Of Broken Hearts and Merciful Hooves

by Disavowed ASH

Rating: mature
Tags: Violence, Death, Narcotics, Nurse Redheart, Thriller, Gore, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Mystery, Romance, Non-consensual, Sex, Suicide / Self Harm, Profanity
Length: 6799

In the lonely diner in between Sheol's Kitchen and Xingtown two ponies talk about their troubles. Reminiscing can be a painful thing.

The prequel to The Symphony of Canterlot

A Hard-Boiled Detectives Romance

She was mercy in the flesh, she always was there to keep me from falling apart at the seems. In retrospect she deserved better than me. But I wouldn't have traded away the time we spent together for anything in the world. When it came to her soul, she was the best among us old "heroes".

And may she forever be remembered.

For it was the least you deserved, and so I'll always have you in my memory my beloved Redheart.

Edited by the magnificent Menace fo the Mines!

{Disclaimer- Rated M for the investigation and detailed piecing together of a graphic sexual crime, and brief depictions of passionate intimacy.}

Published 2017-03-12 23:00:01 UTC
Last updated 2017-04-20 02:03:54 UTC

A Chance Encounter

A Chance Encounter

Manehattan, the 5th of the 11th month of 988, Celestia’s Reign--11:33 PM

This was back when I was starting out; back in the early years, back when it was ‘Horus Investigations and Ethereal Consultation Co.’ and it only consisted of me, a lowly young twenty-three year old magus that spent half of his days desiring the sweet release of death. And it was based in what was, for all intents and purposes, a rundown office in Xingtown that doubled as my apartment.

Now let me tell ya.

One early autumn night in the border between Sheol’s Kitchen Manehattan and Xingtown, I was sitting in this diner called Grain’s Diner; the G in the neon sign long burnt out, so the sign nowadays read ‘rain’s Diner’. Such a little detail entailed the atmosphere there; it was depressing, filled with broken hearts and broken dreams, and a refuge for ponies that had a lousy night and wanted to drown it in onion rings and coffee instead of the usual alcoholic poison. Here were ponies that considered that their sobriety was important to reflect on their mistakes.

I was looking into the cup of coffee I ordered half an hour ago, reflecting on the unpleasantness of the last couple of nights; dead ponies, dead dreams, and dead promises filled my psyche with the persistence of a tax collector doing their duty with a bonus on the side. I hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in years by this point; the fact that it was becoming business as usual for me was starting to become a problem.

To add insult to festering injury, I had let some lead slip by my hooves. It was a sign that I needed to stop drinking. That was going to be a journey, I could feel it.

It had rained an hour ago; the midnight sounds that the city made were like ghostly whispers of ponies who seek life where there is none. Truth be told, at this time, the patrons that currently filled the establishment were just as dead as the ghouls in the sewers.

The streets and sidewalks were still wet from the downpour an hour earlier. Something I noticed as I looked out the window, and then BAM!

She came in, as beautiful as a bouquet of lilies under the light of the full moon. Despite her looks though, she looked like she had had a rough night. Her mascara had run down her face at some point; not long ago, it seemed. Her eyes were still a bit teary. And what blue eyes they were; they could almost pass for real sapphire. She was white as snow, with a mane that was a rosy pink. I couldn’t see her mark though; she was wearing a dark brown trench coat that pretty much covered everything from neck to legs.

I decided not to keep staring; she seemed to have had a bad night, and she certainly didn’t need some drooling schmuck creeping her out.

That is why I didn’t notice when she started trotting towards me. “Excuse me, can I sit here?” she asked; oddly enough, the place was packed that night.

So naturally I said, “Sure.”

She took her seat and the face that she had was the face of a pony that just had their heart yanked out. Who would give her such a bad time? I didn’t know then, but I ended up opening my mouth.

“I thought I had it bad. What’s your story?”

She then looked at me inquisitively, and rightfully asked, “What’s it to you?”

Naturally, I said, “I’m just making conversation.”

