Chapters Your Human and You: Twisted Product
“Step aside,” a gruff voice commanded to the griffons crowded about the yellow tape. The stocky griffon guard granted passage to a shorter, slimmer griffoness, keeping the other riffraff out of the crime scene. Several guards stood at attention near the entrance to the slaughter house, and the griffoness made her way inside.
Within was a slaughter, not of the usual kind, but of the griffon variety. Blood and vomit coated the floor and walls, and the shine of metal tools could only barely be seen beneath the gore that covered them. The griffoness grimaced, holding her dinner down such as the guards were doing, and continued to go farther in. The small city of Parthona hadn't seen anything like this, at least not in recent memory, and so the griffoness struggled to keep composed along with her peers.
She pointedly avoided the bodies and the filth that coated them, stepping completely around them and into the back room where the meat was held. She pushed the doors open and was met with dozens of caged animals. They retreated back as far as they could within their cages, eyes filled with fear. Their fingers grasped the bars above and behind them, as if trying to pull themselves away from her.
“Two dead humans in the back, three dead griffons up front. From what we can gather, whoever did this started here with the humans and butchered his or her way out– no pun intended.” The speaking griffon was still examining the bodies of the humans, which appeared to be killed with blunt force trauma. “Our culprit bashed these humans’ heads against the cages, and then moved up front. These bodies are each nearly three days old however.”
“Today is Monday, correct?” the griffoness asked. “That means that whoever was responsible killed these two, knowing that the stench would alert the workers when they came back on Monday, today. These two were killed as a decoy.”
“So why kill the others up front?” the examiner questioned, still prodding the dead human corpse with a scalpel. “Why not just make your way out and leave it at that?”
“Why do griffons kill at all? Who knows, some are twisted and some aren’t. It isn’t our place to understand why, it’s our place to catch them and stop them from doing it again.” The griffoness turned to the doors leading out. “One question, however.”
The medical examiner looked up at her. “What?”
“What griffon would need to kill his way out of a human slaughterhouse? What was he doing here in the first place?” She narrowed her eyes on a peculiar blood stain to the right of the double doors and moved toward it. “Did he sneak in inside a cage?”
“That wouldn’t be possible ma’am, all of the cages are specifically designed to allow full sight of the human. Anyone on the street would see a griffon hiding in a cage. It is also policy that no cage is covered at any time.” The examiner once again went back to prodding the humans.
“Could our killer have gotten in through a back way?” The griffoness lit a match as she peered at the blood stain against the wall, casting grim shadows across her beak.
“No, the shop is set against the mountain. And we’ve already seen the blueprints, there are no access tunnels or escape routes set up around this entire district. The only way in was by shipment, but even that is highly improbable as an insertion method.”
Eyes widening, the griffoness stared pointedly at the smear on the wall. “Could it have been a human?” she asked quietly. The examiner in the back looked up again and laughed.
“A human? Hah! Okay, and then after murdering all these griffons, he moved to Equestria, studied law, and bailed Sparkle out of a felony. Come now, Miss, be realistic!” He shook his head and went back to work. “A human, ha!”
The griffoness grabbed the griffon and pulled him to his paws, leading him to the wall. She lit another match and held it close so as to illuminate the mark, and the griffon’s eyes widened. “Then what do you make of this?” she asked him.
A single smudged print betrayed a large amount of evidence to the griffons. The print of a human hand, smeared in blood and pressed against the wall for them to find. “It could’ve been one of those two over there, ma’am.”
“No, they were killed right there on the spot, with barely any struggle at all. They couldn’t have made it over here if they were bleeding out over there.” The griffoness let go of the other griffon and grew concerned. “So what do you think this means?”
“Ma’am, unless a human was gifted by the Seven a brain capable of intelligent thought and bewildering vicious tendencies, then I highly doubt that one was responsible. The very idea is ludicrous.” He watched the griffoness pace about the room, her gaze laid directly on the floor beneath her.
“There have been rumors for a few years now of intelligent humans learning to sign with hoof language, play instruments, and do incredible tricks. Whose to say that a griffon didn’t teach a human to kill as well?” The griffoness was met with a sigh from the griffon.
“A human can kill, yes, but this effectively? I doubt it. Two humans and three griffons in three days, drop a day actually, so two days. No one heard anything and not much struggle was involved, meaning that your ‘killer human’ took them by surprise, real quiet-like.”
The griffoness rested her beak on a claw, staring at the two human bodies. Narrowing her eyes, she motioned to the other griffon and made her way to the double doors. “Caleb, come with me.” The griffon sighed and followed the griffoness to the more grisly section of the building, albeit very hesitantly.
