The heavy, blood-soaked cover of a murderer hung over the frame of a sinister doorway, its arms spread and welcoming to Matthew Bedlam. Mister Bedlam felt a hole open up in the bottom of his gut, an awful sinking feeling eating up the last dregs of his fiery will to corner the psycho in the junk mask. That all-consuming feeling grew ever larger as Matthew’s eyes were drawn within the room, the door opened wide to the dim room with the single flickering glow coming from an unseen corner within.

The foreboding cloak composed of faux-fur, rags, and discarded, moth-eaten cloth lacked the center-piece that Bedlam had become extremely, uncomfortably familiar with: the concealing, terrifying mash of plastic, glass, and raggedy junk. A twisted face of terror that so many citizens over the past three days had reported every night. Piercing, reflective shards of glass and burnt, warped plastic resembling the hungering eyes of a nocturnal predator out for a midnight meal.

Plugging up the singularity in his stomach, Bedlam sucked down the last half-inch of his crumpled cigarette, let it fall onto the stained carpeting of the downtown hotel, and stamped it out with a scuffed, worn dress shoe. A trio of officers stood behind Matthew, and a lone investigator waited for him just outside of the scene. Giving a nod to the other man, Bedlam moved inside with his phone drawn and lit, illuminating the grisly creation of a man with bile in his veins and ash in place of a soul.

Nothing was recognizable, only crimson fluid and mashed, fleshy paste layered the bed, floor, and walls. Strips of skin stuck to the windows and television muted any light that would have shone through. The strobing light of the television passed through the opaque veil that was the stolen dermis, re-runs of a family sitcom running from a faulty VCR.

The investigators held their screams and their dinners, not wanting to attract any undue attention to the scene. Clothes of the victims were entwined within the savage butchery, the monster not even pausing to strip them. There was no motive, no agenda, no ritual.

It was him alright.

“Jesus fucking Christ…”

The expletive drew Bedlam’s attention, and he turned to the other man whose name he did not yet know. The man shone his small flashlight at the headboard of the bed. Matthew could not see the man’s eyes, but the beam of light he directed shook steadily. Bedlam followed the unsteady shaft of illumination, drawing up his will to move his field of vision toward the terminus of the other man’s duress.

Matthew Bedlam froze, his eyes held by the macabre shrine of gore directed toward him and all those dedicated to catching the orchestrator of this three-day slaughter.

A small body–relieved of limbs and head–with a cavity where its chest used to be, replaced with mulched gray matter and the eyes and tongues of three victims, sat propped up against the bloodied headboard. Bedlam’s gaze, however, was drawn to the cloth, glass, and plastic hood draped atop the stump of the child’s neck.

The mask of the Eight-State Simon, a mishmash of sewn-together cloth, with shards of glass taped and wired around it in a crown of jagged savagery. Buckled plastic burnt by open flame and molded into an obtuse mockery of a human face stared back at the broken men.

Bedlam’s hands shook, and lifting a cigarette to his mouth, he began his investigation in earnest. All the while, a figure gazed from across a darkened building, sitting still and silent, his head pressed against the glass as he watched the detectives mill slowly around the room.

Hopefully something exciting would occur.

“Cricios… this is…” Serin scanned over the documents spread over the entire surface of the dining table in her peer’s home. Several filed reports, numerous photographic clues, and most importantly of all: Grandfather Jakobis’ story. If he was mad, he’d already be admitted, though the prescription drugs and doctor’s orders severely crippled the griffon’s credibility.

“Damning. Fucking right it is,” Cricios muttered through the pipe in his beak. The older griffon let a small plume of smoke trail from his nostrils before speaking again. “Problem is: it’s batshit insane no matter how you spin it. Even with eyewitness testimony and pictures, it’s completely unbelievable and impossible in every way.”

“Those are clearly human handprints, as well as three witnesses to the assault stating that they saw a human escaping with what looked like a smile on its face. The human evaded capture for twenty years before being apprehended and put down… Though it should’ve been dead at that point long ago.” Serin nodded once and pushed the documents away. “I’ve decided on it, then. I’m going to track down this earth pony and bring her human in. There’s no way around it.”

