MLP: Maverick

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The day had started innocuously enough for Walter "Tinker" Thyne, AKA me. Wake up and crawl out of my usual spot, that being an abandoned part of the sewer system that also happened to run parallel to a hot-water line. A dirty baseball cap adorned my mousy brown hair whose long uncut wisps fell from my scalp, partially obscuring my face. I quickly scanned my surroundings, making sure that no one was around to observe me. Deciding the course was clear I scampered over to where I hid my few personal belongings, namely a small toolkit and a pair of dog tags. I didn't know who their original owner was personally, only that their nickname, as was inscribed on the back, was "Silver Bullet" and that they had belonged to the 101st Infantry Division. The front side had, to my best guess, been put onto a metal grinder, as evidenced by the smooth grooves that ran their way lengthwise across it.

I stepped out into the weak sunlight and felt its warmth seep through my thin and worn T-shirt, it's once bright-orange hue now faded into a dull, dirty brown with black splotches of oil speckling it. First I went to the local park to drink some relatively clean water from one of the fountains before splashing some on my face, wiping away the grime that had accumulated on it. I then proceeded to walk through the park's grass, one of the few things that remained green these days, feeling the tiny droplets of morning dew worm their way through my holey sneakers and onto the soles of my feet. The ragged jeans I wore shuffled as I made my way into a back alley that was located behind an abandoned coffee shop. I stopped at what looked like just another boarded up door before doing a carefully timed series of knocks. A few seconds later the door opened up and I stepped inside, my toolbox jingling as it bumped the door jam while the dog tags that hung around my neck tingled in time with my steps.

Soon I was set up at my little workbench and got started on my day job; fixing the gangs equipment. Mostly I just repaired radios, walkie-talkies or mini-television sets but occasionally someone had a pistol jam or skeleton-key snap on them. The "job" didn't pay much but they gave me free food and a free pass on their territory as well as protection against any encroaching gangs that weren't as scrupulous when it came to rare talents such as mine. Really, in comparison to most of the street urchins that roamed the street I had it pretty good; a warm place to sleep for the night, food, even of a dubious nature, in my stomach and people that, on a good day at least, could pass as "friends", which was quite possibly the rarest commodity you could get out here on the mean streets.

"Hey, Tinkles. Got something for ya'."  I looked up to see the gruff face of the gang's second-in-command, Ralt "Shifty" Sherith. The two of us weren't exactly in good standing with each other; I thought Shifty as nothing more then a thug with a hard-on for his particular brand of double-dealing while Shifty thought I was a pathetic excuse for a gang member who did nothing but laze about all day as I poked and prodded various pieces of electronics.

A nondescript brown paper package dropped down in front of me. I looked up, trying to feign disinterest. "Sorry Shifty, boss says I've got to deal with this junk 'fore I can get around to any personal requests," I explained as I went back to working on the pilfered palm computer in front of me, hoping that the brute would give up and go away.

I had no such luck.

"Listen here you little punk. You're going to fix my heater, and you're going to like it," Shifty hissed into my ear, his voice a low rumble of foreboding and venom.

I gave an involuntary shudder; some of the other gang members had told me stories about Shifty, more specifically, how if you heard his voice when he was mad, it could be very well the last thing you hear, since knives were silent like that.

I'm not sure if I had been blessed or cursed by his decision not to shiv me.

I turned around and tried to put on a brave face before faltering when I looked into Shifty's red eyes. Quickly breaking eye contact I managed to say "Jesus Shifty, if I could I would. You know I don't want to piss you off but I don't want to piss off the boss even more. You understand, right?" I kept looking at his shoes, trying my best not to stare into the fiery inferno that raged in my superior's eyes.

I felt a vice-like clamp onto my head, my neck straining as it was bent to an unnatural position, my eyes staring fearfully into Shifty's piercing glare. "I. Don't. Give. A. Damn. You fix it right now or I'll fix your attitude. Got it?" The last part was in a menacing hiss. He let go of me and walked away, not even bothering to make sure that I was working on his gun.

Not that he needed to. I unwrapped it immediately, its contents revealed to be a rusted 9mm Glock. I quickly got to work on it, stripping it down to its bare components. I checked the slide for anything that would keep it from going back, made sure the hammer was in the right position, inspected the spring to see if it had been warped and any number of other things. Eventually I deciding I was getting nowhere I and borrowed another gang member's Glock. After comparing them I quickly discovered that the dumb-ass had tried to file his hammer down and now it wasn't able to make contact. I was about to replace it with one of the spares we had when I got that feeling of someone looking over your shoulder. Of course, the fact that they blocked out the light and had cast a shadow on my workbench helped me know there was someone behind me.