I thought she was going to tell me that it was none of my business, or that I should shove that question where Celestia’s sun doesn’t shine. I didn’t expect what she told me next.

“Sure, but you are going to have to tell me the story behind that black eye.”

Truth is that I had almost forgotten that I had it. I replied with the following.

“It’s a long and sad tale. I don’t want to bother you with the details.”

She replied with the following. “Don’t worry, I have time. The name is Redheart, by the way.”

I actually smiled; back then, I hadn’t smiled in almost a year.

“Folklore, and it’s a pleasure.”

______________________________________________________________________________

A Couple of Days Before That

It was early in the morning when she burst into my office, smelling of tobacco and coffee; the bags beneath her eyes spoke volumes of her stress, and possible sleepless nights. Her long blond mane was slightly stained in black ink.

I was looking from behind my desk holding on to a bottle of whiskey. My greyish-blue fur was musky from my lack of bathing, and my black mane was disheveled. I was in a dubious state of sobriety at the time, much like I had been for the seven months since I returned to Equestria from my service with the Gallic Foreign Legion. Whiskey had become the one thing that I could lean to numb the horror of the memories of my ‘service’.

She was this greyish-white unicorn mare; she was nervous and jittery and her mark was rather odd, for it looked like a golden sword. I’d never seen something like that in Manehattan. But then again, sword marks are rare in Equestria; they are more common among the Gallic and the Anglos though.

She then talked. I was rather groggy, but I still managed to listen.

“Look, I’m being stalked; there is this strange stallion with a blank expression following me around. I don’t know what to do, but I want you to track down this pony and tell him to back off. Rough him up if you have to.”

I looked at her with that ‘I’m pretty sure you are pulling my leg sweetheart’ look that one encounters so rarely outside of Manehattan. To be fair, I was having of a hangover, and this seemed more like a cop problem than my problem.

So naturally I replied with the rehearsed, “Look sweetheart, if this is serious, please go to the station and talk to the coppers; they might be able to get a stakeout near your place and catch the creep in the act. Get him out of your hair for good.”

She visibly got angry at me; her left eye twitched as she gritted her teeth and her green eyes were staring daggers at me.

“Already did; they told me that without evidence they weren’t going to move a muscle. That they had bigger problems to deal with than some obsessed kid with some crush. Things like the Slavic Griffon gangs and the Ax Gang in Xingtown going to war for example.”

It was then that I grunted in annoyance; I had been avoiding the news--and almost everything as of late. I concentrated more on minor cases and the occasional job in the Fairy Market under the Brickling Bridge; I worked mostly to eat really. I was more interested in finishing my Ph.D. than running my rather paltry enterprise at the time. Add that to the fact that I was still finding it difficult to stay sober, and you have an investigator that can make a great many mistakes.

I got up with dubious control of my coordination. Groggy and with a sore neck, I said the following.

“All right, all right, I’ll do it. Let me get ye a contract first, lass, and don’t worry yer pretty head over some pervert. I’ll probably have this done by tomorrow.” To emphasize my point I threw my bottle to the bucket at the side of my desk and cracked my neck in a somewhat futile attempt at regaining a moniker of alertness.

I then hoofed her one of contracts that I kept in in my filing cabinet.

“Thank you, thank you,” she said with such giddiness that it made me think that she rehearsed before coming here. Truth be told, maybe I had grown grim in my expectations of my fellow equines, but a thank you is something that I rarely heard in my line of work.

Of course, she wasn’t stupid; she read the whole thing in a matter of ten seconds. I could tell she actually read it by looking at the way her eyes moved while looking at the paper.

I give her a pen and she signed it a soon as she could.

Her name was Sunspark.

She left in a hurry, practically galloped out of my office, and slammed the door behind her. I gave an odd look at that and decided not to give it a second thought. I grabbed my black fedora out of the coat rack and took my flask out of my black trench coat.

I then went to my desk and took out a brand new whiskey bottle. I then bit the cork off and spit it out to my right, proceeding to fill the flask to the brim with the whiskey.

