[Super] Black Cat Anon

Author's Note: The paste has many revisions for the sake of clarity, sentence flow, and characterization. This is my first attempt at a long-form green. A thanks to Anonymous No.29968120 (and his subsequent samefaggotry) and untitled 7 (/u/reallyUntitled) for being janitor editors.

>Your name is Anon Hardy Moose.
>You are currently an upperclassmen at Canterlot High School.
>You've taken residence in a modest apartment, where the rent ain't bad and the people were occasionally decent.
>Although you were not at Crystal Prep levels of genius, you sure as hell had a knack for chemistry.
>It's as if chemical formulas are your proud native tongue.
>That is to say, scarcely used by the majority of people and bewilderingly confusing for anyone that doesn't speak it fluently.
>...
>You don't think you missed anything too important about yourself during your internal monologue.
>No wait, the whole alter-ego thing, right.
>You are another one of the loonies that ran around Canterlot dressed in tights, up to no-good shenanigans every Saturday morning.
>To the fair residents of Canterlot, you are known as the Black Cat, anti-hero.
>Although those aforementioned people actually all label you a villain.
>Ugh.
>It really does suck being put in the same boat as those people.
>You know.
>The ones that will go out into the streets in broad daylight, and enact their convoluted scheme of tousling some city infrastructure around until the nearby superhero beats the ever-loving crap out of them.
>They'll probably shout something about revenge while getting taken away by police, only to break out to do the same shit again next week.
>Not the best way of applying their superpowers.
>You prefer your affairs done nocturnally.
>These affairs usually involved you breaking into big mean corporations and museums.
>That way, you would be able to take some time to enjoy the artistic and history-rich displays in relative peace and quiet and contempl— just kidding you stole shit.
>Then proceeding to pawn off the objects of immeasurable historical significance for some cold, hard cash.
>...
>Maybe the villain status was just a tad justified.
>You should really focus on the task at hand.
>It's currently late night in Canterlot.
>The moon and stars that create the night sky cast a gentle glow upon the buildings, highlighting their contours with a slight blue tint.
>While normal people would be tucked into bed or having sex right about now, you’re breaking into a museum.
>You had your back pressed against a corner of the town's museum, appropriately named the Museum of our Universal History.
>MUH for short.
>Straightening your back, you feel your armored leatherwear brush up against your torso.
>Listening to the closeby night guard's steps echo, a feeling of ambiance sweeps through the interior.
>You approximate the distance between you and the guard by the volume of the steps.
>Reaching into one of your (totally versatile and useful) belt pouches, you pull out a plain-colored rag.
>This was one special since it could soak up the grimiest of stains with just one simple sweep.
>But wait, there's more!
>Conveniently enough, you coated it with a sedative drug you developed earlier this year.
>Using only your wits and SCIENCE! you brewed a homemade sleepy drug that was fast-acting, as well as non-lethal and without withdrawal effects.
>Don't wanna hurt nobody.
>Try an' call me the evil villain now.
>You snap back to reality.
>The steps are now growing in volume with each sequential step.
>The intensity of the flashlight's glow increases as the seconds tick away.
>You watch the corner in anticipation.
>...
>As soon as you spot the guard, not a second passes when you push off the chest of your foot, warping your hands around the guard's neck and shoving the rag into his mouth with cat-like agility.
>His pupils dilate as he realizes the situation he's in and reacts by flailing his limbs around and shouting, which are muffled by the rag.
>"Mmmph! Mmmph!"
"You know, children your age should be sleeping right about now," you announce matter-of-factly.
>A wave of confusion washes over his face as he processes what the hell you had just spouted.
>"Hmmph!"
"Once you're older, you'll be glad you had such a tight sleep schedule," you continue on.
>By now, most of the movements have slowed down drastically.
>"Mmm..."
"You just need a caring friend to give a push in the right direction," you suggest.
>"Nnn..."
You conclude your lecture, "You should be glad you have a good friend like me. I bet you've never had a friend like me."
>"..."
>You set the guard down in the corner you were occupying just a minute ago.
>The spot nice and warm for your new guard friend.
>Gently laying the knocked-out guard on the wall, you breathe a sigh of relief.
>You sure are a good friend.
>You take a look at the night guard's face.
>It looks like someone had a really long day at work today and was so happy that sleep came tonight.
>And NOT currently drugged by a teenager wearing full body leather tights, attempting to rob a museum in the middle of the night.
>Shifting sights reveal the new area you unlocked for defeating the boss.
>A plaque over an archway describes more about the area.
>"Egyptian Section."
>This was it.
>You pick yourself up and start moving towards the entrance.
"Hey, that rhymed."

~~~

>You sit on the ledge of a building, taking in the sight of Canterlot’s nighttime alter-ego.
>You exaggerate the blinking of your eyelids, looking over the townscape where you’ve spent almost the last four years living in.
>You are known as the one and only Sunset Shimmer, and you were a lot of things in your past.
>If you were to tell anyone your life story, most likely they would find it hard to believe that an extra-dimensional equine xenoform with the ability to use magic has traveled to their world in order to attain her megalomaniacal she-demon form.
>That wasn't even your final form.
>That same girl later turned into a spider-powered superhero that fought crime dressed as a circus performer.
>Sort of like those weird graphic novels young colts liked to read back in Equestria.
>At this point it would be difficult not to adopt an absurdist mentality on reality.
>You recall what drove you to sit atop a rooftop late at night.
>You found yourself unable to fall asleep this particular night.
>No matter how much you optimized your sleeping position or pajama combination for maximum comfy, you still had a persistent, nagging feeling of discomfort.
>Like most teenagers your age, you choose to therapize your insomnia by donning a red and blue spandex to patrol crime as a vigilante.
>Tightening your grip on the edges of the concrete ledge, you push yourself off the building.
>Immediately, you hold out your wrist and fire a line of webbing that attaches itself to the side of a building.
>Swinging yourself forwards, you bring out your other arm and repeat the familiar set of motions.
>Soon, your swinging develops into a slow cadence of *Thwip*, *Splat* and *Whoosh*.
>You focus on the sensations that are running through your body, feeling the wind rushing against your face and the strain of your muscles as you swing through the serene setting.
>...
>It has been awhile since the last time you felt truly content and at ease.
>It serves as a reminder to a simpler, cozier life in Equestria.
>However, the sound of a police unit’s wheels rolling through the streets snaps you out of your zen state.
>You quicken your swinging pace in the efforts of keeping up with the car’s speed.
>You smirk beneath your mask, wondering which unlucky bastard choose the night when Spider-Woman just randomly decided to do night patrol.
>That grin morphs into a scowl.
>Who would even try to do anything this late at night?
>Why can’t you just be easy like all the other ones; and go cause some ruckus in broad daylight so that I can promptly beat you up.
>All important questions.
>...
>You do actually know a certain guy that fits that description.
>As your heart sinks into your stomach as you draw that conclusion, you check the direction the vehicle is headed in.
>You know the layout of Canterlot like the back of your hand, and a quick search through “Sunset Shimmer Maps” confirms that the car is indeed headed in the direction of the MUH.
>Any shred of happiness you just had a minute ago is replaced by deep resentment.
>There’s that feeling of discomfort again...
>As your webswinging brings you closer to your destination, you see the roof of the building come out into view from behind the buildings.
>You notice police cars have formed a semicircle surrounding the building entrance.
>Officers are dispersed across the formation of cars, most likely figuring out what the next appropriate course of action is.
>You spot a younger recruit, arms across his chest and leaning against the hood of his car; looking like he’s about to fall asleep right on the spot.
>Must be a rookie.
>The smart thing to do here was to ask the police about the situation; since knowledge could give the edge in the upcoming fight.
>But considering Spider-Woman’s reputation and their current mood, they would probably just open fire on you.
>The newspaper The Marely Bugle has an unhealthy obsession with painting you as a menace to society.
>Articles written about you usually are about a claim about how you were in cahoots with Villain of the Week or that you were terrorizing citizens.
>Usually in the same style as a conspiracy theory.
>Too bad there were never any photographers and journalists that are around when you were rescuing people from a building fire or preventing a robbery.
>Your luck must be incredible.
>You alter your swinging course and start to make your way towards the side of the museum instead.
>Landing on the roof of the museum, you scout your surroundings for any windows.
>You locate one to your right and walk up to it, peering through it.
>A night guard set up against a corner.
>Someone definitely was here.
>Much to your relief, the rhythmic rising, and falling of his chest indicate that he’s still alive.
>As you grip your hands around the windows base, you quickly glance at your webshooters.
>You furrow your brow as you realize that you’ve used up most of your webbing fluid having a grand old time swinging around town.
>Creating this many disadvantages for yourself was definitely not the smartest thing for you to do going into a fight, but this wasn’t something a superhero could back out of.
>With the astonishing proportional strength of a spider, you defile the purpose of humanity’s genius locking mechanisms by breaking them.
>You slip your body through the now ajar window.
>Making sure to do a superhero landing on the floor of the museum even though no one was looking, you feel secure knowing your consistency was preserved.
>Taking in your surroundings, you spot an archway with a plaque above it reading “Egyptian Section.”
>Waking the guard for information wasn’t worth it, since it was only one way to go from here.
>And also the fact that he might scream for the police.
>Recovering from your landing, you return to a normal upright posture.
>Walking on the tip of your feet, you make your way through the entrance and under the archway.
>You’re greeted by a room dimly lit by orange lights; displays behind glass, showcasing hieroglyphics on clay tablets, pots, golden sculptures, and other assorted artifacts.
>Nothing of the villain variety.
>Yet.
>...
>Just now, you noticed that those two words on the plaque rhymed.
>Walking cautiously through the walkways between the glass displays, you inspected every inch of the room.
>You suddenly stop dead in your tracks as your Spidey Sense is set off.
>Promptly responding by ducking, your peripherals catch a glimpse of a leg sweeping over where your head was just a second ago.
>You follow up with a leg sweep, but your anonymous assailant quickly dodges it.
>Standing straight up, you lock into a combat stance facing towards your opponent.
>Your suspicions are confirmed as your stare was met with eye mask with a set of green eyes, imposing playfulness and danger onto you.
>The figure speaks in a chirping manner.
>”You know, I didn’t take you for the type of girl who would fancy a date at a museum. But to be fair, I didn’t know you were also a night owl until tonight.”
