>"Far... I can't publish this. You know I can't publish this. You know why."
>your friend Script pushes your article and the paperclipped photos back across his desk to you
>as your friend since first grade, you know he would've run any story if it had your name on it
>but as the head editor of the Manehattan Tribune, you can understand his skepticism
>you have what, to the untrained eye, would look like a close-up photo of bug wings
>one of a gnarled tree branch
>and a wide shot with a pony in a cheap Nightmare Night costume standing in a clearing
>...admittedly, they kind of look like that even to you
>and you took the pictures
>which makes it all the more difficult to look one of your best friends in the eye when you say
"Script, these are real! I know they don't look like it... really don't look like it, honestly, but they're totally authentic. They look like some sort of... I dunno, like bugs if bugs were pony-sized! I took them on the way back from that story in San Palomino. Outskirts of the Wandering Woods, and..."
>he just shakes his head and runs a hoof through his mane
>even pulls a couple photos and re-examines them
>you can tell he's fighting his best-friend instincts hard
>but he stays resolute
>"...Buddy, I want to, you know I do, but I can't. We run this, we're gonna look like a tabloid tea-rag. Just, I dunno, tone it down to 'Mysterious Ponies Spotted Around Ponyville'. Find a fluff piece for this week. Write me anything else. Not this."
>you sigh, nodding dejectedly
>even if you could convince him, the public wouldn't extend the same trust to you that he does
>so you hop out of the tiny chair in his tiny office and pick up your camera from the desk
>you've got 3 hours to come up with a story for this week's printing
>guess you'd better get out there to find something worth writing about
>as you step through the door, Script is already dialing his phone
>he doesn't stop staring regretfully after you until the door clicks closed
>you are Far Fetched, freelance reporter for the Tribune
>and you are a goddamn terrible photographer
>normally, this isn't a problem for you, because the stories you report on are interesting enough that the pictures are just icing
>but obviously not this time, dammit
>you frown up at the sky, already starting to grow dark as the sun sets behind a row of skyscrapers
>doesn't it know you have work to do?
>you grumble and start trotting towards the club district
>there's probably a bar holding its grand opening soon
>(a new one every other week, it seems like)
>and if not, you can interview a "small business owner" while you slug back a couple drinks
>they're always happy for some free press
'not happy enough to offer you a drink on the house,'
>you scowl to yourself
'but at least it's something'
>the streetlights flicker on in pairs, illuminating the walk in front of you
>admittedly, one of the few charms of the city is watching it stir to life at sunset
>you watch as another few yards of street get bathed in that orange light
>and another
>and another
>and suddenly the next pair clicks on and you see something that deepens your frown
>you squint to make out a pair of ponies, both staring straight at you with magenta eyes
>they look like twins, both unicorns, same brown coat, same navy mane
>even the same wrench cutie mark
>and as you watch, one points a hoof at you
>then at its eye
>then back at you
>and the pair shoot down an alley between two old brick buildings
>...
>what the fuck was that?
>that was weird
>not hobo-shouting-about-the-end-of-days weird
>more mob-member-asking-you-questions-for-no-reason weird
>you cross to the other side of the street
>don't need the weirdo twins trying to mug you for all the money you don't have
>as you pass the alley, though, you chance a look across the street at it
>completely dark
>like even the light from the streetlights doesn't want to go down there
>you turn back to your trot and speed up a little
>does a restaurant criticism of a bar count as a news story?
>the more important question is, can you honestly count the place you just ate as a bar?
>would holes in the wall take umbrage if you compared them to where you just drank piss-disguised-as-beer?
>as you stumble back down the street towards the subway, these questions plague you
>that sandwich must have had a black belt hidden under the lettuce
>because it is kicking the shit out of your stomach
>you swallow uneasily as you trudge toward the subway station
"Hurk...!"
>oh god
>it seeks freedom... and revenge
>you duck down an alley and have never been so happy to see a trash can in your life
>you knock the lid off and lean over it, releasing the beast and the rest of your stomach's contents into the canister
>as you retch, you can't help but think that at least this is going to make a great review
>wiping your muzzle, you groan and lean down to pick up the lid
>as you turn back to replace it, you see something out of the corner of your eye
>across the street is a white pegasus mare
>she's staring at you, her magenta eyes not blinking
>her expression is... not happy
>you look, vainly, to either side of you
>hoping she's glaring at someone else
>nope
>it's just you
>as you step back out of the alley, still holding an impromptu staring contest, you hear the approach of hooffalls
>risking a look to your left, you spot a pair of unicorns
>brown coats
>wrench cutie marks
>pink eyes
>uh oh
>you turn to start back towards the subway station
>and almost walk right into a black earth pony stallion
>white hair
>magenta eyes
"Uh."
