Eye of the Beholder

by Jake The Army Guy

Rating: teen
Tags: Babs Seed, Dark, Original Character, Trixie, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 14894

Agents Bentgrass and Lulamoon race to find a killer.

Manehatten: The City of A Thousand Lights. A place where beings from all corners of the globe live and work together.

But even the brightest light casts shadow.

Bodies have started to turn up: broken, beaten, savaged. When the local police turn to Canterlot's Royal Investigative Service for aid, they set off a chain of events that could rock the metropolis to its core.

A mysterious investigator; a disgraced magician; a desperate detective; an idealistic journalist. Together, they must stop the bloodshed, but at what cost?

Evil, like beauty, is often in the eye of the beholder.

Sequel to Under A Luminous Sky, but can be read as a standalone story.

Published 2013-11-10 17:50:01 UTC
Last updated 2014-01-20 13:38:05 UTC

Chapter One: The Abandoned One

Eye of The Beholder

by

Jake The Army Guy

Chapter One: The Abandoned One

The air inside the tiny bathroom was muggy and thick. Narrow beams of sunlight did their best to add warmth to the light from the cold fluorescent bulb above the mirror, still dripping with condensation from the extended shower. The light from the small window, still cracked from a freak storm the previous year, diffused into a soft haze in the steam-filled room. A slate grey hoof squeaked across the mirror, the cleared glass reflecting a tired pegasus with a jet black mane plastered against his skull. Barely visible bags hung beneath otherwise bright sapphire eyes. His wings splayed out to either side, shaking water from their feathers absently as he regarded himself.

You look like crap, Vinny.

Detective Vincenza Gusto heaved a deep sigh. He'd been letting his appearance slip lately, he knew, but he just couldn't muster up the energy to change it. Some part of him probably felt he deserved a disheveled look. Or maybe he was just tired.

Shaking the dreary thoughts from his head, he grabbed a towel from the nearby rack and vigorously dried his mane. He hoped the scrape of the rough towel would clear the last remnants of sleep that the shower had left. Now dry, a twitch of his broad flight muscles flicked the towel back onto the drying rack.

The soft, high-quality cloudcrete felt good under his hooves as he crossed the living room towards the kitchen. The decently spacious apartment—decent for an MPD paycheck, anyway—was decorated with an eye for utilitarianism rather than aesthetics. A faux-leather couch sat along the western wall before a plate-glass coffee table that was cluttered with old fishing magazines and newspapers from around the city. A large set of shelves on the opposite wall displayed commendations, photos, and other important memories from his time in the city. A wisp of a smile passed across his chiseled features as he passed in front of the wall of memories. His eyes brightened just a hair until he remembered why he was up so early.

His first day off in he didn't know how long, a day for catching up on some much needed sleep, maybe a few hours volunteering down at the shelter, and it had been cut off before it could even begin. His emergency police radio had crackled to life, bearing the worst sort of news. There had been another killing, and Gusto knew he wasn't going to be getting any rest until it was solved.

After a spartan breakfast of a banana and a bottle of water, Gusto trudged to the doorway and donned his black mesh vest bearing the logo of the Manehatten Police Department. He ran through his usual mental checklist: he flicked his polished gold detective badge, ensuring that it was properly affixed to his right breast pocket. Then he gave a quick pat to his left foreleg pouch, the heavy weight within giving him the grim satisfaction that his telescoping baton was inside. Finally, he clicked on the hoof-held radio sitting in his left breast pocket, turning the dial until it locked onto the police band with a squelching whine. He popped the earpiece in and clicked the call button. “Dispatch, Badge Three-Four-Seven coming back on the net.”

A few seconds of static. “Copy that, Three-Four-Seven. Stand by for traffic from scene.”

Gusto rolled his eyes as he reached for the doorknob. “Well, that didn’t take long."

He had to squint away from the bright morning sun as he locked the door behind him. With a brief flitter of his wings he hopped off the walkway, his hooves only making a soft noise as he landed on the large cloud that held the complex aloft. Nearly three city blocks worth of apartments, condos, and townhomes hung just above the outskirts of Manehatten city lines. Gusto trotted through the expansive courtyard, offering only a nod to the several residents who greeted him.

"Hey, Mr. Gusto!" came a tiny voice from behind him. A griffon chick and an auburn pegasus filly were running towards him.

Despite his mood, Gusto smiled at them. "Hi, Franny! Good morning, Rose."

The filly's cheeks erupted, and she began digging at the cloud beneath her. "H-hey, Vinny."

"Careful with the digging, Rose,” the griffon teased. “Wouldn't want to fall to your death in front of your boyfriend, would you?"

"Sh-Shut up, Franziska!" Rose reached over to shove the griffon.

The griffon shoved her back. "I told you not to call me that!"

"Hey, hey, play nice! Shouldn't you two be in school right now?" he asked, still walking towards the edge of the cloud.

"Nuh-uh," the chick said. "It's some Diamond Dog holiday, High Alpha... er, somethin' or other."

"Oh, I see." Gusto reached over to muss the filly's peach-colored mane. "Important enough to get a day off, just not enough to remember the name, cutie?"

Rose grumbled and eased out from beneath his hoof, her cheeks flaming. "Knock it off, ya jerk!"

"Hey, language!" he said through a smirk, standing just a bit straighter than before.

She pouted up at him. "What, you gonna arrest me?"

"Worse. I'll tell your mother."

The filly stiffened, and the griffon laughed at her before looking up at Gusto hopefully. "So, are ya gonna come by the Center tonight? We need to know what happens to Daring Do!"

"Yeah!" the filly joined in. "Does she get away with the Prince's gem?"

Gusto opened his mouth, but a loud squelch cut him off. "Three-Four-Seven, traffic coming through."

He sighed. "I think I'm going to be at work late tonight, girls." They groaned in disappointment, and Gusto shook his head. "Sorry. You two behave yourselves. Don't burn the cloud down."

The chick gasped. "Could... could that even happen?"

"With you two? You'd find a way." He winked, earning a titter from the filly, then walked out of the courtyard. "This is Three-Four-Seven, send it."

“Three-Four-Seven, this is Uni Four-Oh on scene. Are you, uh... you on your way?”

Gusto frowned; the cop on the other end sounded harried. “Be there in ten. Why?”

The radio keyed several times, as if the officer on the other end was reluctant to speak. “Copy, we have a, uh... a situation.”

Gusto scoffed. He stepped out of his apartment building, easing shut the gate behind him. “Situation? Mind being a bit more specific?”

“Well...” A moment of static, and then another voice came through the speaker, this one nasal and indignant.

“Haven’t you ever heard of freedom of the press?! I’m a Hooflitzer Prize winning journalist! The ponies have a right to know, you mother b—”

Gusto sighed deeply. “Slick Back?”

Several more moments of hissing static. “Got it in one, Three-Four-Seven.”

“Copy.” Gusto walked towards the edge of the cloud that held his complex. “Gonna be one of those days,” he muttered, and stepped off the edge.

Gusto allowed himself to plummet for several long seconds, letting the screaming wind drive the last bit of sleep from his mind. Finally, he opened his eyes and slowly eased his wings out from his side. The strain made him wince just a bit, but after a few moments his flight leveled off and he was gliding above the cityscape.

The mid-morning sun bathed the high-rises and skyscrapers in warm orange light, its heat quickly eating away at whatever pre-dawn coolness remained. Gusto looked down, noting his position. Maredisan Square Garden was just below him, putting him just to the east of Midtown. Angling his wings slightly, he began a slow bank to the west. Gusto could hear the sounds of the city over the steady beat of his wings, individual sounds blurred together by volume and altitude. A thousand bleating horns of carriages stuck in traffic made a shrill counterpoint to the coo and flutter of pigeons being shooed from their roosts by joggers and cyclists in Central Park.

Finally, his keen eyes spotted his goal: a dome of shimmering magic surrounding an alley. The dome was a low powered reflective field designed to keep snooping eyes at bay. The surrounding block had been cordoned off by police tape, and uniformed MPD officers could be seen patrolling the perimeter. Several police carriages and one large paddy wagon—crime scene techs setting up shop, most likely—were parked in the middle of the street. Off to one side, a rusted trash barge sat abandoned save for a an earth pony sitting on the fender. He was naked except for a bandage around his ankle. A unicorn in uniform was talking to him, scribbling onto a notepad that floated in the air beside him. A large, beefy Minotaur stood on the opposite side of the barge, being interviewed by a trembling earth pony officer.

A few ponies stood idly by on the other side of the tape, most likely just curious about the commotion, though when Gusto saw a particular unicorn with a pad and pen in the crowd a deep sigh escaped him. He could recognize that stark yellow coat, cowlicked brown mane and floating notepad and quill anywhere.

Emitting a low groan, Gusto angled his wings toward the small gathering. He was already dreading the headache that was sure to come if he had to convince the unicorn to leave.

His hooves touched the ground with a clink of his standard-issue horseshoes. As he approached the scene the young unicorn who had been interviewing the garbage pony walked up to him. “Detective Gusto.”

Gusto nodded and held out his hoof. “Silver, nice to see you again. How’s the wife?”

Silver bumped Gusto’s hoof. “Good. Doc says she’s about two weeks from popping. Heh, she told me that once the foal comes, we’ll—”

"Detective Gusto!” The reporter had finally noticed Gusto and was stomping towards him. “Finally, an actual professional and not some Gestapo goose stepper!" His voice was low and throaty, carrying an air of smug entitlement that never failed to ruffle Gusto's feathers.

"Slick Back," Gusto said with a nod to the two officers, who shot him the faintest of appreciative smiles. "Still trying to tame that mane, I see."

