CSI: Canterlot - The Rich and The Poorby DIO BrandoChaptersPrologue - The Rich StallionChapter One - Fresh StartChapter Two - Body Count RisingChapter Three - A Lengthy DiscussionChapter Four - InterrogationPrologue - The Rich Stallion"Tomorrow you say?" the rich, well-dressed stallion stated. "Yes, yes, I believe I can spare a portion of time for the cause." He wore a nice, three-piece suit, accessorized by a twenty-four karat golden monocle and a shiny, black tophat. His mane was combed to near perfection, shining white as snow. The stallion was well in years, but with few visible wrinkles on his gray coat to show it. He had stayed late to settle a business deal with another stallion he had met. This stallion was a kind fellow, about as well-dressed as he. After a moment of continued conversation, the two bade each other farewell before departing. The gray-coated stallion thought to himself, smiling as he walked from the elaborate Canterlot structure from a rich party of sorts, pondering the great investments he was going to make the following day. As it happened, the skies were already dark, and he felt it was crucial to make an alleyway shortcut towards his home, given the darkness, and the fact that it looked like it was about to rain. He turned towards the alley closest and most efficient for his return home, and as he made his way down the dark and well-littered path, he felt an odd chill down his spine, as if he weren't alone. Feeling insecure, he looked around to see if anypony else was there. He was turned around, and still walking backwards to be sure not to waste time standing idly. As he was doing so, he stumbled over something, letting out a brief shout as he fell to the ground in a puddle. Curious as to what it was, he got up, shook his head, and adjusted his eyes to a very, very disturbing figure. The colors of red and blue flashed brightly and vibrantly in the cold, dark night. The clouds blotted out the starlight, allowing only a faded glimpse of the moon. The police had made a quick rush to the site at the mention of a 187, in fear of the possible rain to come, disturbing the crime scene. CSI had gotten there just after, rushing to process the crime scene before it became a puddle of water and a sewage search. Two stallions in CSI gear had exited their automobile, proceeding to make their way towards the dead body. They lifted the police tape that was peacefully swaying in the wind, greeting a few other cops on their way in. One prepared his equipment to begin processing the crime scene, and the other knelt down to take a look at the body. As they were doing so, a loud motorcycle echoed throughout the city, breaking the somewhat-peaceful silence within the nighttime atmosphere. As it roared to a halt, another CSI hopped off, deploying the bike's kickstand. She was a mare, pink-coated with a pale yellow mane. Her eyes were pink as well, and she wore a CSI vest along with a solid black bowler hat. She had on thick, square glasses, and a necklace with an emblem of the moon. As she approached the two CSI already at the crime scene, she smiled, awaiting their acknowledgement. Her name was CSI Crystal Clear. "I could hear you from a mile away, Clear," one of the CSI said. He was standing on his hind legs, holding a very advanced camera and preparing to take another photograph of the body. He had a royal blue coat and a bright blue mane, and his eyes, contrarily, were green. His mane was somewhat longer than average for a stallion of his age, about 38, and messy. His voice was low-pitched and raspy, with a definite Ponyville accent. His name was CSI Blue Clever. "I'm sure the rest of Canterlot could, too," the autopsy surgeon replied, still glancing at the body's position to determine a cause of death. His eyes were brown, and his coat was a sandy color. His mane was buzz-cut, and gray. He was young, and his voice was a tad bit higher-pitched than usual. It still, however, had the very sophisticated Canterlot tone to it. His name was Doctor Scalpel Sharp. "Well, at least I'm here," Clear replied, her thick accent coming from Manehattan. She took a quick glance at the dead body. "Do we have a C.O.D. on the vic, Sharp?" "Looks like repetitive stab wounds to the rib cage, and a missing limb" Sharp, the autopsy surgeon replied, still observing the body and gesturing to the missing limb. "Right foreleg gone there, but I'll have to take him in before I can fully determine a C.O.D." "Roll the body over," Clear suggested. Sharp did so, revealing a bloodstained, but otherwise undamaged suit. "Well, it looks like our unsub didn't have a long weapon," Sharp pointed out, "but sharp enough to puncture a three-piece." "Good of you to point that out, Sharp," Clear said. Sharp rolled his eyes, used to the silly puns. She shifted her focus to the other CSI, who was snapping photos of the body and crime scene. "Got an ID, Clever?" "Yeah," Clever replied, taking a look at the pictures, "I'd recognize him anywhere. That's Silver Platter, a very rich stallion who's pretty well known for dealing with the most aggressive business sharks in Equestria." "Possibly a deal gone wrong?" Sharp suggested. "I don't know," Clear mused. She paused for a moment, considering the multiple scenarios of ways aggressive and self-absorbed rich stallions meeting together could go wrong. "Let's wrap up the evidence and bring it back to the crime lab," she finally said, concluding her thought. "Will do, Clear," Clever replied, snapping a last picture before putting away his camera. "Well, Silver Platter," Clear said, watching the body as it was picked up to be carried off to the crime lab, "looks like the tides have turned for you." Chapter One - Fresh Start' First day, let's try not to screw it up... ' he thought to himself. He was the 'new guy', CSI Fiddlestick, or at least that's what he liked to call himself. He wasn't actually a CSI, he was really just another lab rat trying to make a living on true passion, disregarding his 'destiny' to be a violinist. Sure, he could play, but he was always more interested in forensics. He just didn't see his dark brown coat and jet black mane wearing a tux and bow tie playing at some fancy Canterlot gathering. Really, the fact that he was a part of the forensics team at all was a little humorous to him, and maybe other ponies as well. ' CSI Fiddlestick, ' he thought, ' that makes the name more serious. ' After laughing at the absurdity of the idea, he refrained back to his former thought, not screwing up his first day. Upon arriving at the crime lab, he parked in a far away spot, as to not accidentally bump into any cars with his 'definitely professional' parking abilities. Excitement would have been an understatement for him. He was definitely filled with ecstasy in finally working with forensics. Getting out of the parent's house, going somewhere on his own, with handsome pay for doing what he loved especially. No one to tell him how wrong it was to help bring justice as opposed to playing an instrument. He smiled, jumping out of his car and rushing into the building. Fiddle walked into the lab, looking up and immediately seeing Supervisor Clear. As he replayed the thought to keep himself professional, he missed a 'wet floor sign'. "Supervisor Clear, I'm—Wah!!" he suddenly exclaimed before slipping on a freshly mopped floor. Clear's ears perked up as she looked around to see who was calling her name. She then looked to the floor at a groaning Fiddlestick, who was holding his head with his fore hoof with wings extended across the floor in utter discomfort. "You must be Fiddlestick, the new lab rat," Clear stated frankly, with a little grin. "Ye...yeah...ugh..." Fiddle said, pulling himself to a sitting position. He looked towards his new boss, giving up on his dignity. "How'd you know?" "Just a hunch," Clear replied with a chuckle. She offered to help him up. "I'm glad you got here today, we had a homicide with some odd trace on the vic, I'll need you to process it so we can maybe find out what the murder weapon was." ' Wow, already putting me to work, eh? ' Fiddle thought to himself. He smiled, "Of course, I'll get right to that," he replied. He paused for a minute. "Is there a problem, Fiddle?" Clear asked. "Yeah uh..." Fiddle slowly muttered, feeling worse about himself, "where's my lab?" "Straight, left, straight, straight, right," Clear replied, with a smile. She patted his back, brushing off a piece of his coat. Right... Fiddle thought, before making the trip towards the lab. "How are we doin', Doc?" Clear asked, walking into the autopsy room. The victim, Silver Platter, was lain on a table with the skin around his chest and abdominal area cut and opened, exposing the organs to the air. A whiff of rich blood filled the room, something that both forensics workers were used to. "Well, I've got a T.O.D., and a C.O.D.," Sharp said, examining the body. "I'm all ears," Clear reassured. "Alright," the doctor said, preparing to fully explain the victim's death to his knowledge, "C.O.D. was actually blunt force trauma to the head, his mane is thick, and between it being dark outside and that, it wasn't easy to make out. As far as I can tell, decomp says he died as soon as that event was over in Canterlot, that'd be about fifteen minutes before we found him, or before the other stallion found him, I should say. Here's the interesting part: the blunt force was before the stabbing, and it was evident that the vic would have died from such a traumatic force. I'm pretty certain there was a heavy passion behind this, and I think that our witness was very lucky to have not been killed as well." "Do you know what he was stabbed with?" "That's an issue, I've never seen this kind of marking, it looks...very unorthodox. It wasn't anything like a knife, it almost looks like a blunt object. The skin in the puncture wounds is stretched, and some of the interior of the body affected was pushed out of the way rather than impaled." "So you're saying the unsub used a blunt weapon, and managed to impale the victim, and the fabric with it?" "That's the conclusion I've reached, unless I've missed something very well hidden or completely obvious." "Right." Clear took one last look at the corpse, before sending orders to Clever and checking up on Fiddlestick. It