends’ eyes. “The mission was to enter a home in a small suburb. We had data that suggested that the home in question was the local meeting place of a crooked bank owner who was accused of embezzling thousands of hundreds of bits. Grifford had told me that this mission was among the final steps to getting rid of the corruption in Manehattan, and at the time I had agreed with him.

“So I entered the neighborhood, in the dead of night, disguised as something truly horrifying. The usual methods of the comminators, I was told, had done nothing, so I was tasked with breaking the corrupted pony by any means necessary. I decided to become a creature that would inflict nightmares on even the hardiest of ponies, and so disguised myself as a great demon from Tartarus. I walked up to the house, wearing the horns and covered in red Mud, with special contacts in so that my eyes appeared pupiless.

“I picked open one of the side windows, and slipped inside, thinking that the room would be the stallion I needed to apprehend. Instead, I landed in a place that I never expected to find myself in. I was in what appeared to be a foal’s room, with a nearby crib in the corner and a baby sleeping in it. I was shocked, not expecting to find a child here.

“Yet my luck was not poor enough. There was a slight tap on the door, and the knob turned. Before I could react, a little unicorn filly entered, carrying a glass of water. Even in the darkness, she could see my outline. Her mouth gaped in shock as she dropped the glass. I stared at her, not realizing that my contact lenses were glowing, making me look like a true demon. I had no idea what to do; I had not anticipated meeting a child. I could guess, however, what her reaction would be.”

He clenched his eyes shut. “Her eyes were… wide, scared, terrified, traumatized, as she screamed. Tears gathered in her eyes as she struck high chord, waking up the baby and giving me a headache. The baby began to cry, and I could do nothing by stare, dumbfounded, at the child’s horrific expression. I heard the parents wake up, and rush to their child. I had not moved, so when they saw me there, seemingly glowering menacingly at their child, they, too, felt fear flood their throats.

“I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned so fast that I seemed like a blur, ducking out the window. I could still hear the filly’s sobbing even as I left the neighborhood and returned to the city.

“I had accomplished my mission. The stallion in that home was convinced that he was being targeted, and promptly resigned a few days later. It didn’t help that his daughter was seeking psychological treatment for seeing something truly unearthly. His family no longer encountered ‘the hellish monster from where nightmares originate,’ not necessarily because he was no longer targeted, but because the monster no longer wanted to target anypony.”

His eyes slowly opened, and he gazed sadly at the ground. “That was the final act for me. I no longer wanted to do this any longer. I began to question whether what I did was right. The filly’s face was in my dreams each night, waking me up in the middle of resting, feeling guilty and ashamed. And, as I read story after story, detailing how the filly was in a dire situation, I realized I had had enough. I donated a number of my funds to helping that filly, remaining anonymous. Then I went to confront Grifford.

“He wasn’t happy that I wanted to go. He told me that once I was in, there was no going back. He did feel guilty for unintentionally harming that filly, though he brushed it aside, saying that it was ‘a necessary casualty.” He shook his head. “He spoke of this like it was a war, not a righteous crusade… And it was then I realized I had lost the Grifford Finch I had known.

“Harsh words were exchanged, but I knew I could not leave the Family. Finch probably would not have acted against me initially, but I knew that several members would not hesitate to attack me or my friends.” He looked at Celestia solemnly. “I had to remain there for seven years. It was only this year that I realized I had to do something. If I didn’t, then…” He gulped, unable to finish the phrase, instead moving onto the final part of his tale.

“I didn’t accept any further missions from that point, though I still remained as the Comminator Protus. A year after I became the Prime Intimidator, the Family’s main goal was nearly finished. Offices had been cleared, and old politicians had been thrown out. The next step was finding the right ponies to fill the vacant positions. I had thought that the Family would let the city decide; but I was wrong.

“The Family used its own methods of intimidation, investigation, and pressuring to force the citizens to vote in several Family members.” He shook his head angrily. “They took the right they had promised to give Manehattan—the right to choose their own path—away, forcing them to follow the road that the Family paved! They were no better than the politicians they had fought to remove!