The unicorn self-consciously patted down the jarring cowlick jutting from atop his head. "So, Detective, is it true? Have you discovered another body?"

Gusto flicked an ear at him. "No comment." He turned toward the unicorn officer, whose horn was glowing brightly. "How are you holding up?"

"Fine, Detective. Got the shield up as soon as I got here, but I'll be glad when I can lower it."

Slick Back piped back up. "Ah, that's not a denial!"

"How did you even hear about this so soon, Slick Back?" Gusto said, glaring at the scrawny unicorn. "You haven't been listening in on the police band again, have you?"

"I will not reveal my sources. And anyway, you have bigger fish to fry, Detective! The first actual serial killer in over a hundred years? Mutilated bodies, thrown out like trash in the heart of Equestria’s largest city?”

“You always this dramatic, Slick, or only when you smell a book deal?”

Slick gave a haughty snort. "My, quite a blasé attitude coming from the lead detective on the most heinous crime in the past century!"

Gusto froze mid-step. He slowly turned to see the smug grin on Slick's face. "Just what is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, come on, Vinny." Slick seemed to take a great deal of pleasure in the way Gusto twitched at the sound of his nickname. "This is the City of a Thousand Lights! Fraud, a little robbery, the occasional assault or domestic violence are the crime du jour in this town. But even the most violent beating is a far cry from serial murder, wouldn't you say?"

"I wouldn’t say anything to you, Slick," Gusto said through clenched teeth.

"Oh, and I'm sure the ponies would just love to know the police care so little about their well-being that they won’t even give the top reporter in the city the time of day."

“Slick Back, stop it!” The unicorn jumped as Gusto rounded on him.“You know damn well you don't give two bucks about 'the ponies' well-being outside of your chances at a Hooflitzer!"

"A second Hooflitzer, thank you," he corrected. "And I'll have you know I care deeply for the safety of my readers!"

Gusto shook his head and growled, then locked eyes with the unicorn. "Listen to me closely, Slick." He spoke slowly, powerfully. "Every other paper in the city is waiting for the official statement, and you need to do the same. Let us do our jobs, and wait for the press conference.”

Slick Back blinked several times, then hung his head. “Okay, okay. Still, come on, Vinny! You gotta give me something!”

“Slick!” Gusto held his gaze, his eyes hard as stone. “Go. Home!”

Slick Back blinked several more times, then sighed. “All right, all right,” he mumbled before turning tail.

As the unicorn ambled off, Silver patted Gusto on the back. “Jeez, Vinny, you gotta teach me that trick some time!”

Gusto winced slightly, rubbing his forehead. “Eh, I have a lot of experience with parasites like that. They’re like dogs, you just have to show dominance."

Silver laughed, but his smile looked forced. "Still, you know he, uh..." He shuffled his hooves a bit. "He has a point, Vin."

"Don’t you start, too. Now, bring me up to speed,” he said, ushering Silver towards the alley.

“Okay, Sanitation called it in at six-thirty this morning.” He paused to lift the crime scene tape, letting Gusto step under. “The barge was making its rounds this morning when the workers found the body in the dumping zone between these two apartment buildings.” He gestured to the looming brick structures towering over them.

"How are they holding up?"

"Eh, the one, an earth pony named Pipe Wrench, twisted his ankle trying to get out from under, but other than that he's doing as well as can be expected after... well, you know."

Gusto nodded in grim agreement. The two rounded the mouth of the alley and Gusto felt the tickle of magic as they crossed the barrier. "What about the body? She in the same kind of shape as the others?"

Silver averted his eyes. "I don't know. I, uh... I ain't looked at it yet."

Gusto fixed him with a glare. "And why n—"

A loud retch was Gusto's only warning before a young earth pony officer nearly barreled him over and leaned a hoof against the brick wall, coughing violently. Gusto leaped back just as a wave of sick spewed from the pony's mouth accompanied by another heaving groan.

Gusto said nothing, offering only a few reassuring pats on the pony's back while staying far enough away to avoid any cast off. The pony convulsed a few more times, muttering several oaths to the Princesses, then stood up on quivering legs and wiped away a thin stream of yellowish bile from his mouth. "S-sorry, Detective. I, I-I just... I never seen..."

"Hey, hey, don't sweat it, kid." Gusto ran a easy hoof over the pony's back. "It's not something you see every day. Tell you what, you see that bodega across the way?" He gestured across the street, and the young officer nodded. "Here's what I want you to do. Go over there, get yourself some water, then go canvas the block, see if somepony saw anything, okay?"

The pony shot Gusto a shaky smile, ran the back of his hoof across his mouth again and nodded. "Yeah, yeah, sure thing, Detective."

"Vinny," he said with a tiny grin. "Now, get going."

"Yes, sir." With that, the young earth pony ambled away, spitting a bit more bile as he walked.

Gusto pointed a hoof to the alley, and he and Silver walked in. The building on the right was the same ruddy color of countless others in the city, with lighter patches showing where efforts to remove graffiti had cleaned off some of the ever-present grime. Rusty fire escapes lined the entire side of the building like metal ivy climbing towards the top. The left structure was identical save for one area: a large rectangle marked off with red that would usually be piled high with trash.

The smell of the urban jungle—a heady aroma of industry, hot pavement, burnt rubber, and the faintly pungent sting of manacurrents that ran beneath the concrete—filled him with every breath, but there was something new today. Just noticeable above the faint smell of garbage and brick was a sickly sweet stench, slightly metallic in his nostrils and on his tongue. Taking a deep breath, he approached the white sheet laid atop a pony-shaped lump.

Throughout the alley, several ponies were milling about. A crime scene tech was taking pictures of something, and another was gingerly folding a large plastic sheet that was stained with blood. "That what the body was wrapped up in?"

Silver answered with an uneasy nod as they approached the body. A unicorn was slowly feeding power into four hoof-sized crystals surrounding the body. Gusto stepped next to him, ducking under the thin beam of magic. "We almost ready?"

"A few more minutes, Detective."

Gusto nodded and knelt down next to the sheet, Silver hovering over his shoulder. “We have an ID yet?”

Silver shook his head. "Horn spiral pattern hasn't gotten a result yet, but that could be the system being slow."

Gusto reached a hoof to the sheet, gingerly lifting it to peek underneath. A small pang hit his chest. The unicorn was broken and bruised, her once pristine coat marred by abrasions and bloodstains. Tiny bumps and ridges could be seen along her chest, hinting at the damage hiding beneath.

Behind him, Gusto could hear Silver swallow his gorge. "Jeez, somepony worked her over good."

"Just like the others," Gusto muttered. Adjusting himself on the ground, he moved his hoof to lift the remainder of the sheet, revealing the mare's head. She was a unicorn, like the second victim had been. Her fiery red mane was in tatters. He noted all of that distantly, his eyes drawn to her face and...

"Oh... oh, goddess, Vinny.”

"Keep it together, Officer." Gusto didn't spare a glance back at him, though he could hear Silver's heaving breaths, and he understood why. All the damage to the poor mare’s body was nothing compared to her eyes: they had been shredded, leaving a pulpy mess inside a pair of ragged, gaping holes. Just like all the others...

“She... she looks like my kid sister."

“Officer Silvermane, knock it off.”

Silver Silver took a rough step back from the body, his breathing deep and slow and very tightly controlled. "Think... think she's a runaway?"

Gusto's eyes narrowed. "Not likely. Take a look at her hooves." He pointed towards the mare's well-kept hooves, though he knew that Silver was most likely looking at anything but the body. "Walls are smooth, not a single crack, and," he leaned down further to inspect the underside, "her frog is bleached. Hooficure like that costs money, and you don't spend that much on your looks if you don't know when your next meal's coming."

"How do you know all that?"

"You're not the only pony with a little sister."

Silver gulped. "Well, you never talk about, about your... jeez, Vinny. How can you be so... so, casual with this?"

"I'm not."

"You're acting like this happens every day! Why ain’t you—”

"Why aren't I what? Tell me, what would you like me to do? Scream, cry, run around shouting 'Dear Celestia, were all gonna die?' What would that accomplish?" Gusto cast an icy glare over his shoulder. "I'll tell you what: nothing. Best way we can honor her is to catch the son of a goat who did this, and the best way to do that is to stay calm."

“But... but—”

Gusto heaved a sigh and gently laid the sheet back onto the mare, then rose to his hooves. “Look, Silver, you think I like this? I like looking at young ponies torn up? No, but we’re police officers. When bad things happen, ponies look to us. We start panicking, they start panicking. It’s our job to be strong for them, got it?”

Silver took a few more deep breaths, then looked back to Gusto. “Y-yeah, you’re... you’re right, Vinny. Sorry, I—”

Gusto's ears twitched, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as the crackle of electricity sounded through the alley. "All right, transit's ready, Detective."

Gusto turned to look at the unicorn tech standing next to the largest crystal. "The fields set properly? I don't want any foreign magic contaminating the body this time."

"I got it, Detective. Everything is nominal."

"Nominal, right. Okay. Silver, you ride with the body. Tell Doc Vlad I want the autopsy done yesterday. Trace, toxicology, the works, got it?" Silver nodded. "And check with Missing Ponies; see if somepony matching her description has been reported."

Silver gulped and stepped closer to the body."Yeah, you got it, Vinny. Oh, here." He tossed his notepad to Gusto, who caught it with his wing and nodded.

Gusto sniffed; the air was tinged with the scent of ozone, the crystals filling with a deep, azure glow. There was a low buzz in his ears, and he would swear that he could see the damn things vibrating. He took a few more steps back from the body, the magic in the air tickling his spine a bit.