>Celestia damn it. Of all of the villains in the rogues' gallery, it just had to be this one tonight.
>Look at him, with his hands behind his back and all.
>”Of course, I don’t mind. Gives us all the more time together.”
>You remember declaring your peace and happiness just a while ago.
>Even though your mask covered your entire face, anyone could make out the perturbed scowl you were putting on right now.
“Hello, Black Cat.”
>Black Cat ignores your obvious disapproval and opens his mouth to speak again.
>”Not that it’s my place to judge you or anything,” scolded Black Cat, smirk returning to his face, “but you should really read up on the history on these displays instead of just trying to visit as many of them as you can.”
“Listen, Black Cat,” is what you could simply growl back in response as you maintain your stance.
>”No you listen, Spidey-Gurl,” he returned.
>Before you can protest your pet name, Black Cat clears his throat to signify that he had more to say.
>”You don’t have to listen to my recommendation if you don't want,” he assures you. “But personally, given the nature of my work, I allow myself to see the true value of every single one of these beautiful artifacts.”
“Something tells me you’re not talking about artistic value,” you shoot back.
>He pouts at you before saying, “I’m sad that your mental image of me is such a shallow person.”
>Pulling out what he's been holding behind his back, he looks like a kid trying to surprise his mother with a surprise birthday party.
>It’s a gold artifact in the shape of an ankh. “I think this one looks especially nice,” he states, projecting as much satisfaction as possible.
>“It’s almost attractive with all of those perfect curves in all the right places~”
>Alright, you were drawing the line at the sexualization of ancient Egyptian artifacts.
>You try intimidation.
“Return it.”
>Black Cat holds a finger to his chin and fakes contemplation.
>”Hmm… nah.”
>You grunt angrily.
“Now.”
>This kid actually sticks his tongue out at you.
>”Make me.”

~~~

>Someone was really angry about by that stunt you pulled since Spider-Woman has just lunged herself towards you.
>You backpedal and dodge the torrent of punches and hooks coming your way and stuff the golden ankh into one of your pouches.
>Although it doesn't fit all the way, it'll have to do for now.
>The redirection of your concentration for you to perform this task causes a fist to connect with your cheek.
>As you stumble backward, the throbbing pain gives a stark reminder about the danger of super strength.
>That punch must have been a very therapeutic one since Spider-Woman’s doing a poor job of hiding a wide grin underneath her mask.
>”Any specific reasons a low-level burglar like you is targeting a museum tonight instead of the usual jewelry store?”
>Unlike her previous three-word commands directed at you, this one was playful, teasing even.
>You're a good buddy.
“‘People like me’ get bored of the monotony, Spider, so they feel compelled to do the occasional gig switch.”
>You tilt your head.
“Can anyone really blame me for liking the things that are more different?”
>Letting out a hiss, you pop the claws on the fingertips of your costume.
“My turn.”
>Sprinting forwards, you swing at Spider-Woman.
>She moves out of harm’s way by flipping onto a display glass.
>”If it wasn’t obvious to you, you need to land a hit to call it your turn. Since, you know, that one was off by the length of the Nile,” she snarks, her confidence showing.
>You smile.
“Then it’s a good thing the pharaoh’s rule extends across the entire river.”
>You shoot a grappling hook from your wrist onto a pillar to gain height, then pushing off of it towards Spider-Woman, legs extended into a kick.
>She pivots around you to dodge, maintaining a moderate distance from you.
>Hitting the surface of the display glass, you shift your head out of the way of a punch.
>Ducking when she follows up with a right hook.
>You seize your opportunity to strike, claws slicing verticals gashes into her abdomen as you rise up.
>This earns you a sharp cry out of Spider-Woman.
>Mmm, satisfying and encouraging.
>As you try to add in a horizontal swipe, she brings her arms to her chest, it landing on her forearms instead.
>Now that she was in a defensive position, you hop in the air and plant a kick toe-first in her blocking stance.
>She falls off the makeshift glass arena on her back, face contorting in pain.
>Hopping off the platform and heading to the nearest exit, you can’t help but feel like you should say something clever about her current predicament.
“You know, the Egyptians took a certain liking towards cats. Do you know why?”
>You pause for effect.
“Because they’re so good at getting rid of unwanted pests,” you finish triumphantly.
>You put your hand on the frame of the window and plant your foot on the base of it, prepared to leap out.
>That is you were going to before you hear a familiar sound from where you just were.
>*Thwip*
>*Splat*
>Suddenly, you find your hand bound to the window frame by a sticky fluid.
>You frantically try to remove it with the claws on your other hand.
>Within a second, your progress is impeded as that hand is also stuck to the window by another shot of webbing.
“God damn it.”
>The feeling of dread accompanies your escalating panic, and you begin flexing your fingers to hopefully cut through the bondage around your hands.
>As the webbing around hands is shredded to pieces, you look up to see that it has distracted you long enough for Spider-Woman to close the distance between you.
“God DAMN it.”
>In a state of stress, you make a mistake by attempting to analyze your situation instead of reacting.
>This small period of paralysis is enough for Spider-Woman to close in and uppercut you.
>She continues the beatdown, sampling you with every type of punch she has.
>The barrage is abruptly discontinued when you catch one of her fists heading towards your face with your claws.
>Her shocked expression is met with a look of malice and anger on your face.
>Enraged, you begin to dig your claws in her.
>That’s the second cry of pain out of Spider-Woman tonight, although you feel the sequel is less enjoyable than the first installment.
>The pain is enough to stop her other fist in its course toward your face.
>Taking your opportunity, you curl your other hand into a tight fist, bringing it up to face-level.
>Before you could do anything, you hear a familiar masculine voice from across the room.
>”There! There they are, officers!”
>In the archway stands your best buddy from earlier, fearful expression across his face, with a group of officers behind him.
>...
>That’s unfortunate for the both of you, things were just warming up.

~~~

>”Hands in the air! Now!” commands one of the officers.
>You and Black Cat comply, although you do so meakly; arms aching due to Black Cat’s lacerations.
>They begin to surround you, handguns pointed towards the both of you.
>You start to protest.
“W-wait! I was here to stop hi—"
>”It doesn’t matter what you were doing and what you weren't doing! You both are under arrest!" another one of the police officers barks at you.
>"The Marely Bugle says you are a vigilante, and not to mention you broke in to get in here,” follows up the woman on his right.
>...
>Horseapples, they are completely right.
>Black Cat backs up into a display case and begins rubbing his belt against it.
>You are left speechless once again.
>What in Tartarus?
>You seem to be the only one who has noticed this, probably because everyone else in the room is in fear of the super-powered costumed teenagers who were covered in bruises and scratches.
>A *clink* sound come from Black Cat’s belt and he shifts his focus to his speech.
>”I’m very sorry about all this, officers. Everyone in this room just wants to go home right now. You just want a warm shower and a comfy bed. I know I sure do. So, in the interests of saving everyone here the hassle, you'll just let the both of us go,” he announces nonchalantly to the room.
>Before anyone could protest him, he begins talking again.
>“But, you don’t really have a choice on that last part. Something, something, buying time.”
>A permeating *Pssh* sound fills the room.
>You glance at the floor near Black Cat’s foot and saw smoke coming out of a dull grey canister.
>A cacophony of panicked shouting voices fill the room as the smoke expanded outwards.
>”Do not open fire! I repeat, do not open fire! We can't risk any property damage!”
>You realize you have very little time to act.
>Reacting quickly, you shoot webbing at the top of gold ankh that was poking out of Black Cat’s pouches.
>It flies out of his possession and is held against the wall across from you by webbing.
>Those pouches are pretty useless. In your opinion, you don’t need them to perform well.
>You’ll pat yourself on the back for your quick thinking later.
>Black Cat doesn’t seem to notice what you just pulled off, firing a grappling hook out of the fur on his wrist out a window.
>He looks at you with a neutral expression, unfitting for the current circumstances.
>What cements this uncanniness further was that this calm expression was plastered across a bruised and banged up face.
>One that you aided in making, but nonetheless.
>”See you, space cowgirl,” he simply says, before promptly hopping out the window.
>As the smoke clears, everyone left in the room can only stare in bewilderment at the thief's exit site.
>This is probably a great opportunity to testify your good will.
>Clearing your throat to get everyone's attention, you prepare to say something.
"Look, if you all want proof that I'm on your side, just take a look at that wall over there," you announce, pointing to the wall where you stuck the artifact. "When Black Cat was escaping, I was able to web it away without him noticing."
>As some of your stress is alleviated, you let out a long sigh of relief.
>It came with some nasty scratches and wounds, but you did it. You managed to stop the crime. Great job, Sunset.
>"Something's not right."
>It was the night guard you saw knocked out from before that spoke up.
>The focus in the room shifts entirely from the artifact on the wall to him.
"What do you mean 'something's not right'?", you retort incredulously.
>He looks a little taken back by your aggressive tone but continues nervously.
>"W-well, I've seen this display a lot during my routine, since, um, you know, it's kind of hard to miss..."
"Get to the point."
>"Uh, y-yeah. Sure. Every time I've seen it before, it's got, like, gems all over it. But, now they're... kinda not there..."
>He tries to pull the ankh out of its web casing, failing miserably.
>"Here, let me show you guys..."
>You groan.
"No, allow me."
>Tearing it out with ease, you bring the ankh to your face to inspect it closer.
>Sure enough, there were empty spaces embossed all over it.
"He's right. There are holes where the supposed jewels are supposed to be," you relay back to the officers.
>They look small enough to carry in a pocket, purse or even a pouch.
>Your feeling of self-accomplishment is overwritten by a wave of anger tenfold whatever emotions you previously had.
"Black. Fucking. Cat."
>The night guard stares back at you.
>"Black Cat? You mean..."
"Yeah, the guy that jumped out the window," you finish.
>Exhaling, you turn to face the officers.
>You're not in top condition and should keep the fighting to the minimal.
"I know that many of you consider me a menace to society and an evil-doer, but I'm going to have to resist arrest," you try to reason. "As of now, I'm your best chance at catching Black Cat, so you need to let me do what I have to."
>Upon hearing this, they exchange looks with each other, conflicted.
>One of them spoke up.
>"Sorry, Spider-Woman, but we just can't make an exception for you. We can't just ignore your vigilantist crimes," one explains.
>Damn it.