After that, I left through the door, coat and hat on and not much else. I honestly thought that a bit of magic was all I needed. And had I been sober, then maybe that might have been true.

But it seemed like I was going to get a nasty wake up call.

________________________________________________________________

10:00PM

I did the expected thing: a stakeout at her apartment at night. I was drinking my whiskey nonstop, waiting for the perp to make his appearance. I was on the roof of the building next to the one she lived in. Both buildings were separated by a couple of meters, both buildings being ten floors in height; she lived in an apartment on the ninth floor with a window that led to the fire escape, and her lights were on, indicating that she was home. It was in Brickling, the night was cold with the downpour that was forecasted by the Weather Factory that morning. The rain was a great thing to take advantage of if you wanted to sneak in. If the perp wanted her, he would sneak into her apartment, and he would do it that night.

It was what I was waiting for: a simple catch and testimony. I catch the perp, she gives her testimony at the station, and he goes to jail. Something like this wouldn’t even be brought to court. There wouldn’t really be a point to it. Sure, he had a right to a lawyer, but breaking and entering and then being caught red-hoofed is as straightforward as it gets really.

At best, he would get a reduced sentence with a public lawyer. If he had the cash to afford a private one, though, he might even get away with nothing but a slap in the snout.

But honestly, if that bastard could afford that, why would he be sneaking around and stalking a mare for? He would have approached her first, and once he was rejected, then he would have resorted to something like that. Maybe that is what happened--she rejected him and now she has this mess in her hooves. I didn’t consider that it was my problem though; I was only in it for some quick bits.

I sat there waiting for close to four hours; I had already drunk all of the whiskey that I had brought along with me and I had downed a couple of opiate pills to take the edge off. I was waiting there, somewhat disoriented and impatient. Then I heard the breaking of glass and wood.

I looked to see that the window had already been broken into. I backtracked and took a running jump from my building to the fire escape of the next. I barely made it as the rain had made the metal particularly slippery. I then practically galloped through the stairs into the broken window. Inside the perp was already on top of my client wearing some sort of skintight suit made of black cloth. As I galloped towards them, Sunspark slugged him with her left hoof, but the bastard didn’t even flinch.

I tackled him off of her and we both ended up to her side as I struggled to pin him down. I heard her as she galloped away, probably into the kitchen for a knife. As I failed to actually hold him in place, we both quickly got up and he bucked me in the chest before I could get into all fours. It felt like I got hit by a fucking cannonball as four of my ribs fractured with a resoundingly grim crunch and I was sent flying through the window into the guardrail of the fire escape. I held on for dear life, disoriented and confused.

Then I saw him charging at me, and before I could react, he tackled me right through the guard rail, causing the steel rail to break under the sheer force of the impact.

Then we both began to fall into the alley below.

I don’t know if it was the adrenalin kicking in or some sort of muscle memory from my days training with Master Pai Mei, but I managed to turn him over in midair, forcing him to face the ever-approaching pavement in the hopes that he would take the brunt of the impact and cushion my fall even if it would probably kill him.

Then within that same second, we landed, his head hitting the dumpster with a resounding clang, leaving an impression the same size as his head.

I still held on despite feeling my right shoulder dislocating and noticing faintly that my fedora was no longer on top of my head as I felt the relatively large raindrops fall on my mane.

I then got off the newly acquired fall cushion and immediately fell to the ground due to the sheer pain of my dislocated right shoulder; as a result, I screamed, “Son of a bitch!”

I began to crawl in the wet pavement; I saw Mister Black-Cloth-Fall-Cushion literally trot past, crack his neck, and then run to the right.

I stared in disbelief that that Earthen had survived that.

And then I decided to snap out of it. I got on my back and began concentrating, my mind working in overdrive now that the adrenaline of the pain and the fall had restored some of my sobriety. I charged my magic from my horn into my right shoulder and forehoof, then I violently snapped it into place with telekinesis, causing me no shortage of misery. I screamed, “MOTHERFUCKER!” as a result of my bootlegged attempt at first aid.