“I tried to confront Grifford about this, but he would have none of it. He told me he would stick by the Family, just like his father had asked him. And then, he said words that I thought he would never say…

“‘It’s what your parents would have wanted.’”

A frigid silence befell the room, and it seemed that every heartbeat could be heard. Dusk’s gaze hardened in absolute disgust. “Grifford Finch had died, replaced with something much worse. And I would have none of that. I couldn’t. I distanced myself as far away as possible from the Family. Soon, as the years went by, my status as the Prime Intimidator was forgotten. I became a whisper in the wind to the Family, a stallion who had seemingly left the Family, yet hadn’t at the same time. I was still under their web of influence; and I would remain there for the next seven years.

“Only this year did I finally do something. I wanted nothing to do with the Family, and I knew that if I left, I would be followed and hounded; perhaps even killed. And if I told anypony else what I knew, the Family would somehow find them; and kill them.” He shivered. “Nevertheless, I had to try. I made preparations. I contacted Raven Lock, and he agreed to help. We made plans. We put them in place. And, with his help, and after so much time spent preparing for the inevitable uproar, Opacare Prose vanished.

“Some said he died. Other said he simply went away for a while. From his ashes, rose the stallion you see here today. Dusk Prosa rose; Opacare Prose fell.”

He sighed. “But, in the end, it didn’t matter how much planning we did. Raven Lock is gone; presumably the Family got to him. And now, the self-fulfilling prophecy I spoke on earlier today has come true.

“The weapon of truth kills him where he stands, rendering him nothing more than a memory. In his wake, the missing author returns, alive, but not well.

“Today is the day that Dusk Prosa dies, and Opacare Prose lives.”

And with that, Dusk Prosa was truly nevermore. All that remained—or perhaps, returned—was Opacare Prose.

---

He fell silent, his story finally finished. He indicated to Celestia that he was done.

She said nothing in response, staring quietly down at the stallion before her. Never in her years had she witnessed such an amazing spectacle, nor such a rich testimony—no, a life story.

She nodded, turning to the jury.

“With this new information presented, I grant a brief recess for the jury to come to a conclusion,” she said.

The jury members mumbled amongst themselves. The room was silent aside from that, too taken aback by what the stallion on the stand had said to say anything. Then, after what seemed like forever, with enough tension to crush the strongest of mountains lying on top of the room, the jury came to a verdict. Fancy Pants walked up to Celestia with a stoic frown, and whispered their decision in her ear. She nodded.

“This court finds the accused, Dusk Prosa, in regards to his supposed murder of Opacare Prose, as well as the remaining charges against him…”

[jarvyjared]

XXVI: Vive Ut Vivas

Live So That You May Live

It was over.

Dusk Prosa was gone.

Opacare Prose was here, now.

But he did not feel elation. Only… apprehension.

One day had passed since Prose had gotten his “Not Guilty” verdict. The nation was in an uproar over his appearance. Canterlot’s press had repeated the story over the course of the seven days, and papers were being sold and read by the dozen. The story had spread quickly to Ponyville; the entire town was shocked to learn that the missing author had really been in their midst. Soon, the story of the death of Dusk, and the dawn of Prose, engulfed the remaining cities and towns of Equestria.

Of course, not everything was printed. Opacare’s words on Mayor Grifford Finch were still being considered. While the rulers wanted to think of his words as true, it was only his word against years of history, and Opacare had not bothered to bring substantial evidence to the table. And the nobles and audience certainly didn’t want to bring up such a controversial matter. As such, the only things revealed were his “death” and his “resurrection.”

That did not mean that the rulers had not been tempted to tell Equestria what Prose had said. His insistence convinced them to remain silent, though Twilight and the others were still confused as to why.

They all stood in the throne room, mulling over the future. The information presented had consequences that were far-reaching, and they wanted to decide what the next course of action was.

“Why won’t you let us do anything about this?” Twilight asked the pewter stallion.