"God damnit Shifty. How many times have I told you not to try to mess with your gun? That shit in the Anarchists Cookbook is just as likely to blow you up as it is your target," I mumbled, not caring if he took offence. I was right pissed now, this being the fifth time he had tried to do some cock-eyed modification to his gun only to completely fuck the thing over. Last time he nearly blew his hand off when he tried to use homemade incendiary rounds and the shell had exploded in the chamber. I'd had to declare that one a lost cause, something that hadn't gone down well with the savage.

"I'm not Shifty."

'Aww, shit.' I thought to myself; I knew that voice.
"Hey… boss…" I managed to squeak out, the bravado I had been storing up for Shifty suddenly dissipating in a burst of cold sweat. It wasn't that he would do anything to me; unlike Shifty, the boss, who we simply referred to as "The Boss", wasn't the type to go picking a fight. He knew I was important and I knew that he'd be willing to listen to my plight. The problem was that he would MAKE me tell him about it, then he'd get Shifty, who'd then find out I told the boss and would proceed to make my life a living hell any chance he got.

"Two things Tinker. Eh, why aren't you fixing the stuff I gave you, and Bee, I didn't even know Shifty could read." I turned around to look at him, a wry smile plastered on his face. The Boss was probably the only guy in the gang who tipped thirty years, maybe as high as forty; no one really knew, not even Shifty, and The Boss preferred to keep it that way. He looked like a gentleman, or at least he did until you stared into his emerald eyes and saw the steel behind them. He took care of us, treated us like family, but god help you if you crossed him. He had actually offered to get me a very, very modest apartment but for some reason I had grown, some might say in a deranged way, attached to my heated pipe. I had always been comfortable in tight spaces and, to me at least, it felt less like the walls were closing in on me then they were hugging me. 'Course, I never told anyone that; I'd get laughed right back onto the street if I did. It was out of the way and fairly quiet in the abandoned work site, which were both big pluses to me. Still, I'd told him to keep the offer open in case they ever decided to stop piping hot water by me, which he'd happily agreed to.

I tried to stammer out an answer and he patiently waited several seconds before cutting in with "Let me guess; Shifty bullied you into fixing his gun again?" I gave a hesitant nod. "And once again you don't want me to tell him off 'cause you're worried that he'll get on your case, correct?" I give another nod. He leans in close and whispers into my ear "Well sonny boy, not today." He stands back up as I silently motion for him not to do what I'm worried he's going to do, and then he does it anyways. "SHIFTY! Get your sorry ass down here!" The Boss waits a few moments before calling to a short stocky boy who goes by "Nosepicker", his name accurately describing his skills as a lock picker who stuck his nose into business that he had no right to know about. That and the fact that he seemed to have a perpetual cold.

"Uh... Yeah boss?" Nosepicker answers with trepidation, most likely due him being worried that he has to be the one to fetch Shifty.

"You know where Shifty's gone and scuttled off to?" he boomed, causing all of those around him to flinch.

"H… He went to do some stuff with his car… sir."
The boss nodded in understanding and grabbed a walkie-talkie from his belt, flicked it on and announced "Shifty, you've got a minute to get down to the workshop 'fore I hang your ass out to dry with the rest of the raw recruits." The speakers on the walls amplified his voice, causing it to echo through the entire run-down apartment complex. He settled into a patched-up seat and said to no one in particular "Shouldn't be long now."

Forty-six seconds later Shifty was standing in front of the boss. If he had run he didn't show it; I'd heard he'd outrunned a cop over seven city blocks without breaking a sweat. "What is it boss?" he asked. He was probably the only person in the gang who didn't cower in The Boss's shadow.

"Seems like you've gone and tried to mess with company property again Shifty. What is this, the fifth one in as many weeks?" he enquired, the last part being directed at me, to which I gave a short affirmative nod. He turned back to Shifty and continued with "I don't appreciate you taking other members off of official business to fix your fuck-ups. If your hand wasn't such a good shot I would've had it cut off ages ago, and you nearly managed to do that last time with the explosive-rounds debacle. You know how much it cost me to get those stitches for Redliner when the shrapnel caught her above the eye?" Shifty shook his head. "Cost me two-hundred greens to pay those quacks for fifteen minutes of work and a few pieces of string and another fifty to keep them quiet about it." Shifty at least at the good grace to look sheepish about this admission. "Now, shit happens, I can understand that, but when you go and throw it into the fan and tell someone else to clean up after you it really irks me Shifty. Tell me, do you know why I keep you as second-in-command?"

