The stars far above the calm waters provided an excellent display on the ocean itself, with the moon shedding plenty of light atop the lone vessel as it slowly moved toward Equestria. Almata Apple sighed softly, resting her head in her hooves, lulled to slumber by the twinkling lights in the sky. Her human kept a silent vigil, watching her chest rise and fall rhythmically, her lungs pumped full of oxygen to keep her heart beating.

It was amazing how organs relied on one another. The skin protected the innards from everyday harm and microscopic irritants, but the lungs could introduce any infectant directly to the bloodstream. Should the heart fail, the lungs fail, and everything else does as well. Should the lungs fail, the heart fails, and the same would occur. If any vital part of the body ceased function, there was no back up, no recovery– at least not without advanced medical treatment.

Were these equines and bird creatures the same?

This is what the human wondered as it proposed slicing the sleeping pony open and inspecting her innards to satisfy his curiosity. He could cut her open and keep her alive. He had practice doing so back where he came from. The human stopped watching the pony sleep and gazed down at the waters that so clearly reflected the night sky.

You could hardly tell the difference between the two.

In a way, one could say that he and the water was the same. He appeared as the other mindless beasts did, but he was another beast entirely. The sky was empty and free and easy to navigate: the Equestrian human.

The sea, however, was dark and deep and heavy, filled to the brim with all manner of vicious predators and terrifying behemoths: the murderous interloper. The sky and the sea, freedom and restriction, life and death. The human connected with the waters, he too enjoyed dragging others down into the murky depths and squeezing the life from them. So many times, so many…

The human shook his head, he was getting lost in thought again. His mind kept jumping to subjects to keep him distracted from the frightful scenario he had found himself in. He was clearly on another world, if not another plane entirely. He had killed five creatures of fantasy in less than a week; same soup, different bowl.

The other humans he found himself among seemed to be nothing more than simple beasts without morality or a modicum of intelligence. At least they knew how to be afraid and silent. Any large commotion by the animals in that tent and he would most likely have been found out. Though when he was leaving he did see a swarm of armored bird creatures milling about the building where he had ended his fifth and sixth victims. Or was it thirty-second and thirty third?

The human looked down at the wooden slats beneath his feet, his face still while he thought. Would he need to begin his body count anew? Did whatever he kill back home carry over? Seeing as this was a very worrisome and serious issue, the human decided to spend the rest of the night pondering the topic.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Serin’s fist dislodged from the wall, bits of eroding brick falling onto her chest feathers and accumulating on the street. Her rage numbed her pain, and she began to swear explosively. The human had gotten away, and there was no way to stop it now. Equestria was outside of Serin’s jurisdiction, and with the description she got of his new owner, she was definitely from the West. “Shit!”

Serin’s senses slowly began to trickle back to her, allowing her to feel the aching, dull pain that her claw had become. “Ow, ow, ow…” Blood dripped from her knuckles, and she became calm as she watched it patter onto the cobble. “The human got away, but there has to be something I can do– some strings I can pull– to get across and into Equestria.”

“Miss, are you alright?” The voice attracted the irritated griffoness’ attention, and she solemnly nodded. “You’re bleeding, Miss.”

Serin didn’t look up, she only stared at the mentioned blood. The human had only been free in Parthona for two days, two measly days, and she was dealing with two more dead griffons. Well, murdered is the more accurate word. A few of her coworkers shuffled in beside her.

Caleb wrapped a wing around Serin, pulling her in for a comforting embrace. “She’s alright, sir, thank you,” he said, shooing away the concerned onlooker. The scene just around the corner had been completely sectioned off, shutting down the bidding, much to the ire of the buyers and sellers.

“This is a complete shit-show,” muttered Cricios as he all but stomped his way over to the wall that Caleb and Serin were now leaning against. Taking a glance at the good-sized chunk of the wall that had been pulverized, Cricios seemed to deflate. “You beat me to it, kid.” He then retrieved a pipe from his satchel and stuck it in his beak before lighting a match and taking a few deep puffs.

The three were quiet, with Serin continuing to watch her blood fall to the ground, Caleb stroked Serin’s head feathers slowly, and Cricios grumpily inhaled the foul smoke from his pipe. With a grunt that almost sounded like a pained one, Cricios looked over to Serin and muttered, “I believe you.”

Almata woke in darkness. Not a darkness where she couldn’t see her own two hooves in front of her face, but a shaded, comfortable darkness. She blinked and pushed herself up, noticing the sun rising in the sky. It must have almost been noon, and so she looked for her human. She didn’t have to look very far at all, as he had positioned himself facing her, his hunched form still towering over her to protect her from the sun’s rays.

Surprise turned to appreciation, and she fished a treat from her bag. “Good boy,” she said, and threw him a chunk of dried faux-meat, which he caught in a deft movement, his left hand shooting out from under his new cloak to snatch it. Examining it for a bit, he nibbled a piece off and rolled it around in his mouth before blinking once and swallowing.