Striding into the room, the griffoness winced at the state of the bodies, but forced herself to observe them fully. One body– propped up against a wall– was perforated dozens of times along the left side of his body, along the neck and ribcage. The murder weapon itself, a hefty carving knife, rested inside the body’s forehead all the way up to the hilt.
Caleb pointed at this dead griffon, giving the griffoness the rundown. “This one was killed first. We assume that the killer swept in from beside and held his victim’s beak closed while stabbing the victim repeatedly before burying the weapon in his head. The body then slid down and came to a rest against the wall.
Following Caleb’s claw to the left, the griffoness was shown the body in the center of the room. The body was missing its right hind leg and left claw, and the murder weapon was also embedded in the victim’s flesh. A cleaver was jammed amidst the shattered beak of the dead griffoness, with pieces of yellow beak scattered about her chest and face.
“The streak of blood leading from this point of the room to where she currently is, nearer to the exit, suggests that she tried to get away even after having her hind leg removed. It seems that the limb was removed with one fell blow, after which our killer turned her over to get the killing blow in. He did, as the cleaver chopped straight through her left forearm and obliterated her beak, getting buried in the center of her face as she died from either shock or blood loss.”
The final body nearest to the exit made both Caleb and the griffoness flinch at the cruelty inflicted upon it. It hung by a few chains, barely even recognizable as a griffon except for the remnants of beak and hind paws. Caleb recomposed himself before explaining what he could only assume based on the rest of the room.
“There was a struggle, an extremely violent one, at that. Sometime during the brutalization, the victim forcefully expelled his stomach contents at various points in the room before having his wings broken, sawn off, and tossed aside. Presumably afterwards, the victim’s forelegs were hatcheted off. Finally, his face was bashed in with a meat tenderizer found coated with gray matter, pointing to a savage beating that got through all the way to the brain. The killer finally decided to make a statement and string the poor bastard up for every one of us to see.”
Caleb snatched an evidence bag from a passing griffon and vomited in it, relieving himself of the disgust that had been building. Coming back to his full height, the griffon wiped his beak with his claw, glaring at the hanging body. “Sick fuck.”
The griffoness kept her gaze alternating between the three bodies, holding her beak in thought. Caleb looked over at her watching the scene with a greater look of concern than before. She turned to him and asked, “What kind of griffon forgoes using his claws to kill? Or even his beak? Either are sufficiently lethal, to a great degree, even. So why commit every murder with a weapon? Unless our murderer is lacking claws and a beak, that is.”
“Or our murderer knew that his claws or beak could leave something behind if he wasn’t careful.” Caleb leveled a glare at the griffoness, pointedly telling her to shut up with one look. However, she didn’t listen, and instead pressed the question.
“Does he look careful to you?”
The griffons in the room glanced about and frowned. “Look. You can go off and chase after your ‘intelligent human’, but until you’ve got some solid evidence, you’re on your own. The rest of the department won’t agree to dumping resources into a wild human chase, the very idea is preposterous. I won’t stop you from pursuing your theory, but expect no help from us.”
The griffoness gave him a grim smile and rested her claw on his shoulder. “I understand, Caleb. I’ll find something and bring the culprit in, human or not. Thank you.” She turned and left through the front as a multitude of camera flashes assaulted her. The light from outside vanished as the doors swung shut, and Caleb sighed.
“Get those reporters farther back, they’ll only make a bad situation worse.”
One of the guards nodded and slipped outside to pass the order on to the others, and another bout of explosive light hit the grisly scene within, illuminating the butchered bodies in a flash of horror. Caleb screwed his eyes shut and held a breath. Releasing it, he looked up towards the ceiling. “You better catch this bastard, Serin.”
Luna’s Moon shone a pale light down upon the alleyways of Parthona, casting shadows that were more visible than any physical object. A long, black figure stretched across the cobblestone walk, swaying gently from side to side. It moved silently, casually, as if moving without sound was as natural as breathing. Yet it did not breathe.
For shadows do not breathe, no. But the being that the shadow belonged to, its chest heaved with the great lungfuls of air it so greedily consumed. For such a being lived to consume. It consumed the light with its shadow. It consumed the air with its breaths. It consumed life with its glee.
The being shivered as it struggled to pull the ragged, itchy cloth tighter around it, trying and failing to keep itself warm. Its naked body grew small bumps all over its skin, its teeth chattered within its mouth. The small stones of the road irritated its feet as loose pebbles became lodged between its toes. And yet it was happy.