“You’ll need an excuse to leave the country, though,” said Caleb from a chair. He had curled up and fallen asleep long ago, tiring from the other duo’s silent shuffling about the table. “Can’t just say that you’re gonna hunt down a murderous human or whatever and be gone to Equestria on official police business. You’d look like you fell outta the nest.”

Cricios grunted. “He’s right. Got anything to cover you?”

“I’ve got something in mind,” Serin smiled, her plan already concocting as she set about scribbling down a letter to her psychiatrist.”Something that’ll get me out of the country and give me some free time to hunt the bastard down, free of restriction and charge.”

A port city, just perfect. More traffic, noise, and a supposedly livelier nightlife than the norm. This place was looking to be just the cesspool of violence and annoyance that Pollux had remembered. He had learned from his mistakes, tied up any loose ends, and dropped the rest of his problems into the Hutch.

His pony owner was leading him about, casually asking anyone on the street if they knew of a hotel that permitted humans. Most ignored her, as Pollux expected, but some actually took the time to tell her to piss off. Sometimes it was very difficult not to smile.

Three hours of wandering finally paid off in the form of a swanky, hoity-toity hotel. Pollux listened intently while he stared up and at the many chandeliers, remembering for a moment a small creature comfort from a place long past.

“Can I go and check up on him if I need to?” the pony asked another behind the hotel concierge desk. Concern and distrust were obvious on the equine’s face, even to Pollux. “I really don’t like the idea of a separate building for my human.”

“Look, Miss, he’ll be just fine. We have security and everything. Plus, the main complex is connected to the kennels, so you’re just a few doors and a hallway away at any time. There’s a courtyard for the humans to get some fresh air as well, if you’d like to take him out for a quick walk behind the building.”

Security, a connecting building, and cages. Locks would be likely, probably padlocks to ensure the safety of this world’s humans. This would be no trouble at all for Pollux, he was sure; he had been in much worse scenarios before this.

Then he saw a trio of suitcases levitate in an aura of gold emanating from a small unicorn. The minuscule horned equine set the suitcases upon a cart loaded with many other pieces of luggage and lit his horn again, pushing the weighty cart away from Pollux’s sight.

These ponies might be more of a hassle than he expected…

Sounded like fun.

“Psychological Therapy?”

“Yes sir, a short excursion away from home. I have to be honest, sir, the murders… they’re… weighing heavily.” Serin sucked in a large breath and exhaled it. “I can’t get them out of my head. No one on my team has ever seen anything like what we have these past few days, and personally I don’t think I can handle it.”

Her superior eyed her as she began to shed a few tears. “I lay down at night and all I can think of is that cub. No living creature deserves that, much less a child, for Faust’s sake! What kind of sick, psychopathic bastard does a thing like this?” She blinked through the tears, her talons clenched in rage. “Nothing makes sense! The evidence is all over the place, the motives are hollow! There’s no pattern! No reason! This twisted fuck just does it! Like it’s instinct…”

“That’s exactly it, Serin. Whoever did this is a monster through and through. Only a true monster would have the natural inclination to commit deeds like those. It’s senseless slaughter just for the kicks, it would seem.” Greaves sighed, facing the window with his back to Serin. “As much as I wanted you working this case from here, I agree with your decision.”

Turning around, the Lieutenant pulled out a form from his desk drawer and began to fill out several boxes with his quill. Blowing on it briefly to dry the ink, he pushed it over to Serin’s side of the desk and passed the quill to her. “Take some time, relax. You’ve got a week of leave. Can you think of any ways to spend it?”

Serin hid a grin as she finished the forms. “I had a spot in mind…”

“Okay boy, I’m headed off to bed, but don’t worry, okay? The nice ponies here will take good care of you!” Almata slipped Pollux another treat, which he crushed in his grip when she turned to leave. He turned his attention to the cage he was currently being kept in.

Spacious, moderately comfortable, with very low-tech security. Flimsy chains held a bolt in place. Pulling the rusted links apart and throttling the security would be simple, but he had to be clever about his escape. He needed any and all of the small equines in the immediate vicinity of the building alive, conscious, and none-the-wiser.

The sun had begun to set outside, coloring the sky a gorgeous array of purples and orange, though how this world gained such a beautiful sunset without air pollution was beyond Pollux’s understanding and concern. He waited patiently for the sun to fall behind the horizon, which occurred at a faster rate than he was expecting. Pollux smiled; anything to make this go easier would do.