Almata smiled and closed her saddle bag, then stood on all fours to get a bite to eat herself from the boat’s small stock of jarred foods. The human watched her go, but didn’t follow, as if it knew that she’d rather move on her own without being followed. Instead it turned its attention back to the treat, analyzing it carefully as Almata moved further down the boat, toward the cabin proper.

The treat tasted disgusting, and so he hadn’t smiled, thinking it might get the point across that he thought ill of the “reward”. The human hadn’t realized until after he had gotten the treat that he had actually aided this pony, earning him favor in her eyes. He had only been watching her sleep to see if she woke easily to the movement of the boat, proximity to predators, or especially loud noises.

The equine was an especially heavy sleeper.

It did raise the question of why she seemed to take his look as one of thanks or happiness. Is it possible that the humans on this forsaken rock didn’t smile? It could be feasible, the human had never seen a cat or dog smile either. He had also never seen any of the other humans smile, though what was there to smile about? Either they were being sold or butchered or kept in cages. That or he was killing them or making them watch him killing them.

So the human decided not to smile, not ever, in order to avoid having his cover blown as long as he was on this boat. Until he examined more of the humans, he would keep as low as a profile as possible to avoid upsetting any of this equine’s people. Too much attention destroys the illusion, and then he’d be finished among them.

Looking down at the treat in his hand, the human briefly glanced at the tail of the equine disappearing around a corner before he tossed the nasty hunk of shit overboard.

“Well, look who decided to finally wake up,” spoke an aging griffon from a raised platform within the cabin. A long, horizontal opening allowed the old griffon to see outside of the room, with smaller separate holes punched into the sides along the same level as his head. This must have allowed him to see properly in all directions when necessary while staying indoors, sheltered from whatever wind and rain may come.

Almata smiled with a flush to her face, moving to pick out an apple from a bowl the griffon had put out. It was only her and the griffon aboard the boat, with calm waters and sunny skies there wasn’t much to talk about. The quiet of the cabin was broken by the crashing sounds of the sea against the boat as it sailed onwards toward Equestria.

“You give him a name yet, Miss?” spoke the old griffon. The question was welcome, anything to break the silence of before. Almata pondered the query, sorting through popular names, though none seemed to fit well.

“Can’t say I have, Mister– uh, what was your name again?”

The old griffon laughed and looked back at her, smiling genially. “I never did tell ya, did I? My mistake. Name’s Jakobis, pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Jakobis went back to staring out at the ocean, focusing on sailing true. The human sat with its back to the griffon, staring out and ahead into the waters. “…and speaking of names, what’d you saddle your new human with?”

“I haven’t actually come up with a name yet…” Almata admitted abashedly, not mentioning the fact that he’d asked her the same question twice. Must be the age. She then perked up and smiled at Jakobis. “Would you happen to know any old Griffonian names that I could use for my human?”

Jakobis smiled and nodded. “I could think of a few, sure. Just lemme get my thoughts together, mind ain’t what it used to be these days, hehe. Ain’t as fast as I used to be.”

“What are you talking about Cricios? You actually buy into that crackpot theory that Serin cooked up?” Caleb glanced with concern at the middle-aged griffon’s pipe. “You stuffing anything illegal in there, lately?”

“Like I told you, my grandfather always ranted and raved about how he once met a smart human,” Cricios argued, inhaling deeply with the pipe caught in the corner of his beak. Small scratches along the mouthpiece were evidence of his smoking due to stress.

“When someone is ranting and raving, it usually means they’re off their perch.”

“Not Chryses either?”

Almata shook her head. “He’s not exactly dark-skinned, is he?” Almata had spent at least forty minutes with the sailor, struggling to find a name for her new human. She checked on him, and he was still staring out to sea, quietly staying in place without a care in the world.

“Pollux,” said the old griffon with some tone of finality. “Means ‘very sweet’ in today’s tongues. From what I’ve heard from you, he’s just a bundle o’ joy, isn’t he?” Jakobis looked outside at the human, who was currently examining something in his grip, though the old griffon’s eyes couldn’t pick out what it was. Probably a dead mouse or something.

“Pollux,” Almata mimicked, rolling the word around on her tongue. “I like it, sounds strong.” She beamed at Jakobis, and he gave a smile back.

“Well, dear, you’re welcome. At least you weren’t stuck with one of them generic names like ‘Maximilian’ or somethin’. Some ponies have no sense of namin’.” Jakobis shook his head and looked out towards the sea once more, keeping an eye out for any rogue waves as the small boat made its way to Equestria.

The human fiddled with the key gripped in his hands, turning it over and over again, wiping the last traces of stomach fluid from it. He ignored the taste of bile in his mouth, thinking over the thing he killed to get this key.

His first trophy, a remembrance of the first city he had found himself in when coming to in this new world. The human smiled to himself, fondly running a finger down the length of the key. It was fitting that the griffon he killed was his favorite in the city. The others were easy, except for that one pain in the ass that struggled too much. No. This one struggled just enough, but gave in to the fear.

A dry chuckle escaped the human’s throat. The griffon had wet itself, too. But after that, his eyes had gone hollow, releasing the fear and the confusion and the pain, release through a silent and panicked death.

