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Gun With Occasional Pony CH5

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Gun, With Occasional Pony CH 5
In Which the Plot Thickens



I'm not sure how long I was unconscious. I hoped it was a long time, because this was the closest thing I'd gotten to sleep in a day and a half. I think my first thought upon opening my eyes was something along the lines of, 'Oh, I'm still alive. That's nice,' and then regretting the fact that I wasn't dead because of the pain. My everything hurt. I had pain on top of my pain, and that pain was renting houses to other pains who wanted to move up in the world.
It was dark inside what remained of the elevator; the doors were crumpled and ruined, letting a small amount of pale light in from whatever was on the other side. The floor panel was almost as mangled as I was. In places buttons hung out of their sockets at odd angles. It looked ghastly.
I tried to get to my hooves. The glass that littered the floor cut harshly into them, at least on the spots that weren't already cut up anyway. I made a mental note to track down whoever it was that first thought up the idea that ponies could bleed. He and I were going to have words.
I weakly checked to see if my hat was still on.
It was. Damn, that thing was stubborn.
Maxie's saddlebag was a bit beat up, although it had still fared better than me. That was the only bit of good news I could come up with; hey, I may be in the bottom of an elevator shaft half-torn to bits but thank Celestia I was fashionable about it.
Of course, at the moment I had bigger things to worry about. These elevators always worked, or at least they did in a round-about way. Still, they didn't just cut out. Someone had been trying to get me out of the picture, and it was a wonder they hadn't succeeded. But I suppose if my life is a detective story it would be a pretty bad one if I went and died in the first half. My funeral probably wouldn't make much of climax.
I was shaky, but I managed to stand. I limped my way over to the crushed doors and, with far too much effort, I levered one off it's hinges. It fell with a heavy clunk to the floor, the sound echoing through wherever it was that I had landed. I didn't like the finality of that sound.
There were a few lights spaced here and there, but it was mostly dark. I could see a network of tubing running in crazy patterns across the ceiling and walls. I recognized it immediately, it was the old message system. Back when the office was small it'd used old-fashioned message tubes to relay information across the floor. Nowadays they simply got the more well-behaved comments to do it, but the system was still there. I was beneath the Writer's Room, below ground level. I limped into the darkness, if I was lucky I might be able to find a way out, or at least some way to call for help.
Walking was an immense effort, the cuts on my hooves screaming at my brain with every step. The rest of my body was getting in on the act, every part singing with pain like some demented opera, probably Pony Maria. Still, I forged ahead; I didn't plan on dying down here, not while there were so many questions that needed answers, like who'd killed Semi. It had to be someone with a lot of power in the OC, at least enough to keep scare Seth to stay silent about it.
If they manged to somehow bump them all off, where would he get his Trixie/Twilight fics? I thought wryly.
Still, someone had tried to kill me, which meant I was getting close, the bad guy only tries to kill you if they're worried. I was on the right track but I still needed more information, and I wasn't going to get it down here in the dark.
My thoughts were interrupted as my left forehoof didn't land on anything. It fell through the air tossing me off balance. A shiver shot up my leg before traveling through the rest of my body. It was the kind of cold that couldn't be fixed by a blanket and some hot chocolate.
The kind of cold that freezes the soul and chills the bones.
It snapped me out of my reverie in a hurry. I looked down at the floor to see a large black hole yawning open in front of me, impossibly dark and impossibly deep. There was a distant wail emanating from within, the kind of high pitched noise that makes your teeth itch, literally itch, as if they were trying to escape your skull. It was kind of noise that makes that little part of your brain that keeps you sane want to run and hide.
It was a plot hole.
