Haxail gently trotted into the outside air. The sun was setting, and Celestia, even in her senile state, knew how to put on a good sunset. The sky was orange, pink and everything in between. Haxail smiled in a dopey way, reminiscing on the days of his childhood. Then he slammed a hoof into his stomach and mentally told himself not to be a pussy, whilst regretting hitting himself so hard.

After the pink mists of pain had gone he swiftly moved along his way, keeping to the shadows, out of habit if nothing else. He approached the train station, and didn't bother buying a ticket, again, mostly out of habit: assassins don't just throw money away. If he'd wanted to waste a good 30 bits then he would've given to charity. Jeez.

Haxail stepped on to the train and settled down. There was only one other pony in the entire carriage. They both sat in a really awkward silence. Haxail stared at her, taking in every little detal about the pony, just so he had something to do: she had a darkish red coat, and a flowing blonde mane (her tail likewise), which covered one of her eyes slightly. Her Cuite Mark resembled a bandage of some kind, but he didn't have a clue why: she was no doctor. Eventually, she trotted up to him slowly, and sat down next to him. "You're Haxail, right?" she said.

"Er... yes?" Haxail replied hesitantly. Assassins don't like ponies knowing them by sight. It makes stabbing them harder.

"It's hard to mistake you. The lack of Cutie Mark is a dead give-away."

This wasn't entirely true. Of course, Haxail, being an adult pony, had a Cutie Mark, but he always kept it covered, either by clothing or, this time, by paint that almost exactly matched his coat.

"The name's Auxilla," the other pony continued, "I've been sent by the Grand Empress to... keep an eye on you."

"Ah," said Haxail, "No doubt you were hastily introduced by the author for the sole purpose of doing something outrageously erotic at around Chapter Ten."

"What?" asked Auxilla.

"What?" asked Haxail. "Sorry, I just zoned out there..." He shook himself, and continued: "Why did Celestia bother sending somepony anyway? Does she not..." he paused for a theatrical flourish, "trust me?"

"Well, not after last time."

There was a pause.

"Look, it's not my fault the cathedral was so flammable."

"Yes, but you didn't have to lock those orphans inside."

Finally, the train pulled in to Ponyville, and Haxail stepped out with Auxilla in pursuit. "So," he said in as conversational way as a cold-blooded killer could be, "Which lucky pony goes first?"

"One Pinkamena Diane Pie, according to your contract. Apparently, the Separatists don't hide themselves, so the Celestial Intelligence Agency has gathered a miasma of data. Pinkamena frequents Sugar Cube Corner Bakery, which she's been running since the Cake family's death.

Haxail mused over this, and then asked, "What'd they die of, out of interest?"

"Diabetes."

"Oh."

They progressed quickly through the now lightening streets, but without the caution they'd shown previously; hardly anypony was around at this hour. Sugar Cube Corner, however, was lit up in various eye-wateringly hideous shades of pink, and a likewise pink pony with a high-pitched voice was talking incessantly whilst selling over-priced baked goods.

"Well, good luck Haxail. Try to get her alone, and then... do the... thing."

"Heheh. The 'thing'".

"Shut up. I still don't see how you're going to do it, you haven't got a weapon on you."

"Hahahaha, FOOLISH MORTAL! I HAVE WAYS OF DEALING DEATH THAT YOU COULD NEVER COMPREHEND!"

"Just go stab Pinkie."

Haxail quietly trotted up and slipped into the bakery. There was a small queue, surprising given the time, but it moved quickly and soon Haxail was at the counter. He cleared his throat and said, "You're Pinkamena, aren't you? Er... can we go somewhere private? I need to ask you about something. Um..."

Haxail was fully aware that his acting was less than legendary. However, to his surprise, Pinkie's eyes went wide and she squealed, "Oooh, you're that pony Twilight said would come! Quick, I have a present for you! Follow me!"

With incredible athleticism she bounded up the stairs and disappeared, talking all the time: "Yesyesyes, TwilighttoldmethataVERYspecialponywouldcomeandvisitandIwaslike"ohyeahawesome!"andsoI'vebeensettingupthispartyforyouforlikeforeverswagyoloalsoIthinkracismisacceptableincertainplaces!"

"Wait, what was that last part?"

"Er..." Pinkie paused for a micro-second. "I can't remember! How silly of me!"

They arrived in what was obviously a kitchen, quite a large one too. An oven stood open, radiating heat, and miscellaneous ingredients coated all available surfaces. His attention was brought back to Pinkie as she laughed and crouched next to two of her infamous Party Cannons. She grinned happily and said, "I hope you're ready to party! SURPRISE!" She fired one of the Cannons. However, instead of colourful streamers and other such happy things, the only thing to come out of that cannon was a solid steel ball that flew straight at Haxail's head.

He anticipated the move and with a flap of his wings deftly rolled out the way. The cannon ball slammed into the wall behind him and left a hoofball sized hole where his head was. He gulped nervously. Pinkie fired the next cannon, missing again but taking out an entire counter, leaving sparking electric wires sticking out of the floor. Haxail seized a nearby filleting knife and lobbed it back, the steel flashing in the light. Pinkie, however, was just as nimble. She flipped out the way and launched herself at him, hind legs first, and smashed into the floor as Haxail took to the air to dodge.

"Hey, that's CHEATING!" Pinkie cried, still giggling manically. "And, you know I don't like cheating!" She seized a frying pan in her mouth and swung it like a club, just catching Haxail's back leg, connecting with such force it almost broke his bone. His leg held out however, and the adrenaline numbed the pain. Pinkie began chucking anything she could find at him, hoping to bring him back to the floor: knives, a blender, several eggs, even a whisk whirred past his left flank. By now his mane was matted in confectionery, his hind leg was bruised and he hadn't put a scratch on Pinkie. Time for something different. Haxail jumped into the air and opened his wings. On the underside were several feathers that were remarkably shinier than the others. And sharper. With one great flap of his wings Haxail launched these fake metal feathers straight towards Pinkie. The first three missed by inches, but one slashed across her muzzle, leaving a red streak when it skidded across the floor. Pinkie's deranged giggling ceased instantly. She raised a hoof, wiped the blood away and stared at it. Her hoof began to shake. Her mane flattened, and her grin returned, but more savage this time. Haxail's pupils widened. "You know," Pinkie muttered, still with a manic grin, but spitting the words now, as if in a violent rage, "I was just making some cupcakes before you joined me... And I'm sure with YOUR help, they'll taste even SWEETER than before..."

"Oh, sweet Celestia, the stories were true!"

She grabbed an entire knife block and threw it with the force that only comes with true madness. Now it was Haxail's turn to see his own blood, as one of the larger knives had hit the end of one wing dead on, pinning him to the wall by it, near the open oven. He desperately tried to remove the knife with his mouth, but was nowhere near reaching it. Pinkie waltzed over, and tugged the knife out, smiling at the spurt of blood that poured out of the fresh wound. Haxail's mind raced for a way out. Desperately, he said: "Pinkie, I need your help in baking something!"

Pinkie paused, the knife inches away from his throat. "Really?" she asked, visibly brightening, "What is it?"

Haxail grinned. "Cupcakes," he said, before (using his wings to help him) spinning on the spot and pushing Pinkie from behind. She went head-first into the open oven, and as fast as possible Haxail forced the door closed and cranked up the temperature as far as it would go. He leant against the oven door and tried to block out the sound of Pinkie's desperate banging on the oven window becoming weaker and weaker, until there was no sound at all, but his heavy breaths and his blood dripping onto the floor.