>Someone argue your side, please.
>Night guard dude?
>Another officer speaks up.
>"Don't know about you guys, but my common sense is telling me to just apprehend the criminal right in front of us rather than let her go and meet back with someone who could very well be her partner," she argues.
"I'm not—"
>You're cut off by a murmur of agreement from the rest of the group.
>Great.
>You count off the number of guards.
>Six in total.
"Alright then. Sorry in advance for this."
>With one hand you grab the closest guard's handgun, crushing it; while your other hand shooting bursts of webbing in the adjacent direction, landing them on two officer's firearms, taking the ankh's spot on the wall.
>"She's hostile and resisting arrest, open fire!"
>Spidey sense is blaring in your head.
>You perform a backflip, feet nicking the chin of the officer closest to you.
>As he staggers backward holding his jaw, he loses his grip on the pistol.
>Evading the shots, you find cover behind a pillar.
>As bullets are fired into the pillar, the slight tremors you feel from it does little to calm your nerves.
>Four down, two more to go.
>You consider your options.
>As much as you disapprove of using your webbing, you don't really see any choice in the manner.
>You fire a line of webbing onto the ceiling.
>The two opponents stare at the webbing in unnerved confusion.
>When they focus their attention back towards you, it's already too late.
>Swinging from the web, you kick into his chest and knock him into the police officer behind him.
>Letting go of the webbing line, you land on the museum floor on all fours.
>Panting slowly and clutching your arm, you stand on your two feet.
>Pain from your hand and arm flares from the exertion you pushed on the wounds.
>Grunting under your breath, you look over to the seventh person in the room.
>The night guard is hugging the wall and looks like he's about to piss himself.
>You can't really blame him.
>Just doing his job in the background when all of a sudden this happens.
"Hey," you called out.
>He immediately freezes up and looks at you in fear.
"Tell the cops that the webbing will dissolve after a few minutes. Get them back to their cars. If they ask about me, just tell them I escaped or something, understood?"
>He nods obediently.
"Good. I've got a cat to catch."
>Following in Black Cat's steps, you barrel through the window.
>Your best guess is that he went straight ahead, not planning an exit route because he was giddy that his plan worked.
>Even though he's able to navigate buildings in a similar fashion to you with grappling hooks, he's definitely slower.
>Numerous factors account for this, like his lack of enhanced strength, to the tiny technicalities of how the grappling hook takes longer to wrap around an object rather than sticking to them like webbing.
>Realizing that it wasn't the best time to analyze his moveset like an RPG character, you scale the tallest building in your vicinity.
>You spot a silhouette with a familiar build in the distant dark.
>Approximating the gap between you and him to be around a few hundred feet, you ready yourself to swing again.
>You launch a line of webbing at the adjacent building.
>Using the building's relative height to your advantage, your downwards motion lasts longer than usual.
>This causes you to build up a greater amount of momentum than you would when maintaining a level altitude.
>As you pass the vertex of your swinging path's parabola, your trajectory is redirected upwards.
>You obtain the height you were at in the start.
>Your efforts are rewarded when you begin to gain on Black Cat.
>On some swings down, you come close to planting into the streets.
>Even though your Spidey Sense aids in your evasion of becoming street art, you still feel the strong rush of wind ripping at your face along with the excruciating strain on your muscles.
>But with most of your webs almost gone, you don't have much choice in how you swing.
>As you get closer to Black Cat, he hears the sounds of your webs, turning back to face you with a look of shock before it contorts to a wide grin.
>Returning his gaze back to his course, he yells back at you.
>"Looks like the Cat's out of the bag now!"
>Don't quip back, Sunset.
>Before your better judgment could internalize the self-directed command, you jab back by instinct
"Yeah, it didn't take long for me to CATch on!"
>Damn it.
>"No kitten."
>No more out of yourself.
"Enough of this game of cat and mouse."
>Shit.
"Return the jewels I know you have, so we can settle this quickly and peacefully."
>A hook retracts back into his wrist fur as he turns towards you, holding onto one rope.
>"Peacefully? Well, that sure sucks. I've always wanted to try this."
>You feel your stomach sink as he shoots a grappling hook towards you.
>Bracing for the impact that never comes, you see it hook to a high building ledge behind you.
>States of relief, confusion and panic rush through you in a single second, each one being replaced with the next as quickly as they came.
>Black Cat turns in the opposite direction he was heading, towards you.
>The way his legs are together and held straight out seems very familiar.
>Almost like how you took care of the two officers back at the—
>He was stealing your move.
>As a gag, no less.
>You scoff.
>You were the one who came up with it and are familiar with it.
>Now that you were playing on your field, a surge of confidence rushes through you.
>The swing puts you a set path, and you're bound to that path as long you held on to that web.
>Or grappling line, in his case.
>You'll dodge it and then let him fly right where you want him.
>Scanning the environment around you, the yellow glow of a street lamp catches your attention.
>As you fly upwards, finishing your last swing, you hold out a wrist towards it and fire your webshooters.
>When you expect a line of webbing, the only thing that comes from them is a soft clicking sound.
>...
>It's empty.
>Staring at your wrists in disbelief of your luck, you become more and more anxious looking for alternatives.
>Looking back at Black Cat, you decide that the best thing to do now was to just hope for the best.
>You feel a force shove into your stomach.
>The pressure on your diaphragm causes you to expel all your breath in an audible exhalation.
>Your digestive tract feels like it's been forced into your rib cage, restricting and coiling around your lungs.
>Falling backward, you land on a hard, cold surface.
>Looking around, you see that you landed on the roof of a building.
>Wincing in pain, you push your back against the wall of the buildings.
>Black Cat follows you, his graceful on both feet landing contrasting your crash landing.
>If he was feeling half of the pain you were feeling right now, it would wipe that expression of childlike excitement on his face.
>"Oh my God, that was so fun! No wonder you like to do it so much."
>You tighten your grip on your stomach.
>So this is how your legacy as Spider-Woman dies.
>Not falling in battle against impossible odds, but against a manchild of a thief.
"Well, what are you waiting for?"
>He looks at you expecting a follow-up.
"You've won. Do what you want. Kill me or unmask me already."
>He scrunches his face in thought and then plops himself down on the wall adjacent to you.
>"Nah."
>What?
"What?"
>He just stares back at you with the same look you see teachers give Flash Sentry whenever he's being himself.
>"What do you mean 'what?' I'll show why both those decisions suck with simple logic and reasoning."
"Nothing about this is logical."
>He ignores you and raises an index finger.
>"One, I won't have a cool costumed friend to hang out with if I kill you. Everyone else couldn't hold a conversation with bringing up the destruction of Spider-Woman."
>That was... strangely sweet?
>Certainly not the answer you expected.
>"Besides, it would be too much of a hassle to carry and hide your deteriorating body."
"Glad to see you care."
>He raises another finger, bringing the total up to two.
>"Secondly, I won't unmask you. I prefer my fantasy of what I think you look like," he flatly states. "You know, on the off chance of you being ugly as all hell."
>You retract your compliment.
"You know, I could say the same about you," you retort, pointing at his mask.
>He follows your finger and tries to look at the tip of his nose.
>His face scrunches from the strain on his eyes, and he looks back at you with a scornful look.
>At this point, you don't even know if it's part of the whole "cat" act or if it was genuine.
>"Incorrect, Spider. My eye-mask covers a small portion of my face, leaving very little for the imagination for what's behind it."
>He waves a hand in front of his face.
>"And what's behind it is gorgeous."
>You smirk.
"I think you spoke a little too fast since you mispronounced 'egregious'."
>Rolling his eyes, he speaks.
>"Either way, it also serves functional purposes. Your mask probably feels extremely uncomfortable whenever you start sweating, no?"
>What?
>Is he really using something that minor as one of his main arguments?
>...Although, he is kinda right.
>But, nonetheless!
"We'll talk about uncomfortable when that minimalist attitude towards hiding your identity will cause people to figure out who you are. I'm sure you'll enjoy the soft, welcoming embrace of the ward beds."
>"Is that so?"
>He rests his chin in his hand.
>"Then it must be really easy to discover the person behind the mask then. But the short list of people who don't know who I am consists of you, law enforcement and everyone."
"..."
>You're reminded that you don't have a single lead on who he is.
>With Doc Oct and Shocker, it took under a month to uncover their names.
>And it's been a few months since you and Black Cat's first confrontation.
>"Jeez, don't sweat too much under the mask, you'll get really uncomfortable."
>Hold the phone.
>You've gotten so caught up with the banter you forgot that he's not a friend, but rather one of your villains.
>When he should be giving some sort of evil monologue about how he was going to enact his glorious revenge upon you, it looks like he's having a gay old time just talking to you.
>This was the same guy that cut your arms and kicked your stomach in.
>"Damn, if I knew that roast was going to burn you so hard it would leave you speechless, I would've held back."
>You scan his facial expressions.
>Despite the nature of that statement, here's not a single hint of anger, malice or hatred.
>But honestly, you prefer unbridled rage over the shit-eating grin he was giving you now.
>"Time sure files when you're hanging out with friends, huh? It's got be daylight by now because of the nasty burn on your—"
"Where are the gems."
>Your deadpan delivery makes a complete 180 from your playful tone.
>His happiness immediately drops from his face, followed by shock.
>The same dangerous smile you saw back at the museum finds its way back on his face.
>His voice becomes somber and intimidating.
>"And what would you do if you knew? Fight me? Really, in the condition you're in now?"
>Your body cries out in agreement as you feel the pain from your wounds resurfaces.
>Horseapples, he's completely right.
>"Try anything, and it'll be your last night as Spider-Woman."
>You shiver slightly.
>"Also, I'll admit."
>His tone suddenly returns to being perky and upbeat.
>"Wasn't exactly expecting you to get out of that situation I left you in. I thought you'd be the person to just run away to avoid confrontations with the police. I never even took into consideration that you'd actually try to pursue me as well."
>He changes his position on the ledge and lies on his chest.
>Facing you and legs swaying back and forth behind him, he talks in what can be best described as a knock-off Rarity voice.
>"Give me all the juicy details from your side."
>Your hesitation disappears when you realize that there was nothing to gain by hiding anything.
>Also the fact that Black Cat's gestures suggest that he actually wants to know "the juicy details."
>...
>Well, nothing better to do with your right about now.
"Fine."
