You Give Sharks a Bad Name
The world swirled around Sharktavia, bullets of sweat running down her exposed scales. She was surrounded, with twenty three angry assassination machines stairing her down. They were like regular assassins, but they were machines instead. For this was N E W C A N T E R L O T: a space wonderland paradise floating above the clouds of gas giant Broxleton.But below this shimmering Bacchanalian wonderland of glass and steel lay a seedy underbelly of destitution, despair, and... death.
It was here that Sharktavia found herself, staring down the barrel of a space laser, which is like a regular laser, but in space! Woah man!
The leader of the assassination machines snarled menacingly. "Sharktavia, this town ain't big enough for the both of us! Surrender now or prepare to meet your maker."
Sharktavia's eyes darted as she floated on the cushion of shimmering air produced by her mana-tech exoskeleton. Foolish decisions had put her here, and one more unwise choice could prove fatal.
"Well, infidel? Do you surrender, or do you DIE?!"
This was the final line. Sharktavia used her psychic future space shark powers and blasted off in a puff of telekinetic ether. The blast didn't knock down her enemies, but it caught them off guard, and that was the break she needed.
*CRACKLE!* Sky lightning shot from her augmented retinas towards the enemies below. *Shreesh!* The electricity shot into the mechanical bodies seeking her destruction.
The robots shrieked in artificial horror, their voices modulating in terminal anguish. One by one the technological terrors fell lifeless to the ground, sparks shrieking off their bodies in beautiful fatalism. This was life in N E W C A N T E R L O T: it could be beautiful, but so often tragically ephemeral.
Sharktavia breathed a sigh of relief, slowly "swimming" back down on the lackadaisical currents swirling through the soft white underbelly of the city. This had been a close one, a bit too close for the former Xector-J Enforcer. She would have to be more careful next time, or there would be no next time...
It hadn't always been this way. She hadn't always been a shark. Once, she had been a pony. She remembered those halcyon days swimming idly through Ponyville. No! Not swimming, trotting! That all felt so long ago. And indeed, it was. That was 76 years ago. Almost all the ponies she once knew were now dead. A few old acquaintances lived on in retirement homes, riding out the last years of their lives in peaceful senility. She visited them on occasion, on those rare trips to Earth, but it always felt awkward, herself, a nubile shark, trying to relate to the dying husks of her old friends. Names like Lyra and Beauty Brass meant little to her these days. And the one name that meant the most, well, she still couldn't bring herself to say it. Not after what had happened. Not after the accident.
Sharktavia sighed and pulled herself out of her wistful reminiscence. She had work to do. She had a case to crack. And--if the leads were to be trusted--perhaps an old friend to avenge.
The mare--for beneath that scaly exterior lay a creature who still saw herself as at least a little pony--swam purposefully through the streets of the Cardinal District, so called for the once bright red paint that coated the building of this sector. Now, they were faded and rusted, like so much else in this town. Sure, the population was mostly ponies, but other former species of Earth and even the occasional alien cohabited the spacefaring city, so she was not so out of place here. Her angry eyes and scythe-like teeth ensured most people gave her a wide enough berth as she weaved among the populace, and she was fine with this. She had no time for dalliances. She had a cartel to bring down: The Andalusian Asteroids.
Your Love is Like Bad Sharkicine
*Thwoop!* The dart embedded itself into the dartboard, two inches from the bullseye. A stallion huffed, hot air blowing out his nostrils. This was the future, so why was his damn air conditioning always breaking. He sighed, reaching for his scotch. He was interrupted by a dull knock on the door. He sighed (again) and resumed taking a drink. The knocking repeated, this time louder. ''We're closed,'' he shouted, his scratchy voice thudding through the sparsely furnished office. Dust drifted among the dour fluorescent lights, illuminating a detective agency in decline. The knocking ceased, and Floozy Flower was about to even crack a smile, but a shout from the door ended any thought of that.
''Come on, Flower, I need your help!'' It was alien. But it was familiar. Floozy sighed (he was doing that a lot) and dislodged himself from his chair, rear hooves slipping off of the desk they had been crossed upon. ''Alright, kid, I'm coming.'' He hobbled over to the door, occasionally wincing from the pain in his front left leg. He peered through the eyehole to ascertain his suspicion was correct, and unlocked the deadbolt. Outside, there was a shark.
''Floozy Flower!'' Sharktavia exclaimed, barreling into her old partner in crime (prevention). ''How have you been?'' She wrapped he stubby fins around him.
''Agh, easy with the scales, kid,'' he said, worming out of her grip. ''I never was one for hugging sandpaper.''
Sharktavia giggled. ''Ah, Flooze the Smooze, you haven't changed a bit.''
The detective smiled in kind. ''And I could say the same of you. What brings you round these decrepit parts?''
Sharktavia lost the grin. ''I need your help on a case.''
Floozy let out a burp. ''Shoot, kid, what's it this time?''
''I need some help with the Asteroids.''
The detective stiffened up. ''You better come inside, Tavi.'' She followed him into his office, and he bolted the door behind him. She swam from filing cabinet to filing cabinet, taking in the things that had changed since her last visit, and the greater number of things that were still the same. Same musty smell, same dartboard, and same grumpy stallion. Said owner of the room bruskly trotted back to his desk and sat down, swivelling to face his visitor.
"The answer's no, but that's not why I invited you into my office.'' The mare deflated, to the extent sharks can look deflated. "I invited you into my office, because I don't want you involved with those good-for-nuthin miscreants either. You're a good mare, Sharktavia, and I don't want nothing bad happening to you. I don't know if you heard the scanner, but just an hour ago some of their assassin machines were involved in a shootout or explosion or some nasty thing or other. I ain't workin' that case, and I'd advise you get yourself off of it."
Sharktavia swam restlessly around the room. "Come on Flooze, I think I'm close to a breakthrough. I've got some spicy leads but I need help putting them together, and there ain't no stallion better than you at that. I ain't asking for dangerous stakeouts or anything of the sort. Can you just help me with some old fashioned research?"
Floozy reached for his scotch, but found it empty. "No's a no's a no's, Tav. Same answer. I'm done getting mixed up in that nonsense. I've got grandkids now, and I want to be there for them. Things are different when you're older. Maybe someday you'll see what I mean."
Sharktavia scowled, undeterred. "I'm older than you, and you know that. I've got great great grandkids back on Earth. This is bigger than me and you and them though." She pulled out her trump card: "Floozy Flower, "I know who killed Vinyl Scratch."