"Alright, everypony step back." The unicorn tech's brow creased, and the dim glow of his horn blazed to life. Everypony in the alley backed away from the scene. Streams of mana flowed between each crystal, forming a webbed dome over the body and the shaking Officer Silver.

Gusto squinted against the harsh light from the tech's horn, grimacing at the twinge in his spine from the buildup of unicorn magic. Then, with a surprisingly quiet pop and a blinding flash of light, the body, crystals, and officer were gone. Gusto blinked hard and shook the blind spots from his vision. "Alright, everypony. Back to work."

The crowd dissipated. Gusto turned back to the empty alley, his practiced eyes scrolling across every surface as he performed a painfully slow scan. Years of investigating had taught him that every detail, no matter how small, could make or break a case. Still, he mused, this was unlike anything the city had seen in years.

Gusto let out a long sigh and closed his eyes, clearing his mind. Several deep breaths later, he opened them back into a determined glare and looked around. The alley was as nondescript as one could ever think of: red brick walls on both sides, flat pavement ground, and ending in a dead end. He walked slowly towards the far end, nimbly stepping around a tech staring intently at some spot on the wall. Gusto stepped up the the wall and laid a hoof on it, feeling the rough, coarse texture running across the frog of his hoof. The building it was attached to was only three stories high, as opposed to the probably six or more of the apartment buildings that flanked him. Flipping out Silver's notepad, he saw that it was a corner store, at least he thought it said that; for a unicorn, Silver had terrible penmanship.

He put the notepad back in his pocket and turned around. The mouth of the alley was the only logical entry point, and it was open to the street and surrounded on all sides by apartments. Somepony must have seen something. There had to be dozens of families in each building, there was no way—

Gusto's tail twitched. His blue eyes narrowed a bit, and he took yet another slow scan of the alley. Only two techs remained, the others apparently having completed whatever task they had been assigned. In the middle of the alley, a chalk outline of a unicorn stood out against the red paint of the trash dumping area. A single puddle of blood, smeared apparently from when the body fell out of the plastic, lay in the middle.

Gusto walked over and knelt down next to it. Several bloody hoofprints stained the ground from when the garbage pony had slipped, but beyond that, the alley was surprisingly...

Clean.

Gusto stood back up and marched toward the mouth of the alley. Looking left and right, his eyes locked on his target. "Excuse me, Mister, erm," he flicked back the cover of Silver's notepad, "Mister Wrench."

The blue stallion looked up at him from the fender he sat on. "Uh, yes sir?"

"I'm Detective Gusto." He reached out a hoof, which the earth pony bumped in kind. "I'm the lead detective on this case. How are you holding up?"

"Uh, alright, I guess." His voice was breathy. Gusto could see the minor twitches under his skin and the still wide pupils in his eyes; obviously, he was anything but 'alright.'

Still, Gusto pressed on. "I know you've been through this a hundred times, but you think you could walk me through how you discovered the body?"

Pipe's ears flicked hard at the word 'body.' "Uh, sure-sure. Well, my shift started at four this morning. Me, Lunk, and Mickey got to the yard—"

"Skip to the body, if you please, sir?"

The earth pony nodded. "We had just passed Maresian street, on our way back up to Ninth Avenue, when we stopped." He chuckled mirthlessly. "If only that light bulb hadn't flickered on..."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we had almost passed the alley, since I didn't see anything in the zone, but right before we rode past the light above it turned on and I saw... well, you know. At first I didn’t notice anything odd, but then I... I saw the blood. And when I pulled on the plastic...” A deep shudder ran through his bulky frame.

"I see," Gusto murmured, eyes in the notepad instead of the pony. "Tell me, what did you do after you found it?"

"After it," Pipe shuddered yet again, "well, after I found it, I ran back to the barge and we radioed in to you guys."

"Uh-huh. You didn't continue your route?" Pipe shook his head. "You didn't do anything else besides radio it in? Didn't touch anything, move anything?"

"No, sir," he said with a resolute shake of his head. "You couldn'ta paid me to go back in that alley!"

"Right, right." Gusto folded the notepad back up and finally looked up at Pipe. "Alright, Mister Wrench, thanks for all your help. Once the EMTs finish looking you over, you're free to go.” His eyes made a quick scan over Pipe’s body. “I’m sorry, but we have to keep the overalls. Evidence and all that.”

Pipe blew out a breath. “Keep them, please. I don’t never want to see them again.”

Gusto nodded. “Just make sure you stay somewhere we can reach you if we need to, alright?"

Pipe offered a shaky nod. "Sure thing, Officer."

"Detective." Gusto gave the stallion one more reassuring pat, then turned back to the now calming crime scene, but his eyes went further. He looked towards the building on the right of the alley. Several ponies had gathered on the stoop, all trying to see something, anything, about what was going on. He couldn't hear, but he could see the residents murmuring to each other. Gusto looked up, and at least one window on every floor had a someone gazing down on the organized chaos below. Turning his head to the left, the other apartment was exactly the same.

His eyes narrowing, Gusto turned back towards the alley. "Hey, you!" A uniformed earth pony who had been talking to the large Minotaur looked up at Gusto. "Yeah, you. Come here." The officer nodded and followed Gusto back into the alley.

The last tech had finished his work, leaving Gusto and the other officer alone in the alley. Gusto came to a stop right next to the chalk outline and turned back to face the other pony, but his eyes continued to flick around the ground. "Okay, tell me, Officer, uh..."

"Deep Ridge, sir."

"Right, Officer Ridge. Tell me, what don't you see?"

Ridge arched his eyebrow, then turned to perform his own scan of the alley. "Well, uh... there's a scuff on the ground near the mouth—"

"No, no," Gusto cut him off. "Not what do you see, what don't you see." The officer blinked several times, and Gusto rolled his eyes at the blank stare he gave him. "Come on, think. What should be in this alley that isn't?"

"Um... I, uh..."

"Trash!" Gusto gestured to the walls. "Both of these buildings are full of ponies, and the last pick up was..."

After several seconds of silence, Officer Ridge finally got the hint and fumbled around to pull out his notepad. "Um, Thursday morning."

Gusto fixed him with a mild smirk. "Exactly! An entire weekend in the middle of summer with two buildings full of families? There should be a mountain of garbage here, but look," he did a slow spin, pointing at the ground be earth him, "not even a stain in the ground!"

The officer gave a very hesitant nod. "Um, o... kay, so what?"

Gusto furrowed his brow. "Wait right here." Gusto hurried out of the alley. Back in the street, he looked back and forth, scanning the sidewalks and the street, before finally landing on the adjacent alley. Gusto pushed his way past the ponies mulling about heading towards the alley, though his eyes were on the street; the perfectly clean street. Not even a dropped banana peel...

His steps increased as he approached the mouth of the other alley, and the pungent aroma of spoiled milk and other foul smells slammed into his nostrils. Despite the stench, Gusto couldn't hide a triumphant grin as he slowed to a stop in front of a staggering mountain of refuse. He turned and hurried back to the mouth, looking at the two buildings flanking him: a townhome and the bodega he directed the sick officer to before. His smile grew a hair wider.

Turning his head, he shouted back at the group of ponies loading evidence in the back of a large paddy wagon. "Hey, squints!" Several ponies glared at him from the use of the derogatory nickname, but it didn't faze him. "Any of you got that, uh..." he twirled a hoof, "Sparkler... detection doohickey?"

A painfully thin unicorn with a purple mane plastered to his head with way too much gel scowled at him. "You mean the Sparkle Thaumatic Detector?"

"Yeah, that. Bring that over here," he said before darting back into the alley. He stood back in front of the pile, estimating it to be just a hair taller than him. Way too much for a brownstone and a bodega...

The tech finally joined him in the alley carrying a long tubular device with a glowing crystal at the end and blinking lights affixed along the shaft, attached to a large pack in his back by a thick hose. "You called, my lord?" the frail unicorn seethed, obviously struggling to bear the heavy equipment.

Gusto chose to ignore his snark, and the shaking of his knees. "Yeah. I want a good scan of this entire pile. Look for anything unusual."

"Unusual," his leg buckled briefly under the strain, "about the pile of trash? Care t... to be more specific, Detective?"

Gusto shook his head. "No, just anything that sticks out. Also run it over the street between here and the crime scene."

The unicorn growled at him and trudged up to the immense trash pile. The large pack he wore began to whine and hiss as he fiddled with several knobs on the wand. With a tiny crack of electricity, the gem flickered to life, casting pale yellow light on the garbage.

For the next several minutes, the scrawny tech waved the oversized wand back and forth over the trash pile, drawing a slow, lazy serpentine from top to bottom. Gusto's left ear flicked impatiently; the whine of the device was irritatingly loud in the confines of the alley, and he could swear he saw the tiniest smug grin in the tech as he moved the wand at a glacial pace.

Finally, the narrow beam of magic had run over every inch of the pile, and the tech moved to scan the ground. As he moved towards the mouth of the alley—again, at a pace that would make a sloth seem hyperactive—his pointy nose wrinkled, as if only just now noticing the stench of the fetid waste, and his oversized ears fell flat against his head. "Come on, you stupid..." He gave a few light slaps to the device, which emitted a series of wonky tones at the abuse.

"What? What's wrong?"

She the tech turned to look at Gusto, his face no longer bore slight disdain, but confusion. "Well, Detective, the device picked up a heavy layer or residual thaumatic radiation over the trash pile, one consistent with active magic, but it's not picking up anything on the ground around it."

It was Gusto's turn to grin smugly. "Come with me," he said, turning to trot back to the alley where officer Ridge still stood.