The cold being inhaled, remembering the smells and the excitement in the air. The noises of its victims and the slick feeling of blood trailed across smooth stone. The terror, the unrelenting terror of the unknown, arrived to end you. The loss they felt in that single instance of seeing him exit the room and standing. The loss of what they thought they knew.
The being liked that expression a lot. It wanted to see that face again. The faces of those who are both terrified, and confused as to why they are terrified. They are confused by their own horror. For an animal set to be butchered, to butcher them. It’s too much for them to understand before they are removed from the mortal coil.
The being pulled its arms out from under the dirty cloth that draped over its large form and turned its hands in the moonlight. These were killer’s hands, and they would strike again. The hands clenched and unfurled over and over again as their owner watched them closely. Enraptured by its own appendages, it hardly noticed a small griffon approach it with a lantern.
The light caused the human to flinch, taking a step back in defense from the revealing glow. The griffon holding the lantern jerked back as well, momentarily startled by the human’s sudden movements. “Hey, hey… where’s your owner? You get caught out here and you’ll be sent to the block,” the griffon said as if speaking to a lost puppy.
Reaching into a satchel bag behind him, the griffon pulled a strip of meat, salted and preserved, for the human. “Here, now. Come on, c’mere.” The griffon slowly backed up as he attempted to lead the human somewhere. The human complied, taking a few slow steps forward. The griffon smiled and continued to lure the human further into the alley, eventually getting to a dead end.
The griffon placed the lantern down and reached behind into his bag once again, pulling a curved knife from the satchel. That was a lot of human meat standing there, at least a hundred and seventy pounds worth. The griffon placed the strip of meat on the ground, and the human continued to gingerly walk forward. It reached the strip and huddled down, very slowly, to pick it up.
The griffon smiled and raised the knife, preparing for a quick, meaty stab to the brain. The knife never reached its target as the griffon was pressed against the wall behind him with enough force to empty his lungs and make him drop the knife. The human’s hands raced out from beneath its ragged cloak and enclosed around the griffon’s throat, tightening immediately.
The griffon was unable to grab the human’s arms, as his own were pinned by the human’s elbows while it pressed its thumbs into his windpipe. The griffon looked up at the phenomenally strong human, terror spread throughout his face at the beast in front of him. A smile was spread on the human’s face as it chewed the strip of chicken jerky it was lured with. The last thing the griffon would see was a human, smiling merrily whilst eating the bait that was placed for its demise.
The limp, piss-soaked body slumped to the ground, the stench of fear rising quickly from the corpse. The stench of death would follow later, and the human felt almost melancholic that it would miss the smell. Digging through the victim’s bags, the human extracted more of the dried meat, thirty Griffonian bits, and an old rusty key. Throwing away the currency, the human examined the key and looked back down at the griffon.
On the satchel was a small emblem stitched into the flap: a pommel with a feather instead of a blade. Turning the key over in its hands, the human smiled again and tossed it into the air, whistling as it caught the trinket. Taking a pause in its tune, the human took a bite of jerky and made its way to the wall making up the end of the alleyway, sitting down and wrapping itself tighter in its rags. The moon slowly moved away from the alley, leaving the human and its ill-fated victim in darkness.
Author's Note
Never thought I'd write something based off someone else's work. Feels weird. Will post chapters, but only occasionally. Just a small project I've been mulling over for a bit.
Your Human and You: Twisted Product
The griffon city of Parthona was ablaze with activity on the sunny Tuesday morning, yet while the city heaved with activity, there was a subdued paranoia that lingered in the air. The papers had been released, and the word was out: a killer of unknown species had struck in their city and gotten loose. According to the papers: “the local law enforcement itself was horrified by the grisly nature of the crime, and medical examiners were left scratching their heads as to the exact method the killer used to gain access to the slaughterhouse”.
The only topic of discussion that warm and active morning was the multiple homicide and double count of cruelty to animals. The only griffon not currently paying any interest in the papers was Serin as she ate a bacon and egg croissant with a mug of warm milk. Her gaze was cold and steely, her eyes locked on her leather-bound notepad filled with dozens of haphazard sketches and scribbles. Lines crisscrossed from one page to another, and several revisions and scratches permeated the words written. Her evidence pointed to the perpetrator being a human, but even she had some doubts after a night’s sleep.