was now sunny, the rain from the night of the murder left a murky alley and damp atmosphere for the investigators searching the premises. CSI Clever walked beside another mare, CSI Brite Siyde, with a Level in his hoof. Brite Siyde was a cheery mare with a bright, yellow coat, and a vibrant orange mane in an almost perfect ponytail, leaving her bangs hanging in front of her face. "Why do you have that..?" Brite Siyde asked, looking at the Level. Clever made no expressions, but kept walking. As they approached the crime scene, Brite Siyde notice that everything in the pictures that wasn't significant evidence was washed away by rain. "How are we supposed to know where the rain took everything, or if it did?" she asked. Clever looked at her, shaking the Level slightly in his hoof. Siyde finally understood why he brought it. Clever laid down the level, closely observing its measurements. After a moment of said observation, Clever picked up the level. "South," he said, "with the assumed size and mass of the murder weapon, anything down to wind could have picked it up." Siyde slowly nodded, taking a look down a much longer alleyway. This search was going to take a while. They began walking, closely observing both sides of the alley. Clever remained entirely silent, as he usually does. The only person who really ever gets him to talk is Supervisor Clear. That is, talk like a equine being, and not a strict, CSI professional. Finally, after about fifteen minutes of thorough searching, "Got somethin'," Clever said, taking out a cue tip and some liquid substance. As Siyde walked over, Clever gently dabbed the cue tip in an odd residue. When he dripped a bit of the liquid on it, the cue tip turned partially red. "Blood, and residue," Siyde pointed out, "it looks like the same trace that was on the vic," "Yeah, yeah, about that," Clever said, "I should be getting a call on what we're looking for very soon. Maybe--" As he was talking, the phone rang in his pocket. He took it out to see who it was, and sure enough, a picture of Supervisor Clear appeared with the options 'Answer' and 'Decline'. "Speak of the devil," Clever said, grinning. Fiddlestick took out the samples he was given and began to study them closely. He loaded some into a machine and ran several tests on different pieces of the trace. To place himself a step ahead of the game, he also prepared a tox on the victim, just in case there were any sort of drugs or premeditation involved. As he was finishing up some tests, Supervisor Clear walked in. "How are we doing on that trace, Sticks?" she asked. ' Odd, ' Fiddle thought, ' a nickname. ' He jumped out of his thoughts to greet the supervisor. "Last few tests are coming in now," Fiddle replied, "I also have a tox prepared, what do you want first?" "New guy's ahead of the game," Clear mused, "give me the tox report," "Right," Fiddle said, smiling a bit out of an inevitable pride for doing something right. He picked up the tox report, and looked through it, finishing up a few tests as he read. "I got one peak, looks like buprenorphine, a very strong painkiller? I thought it was orally ingested, so I asked Doc if he could look for some specific things on the body, and he confirmed my belief." "You don't get buprenorphine from just anywhere, and you don't just get into that kind of convention with that kind of drug," Clear replied, thinking hard about the possibilities, "I'll get Clever to take a look into where our killer could have gotten that, we're looking at a possible inside job. Anyway, tell me about the trace we found in the vic." "Yes," Fiddle started, looking back at the reports from the tests on the trace material, "it's galvanized steel, like from a fence post." Clear gave a sudden look of confusion. "Those posts are typically anywhere from three to seven feet tall," she pointed out, "there's no way the killer could have used a fence post." "Unless the killer isn't as rich as we think he is, in which case, any poor Canterlot residents can find or develop makeshift weapons and tools from salvaging abandoned areas and such," Fiddle said, "but still, that leaves the question of how a poor guy got into a rich-guy-only club." Clear thought for a minute. "Fiddle, we might be looking at two killers here," Clear said, slowly reaching into her pocket to grab her phone. Chapter Two - Body Count Rising"We found your murder weapon, just about 23 feet away from the murder site," Clever said, walking into Clear's office. Clear was focusing on her laptop. "Show me," she said, readjusting her glasses and taking a look. Clever held the object above the desk: a folded-in metal cylinder with a rounded end, covered in dry blood. Clear quickly covered her hooves with latex gloves before examining the object. She looked back at her laptop with utter confusion on her face. "What's up?" Siyde asked, not sure of what was wrong. Clear looked at Siyde and Clever with a very concerned look. "The only thing we know that can create this kind of propulsion effortlessly is a high power engine...like, like a jet or a rocket, which makes no logical sense given the circumstance," Clear pointed out, "the only other conclusion I can make..." "Is that our killer is one of a kind," Clever finished, as he commonly thought alike with Clear "a unicorn." Clear suddenly got up, closing her laptop. "Get the rest of the team in conference, and I want the sheriff there, too," Clear said, "right now, pronto." She shooed them off, collecting some papers from a printer and walking towards a conference room. She peaked into the lab where Fiddlestick was, motioning for him to come out as well. As the CSI gathered in the room, Clear paced back and forth at the front of a white board. Finally, the Sheriff walked in, Officer Brass Cuffs. He was about 50, and showed it well. His mane was dark grey, white at the tips. He wore a two piece suit with a badge on his left side and his coat was a pale indigo color. "What's the deal, Clear?" Cuffs asked, his voice raspy as usual. Clear stopped pacing and faced her team. "Unicorns began to die off around 1600 CE, shortly after the death of Princess Twilight Sparkle," Clear began to explain. "Most ponies think that the unicorns are completely extinct, and, as DNA suggests, the genetic combinations that create a unicorn are entirely recessive. Pegasi as well started to decrease in population size around 1900 CE. I find it personally fascinating that we have one in our team." Clear took a moment to recognize the new member, whom nobody else had met. "Who's the new guy, Clear?" Clever asked, looking at Fiddle. Fiddle sat quietly, a little red from recognition. "Everyone, this is Fiddlestick," Clear said, "he's our new lab worker." Siyde, who was sitting beside Fiddlestick, immediately turned to shake his hoof. "Nice to have you on the team, Sticks," she said, smiling. "My name is Brite Siyde." Fiddle mused at the mention of the nickname again, is that what everyone was going to call him now? "And I'm Blue Clever, that's Officer Brass Cuffs," Clever said, pointing towards the grumpy-looking officer, who just nodded briefly towards Fiddlestick, before turning back to Clear. "That's great and all," Cuffs said, "but can you tell me why this meeting was so urgent? You could have introduced me after I finished my expresso." "Oh, I didn't call anyone here to introduce anyone," Clear said, returning to the prior conversation, "as we all know, it's now 2017, and unicorns have slowly died out. We thought they were all gone, but there are sightings, and rumors of a secret society that harbors and even breeds unicorns." "Where are you going with this, Clear?" Clever asked. "I'm thinking that our culprit here was much more than a poor pony trying to get some extra dollars," Clear explained, "I think our first unsub is a unicorn making 'relations' with some higher-ups by committing an untraceable murder, but there's a flaw with that plan. The history of forensics provides a way to detect magic residue on objects. With todays tech, we can match that to DNA. So I think we need to look back at some old files and do some old-fashioned investigations." "So you're saying we're dealing with some secret society now?" Clever asked, "That seems a bit far fetched." "I hear about them all the time where I come from," Fiddle said, before realizing all of the attention was on him. He paused for a moment, a bit startled by everyones eyes piercing through him. "What?" "Keep talkin'," Clever replied, "you might have some important information." Fiddle felt a little pride from hearing that, but wasn't sure what to say, so, he continued telling what he knew as far as he knew it. "Well," he started, "by hearsay, there was a lot going around about unicorns rising up again, lots of drama about some war to bring back the ancient magic of friendship and yada yada yada. Sounds crazy to me, but if it's a possibility, it's a possibility." The other CSI started at him, then looked back at Clear, who was looking at the ceiling. "They're not bringing back friendship in this world," she muttered, before looking back down. "This crime could evolve to a much more destructive and terrorist event if we don't solve it quick. Cuffs, I want you to keep all squads on alert for unicorn sightings. Clever and Siyde, I want you to investigate any areas for sightings of unicorns. Doc, I want you to look back at the body and see if you can find aura residue or energy trace on the vic. Sticks, you work with me in the lab, we'll see what we can extract from the trace we can get." The team nodded, all departing to their separate ways. Fiddlestick and Clear remained. After everyone had exited the room, Clear began to walk toward the exit. "Hey, Supervisor Clear," Fiddlestick started. Clear paused, looking back at him. "You can call me Crystal, but just call me Clear when you're around others," she said. Fiddlestick nodded, before continuing. "Do you think that, if they exist, maybe they're trying to do something right, but in the wrong way?" Fiddlestick asked, staring at the blank whiteboard. Clear had no response at first. "The unicorn group, I mean. Bringing back the magic of friendship?" Clear slowly walked back to the table, pulling up a chair beside Fiddle. Fiddle directed his attention to her as she sat down, curious