Plot holes were a strange phenomena, even by The OC's standards. They tended to occur when a large number of writers collected in one place. They were made by gaps in logic, bad characterization and, worst of all, forgotten ideas. Anything that fell into a plot hole was erased in its entirety; If you fell into one of these there wouldn't even be a photo to remember you by, every memory of your existence wiped clean.
I wavered for a moment trying to get my balance. It'd take me by surprise and I teetered dangerously over the edge. The hoof that had fallen in grew steadily colder, like I'd stuck it in ice water. My right hind leg wavered in the air in an attempt to lever myself back onto solid ground. I hung there for a moment, scared to do so much as wiggle my nose in case it sent me tumbling to oblivion.
Suddenly I felt something behind me. Something that felt all too much like a pony trying to shove me to my death. I let out an unflattering yelp and kicked out with a hoof. The kick struck hard and my assailant grunted in the dark, stumbling. I used the leverage I gained to tilt myself away from the hole. Back on all fours, I quickly lifted both hind legs from the ground and gave the mystery assassin a sharp buck. With another grunt he went down in a heap.
I turned around, trying to think of something snappy to say, but the words died in my throat. I recognized him.
"Sweet Celestia Squeaks, see if I ever help you again," groaned the heap.
It was my editor.
"Lights?" I asked, confused.
"Who do you think? I'm certainly not your mother." He grunted as he got up to his hooves. Three horseshoe-shaped bruises were turning a harsh purple against his shaggy white coat.
Lights was a large white unicorn and a card-carrying Grammar Nazi. He had been my editor for a couple of months while I was still in the fic writing business. Editors were an odd lot in the OC, their job consisting of fixing errors in stories and generally making sure they were up to printing standards. Most were freelancers, editing as they pleased, but a couple latched on to particular writers in a sort of symbiotic relationship. I hadn't seen Lights since I'd stopped working for the Equestria Daily.
"Sorry, I didn't know it was you." I paused. "Wait, what are you doing down here anyway?"
"Saving your sorry flank. Here I am, trying to fix your mane-brained errors, and what do I get for it? A hoof to the gut, that's what! And what the bloody hell is it with you and commas!? They're everywhere! Celestia forbid you learn to use a semi-colon…" he muttered. "Oh, and another thing; descriptions, use them! What do you even look like? You haven't mentioned it once."
I eyed at Lights warily; editors were weird, but this was Ponitzer Prize stuff. "You can see me right?" I asked sarcastically. "Yellow earth pony, black mane with a brown hat? Bleeding from several places at the moment. You know! I look... um, Squeaky?"
"What about your cutie mark eh? We're five bleedin' chapters in and you've never told us what it is!" he yelled, stomping his hoof for emphasis.
I looked down at my flank, a rubber duck on a writing pad sat there as always. It never made sense to me why the rubber duck was there. I mean, the writing pad made sense, but my talents have never included water fowl, even of the rubber variety.
I raised an eyebrow. "Lights, your not making any sense."
"'YOU'RE'! It's 'you're'!" He sat down on his haunch and rubbed his temples. "You need an apostrophe in there!"
I sized up the unicorn in front of me "...Are you drunk?"
"Uhg, never mind! Look, we need to get this thing moving. I came to tell you that you're on the right track. Some of the other editors have noticed their clients have gone missing."
That caught my attention. "So… the rumors are true?"
"Yeah, they're true all right." Lights looked around warily.  "It's like they just vanished into thin air! One day they're giving you stuff to edit for your daily bread and the next… Poof! It's like they were never there."
"Let me guess; it's Shippers in particular?" I asked.
"So you've noticed as well?" He looked mildly surprised. "Well, yes, somepony's doing something with them I'm sure. Which is why I can't have you going around falling into plotholes. I'm an editor, and if somepony starts taking out writers, soon I'll have nothing to edit!"
His concern was heartwarming. "Well, thanks… I guess. Now, if you can show me a way out of here I'll get right on that. I don't suppose you've got a teleporter somewhere, do you?"
He rolled his eyes. "Always one for a quick jab, aren't you Squeak?" He turned towards the remains of the elevator. "I can fix the car so it'll take you back to the lobby. Stay put."