>He giggles aloud and swings his legs just a bit faster.
>By now, you're not even fazed by the fact that he was the same person who just threatened to kill you literally less than a minute ago.
>As you begin to recall everything that happened tonight, you remember thinking about absurdity.
>Given the circumstances, you might as well embrace it.
>You give your best impression of a dramatic narrator.
"Gather 'round and hear the tale of the Female of Arachnids. Our tale begins when one night our heroine finds herself unable to..."
>You summarize your night from the fight to your tango with officers to the chase.
>Making sure to emphasize your pain, you point to each injury as they appeared chronologically in your retelling.
>"So the guy just dropped his weapon and fell backward just because his chin got kicked and got a nasty boo-boo?"
>You shrug.
"Must've been a rookie."
>He smiles.
>"I like those people. They're easy to mess with."
>Feigning hurt, you project your inner Rarity
"Why, I never! I didn't think you would stick with me for such a shallow reason! Am I just another source of sick entertainment for you, you sick man?"
>A devious smile appears on Black Cat's face.
>Dear Celestia, you encouraged him.
>"Oh no, Miss Spider, you must be mistaken. You see, why I like being so close to you is because of your alluring characteristics~"
>Leaning in, he eyes you up and down.
>You recoil backward as this friendly exchange turns into sexual harassment zero to a hundred.
>As he puts his face inches from yours, you can feel your heart beating out of your chest and breath quickening.
>"Your sweet costume!"
>Excuse me?
"H-huh?"
>Pulling away from you, Black Cat stands up.
>"The red is vibrant and strong, giving you a strong impression against your foes. The blue represents technique and control of your abilities. Both colors are neither fully blending or completely contrasting with each other, but still in harmony. All in all, I think the aesthetics of your costume is quite nice."
>W-what the hell was that art-student-like response?
>Where did all the rape from before go?
>To be quite honest, you picked the two colors you liked the most and had enough to sew with.
"Thanks?"
>"Don't be so flattered. Anyway, I'm going to conclude our date on a high note. Need a ride home?"
>As you attempt to find your footing, you feel that some of our pain from your wounds have subsided over time.
>The adrenaline rush from... that, aids in the process.
"One; if you consider this as a first date, you can count another forgotten person in your contacts list. Two; how exactly are you going to give me said 'ride?'"
>With a warm smile, he turns around and pats his shoulder.
>"Climb on."
"No."
>He looks at you, a pained expression across his face.
>"Come on, it'll be adorable."
"Nuh-uh. The last thing I want to be right now is cute."
>His whiny face suddenly becomes deadpan.
>"Well then, I guess you'll just have to walk home since web-slinging isn't an option anymore. With those injuries of yours, be sure to at least put up an entertaining last fight if anyone jumps you."
>You scowl.
"Hey, I can fend for myself just fine."
>Your only response was the same stoic face.
>It only makes you angrier.
"Do you even know what'll happen to my reputation if a picture got out of me clinging on to you? If they don't see me as a menace now, they sure will then."
>A small smile manages to find its way onto his face.
>"I'm sure all the photographers in Canterlot are vigilantly awake at one in the morning so that they can catch the beloved super-heroine Spider-Woman being caught in the act."
>He extends a hand towards you.
>"How dare she betray the people? She's been lost to the whims of evil. It must've been that treacherous yet dastardly charming villain Black Cat! Oh, woe is—"
"Okay, shut up. I get it."
>He nods towards his hand.
>"Then prove that you do."
>You hesitantly stare at his hand for a moment, before finally placing your hand in his.
>You swear that for a moment, you see Black Cat's eyes twinkle.
>"Hurrah, heterosexuality reaffirmed! I do have the ability to pick up girls, but only after I back them into a corner where's they have no choice."
>He twirls around on one foot, effectively guiding your arm around his neck.
>You fall forward onto his back.
>You can only hope for both of your sake that his comment was made in satire.
"I'm so proud of you. I was almost certain that you were gay since you always wear tights and never talk to any of the villainesses."
>"You know what's crazy? I thought you were gay too, since you're always bitchy and never talk to any of the superheroes."
>You snicker.
"Shut up."
>He brings your other arm over his shoulder.
>"No, you."
"Wow, I didn't know I was having a conversation with an eight-year ooOOO-"
>Your comeback is cut short as Black Cat leaps off the roof.
>You feel the force of the recoil through Black Cat as the grappling hook is fired.
>"I'm sorry, what were you saying?"
"Nevermind. Nothing you didn't know already anyways."
>Saved it.
"Anyways, head that way. I'll tell you when to stop," you say pointing in the direction of your abode.
>"Yes, ma'am."
>You scoff.
"You know, if you were this polite all the time, I wouldn't hate you as much."
>"Well then, let's do some thinking. Normally, your hatred for me is zero. If we're gonna decrease that value, it's going to go into the negatives."
"Don't you dare finish that thought."
>"The opposite of hate is love. Therefore, if I keep being nice to you, you'll finally fall heads over heel for me."
"Don't push it, Cat."
>"It works! We're practically at a nickname level now."
>As he continues swinging, a slow rhythm develops.
>Like you had predicted, it was tamer, slower than yours.
>Unlike before, the wind blows gently against your face.
>As Black Cat's uncharacteristically soft rhythm drones on, you begin to realize how tired you really are.
>Your eyelids begin to grow heavy as you lean against Black Cat's back.
>Reentering a state of tranquility, you start to drift-
>"By the way, do you wear anything under your costume?"
"Oh, wouldn't you like to know~"
>You slowly guide your hands down his chest.
>Locating a place on his ribs where you landed a punch during your fight with him, you push down on it.
>Your suspicions are confirmed as Black Cat yelps out in pain, grip releasing from the grappling hook.
>"Holy fucking baby Jesus! Jesus Christ!"
>Reacting quickly, he shoots out a hook at a brick wall.
>Retracting the line, he pulls himself towards the building.
>Catching his breath as he stays suspended in the air, he turns his head back towards you.
>"Are you crazy? Are you outta your mind?"
>You only shrug in response.
"Think of it as payback for the crap that you pulled tonight. Besides, that's probably the most action you'll ever get out of me."
>He opens his mouth to argue, then promptly closes it.
>"If both points weren't so true, I'd probably let you drop on the pavement below right now."
>Is that so?
"Aww, but if you do that, you won't have a 'cool costumed friend to hang out with' anymore..."
>"Fuck off."
>You giggle.
"You know you're cute whenever you're not acting like a complete jackass, right?"
>A brief silence.
>It was his turn now to be flustered.
>"Y-you too."
>Spectacular.
"'Y-you too' indeed," you say, mimicking the stutter, "If you're done whining about all the pain my beat-down has caused you, we can get a move-on."
>"I will once you answer the lingering question."
"Why do you even want to know that?", you sigh.
>"Why are you so reluctant to tell me?", he retorts.
>A devious grin crosses your face.
"Let's see which other spots are sensitive~"
>There's a noticeable spike in fear in the tone of his voice.
>"Okay, okay! Tone it down you schadenfreude-drunk nymphomaniac!"
>You only smile a warm smile back.
"This is coming from the kid dressed in a BDSM outfit."
>He pouts at you.
>"H-hey! It's most definitely not a BDSM outfit. I think it looks cool..."
"Whatever you say, dork."
>A brief moment of silence passes, only permeated by the heaving pants of Black Cat.
>He sharply inhales and regains his composure.
>"Alright, now that we've both recovered from our physical and emotional wounds, we should be clear for takeoff."
>You nudged him in the side with your elbow.
"Well, what are you waiting for? I would like to get home in-"
>You're cut off once again by the sudden departure of your steed.
>You wince as the wind whips against your face as you're dragged along for the ride.
>Preparing yourself for a witty comeback, you're only met with silence.
>The slow, metallic sounds of the grappling hook starts again. You shut your eyelids again, hoping that this time, your sleep won't be interrupted.
>However, you find rest unable to come you.
>Although this time, the source of your discord isn't Black Cat.
>Questions rack in your head as you attempt to rationalize your situation.
>Why was Black Cat helping you?
>Why are you letting him help you?
>Wasn't he a villain?
>Shouldn't you be trying to return what he stole?
>"Are you okay back there? I haven't heard you utter a single witty comeback since you pulled that stunt."
>His voice projects genuine concern towards you.
>"If you're still debating about answering that question, don't worry about it. I'll give you time to develop an insightful response."
>And there it goes.
"Why are you helping me?"
>"Would you rather be having a nice, eternal nap on the street?"
"Don't avoid the question."
>Even though he's facing away from you, you can still see the smug look on his face.
>"Are you implying that it would be in my character to leave you there? I wonder what gave you that impression."
"Just answer me."
>"You're not gonna stop pestering me about it until I give you a straight answer, huh?"
"No."
>Your stern reply silences him.
>He pauses for a second, but he continues swinging.
>"Will you believe me if I told I you that I'm not a subjectively horrible person?"
"Not really."
>"Ha ha. What I was going to say is that the people you label your so-called 'villains' aren't the monsters you like to see them as."
>You scoff.
"And how would you explain all the assaults, hostages and robberies?"
>He stiffens a little, tightening the grip he has on the grappling line.
>"I'm not saying that I know these people on a personal level."
>He stops for a second.
>"But I can assume that they didn't ask for the powers they have."
"Neither did I. And this justifies their actions how?"
>"Shh. Let me finish my thoughts before you decide to chip in."
>He literally hisses at you.
>"Judging from how they're lashing out at the world, I'm guessing they weren't exactly the most socially adept people. Once they've gained their powers, how much further do you think they were isolated from everyone else?"
"Sothat's it? You're saying that they deserve to be let off for their crimes just because they were sad and lonely?"
>"Don't twist my words. So how about you?"
"What about me?"
>"Did you have the privilege of supportive friends when you got your powers? How was your personal life effected? Was everything you've ever known turned on its head?"
"..."
>Trying to focus on anything besides your thoughts, you notice familiar buildings.
"You can drop me off here. I'll walk the rest."
>Without uttering a word, he drops to the sidewalk without making a noise.
>You let go of him, trying to get used to feeling ground under your feet.
>Immediately, your body feels a little colder.
"It's only a few blocks away."
>He stays silent.
"I'm still questioning why you choose to help me. Maybe I'll never be able to understand why, but thank you."