I then got up, still feeling the downpour on my head. Soaked from head to hoof, I began limping after Mister Black-Cloth-Fall-Cushion.

I suddenly started feeling groggy, my disorientation returning with a vengeance. I sat on my hunches and I used my left forehoof to feel my chest and my abdomen.

Then I noticed a small knife--tiny really--on the right side of my chest. I pulled it out and noticed that, along with my blood, it had small quantities of some sort of green substance.

I had been poisoned, and I reacted as anyone would in that circumstance.

“Oh, crap…”

Then I fell backwards on the pavement, my vision blurred, and my mind fell into an unwanted slumber.

______________________________________________________________________________

Time Unknown

I don’t know at what time I awoke; all I know is that it was bright and that it was morning. The sun was shining above and ponies were milling about on the street in front of me, going about their business.

Me?

My head was pounding like it was being hit by a jackhammer. I was naked, musky, and from what I could tell in a completely different part of Manehattan. Particularly, I was in Sheol’s Kitchen. I was home.

“Oh crap.”

I got up and shook my head, my vision blurry for a reason that I couldn’t fathom at the moment. It was then that I began my long trot back to Xingtown and to my office, where I hoped I would get a chance to lick my wounds.

Unforgivable Sins

Unforgivable Sins

Time Unknown

I don’t know at what time I awoke; all I know is that it was bright and that it was morning. The sun was shining above and ponies were milling about on the street in front of me, going about their business.

Me?

My head was pounding like it was being hit by a jackhammer. I was naked, musky, and from what I could tell in a completely different part of Manehattan. Particularly, I was in Sheol’s Kitchen. I was home.

“Oh crap.”

I got up and shook my head, my vision blurry for a reason that I couldn’t fathom at the moment. It was then that I began my long trot back to Xingtown and to my office, where I hoped I would get a chance to lick my wounds.

Overall, it was a disaster of an evening. I underestimated my target, thinking it was just some thug, but then he showed a capacity to harden his skin and increasing his strength by saturating his bones, muscle fibers and skin in eather. He must have been trained; those are not lost arts by any stretch of the imagination, but they are usually found in Earthen monster hunters than the average Earthen pony that roams around every day on the street.

I let myself get too drunk to have access to the Aether, and it had dulled my senses. I was too relaxed and apathetic; I was sloppy. I should have kept my guard up even if it would have ended in wasted effort.

The Shiba Warriors that I slaughtered by the dozens were three times better in raw skill than that bastard and easily a hundred times better than him in character.

Yet I let that thug escape me because I was drunk. Oh, that I could not let stand. I wanted to capture him, for--if anything--I wanted a chance to regain some dignity.

9:04 AM--Xingtown, Manehattan

I arrived in my office over an hour prior. I had cauterized and sewn my small stab wound--and luckily it was only a flesh wound--but the chemical incapacitating agent used must have been made with the needs of a kidnapper in mind. Sure, one could wet a handkerchief in chloroform and force the victim to breathe it in, but that doesn’t always work, and sometimes getting the dosage wrong can be lethal.

No, having a poison that is powerful enough to incapacitate with a small cut is far more effective. Having access to anypony with a decent understanding of herbs, snake poisons and chemistry was a must. There was also the issue of him just smashing through the window, but that was probably because he didn’t expect his victim to already be there expecting him and on guard.

I couldn’t help but feel like crap. I didn’t take the case seriously enough and I just drank myself into a stupor. Sure, I remembered what happened, but that didn’t mean that I wasn’t drunk. In fact, I was so drunk that I didn’t have the focus to access the ether.

Now there I was, stripped clean and with a small flesh wound, a couple of broken ribs, and a swelled right forehoof--probably due to a fracture, in addition to the fact that it was dislocated until I snapped it back into place.