as to what she would say. "We abandoned general magic centuries ago," Crystal started, "we abandoned the magic of friendship decades ago." "What do you mean?" Fiddle asked. "Why do you think we do what we do?" Crystal replied, "why do you think we even exist? Millennia back, justice was on the backs of goddesses, namely Princess Celestia and Princess Luna. After they died, several alicorns took charge, their leader being Princess Twilight Sparkle, the sole holder of the elements of harmony. When she died, there was nopony left to take them, and they were buried away and forgotten forever, or so they say. Since then, the world has been in a downfall with crime and chaos, to where the earthen ponies had to take order. As this happened, magic became a less frequent thing, especially after several wars when the unicorns were sent out primarily due to their advantage of range and shielding. The earth ponies were always insignificant, until the world adapted to a mortal-ran society. There are no gods or goddesses protecting us now, no magic, no friendship. Just hatred and cruelty. Our job is to rise out of that rottenness and speak for the dead, putting away the criminals in the name of justice. As for this group, if they are right, they are right, and I hope they win — but as for me, I have a job and a duty to preserve the safety of my people, the equines, and I will apprehend them with all of my ability." "What if we could go back? To friendship?" Fiddle asked. Crystal just looked down, shaking her head, before exiting the room. "I wish it were that easy." Brite Siyde and Blue Clever exited their vehicle. They were equipped with flashlights, cuffs, weapons, and several tools for investigation. The area was a very, very cliche abandoned warehouse in the middle of an unbusy street. Surrounded in battered and unused buildings, this one seemed out of place as it was more structurally sound. Brite and Clever exchanged looks before equipping their flashlights and walking into the building. The doors were heavy, squeaky, and filled with rust. They shined flashlights around the warehouse, it seemed to have several other compartments, and one other large room with a single entry. "I'll take the left, you take the right," Clever suggested, "then we'll take a look at that one." He pointed the flashlight to the large door in the middle. Brite nodded, trotting towards the right side. Clever slowly walked towards the left side, before feeling a sharp pain in his hoof. "D'ow..." he suddenly muttered before picking up his hoof. It didn't draw any blood, but he noticed a strange object. He slipped on a glove, putting it in an evidence bag, then in his pocket. He continued walking, then opened the door, revealing an empty, but messy room. He caught a wiff of rot, before noticing the dead corpses of a few birds and small cats in the corner. "Hey, Siyde, I gotta 187, birds and cats!" Clever shouted with a smile, joking. His smile faded at the response; Siyde was already at the door. "187," she said, "ten bodies." Clever quickly accompanied her going back to the room, while turning on his radio to speak. "This is CSI Blue Clever, we need assistance in the Southern Quadrant of Canterlot, abandoned warehouse on Civilian Highway 33. We've got ten dead bodies, and suspicious activity; possibly more of both, over," Clever said. After some garble, a voice in the radio responded. "10-4, sending backup to your location, over." Siyde opened the door, revealing 10 lined up bodies, hung on the wall like sacrifices, cut open very specifically. Tools were left on a surgical table, several advanced instruments. "Those instruments," Siyde pointed out, "you could only find those from twenty-four specific Canterlot Advanced Surgical Centers." "Or the black market," Clever countered, looking at them closely. "Well, going on the assumption of a conspiracy..." "Yeah, I'm not so sure about that. I can't rule it out, but I can't believe it." "So what else do you think it could be?" "Gang activity maybe?" "I've never heard of a gang that performs ritual sacrifices, but I've heard a lot about unicorn savages running around doing. Just silly myths, though. Fillyhood horror stories." Clever looked up at the bodies again, then to Siyde. "Maybe they aren't stories after all." Chapter Three - A Lengthy DiscussionTen bodies, spread out at unnaturally perfect distance across the wall. It wasn't as bloody as it should have been. No, the bodies seemed to have been halfway-decently cleaned. It was unnatural, animalistic, but so intelligent. "What in Luna's name..." Clear mumbled to herself, looking at the bodies. She took off her glasses in awe, walking closer to the bodies and examining them. They didn't smell rotten like the animal bodies did, they smelled like... "...damascus rose." Meanwhile, Sharp was looking at the bodies as they were still hung, Clever was taking several pictures of the crime scene, as was Brite. "Their organs look perfect from here," the doc said, "no damage that I can see exposed, the bodies are even preserved. I can't determine a C.O.D., but it looks like they've been dead for a few days, and a few days more, and a few days more for each one. This precise cutting isn't possible by even the finest hoofwork, it has to be some sort of machine..." "But there's no evidence of a machine," Clever pointed out. He and the Sharp looked at Clear. "No, but there is..." Clear started, taking out a small container of glowing liquid. She sprayed it once on a part of one of the bodies, it lit up. "...Aura residue." "What is that, Clear?" Clever asked. Clear held it up, grinning. "Ancient," she replied, "potions like these were made for earth ponies to try and replicate the abilities of unicorns." "To protect themselves from them?" "No, to be like them. Unicorns aren't as bad as everypony thinks, they are actually — or used to be — a highly respectable race. Very noble. We were taught from day one that they were monsters with great glowing blades on their heads who ruled under tyranny, and who stole the wings of pegasi to reign stronger —" "— the alicorn —" "—right. Those were just myths. Still, I'm unsure about how these exist. Have we checked the other room yet?" They all exchanged looks. Clever put away his camera, and walked towards the exit. "I'll tell you when I'm done checking the other room," he said, exiting. Clear followed closely behind him. As they approached the door, an ominous feeling came over them, like they were trespassing. "I'm not the only one who feels that, right?" Clever asked. "No," Clear confirmed, "I feel it, too, open the door." Clever hesitantly opened the great metal door with his flashlight in hoof to a large room with a conference table in the middle. There were bodies hanging from the ceiling in 14th century torture cages, runes on the wall inscribed with blood with huge transmutation circles all over the floors and ceiling. In the center was a single, half-lit, candle chandelier, and the empty conference table. There were several doors and rooms, completely emptied, and the smell of rot pierced the air. "One thing's for sure," Clever said, still taking in the sight. "What's that?" Clear asked, trying to understand as well. Clever turned to her, putting his flashlight down. "They're not looking for the restoration of friendship." "So here's what we got," Clear said, back in the conference room after searching the entire warehouse. She projected several images on the screen from her laptop, pictures of the processed crime scenes, runes, and other odd occurrences. "twenty-four total dead bodies, four hanging, ten in a room lined up, and two in the five other rooms. One room contains seven dead dove corpses, and nine dead cats. In addition, there is also another room with a large altar, and the remains of various cattle. Needless to say, this is very confusing." "I second that," Clever said. "So we have all of this evidence of a sophisticated organization," Clear continued, "but how does that relate to our unsophisticated blunt-force stabbing?" All of the C.S.I.'s pondered for a moment. Fiddlestick spoke up. "Maybe a rogue member?" he said, "kicked out of the only place he or she was welcome, and decided to make some good money real easy." "That'd be a she," Sharp said suddenly, "I extracted some aura residue from the body, and more from the other bodies. They all match as a white-coated female unicorn, except for one..." Sharp pulled a few pictures out of a file, spreading them across the table. The other C.S.I.'s took a close look. "The latest one. Same procedure, but there's a small difference, and less precision to the incisions. The results came back for a gray-coated male unicorn. Almost like they switched out." "So it seems Sticks' theory is aligned with the evidence," Brite pointed out. "Let's not get stuck on it," Clever objected, "there's a chance that it could be a coincidental killing." "Coincidence is a scientific anomaly," Clear overruled, "there is that chance, but let's try and rule out or prove what is easiest before we overthink it. We have a possible rogue, which means if we find her, we can get answers on this cult, and maybe stop a disaster. Clever, Brite, I want you to keep looking at those rumored unicorn sightings, and be very careful. I wouldn't want you to get hung like one of those other ponies." The two C.S.I.'s nodded. "Cuffs, I want you to update the police force on possible suspects, they should keep their eye out for a while-coated female equine with excessive manes or other facial and forehead coverings." "What were the C.O.D.'s on the other vics?" Brite suddenly asked. "Oh, of course," Clear replied, turning to Sharp, "Doc?" "C.O.D. was a form of cardiac arrhythmia," Sharp replied, "tachyarrhythmia, to be exact. But I also found evidence of electrocution — or something like it. I looked for history of hypoglycemia, hypovolemia, hyperthyroidism, hyperventilation, then I looked for amphetamine usage, and syndromes like Brugada and Wolff–Parkinson–White, but I found nothing. In fact, they were all perfectly healthy. I did find formaldehyde, glutaraldehyde, and methanol in the 'sacrificed' victims — standard embalming fluid — and other antimicrobial preservatives like nitrate and hydroxybenzoate." "Someone's been doing some very