>your gaze flits back and forth between the four, all of them trotting methodically toward you
>"Where you headed, stranger?"
>the black pony rumbles, his words slow like he's not used to using them
>you take a step back from him into the alley
"Um. Home."
>the pegasus mare speaks up
>"What a coincidence. That's where we're headed."
>you take another step back
>the cold sweat running down your neck has nothing to do with food poisoning
"I... that's very--"
>the twins speak over each other, so it takes a moment to register what each one said
>"Give us your camera."
>"We'll walk you home."
>neither one is a question
>the black stallion is close enough to you now that you can smell him
>you actually confused his scent with your own puke at first
>but that rotten saccharine smell is definitely him
>you gulp and back up further, bumping into the trash can
>you suddenly straighten up from your shrinking posture
>whatever these four are up to, you're not going to give it to them without a struggle
"In order:"
>you point to one twin, and the pair actually stop in unison at the surprise
"No."
>you point at the other twin
"Also no."
>you nod at the pegasus, who arches an eyebrow
"Fuck you,"
>and then buck over the trash can, bolting down the alleyway
"and fuck this!"
>you follow it to the end and say a silent thank-you that it connects to another little pathway, scrambling to change directions
>behind you you can hear the metal can getting kicked aside
>"Shit, don't let him run! Get him!"
>as you round the corner you glance back to see the black stallion leading the charge
>his eyes are glowing pink now
>as are his accomplices'
>fuck this, you reiterate to yourself
>then it's down the alleyway, this one considerably longer and narrower than the first
>the venue stops abruptly at a fence about fifty feet away
>but Celestia be praised, there's another narrow backstreet just before it
>you skid and overshoot by a little as you try to slow to make the turn
>"Move your ass!"
>you hear the white mare snap from behind the galloping black leader
>the street's too narrow, and they're forced into single-file
>you make a left
>a left
>a right
>each turn just hoping there'll be one more alley to run down
>inevitably, your luck runs out
>shit, this one's wider, and no exits to speak of
>just the back doors to two businesses, a fire escape, a chain link fence, and a dumpster backed up to it
>they'll be here any second
>you groan
>suddenly, inspiration
>hope this place has insurance--
CRASH!
>you kick open the door and reach up, pulling the fire escape ladder down
>and then dive into the dumpster and slam the lid
>your heart is pounding so loud you can barely hear the four sets of hooffalls
>"Shit."
>"Which way did he go?"
>"...I've got wings right now, I'll take the roof."
>"We'll take the building."
>"Alright, back here in 5, signal if you find him. You remember what the Queen said."
>shit, you don't know who the Queen is
>and if it can make that stallion sound that worried, you'll happily keep it that way
>you almost scream as something slams onto the top of the dumpster
>jeez, he actually bent the metal lids he's so heavy
>but the next moment you hear the rattling of chain link and a heavy thud
>you listen with your ear to the lid as the hoofsteps grow fainter and finally disappear completely
>and then you just sit there a few seconds more, hoof over your nose as you try to keep from gagging
>whatever they dumped in here, it was putrid
>when you're satisfied it's as safe as it's going to be, you crack the lid and chance a peek out
>coast clear
>you push the lid back quietly as you can
>climb out
>and sneak back towards the alley, hoping against hope that none of them get lazy and come back early
>you round the corner and peer back one last time to make dead sure you weren't spotted
>okay
>mission accomplished
>now to figure out how the hell to get out of here
>you round the corner and come up on a four-way intersection
>you wrack your fear-addled brain for a memory
>you think you made a right coming here
>so left
>this next one was another left
>then... a right?
>you make the turn and spot a familiar wooden fence
>but there's no right-hand turn
>shit
...
>you've backtracked three times now
>there is a very good reason your cutie mark is a magnifying glass and not a compass
>after the adrenaline rush wore off, you found it easier to think
>but the whole run was such a blur, you can barely remember it
>after a good ten minutes of wandering, you are almost sure you've managed to make a loop, because you're back at a T-junction and down that way is a chain link fence
>as you continue straight you look down a side alley
>and see a brown rump with a navy tail with a wrench on the flank disappear around the corner
>hm
>bad news: they're still after you
>good news: either they're lost too, or they're headed toward a major street
>are you seriously going to do this?
