The Kill Box

Late night, Platform’s apartment

At around Eleven O’clock in the late evening, 2 shadowy figures approached the apartment block that Platform lived in. Laying a gloved hand on the handle, the leader of the duo swiftly opened the outer door, and placed a small device on the electronic lock of the second. After pressing a sequence of buttons on the front face of the device, it lit up and emitted a dull buzzing noise. A few seconds later, the lock disengaged, and the duo entered the building. Stealthily walking down the hallway, they passed some 20 doors before heading up a stairwell and heading up to the third story before moving to the doorway of the apartment of their target.

They then systematically removed the painting opposite the door to the apartment, and installed a small box behind it. Inside was a camera, microphone, and antenna to record all who passed in front of it. While one was busy installing the box, the other quickly attached a set of infrared sensors on the door. Spraying the hinges with a specially crafted graphite spray, he silently sneaked his way into the main room. He checked the rooms for occupants, and after finding none, sat down at the main computer in the bedroom. Tapping keys on the keyboard, he started it up and implanted a drive into the external ports on the computer. Navigating his way through the files, he made quick work of the computer, and made copies in the drive of bits that caught his eye.

5 minutes after he initially entered the apartment, the door was closed again, and the second infiltrator appeared right beside the first, earning a harsh whisper. He whispered back in an urgent tone, before swiftly hiding in the closet. The first infiltrator’s hands seemed to double in speed, pages and icons flying across the screen in rapid succession. Once he finished, he removed his flash drive, and clambered into the closet where the other was hiding.

Their breathing hitched when their target, Platform, entered the door. The slow pace he made was accompanied by a constant drip hitting the floorboards, and his shallow, ragged breathing. This orchestra of thunk tap dip wheeze, thunk tap drip chough made its way to the computer, just to sit there in an agonizing silence, broken by the occasional cough.

The duo in the closet dared not to breathe more than necessary, for the slightest rise in decibel could spell their doom. They stayed huddled—pressed against the back of the closet—like that for a slow and tense 10 minutes, until the room was pierced with the loud drone of snoring coming from the computer. Another 7 minutes or so to make sure he really was out, and the closet started to move. One by one the infiltrators tiptoed out the room and back into the hallway, headed back to the main entrance and made their escape.

Once in the car, the duo removed their disguises of ski masks and single-coloured hoodies, and sped off into the night. There was no talking between the two; no whoops of celebration or even smiles upon their faces for a job well done; just the hum of the motor and the whoosh of the road going past.

That was an hour ago.

A solid hour of uncomfortable shifting, awkward silence, and uninterested gazes leading up to an uneventful arrival that probably looked a lot better in their perspective than an outside one. The walk up to their apartment was charged, neither wanting to speak until everything was just right. Opening the door, they sat down at a circular table, seated directly across from each other, and took a drink out of matching bottles.

The one on the left side of the room was clearly more agitated than the other. He was constantly shifting and rubbing a tired and distressed face with one of his hands. After another 5 minutes of unbearable silence he started to speak.

“Well then,” he began, “we really ‘came out of the closet’ on that one, huh?”

His partner’s hand immediately flew to his forehead, “Celestia damn it, Blaze.”

And with that, the mood was broken. And the hour after that was spent in joke and relief for another “Top-notch job, bloody well done” as their old CO would say.

The Maze Puzzle

Twilight was panicking, again. It was only natural; being given 2 people and told to kill one of them isn’t an event that doesn’t spark some form of panic or terror. At least the 'captives' had a sense of order to balance it out.

“Holy Celestia above, I have to kill someone; this isn’t supposed to happen. THIS ISN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN!” Twilight screamed.

The Pegasus in the cage to the left of Twilight was trying to calm her down, uttering words of care and comfort, all with little avail. The other Pegasus was constantly stomping around, slapping himself and constantly asking to no one in particular, “This is the one who will save us?”

After listening to Twilight bawl her eyes out for a couple of minutes, he then picked up a rock that was lying in his cell and threw it at Twilight, hitting her in the head and snapping her out of the panic-induced state she was stuck in. Promptly realizing her reaction, Twilight blushed and mumbled out an apology.

“Heh, sorry about that. Not really used to the whole ‘life or death scenario’ yet.” She mumbled, scratching the back of her head.

The Pegasus on the left wore a faint smile, “It’s no problem at all; really. Just breathe deep, an-“

“JUST FREE US ALLREADY!”

Twilight jumped again, her head whipping to look at the other Pegasus, who was wearing a face of rage and hatred, was yelling his lungs out at Twilight. “GET THE FUCKING GUN OUT, AND SHOOT THE CELESTIA-DAMED LOCKS!”

“ok”

With hand shaking set to overdrive, Twilight slowly reached into her right pocket, and brought the revolver out. Her other hand, meanwhile, reached into her left pocket and pulled out the—now battered—envelope. Drawing a finger through its contents, the envelope was returned, and her finger was placed in her mouth. Almost instantaneously, her eyes started to glow again—though nowhere near as brightly—and she stopped shaking, taking a calm and relaxed position.