I didn’t have much time to lose, so I injected myself with some Bone Regen to fix the fracture and took some opiates to deal with the pain afterwards. Then I fixed myself nice and good, Tartarus, I even shaved.

I took a spare fedora and trenchcoat from a suitcase under my desk and armed myself with my Kurdish dagger and a pack of Jade Dragon cigarettes. Then I headed out with purpose. I needed to get back to my client’s apartment and gather some clues, go to Xingtown and then to the Fairy Market under the Brickling Bridge.

I needed answers: who took me to Sheol’s Kitchen, who was that perpetrator, and finally, the whereabouts of my client. With that in mind, I left my office quickly.

As I left the entrance of the rather small four-story office building, I noticed that the smells of Xingtown and the milling about of ponies was already underway. The shops were already open and the steam from the Edition Company heating pipe network was coming out of the ponyholes.

Since I was already in Xingtown, I figured that it was best for me to search for who made that custom poison. I already had a good idea of who it was: the Viper of the Streets, better known as Dr. Xi. He didn’t have a medical degree--or any degree--but he was a practitioner of Xing Taoistic Medicine, and he often sold poisons to the assassins of criminal syndicates, the Ax Gang being his personal favorite client.

I knew he wasn’t going to talk at first, but I had a few tricks up my sleeve...

9:33 AM--Xingtown, Manehattan

< > Translated from Cantonese

There it was, ‘Xi’s’ little operation. Hidden away in some out-of-sight corner in town, the front, while ornately Cantonese in appearance, was derelict in state. A wooden sign hung over it, with big Xing Script characters written in fading yellow paint, reading ‘Medicine’. The irony of that written over the shop of a quack that made his living torturing and dipping the weapons in poison for the Ax Gang didn’t escape me.

I stepped forward but then I noticed it--the half-dozen paper talismans with the flow of the ether impeded in the ink he used to write them. It wasn’t bad--they were even made specifically to just electrify me if I came too close. How thoughtful he was to have had that sort of welcome ready.

I kindly responded with haste; I placed one of my cigarettes in my mouth and then proceeded to gather the surrounding ectoplasm to break the shock spell. Afterwards I trotted over and I bucked the door open, incinerating the talismans with my pyrokinesis, while also lighting my cigarette in the process.

Xi was sitting at his counter with that look of smug self-assurance that he usually carries, looking at me as if he had the faintest idea of why I was here. I won’t lie, I’ve come to Xi’s shop for ingredients regarding ritual magic, and the occasional tissue revival experiment. But that was back in my teenage years. Once I was granted access to the Fairy Market under the Brickling Bridge, his store became redundant to me, I only showed my face now a days to keep an eye on Xi and spy on his customers.

<“Ah, Folklore! You must be here for the preserved cobra, right? You could have just trotted in, you know.”>

I gave him a glare, a rather nasty one. He knew what it meant.

<“I know that those talismans were made specifically for me, Xi.”>

His demeanor changed completely; gone was the patient Xingese pony who owned a Taoist medicine shop. Now came the gangster.

<“Die!”>

He sent a pyrokinetic blast my way; I dissipated it in an instant. He did it to get his Albion-made shotgun that he kept under the counter, though. He didn’t pull the trigger fast enough as I, in an instant, telekinetically grabbed the gun and flipped it to aim at his face.

<“You are barely a wu, Xi, and you have not spent a single moment on a battlefield. I, on the other hoof…”>

He looked at the barrel intently, but he knew that I was faster. So he wasn’t going to bother trying anything.

<“Fine, I guess that it was only a matter of time before you went after all of us.”>

I couldn’t help but grin like a hungry wolf. A bad habit that I wish I could just get over.

<“Oh, but I am not after the Ax Gang. You see, I am after much smaller prey. So considering your luck, I want to know--”>

I telekinetically threw the small knife that knocked me out last night to the counter.

<“--who you made that for. I know that it’s your hoof work, and I know already that you will make these for anypony who pays you enough. So who was it?”>

Oh, the reply did come quick.