"I couldn't say, sir." I wasn't sure if he was taking the easy way out or honestly didn't know why; I certainly didn't.

"Exactly. You're too god-damn stupid to even know how the hell you got to where you are now. Well, let me refresh your memory. You're my most loyal grunt and when it comes to wet work I don't have anyone else who can handle a gun or a line of piano wire like you. You even took a bullet for me once, something that I'm certainly not about to forget. But when you go and screw-up my very, very organized and efficient system by thinking you get to jump the line you've got another thing coming. Remember, you're like family, just like how everyone else here is my son or daughter, but if you give me good enough reason to I will disown you faster then the judge can throw away the key, got it?" he concluded his rant, his eyes boring holes into Shifty's skull.

Not even the iron-clad Shifty was able to keep his demeanour under The Boss's withering stare, and with an almost silent whisper he answered "Yes, sir."

"Good. I'm glad we have an understanding. Now, while I'm not going to take this to the courts for obvious reasons, I'm enacting my own personal form of restraining order on you until you wise up. If you need something fixed you put it in the queue and wait you turn like a good little boy, none of this jumping-the-line bullshit. If you so much as pass gas in Tinker's general direction I will have you busted down to latrine duty so fast you won't even be able to take a breath before I shove you into the john. And, if you so much as harm a hair on his head the two of us will be taking a long, long walk, and you may just not come back. Got it?" Shifty solemnly nodded. "Great. Now then, about you Tinker…" I suddenly stood up shock still. "Get back down and stop drinking so much caffeine," he instructed, to which I hurriedly complied. "From now on if anyone, Shifty or otherwise, gives you shit you tell me right away. I don't care what your excuse is, you come straight to me and if you don't and I find out anyways you'll be getting the same punishment as the other guy." The Boss looked around at the small crowd that had gathered to watch the spectacle of Shifty getting put in his place and barked out "That goes for all of you, too. If I catch wind of you letting someone bully you or your friends all parties involved will get a generous helping of my righteous fury. GOT IT?!" Everyone assembled yelled out an affirmative and, with a smug look on his face, The Boss muttered "That's more like it."

He walked off, leaving me and Shifty behind. I looked up fearfully to the young man and gorilla crossbreed, who gave me a look that could shatter rock before dutifully catching up to The Boss. I let out a sigh of heartfelt relief and got back to work, this time paying no attention to the disassembled pistol.

Things had never been better for the next three weeks. Some of the younger member s would give me their thanks while the more senior ones would slap my back in a sign of their approval. Shifty mostly kept himself out of trouble and generally held himself back to only snapping at anyone who got in his, fortuitously self-contained, warpath.

I should have known it couldn't last. In fact, I did know. I couldn't ride cloud nine forever, but I never guessed I would fall as far as I did, and especially all in the course of a single day.

It was the last day of what my life had been up to that point, and it started out deceptively well. I woke up feeling toasty; apparently whoever used the hot water line had decided to have some very early showers. Perhaps they were trying to work off a hangover; not that speculating makes a difference since I'll never know, but still. The gang had managed to find a full crate of pancake mix behind the local big box mart, and best of all they weren't even expired, so that morning we had our fill of warm pancakes with whatever toppings we could scrounge up. I can't exactly remember what I'd put on mine but I did manage to play off the last vestiges of my temporary popularity to get some syrup, and not that fake nigger-lady shit either but the real stuff from Canada. That was an awesome morning.

Too bad it was pretty much my version of a Last Dinner.

Then it turned out that some of the other guys had actually learned that throwing their shit against the wall was a bad idea so I only had half my normal work. That's the nice thing about being paid a salary; you always draw the same no matter how little work you get.

'Course, that goes both ways but on that day it seemed like a pretty sweet deal.

Not only that, but I only bumped into Shifty once. Literally, in fact. Instead of raging at me though he just grunted and walked off. It seemed like The Boss's talk had really done a number on his ego.

Turns out that was one of those things that some people refer to as a "Fated Meeting". That bump sealed my fate.

The rest of the work day went off without a hitch and around six I made my way back "home". I was only a block away from safety when a cop cruiser pulled up beside me and two of them came out. "Hey, kid, stop!" the first one, a chubby guy who obviously took the donut stereotype a little too seriously, called out. If it had only been him I could have probably made a break for it. Actually, I would have, but his partner was a lithe guy who looked like he had jaguar's blood pumping through his veins and I could tell after one look at him that I wouldn't make it a dozen steps before he was all over my ass.

Fighting the urge to bolt I raised my hands and asked "What's the problem officers?" while trying to keep my cool.