Now with only the dim light of the moon, Pollux could begin to analyze the guards’ reactions to sound. Pinching one of the larger crumbs of the treat in his fingers, he tossed it outside his cage to hit a metal cup sitting on a desk.

One of the three guards, the one closest to the desk, had a subtle twitch of the ears, but no reaction. The way the room was built would be difficult to work with if the guards could hear that well. A complication.

The cages stayed in the center, kept apart by thin metal partitions along the sides and tops and furnished with a thick layer of straw for comfort. Blankets and pillows were also provided, astonishingly. For being pets, humans were treated incredibly well. This could be used to Pollux’s advantage as well.

He stuffed a good portion of the straw covering his cage underneath a blanket, redistributing the rest to cover any exposed floor. Then he began to shape his construct carefully, keeping an ear out for any of the small equines. They were so easy to hear coming, as hooves weren’t exactly the ideal for subtlety.

Now, the deceptively simple lock posed a threat to the human’s plan. While breaking the chain and sliding the bolt would be a quick and neat solution, it would draw attention, especially if the equines could hear so well.

He needed a distraction. Something that would make a lot of noise. The sides and tops of the cages were covered, but the backs weren’t. Turning around, Pollux saw a sleeping human girl. Growing a predatory grin, he moved quietly and quickly to his cage’s back and began to push the thin bars apart, just enough for his arms to fit through. Trying to squeeze his body through would have been impossible, much to his annoyance.

He slowly pushed the bars until he could finally reach through to the girl. She slept on her back, with her chest rising and falling as she slept in peace. Dark brown hair cascaded around her round, soft face. A face which was soon gripped by the hands of another human.

She woke with a start, but couldn’t scream. Not yet.

She thrashed wildly, but the straw beneath her and the size of the cage prevented her from being able to strike any resonating material. Her arms were too short to reach the back of her cage, and so Pollux was in no danger. Until she began to claw at his arm.

Enough toying. Pollux began to dig his middle and ring fingers into the girl’s eyes, slowly pushing down with immense force as her nails began to tear into his skin. She began to scream as blood came from her sockets, Pollux’s left arm retreating into his cage before his right followed, his fingers and palm soaked with blood. He quickly bent the bars back into their approximate positions, then shoved his bloodied hand into the straw.

The guards came running to the girl’s cage as she wildly slammed against the sides and top, clutching her face. Muffled screams of pain erupted from behind her hands, as well as a steady leaking of blood. Pollux’s back hit the front of his cage, his face mimicking that of the human he had buried under the tent equipment.

While the guards carefully unlocked the girl’s cage and struggled to restrain her, Pollux’s hand worked behind him, pulling at the chain and successfully tearing the weak links apart. He dropped them into the straw and covered them up, keeping his terrified act going successfully.

“What’s wrong with the bitch?” shouted one guard, wrapping his hooves around her midsection. The others scrambled to restrain her legs and arms as they whipped about wildly, desperately trying to maim the threat she couldn’t see.

“By Faust, it looks like she clawed her own eyes out! We need to get her restrained and drugged. Help me take her to a bathroom, and bring a First Aid kit!”

Pollux watched the equines slowly haul the thrashing girl away, her bangs stained to a shiny black by her blood. With all of their backs turned to him, Pollux slipped out of his cage, snatching a spare length of the broken chain and lightly pulling it around the the bars. Then, setting a brisk, silent pace, he moved down the connecting hallway and slipped into the lobby, keeping to the wall.

Peeking around it, he saw a mare at the concierge desk, her eyes drooping heavily. Letting out a sigh of relief, he took note of the side-rooms and doors in the lobby. Restroom, Dining, Lounge, Coatroom. Slinking along the wall on the desk’s side, Pollux entered into the Dining Room. It was dark, and no ponies were inside at the moment.

Moving quickly, the human saw a set of gleaming cutlery bundled in a napkin amongst many others waiting on a serving tray for breakfast the next morning. Gleefully, he snatched one and unwrapped it. When finished, his face fell.

A spoon and a fork?