“Because I have no evidence. It would look like the ramblings of a mad stallion.” He shook his head. “At the time, I was unaware that Grifford was even doing anything remotely nefarious. It was only after that incident with the child that I realized the truth. But the city believes otherwise. To the citizens, Finch is their hero, their savior, the ‘corruption-breaker’ and ‘pony of the people.’”

He began pacing around the room. “You see, he has the city so tightly under his control that, if you remove him, the city will fall. He, being responsible for returning Manehattan to its glory days, bears the duty of making sure that the city survives and stays this way. No matter how evil his actions have become.”

“So what yer saying is,” said Applejack, “is that if Finch was suddenly removed, the city would collapse?”

He nodded. “Exactly. And who would do the removing but the Princesses themselves?” He gestured to the pair, who were watching him, curious. “Should the rulers of Equestria go so far as to physically intervene in the matters of one of its cities and usurp its beloved mayor with no evidence, they would revolt.”

He shook his head. “It’s a sad world we live in, where sometimes to keep the peace, you must preserve the chaos and the darkness.”

His words were spoken with coldness and resignation, and the ponies realized that what he was talking about was true. They could do little to stop Grifford, and even if they could, there was a huge likelihood that the city would retaliate.

“I have a lot of dirt on him,” Prose continued, “but he has a lot of dirt on me. As I’m sure you are all now well aware,” he added, glancing around the room.

“Acts of intimidation, violence, threatening, assault,” Pinkie prattled off.

“Don’t flatter me.”

“We could appeal for a pardon,” Twilight said, looking up to her elders. “Get you away from your past actions.”

“It is not myself I am concerned for. It is the others that have helped. If I spoke up, it wouldn’t take long for the Family to connect the dots on how I escaped their clutches, and go after the ponies who assisted me.” He looked away. “One stallion has already paid the price. I cannot risk any more.”

“We could protect them!” Rainbow exclaimed angrily.

“Grifford has power, both in the Family and in the city. He is the Boss of the Family, after all.” He looked at Rainbow, tired. “If you try to protect those ponies, you’d be in just as much danger. Finch would issue a warrant, try and have my helpers arrested. If you try to go against the warrant, to the city, you’d be just another criminal trying to obstruct justice.”

“Surely they are not so naive!” Rarity exclaimed.

“If I was, who is to say they are not?”

Princess Celestia, meanwhile, had picked up on a small fact from Prose’s words. She looked at him, confused. “Raven Lock was not the only pony who helped you vanish?”

He turned to face her, shaking his head. “No. There were more. Several ponies in the higher-ups, in fact. They helped convince several publishing companies not to have my picture taken, thereby keeping me anonymous from the very start.”

“That explains why nopony knew what to look for,” Luna noted. “You had no pictures published in any of your novels.”

He smiled bitterly. “Indeed. The only ponies who knew what I looked like were Grifford and Raven. I kept a majority of my identity a secret from the Family.”

“If Mayor Finch knew what you looked like, then, why didn’t he specifically tell us what to look for?” asked Twilight.

He turned back to her. “I was counting on Finch making that mistake. He has a habit of overthinking some details. Likely, he had concluded that if I suddenly vanished, one, it was not of my own free will—as you have learned a few weeks back—and two, that I would be disguised. He had no idea, then, what to look for, because he was counting on that possibility.” He shook his head. “Of course, he has now been proven wrong. No doubt he is hitting himself over the head for missing the obvious. A true case of not following Occam’s razor, if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Occam’s razor?” Rainbow asked Twilight in a whisper.

“It means that among competing hypotheses, the one with the fewest assumptions should be selected,” she explained.

“But what about school? Surely you had your picture taken?”

“Never had. I missed the school picture day so many times because of studying that I was no longer eligible to have my picture taken.” He shook his head ironically. “And even if I had, the point still stands that the world would assume the least likely.”

Doctor Irons had been watching patiently, and now he chose to speak up. “What about the syringes?”

“What about them?” Opacare asked back.

“The labels. They said OP. No doubt, yours, now that we’ve established who you are. But why?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, instead walking back over to the evidence box. He gingerly took out the syringe, cringing slightly. Twilight realized why.