Once the tech panted and struggled his way over, Gusto pointed towards the red outline of the waste dumping area. "Now here."

With a grunt, the tech began the process again. Several minutes later, he frowned. "Same thing here, Detective. Huge residue in the pile, but nothing in the street."

Gusto slammed his hoof on the ground. "Ha! Yahtzee!" When the tech just blinked, Gusto rolled his eyes. "Come on, neither of you see it? Look, no garbage over here," he moved back to the mouth of the alley and pointed a wing across the street, "and a mountain of garbage over there! Not only that, but take a look at the ground. Not one stain, not so much as a drop, you could eat off this street!"

The tech and Officer Ridge shared a confused glance. Ridge cleared his throat. "Which means..."

"Which means the killer moved the trash from here to there!"

"Um... why?"

Gusto shrugged. "I don't know, but the better question is how. This guy moved a huge pile of trash across the street without dropping so much as a coffee ground, and did it quick enough that nopony in two apartment complexes saw him do it. Either he's the single most talented creature in Equestria, or..."

The tech's eyes brightened. "Displacement magic!"

"So, what, like teleporting?" Ridge asked.

"No, no, teleportation refers to moving oneself through space. This would more be spatial displacement." For the first time that day, the tech smiled at Gusto. "And only unicorns can do that."

"Exactly!" Gusto stamped his hoof again. "Officer Ridge, we now know we're looking for a unicorn!"

Ridge smiled, but quickly frowned again. "Uh, sir, ain't there, like, a few hundred thousand unicorns in Manehatten?"

Gusto didn't look discouraged. "Well, a hundred thousand down from two million is a hay of a lot better odds th—"

Gusto's radio suddenly crackled to life. "Badge Three-Four-Seven, this is Uni Four-Oh, over."

Gusto keyed his headset. "Three-Four-Seven, send it."

"Yeah, you, uh, you on your way to the station yet? Over."

"No, why? Over."

A few seconds of static hiss. "Uh, we have a bit of a, a situation in the morgue, over."

Gusto rolled his eyes. "What now, Silver?"

Silence for a moment. "You better just get down here, Vinny. Uni Four-Oh, out."

Gusto clicked off his radio with a loud sigh. He trudged past the groaning tech waving the large device over the garbage and stepped out of the alley, flaring his wings.

It was definitely gonna be one of those days.

Chapter Two: Blood Stained

Eye of The Beholder

by

Jake The Army Guy

Chapter Two: Blood Stained

The flight to the station house was mercifully short, though the rising temperatures still left Gusto’s mane plastered to his skull. He let his mind wander, his wings on autopilot as he mulled over the new information from the scene. While Silver did had a point—the revelation of the killer’s likely species meant little in the short term—the shift of the suspect pool from mind-boggling to merely daunting was still something to be celebrated. Not to mention the biggest step forward since he volunteered to take charge of the case. Maybe now Chief Arturo would ease off his flanks for a little while.

“Gangway!”

Gusto yelped as a brown pegasus zoomed by him close enough to ruffle his feathers. He opened his mouth to yell, but the pony was already out of earshot. Instead, Gusto merely rolled his eyes and flapped his wings just a bit harder when he saw the camera hanging from the pony's neck.

Smack in the heart of Manehatten, One Police Plaza was a blocky, utilitarian building as opposed to the usual, more ornate designs of public buildings. Despite the uninspired trappings, the building was home to probably the most advanced police force in the world, more so even than Canterlot. The five above ground floors housed both the actual police and the district courts, and the two basement levels housed the envy of law enforcement agencies the world over: state-of-the-art computer systems to analyze data, DNA labs, a veritable candy-land for the squint squad.

The building was nestled in the middle of a large garden entrance way. A statue of former Mayor Bloom Burg sat at the center, surrounded by fancy-cut shrubs, followed by a trail of poles bearing flags from each of the Provincial Territories that led like a landing strip to the front steps of the station. Gusto eyed the brown pegasus as he came to a hover above a crowd of ponies and other creatures standing at the base of the steps leading to the front entrance.

What was obviously supposed to be the press conference Gusto had mentioned earlier was quickly devolving into a storm of flashbulbs, shouted questions, and general bedlam. Standing on the top step, Chief Arturo was talking animatedly, his jowls flapping and his feathers ruffled. The overweight griffon, dressed neatly in his dress blues, was desperately trying to control the chaos, but even Gusto could see that the sharks had smelled blood. Gusto noted with a dry chuckle that a certain wiry unicorn was absent from the crowd; it seemed Slick Back had taken his suggestion to ‘go home’ to heart. Gusto made a mental note to ease off next time.

The Chief looked like he could use a hoof handling the rabid reporters, but Gusto had, as the griffons say, bigger fish to fry. He angled his flight towards the back of the building instead. He touched down on the asphalt of the back loading dock and walked towards the sliding door that lead down to the basement labs, where Doc Vlad would be performing the autopsy on the victim. He shuddered just a hair at the thought. Seeing a body torn up was one thing, but cutting it open and laying its organs out like a yard sale was something entirely different.

Gusto nodded to the officer by the door as he stepped through. The instant the doors slid open, Gusto felt his body release a bit of the tension it held; the blast of cold air, even tinged with the scent of antiseptic and mothballs, felt like heaven compared to the stale, muggy air outside.

Unlike the lavish upstairs areas, the downstairs gave of a strict air of utilitarianism with its steel walls and unpolished tile floors. The first basement level was the science labs, where evidence was processed and analyzed. He had to speak with the techs a bit later, but right now he made his way down the steps to the second floor. A hallway of sterile metal on all four sides, ending in a T that lead to the only things that the basement level housed: evidence storage in the right, the morgue on the left.

As Gusto turned the corner towards Autopsy, the first thing he saw was Officer Silvermane standing next to the double doors. "Silver, has Doc Vlad started his exam?"

"Uh, yeah, but..."

"But what? And what are you doing out here? I told you to babysit the body."

Silver's hoof kicked at the tile floor. "I, uh... got kicked out."

"Wh... kicked out? By who?!"

"That's why I called you," Silver said meekly.

Gusto opened his mouth to ask further, but shook his head and decided against it, instead pushing past Silver and through the open doors. Immediately, the harsh sting of chemicals assaulted his nostrils and the cold air of the cavernous room sent a chill down his wings. The far wall, lined with large body drawers, was lost under the harsh overhead lights above the main slab in the center of the room, where a large white sheet covered what he knew was the body. Standing over the body, however, was not the coroner, but a strikingly pale stallion wearing a black suit-coat. His gaunt frame was bent over the body, his grey eye scanning the corpse.

Gusto stormed towards the newcomer. “Hey, hey, hey! You can’t—”

“Can I help you?”

An azure mare stepped in his path. The white trenchcoat she wore was the same tone as her sparkling white mane, and the questioning gaze on her face oozed the same kind of smug superiority that Slick Back’s had. The look of pure entitled pride had the same effect on Gusto. “Yeah, you can get out of my way,” he said curtly as he moved to bypass the mare.

She moved to block him again. “I’m sorry, but this area is restricted.”

“Ex-cuse me?!” Gusto snapped, wings flaring out behind him.

“Authorized ponies only.”

“Auth...” he sputtered. Gusto could feel the blood rushing to his face. “Lady, who in the h—”

“Vinny, my friend!”

The stand-off ended as Doctor Ilyich—a skinny, brown-coated impala clad in a white lab coat—all but leapt in between the two and placed a lanky foreleg around Gusto. A tiny spark shot between his pronged horns. “It has been too long, and yet much too soon, yes?” he said through his thick Slavic accent, then turned to the mare. “Is okay, Miss Trixie. Vinny is lead detective on case!”

The mare—Trixie, apparently—arched an eyebrow. There was enough smugness in that face to make Gusto want to punch it, just on principle. "You're Vincenza Gusto?"

Gusto's wings fluffed up behind him. "Yeah," he said. "That a problem?"

"You don't sound like a 'Vincenza'."

"What, I'm Neightallion, so I have to sound like a gutter rat?" He took some satisfaction in the look of shock on her face—it seemed she wasn't used to ponies challenging her like that.

"Maybe you'd like me to get you some spaghetti?" he asked. "Make you an offer you can't refuse?"

"I—" Trixie began, but Gusto tuned her out before she even said a word.

"Interesting."

Gusto blinked—and then remembered the stallion who'd been by the body. His face set into a heavy scowl, and he turned on his hoof to face the coroner's table.

The other stallion had a jarringly blonde mane—almost white under the harsh light of the autopsy table—and was styled enough to stay slicked back against his skull as he bent over the body. One gaunt hoof was on his chin, and he hummed quietly to himself as he inspected the dead mare's leg.

"Hey," Gusto said. He stepped past Trixie, pushing her aside. She let out an angry yelp, but he ignored it. "Back up from there! What do you think you're doing?"

The stallion ignored him. "Her hooves are immaculate!"

"Look, buddy, you need to—" Gusto's train of thought ground to a halt as the stallion turned to face him. Now at his full height, the stallion stood a good few inches taller than Gusto, though he seemed almost painfully thin. His face bore an impassive gaze, but what brought Gusto up short were his eyes: they were slightly sunken into his skull, furthering pale pony's ghostly visage, but while the left was a pale grey, the right was bright yellow and slitted vertically like a dragon's. “Uh... I—”

“Come take a look at this," the pony said in an odd, almost musical southern accent. He turned back to the body and raised the left foreleg, inspecting it under the harsh lights of the autopsy table. "This is an impressive hooficure! No visible overlap in the paint strokes, even coating all around, and it perfectly matches her eyes."