<“He never said his name, but he wasn’t Xing. ”>

I floated over the shotgun to me and away from his face.

<“Now was that so difficult?”>

I could practically feel his blood pressure rising from where I was standing.

<“The Ax Gang will have your head.”>

I walked away as he said that. No need to hear the list of ways he was going to have me killed. There was no point, especially considering I could just leave an anonymous memo saying that he was providing his services to non-Xing folk. The Ax Gang has no mercy for traitors, after all.

With that, I concentrated on going back to Sunspark’s apartment. For all I knew, she could have been fine, or at work, or maybe even just waiting for me with a look of sheer annoyance, ready to fire me and demand a refund of the advance pay she provided.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

10:21 AM--Brickling

I arrived at the apartment, only to notice that the door was slightly open. I readied my Kurdish dagger, perhaps with the hope that there would be a fight. But there was no one there; the glass shards and splintered wood of the broken window were still there.

The place had all of its relatively modest furniture in place--nothing of note until I reached the bedroom; the bed was a mess and the drawers were searched without much subtlety.

The large mirror that was next to the bed was cracked and had some blood stained on it like somepony’s face was smashed there.

I also noticed some dried blood on the floor and what looked like dried semen. To me that meant that what happened, happened hours ago.

My blood chilled at the implications and I searched for anything that might help. She could have been dead or worse by that point, and I let her suffer that. I wasn’t prepared to have that in my conscience, so I went about the search with little subtlety and tact.

Eventually in the kitchen counter I found it. A pink business card, blank except for the gold engraving of the astrological symbol of the planet Venus dead on its center.

I knew who gave bussines cards like that. It was none other than the Mistress.

So I left, for if I knew anything about Mistress, it was that she always talked to her girls and her clients. And if my hunch was correct, Sunspark could be either.

Sheol’s Kitchen--1:02 PM

I knew where Mistress lived. She didn’t know that I knew, but just in case I needed to find her quickly and outside of her house of pleasure, I took a little time a month or so ago to track her routine. I had the time, after all, last month was surprisingly low on business despite Nightmare Night. Though to be fair, I did blow up a whole feral ghoul community a month before that. I must have made it difficult for them to come out to the surface like they normally do during Nightmare Night.

And speaking of bloodthirsty monstrosities…

Mistress was a mare deserving of varying degrees of both admiration and fear. She came from nothing; a poor Celtic mare with little more than a few bits to her name when I first met her. I wasn’t a soldier or a detective back then, just some clerk working in a pawn shop and a student at Athena, and she was going to be eaten by a ghoul. I did what I felt right at that moment and got her out of that problem. She wasn’t Queen of Knives back then; we were just friends, and I knew she wasn’t a bad mare.

But between the time that I went to war and came back, something changed her, and she formed a gang quickly. And by the time I was wondering what happened to her, I realized that she was the same mare that left a bloodied path through Sheol’s Kitchen while I was away. She was Manehattan’s Queen of Knives, and somehow I felt that I lost something when I learned that. I could never place what, but in a way I felt responsible for her to become that way. But when I talked to her again about it? I realized that Mistress was gone, and only the Queen of Knives remained.

Now she lived in some three story building near the West Side piers; it wasn’t fancy but it was certainly well kept. She naturally lived on the top floor. I used a little trick that I picked up in Shiba that allowed me to perform Perception Dampening to get to the door undetected and then some Ectoplasmic Manipulation to easily pick the locks.

I entered without much incident; the mares under Mistress’s employ were milling about. They weren’t in ‘business’ hours but they were all moving about going through their routines. They were mostly Celtic unicorn mares, some Cantonese Xing, and even a few zebras.

Were I a lesser stallion like a certain chemist and optical specialist named Optic Glass back in 977 (he discovered the means to turn invisible without using a horn and instead managed it by using a solution and machine to summon up the ethereal energies), I would have already started my own little reign of terror on that building much the same way he did in Albion.