"Random check," the thin one explained. Now, I'm no criminal law expert, but I knew that the law specifically stated that they could do no such thing, and I made sure they knew it.

"Shut up kid before I book you on resisting arrest," the fat one warned and I knew immediately that I was in serious shit. They couldn't book you on lipping off an officer unless you actually threatened them but both of these guys looked like they cared none for the law and even less for me and my rights. I still thought I could bluff my way out and, after dropping all pretences of belligerence, laid myself up against a brick-and-mortar wall, hoping they just wanted to jack the little bit of the money I had on me or even my tools. They may have been expensive but the boss would've been happy to replace them as long as it meant he still had his chief fixer. What they found chilled me to the bone.

"Well well well, what do we have here?" the thin one asked rhetorically as he pulled a little baggy with a white powder from the inside of my jacket.

"Just like the snitch said," the fat one blurted out before his colleague could stop him. The realization hit me like a sack of hammers; when Shifty had bumped me earlier he must have stuck the baggy of whatever it was on the inside of jacket, it's various patches making it almost impossible for me to have felt the bag and he knew that I never took my jacket off at work. He'd get rid of me and it would look like I'd been caught trying to peddle drugs, something that the boss absolutely detested.

"Li... listen guys. It's not what it looks like…" I knew trying to explain myself wasn't going to get me anywhere and the words tasted dry on my tongue. I sounded ike the most stereotypical inept criminal on TV and I looked even more pathetic then them too.

"Keep 'yer mouth shut and maybe we won't have to knock out a few of those pearly whites while 'detaining' you. Now, get into the car." I was sweating bullets now, not that I would've minded having a few on me and something to shoot them with. Drug charges were big time and even a minor like me could end up in juvee or, far worse, shipped off to the "farms". They packed me into the car, the back sardine-tight and all of the windows were covered in iron-wrought bars, and suddenly I knew what it was to be claustrophobic. The walls seemed to crush me, to stifle every breath, no sounds from the outside world penetrating the thick plexiglass windows. It took every ounce of my will and strength to not scream.

We only drove for a few minutes but to me it felt like my whole life. By the time we got to the local precinct and they had hauled me out I was shivering from an unseen and unfelt chill that wrapped its dreadful embrace around my spine. I was hyperventilating so much I nearly passed out and they practically had to drag me in, the other workers there giving me mixed looks of disgust and pity. Eventually they dumped me in an uncomfortable plastic chair, left the room and locked the door behind them. I didn't try to escape; after all, there were probably a hundred hard-boiled cops between me and the nearest exit even if I had been able to gather the strength to get up. I was so out of it that I didn't even notice a gruff-looking officer walk in and take the seat opposite of mine. He tented his fingers and looked at me for the next few minutes, his unwavering and unblinking gaze practically ripping out my soul to lay bare all of my secrets.

He was the first to break the silence. "So, trying to make a quick buck, eh?" he asked, his voice low and gravely, my nose picking up the smell of nicotine that wafted from him to assail my nostrils. I shook my head while attempting to avoid eye contact, trying to not let him tear my already delicate psyche into even more pieces. "Well then, why do you have this?" he pressed as he lifted the bag in question up and gave it a few shakes.

"I... it's not mine, officer…" I manage to stutter out. He just laughed at that, almost seeming to take a sick sort of pride and joy in making me squirm.

"'Course it isn't. Let me guess, you were framed? The bag was planted by your rival or an enemy and now you're here trying to figure out just where it all went wrong?" My mouth hung open and I found myself unable to care that the surprise on my face was apparent. He leaned over and said slowly, deliberately "Right on the money, right? 'Cause that's exactly what happened." He moved back and gave a hearty laugh that did nothing but make me sink further into despair. "You ran afoul of one of our scouts, unfortunately for you. I've got enough info on you here to send you away for a long, long time. And don't try to defend yourself by saying that you didn't hurt anyone since nearly one-hundred-and-fifty-seven counts of aiding an illegal operation by itself will keep you behind bars for a good, long time. Oh, and this bag?" He gave it another shake. "It's just here to sweeten the deal…" and with that he opened it up, stuck a finger in and suckled on it, making a content expression before smacking his lips and saying "Mmm mmm. The sugar always works on you "soft operations" kids. Don't worry though, I'll make sure to replace it with the real deal if it comes to that, but neither of us wants that, now do we?" Things just got a whole lot worse; this was no sting operation but a complete set-up. The Boss had a genuine police snitch literally right in his shadow and at this point I knew I had to do something, SAY something, if not for my benefit then for the boss's. He'd kept me safe and alive for years and my loyalty to him demanded that I do anything to protect him.