Sure, rumors had been rampant in Equestria hinting at intelligent humans, but no concrete evidence yet existed for such a phenomenon actually occurring as of yet. A human doing some tricks was not intelligence, and neither was murder; however, premeditated and planned murder– as well as utilizing situational and combative tactics to subdue and eliminate targets efficiently– was.
Serin sighed and leaned back in her chair, looking up at the tall spires of Parthona glinting in the morning sun. No leads, no backup, no luck. Pocketing her notepad, Serin continued to consume her breakfast, letting herself go in the buzz of the city. It was in the midst of drinking her milk that Serin’s eyes widened in shock and she spit out the contents from her beak.
Throwing a generous number of bits onto the table, she took to the skies and bolted back to the crime scene, gripping her satchel tightly. Around corners and bends she soared, expertly avoiding any and all traffic she encountered with alarming speed. Only when she reached her destination did she slow enough to land and burst inside the slaughterhouse.
Two spears lined her throat instantaneously, and a quick flash of her badge shooed them away just as fast. “I need the shipping orders on the humans immediately, as well as an inventory on the list of humans that you get.” She showed her badge again and a documenter nodded, flipping through his folder and plucking nine sheets of paper from it. Serin grabbed them up and peered at them, eyes narrowed and frantically scanning the sheets.
A large griffon made his way up to her, his expression worried and clearly upset over the violent crime. “Excuse me, ma'am.” Serin looked up to acknowledge the polite griffon, who smiled at her cautiously. “I may have some information regarding the killings.”
Serin stuffed the papers into her satchel and evened her stare at the heavy-set griffon. “Tell me everything that you know for certain.”
During the day, the entire town came alive in a flurry of noise and movement. Trade agreements and shipping costs were discussed and arranged, prices and shortages, damages and assurances, operations and shady deals were made. This did not work well for the human, which stayed hidden in another alleyway devoid of curious griffons and obfuscated from the sunlight.
The pile of rags barely moved, its breaths long and controlled as its eyes took in the bustling community just beyond the darkness of the alley. The human heard everything along the street, understanding their language, which was uncannily similar to its own. Chewing on the chicken jerky strip, the human mulled over its next move.
It had several hours to plan and prepare for another shot at escaping the city undetected. Guards at the walls, coupled with human trafficking requirements and laws, made its movement in the city very difficult. The sewers were too small for its frame, all mass-human exports were shut down, and a human strolling out of the city was far too obvious.
The human gazed out at the walls of the alley, checking windows. There. An open window signaled a possible food source and some better cloth for which to warm itself. Moving quickly, the mass of rags began to ascend the wall, gripping small outcroppings along the wall with its strong hands and fingers.
Within seconds, the human had reached the third story of the building, then hauled itself inside with the muffled sound of its feet impacting the rug. The sound of moving plates and pottery sounded from inside the apartment. A voice rang out. “Julian? Are you alright?”
Another resident. Looking around, the human found ‘Julian’. Small griffon, asleep on a sofa. The other voice: female. Older. Pawsteps from within. She was coming straight for the human, and there was nowhere to hide. Pressing itself against the wall next to the doorway, the human waited.
The door opened, and a griffoness moved inside fluidly, not noticing the human behind her or the stone bust it had in its hands.
“An anomaly?” Serin asked, scribbling in her notepad in a haste to record everything the heavy-set griffon said.
“Yes, miss,” he confirmed. “When my workers brought the human in, it was… different, they said. It watched everything they did throughout the duration of its transportation. It ate slowly, like it was savoring its food.”
“And it was found…?”
“Covered in blood, but not its own. They didn't find anything around that the gore could have belonged to, but was most interesting was its state.” The griffon paused, as if searching for the correct words, then continued. “It wore clothes unlike anything we’ve seen. Blue fabric pulled around its legs and some cotton shirt pulled over its chest. It was unconscious when my employees found it.”
“Where did they find this… anomaly?” Serin asked, still focused on her notepad as the other griffon spoke. “Close to the city?”
“No, miss, they found him quite a ways out: near the Stachyon River,” he replied. “They had told me that ‘meat was meat’ and they had chained him up and loaded him with the rest. I didn't like it in my shop, so I had scheduled it to be butchered first thing after the weekend.” The griffon shook his head. “Should have had it done immediately.”
Serin raised an eyebrow at this comment. “You think that the missing human is responsible?” she asked him. Perhaps this was a legitimate ally in the making? It would certainly open up better streams for information on human trafficking and the like.
“Well, considering what my griffons told me about that one, the fact that the attack was started in the cage room, and the most concerning: the anomaly is missing? Yes, I genuinely believe that the human definitely had something to do with these murders.”