“You have trypanophobia?” she asked, incredulous.

He smiled weakly. “Amazing, isn’t it, that the Prime Intimidator should be intimidated by something so small and fragile?”

He walked back over to Irons, keeping the syringe as far away as possible. “You know by now that these have been shipped out to various hospitals across Equestria, to be used to treat others with my condition. My blood, unique as it is, does not serve as any true form of identification. I could not use Dusk Prosa as my signature, because the shipping and usage required valid identification. So I used my real initials, OP, as a means of allowing transport of my blood.”

“Why couldn’t you get a fake ID?” Fluttershy asked.

He glanced at her. “I’ve already broken numerous laws, fighting for what I thought was ‘right.’ But these syringes would really allow me to save lives. And I intended to do so through lawful means.” He glanced away. “That, and, Dusk Prosa never existed. He was but an alias, without any substance.”

He looked at Irons, and there was a hint of a smirk on his lips. “Dusk Prosa is really a combination of other languages. Dusk is the Equish translation of Opacare; Prosa is the Spaneish translation of Prose.”

“So it was your real name, just translated differently?” Irons smiled. “Clever.”

Opacare would have made a snarky reply, but he was cut off by the doors suddenly being thrown open. Looking up, he saw a trio of fillies galloping in, and for a moment a flicker of fear ran through his heart.

Sweetie in particular had a nasty look on her face, and she looked like she could plow right through the much larger pony. Prose took a step back. “Er, Sweetie—”

He was then tackled by the three, his back landing hard on the floor. He let out an “oof,” feeling his ribs being crushed as the three hugged him.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Sweetie cried, her face in his vest.

“C’mon, Dusk, not cool!” Apple Bloom also cried, squeezing him tightly.

Scootaloo couldn’t really say anything, likely not wanting to appear uncool in front of Rainbow Dash, but she gripped him just as tightly.

Unsure what to do at first, Opacare eventually settled on gently hugging the girls back. Slowly, he stood, the girls slipping off at him and staring at him, eyes filled with tears. He couldn’t tell if they were sad that Dusk was gone; or relieved that the truth had been revealed.

“First,” he said, kneeling down and speaking in a soft tone, “my real name is Opacare Prose. It may be a little while before you get used to calling me that, but I would like you to keep that in mind.”

They nodded. “Second. Why do you cry, young ones? What has made you so upset today?”

Sweetie wiped her eyes. “W-we’re not upset! We’re just…” She choked on a sob. “W-we’re just s-so h-h-happy!”

She began bawling, launching herself back at Opacare. The others joined in soon after, the waterworks overflooding any restraint they had. He glanced behind, seeing that even Twilight and her friends had some tears in their eyes.

“Happy?” he asked. “What for?”

Sweetie sniffed. “Y-you won’t be taken away from us,” she stammered, her voice muffled in the collar of his vest. She looked up at him, giving him the most genuine smile he had ever seen. “I told you you weren’t all that bad!”

He frowned. “But what of my past actions? All those misdeeds, those acts of intimidation—”

“You wanted to redeem yourself,” Celestia interrupted, smiling gently. “You wanted to honor your parents’ wishes. You were misguided, but you realized that, and tried to find a way to return to the path you wanted to travel on.”

She took a step forward. “Dusk, or Opacare, or whatever you call yourself, I think it is quite clear that regardless of your actions, your intent was good. And now, seeing you here, knowing that what you did in the past was wrong…” Her smile widened. “I think that makes you a good pony as well.” Twilight and her friends murmured their agreement, as did Irons and Luna, their smiles real and true.

Opacare looked at them all, carefully analyzing what they said. A part of him did not want to believe them; but that part of him was the old part, the one that lived in fear of what could happen. Perhaps that part of him was right in some sense; a good fear of the unknown was necessary to his survival. But that fear should not hinder his goals, nor his intentions. It had done so in the past; and he knew that he could not let it happen again.

He smiled, matching their expressions of joy, as he hugged the fillies back gently.

“There’s still one thing Ah don’t quite understand,” Applejack spoke up. Everypony looked to her. “What exactly did that note of yours say, Dusk—Ah mean, Opacare?”