"What are you, a—"

The pale pony sniffed. "And such a notable fragrance. Lilac and vanilla, reminiscent of Haute-de-Trotter. And something else...”

“Hey, what are you... Hey, stop!” Gusto could only balk as the stallion brought the corpse’s hoof to his face and took a dainty lick.

He smacked his lips thoughtfully. “Hmm, jasmine. Quite distinct, I would imagine. I dare say that if we can pinpoint the fragrance, we—”

“That’s enough!” Gusto roared, through the stallion’s mismatched eyes never even blinked. “Look, pal, you two have exactly five seconds to tell me who the buck you are, and under what authority you kicked my officer out of the autopsy suite before I have you and your marefriend arrested for trespassing and obstruction!”

The impassive gaze never left the pale pony’s face. “Oh, my apologies, how rude of me.” He gently laid they corpse’s leg back down and pulled a small leather case from his pocket, flipping it open to reveal a gleaming silver badge and a government ID. “Special Agent Bentgrass, Their Majesties’ Royal Investigative Service, Division Six."

Division Six.

The words sent a tiny chill down Gusto's spine. "What... what are you doing here? Why does the RIS care about this case?

"Well, four bodies in as many weeks tends to grab our attention." Bentgrass stepped away from the autopsy table. Even without the harsh lighting his golden eye still seemed to glow eerily. "As for why we asked Officer Silvermane to wait outside, it seems the poor fellow isn't as acclimated to the sights and, ah, smells of death as we are. It was as much for his benefit as ours. Now then, I believe Doctor Ilyich was about to begin his examination."

The coroner shot a look at Gusto, seeming to ask permission. Gusto glanced back at the two agents: Bentgrass had his eyebrows raised expectantly, while Trixie was still eying him with that same smug grin. Gusto's eyes flicked to Bentgrass's badge one final time. After a moment, he sighed. "Come on Vlad, let's get to it."

The impala nodded and joined Bentgrass and Gusto at the slab. "Da. Beginning recording now. I will need you all to clearly speak your names." A spark of magic danced between his pronged horns and a recording device above them whirred quietly. "This is Doctor VladislavIlyich, head medical examiner for Manehatten Police Department, date is Monday, August 24th, Tenth Year of New Sister's Reign. I am joined by..."

"Lieutenant Vincenza Gusto, Manehatten Police Department."

"Special Agent Agrostis Bentgrass, RIS."

"And I am Agent Trixie Lulamoon, of Their Majesties’ Royal Investigative Service, Division Six."

"Probationary Agent Lulamoon," Bentgrass said tersely.

"Uh, y-yes." Vlad cleared his throat, but Gusto could hear Trixie’s teeth grinding. "Anyway, we are here for autopsy of latest murder victim. Removing cover."

All three turned to face the slab. Gusto winced; now removed from the open air, the stink of decay was much clearer, notable even over the alcohol and disinfectant. The white sheet covering the body had a small red stain on it where the blood soaked through. Gusto was suddenly thankful for his light breakfast; blowing his guts in front of the Royal agents would be a hay of a way to start the investigation.

Vlad's horns sparked again, and the white sheet peeled back, revealing the body. In the corner of his eye, Gusto saw Trixie sway just a hair, her cerulean face paling. He did his very best not the feel too superior.

Vlad leaned in to the body. "Victim is unicorn mare, white coat with red mane. Dental eruption suggests late-teens, early-twenties. Cutie mark appears to be cocktail glass with star pattern above, should help with identification if horn swirl does not return positive." He reached a hoof to the corpses foreleg and lifted it gently, working it up and down. "Late stages of rigor mortis. Most likely, time of death was eight to twelve hours ago."

A quiet groan came from the foot of the table, and Gusto's satisfaction waned, a bit of compassion eeking in; Trixie appeared to be caught in that horrible state between morbid fascination and utter disgust. Her eyes were locked on the ravaged corpse. "She's... she's so... violated."

"Da, much like last victim," Vlad said, running his wiry forelegs along the corpse's torso. "Most obvious, there is massive trauma to the face, centered in the ocular cavities. Wound track appears to be the same as before—vaguely resembles some kind of claw marks, though the cuts are smooth, not ragged. No DNA has been found before, but I will swab for trace evidence."

"No DNA?" Bentgrass stepped closer to the slab. "That's highly curious. Even the toughest of scale or hide leaves some trace."

"This is true, however it changes not the fact that the wound is clean. In addition, multiple contusions along her trunk, running from haunch to neck. I count one... two... eh, possibly three broken ribs. There may be more, but I will not know until x-rays return. Bruising pattern suggests she was beaten with bare hooves, and coloring indicates damage happened peri-mortem."

"So she was alive when the killer denucleated her?" Bentgrass asked casually. He sounded like he was asking about the latest hoofball scores instead of and act of violent mutilation.

Gusto scratched his head. "Denuc... what?"

"Denucleated, Vinny. It means removal of the eyes, and in fact of point, she was not. Come, look." Vlad hovered over the victim's head and Bentgrass joined him. "See the orangish, viscous fluid leaking from the orbital cavities?"

"Vitreous humour?"

"Da."

"So, the eyes were not removed, but... destroyed?" Trixie asked shakily.

"Shredded would be better word, and to your question, Agent Bentgrass, there is lack of clotting, also no signs of active bleeding. This is most likely done post-mortem."

"How... how long postmortem?" Trixie's voice sounded small in the cavernous office.

"Eh, is hard to say. Bodies stop bleeding when heart stops, and as you can see—” he pointed to the purplish, bruise-like spots on her back “—the blood has pooled, meaning she was positioned on her back for some time. If I had to guess... maybe an hour or two?”

Gusto took a deep breath through his mouth. "The claw marks don't match any clawed species in the city. We've also talked to a few sources at the Manehatten Zoo, but they can't match them with any of their animals."

"A wise decision," Bentgrass said. "If I may suggest also checking to see if any exotic animal licenses have been filed by private parties?"

"Already did it," Gusto countered. The agent's honeyed voice carried no air of a challenge, but for some reason his calm demeanor still irritated Gusto. Bentgrass' voice was smooth as a salesman and gentle like an oily politician. Gusto knew the type, and he didn't like them. "No wild animals have been reported sighted within the city limits, either." Bentgrass answered only with a quiet "hmm," so Gusto continued. "We're still working on the why, at any rate. I've seen some violence in my day, but this... Why would the killer do that?"

"Hmm, any number of reasons," Bentgrass said as he slowly began to circle the table. Despite his lanky build, he moved with a fluid, cat-like grace, his hoof falls barely audible even in the cavernous silence. His mismatched eyes scanned over the body, his pale hoof tracing along just inches over its cold skin.

"Perhaps some kind of styling, or a message. The mind of the psychotic is rarely a straightforward place. Of course, it could also be fetishistic in some way." Gusto once again winced in disgust as Bentgrass, now at the foot end of the table, grabbed the body's hind legs and lewdly spread them, leaning in close. "There are no obvious signs of sexual trauma, however."

"It..." Trixie cleared her throat. "Perhaps ritualistic in some way? Numerous rites involving the desecration of corpses have been documented all over the world."

"Hmm. Tell me, Doctor," Bentgrass said, "was there anything else unusual about the eyes beyond the obvious?"

"Eh, besides you mean them being pulped?"

Bentgrass nodded.

"I, uh... Eto nemnogo nelovko.I mean, there was so little to work with, any tests I may be able to run would take quite some time to yield results. I decided it best to be sticking with more general observation."

"An understandable conclusion," Bentgrass said, now leaning disgustingly close to the pulped remains of the victim's eyes. "All the same, please examine them in detail. It is quite possible that they were destroyed as a means of forensic cleanup."

Gusto cleared his throat, both to steel himself from the stench and in a desperate attempt to keep the lanky Bentgrass from getting any closer to the gore. "Uh... yeah, so, cause of death, Doc?"

"Well despite the, eh-heh, obvious lack of petechial hemorrhaging, cyanosis around the lips points to manual strangulation." He gently pressed his skinny hoof against the mare's throat. "Hm, yes, her larynx has been crushed, just like last two victims."

"Now that's what I don't get," Gusto said. "The first victim, pegasus named Saunter Hoof, was stabbed through the chest. Why stab him but strangle these three?"

"Well, the first victim was a stallion, the others all mares. Perhaps that has something to do with it?" Trixie offered.

"An astute observation, Miss Lulamoon." The praise was barely a whisper, and spoken through all but gritted teeth. "Now, Doctor Ilyich, I see no bruising on her neck. How could she have been strangled?"

"I wondered this myself, but using the STD, I found slight traces of thaumatic radiation. My theory is that the killer used magic to physically crush her throat."

"That's intriguing," Trixie said. "To reach with kinesis through the skin without leaving a mark would take an incredible amount of skill."

"And that matches what we found at the scene today." Gusto flipped out his notepad. "Our techs used the Sparkle... ah, whatever, at the scene and found traces of unicorn magic."

"The sparkle what?" Trixie asked.

"Sparkle Thaumatic Detector," Vlad said. "It finds background thaumatic radiation and determines it's source and type. One of the newest pieces of technology we have."

"Sparkle?" Bentgrass said. "Would that happen to be in reference to Professor Twilight Sparkle of Canterlot University?"

"Da. She pioneered the method. Apparently she used it to solve a murder sometime last year. You know her?"

"We've met," Bentgrass and Trixie said in unison. The two blinked, then looked at each other with an odd glare.

