The curtain covering the windowpane of the Fillydelphia Donut Emporium flicked aside briefly. For a moment, those outside saw the disheveled, sweat-streaked face of an umber stallion glaring at them, and then the curtain fell back into place.

Chief Daffodil spit out his cigar and ground it into the wet asphalt. The air stank of ozone and rain and the delicious, greasy lard scent wafting from the donut shop’s kitchen. Once this was over, he was going to order a dozen strawberry glazeds, and maybe one of those cream-filled things with the chocolate on top.

Yeah, that’d be nice.

“Keep an eye on the window,” he muttered to the sergeant beside him. “Don’t shoot unless the hostage is in danger. I don’t want a bloodbath.”

The sergeant’s ear flicked in acknowledgement. He cradled a sniper rifle in his hooves atop the wagon’s hood. A single high-powered aerodynamic meringue pastry round lurked inside the weapon’s chamber. The chocolate-chip tipped bullet could fly faster than the speed of sound, expanded on impact, and contained a hard nougat penetrator.

The chief’s earpiece crackled to life. “Sir, the negotiators are here. Sending them forward.”

Daffodil turned to see Chuck Roast, the department’s negotiator, duck under the police tape strung across the street. Beside him, so short she just walked beneath the tape, was a lemony unicorn with a bobbing flame mane. She stuck close to Chuck’s side, her ears tucked low.

“Chuck.” The chief gave him a nod. “Thanks for coming so fast. Who’s the filly?”

“Hey Daff'. This is Summer Sweets, my apprentice. She got her cutie mark last week negotiating a standoff at her school playground. Bully wouldn’t give up the swingset until she talked him down.”

“Oh, wow!” A broad smile cracked the chief’s face. “Congratulations!” 

A wave of cheers and polite applause followed. A detective ruffled the filly’s mane. The sniper’s ears flapped like semaphores. Summer Sweets blushed at the attention and pressed against Chuck Roast’s side. 

“So, what’s the situation?” Chuck asked. He squinted at the donut store.

“Hold-up went wrong. Stallion named Bric-a-brac said he had a pie, wanted access to the vault. Everyone got out but the cashier.”

Chuck nodded. “Does he really have a pie?”

“We think so.”

“Okay. Okay. We can do this.” Chuck closed his eyes and let out a long, slow breath, then took the megaphone from the chief and passed it to Summer Sweets. 

“Okay, Sweetie,” he said. “Just like we practiced.”

The filly grabbed the megaphone in her magic. It wobbled a bit, and she propped her front legs on the wagon’s hood for support. She nodded, and the megaphone crackled to life.

[b]“Bric-a-brac! We know you’re in there! We just want to talk!”[/b]

Silence responded. All held their breath. Even the wind and birds seemed to freeze.

A loud crack shattered the silence as the donut shop door burst open. Bric-a-brac strode out, one foreleg wrapped around a teenage colt’s neck. In the other he held a trembling cream pie just inches from the colt’s face.

“Stay back!” he shouted. “I’ll do it! I’ll do it!”

[b]“Calm down, Bric-a-brac. Nopony has to get hurt. What do you want?”[/b]

“I’m not going back to jail! I want a car and a pardon from the princess!”

[b]“Okay, we can do that,”[/b] Sweets said. [b]“But first you need to let that colt go.”[/b]

Bric-a-brac’s grip tightened. A curl of cream touched the colt’s cheek, leaving a white smear. “You think I’m stupid? Huh? No! He stays with me!”

“I’ve got a shot,” the sniper whispered.

“Not yet,” Sweets grunted. Then, into the megaphone, [b]“You’re cracking up, Bric! There’s only one good ending here, and that’s if you let the colt go! Now, I’m going to count to three, and—”[/b]

But she didn’t get to count to three. Bric-a-brac panicked, or something startled him, and before anypony could move he smashed the pie into the colt’s face. There was a scream, high, that cut off with a wet squelch.

The sniper’s bullet took Bric-a-brac square in the chest. It blossomed with flakey pastry bits and cream, and Bric-a-brac went down with a thud. Police and paramedics swarmed forward.

Summer Sweets stared, her mouth hanging open. The megaphone trembled and fell.

“But, but…” She trailed off with a whimper. “I did...”

“It’s okay,” Chuck Roast said. “It happens. Like, my first seven all ended this way.”

“Heh, yeah, I remember those,” the chief said. “Messy. Anyway, you guys want some donuts? I’m famished.”