sophisticated chemistry," Clever pointed out. "Yes," Clear seconded, "and very sophisticated symbolism. I researched and tried to look for as many rituals as I could, but there's nothing like this. Their organs are left exposed and held together, but they're killed before hoof. The equine body reacts to lethal amounts of magic energy like it would to electricity, except magic energy can be manipulated. This magic happened to amplify electronic signals within the equines' bodies, causing them to die from a very fast heartbeat. I think what we're dealing with here is a home-grown cult, but not one trying to bring back friendship." "That means there might be another one," Fiddlestick quickly mentioned. "What do you mean, 'another one'?" Clever asked frustratedly, turning to face Fiddlestick. "Well, like Clear said," Fiddle started, "unicorns aren't the savage beings we were told they were, and there are still rumors of another group that is willing to fight to bring back the magic of friendship, what if—" "That's absurd!" Clever suddenly exclaimed, the rest of the C.S.I.'s were a bit startled, except for Clear, who remained silent. "The 'magic of friendship' is just another one of those pathetic tales they tell us as children, it's just as fake as—" "A cult of unicorns who perform 'fan-made' ritual sacrifices on ponies and have kept it hidden from us for about four weeks now, given they haven't relocated?" Fiddle interrupted, "Let's see, rumors have went on longer than that, we're looking at several relocations, maybe even several more murders, it's possible that they—" "We can't go on possible!" Clever retorted belligerently, "We have to follow the evidence, we can't assume that there's another cult out there trying to make friendship real again!" Fiddle paused, staring at him. "You're missing something, Blue," Fiddle said, calmly. Clever's face reflected a confused disgust. "What we can't assume is that there's only one, but what we can assume is that there's more than one. It's safer that way. We're not here for convenience, we're here to find out everything before it happens." Clever's face was visibly red, but he ceased argumentation. "That went better than expected," Clear said, frankly. "Basically, what we have is a confirmed hoodoo cult, a possible anarchist group in the name of friendship, a dirty inside job, and a rogue murderer — we need to focus on getting the dirty insider to lead us to the rogue, which will eventually lead us to the murderous cult." She glared at Clever. "I think we've had enough theorizing. Now — move! Except you, Fiddlestick." The rest walked out. Clever glared at Fiddle before he left. After they had closed the door, Clear took a seat. "You're really stuck on this friendship thing, aren't you?" she asked. Fiddle wasn't sure how to exactly respond. "I'm not stuck on it..." he said, quietly. Clear quickly corrected her wording. "No, I don't mean that," she said, "you seem to have an ecstasy for the idea, why is that?" Fiddle kept silent for a bit, before opening his mouth to speak. "I had a friend once," he muttered, he stopped for a minute. "That's alright, if I'm intruding on any personal grounds I wo—" "All things come to pass, and we should learn to accept that, but if we can bring them back, I think they're worth fighting for. If there really are a group of outcasts who are trying to bring back the magic of friendship, as silly and as unscientific as it sounds, then I respect them highly." Clear nodded at the response. "You're a good guy," Clear said, smiling and patting him on the back, "we'll have to do our best to solve this fandango, so that the bad guys don't outshine the good guys and make things worse for all of us." "You're right, Clear," Fiddlestick responded, "we can't let those savages destroy the reputation of unicorns." "So," Clear said, "think we should get to the lab and try to solve this case?" "Of course." Chapter Four - Interrogation"Clear, I have suspects," Siyde said, walking into Clears office and laying a file on her desk. Clear looked up from her work, readjusting her glasses to take a look at the papers. "Take a seat, and talk," Clear said, examining the pictures and profiles of several rich stallions. Siyde did so. "Gold Safe — that's your first guy," Siyde started out, "he's known for tripping up other rich stallions for profit, and he's went pretty far in the past to do so. Arrested for assault and battery several times, but always bailed out with some dirty deals. Second guy is Bourgee Highballer, he's a total prick. I'm surprised no one has wanted him dead yet, but he's definitely able to cut some deals at any non-monetary price. Third guy is Deep Pockets — richer than rich. He's always looking for new money, and when options run out, he's not afraid to find more. And the last guy's name is Fat Cat. More of a boss, since he's too fat to go anywhere on his own. If anyone's out to contract and hire for kill, it'd be him." "Were any of these suspects at the convention on the night of the crime?" "Yes, Highballer and Pockets. They're a more 'sophisticated' type. Fat Cat was somewhere in another quadrant of Canterlot at the time, but I was able to get a warrant for his phone records, and he's been making a lot of calls. I have yet to find where Gold Safe was at the time." "Well, let's see where they are now and bring them in for questioning." Clear put the photos back into the folder, closing her laptop and slapping a charger into it. "Where's Safe?" "Well, we're still lookin' ... but we have the other three." Clever and Clear stood, observing the embittered and rancorous rich stallions, all lined up against a wall in seats hoof-cuffed. Fat Cat was taking up two seats, Bourgee barely taking up one, and Gold Safe was comfortably sitting in the last seat. "So, who do we talk to first?" Clever asked. "That one and it'll just be me talking to him," Clear said, pointing at Fat Cat, "I feel like he gives off a rancid odor, and I'd like to have him out of my custody as soon as possible." "That's pretty judgmental there, Clear," Clever said, giving a look of playful accusation. Clear looked back at him. "I judge that blue equines are quick to anger," she said, turning around and gesturing to some guards to haul the large stallion into the room. Clever fell into a quick daze at the comment as she walked away. He cleared his throat, thinking about what she said. Clear made her way into the interrogation room, the large stallion took his seat, weighing it down a bit as he stared at Clear in cuffs. "A stallion is d'fenceless wi'tout 'is goons," the large stallion said in a raspy, Manehattan accent. He held up his cuffs, shaking them briefly, before lowering them. His expression showed a blatant carelessness. Clear read his mind and got to the point. "I want to be here just as much as you," she quickly spat out, sorting through some files on the case at hoof. She lightly tossed a picture of the dead equine in front of Cat. "Do you know this stallion?" Cat suddenly gave a look of confusion. "Well," he mused, "who d'hell would wanna go off and kill Silver? I mean, he was kind of a prick, but nothin' worth killing for!" "Except money," Clear pointed out, "Silver Platter was in your class of richness, that—" "Oh, I wouldn't go as far as to say we're in the same class," Cat interrupted, "he was a couple'a mill' down from me, but we had great business relations in th' past." Clear nodded. "I've talked with several stallions like you who had great business relations with their victims," Clear stated, "unfortunately, the greater something is, the larger a mishap will look in comparison. So, let's get to the point here." Clear laid down the pictures of the cultist residence, and of the mutilated bodies. "Do you have anything to do with this?" "Wh..?!" Cat leaned back suddenly at the sight, "I can't do that, no no no, I don't do that to ponies, that's sick! That's frickin' sick!" "Is it sick?" Clear asked, standing up, her voice more stern, "is it so sick that maybe it'd take longer for you to get over the guilt?" "No!" Cat shouted in return, jumping out of the chair and standing back, knocking it over, "I don't do that! I don't do that! I'm not like them!" Clear suddenly paused, her face straight. She nodded, sitting back down. "Then help us figure out who they are," she said, calmly. Cat slowly recovered, walking to the table as best he could manage being cuffed. Meanwhile, as they were talking, Clever sat outside of the window with Brass. They both had concerned looks about what was happening, but understood that Clear knew what she was doing. After a while of talking, the two came out, and Cat was released from custody and free to go. Crystal looked up at the two stallions. "The hell was that all about?" Brass asked. "Weren't you listening?" Clear asked, gesturing to the monitor that displayed camera feed from inside of the room. Brass looked at Clever. "We were...distracted..." Clever slowly replied. Clear chuckled a bit, before nodding. "Don't worry, I won't judge," she said. Her expression returned to a very serious one before she continued, "Fat Cat has a poor history with visions of 'spirits' and such. Could mean he's crazy, but it also means he has information on these 'theories'." "How do we know we can rely on this guy?" Brass asked with a hint of doubt. "Because I know we can," Clear said. It seemed arguable, but everyone knew that Clear was a walking polygraph. "Fat Cat says he's associated with spiritual things — very questionable — but I think there's a method to his madness. Going back into his history, he was psychologically diagnosed with a chronic nightmare disorder. I knew that before I interrogated him, and actually wanted to extract his information first, because he's more significant to this case than the other two. He didn't smell bad by the way, Clever." Clever scoffed. "Anyway, he didn't coincidentally rise to power. He hides it, but he's been doing research on the unicorns undercover, and by exposing his fear, I have, most probably, one of our greatest sources of information." With that, Clear walked out of the room to interrogate the next two suspects. "Well," Brass said, visibly impressed, "it happened again." "What?" Clever asked, curiously. Brass laughed. "I doubted Clear, and now I feel like she kicked my ass." Clever chuckled a bit, shaking his head and sitting down. "When does she not?"