Gusto's cop instincts perked up at the silent exchange, and stored it for later. Whatever weird shared history was being discussed between their eyes wasn't important right now. "So, uh, yeah, apparently the killer teleported several hundred pounds of garbage across a street. Only unicorns can so that, so he must be—"

"Not necessarily." Trixie flipped her mane and spoke again in the same smug tone as before, though slightly still affected by her unease. "There are other methods besides teleportation. An Antelope tribe in southern Zebrica uses a kind of quantum tunneling to achieve the same effect, and a Minotaur Mage once mastered a technique to bend space time to create wormholes."

"Wormholes?" Gusto repeated the word slowly.

"Furthermore, I once heard of a griffon scientist who was able to use a series of runic scripts to move an entire fleet of troop carriers over five kilometers." Gusto only offered a skeptical glare. Trixie simply smiled. "I am not saying they are likely scenarios, but as multicultural as this city is, it would be foalish to assume it has to be a unicorn."

Gusto was silent for a moment, then turned to Bentgrass. "She for real?"

"Snark aside, in this instance we should listen to her. Her expertise in obscure matters of the arcane are why she is here in the first place."

"Allow me." Trixie stepped up to the slab. Though her face was still a choice shade of white, the look of horror had drained from her eyes, replaced by a haughty confidence that reminded Gusto of a stage performer rather than an agent of the Crown.

Shutting her eyes, Trixie took a slow breath and lit her horn.

Gusto stormed up to her. "Hey! No magic! We don't want to con—"

"It's a low-level scanning spell, Detective. It leaves no traces." A soft pinkish hue scanned the body several times as Trixie chewed her lip. "Hmm... faint traces of thaumatic radiation. The fractal patterns are indeed swirled, but not in keeping with the flute of a horn, more like... twisted; jagged and rough."

"And, that means..."

"Magic is unlike other forms of radiation," Bentgrass spoke from behind him. "It does not move in traditional waves, but flows from its source like water through a straw. The spiral she speaks of is the shape of the residual magic, meaning it most likely came from a unicorn."

"But not the same," Trixie muttered, eyes still closed. "As I said, it's a pattern I've not seen before, and that is saying something. And..." She frowned, looking as though she smelled something distasteful.

Bentgrass said nothing, still not even bothering to look at her.

"It's... odd. There's some sort of interference."

"Interference?" Gusto asked.

"Yes. The residue itself is odd, but I can't see any deeper into the lattice. There's some form of foreign magic blocking me. Almost—"

"So, is it a unicorn or not?" Gusto said quickly.

Horn dimming, Trixie opened her eyes and shot that same smug look at Gusto once more. "It... may be a unicorn, but if it is, he has some kind of deformity, a birth defect maybe, that hindered his magic. Of course, it may just be nothing, and it's some other species altogether." Then: “Take that, Professor,” she whispered under her breath, though Gusto could still hear it.

"Great," Gusto sighed. "Now were back to square friggin' one."

“Fret not, dear Vincent,” Bentgrass said. “When at the starting line, the only way to move is forward.”

“Vincenza."

"Of course. Now, Doctor—"

"You say several hundred pounds of garbage, yes?" Trixie asked.

"Yeah. I mean, I didn't weigh it or nothing, but it looks like a lot."

"And she was wrapped in something?"

"Yeah, a plastic tarp."

"Mm-hmm." Trixie doused her horn then trained her smug eyes to Gusto. "Let me examine the tarp."

Gusto felt his jaw tighten. "That an order?"

"Yes." She never even batted an eye.

Before Gusto had a chance to tell her to go buck herself, Bentgrass stepped in between them. "As I was saying, Doctor Ilyich, is there anything else of note at this time?"

The impala shook his head as he made his way to the wash-up station on the wall. "Beyond what I have said, I will not know more until I begin the autopsy."

"Very well," Bentgrass said before turning to Gusto. "Well, Detective, I believe there is nothing else to gain here, so I suggest we begin our investigation."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." When Bentgrass moved away from the slab Gusto stepped in front of him, stopping him with a firm hoof on his expensive-looking suit. "What do you mean 'our' investigation?"

Bentgrass looked down at Gusto's hoof with a ghost of a smile. "Just what I said, Detective. Miss Lulamoon and myself are here to aid you in catching this ne’erdowell."

Gusto closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This southern gentlecolt routine was getting on his last nerve. "Look here, Mister Pendergast—"

"Agent Bentgrass."

"Whatever. Your badges got you and your partner this far only because Doc Vlad hasn't opened her up yet, but unless I see some sort of official order or memo, you can't just—"

A tri-folded piece of parchment blinked in front of Gusto's face. His eyes flicked to Trixie, whose smile somehow seemed even more entitled. With a low growl, he snatched the paper from the air and began to read.

Gusto could feel the wind die from his sails as he read. His eyes scanned the paper several times, quickly, then more carefully, trying to find some kind of flaw or obvious sign of forgery. Sadly, everything seemed legit: the header of the MPD, Chief Arturo's signature at the bottom, and a massive red stamp bearing the word Approved.

When Gusto finally looked up, Bentgrass was still smiling—light and gentle, obviously trying to be polite, but having the complete opposite effect on Gusto. Still, all he could do was sigh. "So, you're here to what, take over?"

"Oh, good heavens, no," Bentgrass said. "I've always found that charging in bullheaded does nothing but make a tense situation even more so. We are here simply to aid you in solving this crime. We have vast resources that you may tap—at your leisure, of course—as well as years of experience in these sorts of dealings. Also, Miss Lulamoon has been brought into our fold due to her, hmm, extensive knowledge of magic, which dear Doctor Ilyich has already confirmed to play a part."

At the mention of her name, Trixie stepped towards them. "I assure, you, Detective Gusto, I am a mare of many talents."

Bentgrass didn't even look at her. "Detective Gusto, we are only here to help end this violence. You can put away your fears of government bureaucracy and muddied arrests.”

Gusto heaved a deep sigh. His eyes flicked to the parchment in his hoof, then he fixed his gaze on the two agents, taking them in: Trixie radiated a sense of superiority so palpable that he could practically taste it, but Bentgrass was even more off-putting. It was very obvious that he had a lot he was hiding, but for as much as he studied the lithe pony, Gusto couldn’t detect any kind of malice or ill-intent. Still, the idea of Agents of the Crown shadowing him sent little twinges of nervous energy down his wings. "Alright, look. I'm stallion enough to admit that yeah, we could use the help, and this—" he handed the paper back to Bentgrass— "seems legit, but you listen to me: ponies in this town are scared, more than they've been in a long while, so we don't have time to play games. We're gonna work together, we do it by the book, no shadow games or anything. I don't like the idea of working with ponies I don't know, but—"

"Heh, of course you don't."

"I’m sorry?"

Bentgrass didn't flinch under Gusto's withering glare. "Oh, nothing, it's just... well, you know: the gruff detective, shows up late to a crime scene, consoles the young officers, and distrusts the federal agents." Bentgrass arched his eyebrow, though his draconic eye still bored into Gusto, like he was looking through his very mind. "Seems almost a bit storybook, doesn't it?"

A chill ran through Gusto, his wings fluffing just a hair. "W... what’s that supposed to mean?”

A pointed cough came from behind them.When he turned to look, he saw Silver standing in the doorway, ears cuffed like a schoolboy. "Oh, for pony's sake, Silver, get in here!"

"Uh, right. Sorry." He stepped into the room, Though he angled his body away from the corpse, he couldn't stop his eyes from looking. "It's just..."

"Silver!"

"S-Sorry, Vinny. Anyway, you were right. Horn swirl pattern pinged an open Missing Ponies case. Victim’s name is Scarlet Note. Her mother reported her missing two days ago."

Gusto nodded, then flicked his eyes back to the lifeless husk on the slab. Scarlet Note... "Okay, good work, Silver. Dispatch a flier to notify the mother and bring her in."

“Already done. She lives on the Upper East side, and she’s a unicorn, so she should be here in about twenty minutes.”

A weight fell on Gusto's chest. Notifying survivors was always the hardest part of the job; seeing the hope, the very life in their eyes blink out from just a few words. He was not looking forward to this.

"Vinny," Vlad said, stepping forward, "I would advise waiting to have her identify the body until I have had chance to clean her up."

Gusto nodded. "Yeah, good call, Doc." He flicked his eyes back to the parchment before turning to the agents. "Well, since I guess you two are here to stay, why don’t we head over to the squadroom and get you fully briefed up before the mother gets here."

"Capital!" Bentgrass walked to the door in his quick gait. With a cordial bow, he pushed the autopsy doors open with his slender hoof. "Shall we?"

Before Gusto could answer, Trixie briskly walked past them into the hallway. Gusto could hear a quiet sigh of relief from the mare as soon as she clear the door.

Gusto rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure, whatever. Doc, keep looking her over."

“Konechno, moy drug!” Vlad said with a salute.

Gusto nodded, then turned to Silver. “I’m gonna take these two and talk to the mother. You stay here this time. If Vlad finds anything—anything—you let me know ricky-tick, got it?”

Silver gulped, eyes flicking to the corpse. "Yeah, sure sure."

Leaving the trembling officer, Gusto pushed his way past Bentgrass and out the door, the two agents falling in line behind him. An air of tense silence followed the group down the hallway to the stairs. Gusto kept his eyes forward, but couldn't help the feeling that one or both of the agents were eyeing him from behind.

As the trio made their way up from the basement, Gusto fell into step next to Trixie. Another pang of sympathy shot through him at her stiff posture. "First body?" he asked quietly.

She shot him a very brief smile, though it was much thinner than before. "Trixie is fine."

"Is she, now?"

Trixie's step faltered for a moment. She took a deep breath. "Yes, I am."