Too bad I was still a snivelling whelp then.

"What do you want?" I asked, trying to keep my voice even as I fought back the tears of defeat that threatened to shatter the last of my defences.

"You've got three options." He held up three fingers to emphasize this point. "One, you give up and tell us everything you know and aid us in every step of busting the big cheese." I realized that was the one he really wanted. Just the word of a snitch that was in the employ of the police wouldn't be enough to make an airtight case against such a powerful gang leader like The Boss. He had already been called into court several times and had beaten the odds every time as well. They were out for blood this time. "Two, you go to Juvenile and stay there for a good long time until you're nineteen, at which point you'll go to the big leagues and probably meet some big black guy named Bubba. I'm sure you can fill the rest in yourself." That option is possibly even worse then what The Boss would have done to me, since he usually did his business quick and painlessly. "Third is that you leave this place and neither of us has to see each other's ugly mug again. You go and live a new life farrrrr away from here. You don't tell anybody where you came from, who you talked to or even who you were." He gave a chilling smile that would have looked fitting on a serial killer clown. "No one can say that I'm not open to possibilities."

I weighed my options; almost certain death at The Boss's hands, almost certain unmentionable humiliation at jail, or entirely uncertain future that sounded too good to be true.

And, of course, when something sounds too good to be true it almost assuredly is. And so, in my youth and naivety, I chose option three.

He laughed again, and I knew that whenever he laughed it meant nothing good for me. "You'll make a good farmhand, or rather, farmhoof."

The only thing I could think of then was escape. To run, to fight, to survive. I had only lived fourteen years as a human; I still had so much to do, to see, and I had just been told that not only was I not going to get to do any of those things, I'd forget what I'd done up to that point too, as if my entire life had never even existed.

"NO!" I yelled, my seat getting knocked to the wall as I bolted upright. Before I could get anywhere I was wrestled to the ground and held in an excruciating headlock. It didn't stop me from struggling. He tightened the grip until I began to desperately gasp for breath as spots flared into my vision. After I stopped kicking he loosened a bit, although I still found it difficult to breathe.

"Tell me, do you know how you feed the great entity that is known as justice?" he whispered into my ear. "You feed it money. Lots of money. More then the government will ever tell the people and more then they'll ever give us. You know what an intelligent young lad like you is to justice? You're just a liquid asset waiting to be sold off at an auction, and a fine specimen like you is not only valuable but rare. Youthful yet talented and smart, a malleable mind still waiting for the right impulses to mold it and a nobody to boot. You have no official records, nobody waiting at whatever hovel it is that you call home to miss you. You are literally worth your weight in gold to justice and, if there's one cardinal sin that justice takes part in, it's gluttony. Don't you fret though, I've heard it's painless and they're all happy over on the other side of the fence. Hell, I'm probably doing a poor, sick fuck like you a favour by selling you off like the livestock your kind are." At that I started to struggle again, a desperate attempt to escape, one last bid to keep my human…

A violent pain wracked my body as tens of thousands of volts overload every synapse of my brain and lock all of my muscles. The only thing I hear before blissful blackness takes over is "I love it when they piss their pants."


I woke up and tried to move, only to find that my limbs had all been securely fastened by leather straps. I try to open my eyes, only to be blinded by the intense light generated by the overhead lamps. Despite my predicament I felt a soothing effect course through my body and, a few seconds after regaining consciousness, an angelic voice is heard.

"What do we do with the dog tags?" the angel asked.

What sounded like the devil answered. "Can't let him keep them. Might jog his memory. Just sell them at some novelty shop. Human stuff fetches a good price."

The angel seems to have noticed I'm awake and asks me "Do you feel anything? What are you thinking about?"

I didn't know how to answer the first one, but the second one was easy for me.

"I'm going to kill Shifty."

The angel's laugh tingled, like rain dripping down a wind chime, as the devil replied "Oh, I don't think you'll ever do that…"

A purple thing fills my vision and I feel a needle slide into my arm. It doesn't hurt. It only makes me feel… better…


A young yellow unicorn, his orange mane and tail unkempt and tangled, sits with his adoptive mother at the table, a pencil held in his mouth as he writes in his brand new diary…

'Dear diary…' I write. '…today I got adopted! My new mommy and daddy are so happy too! They say that I'm a good boy…'

"Oh no, that's not right dearest," said new mommy. "Here, let your mother help you…" I watched as the pencil flew into the air! The magic was so pretty! She erased my "boy" and put down 'foal'.

I smiled up at her and said "Thank you!" I was so happy that she showed me my little mistake.