>You take a few steps past Black Cat in the direction of your home.
>"Wait."
>You turn around to see him, his face relaxed and somber.
>"I just have one question for you."
>Despite how much you want to leave, you comply anyway.
"Yeah, what is it?"
>His green eyes stare back at you, unwavering.
>"Why was it that BDSM was the first thing your mind went to?"
>A wide smile has replaced the serious look on his face.
"W-what?"
>"My costume. Why was it that the first thing you associated it with was BDSM?"
"Why... why do you even care about that?"
>"You know, a young lady like you shouldn't know about stuff like that. Unless, you know..."
"That's none of your concern. Jeez, what are you, my dad?"
>As his eyes widen and grin expands, you realize your poor choice of words.
>"I'm not, but..."
"Don't."
>"...I can be if you want if you want me to~!"
>...
>Amazingly, no one in the general vicinity wakes up as Black Cat hollers in laughter.
"Just... go."
>He tries to catch his breath, attempting to speak.
>"You know what? I will."
>He holds up one of the pouches on his bags.
>It sounds like multiple miniature objects moving around.
>Wait.
"Wait!"
>"Me and the spoils of war!"
>Before you can reach out and grab him, he hooks himself onto a building and hops out of the way.
>"Sorry, but I gotta go home now since it's kinda getting late."
"Get back here!"
>"Nope, bye! Thanks for the date and I hope it was good for you too!"
>You watch in astonishment as he swings out of view.
>What did he mean by "good for you too?"
>...
>Oh.
>As you drag yourself back towards your apartment, you glance towards the sky.
>Small rays of sunlight spill from the cracks in the nightscape.
>You curse to yourself as you remember that tonight was a school night.
>Well, there are a lot more things you should concern yourself with now.
>You're going to need to stitch the costume back together.
>Again.
>The webshooters will have to be refilled.
>Again.
>There's a lot of unexplained, strange frustration that you want to vent, but don't know how.
>...Again?
>As you walk up the steps to the front door, you realize that you don't have your keys on you.
>You lean to your right to look at the window leading to your room.
>If you had any webs left, you could easily swing your way up.
>Sighing, you rely on the last tool in your arsenal.
>You jump over the railings and walk underneathe where your window is.
>Inhaling deeply, you recall the familiar motions.
>You place the fingertips of one hand onto the brick wall and do the same with the other.
>Pulling yourself up, your feet make contact with the wall.
>Placing one hand one after the other and replicating the same movements with your feet, you begin to scale the wall.
>Reaching your window, you left out a sigh of relief as you find it open.
>Adding "replace your window" to the to-do list wouldn't be particularly enjoyable.
>Hopping through the window, you're greeted with the familiar setting of your bedroom.
>You groan to yourself as you take note of the unfinished homework and dirty laundry pile.
>Pulling the mask off and plopping down on the bed, you begin to write up a mission report in your head.
>The only positive to come out of this is that you're still alive.
>You've failed the objective and came back wrecked.
>You probably now have the newspaper and police on your ass because what you pulled back at the museum.
>The encounter with Black Cat can only be described as a catastrophe.
>Catastrophe.
>Cat.
>Heh.
>You pick yourself up and walk to the bathroom.
>Looking into the mirror, you wince as you take notice of your scars.
>You look at the bottle of rubbing alcohol and then the shower.
>...
>You're a big girl.
>You can handle the pain.
>After thirty minutes have passed, you've come to the scientific conclusion that you were in fact, not a big girl.
>Slipping on a pair of PJs without toweling off, you toss your battle-worn costume in the corner.
>You don't even bother to hide it.
>Throwing yourself onto the bed, you hope that sleep will ease the aching pain in your joints, muscles and everything else.
>The warm embrace of the bedsheets and the softness of the pillows lure you into a deep, dreamless sleep.
>No more worries.
>No more school.
>But most importantly, no more Black Cat.
>...
>As you pull yourself back to the world of the living, you begin to ponder the possibilities to why your alarm is going off so early.
>Ignoring the blaring of the low-quality audio file, you open your eyelids and look around your room.
>Sunlight pours into your room from the window you left wide open last night.
>Any plans of sleeping in are disrupted as a cold breeze blows through your bedroom.
>You groan, pulling the bedsheets over your head and shutting your eyes as tight as possible.
>Despite your best efforts of reinforcing your defense, the chilly wind sends a tingling sensation down your spine.
>All this while the alarm continues trying to replicate the loudness of a Vinyl Scratch concert.
>...
>You know your neighbors won't be hesitant to exclaim their fruitful opinions on being woken up this early in the morning.
>This you know from experience.
>You forcefully kick the bedsheets off of you, sending them flying into the wall.
>At least it wasn't the lights this time.
>You snatch your alarm and spam the off button way more times than you need to.
>Begrudgingly, you sit up in your bed.
>You hold the alarm clock to your face.
>7:32 on a Wednesday morning.
>Returning to the bathroom, you peform your three S's ritual.
>Scandalous Spider Stuff.
>How secretive!
>After making yourself look halfway presentable, you pop two pieces of bread in the toaster.
>Seeing how little time you had left to make to it to school on time, you decide to bolt out the door with the pieces of toast in your mouth.
>Like a reponsible young adult, you lock the door and remember your keys.
>Miraculously, your breakfast doesn't fall from your mouth as you frantically nibble on them on your wayward sprint to Canterlot High.
>As you near the tall, imposing entrance of the school, you notice the lack of students outside.
>That's a telltale sign that you're late.
>You recognize the remaining stranglers as delinquents of the student body.
>A few faces you are familiar with.
>Those are the same ones you aim to forget.
>Shoving the doors open, your legs sprint towards your first-period class with Ms.Cheerilee.
>Though she's been pretty forgiving of your tardiness, her forgiving smile falters more and more every time it occurs.
>Out of the corner of your eye, you spot someone else running.
>You wonder who it could be?
>Your curiosity overpowers your desire for timeliness, and you steal a glance towards the figure.
>The first thing you notice is the silver hair, seemingly pure white.
>From a distance, it appeared to be perfect, flowing silk.
>Accompanied by a pair of lime green eyes, staring forward fearfully, yet retaining their determination.
>He's male with a slender build. Not exactly skinny, but also not Buff Biceps.
>His choice in wardrobe is a t-shirt and jeans, seemingly hastily slipped on.
>He seems to be maintaining a pace that matches yours, despite your super-agility.
>Strange. You don't recognize him as a member of the Track. Or seen him around the school in general.
>He bolts past you and makes a sharp right.
>Your heart sinks as you realize which teacher resides there.
>Mr.Sombra.
>Just the thought of his tall, intimidating figure and deep malicious voice is enough to send a chill down your spine.
>That could explain that dude's spooked expression.
>Poor guy.
>You silently give him your prayers as you head in the opposite direction towards Ms.Cheerilee's classroom.
>You scarf down the rest of your toast and burst into the classroom.
>Ms. Cheerilee pauses in the middle of an explanation to direct an awkward smile at you.
>"Ah. Sunset. Why don't you take a seat."
>You silently nod and follow suite.
>A few snickers and mumbles are directed at you as you make your way over to a desk.
>Once she sees you finish getting situated, she begins her lesson again.
>"Now then. Where were we? Ah, yes. Germaney's invasion of Prance in 1940 was a sign to the Allies that..."
>You tune her out in record time.
>After failing to internalize Ms.Cheerilee's lesson, the ringing of the bell signals you to drag yourself to your next class.
>You feel distanced from your daily activities, on account of your lack of sleep.
>You attempt to give your best efforts to pay attention to your lessons.
>However, every time you make out a string of words coming out of your teachers' mouths, you space out.
>It would be in your best interests since finals were just around the corner.
>One thing is certain, and it's that Twilight wouldn't be happy to see your grades drop again.
>You can still remember her being absolutely devastated when you demonstrated the effects of your affairs as Spider-Woman on your scholarly grades.
>The situation hasn't gotten any better, with more and more villains popping up in Canterlot.
>You remember the simpler times.
>When it was just Doc Oct and Shocker.
>Simple villains that only needed a good beating and a few one-liners to keep in line.
>Then the Vulture showed up.
>Her crimes are usually vandalism and robbery.
>Honestly, it's more annoying than anything.
>And then Mysterio.
>Ugh, you're already getting a headache.
>And Black Cat.
>The name alone causes a pang of anger in you.
>You're not even sure what to make of him.
>If you call him a villain, why did he help you?
>Does that make him a good person?
>No.
>Definitely not.
>He's violent and he's a thief.
>But, if what happened last night meant anything, then you know that he has the capability to be a hero.
>So why doesn't he?
>He doesn't exactly come off as the person who would easily give into greed.
>Then again, you really don't know anything about him.
>You don't know anything about his motives.
>Or why he takes a joking attitude towards everything he does.
>...
>Every other villain was easy to read.
>Outcasts.
>Thrill seeker.
>Delinquent.
>But how do you label Black Cat?
>Romantic interest?
>Nope. Nuh-uh. Definitely Not.
>The ringing of the bell draws you out of your inner monologue.
>As the last class before your lunch comes to a close, you realize that you barely paid any attention to the lesson.
>...
>Horseapples.
>Sorry, Twilight.
>Shuffling along the crowd in the students in the hallways, you make your way to the cafeteria.
>The incoherent, constant mumbling and droning of the crowd of the student perfectly accompanies your opaque mental state.
>You head toward the familiar location of the table where all the girls sit.
>For a school that likes to emphasize friendship and community, there sure were a lot of cliques.
>You smugly scoff under your breath.
>Twilight looks up from a book and takes note of your presence, and alerts everyone else at the table to your presence.
>They wave at you.
>You smile and wave back.
>Taking a corner seat, you greet them.
"Hey, girls."
>You're met with a volley of "Hi's."
>Along with one "Howdy" and one "'Sup."
>You stifle a yawn with a hand.
>"Sunset, you sure look tired," Fluttershy notes, worried, "did you get enough sleep last night?"
>You shake your head.
"Nope," you simply state, burrowing your head into your arms.
>Everybody gives you looks of concern.
>Twilight takes out her phone and pulls up an article and holds it out to you.
>"Could there a possibility that it had anything to do with this?" she inquires.
>Looking up, you narrow your eyes and bring your face closer to the screen.
"Costumed Criminals Hatch Overnight Raid on Canterlot Museum of our Universal History," you narrate.