Prologue - The Rich Stallion"Tomorrow you say?" the rich, well-dressed stallion stated. "Yes, yes, I believe I can spare a portion of time for the cause." He wore a nice, three-piece suit, accessorized by a twenty-four karat golden monocle and a shiny, black tophat. His mane was combed to near perfection, shining white as snow. The stallion was well in years, but with few visible wrinkles on his gray coat to show it. He had stayed late to settle a business deal with another stallion he had met. This stallion was a kind fellow, about as well-dressed as he. After a moment of continued conversation, the two bade each other farewell before departing. The gray-coated stallion thought to himself, smiling as he walked from the elaborate Canterlot structure from a rich party of sorts, pondering the great investments he was going to make the following day. As it happened, the skies were already dark, and he felt it was crucial to make an alleyway shortcut towards his home, given the darkness, and the fact that it looked like it was about to rain. He turned towards the alley closest and most efficient for his return home, and as he made his way down the dark and well-littered path, he felt an odd chill down his spine, as if he weren't alone. Feeling insecure, he looked around to see if anypony else was there. He was turned around, and still walking backwards to be sure not to waste time standing idly. As he was doing so, he stumbled over something, letting out a brief shout as he fell to the ground in a puddle. Curious as to what it was, he got up, shook his head, and adjusted his eyes to a very, very disturbing figure. The colors of red and blue flashed brightly and vibrantly in the cold, dark night. The clouds blotted out the starlight, allowing only a faded glimpse of the moon. The police had made a quick rush to the site at the mention of a 187, in fear of the possible rain to come, disturbing the crime scene. CSI had gotten there just after, rushing to process the crime scene before it became a puddle of water and a sewage search. Two stallions in CSI gear had exited their automobile, proceeding to make their way towards the dead body. They lifted the police tape that was peacefully swaying in the wind, greeting a few other cops on their way in. One prepared his equipment to begin processing the crime scene, and the other knelt down to take a look at the body. As they were doing so, a loud motorcycle echoed throughout the city, breaking the somewhat-peaceful silence within the nighttime atmosphere. As it roared to a halt, another CSI hopped off, deploying the bike's kickstand. She was a mare, pink-coated with a pale yellow mane. Her eyes were pink as well, and she wore a CSI vest along with a solid black bowler hat. She had on thick, square glasses, and a necklace with an emblem of the moon. As she approached the two CSI already at the crime scene, she smiled, awaiting their acknowledgement. Her name was CSI Crystal Clear. "I could hear you from a mile away, Clear," one of the CSI said. He was standing on his hind legs, holding a very advanced camera and preparing to take another photograph of the body. He had a royal blue coat and a bright blue mane, and his eyes, contrarily, were green. His mane was somewhat longer than average for a stallion of his age, about 38, and messy. His voice was low-pitched and raspy, with a definite Ponyville accent. His name was CSI Blue Clever. "I'm sure the rest of Canterlot could, too," the autopsy surgeon replied, still glancing at the body's position to determine a cause of death. His eyes were brown, and his coat was a sandy color. His mane was buzz-cut, and gray. He was young, and his voice was a tad bit higher-pitched than usual. It still, however, had the very sophisticated Canterlot tone to it. His name was Doctor Scalpel Sharp. "Well, at least I'm here," Clear replied, her thick accent coming from Manehattan. She took a quick glance at the dead body. "Do we have a C.O.D. on the vic, Sharp?" "Looks like repetitive stab wounds to the rib cage, and a missing limb" Sharp, the autopsy surgeon replied, still observing the body and gesturing to the missing limb. "Right foreleg gone there, but I'll have to take him in before I can fully determine a C.O.D." "Roll the body over," Clear suggested. Sharp did so, revealing a bloodstained, but otherwise undamaged suit. "Well, it looks like our unsub didn't have a long weapon," Sharp pointed out, "but sharp enough to puncture a three-piece." "Good of you to point that out, Sharp," Clear said. Sharp rolled his eyes, used to the silly puns. She shifted her focus to the other CSI, who was snapping photos of the body and crime scene. "Got an ID, Clever?" "Yeah," Clever replied, taking a look at the pictures, "I'd recognize him anywhere. That's Silver Platter, a very rich stallion who's pretty well known for dealing with the most aggressive business sharks in Equestria." "Possibly a deal gone wrong?" Sharp suggested. "I don't know," Clear mused. She paused for a moment, considering the multiple scenarios of ways aggressive and self-absorbed rich stallions meeting together could go wrong. "Let's wrap up the evidence and bring it back to the crime lab," she finally said, concluding her thought. "Will do, Clear," Clever replied, snapping a last picture before putting away his camera. "Well, Silver Platter," Clear said, watching the body as it was picked up to be carried off to the crime lab, "looks like the tides have turned for you."
Chapter One - Fresh Start' First day, let's try not to screw it up... ' he thought to himself. He was the 'new guy', CSI Fiddlestick, or at least that's what he liked to call himself. He wasn't actually a CSI, he was really just another lab rat trying to make a living on true passion, disregarding his 'destiny' to be a violinist. Sure, he could play, but he was always more interested in forensics. He just didn't see his dark brown coat and jet black mane wearing a tux and bow tie playing at some fancy Canterlot gathering. Really, the fact that he was a part of the forensics team at all was a little humorous to him, and maybe other ponies as well. ' CSI Fiddlestick, ' he thought, ' that makes the name more serious. ' After laughing at the absurdity of the idea, he refrained back to his former thought, not screwing up his first day. Upon arriving at the crime lab, he parked in a far away spot, as to not accidentally bump into any cars with his 'definitely professional' parking abilities. Excitement would have been an understatement for him. He was definitely filled with ecstasy in finally working with forensics. Getting out of the parent's house, going somewhere on his own, with handsome pay for doing what he loved especially. No one to tell him how wrong it was to help bring justice as opposed to playing an instrument. He smiled, jumping out of his car and rushing into the building. Fiddle walked into the lab, looking up and immediately seeing Supervisor Clear. As he replayed the thought to keep himself professional, he missed a 'wet floor sign'. "Supervisor Clear, I'm—Wah!!" he suddenly exclaimed before slipping on a freshly mopped floor. Clear's ears perked up as she looked around to see who was calling her name. She then looked to the floor at a groaning Fiddlestick, who was holding his head with his fore hoof with wings extended across the floor in utter discomfort. "You must be Fiddlestick, the new lab rat," Clear stated frankly, with a little grin. "Ye...yeah...ugh..." Fiddle said, pulling himself to a sitting position. He looked towards his new boss, giving up on his dignity. "How'd you know?" "Just a hunch," Clear replied with a chuckle. She offered to help him up. "I'm glad you got here today, we had a homicide with some odd trace on the vic, I'll need you to process it so we can maybe find out what the murder weapon was." ' Wow, already putting me to work, eh? ' Fiddle thought to himself. He smiled, "Of course, I'll get right to that," he replied. He paused for a minute. "Is there a problem, Fiddle?" Clear asked. "Yeah uh..." Fiddle slowly muttered, feeling worse about himself, "where's my lab?" "Straight, left, straight, straight, right," Clear replied, with a smile. She patted his back, brushing off a piece of his coat. Right... Fiddle thought, before making the trip towards the lab. "How are we doin', Doc?" Clear asked, walking into the autopsy room. The victim, Silver Platter, was lain on a table with the skin around his chest and abdominal area cut and opened, exposing the organs to the air. A whiff of rich blood filled the room, something that both forensics workers were used to. "Well, I've got a T.O.D., and a C.O.D.," Sharp said, examining the body. "I'm all ears," Clear reassured. "Alright," the doctor said, preparing to fully explain the victim's death to his knowledge, "C.O.D. was actually blunt force trauma to the head, his mane is thick, and between it being dark outside and that, it wasn't easy to make out. As far as I can tell, decomp says he died as soon as that event was over in Canterlot, that'd be about fifteen minutes before we found him, or before the other stallion found him, I should say. Here's the interesting part: the blunt force was before the stabbing, and it was evident that the vic would have died from such a traumatic force. I'm pretty certain there was a heavy passion behind this, and I think that our witness was very lucky to have not been killed as well." "Do you know what he was stabbed with?" "That's an issue, I've never seen this kind of marking, it looks...very unorthodox. It wasn't anything like a knife, it almost looks like a blunt object. The skin in the puncture wounds is stretched, and some of the interior of the body affected was pushed out of the way rather than impaled." "So you're saying the unsub used a blunt weapon, and managed to impale the victim, and the fabric with it?" "That's the conclusion I've reached, unless I've missed something very well hidden or completely obvious." "Right." Clear took one last look at the corpse, before sending orders to Clever and checking up on Fiddlestick. It was now sunny, the rain from the night of the murder left a murky alley and damp atmosphere for the