>follow a bunch of creepy glow-eyed fuckers down a dark alleyway hoping they don't turn and spot you?
>...yeah, beats your current plan of "wander around in circles and hope someone rescues you from your own ineptitude"
you tiptoe quietly up to where you saw the creepy unicorn turn
>a white flash of feathers makes a sharp right
>you pull back out of sight as the twins follow her lead, giving them a few seconds and then sneaking after them
>they make another left, apparently oblivious to you
>the hunter, you think to yourself, has become the hunted!
>despite the gravity of the situation, you grin
>that grin disappears as you round the next corner
>to a dead end
>no, no, you saw them come down here
>but there's nothing here but a bunch of cardboard boxes
>they couldn't have just disappeared
>you frown
>you didn't lose them
>you've tailed ponies before
>they came down here
>you gallop up to the stack of cardboard, as though willing it to become an open path
>it's just a bunch of cardboard boxes
>you glare at them a moment
>great, now you're lost, being chased, AND inept
>dammit
>you charge into the boxes in frustration, aiming to buck a few of them sky-high
>and go sailing right through the empty cubes
>down the open manhole hidden beneath them
>it is not, as you expected, a straight drop down fifteen feet of pure darkness into sewer water
>oh, it definitely smells like horseapples
>and the angle of the slide you fall into is just about vertical
>but it goes a lot further than fifteen feet, and the whole way it's lit by pink bulbs of light, glowing like fireflies hung on the ceiling
"Nyyyeeeaaaaagh!"
>you can't hold back a scream as you pass through a narrow rift between your slide and a section of concrete
>it bottoms out and the velocity shoots you in a serpentine path, your hooves pulled tight into your body lest you crack one on the passing scenery
>at one point you hear a thundering roar overhead and look up just in time to see a subway train zoom over top of you, inches from your muzzle
>then the slide drops again, and you descend further into the earth
>it's more slime-slicked tunnel than slide now, as you gain velocity and the momentum lets you clear a small upward arc
>this is the worst rollercoaster you've ridden in your LIFE
>but
>as suddenly as it started
>it's over
>and the slide spits you into a small lake of thick slime
>you struggle to a shallow section against the viscous gunk and do your best to wipe it off of you
>or start to
>looking up, you see that the cavern you landed in has a small opening
>you venture forward, still shaking strands of goo off of yourself
>what you see as you round the natural curve of the cave makes you forget all about your physical discomforts
>there are the twins you followed here
>and standing next to them are two familiar creatures
>not the black stallion and white pegasus
>these were what you were trying to catch on film in the woods
>that black, hardened skin
>those dragonfly wings
>that gnarled, twisted horn
>you watch in horror as the twins' skin sloughs off with a meaty splat
>all four have the same pairs of pink compound eyes
>wordlessly, the four creatures' wings buzz to life and they take off down the tunnel
>you gallop after them at a distance, more for lack of anywhere else to go at this point
>if you thought you could climb back up that hellish path you took to get here, you'd prefer that to following these... things
>your jaw nearly hits the floor as you see their destination come into view
>there's no mistaking what it is
>the walls, a thick ruddy brown like it was carved from the rock itself
>the huge gobs of eggshell-like pink amber, molded in the rough shape of a cottage
>the spires, reaching for the cavern's roof like enormous and ornate stalagmites
>the rough-hewn windows, set with pink translucent films that bulged outward as though straining to keep the light inside
>the ring of bubbling bubblegum glop surrounding the structure, with a cobbled-together hunk of wood laid across it as a bridge
>these... whatever they were, these monstrous bugs
>they had built a castle
>or more accurately
>what a castle would look like if it were designed by someone who had never seen a castle before
>only heard stories and rumors of what they were like
>in the window of the highest room of the tallest tower, you can see an almost white light burning inside
>a silhouette passes over it from inside, a tall and regal shadow with a scythe-like horn
>slowly, cautiously, you bring a hoof up to your neck
>you take the camera in shaky hooves and hold it up to your eye
>center the shot
>bring it into focus
>take a breath to steady yourself
>you squeeze down on the button and hear a small click
>now all you have to do is make it to the surface in one piece so you can write the story to go with it
"Neat."