Manehattan Homicide : The Red Laborer

The Istallion lieutenant slowly trotted across the velvet carpet, approaching the bathrooms. His cutiemark represented a police badge, and he had a black-brown mane on top of a tan coat. It was his first case for a long, long time, since he took a long break for injuries, and he was prepared. He wore his blue hat with pride, his golden badge shining upon the top of his chest. It shined in the florescent lighting all the forensic scientists had put up. The whole crime scene was a mess. Hoofprints were covering the floor, since everypony had galloped out of the room as soon as the scream was heard. At least, that's what a witness said. He racked his brain, looking for all the details.

A mother had been kidnapped, her son had been slaughtered, and everypony had ran. Not much to go off of, but it would have to do. It was better than some cases, like the one with the sick stallion who robbed cash-redeemers, letting his flopper out on the camera. He made his way across the room, his hooves sinking into the floor below him, to the bathroom door. He creaked it open and was met with the same, foul smell as before. His muzzle crinkled. The colt had shat himself in fear when he was murdered, or at least that's what the scientists predicted. The brown puddle had been cleared around, the surface surrounding the muck sparkling with chemical cleaning products. Why the hell would they clean the area around a pile of crap. Why do we need a pile of crap, he thought to himself.

He swung the fourth stall's door open and saw the same grisly sight as before. I shouldn't have ate breakfast yet. The colt was sprawled across the toilet, barrel sliced open, his organs littering the floor. He stepped away from the queasy sight, and then he heard the flush of a toilet from the first stall. Unbe-fucking-lievable. Somepony was using the bathroom in a scene of crime.

"Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing?" He tried to open it, but it was locked. He the clacking of hooves against ceramic. He busted his hoof on the door, filled with anger. The door swung open, and the earth pony's jaw dropped.

"Hello, my dear Vincent." The alabaster unicorn said in a southern accent, stepping out of the way, light shining through his sculpted features. His mane was blond, but it was so pale you could've thought it was also white. His eyes were like ice, and his cutiemark resembled an eagle with an eye overhead, with less than a half moon on the left, and a full moon on the right. He wore a black suit, with a white shirt under it, all of it unwrinkled. A silky red tie hung from his neck. He looked like an undertaker.

"Pendergast? How in the- I thought you were- Why are you here?!" Vincent D'Agosta stood there, confused. Pendergast had disappeared for months after the last time he had saw him. But here the FBI pony was, nonchalant at the scene of crime after vanishing for months.

"A long story, and I'd rather not delve into it," he replied. He trotted out of the room, and D'Agosta was forced to follow.

"Why are you working on this case? It looks cold, a random murder and kidnapping."

"I do not think that this is the only crime to be committed by the perpetrator. And now, I must go home. It is getting quite late, wouldn't you agree?" Without another word, he trotted out of the room. It looked like he had already collected samples of everything. Being Pendergast's friend was both a conundrum and an asset, the lieutenant thought, annoyed at no further explanations.

The silver vehicle swerved across the roads, at speeds just below the limit. The gloomy sky reflected off its pure surface. Inside was a snow-white pony. The buildings and pedestrians were a blur through the window. After an hour of driving, they arrived at a rundown mansion, looking abandoned for years, but looks can be deceiving. The vehicle parked on the curb, and the white stallion slammed the door shut behind him. The butler-looking pony opened the driver's door and stepped out, also shutting it behind him.

"Proctor, please take the rest of the day off." The chauffeur silently nodded and went past Pendergast, into the mansion. Pendergast trotted slowly towards the door ahead of him, the family crest engraved above the door -- an eagle with an eye overhead, two moons on the sides. He opened it and its hinges creaked. He stepped into the gaping hole of blackness and shut the door behind him, locking it. His hooves went across the old-but-beautiful wooden floor until they came upon a door. The knob glowed in a spectral light, turning. A warm hearth greeted him at the far side of the room, surrounded by tall bookshelves. There were two velvet seats between the fireplace, one holding an eye-widening mare. She was also a unicorn, and had a brown, soft mane upon a pale white coat of fur. She was burrowed in a book, but at the stallion's arrival, she looked up. Her cutiemark was a book with bones on it. She wore a white, silk dress. She looked about twenty, but looks were deceiving. A tall painting loomed over the fire, a depiction of a sun setting between two islands in a dark blue ocean. It was an original.

"Hello, Aloysius," she greeted, her voice in an old fashion. She set her book upon the table between the two chairs and looked up at him expectantly.

"Greetings, Constance," he replied, going to the chair. He sat on it and pulled out a book from one of the shelves with magic. His brow furrowed as he delved into it, seeping in every word.

"You seem worried." Her face was a mask of no emotion when she said it.

"That's an opinion."

"It's a fact."

The agent sighed. "A new case has popped up, and it's displeasing. It has the same pattern as my last case. Rich ponies getting kidnapped. Perhaps I can get your opinion?"

She smirked when she heard it, as Pendergast always asked his oracle for the answers of hard questions. She was more than a century old, after all. She had to be the smartest pony in Equestria, knowing how to decipher almost every language. Germane, Istallion, and many other languages, most of them being ancient. She couldn't speak most of them, but she could read and write any of them. Leng had helped her in learning.

"It can be an inside job maybe, an elegant pony attacking others, but it could also be a poor pony bitter at them as well."

"Well yes, that's obvious," Pendergast looked annoyed at the simple options, "but neither fits all the descriptions.

"What if it's both?"

Pendergast's eyes shot up at the idea. "Constance, you're a genius." He immediately galloped out of the room, his book trailing after him. His clopping echoed across the house, and Constance chuckled. She was Pendergast's ward, yet he always came to him for answers. She was still grateful for his care.

Pendergast ran towards the elevator leading to the maze of basements under the house. Once inside, he pressed a button to make it go down. After a moment of gears turning, the doors opened again and he was met with a concrete room. He pressed his hoof against the outer wall, and it turned to reveal a staircase spiraling deeper into a dark abyss. He trotted down, not needing light. After several minutes, he was in a lab. He pulled out all the evidence and supplies he had so far. A blue strand of hair, blood from the colt, a dry rag, and many tubes filled with tiny specks of substances. He immediately began working, pouring chemicals into beakers, and testing everything out. He kept on for the whole night, not sleeping. He put the hair into a beaker and poured a chemical solution into it. He watched the clear solution bubble until it changed color, turning to a bright blue.

This was good.

It was only after the sun started to come up that the stallion arose from the labs, his suit filled with tubes containing various things.