Trappings of the Mind

by TheGreatSnipe

Rating: teen
Tags: Other, Mystery, Profanity, Violence, Death, Narcotics, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe
Length: 5804

The War ended years ago, but some things? They never really leave you be, war or no war. They're the kinds of things that you take, from the present to the grave.

Written for the Equestria at War Writing Competition!

Coal Coke's war ended ten years ago, when the Great War itself ended. He'd served his time, and gone home, still in one piece.

Well, mostly one piece. Physically, anyways.

But, when a particular case begins to bring back memories he'd hoped he had buried, Coal has to balance a deteriorating mind, and painful echoes of the past if he is to solve the murder of a local Celestian Priest in his hometown of Manehattan.

Published 2018-04-15 04:40:07 UTC
Last updated 2018-04-15 04:40:07 UTC

Just Another Cold Manehattan Night

Trappings of the Mind

--

It was never about the pay.

Rain poured freely from the heavens, pattering angrily against my levitated umbrella. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have assumed the weather was trying to knock it away like some drunken boxer, who wanted to go a few rounds after happy hour was well and over.

I snorted, lighting a Lucky Strike cigarette with my flick lighter, and let it hang from my muzzle, as I gazed out over the soggy and morbid crime scene.

Nah. Fuck the money. If I wanted good pay, I’d have stuck with the Marine Corps.

Picking my way past the line of colts and fillies in blue, I ducked unter the yellow crime tape with a curt nod to Officer Smoke Trail, who’d been first responder. Righting myself on the other side of the tape, I nudged my precinct’s coroner with a forehoof to her shoulder.

“Who’s the stiff?” I groused, careful to blow my smoke out and away from the Aging Doctor’s face.

The elderly mare glared, her sharp, glasses-rimmed eyes piercing my facade of annoyed indifference. “That’s your job, detective.” Doc Redheart used to live in some little shit hamlet called Ponyville before the Great War. It’d made her a tough old bitch, and her stint as an Army Surgeon had only made her tougher. If she’d started with chewing nails for breakfast, she’d long since graduated to eating enough solid rock to call her a verified hardass.

I held up my hooves placatingly. “Ey, ey, easy doc. Just runnin’ a touch late today. Traffic accident off 43rd and main, so I was hoping first responder had given ya something.”

Red Heart just rolled her eyes, as that Featherweight kid- some other Ponyville schmuck- snapped his crime scene photos. “I’ll have a full report after we get her to the morgue, and out of this rain. Looks like a stabbing.”

“So probably a unicorn, bug, or Griffon.” I surmised aloud, dousing my cigarette to focus on the brass tacks of the investigation. “Magical forensics already do their crap?”

“Yeah. She’s safe to inspect now. Why not a Minotaur?”

I shrugged, not discounting the thought. “Could’a been, but unlikely. How often you ever see a Minotaur, even here in Manehattan?”

“Fair enough.” Red Heart concedes, as she began to pack her coroner’s equipment. “Oh, fair warning before I go: probably not going to be able to get you an accurate time of death what with the rain and all.”

“I’ll deal without, then. You see Star yet?”

“Star Gazer? Yeah, she’s running late, same as you, Coal Coke.”

I nodded, focusing on the dead mare as Red Heart headed for the dry safety of the Coronary Van. It was time to start this investigation proper; no more idle chit-chat.

Standing over the corpse, I went through the usual motions- checking forelegs and hind legs for signs of assault. Nothing substantial. Neck and head came next. Four small puncture wounds just above the base of her throat- probably either a pair of Changeling fangs, or a Griffon’s claw. Maybe even a small knife, such as a stiletto.

I began rifling through her jacket pockets next. Wallet- that explained the lack of a purse. Lipstick, check. Number twenty seven cherry red. Nothing out of the ordinary there, or related to any serial killings in any case. Cigarette lighter.

Cigarette lighter, but no cigarettes or cigars? That struck me as odd. I hummed in thought, holding the zippo aloft in my magic, turning it over and over. ERMC was emblazoned upon the opposite side, with a deep blue diamond shaped background, and a pure white pony’s skull below the acronym. Equestrian Royal Marine Corps. Huh.

“Ey Coke.” A Voice lurched me from my thoughts. My new partner I presumed, some pegasus filly from Baltimare, Star Gazer. “Sorry I’m late. No excuse.”

“That’s a first.” I snorted back, chuckling at the amber coated filly’s expense, as she gently slugged me in the shoulder in retaliation. “Check her wallet would ya? I’m still checking her pockets.”