>The pictures beneath are of a shot of the broken display glass and a picture of the vandalized artifact.
"Lemme guess, Marely Bugle?" you rhetorically ask, looking at Twilight from the corner of your eye.
>She nods in response.
>"Heh. And I'm guessing you taught those crooks a lesson," interjects Rainbow Dash. "Right, Sunset?"
>"Yepperoni! I bet those meanies are behind bars right now, thanks to you!" adds Pinkie.
>Twilight noticeably winces, and meekly says, "Well, that's not the article said happened..."
>The two give Twilight equally confused looks.
"Not so loud, Pinkie, or else people might overhear us. And Twilight's right. I failed to stop the crime, and I am one of the 'Costumed Criminals' they're referring to," you sigh. "And it was just one crook, Rainbow."
>"Well there's just got to be more to this story!" Rarity pipes up. "It's not like you to lose to one ruffian in combat."
"You're right, Rarity. It was a supervillain, Black Cat to be precise."
>"That rascal?" Applejack asks in disbelief, stopping a forkful of food on its track to her mouth. "Ah swear, that one's been robbing joints fer months now."
>That you already knew, Applejack.
>"Pffph, him again?" blurted Rainbow. "I don't get why you haven't caught him yet. Doesn't he swing around like you, expect without any of the cool spider powers?"
>...
>Wow. Thanks, Rainbow.
"Yes, him again," you grit through your teeth, "And no, he has more gear at his disposal than me. And I'm not even sure if he has powers or not."
>"Well, maybe his power is to be super duper duper lucky! I mean, he hasn't been caught once, ONCE!" yammers Pinkie.
>You stare back at her incredulously.
"That honestly seems like a bit of a stretch. I don't think so."
>"Maybe not, darling. Perhaps if his powers aren't brutish in nature, then they could be something more abstract," Rarity points out.
>You raise an eyebrow.
"And what exactly could that be?"
>"Sunset, people don't dress like that just for themselves. I'm a designer, so take my word when I say that the way his costume has... purposefully suggestive design elements."
>You give her the same look you gave Pinkie.
>You're more likely to believe in bad luck powers more than powers in seduction.
>What kind of person would have incubus powers?
>"Lame! Only Rarity would like boring ol' powers like that!" hollers Rainbow Dash, "If I had powers, I would want them to be uh, you know, actually powerful. Fluttershy, what do you think?"
>The timid girl jumps a little at the mention of her name.
>"Oh, um... maybe he's kinda, like, fast and quick like a cat?" shrugs Fluttershy.
>"See, that's more like it!" Rainbow confidently wrapping up her argument.
>"Well," asserts Twilight, "from what we know for sure, we don't have any information that would suggest what his powers could be. It wouldn't be safe to assume anything."
>That's your Twilight.
>"Yeah, our miss smarty-pants is right!" agrees Pinkie. "It would be pretty cray-cray to just guess out of nowhere that he can influence the flow of events of the timeline he occupies on a multiversal scale! Within the infinite number of moments of uncertainty within a given timeframe, his powers let him take absolute control of those moments, allowing him to choose the outcome that's most beneficial to him, regardless of how unlikely it is to really happen!"
>Your table gain the stares of nearby students.
>Some of disbelief, some of confusion, some of approval.
>And some of general apathy, already used to this sort of thing.
"I'm... I'm going to go get lunch now."
>As you stand up from the table, Twilight gently places a hand on your shoulder.
>"Mind if I come with you?" she asks, eyes pleading.
"Yeah... sure."
>You make your way to the end of the lunch-line, with Twilight walking timidly next to you.
>More timid than usual, that is.
>"Sunset?"
"Yeah?"
>"Was it true?"
>You look at her, confused.
"What do you mean? Is what true?"
>"Those officers. Did you really...?"
>You don't respond.
>"They're just making stuff up, right?"
"...No, they're weren't lying. I really did."
>She looks at you wide-eyed.
>"So is it also true that you followed Black Cat out of the museum as well?"
"Yes. That too. What are you trying to get at here, Twilight?"
>She looks away from you.
"Well?"
>"That doesn't sound like something you should do, Sunset. It sounds like you're only acting in your best interests, just like a supervillain."
>Ouch.
>That stung a lot.
>You inhale sharply.
"You're right, Twilight. It was irresponsible and rash of me. After all that time and how close I was, I guess I was so obsessed on catching him, it was the only thing on my mind at the time. I wasn't thinking of the consequences."
>She looks at you with an uncharacteristically stoic authoritative face.
>A far cry from the awkward and quiet Twilight you knew.
>She's definitely been around you for too long.
"I'm sorry. I'll act more like the superhero I should be acting like, and fix the mess I made."
>She smiles back.
>"I'm going to assume you have some uncompleted homework assignments and notes as well because of last night as well?"
"Y-yes."
>Twilight sighs, a wide grin on her face.
>"Come on, let's get our lunch. You can copy off of my notes."
>You smile back.
"Thank you, Twilight."
>"Ah, don't mention it."

~~~

>You let a sigh as you run a hand through your hair.
>You quietly wince as this causes your jaw and arms to ache.
>Cursing super-strength under your breath, you continue to walk along the crowd of students in the hallways.
>Last night's activities as Black Cat have left you feeling more than drained.
>Mr.Sombra chewing you out for tardiness made you feel shivers on your back.
>You shudder.
>Creepy ass guy.
>You wouldn't even be surprised if he was a serial killer or something.
>Digging your hands in your pockets, you look around the hallways.
>You occupy yourself by letting your eyes hop from one person's social interaction to the next.
>Girls chatting in their cliques, nerds hastily speedwalking to their next class, two people sharing a conversation, a couple making out against a locker...
>Interactions which you've consciously chosen to not to participate in.
>The fewer people you're around, the better.
>To the onlooker, your tired and disheveled appearance resembles that of a student working a night shift.
>That much is evident from the heavy bags under your eyes to your clothes that are clearly thrown on without any foresight.
>But, then again, it isn't really fair to make that comparison, isn't it?
>What you do during the night makes much, much more than any teenager behind a register.
>And that's not even mentioning the exhilarating rush of the struggle and the immense satisfaction of the success that follows.
>As icing on the cake, the work also puts you in a position to meet some of the most entertaining people that you've ever had the pleasure of being with.
>And all it takes is donning a cat suit.
>You hoist your backpack up, hearing the books and pencil cases shuffle around.
>Although, it's not like the Black Cat came with its drawbacks.
>Everything else felt so... bland in juxtaposition.
>How could the sound of a droning lecture captivate you like the snapping of a lock that has just been picked open?
>The scribbling of notes to the impact of a punch on someone's jaw?
>Shuffling through cramped hallways to swinging through the city?
>There's a very clear division between the extravagant, high-octane action of Black Cat and the mundane, sluggish lifestyle of Anon.
>Every moment you live as Anon is in a slow, drawing anticipation to the release and freedom of Black Cat.
>Is that selfish of you to say?
>But, to be fair, it's not called an alter-ego for no reason.
>The familiar sight of the chemistry lab's room number plate comes into view.
>You file inside the room right behind classmates with a few faces that you recognize but fail to assign them names.
>You spot your lab instructor, Ms.Harshwhinny, moving across the front desk and shuffling around papers.
>The sight of her causes you to grimace.
>The class that is supposed to be the most student-interactive and hands-on is led by one of the snarkiest, by-the-books woman in the staff.
>You're not sure if it was an act of cruelty by the principals, or the irony of the situation is lost on them.
>Of course, you'll treat her like you do with any other teacher— with silence and compliance.
>Delinquency won't do you any favors in hiding the identity of your alter ego.
>Ms.Harshwhinny shouts at two students who have already taken their seats next to each other.
>She gesticulates wildly to the blackboard behind her.
>"Seat and Lab Partner Changes Today: Do NOT sit down!" is written in big bold letters with chalk.
>The "NOT," on top of being capitalized, has been underlined three times.
>A few students that were approaching their desks stop in their path to read the message.
>They shoot Ms.Harshwhinny meek looks as they join the gathering of people in the back of the room.
>You follow behind them.
>Ms.Harshwhinny makes a show out of walking over to the door and closing it with a loud slam.
>Some students recoil at the abrasive, loud sound.
>Your lab instructor clears her throat and looks down at a clipboard.
>"As SOME of the students have noticed, we are, in fact, switching partners today on account of the new marking quarter."
>A few students boo loudly as others pump their fists up with a cry of joy.
>"Quiet!" Ms.Harshwhinny sharply orders.
>Personally, you have forgotten who your partner was.
>"I will proceed to every desk in the room. Listen closely because I will NOT repeat myself a second time," she explains, "Please hold all your comments till everyone has their seats."
>You notice a few students have started praying.
>You only hope that whoever you'll be assigned with will be fine with letting you take over all the work.
>Harshwhinny comes out from behind her desk, a look of apprehending tiredness plastered across her face.
>Years of experience have taught her that kids will, in fact, not hold their comments like they have been ordered to.
>She places her hand on a lab table.
>"Flash Sentry and Chad."
>The two boys whoop and high-five each other.
>Harshwhinny continues to the desk behind it.
>"Trixie and Snails."
>The shell-shocked disgust of one party contrasts the yearning eagerness of the other like day and night.
>You chuckle in spite of yourself.
>"Lyra and Bon Bon."
>The high-pitched squealing that ensues causes you to feel a heavy pounding inside of your skull.
>This is a different kind of verbal punishment.
>For a pair of best friends, they sure are excited about being together.
>"Sunset Shimmer and Anon."
>Your heart almost skips a beat.
>This is the exact opposite of laying low and isolating yourself.
>The students stay relatively quite, unsure of how to react.
>They probably didn't even know you were in this class.
>Scratch that, they probably didn't know you existed until now.
>You make your way over to the desk, stealing a glance towards Sunset to gauge her reaction.
>To your surprise, there weren't any discernible facial expressions present.
>In fact, she just stares forward, seemingly absentmindedly.
>It wouldn't surprise you if it was because she was up all night partying with popular kids like herself.
>You feel slightly relieved.
>You'd take a neutral reaction over disdain any day.
>Sunset sets her bag against a table and pulls out a seat.
>You do the same.
>Harshwhinny continues shouting out names, and the students keep reacting accordingly.
>You shove them into the background as you direct attention back to Sunset.