investigators searching the premises. CSI Clever walked beside another mare, CSI Brite Siyde, with a Level in his hoof. Brite Siyde was a cheery mare with a bright, yellow coat, and a vibrant orange mane in an almost perfect ponytail, leaving her bangs hanging in front of her face. "Why do you have that..?" Brite Siyde asked, looking at the Level. Clever made no expressions, but kept walking. As they approached the crime scene, Brite Siyde notice that everything in the pictures that wasn't significant evidence was washed away by rain. "How are we supposed to know where the rain took everything, or if it did?" she asked. Clever looked at her, shaking the Level slightly in his hoof. Siyde finally understood why he brought it. Clever laid down the level, closely observing its measurements. After a moment of said observation, Clever picked up the level. "South," he said, "with the assumed size and mass of the murder weapon, anything down to wind could have picked it up." Siyde slowly nodded, taking a look down a much longer alleyway. This search was going to take a while. They began walking, closely observing both sides of the alley. Clever remained entirely silent, as he usually does. The only person who really ever gets him to talk is Supervisor Clear. That is, talk like a equine being, and not a strict, CSI professional. Finally, after about fifteen minutes of thorough searching, "Got somethin'," Clever said, taking out a cue tip and some liquid substance. As Siyde walked over, Clever gently dabbed the cue tip in an odd residue. When he dripped a bit of the liquid on it, the cue tip turned partially red. "Blood, and residue," Siyde pointed out, "it looks like the same trace that was on the vic," "Yeah, yeah, about that," Clever said, "I should be getting a call on what we're looking for very soon. Maybe--" As he was talking, the phone rang in his pocket. He took it out to see who it was, and sure enough, a picture of Supervisor Clear appeared with the options 'Answer' and 'Decline'. "Speak of the devil," Clever said, grinning. Fiddlestick took out the samples he was given and began to study them closely. He loaded some into a machine and ran several tests on different pieces of the trace. To place himself a step ahead of the game, he also prepared a tox on the victim, just in case there were any sort of drugs or premeditation involved. As he was finishing up some tests, Supervisor Clear walked in. "How are we doing on that trace, Sticks?" she asked. ' Odd, ' Fiddle thought, ' a nickname. ' He jumped out of his thoughts to greet the supervisor. "Last few tests are coming in now," Fiddle replied, "I also have a tox prepared, what do you want first?" "New guy's ahead of the game," Clear mused, "give me the tox report," "Right," Fiddle said, smiling a bit out of an inevitable pride for doing something right. He picked up the tox report, and looked through it, finishing up a few tests as he read. "I got one peak, looks like buprenorphine, a very strong painkiller? I thought it was orally ingested, so I asked Doc if he could look for some specific things on the body, and he confirmed my belief." "You don't get buprenorphine from just anywhere, and you don't just get into that kind of convention with that kind of drug," Clear replied, thinking hard about the possibilities, "I'll get Clever to take a look into where our killer could have gotten that, we're looking at a possible inside job. Anyway, tell me about the trace we found in the vic." "Yes," Fiddle started, looking back at the reports from the tests on the trace material, "it's galvanized steel, like from a fence post." Clear gave a sudden look of confusion. "Those posts are typically anywhere from three to seven feet tall," she pointed out, "there's no way the killer could have used a fence post." "Unless the killer isn't as rich as we think he is, in which case, any poor Canterlot residents can find or develop makeshift weapons and tools from salvaging abandoned areas and such," Fiddle said, "but still, that leaves the question of how a poor guy got into a rich-guy-only club." Clear thought for a minute. "Fiddle, we might be looking at two killers here," Clear said, slowly reaching into her pocket to grab her phone.
Chapter Two - Body Count Rising"We found your murder weapon, just about 23 feet away from the murder site," Clever said, walking into Clear's office. Clear was focusing on her laptop. "Show me," she said, readjusting her glasses and taking a look. Clever held the object above the desk: a folded-in metal cylinder with a rounded end, covered in dry blood. Clear quickly covered her hooves with latex gloves before examining the object. She looked back at her laptop with utter confusion on her face. "What's up?" Siyde asked, not sure of what was wrong. Clear looked at Siyde and Clever with a very concerned look. "The only thing we know that can create this kind of propulsion effortlessly is a high power engine...like, like a jet or a rocket, which makes no logical sense given the circumstance," Clear pointed out, "the only other conclusion I can make..." "Is that our killer is one of a kind," Clever finished, as he commonly thought alike with Clear "a unicorn." Clear suddenly got up, closing her laptop. "Get the rest of the team in conference, and I want the sheriff there, too," Clear said, "right now, pronto." She shooed them off, collecting some papers from a printer and walking towards a conference room. She peaked into the lab where Fiddlestick was, motioning for him to come out as well. As the CSI gathered in the room, Clear paced back and forth at the front of a white board. Finally, the Sheriff walked in, Officer Brass Cuffs. He was about 50, and showed it well. His mane was dark grey, white at the tips. He wore a two piece suit with a badge on his left side and his coat was a pale indigo color. "What's the deal, Clear?" Cuffs asked, his voice raspy as usual. Clear stopped pacing and faced her team. "Unicorns began to die off around 1600 CE, shortly after the death of Princess Twilight Sparkle," Clear began to explain. "Most ponies think that the unicorns are completely extinct, and, as DNA suggests, the genetic combinations that create a unicorn are entirely recessive. Pegasi as well started to decrease in population size around 1900 CE. I find it personally fascinating that we have one in our team." Clear took a moment to recognize the new member, whom nobody else had met. "Who's the new guy, Clear?" Clever asked, looking at Fiddle. Fiddle sat quietly, a little red from recognition. "Everyone, this is Fiddlestick," Clear said, "he's our new lab worker." Siyde, who was sitting beside Fiddlestick, immediately turned to shake his hoof. "Nice to have you on the team, Sticks," she said, smiling. "My name is Brite Siyde." Fiddle mused at the mention of the nickname again, is that what everyone was going to call him now? "And I'm Blue Clever, that's Officer Brass Cuffs," Clever said, pointing towards the grumpy-looking officer, who just nodded briefly towards Fiddlestick, before turning back to Clear. "That's great and all," Cuffs said, "but can you tell me why this meeting was so urgent? You could have introduced me after I finished my expresso." "Oh, I didn't call anyone here to introduce anyone," Clear said, returning to the prior conversation, "as we all know, it's now 2017, and unicorns have slowly died out. We thought they were all gone, but there are sightings, and rumors of a secret society that harbors and even breeds unicorns." "Where are you going with this, Clear?" Clever asked. "I'm thinking that our culprit here was much more than a poor pony trying to get some extra dollars," Clear explained, "I think our first unsub is a unicorn making 'relations' with some higher-ups by committing an untraceable murder, but there's a flaw with that plan. The history of forensics provides a way to detect magic residue on objects. With todays tech, we can match that to DNA. So I think we need to look back at some old files and do some old-fashioned investigations." "So you're saying we're dealing with some secret society now?" Clever asked, "That seems a bit far fetched." "I hear about them all the time where I come from," Fiddle said, before realizing all of the attention was on him. He paused for a moment, a bit startled by everyones eyes piercing through him. "What?" "Keep talkin'," Clever replied, "you might have some important information." Fiddle felt a little pride from hearing that, but wasn't sure what to say, so, he continued telling what he knew as far as he knew it. "Well," he started, "by hearsay, there was a lot going around about unicorns rising up again, lots of drama about some war to bring back the ancient magic of friendship and yada yada yada. Sounds crazy to me, but if it's a possibility, it's a possibility." The other CSI started at him, then looked back at Clear, who was looking at the ceiling. "They're not bringing back friendship in this world," she muttered, before looking back down. "This crime could evolve to a much more destructive and terrorist event if we don't solve it quick. Cuffs, I want you to keep all squads on alert for unicorn sightings. Clever and Siyde, I want you to investigate any areas for sightings of unicorns. Doc, I want you to look back at the body and see if you can find aura residue or energy trace on the vic. Sticks, you work with me in the lab, we'll see what we can extract from the trace we can get." The team nodded, all departing to their separate ways. Fiddlestick and Clear remained. After everyone had exited the room, Clear began to walk toward the exit. "Hey, Supervisor Clear," Fiddlestick started. Clear paused, looking back at him. "You can call me Crystal, but just call me Clear when you're around others," she said. Fiddlestick nodded, before continuing. "Do you think that, if they exist, maybe they're trying to do something right, but in the wrong way?" Fiddlestick asked, staring at the blank whiteboard. Clear had no response at first. "The unicorn group, I mean. Bringing back the magic of friendship?" Clear slowly walked back to the table, pulling up a chair beside Fiddle. Fiddle directed his attention to her as she sat down, curious as to what she would say. "We abandoned general magic centuries ago," Crystal started, "we abandoned