Dropping the blood-stained bust to the floor, the human began to slowly wipe its hands off in the carpet’s rough material. Stepping over the body of the griffoness, it appraised the state of the apartment. Dirty, with a slight smell of must, but brightly lit and very warm. Comfy.
The human moved across the room quietly, its rags swishing ever-so-gently across the carpet. Looking for a place to rest, the human heard a strained yawning, and looked behind it. Opening its mouth ever-so-slightly, the human let out a soft “oh”, and pulled a curtain rope from the window next to the sofa.
Wrapping the rope around Julian’s throat, the human pulled in opposite directions just as the young griffon awoke, cutting off a fearful squawk that gave way to violent, panicked thrashing. The human peered through the curtains, watching a human auction being prepared just outside.
Humming thoughtfully, the human payed no mind to the child’s body falling limp, as the murderous creature was too busy struggling to read the poster plastered on a lamp post. Ah, tomorrow, at one in the afternoon, the auction would begin. Excellent.
Pushing the oxygen-deprived body off the sofa, the human occupied the spot itself and chewed on a tough strip of chicken jerky. However, smelling the pleasant odor of food, it instead got up and went to the kitchen. The stew it found was very much preferable to the barely quantifiable hunger-alleviating strips that were the chicken jerkies.
It flopped back down on the sofa with a large ceramic bowl, lifting the ladle to its lips. Pausing, the human looked over to the griffoness, one large spot of her head smashed open with chunks of gray matter scattered on the floor, and raised the ladle in thanks. Taking a taste, the human smiled widely and began to dig in heartily.
Author's Note
This is the second set-up chapter. I will introduce the pony next chapter, and expect a chase (of sorts).
Your Human and You: Twisted Product
After a few more strokes, it was complete, at least the human thought. He took a couple steps back and appraised the work. No, not finished yet at all. It would be morning soon, only an hour or so left. He was an early riser though, so he had gotten plenty of sleep. He would be needing it. The human added several more details before smiling happily and turning to leave.
Before he did, the human gave a nod of thanks to Julian and his mother before climbing out the window he came in. He could use the door, but he preferred to be discreet.
Almata counted the bits from her pocketbook on the nightstand by her bed. She had nine-hundred and change, plenty enough to buy a fit human for work at the plantation. Looking up into the mirror, the mare checked her leaf-green mane and golden yellow coat before applying a shade of eyeliner above her hazelnut eyes. Nodding to herself in the mirror, Almata opened the door to her hotel room and locked it behind her, slipping the key inside her pocketbook along with the coin purse that held the eighteen coins which were valued at nine-hundred bits each.
The auction would be beginning in a few hours, so Almata thought it best to make the excursion now before traffic mounted and so that she could get a good look at some of the stock. It was a forty-five minute trot from her hotel to Trundebald Square, and she intended to be early.
Today was the day she’d be getting a human assistant.
Serin poured over the notes she had collected from the owner of the slaughterhouse. She had been meticulously searching for any clues that would lead to the capture of her suspected human murderer, scratching out notes and comments into her small leather-bound notepad. Sighing, she closed the pad and rubbed at her sunken eyes.
She needed sleep, and plenty of it, but as long as this human was running about and slaughtering the griffons of Parthona, she couldn’t. It had been nearly forty-eight hours, and the trail had gone cold. There was no telling where in the city the human could be by now, but he’d have to turn up sooner or later. The description he retrieved from the owner of the slaughterhouse was vague, at best, but Serin knew that her human was all, lithe with muscle, and acted oddly.
That, and he was all alone on the streets of Parthona. It very well could be that he had already been caught and butchered, ready to be served as a meal to a griffon family. Wouldn’t that be nice, the murderer murdered and consumed by the aggrieved. One could only wish…
“Alright hatchlings, look alive, we’ve got a double homicide on Trundebald Square in an apartment building. Any takers?” Lieutenant Greaves scanned the sparsely-decorated offices where officers would gather intelligence and evidence, looking for some griffon to take the call.
“Right here, sir!” Serin did a short hop and glide to land a few paws away from the Lieutenant, her satchel and dagger strapped to her sides. The Lieutenant flicked his eyes up and down her form before raising a single brow.
“Aren’t you already working the slaughterhouse case?”
Serin nodded. “I believe the two might be related. If I can get even a single shred of evidence pointing to any of our suspects, it will be a success.” She watched the Lieutenant as he stroked his beak, eagerly awaiting his response. She grinned when he shrugged.