Shit. His eyes wandered to the double wooden doors that led to the kitchens. The stark, white light of that room also came with shadows that moved within, accompanied by the muffled din of utensils. What he needed was in there, with an unknown number of equines and light.

It wasn’t worth the risk. If he needed a weapon, then there would be plenty to be found amongst the trash in the streets. Rusty pipes, shattered glass, heavy bricks. For all of their difficulties, metropolises offered up a wide variety of vicious, murderous implements. Pollux would take little mercies.

Stalking back outside, he checked again on the mare and found her face-down on her desk. A look to the door confirmed the existence of a doorman. Door-horse? Not important. What was important was that Pollux had missed him the first time. He grimaced and made a dash to the other side, slipping past the curtains into the Coat Room.

He spent a small amount of time here, grabbing anything colored darkly and sprinting out after double-checking the doorman’s presence. A swift jog down the hallway and a quick peek inside the kennels gave him the melodic tune of a girl screaming in pain and fright, and Pollux knew he had free reign. As long as she was yelling like that, the equine guards wouldn’t be able to hear him open up the door to the courtyard and be free to kill–even if it was only for a night.

He still needed his ‘owner’ to bring him somewhere with plenty of humans and fresh meat, somewhere that had a quiet night hour and was kept separate from heavy traffic. Until then, he’d be stuck with her.

For now, however…

Pollux closed the door behind him, taking a deep breath of the outside air. With a fast sprint and an acrobatic jump, the human deftly gripped the top of a tall wall and hefted himself over. Landing on the other side, he smiled to himself and moved for a dark, secluded area. He had maybe six hours to kill, or more, though perhaps less considering the strange nature of this world.

Settling in a dark alleyway, Pollux began to tear the articles of clothing he had looted from the hotel, tying the strips into a makeshift cloak that would fit his frame. It didn’t matter what the covering looked like, only that it concealed his figure and his lighter skin.

When he was finished, he draped his creation over his shoulders, tying a knot in the center of his chest to keep it secured. Using what was left over, he wrapped his feet and forearms. He ran a hand down his face, feeling naked without his terrifying visage. Though it most likely didn’t matter, what with him being an animal and all. Do you remember a cat’s face apart from another’s?

With an eager nod and a spring in his step, Pollux silently moved up a fire escape, testing out every window he passed with a light tug. Halfway up the apartment building, he felt the window move with his grip. He entered the darkened room, amused at how carefree these city equines were compared to city humans.

He couldn’t wait to get started.

An exhausted, over-worked pony stallion made his way home, trudging up a preposterous number of steps and nearly tripping on his undone tie in the process. All he wanted right now was his bed and the sweet, sweet release of sleep. Seeing his apartment’s door made him smile tiredly. The stallion reached into his pocket with his magic, inserting the key he had there into the lock.

Once inside, he finished removing his tie and set down his suitcase as he closed the door with a back hoof. As soon as he did so, his ears twitched to muffled movement in his living room. His exhaustion forgotten, the stallion’s horn ignited with a bronze glow and lifted the suitcase above his head as a weapon.

“Who’s there? Come on out or I’ll hail the town guard!” It was silent, nothing but the soft tinkle of his magic and the creaking of wood beneath his hooves. Then, as light as a feather, came a soft and joyful giggle. Moving with great speed, the stallion rushed into his living room, igniting every lamp with a flash of his horn and with his suitcase ready to bash any uninvited guests.

The giggle came again, and he wheeled around and swung at-

His daughter’s new toy!

Stopping himself, the stallion panted as his adrenaline high slowed. The little breezy doll smiled back up at him as the key in its back stopped rotating. Relieved, the frightened stallion dropped the suitcase unceremoniously onto the floor, scooping up the doll in his magic and heading toward his room. It would’ve been a shame to present a stuffed doll with smashed clockwork inside.

A groan of happiness met him along with his pillow, and he set the doll next to him on his nightstand, returning its joyful smile as he closed his eyes.

“Heeheeheehee!”

The pony’s eyes shot open and his head jumped up when he heard the doll laugh again. As his sleep-addled mind slowly began to work, a length of cloth wrapped around his throat and yanked him upright and out of sleep proper. Panicked and confused, the stallion’s magic spluttered and sparked while his hooves kicked out on instinct.