His smile remained intact. “I’ll show you when we get to Ponyville.”

---

A day later, they returned to Ponyville. Before they entered the town, they made a quick stop to Opacare’s house. He gave a pointed look to Rainbow as he allowed them inside, suggesting a hint of annoyance remaining. He guided them up the stairs, leading them to his room calmly. Entering, he walked over to the wastebasket and fished around for the note, taking it out and unrolling it.

He raised an eyebrow. “Nopony tried searching my house further?”

Twilight shook her head. “No. Mayor Mare decided that Rainbow’s evidence was enough.”

He looked at the pegasus, who was abashed. He smiled. “Hmm. You’ve studied Trent’s techniques, I see.” She blushed even harder, but managed a sheepish grin.

He placed the note onto the desk. “The blotches are from the ink,” he explained, “but they also stem from another substance. Can you guess what?”

Sweetie answered, “Is it that Illusionary Mud stuff you used?”

He nodded. “Indeed. But the formula isn’t perfect. It can be removed with only a small bit of water.”

“Then why didn’t it come off when you came from Foal Mountains?” Fluttershy asked. “What with all that snow?”

He tapped his cloak. “The vest and cloak are more than just accessory. Raven, he… commissioned them a while back. It helped with police work, and prevented his flare revolver from getting too damp. These garments protect quite well against wet conditions.”

He pointed back to the paper. “As you can see, this note lacks such a covering. Hence, why I can do this.” He licked his hoof, then gently began rubbing away at the smudges. At first, it seemed to make it worse; but, as he applied a little more pressure, the smudges began gathering in small clumps which could easily be peeled off of the words. With a quick swipe, he gathered the clumps into a larger pile, and they slowly amassed in a mud formation. It was a dark black, nearly identical to the color of the ink, and he placed it to the side.

He noticed that Twilight had a somewhat thoughtful look on her face. “Something on your mind?” he asked.

She started, looking at him. “Sorry. I was just thinking of an old friend who specialized in illusions.”

“Unicorn?”

“Yeah. Her name was Trixie. Maybe you’ve heard of her?”

“Mm… nope.” He turned back to the note, seemingly content with dropping the topic. Twilight, after a moment, resumed watching.

“Here we go,” he murmured, as he finished taking all the Mud pieces off. He held it up, and turned to face them, reading the note aloud:

“Raven Lock,

“You will never read this; it will die over night. It is not meant to be sent out. There is always a possibility of danger, should you be found reading this.

“With everything that has been happening, I am beginning to grow even more worried. It’s at times like these I wish I hadn’t become Dusk Prosa. So much conflict is quickly arising, and my old self is returning in full stride.

“I regret becoming this monster. I always have. But you already know that. You know what I’ve done.

“I’m rambling. This isn’t so much a letter as much as it is a way for me to get my thoughts down.

“The syringes are almost done. They’re locked in my freezer, hopefully sane enough to frighten me no longer. It’s not all the blood that scares me, though…

“Opacare Prose is gone. By my hooves. Figuratively, of course. Prose isn’t really dead. To say I killed him… well, now that I think about it, that could be true.

“The town doesn’t know, though. And I’m certain that the fillies know about the syringes.

“Funny. The syringes and Prose’s disappearance are both my most kept and worst kept secrets.

“There I go, off on another tangent. Like I’m insane. Next thing you’ll know, I’ll be returning to Manehattan to rejoin the Family, maybe even bury Opacare Prose’s name.

“Forgive me. That wasn’t very funny.

“I guess I just needed to write this. Like a confession. Not that it matters. No amount of reconciliation can undo what I’ve done.

“I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. I’m not sure what to do. Should I continue this operation?

“Of course I should. I started it. And I intend to finish it.

“There’s no need for aliases.
“Opacare Prose”

Finished reading, he glanced around, surprised to see a few tears in the others’ eyes. Rarity stepped forward and gave him a gentle hug. He flinched, unsure if he should reciprocate the action.