>This can go horribly wrong for you.
>You can risk getting to know them or making enemies with them.
>Both of these courses of action would cause you to gain attention purely based on association.
>If you're going to maintain your reputation or lack thereof, you need to be as neutral and unresponsive as possible.
>Sunset brushes some hair out of her face as she extends a hand.
>"Anon, right? I'm Sunset, but you probably already knew that," she greets you as she gives you a timid smile.
>You blankly stare at her hand in disbelief.
>You find it hard to believe that someone like her is fine engaging in physical contact with you.
>Hastily shaking yourself out of your shock, you grip her hand with yours.
"Yeah. Hi."
>As you wrap your fingers around her palm, you begin to realize how rarely your Anon persona touches anyone.
>Whereas Black Cat had a girl on riding on his back the night before.
>You chuckle internally.
>You awkwardly shake her hand.
>Her touch feels reassuring, but still carries patches of roughness around it.
>Not to mention her extremely tight grip, which is currently trying to crush your hand.
>You certainly didn't peg her as the strong athletic type, but first impressions can be deceiving.
>As you let go of her hand, Sunset immediately brings her hand to her head.
>She begins rubbing her temples, wearing a pained expression.
>You arch an eyebrow at the sight.
"Are you okay?"
>She holds up her hand.
>"Yeah, no, I'm fine. I just have a, um, headache. Yep, just a normal headache from staying up too late," she sputters out as she gives you a faltering grin.
"Right..."
>This meeting is not going how you expected it exactly to.
>You scan her face over for clues as to what's really going on.
>Instead, you find a bruised mark on the side of her cheek, barely concealed by her fiery hair.
>What the hell?
"Hey."
>She quickly turns toward you, eyes filled with worry.
>You look straight in her eyes and place a finger on the corresponding cheek on your face.
"You have a bruise here. Are you really okay?"
>Her worried expression shifts to panic as her eyes dart around the room.
>"J-just fine! I, er, fell down the stairs?"
>If she was going to fool you with that, she could try convincing herself first.
"Flat on your face."
>"Y-yep!"
>You shoot her a doubtful look.
"Okay, then..."
>It'd be best not to pry any further.
>You wouldn't want to come off as someone excruciatingly nosy, especially when you haven't even met before.
>Turning around in your seat, you cross your arms glance towards the rest of the class.
>There are kids who are eager to make conversation with their new partners, and the pairs are comprised of one shooting down the other.
>Most likely guys with their masculinity threatened watching the two of you in jealousy.
>Looks you are the odd one out, both quietly sitting next to each other.
>Harshwhinny looks like she's busy handing out labs.
>Sunset's voice cuts the silence between you two.
>"How about you?"
>You shift your look from Harshwhinny to her.
"What do you mean?"
>"Your arms have bruises on them," she points at your crossed arms, "did something recently happen to you?
>Looking down, you realized that your bruised forearms are exposed by the short sleeves of your t-shirt.
>God damn it.
>If you had put any effort into your attire this morning, this wouldn't have happened.
>You open your mouth to speak, but words fail to properly form.
>You come to the revelation that this was the first time anybody has inquired you about your wounds.
>The first time anybody stopped to pay attention and notice.
>You don't have an excuse prepared for this.
>Sunset's eyes stare into your's, expectantly.
>You feel your heart start to beat faster.
>If you're not going to say anything, it's just going to be more suspicious.
>You're going to have to come up with something on the spot.
>You steel your nerves and speak.
"It was an accident... I..."
>Come on, give me something good.
"...didn't see where I was going and bumped into a wall."
>Fuck.
>That was absolutely horrible.
>Sunset questioningly stares at you for a moment before returning to a smile.
>"Oh, I see. Just be more careful next time."
"Yeah. Thanks."
>You are the luckiest man in the world.
>You two return to sitting quietly, not looking at one another.
>Exactly how you want it.
>"Sorry if I came off as sort of prying. I was just trying to return the care you showed toward me," she says, fumbling with her thumbs.
"It's fine?"
>She shouldn't be the one worried about prying...
>A stack of papers is slapped onto your desk, causing you to jump a little in your seat.
>You take it, handing a copy of the lab over to Sunset.
>You quickly skim over the title and procedure.
>...
>They're using different types of beans to represent isotopes of a single element.
>Isn't lab class supposed to be engaging and making use top-of-the-line school science equipment?
>You remember hearing about the school using most of its budget in repairs.
>For what kind of damage you don't know, but to what extent was the damage if it was going to harm the lab directory this bad?
>You fish a pencilcase out of your bookbag and retrieve a pen from it.
>Filling out the spaces for your name and date, you block out Harshwhinny's introduction of the lab and head directly into the pre-lab questions.
>Out of curiosity, you look at Sunset's paper out of the corner of your eye.
>She has a bunch of math and answers written on her paper, most of which were crossed out.
>You can't help but feel a tinge of sympathy for her.
>She has her headache, bruise and academic struggle.
>Another part of you argues that all those are all directly her fault, and are most likely the result of a late-night party like you initially guessed.
>But, then again, she did have the good will to ask about your condition.
>...
"Are you having trouble with the pre-lab questions?"
>Sunset silently nods.
"Need any help?"
>She nods again and passes the paper over to you.
>You look over her work, finding the mistake in the maze of scribbles.
>You motion over to her and place your index finger over it.
"Here, just fix this part and everything else should fall into place."
>Sunset tilts her head to look at where you're pointing at, then has a moment of realization.
>"Ah, okay. Thank you, it must've been a long time since we learned this subject," she adds with a chuckle.
"We were taught this last week."
>"Oh. Then I must not have paid very close attention. Ha..."
>You don't say anything back.
>For the rest of the class, you follow through with the procedure, solemnly talking with Sunset, unless it was helping her with a problem.
>When class begins to come to a close, Sunset speaks up out of the blue.
>"Anon, I don't know why you're hurt. It might not be my business, but please don't be afraid to ask the teachers or staff for help if someone is doing this to you," she declares, a determined look on her face.
"Sure. I'll keep that in mind."
>The ringing of the bell signals you move, slinging your bookbag over your shoulder.
"See you around, Sunset."
>"Yeah, see you around," she mumbles.
>Placing your completed lab onto the stack on Harshwhinny's desk, you head out the lab for the last period of your day.
>You make it halfway across the hallway until someone places their hand on your shoulder, stopping you.
>Turning around, you come face-to-face with a guy that you fail to remember the name of.
>"So, dude, what was it like?"
>You furrow your brow in response, hoping he'll take it as his response to leave.
>He interprets this differently.
>"You don't know what I mean? Sunset Shimmer, man. You just got to be lab partners with one of the most popular girls here and you've got nothing to say about it?"
>You remain silent.
>"Come on, bro. She's totally into you, did you see the way she clamped up like a loser? Listen to me, man, this is the same girl that ascended to the top of the social pyramid after being totally hated by the entire school."
>You stare back.
"You're blocking everyone's way."
>"What?"
"Keep walking when you're in the hallways. You're blocking everyone's way."
>He throws up his hands in defense.
>"Fuck, man. I was just trying to be a bro. Don't gotta be a massive douche about it..."
>You watch him walk away and rejoin his group of friends.
>Getting back on course, you start making your way to your next class.
>You can't help but think about what that kid said about Sunset.
>What did he mean "hated by the entire school?"
>The hell did she even do?
>In addition, even an introvert like you could see that a social recovery from "hated by everyone" to "loved by everyone" she supposedly pulled is close to impossible, especially in a high school setting.
>Something is definitely off here. Sunset's more than see meets the eye.
>Even so, whether or not she was able to pull that off or not, she is a popular girl, so she has to have some semblance of an eccentricity in her personality.
>So why would she act strangely in front of you?
>Does she suspect you of...?
>No.
>No. That's impossible.
>No one would suspect the person that they didn't even know existed.
>You've done everything to make sure as many people as possible know you don't exist.
>Unless she had some sort of sixth sense or something, there is no way she could've known.
>God damn it.
>This Sunset situation is freaking you out way too much.
>A vibration from your pockets draws you out of your train of thought.
>Since you don't have anyone's number, it has to be an email or something of significance.
>Pulling out your phone, you read the header of the email.
>...
>A promotion deal at Big Belly Burger, huh?
>A grin makes its way onto your face.
>At least you'll have something to look forward to once school ends.

~~~

>You are Sunset Shimmer.
>You are never going to forget the sensation of spider-sense and the haziness of sleep deprivation blending together into a dizzying, head-splitting pain.
>You’re still feeling remnants of it now.
>You clutch your head in an attempt to ward off a headache from hell, as sweat starts to bead on your forehead.
>Walking further and further down the halls, the nauseating feeling gradually dials down to a minor nuisance.
>Letting out a sigh of relief, you continue walking down the hallways.
>That felt like a roller coaster without any of the enjoyment, but with the thrill and dread being the most prominent.
>A few people shoot you looks of concern as they walk past you.
>Returning the smile and waving back, assuring them they were fine.
>They only reply with doubtful, half-hearted smiles as they return to their private conversations.
>You don’t blame them.
>It’s hard to forget what you did to them on your year first here.
>Any hint of you losing your grip on the world rekindles the idea that you’ll repeat your past actions, and thus the underlying fear they have for you.
>Walking down the halls with your head in your hands wearing a face of agony isn’t doing any favors for you in that regard.
>Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You’re not in the mood to check it.
>You make a mental note to check it after class is over.
>You head towards your last period of the day, this time wearing a passive smile and maintaining your posture to appear inconspicuous to your fellow students.
>You spot the familiar sight of the worn wooden frame of the classroom’s doorway and your teacher leaning against it, welcoming every student into his classroom with a tired, stoic expression on his face.
>Entering the room, you greet him with a mellow “hello.”
>You take a glance towards the blackboard. Its monochromatic colors match the dull, uninteresting lesson it describes.
>The same type of questions you worked on during your lab class are also in today’s lesson.
>Perfect, since you haven’t been an attentive student today and you weren’t about to start changing that this period.
>You take out a notebook and pencil and start to meticulously copy seemingly important segments of the writing on the board.
>Now that you have a moment to settle down, you take a moment to organize your thoughts.
>That guy, Anon you met during your lab class didn’t seem too dangerous or malicious in any sense.