As his breath left his body, he thought back to when he entered his home, and a thought that he hadn’t had came to mind only now.

Who turned the doll’s key?

That question and the cheerful grin of the doll were the last two things he processed as two hands finally secured the sides of his head and snapped his neck. The stallion’s body landed limply upon his bed, and the tall shadow behind him rose like a grim specter, looming over a soul ripe for the taking. In that secretive darkness, the dread spirit smiled an invisible smile and took the doll in its grasp.

Hiding the clockwork pony inside his jury-rigged cloak, Pollux emerged from the shadows and into the moonlit window frame, pulling himself up and out of the dead stallion’s room. As he ascended the half-rusted fire escape, Pollux felt at the doll with an idle hand, a single memory gently passing through his conscious thoughts like a leaf in a stream.

“You’ve done a very naughty thing, Simon!” The headmistress had an irritating, nasally voice. Almost like a cheese grater against sandpaper, only with a far more frustrating vocabulary. “Violence of any kind is unacceptable, but to assault a lady? Reprehensible! No supper tonight, and you will not be allowed outside for the remainder of the week. Have I made myself clear?”

The small boy, barely seven, nodded solemnly. Simon; was that even his name? What had his mother called him before she had dumped him here? Had she even bothered with a name? Maybe a title. Garbage. Disposable. Unwanted. What did it matter? He was here.

The other kids were nice enough, but they didn’t like to have fun like he did. He was interested in the natural sciences. Living dissection, natural selection, survival of the fittest. Things like that. He supposed he enjoyed fighting to some extent, but he wasn’t nearly as tall or as strong as the other boys. He had other ways of winning in some of their scuffles.

Winning was seldom pretty work.

None of the boys ever talked about any fights they had, so they came up with the common excuses. “Went explorin’, got scared and tripped over a root.” “Ran smack dab into a branch.” Things like that. Anyone who squared up with Simon knew to get creative with their alibi.

Running into a branch didn’t cause three broken fingers, a sprained ankle, and a lost tooth. Simon may have been small, but he was–above all other things–terribly vicious. All boys enjoy fighting when they’re young, but Simon was something different. It wasn’t the fight, or even winning, it was the expressions; the tell-tale look of defeat.

Today had been different for Simon. There was no organized fight, or even a disagreement. He was a curious little boy, is all, and he saw that a girl only a year or so older than him had a doll. She was playing with it and talking with it as if it was alive, like a person. This confused him, and so he had seized the doll to ascertain why the girl had been conversing with it. Twisting it produced no screams, and ripping it to shreds revealed it to be lacking any gooey bits. Why waste time with it then?

As he wondered this, the girl’s open hand connected with the side of Simon’s face. Simon didn’t like that so much, so he did what any person would do when attacked: he struck back. The adults pulled Simon off the other child and rushed her away to the hospital soon after, not even bothering to look over the scratches his arms had gained from her own assault.

Simon blinked as the headmistress walked away, and looked down at his clenched fists. His fingers had been curled tight the second that girl had smacked him. With a slow, twitchy release, Simon uncurled his digits and beheld the sight of the doll’s head and right arm, retaining only a minimal amount of stuffing within them.

Simon looked hard at the shreds of the doll for a while, then with a realization, smiled widely. Small flakes of dried blood loosened from his face as his laugh lines pulled taut.

He finally understood the purpose of dolls.

“Doppler! Hold up!” The shouts of drunken pegasi echoed off of Manehatten’s myriad buildings. Three dark silhouettes flew haphazardly between the brick structures, playing an impromptu game of tag amongst the night. Below them, the sounds of bells ringing and carriages rolling provided a rough estimate of the streets’ closeness.

The pegasus named Doppler flew above her peers, large wings beating furiously as she blew past them. The other pegasus couple regained their bearings and moved to follow, rising steadily upwards towards their friend. It was no use, Doppler had gone too high too fast, and the speed of her ascent was making the couple dizzy. That or the booze.

Making a smart decision, the two pegasi curled up on a nearby fire escape and snuggled closely, sharing small kisses between the two of them. Slowly, they drifted off to sleep, lulled into rest by the shared body heat and the gut-warming liquor inside them. High above, Doppler reached the rooftop, landing daintily on her hooves to peer over the cityscape.