“And to think we thought you were a murderer,” she whispered, deeply ashamed. “In the end, you were the one who was hurting the most.”

He gulped back a dry reply, choosing instead to awkwardly pat her on the back. He stiffened when he heard her sniffle. “Rarity… are you… crying?”

She stepped back, wiping her face. “Oh, dear… my mascara is running!”

Applejack gave her a comforting squeeze. Opacare frowned, a bit confused, but remained silent as Rarity did her best to compose herself. After some time, she looked back at Prose.

“You said you’ll be returning to Manehattan?”

He nodded.

“Do you know when?”

He shook his head. “No… not yet.”

She sniffed. “Well, then you simply must stay in Ponyville for one more week at minimum! We haven’t properly mingled as much as we should have!” She held up a hoof, preventing from interrupting. “And I won’t take no for an answer! I have to fix your vest and your cloak, and make up for accusing you of…” She rolled her hoof, “—how you say, intending harm to yourself.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I see. And if I refuse to stay?”

“Well, Ah imagine you don’t really have a choice,” said Applejack, grinning. “Rarity ain’t gonna let you go, and I don’t think that the younguns want ya leaving anytime soon.” She gestured to the fillies, who were beaming at him. “And Fluttershy probably wants to let you meet her animals.”

“I… I mean… if you don’t mind, that is,” Fluttershy whispered, hiding behind her mane. He nodded slowly, showing that he had no particular restraints.

He placed the note back on the desk, exhaling a breath. “Hopefully this clears up a majority of the murkiness,” he said. Their murmurs confirmed his claim. He leaned back. “But… I’ll have to leave in time, you understand. To… fix my past.”

“Well, you’ve got a week,” Rarity said. “Surely that’s no problem?”

He sighed. “I suppose Finch can wait. But in the meantime… what should I do?”

“Why, have a ‘Welcome-Back-To-Equestria’ party, of course!” Pinkie shouted, her smile painfully wide. His eyes widened in surprise, and he made to interrupt, but was cut off by the ecstatic mare. “Ooh! This is exciting! I’ve never thrown a party for an author who vanished before! Hmm, do you still like mousse cake? I can whip up a batch in a jiffy!”

“Doesn’t mousse take a while to make, though?” Rainbow whispered to Fluttershy.

“Oh! Oh! I’ve got to get matching party hats! And they’ve gotta say ‘Welcome Back!’” Her mouth shot off word after word, drowning out any of Opacare’s protests. Soon, he sighed, resigning himself to simply letting Pinkie ramble.

“I doubt I could convince you otherwise,” he murmured.

Pinkie beamed. “I’d like to see you try!”

---

The town met them at the north entrance, completely stupefied at Prose. He met them with a somewhat calm smile, not as angry or frustrated as he was in the past. The ponies murmured in amazement as they watched him go, followed closely by the Bearers and Doctor Irons, the Crusaders flanking the returned author. Their eyes had dried, and they looked quite content to be walking with the stallion they had come to appreciate. The town soon followed after them all.

A number of the town’s ponies set to work, gathering supplies for the party. Their combined efforts ensured that the party would be up in only an hour. Irons left for the hospital, while Twilight and her friends left Opacare alone to wait for the party.

In that time, he took a quick walk around town, looking at the place he had grown to live in. Though he had settled on the outskirts of Ponyville, he found that he greatly appreciated the closeness that the town had. His mood was bright and warm, and even the murky glares from Filthy Rich and her daughter weren’t enough to diminish his attitude.

He was nearly squeezed to death by Ditzy when he knocked on her door. Dinky had rushed out and tackled him with surprising force, and her mom had quickly followed. Time Turner looked on, amused and chuckling, as the older stallion gasped for breath between Ditzy’s bone-crushing strength.

“Quit laughing, Turner!” Opacare managed to say weakly. Turner only laughed harder.

Several ponies came up to him after he had left the Doo household, asking for his autograph. In their magic and hooves, they held up various copies of his books; he even saw Rainbow Dash among the crowd. At first, he was surprised, and a bit flustered, not used to all this attention after all this time. But he managed to calm down, bringing out his signature quill and inkwell, signing his name with his flank glowing brilliantly.