"Hey, there's no shame in being grossed out. My first body? Heh, I blew my break—"

"I assure you, I can handle anything this case may throw at me." With that, she flicked her mane and stepped past him.

Gusto opened his mouth, but quickly shrugged it off as they exited the stairwell.

The Floor, as most MPD officers had come to call it, was a sea of controlled chaos. Rows of desks spanned the entire atrium, seated officers taking statements from citizens and filing out the seemingly endless piles of paperwork that followed.

As they made their way across the hall, the doors leading from the front desk area blew open. Chief Arturo stormed in, an army of reporters clamoring to follow being held back by a line of uniforms. Voices filtered in through the chaos.

"Chief Arturo, what about the reports of sexual assault?"

"Chief, you can't just run away from this! The ponies of this town have a right to know!"

"I heard this is related to the murders in Ponyville last year, Chief! Is that true?"

"How many more bodies have to be ripped up before you ponies listen to me?!"

"No further questions, dammit!" Arturo slammed the doors shut, silencing the mob, and a deep sigh escaped the fat griffon. "Scheißkerl! Ah, Vinny! Thank the Eryies for you. Please tell me you have something. These verdammt reporters are bleeding me dry!"

Gusto pushed past Bentgrass and Trixie. "Well, based on evidence from the scene, we now believe the killer might be a unicorn."

"Might be?" Arturo squawked. "Gusto, you mean to tell me—"

"More on that later, Chief. When were you planning on telling me about these two?!" He gestured back to the agents.

"Now, now, calm your feathers," the chief said, raising a claw. "This is not the place. Come, follow me to my office."

Gusto sighed, then turned back to Trixie. "All right, squad room is up those stairs"—he gestured with a wing to a stairwell across the hall—"to the right, first door on the left. Everything is already laid out. I'll be along..." Gusto blinked as he noticed Bentgrass not heading to the stairs, but towards the double doors leading back to the front desk. "Hey, where are you going?"

Bentgrass turned to look at him. "This direction, obviously."

"I just told you the squad room and interview rooms are upstairs. Why are you heading outside?"

"Hmm, let's say... following a new lead."

"But, don't you want to talk to the vic's mother?"

"No," Bentgrass said, shaking his head. "In my experience, grieving mothers are rarely a source of any useful information. Rest assured, Miss Lulamoon will assist you in any way you need."

"Um, okay, but what about getting caught up on the case first?"

Bentgrass waved a hoof dismissively. "I read the files on the train ride up here. Suffice to say, I am well versed on the minutia of this case."

"You had the file?" Trixie asked. "And you didn't think to share to with me?"

Bentgrass gave a low smile, one that Gusto felt was more than a little condescending. "You didn't ask." Apparently feeling no further explanation was needed, he turned once more. Right before he opened the doors, he stopped. "Oh, and Miss Lulamoon?"

Trixie cocked an ear, but said nothing.

Bentgrass looked at them over his shoulder. "Be sure to observe the Detective closely." His eyes moved to Gusto, and once more, the agent's mismatched gaze left him feeling exposed. "I get the feeling that he has many... interesting things to teach." Without another word, Bentgrass slipped through the doors and disappeared like a spirit into the swarm of reporters.

Trixie heaved a deep sigh and strode to the stairs.

Gusto just stared at the spot Bentgrass had occupied for several seconds before a talon tapped his haunches. "Vinny!"

Gusto jumped slightly at the contact. "Uh, y-yeah, Chief?" The fat griffon simply nodded back towards his office. "Oh, yeah. Coming." Gusto moved to follow Arturo, but spared one last glance at the double doors.

There's no way. He can't know.

The act of shutting the doors did little to quell the seething mass of reporters. Flash bulbs exploded, the sound lost under the roar of questions and shouts. The poor uniformed officers did their best to keep the crowd at bay, slowly pushing them away from the atrium and towards the main entrance. Eventually, the crowd began to disperse amid muttered curses and indignant huffs.

Bentgrass stood sentinel at the eye of the equine storm. His eyes were closed and he took slow, calming breaths as he focused. His ivory ears perked and twitched like the bat he had once resembled, searching for his quarry. Among the howling storm of questions, a single voice had stood out: a lone plea for attention, desperate to be heard. Coincidence, he knew, did not exist during a murder investigation.

"Jeez, how thick can you be?!"

His ear twitched, mismatched eyes snapping open. Bentgrass strode forward, dancing in between the slowly shrinking crowd with nimble grace.

The entrance lobby was a large hallway lit by cold fluorescent lights hanging above a highly polished faux-marble floor. A single row of chairs lined one side. The walls were adorned with placards and random fliers attached with tape, bearing whatever slogan the police department was using that week to try and bolster public opinion.

Smack in the center of the hallway was a heavy wooden desk formed into a horseshoe. Bentgrass gingerly slid along side it, taking in the scene: a rather burly earth pony mare with a burnt orange coat and a jarring red mane was fuming at the wizened old stallion behind the desk. She blew out a sharp breath to clear her oddly-coiffed mane out of her eyes.

"I'm telling you, I have evidence!" She said in a severe Manehatten accent.

The officer behind the desk rolled his eyes. "Look, lady, this is the third time this week, and the answer is the same. We're a little busy with real cases with real clues."

"Please, you wouldn't know a real clue if it bit you on your wrinkled old plot!"

"Real classy, lady," the officer chuffed.

The mare stamped her large hoof, causing the press badge hanging from her neck to twirl around. "I’m telling you, this guy is dirty! Ponies are dying—"

"Which is exactly why we don't have time for your half-baked conspiracy horseapples! What, you get turned down for a scholarship?"

The mare sputtered, then with a loud growl turned to walk away.

"Yeah, that's right," the officer said through a smirk. "Take a walk, thunder thighs."

The mare froze mid-step. Slowly, she turned back to level a smoldering gaze at him. "What did you just call me?" Before he could answer, she spun and charged for the desk, only to be snatched by two officers. "Hey, lemme go!"

"Get her outta here!" the old desk sergeant said.

"Get yer mitts offa me!" Her bulk twisted and writhed, but she could do little to stop them as the officers dragged her out the doors.

"Interesting," Bentgrass muttered, then moved to follow.

By the time he stepped out into the sweltering city heat, the two officers had already dragged the mare to the bottom of the steps. She thrashed once more as they roughly released her. "You're lucky," one of them said. "One more step, and you would be in the clink for assaulting an officer. You almost messed up big time."

The mare dusted herself off. "Yeah, I’d mess up your face, but ya mother already did it!”"

The cops just rolled their eyes and walked away, stepping back into the building, not even casting a glance to Bentgrass as he nimbly made his way to the retreating mare. She was already storming her way down the street, but his long limbs let him catch up quickly. "Excuse me, madam?"

She ignored him, continuing to stomp away.

Bentgrass tapped her gently on the shoulder. "Miss?"

The mare rounded on him. "What do ya..." Her annoyed glare fell to a look of shock as she locked eyes with him. "Whoa. Buddy, what's with the eye?"

Bentgrass arched the brow over his serpentine right eye. "Eye? What eye?"

She blinked, then shook her head. "Whatever. Who you supposed to be, the undertaker?"

"Not quite," he said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his badge. "Special Agent Bentgrass, RIS."

The mare gave a puzzled glance as she eyed the proffered badge. “Hey, I paid my taxes this year! A little late, but—”

“Division Six.”

After a few moments, the scrutinizing gaze fell from her eyes. “Holy smokes. I’ve heard’a you guys! You’re, like, secret police or something!”

“Or something,” Bentgrass said, tucking his badge back in his pocket.

“You’re here about the bodies, yeah?!” The mare was almost bouncing on her hooves as she spoke.

"Indeed. I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with the desk sergeant."

"Yeah, I been trying to get somepony to listen, but the eclair-to-crap factory in there won't even let me past the front desk," she spat. "Don't wanna upset the apple cart and risk the money flow."

"Hmm," Bentgrass said with a slow nod. "Well, if you do actually have some insight into this case, I'd very much like to listen to you, Miss..."

The mare blew out a sharp breath, dislodging a few strands of her mane from in front of her face. "Barbara Seed, Manehatten Post, and I know who's behind these killings."

Prologue: Bury Me An Angel

Eye of the Beholder

by

Jake The Army Guy

Prologue: Bury Me An Angel

Pipe Wrench was not a happy stallion.

It was bad enough that he was being forced to work on what was supposed to be his day off—betting a work shift on the New Yoke Nickers winning the biggest game of the year had turned out to be a mistake—but Star Breaker had decided the shift he'd have to take was a Monday morning. This meant that the imposing mountain of trash bags that sat in a jumbled pile at the mouth of a nondescript alley had had all weekend to ferment. For not the first time since he started working for the Manehatten Sanitation Commission, Pipe cursed being an earth pony as he hefted another bag of rancid waste into the giant rusted bin that sat on the street just beside the alley. The plastic mouth liner he wore mercifully spared him from tasting it, but it had the unfortunate side effect of forcing him to breathe through his nose, inhaling the full force of moldy cheese and stale hay fries.

Gripping a nearly overflowing bag, he jerked his neck to the side and launched the bag into the barge. As the bag left his mouth, the side ripped open, loosing a wave of blackish fluid across his foreleg. He gagged and wiped it against his denim work overalls, grimacing in disgust. “Jeez! Somepony want to remind me why the guy with opposable thumbs is pulling the cart while I’m back here picking up diaper bags with my mouth?!”

From the front end of the rusted barge, a beefy minotaur adjusted the yoke around his neck. “If you think you can pull the barge, you’re more than welcome to try.” He flexed his massive arms, grinning down at the chain that connected him to the cart.