She didn’t mind being the third wheel amongst Morning Dew and Heliopause, maybe she even enjoyed it. Doppler herself was never much for relationships or foals, but seeing her dear friends in love made her happy. She was content far above everything else, on a vertex beyond any earthly problems. The earth ponies had a saying: “be grounded, sure of who and what you are.”

It was a nice sentiment, but for pegasi, the term “grounded” just rubbed them wrong. For pegasi, it was all about the freedom of the flight, the wind, the lightness in descent and the pressure in rising. Doppler thought of all this as she took in the Manehatten skyline, admiring the many lights and sounds that permeated her senses.

On nights like this, she could only sigh and appreciate it all.

A clang from down below her made Doppler’s ears rise suddenly. Some quiet yelps and a few muffled grunts of pain. The voices belonged to Dew and Pause! Looking out over the edge, Doppler only saw the tail end of somepony’s ragged coat disappear inside the window leading to the fire escape. Diving off the edge of the building, the mare widened her wings and slowed to a steady descent, entering into the window easily.

Inside was a seedy apartment complex. Doppler could smell the alcohol and see the mystery stains all over the cheap carpet that lined this floor’s halls. Quiet sobbing or shouts of anger came through the walls as an eerie din that rose Doppler’s hackles. She felt her hoof fall in something damp, and raising it, she saw that it was blood. Fresh blood.

Swallowing her bile, Doppler looked up and followed the trail of her friend, stepping lightly around every corner. The path twisted through the halls and into the stairwell, heading back up. Moving quickly, Doppler found that the trail ended on the top floor, and with little hesitation, she stepped through the door.

The top floor’s lights were dim, its crystals starting to lose their charge after so long. Nopony lived here, looked like water damage had run them out long ago, which meant that it was only a matter of time before that same fate reached the next floor. The trail was barely noticeable against the rotten and water-logged carpeting, and Doppler’s hooves constantly made a ‘squish-squish’ sound as she moved after her hurt friends.

The faint line of blood trailed underneath a closet door, and Doppler dreaded what she might find. At the same time, however, she desperately wanted to help her friends. Letting her morality win out, she galloped to the door and flung it open. There on the floor were Morning Dew and Heliopause, beaten bloody but still breathing.

Doppler shook them, attempting to wake them, but she had no such luck. Her friends’ heads bobbed lazily at her attempts, and she debated leaving them here to get a local guard.

All of these thoughts ceased when something gripped her throat and held her forehooves tightly from behind.

Birds: the oxymoronic combination of strength and frailty. Now in his hands did Simon hold a woodpecker he had personally knocked from its place against an oak. Nestled gently within his palms, but unable to squirm free from the cage of fingers that entrapped it. It peeped and chirped incessantly, begging for its captor to free it, or perhaps calling for a comrade to attack its aggressor and rescue it.

It chirped.

The woodpecker was strong enough to bore through tree bark, but so physically feeble that it wouldn’t survive a child’s grip. Simon could feel the small, hollow bones shifting underneath the bird’s feathers. He heard its cries of discomfort and panic. How its head thrashed.

Holding his clasped palms in the air, Simon stared deep into the bird’s eyes, internalizing what he felt and interpreting as best he could what the woodpecker felt. Its expression was unchanging, but its heart rate was fast, even for a bird its size. A flex of his prepubescent muscles and that rapid, frightened rhythm would end. That easy.

With the sunlight pouring through the trees onto Simon’s clenched hands, the forest witnessed the little boy unwind his hands and set the little bird free. Simon watched it race off into that bright, yellow light, softly smiling to himself.

He learned something very valuable that day.

Doppler tried to fight against her attacker, but his claws were wound too tightly. She flung her wings back and forth, desperately attempting to batter him, but he seemed to shrug it off easily. She couldn’t scream, not with his talons holding her throat in a vice grip. Her hooves couldn’t reach him, so she attempted to throw off his balance. Not even griffons were that skilled in maintaining their equilibrium against such forces.