Gazer nodded, and gingerly pulled the wallet open with a wingtip, as I continued to pick through the cadaver’s pockets.

“Huh. Morning Glory. Ordained minister of the Solar Gospel.”

I blinked, pausing in my own search momentarily. Wasn’t too religious myself anymore- kinda hard in my line of work, though I had grown up Lunarist, thanks to good old Mom and Pops. Always did hate those dang suits I got stuffed into though. “A minister? Who the fuck rolls a priest?”

“I dunno Cokey. Anything interesting on your end? I got nada else here.”

“Nothing else besides that lighter there ye-“ I cut myself off, as Star glanced nervously over at my tense form. The cold, familiar metal of a pistol rested against my hoof. Gingerly, I levitated the weapon out of her pocket, and cleared it, releasing the magazine- which clacked to the floor, and pulling back the slide, sending the chambered .45 cartridge tumbling into the asphalt.

“Locked and loaded.” I frowned, examining the weapon closely, now that it was safe. “One in the chamber, too, though the safety was on.”

“Damn. Sure as hell didn’t expect a priest to be packing heat. What the heck do I know though?”

Not enough, that was for sure. I just shrugged my shoulders, too busy with my examination to give a proper response, before placing it on the asphalt next to the lighter. Ultimately useless. “Got an address?” I finally inquired.

“Yeah. 8592 South Green Street.” She paused, temporarily, though she was quick to fill the silence. “Hey, I know where that is. Just off Skate Road. Nice cozy Solar Church, congregation of maybe forty.”

“So what, she lived in her church?”

“Heck if I know, Coal. I’m Agnostic. You got anything else on your end?”

I reviewed the evidence we’d gathered so far. Wallet. Marine’s Cigarette Lighter. Model 1011 .45 automatic pistol. And… that about summed it up.

Not really.” I began, then stopped, as a thought crossed my mind. “Hey, wait a sec.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah… yeah.” I nodded, congealing my thoughts together into something coherent. “Yeah hold the phone, doll. Was this mare even in the military?”

“Uhh…” she flicked back through the wallet quickly as she could manage. “No. I don’t see anything. No veterans’ benefits card, no military identification.”

“Right.” I nodded, staring intently at the lighter held aloft in my magic. “And she looks kinda shrimpy for a mare her age anyways. So that begs the question, what’s she doing with an army service pistol, and a Marine’s cigarette lighter?”

<<>>

Machine gun bullets chattered angrily by, like possessed hornets, as I resisted the urge to hyperventilate myself into a frenzy. That’d been too close for comfort. I muttered a short prayer to Luna, kissed my Lunarian Sigil, and looked back to my squad Sergeant for confirmation of my next actions.

She nodded.

I took a deep, sucking breath, and stood to my hooves, magic flaring to life as I tugged back the firing lever on my assigned weapon.

Napalm fire spewed forth from the large tank resting on my back, as the changelings within the pillbox I’d taken cover next to shrieked and screamed in pain, as the sticky mixture incinerated them and anything else within the bunker’s walls. Those that leapt out, blazing and coated with the horrid mixture, were quickly and mercifully cut down by the rest of my squad. Better than burning to death.

I let the flamethrower nozzle hang as I wiped my forehead, and tried to ignore the acrid smell of charred Changeling. One down. Who knew how many to go.

<<>>

“-Ey, Equestria to Coal Coke. Hey, Cokey, you still with me, old timer?”

I lurched from my thoughts with a start, shaking my head clear of the everpresent memories, hiding just beneath the surface. “Gah, I ah, shit. Sorry Starry. Just uh. Sorta zoned out a bit.”

“No shit. Everything okay?”

“No.” I stated truthfully, lighting a fresh cigarette as Star Gazer maneuvered her personal vehicle- a Chevrolet- through the busy Manehattan streets.

She was quiet for a moment, processing that. “Wanna talk about it?” She eventually ventured, after my continued silence.

“Not particularly. I worked a flamethrower during the Great War. Napalm.”

“Oh.” The Much younger mare quieted down with a short reply. “Sorry for prying.”

I shrugged again- something I seemed to be doing a fair bit lately. “You’re new, kid, and ya meant well. Nothing doing.”

Star Gazer nodded, focusing back on the road, as I gazed out the Chevy’s passenger window, watching the rained out city speed on by us.

Days like today made me think of pre-War Manehattan. Used to be a great place to live. Nice, well-kept apartments. Factories weren’t too loud, and trended towards the edges of the sprawling city. Cheerful storefronts and bright and happy shopkeepers. Everypony in the bar knew your name.