But I wasn’t. I had a mission and Mistress had the answers that I needed, so I kept going.

The door to Mistress’s room was already open, so I just trotted in, closed the door behind me telekinetically, and locked it.

The moment I did, a silento came flying at my face. I telekinetically stopped it, only managing to do so about an inch away from my left eye. I deactivated my Perception Dampening, took the silento, and placed it in my trenchcoat.

“Only one silento this time, Mistress? I must have left quite the impression last time I was here.”

And there she was, on a bed, laying on her side wearing a white silk bath robe that clung to her figure in such a way that it accentuated her feminine features. She was a unicorn; her raven black mane, golden eyes, and light pink color were slightly more noticeable, and her mane was well combed and long, much like her tail. Thirty, and she didn’t look a day over twenty.

She was taking a long drag of her red opium pipe; when she stopped, her eyes opened, and they had a glossy, almost absent look to them. And as she blew her puff of smoke, she turned her head over to me, finally acknowledging my existence. There was a slight smile there, but I wasn’t sure it was genuine.

“What brings Mister Dark And Handsome to my door? I have to admit, Folklore, you certainly know how to scare a girl. Not even bothering to knock before showing yourself in here? That is just rude.”

I took one of my Jade Dragons and I pyrokinetically lit it. I was going to have to be on guard here; just because she was in an opium high didn’t mean that she was harmless.

“I have a question: do you know a Sunspark?”

She looked away from me and turned on her bed, refusing to look me in the eye.

“What’s it to you, Folklore? Did you finally stop being such a prude? If you are looking for a mare, I’m sure that any of the girls outside the door would love to attend to you. Granted you came prepared to pay, of course.”

I smirked, and had a look in my eye like a shark smelling blood.

“Sunspark is an androgynous name, Mistress, how did you know that I was talking about a mare?”

I heard her childishly pout at me, but I knew that underneath that she was pissed. That mare may not have looked it, but her hooves were drenched in blood. I’m well aware of her days as an assassin before she graduated to full blown crime boss. She would have tried to kill me already if she didn’t already know of my wartime reputation.

“You are a real pain in my arse, and not the good kind. But I’ll have to tell you that Sunspark is no longer in my employ. And what she does with her life is none of my concern anyway.”

I may have been taking advantage of her, since I knew that it was at this time that she smoked and had her pipe dreams. But the good thing is that she couldn’t really lie very well in that state. And as long as she was in that high, she was going to sing to me like a canary.

“What about clients? Did she ever attend to an Earthen stallion; copper brown with a blond mane and grey eyes, and a rope knot for a mark?”

Her ears twitched slightly at that. She quickly got out of bed, turned to face me, and trotted right up to my face.

“Why are you so interested in her? How did you even know to come here!?”

I gave her a glare.

“Your card was in her possession; she was either a client, or she used to be one of yer girls. And now she’s my client.”

Her eyes widened, and it was then she had an idea of the situation.

“She’s missing; she hired you for a job and now she’s gone. It’s actually funny, you failing this badly.”

I could feel one of my veins getting ready to pop. I was starting to lose my patience.

“What do you know…”

She closed her eyes.

“That pony you mentioned? His name is Docks; he’s a crooked copper that used to frequent here. He was a real piece of work, had this obsession with Sunspark. She needed the money so she didn’t refuse but I could tell by the state she was in every time she left the bedroom that he wasn’t gentle nor was he normal. He liked to beat mares as he ravaged them; didn’t give them a time to rest until he was done.”

I gritted my teeth while chewing on the cigarette that I had placed in my mouth; for all I knew, she was already dead. Though it seemed that Mistress had more information for me.

“She couldn’t take it anymore, so I gave her a hefty loan and let her go. When he came for his usual, I told him that she was no longer working here. He didn’t take it well but I put him in his place. I should have killed him. I found out later through our mutual acquaintance, Sig, that he had killed several ladies of the night already. ”

Oh, she should have.

“Yeah, you should have.”

