A detective, fighting for the truth, found his enemies much more determined than he imagined. The detective was ambushed, broken, bloodied and buried alive. Left to rot and be forgotten.

The detective fought and fought for his life in that deep darkness. He would not dare give up until that last breath. But it never came. The earth moved and the coffin was ripped open. When the detective stood he found himself far and away from the city he was buried under, from the Earth he was covered by.

Magic, Harmony, Friendship, Love, Ponies... everything was so different, but he was alive. As long as he was alive there was still truth to fight for. All that other stuff would sort itself out, right?