Bringing her hands together around the firearm, Twilight brought it up to her eye level, and then, realizing she was being a complete idiot, shook her head and walked over to the cages. Shooting the locks from point-blank, she blankly stared at the 2 she just freed, her glowing eyes giving off an unearthly feel though the room.

Thankfully they were spared from more awkward silence by the attempted introduction of the Pegasus with the white coat. Wrapping Twilight in a hug, she started crying into Twilight’s shoulder, tears of joy dampening the material, “(sniff) thank you so much, thank you so, so much…”

Pulling back, she smiled, “I am Winter Storm; thank you so much for saving us.” She said, before continuing the hug.

Laughing, Twilight semi-hugs back, feeling more awkward than comforted. Turning her head, she looked over at the Stallion she freed, who looked more annoyed than anything else. Smiling, Twilight attempted to ‘break the ice’, “So do you always have a face of disgust or is it just me?”

His frown worsened, “Unfortunately, just you; the bullet you shot into the lock ricocheted into my hip.” He brought his hand away from his side to show a slowly growing blood stain forming. “I doubt that will be of much use in the next death-trap we have to encounter.”

Twilight opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by the stallion once again, “And my name’s Lightning Flash; thanks for asking.”

Frowning, Twilight tried again, “Well, maybe I could magic the wound closed? I mean, just a simple healing spell, and BAM! Good as new!” she ended with a flourish.

Shaking his head, Lightning rebutted, “You just don’t get it, do you? Healing a wound from a firearm, spear, or sword is much different than that of a scrape or cut. You run the risk of infecting me with damaged tissue, or there is a possibility that the metals of the bullet might still be in my body, and healing the outside cut wouldn’t do anything for the organs inside. I need a real doctor, not a magic student.”

Twilight was fuming by this point, “Well then, if you don’t want-”

OH Hello! What do we have here?

The group’s bodies all seized up at the sound of the PA, with Lightning’s and Storm’s eyes frantically scanning the room whilst

unknowingly scrunching together.

So not only did you fail to abide by my rules, but you ALSO decided to free both of them! Well now, we can’t have rule breaking; you naughty girl. I believe then it’s time for a little challenge. Come along now; into the next room. I do believe that you’ll have a hell of a time.

Safehouse, unknown location

The next morning contained a host of activity for the investigators. Flash arrived in the early morning with the recruit in tow—20 case-files carried between the 2 of them—and set up shop. Flash separated the files into 3 neat columns, each with a different height, and Moon Blade took the time to install a laptop into a projection system in the corner of the room.

After introductions were completed, and quips on their respective stories given, Flash began a presentation on their findings.

“So with all said and done, the Recruit and I have discovered that this nifty little bugger has wormed his way through more of these files then we’d like to admit. First off,” he clicked a remote in his hand, causing the faces of 13 different people to appear on the projector screen “we have traced his work through at least 10 of the files, though some are on shakier ground than others. The 2nd pile, here,” he clicked the remote again, causing another 8 faces to appear in a different grouping, “is of kidnappings and/or murders that seem like his style, but we’re

not sure. And finally, the remaining 4 files were either too small to decipher, or had little to no connection to the others.”

He paused for a minute, letting it sink in, “Starting off; we have traced the first crime to about a year and a quarter ago: August 1st. It was not pretty: multiple stab wounds to the chest with a single shot to the head. The 2nd and 3rd are the same; the only overlaps between these otherwise independent cases, were the caliber of the gun, the pattern of the stabs, and the residue left in the tissue: all the bodies had

fragments of iron oxide—commonly known as rust—in the wounds.”

Blaze spoke up, “So he was using a rusty knife?”

Flash nodded, “It seems that way, though there was something else that was intriguing about the 3rd body. There were also trace amounts of chromium in its wounds.”

“That chromium discovery allowed us to trace that killer to another 10 bodies in 7 different instances. All of those bodies were pretty slashed up though, with no connection to the precise cuts of the first 3. This, in turn, led to the belief that they were either slashed in reckless abandon, or some kind of machine with chromium-tipped blades.”

“What about the next 6 cases?” Shining inquired, “What made them so close yet not like these?”

Flash grimaced, “There was almost nothing left.”

Pressing the next button on the remote a couple of times, he flashed passed the pictures taken of the bodies of the first 10 cases, to reach a group of pictures of assorted damaged body parts and horrifically mutilated torsos and heads.

Flash continued, “These victims contained the same levels of chromium-per-wound as the other bodies, but had so many other marks and general disfigurement that we weren’t sure whether to call it a solid find. What do you make of it, Shining?”

Shining, meanwhile, was taking close inspection of the edges of the bodies, careful note of the jagged starts and stops. “Zoom in on the cut.”

Moon Blade nodded, and after typing a few commands into the computer, an image of one of the arms, blown up to fit the screen, came into view.

After taking another moment to verify his upcoming claim, he stepped back and brought up his hand to point at the screen. “Does anyone see something very different about that particular cut?”