“Sure, if you find anything, you come to me first; got it?”
Serin gave him a thumbs-up and leapt out of the second story window gracefully, unfurling her wings and taking off through the airspace of the city. The Lieutenant shook his head and muttered, “we do have stairs, y’know,” before going back inside his office and closing the door.
The human snuck carefully toward the huge white tent with all of the griffons and equine creatures gathered around it. The equines were strange, colorful, and new. Perhaps they bled different colors as well? Time and planning would tell, he needed only to escape from this city. Though he might be considered a stupid animal, being contained in one city, with walls and other carnivorous beasts that ate him, would not be smart.
If these equines were like those from home, he doubted they’d try to eat him. Perhaps they’d keep him as a pet, or maybe labor? Once again, time and planning would tell. Licking the last dregs of blood from his thumb, the human stalked closer to where the humans were kept beneath the tent. Most of the crowd had gathered beyond the tent, where what looked like a podium and stage had been erected.
Getting past the patrolling guards was easy. They were too predictable, tired, and green. Killing wasn’t smart here, even though it would be so easy, too many possible witnesses, and too much on the line. The humans were kept in cages behind a black cloth divider, probably to keep the animals from chasing anything that might be in the streets. Excellent.
The human approached a cage with another human. It had black hair, blue eyes, and a lithe build. Not quite as tall, or as well-endowed, but it would do nicely. A simple few motions unlocked the cage, and the killer guided the human out.
The human stared into the eyes of the murderer and chirped, then made to leave the enclosure. Throwing his arms around the animal, the human began to squeeze the life out of it with a chokehold. All of its thrashing and frantic maneuvering did nothing but speed its arrival to a state of unconsciousness.
The human then loosened his arms and dragged the mindless doppelgänger to a pile of rope, sheets, and poles. He dropped the human on the floor, bound its mouth and arms, and buried it in cloth, poles, and extra twine. It would make a good meal for some griffon family, he was sure.
Then, he shed the cloak-like, blood-stained rags he adorned and climbed into the cage, naked. Any griffon or pony that looked at the cage would not be able to tell the difference between him or the human that had occupied the same cell only a minute or so ago.
The human grinned at the other humans as they cowered in their iron pens.
Serin landed gracefully outside of the apartment building, a town guard frowning heavily at its entrance. She made her way to him and revealed her badge before he could stop her. A claw rushed out to her shoulder, grounding her in place. He said nothing, only looked into her eyes with a look of absolute despair.
Whatever she was about to find, it would not be good.
She removed the guard’s hand, gently, as he blinked moisture from his eyes and refocused on keeping watch. Serin then made her way to the third floor, apartment 3C, where two more guards were stationed outside and several officers from her station milled about inside. She once again pulled out her badge and moved inside, noting the expressions of her co-workers.
Xavea was clutching her stomach, seated in a corner of the room being comforted by Nyctea. Nyctea gazed into Serin’s eyes and shook her head sadly, rubbing the griffoness’ back slowly. Cricios was fuming as he gripped the edges of a table, his claws digging into the wood and leaving deep gouges. Argestes was being treated for a bloodied claw, his knuckles split and bruised. Some blood was noticeable on the wall.
Worst of all was Hesperus, as he sobbed and raged on his lonesome in an adjoining room, away from everyone else. Serin steeled herself as she saw where most of the commotion was occurring, moving through the now claustrophobic hall towards the lounge facing the Square.
Serin walked inside, went wide-eyed and green-faced, and rushed away to the hallway window to relieve her upset stomach.
Almata waited patiently near the front of the crowd, cradling her saddlebag closely as the auction was preparing to start. A griffin with a well-to-do suit and a disarming smile took his place on the podium, tossing his gavel over and over into the air as he examined the crowd.
“Females and males of all species, the first round of bidding is about to begin for the first three humans we have today! First, an investment for all of you who’d rather hold onto those purse strings! We have this fine young lady!” The announcer’s pitch was followed up with a griffoness leading a small human female with pale skin and a frizzy mane onto the stage.
The human glanced about fearfully, occasionally uttering short chirps and whistles as the crowd examined her. The griffoness spread the girl’s arms and turned her about, displaying the human completely for the bidders.
“She’s just about ready for breeding, and she’s pacified and trained for any of you adventurous types out there. Not too much fat, and not too much muscle. She won’t put up a fight and she’s nice and cheap! Starting bid is five hundred bits!”