"You can do that?" I asked, genuinely surprised. A thought occurred to me as I looked back at what was left of the elevator. "How'd you even get here anyway?"
"You have your secrets and I have mine. Now, don't go falling back into that plot hole while I'm at it, okay? Oh, and think about your left forehoof for a minute."
"What are you talking about Ligh-" I looked down to find that the hoof in question was nearly translucent. I put my  it in front of my face in disbelief; I could see the opposite wall right through it!
"Don't panic," Lights said evenly, although his advice came more than a bit too late. "Just think about walking and it should come back. You're lucky it wasn't in there for long. Getting around on three legs is rather hard, I'd imagine."
I was shocked; I'd heard about what plot holes could do, but I'd never seen one in action. My hoof had barely been in there for a few seconds and it was almost non-existent. Only the merest of outlines told me it was still there at all.
I did as Lights said and thought about my hoof; it wasn't hard, being that I was rather attached to it, after all. I thought about walking through the /co/mpound's streets, jumping, kicking, running, the works. If thinking about sporting activities could get you a medal, I'd have won gold for sure.
The ghost limb became solid again with a small 'pop'.
"There you go," Lights said, a smile on his face for the first time since he'd arrived. "Now, get to work." He turned and walked towards the elevator, with a parting "Don't get killed."
I was left on my alone once again. I stepped away from the edge of the plot hole, wanting to get as far away from that thing as possible; after what it'd done to my hoof I didn't want to get the full treatment.
It was no accident that I'd ended up in this room. First I'd plummeted several stories in an insane elevator and then I'd almost been erased from existence. I imagined what I might tell Maxie next time I saw her: She'd say 'How have you been, Squeaks?' and I'd have to think of a lie, because I certainly couldn't say good.
The hole took up the majority of the floor and, as far as I could tell, there was no way across. I looked back towards the elevator, where Lights was mumbling something about proper word tenses. If he hadn't of come to save my hide I'd be stuck down here, what with the hole baring my way forwards and the broken elevator unable to take me back. I'd either have fallen into the hole, sat around in the dark till I starved to death or leapt into oblivion on my own accord.
Someone wasn't just trying to kill me, they were trying really, really hard. I wondered why they'd go through all the trouble since I didn't have very many leads yet. I was armed with only rumors from Max, warnings from Seth, and a couple of disappearances I had no way to track, not to mention Semi's murder. Which was common knowledge. In any case, a well placed knife would shut me up pretty quickly, regardless of whether it was worth it or not. Then again, whoever had it out for me certainly wouldn't be the only pony in the OC with a flair for the dramatic.
A voice shook me from my thoughts. It was a strange voice in that I didn't exactly hear it, its words seeming to bypass my ears and go directly into my brain.
"You have to help!" cried the voice.
I jerked backwards. "What! Who's there!?" I gazed into the darkness; across the hole I could make out the vague silhouette of a pony. The shadows were too complete for me to make out who it was and, although I couldn't see them, I felt its eyes staring at me intently.
"You have to help!" the voice repeated.
"Help with what?" I yelled. "Who are you!?"
"You have to stop it!"
"The disappearances?" My voice echoed oddly through the tunnel.
"That, and so much more... Go! Quickly!" The pony turned and raced off into the darkness. Out of instinct I tried to follow, only to realize again that if I took another step forward I'd fall into the plot hole again. I watched as it retreated, trying to make out anything that might help me to track it down. It was a useless gesture though, and in another moment the blackness had swallowed the figure entirely.
I stared for a while. That pony knew something and, more importantly, was on my side apparently. A very rare thing, considering my line of work. I'd have to find them… somehow.
Something fluttered over the plot hole and landed at my hooves; it was a scrap of paper, a strange symbol marking the front. My mysterious pony in the dark must have dropped it. In bright, hastily draw letters, it said one thing:

Go to Hell.

Well, maybe they weren't on my side after all.
I quickly picked up the paper and put it into Maxie's saddlebag. The symbol was unfamiliar to me, but even If I didn't know what it was, somepony in this town would.
Lights called me over.
"It's fixed," he said, not without some pride. "…but, when you get back to the lobby, make sure to tell them to do some more thorough repairs before anypony uses it."
I looked cautiously at the elevator. The floor-selection panel was on again, although only the one lobby button glowed. The rest of the floor buttons remained dark. The glass on the floor was gone, but the car was still battered and dented in places and the one remaining door was still caved-in. The thing looked like it was held together by spit and prayers.
Lights noticed my apprehension and gave me a shove. "Go on, I don't have all day!"
"Fine," I conceded while casting another worried look at the contraption. "But do you think it'll hold both-" I turned to find Lights walking back towards the plot hole, this time grumbling about redundant word usage. "-of us..." I finished lamely.
Editors are weird.
Well, it was either try the elevator or take my chances with the plot hole. Staring at the state of the elevator, I was having considerable difficulty deciding which one was the better option.
Oh well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I mused. I could certainly die down here, or I could perhaps die in the elevator. So, I stepped inside, and pressed the one remaining button.
"Onwards and Upwards" I said under my breath.
I braced myself against the floor out of habit. There wasn't much of a point to it; I didn't think I could get much more torn up. The elevator slid slowly and jerkily to the left, the floor shaking like an earthquake, and then stopped. The doors didn't open. I looked around, a slight tinge of claustrophobia setting in. Was it stuck?
My question was answered as it shot up five feet, flattening me to the ground. It stopped just as quickly and I was fired up to the ceiling like so much confetti. The doors opened with a slightly warped 'Ding' as I fell back to the floor.
Everyone in the Writers Room stared at me as I limped out. The second I was clear smoke began to gush from the elevator. I went over to the reception desk, the receptionist looking at me as if I'd just crawled out of a horror movie.
"I was told to tell you that-" I was interrupted as the cables snapped, the elevator fell, loudly back down the shaft. There was an explosion this time, closely followed by the whoosh of wind rushing up, the hot air blowing paper everywhere. "…the elevator needs repairing," I finished.  Then I turned and practically crawled back onto /co/mpound's streets.
I hate elevators.


One perk about living in a world based on a cartoon is that injuries, at least the ones that don't kill you or have plot significance, heal pretty quickly if you can get out of the 'scene' you got them in. A few short minutes after I walked out of the Equestria Daily building I was back to normal. Even the rips on Maxie's saddlebag were gone.
It was midday now; apparently I'd been down there for longer than I thought. I yearned for a bed and, at that moment, all I wanted to do was go home, curl up and sleep for a week. My body complained at me for being awake so long but I didn't' have time to rest. Someone had tried to kill me, and I wanted to be on their tail before they tried to do it again. I didn't have time for sleep.
So I needed coffee.
I stepped through the doors of Brewers, the local coffee shop, although it also doubled as a restaurant and general junk food store. The bell above the entrance rang cheerfully as I entered. It was your average place, complete with wood floors and dark, earthy colors. The interior smelled of coffee and fresh vegetables, making for a pleasant contrast of sweet produce and bitter brew. Brewer sat behind the counter, a brown earth pony with a thick black mustache. He didn't talk much, but he was a good guy. Behind him Heatwave warmed the coffee. He was an odd addition to the /co/pound; he didn't exactly mesh with the straightforward 'no frills' attitude of the town, mostly due to his mane being made of fire. Still, no one brought it up because he made a damn good cup of coffee using it.
I nodded to Brewer, who grunted in return as I walked to a seat. I could see several ponies I knew around the place. Dapples, a dark grey unicorn who was the newest addition to the staff, stumbled across the dining room as he took orders and tried hard to not drop anything. He was a bit clum-
CRASH. The previously grey unicorn was now a warm red thanks to the addition of tomato soup to his coat.
Okay, very clumsy, but he was one of the few unicorns willing to take the job. Earth ponies generally didn't make for very good waiters; no one wanted to eat a salad after it'd been carried in somepony's mouth. There were inventions to get around this but Brewer, being Brewer, was too cheap to buy any.
Dapples walked shakily to my table.
"I'll take a cup of coffee, strong as you can make it," I said.
"Okay, one cup, gotcha," he replied, his horn glowing as he magically wrote down my order. He walked off to fill it, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I needed someone who knew the ins and outs of The OC, someone who knew the seedy dark secrets of ship writers, someone with a magical mustache.
I needed Pacce.
Gun, With Occasional Pony Chapter 5

In Which the Plot Thickens.


Story by: :iconsqueak-anon:
Edited by: :iconlightsideluc:
Cover by: :csimadmax:
© 2011 - 2024 Squeak-Anon
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JoGoose's avatar
I always wondered what happens when you have a plot hole-now I know! Good work, Squeak. Look forward to more from ya!