He held steady, and Doppler’s face became very intimate with the moldy wallpaper. Dazed, she began to blink the stars out of her eyes. Face met wall again. Again. And again. And yet again. Doppler smelled iron, tasted it too. Her muzzle was broken, and a few of her front teeth were loose. She was starting to run out of oxygen. The talons let up, and she dropped to the floor in a heap, blood pooling onto the wet carpet beneath her.

Doppler’s whole world was shifting shades of crimson as her vision blurred and refocused. Hearing steps from behind, wet and fleshy, Doppler turned over to behold her attacker. Her eyes widened, her raw throat hitched in confusion and shock. A human, shrouded in a torn and dirty mishmash of cloth, stood over her, his hands bloody and eyes disturbingly calm.

The makeshift cloak hung from his shoulders and trailed down to his ankles, frayed edges brushing against the floor ever-so-slightly. Two knots held the cloak in place, one over his chest and the other near the diaphragm. Doppler couldn’t understand, where was the attacker? Why did he leave his human and run?

The human looked Doppler right in the eyes, almost as if he was trying to understand what she was going through. After a few seconds, the human smiled an unnatural, toothy smile. Sharp teeth where there should be none, an expression where there should be none. It was then that Doppler came to a horrifying realization.

The human understood Doppler’s situation perfectly fine.

It was what he wanted, after all.

Naked feet crashed down upon Doppler’s left wing, pulverizing the delicate bones inside. She made to scream, but the human gripped her throat again as she opened her mouth. Shoving a fistful of soggy, pulped wood down her throat, the human drove an elbow in between her eyes and returned to the wing.

He flipped her over, gripping the damaged wing by the humerus and yanking it about. Doppler struggled to scream, to breathe, anything. The pulpy sludge scratched her throat, some stray, dry splinters jabbing her esophagus with every heave. She felt her wing dislocate, and she vomited in pain, forcing the pulp from her throat along with her regurgitated alcohol.

Tears streamed down Doppler’s face as she spat the vomit out of her mouth and blew air from her nostrils to clear them of the upchuck as well. Deep breaths followed, interrupted only by choked sobs. A hand gripped Doppler by her annihilated wing and spun her into a wall, knocking the wind from her lungs before she could get out a scream of agony. The pegasus once again faced toward the ceiling, her back against the moist carpet, grinding her dislocated bone against the plate beside the socket.

When she opened her mouth this time, the human rammed a bundle of cloth inside, effectively silencing her. He set to work on the other wing, this time using only his hands to slowly push the joints in the opposite directions. Pops of cartilage and bone disconnecting met with the searing pain that Doppler felt, amplifying her reactions to the torment the human inflicted.

When the wing moved limply in his hands, not even able to twitch, the human let up. Doppler shook on the floor, tears and blood mixing with the rancid water inside the hallway. A tooth had been knocked loose somewhere along the beating. Doppler couldn’t see it from where she was. She could breathe through her nostrils, that was enough for her. Everything was silent, calm. The infliction had stopped.

Doppler felt herself close her eyes, knowing nothing but blissful unconsciousness, then blinked and felt herself being raised up. She couldn’t move, it hurt too much to move. She could only experience; but experience what exactly? Somepony was lifting her up, cradling her softly as he or she moved down the hall. The savior moved slowly, caring for her brittle and injured form. She smelled of blood and sweat and alcohol and bile. She knew this, but she didn’t care at all.

Doppler blinked the tears out of her eyes, coming face to face with another pony. This pony was just as battered and hurt as she felt. The pegasus blinked at her. Doppler’s breath hitched and her heart sped up. A reflection.

Just above hers, was the human’s.

His was smiling.

It was the last thing Doppler saw as the human heaved her through the glass, shredding her corneas and further ripping into her muzzle. Doppler soared into the alleyway, the night sky looming above her as she plummeted down past the old bricks and seedy communities. She would have made a sound if the cloth hadn’t been balled in her mouth.

Pollux heard a wet, meaty crunch far below, and his smile grew. He had learned something very valuable indeed when he caught that bird so long ago: if you love something, let it go.

Pursing his lips in a smile, the human began to whistle merrily as he headed toward the broom closet. He had to move those two somewhere more… dry.

Author's Note

I had to cut this down. A 12,000 word chapter directly after a 3,000 word chapter just didn't sit right with me. Part 2 is currently being rewritten and revised to account for this. Sorry about the wait.