Almata kept her hoof down as other ponies and griffons vied for the girl with ever-increasing sums of money. The mare was looking for a worker immediately, not a sex-toy or a worker eventually. She only hoped that things would go a bit faster, the sooner, the better.
Serin’s face betrayed none of her emotions, she had shut everyone else out. She only gazed at the morbid mural before her, carefully brushed onto the wall above the couch in the lounge. The paint streaked down the wall, pooling along the baseboard of the wall before trickling onto the carpet in a few places.
The griffoness refused to glance down at the body of the young griffon cub, his body colorless and limp, with his eyes wide open in shock. His neck was sliced open along the carotid on the right of his neck, a small incision marking the point. Serin had already seen it, she refused to do so again.
The mother’s body was propped up against a bookcase, her head smashed open from behind. The murder weapon was found in its supposed original location, atop a slim stand carved from oak. The griffon’s stone head stared grimly forward, almost like it was also trying to ignore the horror within the room.
“The killer most likely flew into this window, then took the mother by surprise, killing her instantly with the bust over there. Judging by the position of the cub, I would guess that he was unaware of the intruder, most likely he was asleep.” The examiner moved to the couch, caressing the curtain ropes in his talons. “Excuse me, ma’am.”
Serin snapped back to reality, tearing her stricken eyes away from the dark art piece to take a few steps back from the cub. The examiner nodded his thanks and lifted a few feathers from the dead cub’s neck.
“Trachea is crushed. This is the definite cause of death. The cub was stirred by a sound, before the assailant wrapped the curtain’s cords around his throat. That was when the killer strangled him, causing the slight bulging of the eyes from their sockets due to pressure.”
“As for the incision in the neck, as well as the repositioned mother’s body… and the bowl…” The examiner coughed into his fist and looked away for a moment. “…I’d say it’s quite clear why those are the way they are.”
And so, Serin brought her attention back to the gory illustration set against the wall. Two eyes, eternally and gleefully staring down, with a beak filled with razor-sharp teeth set into a smile. The feathers around its neck spread about its shoulders, which faded into chaotic blood-smatters.
“Hey, wait… This couch was moved!”
The griffoness that announced this waved over two other griffons, who each took an end of the couch, careful not to disturb the cub’s body too radically, and began to pull it away from the wall. Serin waited with the rest of the room’s guests, gawking at the cheap lounge furniture being moved with its once-precious cargo riding along with it.
What was behind the couch, written in blood, made Serin drop her notepad and her heart skip a beat.
‘Meat is meat.’
“Sold! To the stallion in the back!” The griffon at the podium clapped as the stallion trotted forward to take the human girl’s leash in his magic, leading the diminutive creature off the stage and through the crowd, salivating as she walked ahead of him. Almata shook her head and turned back to the stage.
“Our second specimen is a treat! Tall, muscular, and with a striking set of eyes, we have our second human!” As the griffon said this, a human with light skin, darkened slightly by Celestia’s sun, walked onto the stage. He wore only a collar, not needing a leash nor a griffoness to lead him. He then sat on the stage and looked forwards toward the crowd.
At first, the announcer seemed confused, only to shrug and continue. “Starting bid is one hundred and fifty bits! One fifty! One hundred seventy-five! Two hundred!” Almata eyed the three other bidders. A pegasus mare, a minotaur bull, and a griffon couple. The mare looked well-off, and the bull was most likely a butcher of some kind. The couple didn’t look too wealthy, so maybe they were looking for a human to use as a pet or a meal?
“Four hundred and fifty-five! Anybody else?” The crowd was silent for a few seconds, and Almata used the time to build the tension. Just as the griffon’s eyes swept over her, Almata raised her hoof and declared her offer.
“Five hundred and thirty bits!”
Almata’s bid served to cow the rest of the crowd, none of them risking getting into a bidding war for one human. She smiled to herself as the human cocked its head to the side, observing her with its azure eyes directly. It let out a few chirps and squeaks, then stood suddenly, surprising its griffon handler.
The mare trotted up to her purchase and tapped the cobble with her hoof. “Here, boy.” The human merely cocked his head again. Almata repeated the action, this time with a whistle, and the human hopped off the stage and landed in front of her. It then cocked its head.
“Good boy! Come.” She turned around, whistled, and the human followed without missing a beat.
Almata smiled widely to herself as she left the square with her purchase in tow. This human was quite the specimen, indeed.
“What are we looking for, Serin?” Caleb had arrived several minutes ago and was holding an evidence satchel in his talons, watching Serin.