Pipe blinked at the chain—it looked to be thicker than his neck—before scowling and hopping back onto the platform. The cart wobbled under his weight, which was admittedly nothing next to the mounds of garbage inside. “Eh, your mother.”

“Hey, it could be worse.” Another large earth pony jumped onto a platform on the opposite side of the barge, wiping the perspiration from his thick brow.

“Oh, do tell, Mick.”

Mick grinned. “You could have just thrown away your last clean mouth liner.”

“What do—” Pipe looked down, the empty satchel hanging from his neck mocking him. “Oh, Discord rut me sideways...”

Mick guffawed, tossing a few plastic liners to him. “Watch it, now. They say he can hear you. If he’s bored with whatever the Princesses have him doing, who’s to say he wouldn’t take you up on that?”

Pipe tucked the liners away. “Hey, as long as it got me off this shift... and he told me he loved me!”

“Ugh, keep your sick mind to yourself, kid.” With that, Mick gripped the railing next to him and kicked the side of the cart with his rear hoof. “Alright, Lunk, move it out!”

The minotaur snorted and surged forward, thick steam erupting from his pierced nose even in the muggy heat of early morning. Pipe flinched as the wheels, rusted from Celestia-knew-how-many decades of muggy Manehatten summers, squealed as they began to turn. After a few more grunts from Lunk, the barge began to swim through the sticky blanket of summer air that choked the deserted Manehatten street. Pipe Wrench hoped that the movement would drive away the worst of the stench from the cart, but experience told him to breath through his mouth; the cloistering air seemed to trap the smell, smothering them like a blanket of dirty diapers and spoiled milk.

The suburbs just outside downtown Manehatten were nowhere near as posh as the high-rises and townhomes of the inner-city, but it was still a cozy neighborhood, and far above Pipe’s meager earnings; the Manehatten Sanitation Commission paid a surprisingly decent wage, but not near enough to move out of his downtown bachelor pad. The street was illuminated by street lamps, not the old firefly models, but the newer, fancier—and much more expensive, Pipe noted—thaumatically powered ones which bathed the garbage cart in a warm orange light. Classically designed brownstones sat in tightly packed rows along the quiet street, separated only occasionally by alleys, which Pipe and Mick watched intently.

As the cart rumbled down the road, punctuated by intermittent grunts from Lunk, Pipe kept his eye on the passing alleys, checking if the painted areas designated for garbage collection had anything inside. “Clear left.”

“Clear right.” Mick smirked knowingly at him from his perch on the other side of the cart. “So, Pipe, did you see the game last week?” A loud rumble of bullish, braying laughter came from the front of the front of the rusted barge.

“Ah, shut your mouth. Clear left.”

“Hehehe, clear right! How many times I gotta tell you? Never bet on a Nickers game with Star Breaker! His cousin works for the team. He knows when they are on it," he said, leering, "and when they're gonna suck like an Appaloosan wh—”

“Hold left,” Pipe shouted over the rumble of the wheels and Mick's disturbing metaphor. Up front, Lunk grasped the brake lever, bracing against the ground and bringing the cart to a squeaking halt. Pipe jumped off and made for the mercifully small pile of garbage bags in the marked-off area. He managed to grab two in his mouth and three in his hoof, all of which quickly ended up back in the garbage cart. "All right," he said, hopping back up onto his post. "Let's move out."

They continued in silence for a good while, only speaking to call out clear or dirty alleys. Eventually, the nice brownstones petered out, giving way to smaller, more efficient homes. They were leaving the suburbs and entering the sprawl: the area relegated to lower-income homes. Here, the population was much more varied than in the upper-class areas. Creatures from all walks of life flocked here to be a part of the great Equestrian society. Pipe wondered how many of them actually found it.

As the cart rumbled back to motion, Pipe turned back to Mick. “Okay, so apparently everypony and their mother knows why I took this crummy shift, but why are you two here?”

“Taurian government requires five hundred hours of community service, to ‘prove my loyalty to the new nation’ before they will approve transfer of citizenship,” came the strained voice from the front. “This shift counts as double hours.”

“Jeez, Lunk, the government forces you to work? Clear right.”

Lunk turned his head to face Mick. “Why do you think I’m emigrating?”

Pipe shook his head. “Clear left. Sometimes I forget how much the rest of the world sucks.” He turned back to Mick. “You?”

“Clear right. Rebuilding the nestegg.”

Pipe gripped the support strut a bit tighter as the cart hit a pothole, the rusted suspension letting out a sharp crack of protest. “What, still? I thought they caught that scumbag!”

“They couldn’t convict him. Lack of evidence, they said. Hold right.” Mick hopped off the cart and began hefting trash bags.

Pipe hopped over and began helping with the large pile of bags. "Oh, what bull!" A rumbling cough came from behind him. “Eh-heh... no offense, Lunk.” He gripped a bag in his mouth, carrying it back to the bin. “So, how much did that mook make off with?”

Mick tossed the last bag with a loud grunt, jumped on his platform and banged the side. “Ten thousand bits. The baby’s entire college fund,” he said as the cart moved on.

“I... nrgh... I told you it was a bad investment.”

Mick craned his head to glare at Lunk. “He gave me four references! How was I supposed to know they was all in on it? Clear right.”

“So, this guy makes off with ten large, scot free, and you’re working the graveyard shift to put food on the table?”

“Apparently not! So get this: the cop working the case comes to see me yesterday. A real nice guy, clean cut, always gave me respect, you know? Well, thi—”

“Hold left.” The barge once more screeched to a halt and both ponies hopped off to tackle the large pile of bags.

“Anyway,” Mick says, several bags in his hoof, “he came round yesterday to get me to sign the last of the paperwork, and he mentions that the guy is out on the street without a bit to his name!”

Pipe threw the last bag in the bin and climbed back up, banging his hoof. “Good, Lunk!” He turned back to Mick. “What happened?”

“Apparently where the system failed, karma stepped in. Last week, that scamming piece of crap’s house burned down!”

“Ha! Oh, that’s rich!”

“Clear right. That’s not all. Apparently, not two days before that, the shady insurance company that covered the guy got bought out by some big corporation of something, and got shut down!”

“Get outta town.”

“Heh heh, nope! The poor bastard’s out on his flank without a penny to his name! The Parents work in mysterious ways, eh?”

They approached an alley between two large apartment buildings. Pipe peered in; the lantern above the collection point was out, but it looked to be empty. “Clear left. Yeah, I gu—” Just as he looked away, the lantern sputtered to life. “Wait, wait, stop!”

Both Lunk and the ancient vehicle protested loudly at the sudden stop. “Come on, Pipe, this thing don’t exactly stop on a dime!”

Pipe ignored him, stepping down from the platform and walking towards the lone piece of trash. “Hold up, Mick, it’s just some tarp or somethin', I got it.”

“Well, then hurry up. We got another fifteen blocks to cover before we can turn in, and I’d like to get home before the kids leave for school.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The confined alley channeled the wind into a cooling breeze that washed over Pipe’s face. Quickly, though, a grimace flash across his face, the breeze carrying with it a pungent stench. Pipe grimaced and reluctantly turned his nose into the breeze, trying to place the new smell, far different from the rotted food and used diapers of the rest of the morning: a coppery, metallic scent, one that didn't quite sting, but was still vaguely unsettling. Pipe examined the bag more closely. It turned out not to be a bag at all; instead, it was a plastic tarp, just a bit smaller than him, wrapped up several times so that whatever was inside remained unseen. Pipe gulped and shuffled on his hooves a bit.

“Hey, hurry up, would ya!”

Mick’s voice snapped him back to reality. Shaking his head, he slowly approached the tarp. Once in reach, his hoof stepped in something wet. He jerked back, lifting his hoof to his face. His pupils shrunk to pinpricks. “Ah, jeez! Mick, this is blood!”

“What?”

“Blood! There’s blood in here!”

“Oh, quit being such a scaredy-pony! It’s probably some dog got hit by a cart and crawled in there to die! Just use your hoof instead of your mouth and hurry up!”

Gulping, Pipe nodded and slowly turned back to the tarp before him. Even this close, he couldn’t see what was inside, the plastic reflecting the harsh orange light from the lamp. Gingerly, he reached out and grabbed an exposed corner and pulled. The tarp refused to budge. He pulled again, slightly harder this time. it felt like there was something sticking it to the ground. Gritting his teeth, he yanked with all his might.

The tarp finally moved, but as soon as he tugged, his back hoof found the forgotten puddle of blood. With a loud yell, Pipe fell backwards, the tarp coming with him, unfurling and landing on top of him. He hit the ground an instant before a loud, wet slap sounded from in front of him.

Panicking, he wrestled with the sheet of plastic, desperately denying that the wet substance that was soaking him was not the same as what he’d tripped in. Finally, he managed to fight his way out of the tarp, throwing it aside and taking a deep gulp of air. He opened his eyes and shrieked as he came face to face with a unicorn mare: ivory fur covered in bruises and cuts; fiery red mane in tatters; tongue hanging limply out of her bloody mouth.

“Hey, Pipe, you alright?”

Pipe scampered back, hooves slipping in the slowly growing puddle of blood. "Oh, goddess, oh, Princesses." The cool slickness soaked through his coveralls. "Aw fewwmets, ah goddess..."

"Pipe! You alright, kid?"

Mick's voice came from the mouth of the alley, but Pipe couldn't turn to him, unable to take his eyes off that face, that lolling tongue, and those eyes; or rather, the gaping, ragged holes where her eyes should have been. “M—M—Mick! Mick! This ain’t no dog!”