Jacked Up

Denise Hartman is...

JACKED UP

-{Prologue}-

~~~~~

Thursday, August 21st, 2012

Newark, New Jersey

Clinton Ave. Rentals, Apt. 203

On a cold autumn night, Denise Hartman sat down on the fold-out couch in her apartment.  Her long, dark hair was lazily tied in a ponytail, and she wore only a pair of torn blue jeans and a white tank-top, neither of which seemed to have been washed recently.  In one hand she held a pencil, in the other, several sheets of paper.

She sighed, looking over her pathetic lodgings.  They might have looked presentable once, but they had been abandoned for a little over two years, and the current occupant had been somewhat neglectful since her return.

Shaking her head and steeling her resolve, she set her papers down on the coffee table in front of her, and began to write.

"Dear Troy,"

The image of her old acquaintance flashed in her mind, a middle-aged African-American with a smoothly shaved head, wearing a sharp grey business suit- a gun and a badge hidden underneath.  Trey wasn't exactly a friend, but he was undeniably a good man, if a bit underhanded in how he handled his work.

"I finally got out; don't know if you've heard.  Went right back to Rico and the guys- rehabilitation at it's finest, huh?"

Rico.  Her oldest friend.  A sleazy hispanic street thug on the outside, and a business genius on the inside.  Between the two of them, they had made the best of a bad upbringing, building up a small criminal operation in their neighborhood.  Rico was one of those bad guys who had enough sensibility and morals to be considered a good guy- he did his best to keep drugs out of the area, and was trying to get a legitimate job.

"I'm settling back into things as best I can.  Nothing's gonna be the same again, but we can pretend, I guess."

All good things come to an end, though.  They made their share of mistakes, and they paid the price for it. Rico lost a lot of his business, and Denise...

"I don't plan on staying in Jersey much longer, actually.  I think I need a change of scenery.  Though I suppose anything is change of scenery after you spend two years inside, ha ha. (Yeah, that was a fake laugh, you prick.)"

Denise was shipped off to prison on some minor charges.  Still, it could have been worse.  Troy had gotten rid of a good deal of the heat their operation had been under.  If it wasn't for him, they'd both have been looking at 25-to-life.  Unfortunately, those two years weren't the only thing Denise had lost.

"And yeah, I know what you're gonna ask, and the answer's the same.  I'm fine.  I've moved on.  Nothing's gonna bring him back, so there's no point in dwelling on it."

She was lying through her teeth.  Death was never easy to deal with- what she had been through was even harder.

… but no.  She'd face those demons soon enough.

"So I guess this is goodbye.  Good luck with your government bullshit.  It's been fun.

Well, not fun, but you know what I mean.

- Denise"

Wordlessly, she folded the paper and placed it inside an envelope, sealing it with a quick (and disgusting) lick. Denise set it aside, reaching for the next piece of paper...

"Dear Vlad,"

The words formed in her mind, but refused to come to the paper.

"I... I don't really know why I'm writing this.  Maybe I need to vent.  Maybe I've just snapped."

She got this far before tossing the paper aside.  She knew what she was going to say.  There was no point in writing it down.

"It just... Feels good.  To be able to talk like this.  Like you're still here.  It helps, if only a little."

She wandered to the bathroom, opening the medical cabinet. It contained what one would expect from a medical cabinet, over-the-counter medicine, bandages, cotton swabs.

Really, the only unusual thing about the cabinet was the shelf dedicated entirely to morphine syringes.

"I've never gotten over you.  Sure, I tell everyone else I have, but deep down, it's just another lie to make me feel better about myself."

Denise carefully took a syringe and band from her stash, taking a seat on the toilet.

"I...  I never got to tell you, but I worked something out with Rico just before you popped the question."

She tied the band around her left arm, as tightly as possible.

"Before... What happened."

She gripped the syringe in her free hand,and plunged it into her vein with practiced precision.

Sweet relief...

"I wanted us to get out of the game.  I was gonna take my share of the business, go legit, buy a house...  the American dream and all.  And I wanted to do it with you... Guess now I'll never get that chance."

For a moment, she almost wanted to take more.  Pump herself so full of poison that she would never have to see tomorrow.

"... I love you Vlad.  No matter what, I'll always love you."

But no.  She wasn't that far off the deep end.

"I just wish you were here to say it, too..."

Not yet...

~~~

Sunday, May 20th, 1004 ANM

Manehattan, Equestria

MHPD Headquarters

"You clowns better pray you still have your jobs after this is all over."

The uniformed stallions shot simultaneous frowns towards the changeling making threats. It remained firmly chained to the interrogation table, but seemed more annoyed by this than angry.

The creature's black carapace was smooth, with its natural holes hidden behind a veil of shapeshifting magic. Its fibrous hair looked as though it had once been done up neatly, but was now a scrambled, tangled mess, the natural maroon streaks mixed with long-dried blood. Strangely, the creature made no effort to cover up the ghastly scar over the right side of its face, though the bloody bandage over its eye covered a good deal of the damage.

"Why?" the first officer sarcastically replied, a large grey-blue earth pony with a mean-looking goatee, "You plan on replacing the Cheif?"

The changeling let out a short, sarcastic guffaw. "I wouldn't waste the effort.  I'm already acquainted with him."

"Oh, so you replaced his wife, then?" snarled the stallion.

"Please," she said with a chuckle, "I said I'm acquainted with him, not his superiors."

The second officer, a younger-looking unicorn colt with a sandy-brown coat, struggled to suppress a slight grin.

"Besides, I wouldn't be caught dead looking like that mare."

His resolved failed at this comment, letting loose a quick giggle, earning a dirty look from his partner.

"Look, bugsy," growled the Goatee'd Stallion, "If it were up to me you'd already be in a cell.  The only reason you're still here is because somepony decided you might be useful to us if you talked. So talk."

"About what? Far as I can tell, there's no reason for me to even be here."

"Ma'am," the Kid offered, speaking up for the first time, "You were found unconscious at the scene of a major attack on this city.  One perpetrated almost exclusively by changelings."

"Yeah, so?"

"So," growled Goatee, "we have a very good reason to keep you here."

"I don't... Wait."

The changeling stopped for a moment, pondering.  Suddenly, her eyes grew wide, and a look of shock spread across her face.

"... You think I was with those crazies!"

A moment passed, when suddenly, the changeling burst into a fit of laughter.

"You... -giggle- Have... Have you talked to ANYONE else who was there yet?"

Goatee scowled in frustration while the Kid gave a nervous chuckle.

"Oh my god," chuckled the changeling, "You really don't know ANYTHING, do you?"

"This is pointless!" shouted Goatee, fed up with the situation, "You wanna deal with this thing, be my guest."

With that, he stormed out of the room, leaving the Kid alone with the cackling prisoner.

"Um... What exactly is so funny?"

The changeling's fit of laughter died down.  She looked to the Kid, giving a smirk. "Well, that sorta depends.  You want the long story, or the short story?"

The Kid shifted nervously. He gave a glance to the door, mulling over the changeling's cryptic response.  Finally, he sighed, taking a seat across the table from the prisoner.

"What the hay, I've got time to kill.  Long story."

The changeling looked surprised, slightly, but the shock was quickly replaced with relief.

"You sure?"

"Eh, why not."

The changeling smiled, adjusting itself into a more relaxed position.

"Well," the creature said with a sigh, "Like every story in my life, it began with a hangover..."

~~~~~