The griffoness had lost her prior shocked expression, now determined to find a shred of evidence. “Fingerprints, dammit! Everything points to a human. Well, not a human… but the human. The anomaly mentioned in the slaughterhouse owner’s report.” Serin moved on to another spot on the bloodied wall, inspecting every inch thoroughly.
“Again with the human? Serin, this is getting ridiculous! You’re obsessed!”
Serin stopped her searching and stood, then snapped her stare onto Caleb. The griffon froze at the animalistic gaze, and slowly started backing up. “Serin…? What are you– !”
Serin rushed past Caleb and gripped the window sill. A human auction, occurring right then. It was perfect. All the human would have to do is get bought, then the buyer would get papers confirming ownership and the human could get out of the city using his owner as cover.
“I need officers on me! The auction, get behind the stage, and don’t cause a scene! Go!” Serin leapt out the window and beat her wings, soaring around the square behind the large storage tent. Landing, she moved to speak to a griffon guard standing near a cordoned area. “You there, I’m with the Parthona Investigation Team. You seen anything suspicious recently?”
The guard leaned on his spear and tapped his helm a few times, thinking back. “Can’t say I have. Nothing strange and no trouble.” Serin sighed and looked at the black cordoned era, then shifted back to the guard.
“What’s back there?” Serin asked, moving her gaze between the black cloth and the griffon.
“That’s where the auctioneers are storing the humans for bidding. They’re well behaved for the most part, only one incident this morning.” The guard nodded toward the cordoned area and gestured with his spear. “Seems like one of them riled up the others, had to move up his scheduled auction time so that he would stop spooking the rest.”
Serin’s brows shot up. “May I enter and search the premises?”
The guard nodded and led the way toward the pens. Inside the area were dozens of iron cages with humans calmly staying still, observing one another, or sleeping. One small human female, however, was staring with wide eyes toward a pile of tent equipment. Her brown bangs stopped just short of her eyelashes, and her wide dark eyes refused to move, as if frozen by a primal fear.
“Which of the humans did the rest seem to be so disturbed by?” Serin paced around the cages, coldly examining each of the specimens.
“He was a big fella, black hair, blue eyes, fit too. He just sat there, real calm and patient. The humans in the cages around him, though, they were trying to stay as far away as possible. A few even hurt themselves trying to do so. The rest started whimpering, chirping, all sorts of nervous noises.”
“Which cage was he sitting in?”
The guard tapped an empty iron cage with his spear, a flake or two of rust shedding from the heavy containment unit. “This one here. Nothing wrong with it, far as I can see. Don’t know what made them so spooked.”
A chirp and a whimper came from a small human female with a brown mane and dark eyes. Her eyes were stuck on a pile of cloth, chains, and tent poles. Serin drew her long dagger and slowly approached the pile of junk, watching for any movement whatsoever. After a tense few seconds, Serin lunged at the source of the human’s interest and yanked at the cloth.
A human, bound and gagged, stared up at her with fear in its blue eyes, its limbs tangled in rope, metal, and cloth. The weight of the materials weighed down on its knees and arms, pinning them in uncomfortable positions. Its left arm looked to be disconnected at the shoulder, and its left leg was pale. The weight of the random items pressed down onto its leg, cutting off circulation. The human had been this way for a few hours at least.
She looked to the side, only to pause, lowering her dagger. There, stuffed within the pile, was a ragged and dirty cloth of some kind. Serin dug the dingy fabric out and opened it. A tattered, cloak-like covering saturated in dried blood. It was too large for a griffon, but a tall and built human would fill it perfectly. Dropping the rags, Serin's grip on her dagger increased.
“Was the human in that cage sold?” Serin asked the guard quietly.
The guard hesitantly nodded.
Serin threw her dagger down and flared her wings. “Faust damn it!”
Almata sat in the back of the hired wagon, watching the road heading down the mountain lined with trees and shrubs. A few birds flew overhead, just underneath the small port in the distance. Almata smiled widely, glad to be headed back home with her new human.
Her human, wrapped in a faux-fur blanket and with a simple wooden collar placed around his neck as a placeholder for a proper alloy model, sat quietly behind her. His blue eyes reflected the afternoon light of Griffonia, and with his new owner’s back toward him, he smiled as well.
Author's Note
Next chapter is Equestrian landfall. I've gotten a job at a deli, so updates may slow. But the deli job does provide quite a bit of inspiration. Lots of sharp things, meat, and blood. Fun!
Your Human and You: Twisted Product
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.
Your Human and You: Twisted Product
Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter. Your Human and You: Twisted Product
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.