the magic of friendship decades ago." "What do you mean?" Fiddle asked. "Why do you think we do what we do?" Crystal replied, "why do you think we even exist? Millennia back, justice was on the backs of goddesses, namely Princess Celestia and Princess Luna. After they died, several alicorns took charge, their leader being Princess Twilight Sparkle, the sole holder of the elements of harmony. When she died, there was nopony left to take them, and they were buried away and forgotten forever, or so they say. Since then, the world has been in a downfall with crime and chaos, to where the earthen ponies had to take order. As this happened, magic became a less frequent thing, especially after several wars when the unicorns were sent out primarily due to their advantage of range and shielding. The earth ponies were always insignificant, until the world adapted to a mortal-ran society. There are no gods or goddesses protecting us now, no magic, no friendship. Just hatred and cruelty. Our job is to rise out of that rottenness and speak for the dead, putting away the criminals in the name of justice. As for this group, if they are right, they are right, and I hope they win — but as for me, I have a job and a duty to preserve the safety of my people, the equines, and I will apprehend them with all of my ability." "What if we could go back? To friendship?" Fiddle asked. Crystal just looked down, shaking her head, before exiting the room. "I wish it were that easy." Brite Siyde and Blue Clever exited their vehicle. They were equipped with flashlights, cuffs, weapons, and several tools for investigation. The area was a very, very cliche abandoned warehouse in the middle of an unbusy street. Surrounded in battered and unused buildings, this one seemed out of place as it was more structurally sound. Brite and Clever exchanged looks before equipping their flashlights and walking into the building. The doors were heavy, squeaky, and filled with rust. They shined flashlights around the warehouse, it seemed to have several other compartments, and one other large room with a single entry. "I'll take the left, you take the right," Clever suggested, "then we'll take a look at that one." He pointed the flashlight to the large door in the middle. Brite nodded, trotting towards the right side. Clever slowly walked towards the left side, before feeling a sharp pain in his hoof. "D'ow..." he suddenly muttered before picking up his hoof. It didn't draw any blood, but he noticed a strange object. He slipped on a glove, putting it in an evidence bag, then in his pocket. He continued walking, then opened the door, revealing an empty, but messy room. He caught a wiff of rot, before noticing the dead corpses of a few birds and small cats in the corner. "Hey, Siyde, I gotta 187, birds and cats!" Clever shouted with a smile, joking. His smile faded at the response; Siyde was already at the door. "187," she said, "ten bodies." Clever quickly accompanied her going back to the room, while turning on his radio to speak. "This is CSI Blue Clever, we need assistance in the Southern Quadrant of Canterlot, abandoned warehouse on Civilian Highway 33. We've got ten dead bodies, and suspicious activity; possibly more of both, over," Clever said. After some garble, a voice in the radio responded. "10-4, sending backup to your location, over." Siyde opened the door, revealing 10 lined up bodies, hung on the wall like sacrifices, cut open very specifically. Tools were left on a surgical table, several advanced instruments. "Those instruments," Siyde pointed out, "you could only find those from twenty-four specific Canterlot Advanced Surgical Centers." "Or the black market," Clever countered, looking at them closely. "Well, going on the assumption of a conspiracy..." "Yeah, I'm not so sure about that. I can't rule it out, but I can't believe it." "So what else do you think it could be?" "Gang activity maybe?" "I've never heard of a gang that performs ritual sacrifices, but I've heard a lot about unicorn savages running around doing. Just silly myths, though. Fillyhood horror stories." Clever looked up at the bodies again, then to Siyde. "Maybe they aren't stories after all."
Chapter Three - A Lengthy DiscussionTen bodies, spread out at unnaturally perfect distance across the wall. It wasn't as bloody as it should have been. No, the bodies seemed to have been halfway-decently cleaned. It was unnatural, animalistic, but so intelligent. "What in Luna's name..." Clear mumbled to herself, looking at the bodies. She took off her glasses in awe, walking closer to the bodies and examining them. They didn't smell rotten like the animal bodies did, they smelled like... "...damascus rose." Meanwhile, Sharp was looking at the bodies as they were still hung, Clever was taking several pictures of the crime scene, as was Brite. "Their organs look perfect from here," the doc said, "no damage that I can see exposed, the bodies are even preserved. I can't determine a C.O.D., but it looks like they've been dead for a few days, and a few days more, and a few days more for each one. This precise cutting isn't possible by even the finest hoofwork, it has to be some sort of machine..." "But there's no evidence of a machine," Clever pointed out. He and the Sharp looked at Clear. "No, but there is..." Clear started, taking out a small container of glowing liquid. She sprayed it once on a part of one of the bodies, it lit up. "...Aura residue." "What is that, Clear?" Clever asked. Clear held it up, grinning. "Ancient," she replied, "potions like these were made for earth ponies to try and replicate the abilities of unicorns." "To protect themselves from them?" "No, to be like them. Unicorns aren't as bad as everypony thinks, they are actually — or used to be — a highly respectable race. Very noble. We were taught from day one that they were monsters with great glowing blades on their heads who ruled under tyranny, and who stole the wings of pegasi to reign stronger —" "— the alicorn —" "—right. Those were just myths. Still, I'm unsure about how these exist. Have we checked the other room yet?" They all exchanged looks. Clever put away his camera, and walked towards the exit. "I'll tell you when I'm done checking the other room," he said, exiting. Clear followed closely behind him. As they approached the door, an ominous feeling came over them, like they were trespassing. "I'm not the only one who feels that, right?" Clever asked. "No," Clear confirmed, "I feel it, too, open the door." Clever hesitantly opened the great metal door with his flashlight in hoof to a large room with a conference table in the middle. There were bodies hanging from the ceiling in 14th century torture cages, runes on the wall inscribed with blood with huge transmutation circles all over the floors and ceiling. In the center was a single, half-lit, candle chandelier, and the empty conference table. There were several doors and rooms, completely emptied, and the smell of rot pierced the air. "One thing's for sure," Clever said, still taking in the sight. "What's that?" Clear asked, trying to understand as well. Clever turned to her, putting his flashlight down. "They're not looking for the restoration of friendship." "So here's what we got," Clear said, back in the conference room after searching the entire warehouse. She projected several images on the screen from her laptop, pictures of the processed crime scenes, runes, and other odd occurrences. "twenty-four total dead bodies, four hanging, ten in a room lined up, and two in the five other rooms. One room contains seven dead dove corpses, and nine dead cats. In addition, there is also another room with a large altar, and the remains of various cattle. Needless to say, this is very confusing." "I second that," Clever said. "So we have all of this evidence of a sophisticated organization," Clear continued, "but how does that relate to our unsophisticated blunt-force stabbing?" All of the C.S.I.'s pondered for a moment. Fiddlestick spoke up. "Maybe a rogue member?" he said, "kicked out of the only place he or she was welcome, and decided to make some good money real easy." "That'd be a she," Sharp said suddenly, "I extracted some aura residue from the body, and more from the other bodies. They all match as a white-coated female unicorn, except for one..." Sharp pulled a few pictures out of a file, spreading them across the table. The other C.S.I.'s took a close look. "The latest one. Same procedure, but there's a small difference, and less precision to the incisions. The results came back for a gray-coated male unicorn. Almost like they switched out." "So it seems Sticks' theory is aligned with the evidence," Brite pointed out. "Let's not get stuck on it," Clever objected, "there's a chance that it could be a coincidental killing." "Coincidence is a scientific anomaly," Clear overruled, "there is that chance, but let's try and rule out or prove what is easiest before we overthink it. We have a possible rogue, which means if we find her, we can get answers on this cult, and maybe stop a disaster. Clever, Brite, I want you to keep looking at those rumored unicorn sightings, and be very careful. I wouldn't want you to get hung like one of those other ponies." The two C.S.I.'s nodded. "Cuffs, I want you to update the police force on possible suspects, they should keep their eye out for a while-coated female equine with excessive manes or other facial and forehead coverings." "What were the C.O.D.'s on the other vics?" Brite suddenly asked. "Oh, of course," Clear replied, turning to Sharp, "Doc?" "C.O.D. was a form of cardiac arrhythmia," Sharp replied, "tachyarrhythmia, to be exact. But I also found evidence of electrocution — or something like it. I looked for history of hypoglycemia, hypovolemia, hyperthyroidism, hyperventilation, then I looked for amphetamine usage, and syndromes like Brugada and Wolff–Parkinson–White, but I found nothing. In fact, they were all perfectly healthy. I did find formaldehyde, glutaraldehyde, and methanol in the 'sacrificed' victims — standard embalming fluid — and other antimicrobial preservatives like nitrate and hydroxybenzoate." "Someone's been doing some very sophisticated chemistry," Clever pointed out. "Yes," Clear seconded, "and very sophisticated symbolism. I