Rainbow flew forward, holding out her copy of Trial by Fire. “Er, sorry, Mr. Prose,” she apologized sheepishly. “For… you know… almost having you arrested for killing… yourself…”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “What about breaking into my home?”

“Aw, you’re still hung up on that?”

“You broke the law. If I were a normal pony, I’d have you arrested!” He snorted. “I suppose I can let it slide, this time.”

He waved a hoof. “Even with all my planning, it was bound to happen. The truth can never be fully restrained.” He raised an eyebrow. “And since when did you start referring to me in such a formal tongue? I thought we were friends.”

She started at that, but broke into a smile. “Yeah, I guess we are. Even if, you know, it came about in weird circumstances.” He finished signing.

“You better take good care of my book, Rainbow,” he jokingly threatened. The pegasus blushed, but nodded, seeing that Prose held nothing against her.

As the crowd walked off, Prose turned the other way, continuing his rounds. He made his way to east side of Ponyville, spying a familiar-looking nurse traveling down the road. She met his gaze, and beamed, emerging into a vigorous trot. He smiled back as she gave him a hug.

“Nurse Redheart.”

“You jerk.” She booped him on the nose. “The missing author was my patient all along? Sounds like something from one of your novels.”

“Technically I was Doctor Irons’s patient—”

“I could break your legs right now.”

“Point taken.”

They hugged it out for a little while, before Redheart had to go. She gave him a surprise kiss on the cheek, though it was more chaste than anything. He felt a faint blush creep on his cheek, but nonetheless smiled at her as she left.

Soon, he had nearly made all his rounds. One place remained. He glanced at the big clock tower that stood at the edge, seeing that an hour had nearly passed. Walking into the center of town, he approached the Carousel Boutique. Knowing that the time was fast arriving, he walked up to the door and knocked on it.

Rarity greeted him, letting him pass with a smile. He nodded his thanks, silently reflecting on what she had said, as well as wondering what the future had in store.

With Dusk Prosa officially gone, Opacare Prose could return to his original quest of helping Manehattan. Yet, a part of him still felt fear for what could happen. Finch had power; he did not. It was his word against the Mayor’s, and frankly, he doubted that anypony not close to him would believe a word he said.

As such, the future, to him, was uncertain. He had no real way of predicting an outcome. All he could do, he supposed, was live in his present, and let the future unfold.

The present had offered him gifts that his past and future could not bear to surpass. It had given him joy; it had given him companionship; and, most importantly, it had given him a sense of hope. Hope that, one day, he would accomplish his goal.

He had one pony to thank for that, he supposed.

Opacare made his way up the stairs of the Boutique, heading to Sweetie’s room. He knocked on the door, and was met by the enthusiastic filly. Her smile stretched across her cheeks when she saw him.

Thank you, he thought, smiling.

He offered a friendly hoof. “Would you like to go to the party?”

She took his hoof with a giggle, and they made their way out the Boutique, heading for the Hall.

Yes, the future appeared murky to him. And it should; fate and chance had presented events that he could not have predicted. But that didn’t matter, he supposed. All that planning would be for naught if the present did not matter.

And it did matter that he enjoy what was here and now. It did matter that he live, free of his fears of the past. And it did matter that he try and enjoy his time while it lasted.

Live to be alive.

It didn’t matter, then, what the future entailed. Opacare Prose would face it with his new friends, and with the strength of a newly restored goal. The past and the present would be his tools to ensure a brighter future for all. Of that, he was certain.

With a smile, he entered the Hall, intent on enjoying his combined new-and-old life once more.

THE END

[lyraalluse]

Jan 8, 2016 16:30:36 GMT -8 jarvyjared said:

A Prose By Any Other Name

© Jarvy Jared

An author's mysterious disappearance coupled with the appearance of an enigmatic stallion leads to an unlikely tale of friendship and overcoming the past.

Wow! This was a great read from start to finish. The chapters flew by really fast. Feel free to post as many stories as you like. I'd love to read more from you.