>In fact, he seemed like the type of person to blend right into crowds of students. No distinct clothing, hairstyle, personality, or anything.
>You barely recognized him and also failed to name anyone who you’ve seen hanging around him.
>Despite first impressions, once you came into contact with him during a casual handshake, your spider-sense started blaring like a siren.
>That magnitude was reserved for warning especially hazardous weapons or individuals when the message was needed to delivered loud and clear.
>But all you saw in front of you was a typical high school teenager.
>You first tried to play it off as your powers “malfunctioning” due to sleep deprivation.
>But, that has never once happened in your superhero career. Your powers don’t just change their rules unprecedented and out of the blue.
>Once he presented himself as friendly, offering to help you with problems you were struggling with, you began to doubt your spider-sense’s message more and more.
>As the period started to draw to a close, you were ready to drop all your suspicions.
>But then again, you couldn’t forget his arms.
>Bruises all over it.
>The large, dark kind.
>Ones that someone like Rainbow Dash should have business wearing.
>You could’ve just assumed he was a member of the football team.
>But Anon’s stature barely resembled anything of a school athlete's, with the exception of a track member or a gymnast.
>Even if you were to assume he was a participant of those teams, injuries that pertain to those types of exercises don’t usually take the form of giant bruises.
>If anything, they would be fractured bones or scraped limbs.
>As if this wasn’t bizarre enough, his attempt to explain the origin of his wounds only raises more mysteries.
>”I bumped into a wall ‘cause I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
>Tch, yeah right.
>It almost sounds like one of your lame excuses you give to your friends and teachers for why you always show up to school with injuries due to your affairs as Spider-Woman.
>...
>An idea strikes you: what if Anon wasn’t too different from you?
>As in, costume-wearing crimefighter.
>Sounds like quite a leap, ludicrous even. Though suspending disbelief for a forward, it would perfectly explain his uncharacteristic bruises, and his poor cover-up’s for them.
>It’s highly unlikely that this would truly be the case. You’re most likely projecting more than anything.
>But, you’ll keep this possibility in the back of your mind.
>It would be more reasonable to assume he engages in criminal activities outside of school.
>If this was the answer, then it would suit the wounds, reluctance to reveal the truth, antisocial tendencies, and general stoicism.
>Both of these theories work as well as the other. You’ll keep them in consideration.
>The mystery behind this one kid is gnawing away at you. It’s definitely causing you to obsess over it more than it really should.
>Perhaps it’s because of how he managed to trip up your spider-sense so badly, or the strong contrast between his calm demeanor and, to borrow some of Rarity’s vocabulary here, rather uncouth outwardly image.
>Whatever the case is, you want to know the answers to your questions.
>If he is a danger like your spider-sense suggests, then you’ll take the steps to apprehend him. If that’s not the case and he’s a victim of a bigger picture, then maybe you can help him out of whatever situation he’s in.
>The final bell rings, drawing you out of your thoughts.
>A few cries of celebration can be heard from several classmates. Conversations begin to pick up amongst the students.
>You look down at your notebook to find indiscriminate scribbles and mathematical functions strewn about its pages.
>Damn.
>You really need to start paying attention in class.
>Twilight’s well of generosity can only run so deep.
>Filling out the room behind other students, you remember the notification you received on your phone from earlier.
>Maybe one of your friends needs something.
>Speaking of your friends, you should probably mention Anon to them.
>It’s unjust to immediately incriminate him, but it’s better safe than sorry.
>Slipping your phone out of your pockets, your eyes quickly scan over the screen.
>You instantly recognize the familiar name of your favorite fast food restaurant chain, Big Belly Burger.
>Many of your friends, especially Rarity and Twilight have made their disdain for your culinary tastes upfront and clear.
>Fluttershy and Applejack choose to avoid the place altogether.
>Because unlike you, they don’t have the privilege of superpowers that grant them increased metabolism. That and their ability to make better dietary choices.

~~~

>The fast food restaurant is bustling with conversation and activity.
>The beeping of cash registers and the sizzling of grills play in the background as workers enthusiastically greet the next person in line.
>You grow frustrated with the static line in front you, choosing to cast your gaze over at the people in the seating areas instead.
>Surveying the clusters of people, you’re met with quite the conglomeration of patrons.
>Little kids talking over each other, progressively increasing in volume. Overweight parents scolding their equally overweight children.
>You spot two boys enjoying themselves mixing drinks into a single cup at the soda fountain. Inching along the soda dispenser, they sample equal amounts of each selection in order to create their abomination of a beverage.
>Although these people operate independently, they all come together as a unified identity as the restaurant's customers.
>Kind of similar to how every night guard of a museum covers divided section, forming the gestalt of the building’s security.
>The Canterlot Mall, much like most malls in the world, is the perfect amalgamation of all kinds of places to shop at and restaurants to feast at. Four different clothing shops lie in a row, directly above a GameStop, in proximity to a Bedbath and Beyond and opposite to a comic book store.
>Its universal appeal brings together diverse and strange people, a gathering that is always a spectacle to behold.
>You turn back around to face the queue of people in front of you. The line has shortened by one person.
>You sigh under your breath.
>Inhaling, you take in the unmistakable layer of grease in the air around you. The sensation of the heaviness of the air against your face is accompanied by a subtle waft of oil.
>This place is by no means classy. It can’t be considered decent, even.
>But it is one thing. One thing of utmost importance. And it’s the fact that it is calorie-rich food at a very, very generous price.
>You don’t exactly have the most stable and reliable “income,” so it helps to have something reliable in the food department.
>...
>Although, as much as you want to keep telling yourself that, you have to admit that you particularly enjoy the food.
>They’ve mastered the skill of transforming horribly unhealthy, processed ingredients that have been frozen multiple times into tolerable and edible meals.
>No, not just tolerable.
>Savory, glorious dishes.
>The obvious and right decision should probably be to learn how to cook.
>It’d be both financially viable and not kill your body. A preferable result.
>Perhaps you’ll start when you stop creating half-baked justifications for your poor dietary choices.
>You hear footsteps approaching from behind you. Since you’re the last in line, it’s most likely someone lining up behind you.
>It’s barely audible over the chitter-chatter of the restaurant patrons, but you’re able to make it out.
>They’re light. Measured and rhythmic.
>It doesn’t sound like anyone who belongs to a fast food place.
>Whatever, it’s not your place to judge anyone. Especially in the public environment of a mall.
>The footsteps stop for a brief moment, before continuing in your direction.
>You hear a familiar feminine voice ask, “Excuse me? Have I... seen you before?”
>You don’t respond. They couldn’t possibly be referring to you.
>Nobody knows you. You’ve made sure to keep it like that for a long time.
>”Um, hello?”
>Your heart starts to speed up as your eyes dart to the people in line to look for someone, anyone who would recognize their friend at the restaurant. They’d look in each other in brief shock before greeting each other and saying what a surprise it is to meet them here.
>But everyone else has their eyes glued either to their phones or the menu.
>Shit.
>You decide to bite the bullet. If they are, on the off chance, trying to talk to you, ignoring them will be extremely rude.
>Even if it’ll be someone you don’t recognize, you’ll simply apologize to them, share a chuckle about the awkwardness and go about your ways.
“I’m sorry, are you referring to,” your voices falls as you recognize the mound of bright orange and red hair, “...me?”
>Sunset Shimmer’s eyes light up as your face meets her’s.
>”Hey, Anon! It’s me, Sunset Shimmer, from lab class. Remember?” she effuses, pointing to herself.
>Her voice carries an upbeat tone of alacrity that wasn’t present in your previous encounter.
“Oh... hey Sunset.”
>Damn it, you hadn’t prepped yourself for any social interactions with people your age outside of school.
>What the hell do you say?
“It’s a surprise meeting you here.”
>God damn it.
>She smiles back. Good, that’s good.
>“Yeah, right? Not a lot of friends like eating here, so I often come here by myself.”
>You find that hard to believe. Obtaining a figure like her’s could only come from a diet abstaining from anything with more than an ounce of fat.
>Sunset chuckles. “I can tell by your face that you find that hard to believe.”
>You’re being too transparent.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.”
>”It’s okay,” she assures you, “I’ll take it as a compliment.”
>You nervously chuckle.
>”So, what about you? Are you a fan of Big Belly Burger, too?”
>You eat here multiple times a week.
“I eat here every once in a while.”
>Sunset loses composure for a second. “Y-yeah, everything’s good in moderation, right?”
>Not knowing how to respond to that, you try to bring up a prior experience you two shared.
>...In the single day you’ve known her.
“So.”
>”So?”
“Did you figure out how to do those lab questions?”
>Sunset’s face lights up.
>”Yeah, and thanks for the help! I wouldn’t have known how to solve them without your help.”
“Ah, it was nothing. I’d be happy to help.”
>Checking back on the line, you realize that there are no longer people queued in front of you.
>A wave of relief washes over you as the person behind the counter calls out “Next!”
>You deliver your order with a stoic and measured tone, masking your underlying fidgety and shaking sensation.
>Tightly clutching your receipt close to your chest, you move to the side, waiting for someone to call your number.
>You watch as Sunset orders. It’s the same as yours.
>She begins to walk towards you, making sure that her movement is deliberate and known.
>You're pulled back into the same sensation of trepidation as you realize that she wants to initiate another conversation.
>Before she has a chance to open her mouth, you jump as your order number is called.
>You extend your arm to grab the pasty lunch bag, with the Big Belly Logo plastered on both sides and grease-ridden bottom.
>”You’re taking your burger to go?” Sunsets ask, with a mixture of discontentment and worry in her voice. “I was hoping we could chat more.”
>Anything but that, please.
“Sorry about that, Sunset. We could always talk more at school,” you suggest in an attempt to lift her spirits.
>”Of course. At school.”
>...
”Well, see you around.”
>”Great, goodbye!”
>Holding the bag to your side, you wave to Sunset as you leave the restaurant.
>Once you’ve gotten out of earshot, you let out an audible sigh of relief.
>This Sunset girl is a whole new level of bizarre to you. The first time you meet her she’s introverted and apprehensive of you. Now she’s acting like she’s trying to be your best friend or something.
>All on the same day, too.
>And that thing the guy in the hallway told you. About completely reversing her horrendous reputation.
>What the hell is with this motif of flip-flopping?
>The time you’re going to have to spend as her lab partner has only started. This is definitely only the beginning.