researched and tried to look for as many rituals as I could, but there's nothing like this. Their organs are left exposed and held together, but they're killed before hoof. The equine body reacts to lethal amounts of magic energy like it would to electricity, except magic energy can be manipulated. This magic happened to amplify electronic signals within the equines' bodies, causing them to die from a very fast heartbeat. I think what we're dealing with here is a home-grown cult, but not one trying to bring back friendship." "That means there might be another one," Fiddlestick quickly mentioned. "What do you mean, 'another one'?" Clever asked frustratedly, turning to face Fiddlestick. "Well, like Clear said," Fiddle started, "unicorns aren't the savage beings we were told they were, and there are still rumors of another group that is willing to fight to bring back the magic of friendship, what if—" "That's absurd!" Clever suddenly exclaimed, the rest of the C.S.I.'s were a bit startled, except for Clear, who remained silent. "The 'magic of friendship' is just another one of those pathetic tales they tell us as children, it's just as fake as—" "A cult of unicorns who perform 'fan-made' ritual sacrifices on ponies and have kept it hidden from us for about four weeks now, given they haven't relocated?" Fiddle interrupted, "Let's see, rumors have went on longer than that, we're looking at several relocations, maybe even several more murders, it's possible that they—" "We can't go on possible!" Clever retorted belligerently, "We have to follow the evidence, we can't assume that there's another cult out there trying to make friendship real again!" Fiddle paused, staring at him. "You're missing something, Blue," Fiddle said, calmly. Clever's face reflected a confused disgust. "What we can't assume is that there's only one, but what we can assume is that there's more than one. It's safer that way. We're not here for convenience, we're here to find out everything before it happens." Clever's face was visibly red, but he ceased argumentation. "That went better than expected," Clear said, frankly. "Basically, what we have is a confirmed hoodoo cult, a possible anarchist group in the name of friendship, a dirty inside job, and a rogue murderer — we need to focus on getting the dirty insider to lead us to the rogue, which will eventually lead us to the murderous cult." She glared at Clever. "I think we've had enough theorizing. Now — move! Except you, Fiddlestick." The rest walked out. Clever glared at Fiddle before he left. After they had closed the door, Clear took a seat. "You're really stuck on this friendship thing, aren't you?" she asked. Fiddle wasn't sure how to exactly respond. "I'm not stuck on it..." he said, quietly. Clear quickly corrected her wording. "No, I don't mean that," she said, "you seem to have an ecstasy for the idea, why is that?" Fiddle kept silent for a bit, before opening his mouth to speak. "I had a friend once," he muttered, he stopped for a minute. "That's alright, if I'm intruding on any personal grounds I wo—" "All things come to pass, and we should learn to accept that, but if we can bring them back, I think they're worth fighting for. If there really are a group of outcasts who are trying to bring back the magic of friendship, as silly and as unscientific as it sounds, then I respect them highly." Clear nodded at the response. "You're a good guy," Clear said, smiling and patting him on the back, "we'll have to do our best to solve this fandango, so that the bad guys don't outshine the good guys and make things worse for all of us." "You're right, Clear," Fiddlestick responded, "we can't let those savages destroy the reputation of unicorns." "So," Clear said, "think we should get to the lab and try to solve this case?" "Of course."
Chapter Four - Interrogation"Clear, I have suspects," Siyde said, walking into Clears office and laying a file on her desk. Clear looked up from her work, readjusting her glasses to take a look at the papers. "Take a seat, and talk," Clear said, examining the pictures and profiles of several rich stallions. Siyde did so. "Gold Safe — that's your first guy," Siyde started out, "he's known for tripping up other rich stallions for profit, and he's went pretty far in the past to do so. Arrested for assault and battery several times, but always bailed out with some dirty deals. Second guy is Bourgee Highballer, he's a total prick. I'm surprised no one has wanted him dead yet, but he's definitely able to cut some deals at any non-monetary price. Third guy is Deep Pockets — richer than rich. He's always looking for new money, and when options run out, he's not afraid to find more. And the last guy's name is Fat Cat. More of a boss, since he's too fat to go anywhere on his own. If anyone's out to contract and hire for kill, it'd be him." "Were any of these suspects at the convention on the night of the crime?" "Yes, Highballer and Pockets. They're a more 'sophisticated' type. Fat Cat was somewhere in another quadrant of Canterlot at the time, but I was able to get a warrant for his phone records, and he's been making a lot of calls. I have yet to find where Gold Safe was at the time." "Well, let's see where they are now and bring them in for questioning." Clear put the photos back into the folder, closing her laptop and slapping a charger into it. "Where's Safe?" "Well, we're still lookin' ... but we have the other three." Clever and Clear stood, observing the embittered and rancorous rich stallions, all lined up against a wall in seats hoof-cuffed. Fat Cat was taking up two seats, Bourgee barely taking up one, and Gold Safe was comfortably sitting in the last seat. "So, who do we talk to first?" Clever asked. "That one and it'll just be me talking to him," Clear said, pointing at Fat Cat, "I feel like he gives off a rancid odor, and I'd like to have him out of my custody as soon as possible." "That's pretty judgmental there, Clear," Clever said, giving a look of playful accusation. Clear looked back at him. "I judge that blue equines are quick to anger," she said, turning around and gesturing to some guards to haul the large stallion into the room. Clever fell into a quick daze at the comment as she walked away. He cleared his throat, thinking about what she said. Clear made her way into the interrogation room, the large stallion took his seat, weighing it down a bit as he stared at Clear in cuffs. "A stallion is d'fenceless wi'tout 'is goons," the large stallion said in a raspy, Manehattan accent. He held up his cuffs, shaking them briefly, before lowering them. His expression showed a blatant carelessness. Clear read his mind and got to the point. "I want to be here just as much as you," she quickly spat out, sorting through some files on the case at hoof. She lightly tossed a picture of the dead equine in front of Cat. "Do you know this stallion?" Cat suddenly gave a look of confusion. "Well," he mused, "who d'hell would wanna go off and kill Silver? I mean, he was kind of a prick, but nothin' worth killing for!" "Except money," Clear pointed out, "Silver Platter was in your class of richness, that—" "Oh, I wouldn't go as far as to say we're in the same class," Cat interrupted, "he was a couple'a mill' down from me, but we had great business relations in th' past." Clear nodded. "I've talked with several stallions like you who had great business relations with their victims," Clear stated, "unfortunately, the greater something is, the larger a mishap will look in comparison. So, let's get to the point here." Clear laid down the pictures of the cultist residence, and of the mutilated bodies. "Do you have anything to do with this?" "Wh..?!" Cat leaned back suddenly at the sight, "I can't do that, no no no, I don't do that to ponies, that's sick! That's frickin' sick!" "Is it sick?" Clear asked, standing up, her voice more stern, "is it so sick that maybe it'd take longer for you to get over the guilt?" "No!" Cat shouted in return, jumping out of the chair and standing back, knocking it over, "I don't do that! I don't do that! I'm not like them!" Clear suddenly paused, her face straight. She nodded, sitting back down. "Then help us figure out who they are," she said, calmly. Cat slowly recovered, walking to the table as best he could manage being cuffed. Meanwhile, as they were talking, Clever sat outside of the window with Brass. They both had concerned looks about what was happening, but understood that Clear knew what she was doing. After a while of talking, the two came out, and Cat was released from custody and free to go. Crystal looked up at the two stallions. "The hell was that all about?" Brass asked. "Weren't you listening?" Clear asked, gesturing to the monitor that displayed camera feed from inside of the room. Brass looked at Clever. "We were...distracted..." Clever slowly replied. Clear chuckled a bit, before nodding. "Don't worry, I won't judge," she said. Her expression returned to a very serious one before she continued, "Fat Cat has a poor history with visions of 'spirits' and such. Could mean he's crazy, but it also means he has information on these 'theories'." "How do we know we can rely on this guy?" Brass asked with a hint of doubt. "Because I know we can," Clear said. It seemed arguable, but everyone knew that Clear was a walking polygraph. "Fat Cat says he's associated with spiritual things — very questionable — but I think there's a method to his madness. Going back into his history, he was psychologically diagnosed with a chronic nightmare disorder. I knew that before I interrogated him, and actually wanted to extract his information first, because he's more significant to this case than the other two. He didn't smell bad by the way, Clever." Clever scoffed. "Anyway, he didn't coincidentally rise to power. He hides it, but he's been doing research on the unicorns undercover, and by exposing his fear, I have, most probably, one of our greatest sources of information." With that, Clear walked out of the room to interrogate the next two suspects. "Well," Brass said, visibly impressed, "it happened again." "What?" Clever asked, curiously. Brass laughed. "I doubted Clear, and now I feel like she kicked my ass." Clever chuckled a bit, shaking his head and sitting down. "When does she not?"