He enjoyed that.

“Hey.”

The human calmly squirreled the key in his cloak and turned to regard his owner. She smiled down at him softly, and then tapped his chest with a hoof. “Pollux.” She repeated the gesture and tapped his chest twice. “Pollux.”

His name? Pollux?

That was funny.

“We’ll be making landfall soon, just a few more hours on the open sea.” The pony looked out at the waters and smiled. “Just a few days in Manehatten, then a quick stop in Hollow Shades, next to Fillydelphia, then we’ll meet my brother in Baltimare, and finally we’ll be home in Dodge City!”

This one gave away too much; always talking, even though she assumed that her ‘pet’ couldn’t understand her words. What was the point in talking to something that didn’t have the capacity to process and act upon your words? Well, he wasn’t complaining, the more information the better. Chatter away. Granted, he didn’t know exactly where those places were, but judging by the names of a few of them, he could tell that at least two were metropolises.

Four stops before she settled down, that was more than enough time to hang her by her own guts and make a getaway. This was especially true if such movement required long stretches of plodding through the countryside, though Pollux still had no clue about this equine’s country.

Sit and wait, just a little bit longer and he’d be able to begin formulating a plan. Seeing a monolithic green pony hoisting a torch in the distance, however, made Pollux’s eyes bulge in a silent shout.

Caleb rubbed at his jaw while Cricios and Serin toiled at the desk before them. Cricios had invited them back to his own apartment, where several boxes of newspaper clippings, photos, and scribbled notes from his grandfather were kept in a closet. His invitation had come shortly after his haymaker rattled Caleb’s beak a quarter-inch to the right.

“My grandfather, Toland, always talked about how some humans were different. The way they’d look at some things, act toward some griffons, or react to how they were treated. Some stood too straight or stared at things too keenly. Unexplained occurrences and pranks being pulled on nasty folk.” Cricios stared hard at one of the photographs Caleb had taken of the first scene. “Unsolved murders, too.”

Cricios reached past Serin and plucked a yellowed and aging folder from a box on her left, opening it and pulling out a mishmash of evidence in the form of photos, crumpled notes, and very official-looking documents. “This one here.” Cricios slid a photo out from the small pile.

Serin watched in morbid fascination at the mangled body surrounded by chunks of its own flesh and bone. “Body was so badly destroyed that the department at Lohkgrove brought in a unicorn to determine cause of death. Unicorn practically ran out of breath while she listed ‘em: blunt force trauma, exsanguination, strangulation, evisceration, immolation, and shock. She told ‘em to take their pick. The ruination of the body came after, so it was safe to say that the perpetrator intentionally defiled the corpse.”

“And every culture around the world considers it taboo to desecrate, disturb, or otherwise offend the dead. Not only that, but look at this.” Cricios slid over another photo. “Tools, weapons, and the like. Everywhere. Either a griffon or pony took great care not to do it the old-fashioned way, or something else–without natural weapons–had a great, long go at this poor bastard.”

Serin stared at the photos, then looked directly at the older griffon. “Cricios, you told me that your grandfather once met a smart human. Is that true?” Her question caused the griffon to tighten his jaw.

“Yes. It wasn’t pleasant. Knocked him around, got away, then he never stopped shouting about the human. Pretty sure that overgrown monkey punched a couple of screws loose in his head. Doctors gave ‘im somethin’ to take every morning and told him that salty air was good for him.” Cricios already had his pipe lodged in his beak and began puffing in earnest. “He always dedicated himself to things, and he always believed in doctors too.”

Cricios let out a large puff of pungent smoke.

“Reason he became a sailor in the first place.”

“There it is! The city that never sleeps: Manehatten!”

Pollux, sitting behind the exuberant mare, narrowed his eyes at the pun. Manehatten? This world was ridiculous, preposterous, and quickly becoming dull. He had been in the Empire City once or twice, killed a couple, a photographer, a homeless woman, and a well-dressed business type while enjoying the nightlife there.

Although, the peering eyes didn’t help much at all. Someone had definitely spotted him at the scene of the businessman, and law enforcement in New York moved fast. The City wasn’t altogether unpleasant, but a sour taste still remained when the police had caught scent of his trail.

Pollux wasn’t a fan of chases, to say the least.

Now, once again, the human found himself in a restless city teeming with eyes and mouths. His hunting grounds were not to his liking, but he’d have to put up with the unfortunate circumstances. The boat was now about three miles from the city, and Pollux began to correlate his findings on humans here and adapt his thinking to suit them instead.

Humans in this fantasy land weren’t intelligent, never smiled, were generally obedient, and sometimes were consumed for food. If this ‘Manehatten’ was populated by the same equinoid creatures as his new ‘owner’, then chances of Pollux being on the menu were reduced.

And if he was at the top of the food chain…

The human allowed himself a small, toothy smile.

Author's Note

There's an intentional lull in Serin's conversation with Cricios and Caleb. Next chapter will pick up, I promise. Expect water, psychological manipulation, and–of course–murder.