She threw herself onto the bed and began to stare at the ceiling. She wasn’t sure, but she gave me one last piece of information.

“He did it in the warehouse district of the West Side piers. You should--”

I didn’t hear the end of it, for I had already left.

______________________________________________________________________________

Warehouse District, West Side Piers

I didn’t know how much time had passed, but I searched the whole of the warehouse district; every warehouse, every nook and cranny. I was like a pony possessed, searching for a single pony among every warehouse I could find. Minutes turned to hours as night fell and I was still searching, my mind frantic with the various possibilities, and the dock workers constantly refusing to cooperate.

The guilt continued to make me nervous, my brow sweating with more stress that actual physical fatigue.

And considering the size of the entirety of the West Side Piers, I could have been there for days. I was starting to feel like it was a lost cause, especially because I made the stupid move of leaving before Mistress could finish her last sentence.

Until the last one I tried. At that moment, I knew that the cause was quite beyond any form of salvation.

I lit myself another cigarette before going through the personnel door. The industrial lights were on and the smell of death permeated the air like a fog. With that came other smells, the smell of sex, blood, and booze.

And there she was: Sunspark, decapitated, splayed open on the cold concrete floor, her cunt filled with semen, her body covered in it, and her bruised and beaten head impaled on a hook at the end of a chain over her body. The entire scene had played out in a warehouse filled with wooden crates and dusty bags. Looking at this was bringing back memories that stirred inside me like moldy bread mashed down with stale beer.

The weight of my failure was hitting me, hard. In a way, I might as well had done that to her myself, but I couldn't afford to break down. I needed to at least track down the perpetrator, the looks of her body indicated to the possibility of several, or at the very least a very damn near unnatural Earthen.

So I steadied myself and trotted closer to get a better look. And then HE jumped me.

I looked up for just a second to see some lead pipe, and he smacked me in the left eye with it, leaving me disoriented.

I telekinetically threw him a random crate as I was trying to get a better bearing of my surroundings. I heard him smash right through it, making the sound of splintering wood and glass.

That got me back to the world of the living. And as I saw him coming at me drenched in vodka, I telekinetically threw my bent cigarette at him and I pyrokinetically engulfed him in flame.

He stopped and started to roll and scream in blood-churning agony, his eyes wide open with a crazed, almost cornered, wolf sort of appearance, all accentuated by the smell of burning hair, skin, and flesh. I increased the fire's intensity. I didn’t care at that moment about pay, about getting the bastard to prison, nor did I care about anything except having that motherfucker die in the single most agonizing way that I could muster at that moment. And when I thought it was enough, I simply trotted off, all but ready to go outside of the warehouse to take my Kurdish dagger and stab my own heart with it, hoping that my death would somehow make up for my abysmal failure.

And as I opened the large metal parting doors, I heard him galloping towards me, and I looked back to him. He looked at me with those crazed eyes, still engulfed in flame, and still screaming.

I managed to quickly shield myself with a piece of sheet metal that I was able to telekinetically rip off one of the large double doors.

As he tackled me, I noticed that that the warehouse was on a pier, and that both of us were now falling into the Houseson river. The current wasn’t strong but the waters were dark; I had lost him.

I then concentrated on swimming to the surface. I eventually found a ladder and I climbed my way up to a pier further down the Houseson. My hat was lost, but I had little else to care about at that point.

Eventually, I just wandered through town for a while, barely even noticing as the rain hit, and eventually I made it here to Grain’s Diner, broken, defeated, and humiliated.

The worst part?

It’s all my fault that she died. Had I given more of a damn from the start, none of it would have happened. And now, I have to live with that.

Just like I had to live with the thousands that died to the weaponized gas that I was forced to create, and the nearly one hundred or so zebras that died by my very hooves and magic when we were trapped in the ruins of Urassan because I couldn’t bring myself to face death.

I’m sorry, Redheart, but the stallion you see before you is nothing more than a monster.

And I deserve no pity…