“The mismatched pattern?” Blaze asked.

Nodding, Shining replied, “Yes, that’s exactly it.” He mused, "It is nothing like the cleanliness of the other wounds.”

“Maybe he needed a victim every now-and-then to satisfy his blood lust, and the gaps in-between those victims with the marks are cooling off points where he kills like normal?”

Shining shook his head, “I don’t think so. Look at the substance on the end of the cut; see the way it glistens?”

“So he sprays them with water?”

“No; I think he let's dogs have at them.”

Twilight led the way for Lightning and Storm, both of which were too scared to be the first to enter a new room, and came across a dimly lit hallway. This hallway was nothing like the first she came across; the walls were decrepit, there were scratches everywhere on the floor, the lights were only lit every other, and small pools of blood could be seen trailing off into the right.

As soon as Winter Storm entered the hallway, the door slammed shut, making her and Lightning to jump at the sudden noise.

Ah, welcome to the first (and probably last) challenge!

Surprisingly, no-one said a word, preferring the silence to feeble protest.

I can see we have quite the talkative bunch today, so let’s get right into it!

Another metallic slam could be heard, quite far off in the hallway down to the left, along with…howling?

So as you can hear, there is a pack of savage canines coming your way! Better start running, because you don’t want to be there when they arrive!

As the sound of the PA clicking off reverberated through the passageway, Twilight and her new "friends” started a mad dash down the hall. Luck was not on their side however, and they quickly had to run 2 very sharp turns across some pooling blood, and could hear the pack clearly gaining with every step.

Twilight estimated, that the dogs would likely overrun them in a half minute; and she had no idea how to stop them. Sure, she could use magic, but killing them was against her morals; creating a shield was impossible without being way too close for comfort, and she couldn’t just leave these 2 behind by spending magic to help her run.

Whilst stuck in her dilemma, they approached a 3-way intersection in the hallway. Stopping a moment, Lightning quickly turned around. “OK. I have an idea.” Getting everyone’s ears to perk up, “Twilight, you come with me. We’ll create a distraction going straight down the hall. Storm, you’ll go left, but after our signal, wait 10 seconds before going up the stairwell to our right. Get out, and get help.”

“ok”

Lightning nodded, “Great; now come on.”

Heading straight, as per the plan, Lightning and Twilight hid behind a small stack of boxes 20 paces into the hallway, and waited for the dogs to arrive. Lightning turned and whispered to Twilight, “Whoever makes it out of this alive checks back on Storm, agreed?”

As Twilight nodded in acceptance, they both heard the dogs getting closer, stopping at the intersection, as their noses flared to pick up a scent.

“Ok, on 3. 1…2…”

“HEY ASSHOLES! OVER HERE!

Twilight and Lightning froze, as what was clearly Storm’s voice somewhat boomed around them. Neither daring to move if it was a trap.

“Come and get me if you can!” Storm shouted once more.

“What the hell is she thinking? She’s going to get herself killed!” Lightning fumed, “Twilight, give me the gun. Twilight?”

Turning, he found Twilight cowering in a ball, repeatedly crying to herself “this wasn’t the plan; this wasn’t the plan; it isn’t supposed to end this way; this wasn’t the plan”

“Pull yourself together!” Lightning hissed, “We need to save storm; give me the revolver.”

Wiping her tears away, Twilight passed the revolver to Lightning, and then waved her hand vertically over his body. Sniffing, she spoke, “I-sniff-placed an aura over you. It should protect you long enough to get Storm and…kill the dogs.” She spoke the last of the sentence with a cry, and proceeded to continue curling in a ball.

Lightning frowned, not wanting to leave her behind, but with her magic depleted again, and turned into a sobbing mess, it was for the best. Getting up, Lightning spread his wings and flew as fast as he dared back down the hall and to the right to chase after storm.

Twilight continued crying as Lightning left, barely noticing his absence. She barely noticed the footfalls and wing beats slowly disappear as the chase continued, but she was quickly snapped out of crying and into fear as a blaring scream, one that made her blood curl, rang out into the hall. This was swiftly followed by an equally loud “NO!", and then followed by several shots ringing out. Then all was

silent.

Twilight’s mind raced, thinking about what should have been happening that day. It was the 16th of Neightember when she was taken. The running of the leaves and Thanksgiving holidays were coming up in the next week. She should be home, getting ready to celebrate the holidays with her friends and/or boyfriend. How were any of them taking her absence? Especially how was Spike? He was still very young, and would definitely need supervision, so who was watching him? And what of her family? She would give almost anything to be with her parents at Canterlot, maybe even bring her brother too. Snuggle up in front of a fire and read some book like they were kids again. Maybe even have a relaxing family meal to reflect on their lives and how they’ve changed. And—not to mention, but—where was she? Stuck in some hallway Celestia-knows-where fending for her life.

Twilight’s internal moping was broken, however, when Lightning tapped her on the shoulder when he returned, making her jump. Looking up, she noticed a grim face leading down to look at Storm’s mangled corpse resting there next to her.

And then she started to cry once more.