Nowadays the place was a real shithole, that got worse and worse the farther downtown you went.

Junkies- strung out GIs vainly trying to stop remembering their personal hells- on every corner. Abandoned shops and storefronts- their owners killed during the war itself or moved away, to other less troubled towns and cities. Condemned apartment buildings, overdue for demolition because the construction crews were horribly overworked.

The Equestrian-Changeling was had been… bad… and it showed, from the look of Manehattan, the dying city itself a smaller image of the bigger picture. But, in the end, it’d been “The Great War”. Really, all that meant was that everyone who named it hoped it was so greatly terrible, we’d never have another like it.

My mind wandered. I’d lost a fair number of friends in that war. Being a Flamethrower Jockey was dangerous enough, but combine that with my status as a Royal Marine? A unit sent into the shittiest situations of all the fronts? Yeah, right, like we were gonna survive a day, let alone a week, month, year, and so on.

The fact that I’d lived long enough to get promoted to Gunnery Sergeant? Let alone my first promotion from Private First Class to Corporal, was pretty fucking far against the odds.

Eventually, Gazer slowed her Chevy to a halt in the church’s parking lot.

The two of us stepped out of the car into the gloomy night, and out of respect of the religion I barely still respected, I doused my second cigarette of the evening. At this point I’d be through the whole damn pack by the weekend. The two of us trotted up to the large oaken front doors- minus our umbrellas as the rain had momentarily let up, and steadied ourselves.

I pounded a hoof firmly upon the door, then waited a minute or so. No answer, but that was to be expected, really. The door was thankfully unlocked, so I wouldn’t have to filch a lockpicking kit from a pawn shop. I nudged the heavy doors open, and the two of us slipped inside.

“Cozy.” Star commented, as she looked about the small church, gesturing to me with a win once she’d found the priest’s office.

“Overblown.” I snarked back, following her lead. “Everypony and their brother’s Solarian here. Doesn’t mean piss to half of them.”

“Ever the optimist.” Gazer chuckled back, as we started going through the dead mare’s office. Pretty tidily kept for a clergymare, I noted immediately.

No smoker’s stains or smells- or ash- either. Fresh like flowers, actually. Marigolds specifically, freshly cut I’d wager. Pretty rare for the city she resided within. More importantly, it further reinforced that she definitely didn’t own the cigarette lighter- and by a bit of guesswork, I doubted she owned the pistol, either.

“Yeah, well, that’s more your schtick.” I snorted, finally replying after a long, quiet moment as I gathered my thoughts.

Gazer chuckled dryly, and we lapsed into silence as we went to work in earnest. Books were shuffled about, desk drawers opened and searched thoroughly, the whole nine yards.

Absolutely nothing.

I cursed our luck. Of course it wouldn’t have been this easy.

The church’s door received a firm knock, and Star and I shared a concerned look. I gave the young pegasus a stern nod, and let my magic take grip on my service revolver’s handle, as we trotted to the door, and I let it rise to eye level, locking back the hammer with a satisfying click.

Star Gazer pulled open the door swiftly. “Manehattan Police.” She began, commandingly. “Officers Gazer and Coke. Inside, now.”

The Griffon on the other side of the door blinked in alarm, suddenly face to face with a stern pegasus and a .38 caliber revolver barrel. “I-oh, uh. Wow.” He blinked. “Is… Is something wrong officer?”

I lowered my pistol, but kept it aloft, as the Griffon cautiously stepped inside the church. “Yeah.” I began, closing the door behind him. “The local priest- Morning Glory- was found stabbed to death out in the parking lot of Murfee Park, about four miles from here.”

The Large, well-built griffon blanched. “You’re shittin’ me? Oh, gods, she’s dead?”

I squinted my eyes slightly, reading the griffon’s posture and tone. He seemed earnestly shocked and uninformed. A good start.

“No.” I started,as I watched him flinch away from the statement. “Cigarette?”

“Wh-no, sorry. I quit after I left the service. Improper in a church anyways.”

“You served?” Gazer cut in, as I traded my pistol for a notepad and pencil, ready to take notes, and privately suss out her interrogation skills.

The Griffon nodded, shakily, rubbing a claw across his forehead. “Y-yeah. Corporal Edwin Skycrest. 509th Onhooves Company, 16th Division.”

“Army puke, eh?” I joked, to which he nodded. Well, that crossed the lighter off for now. “Don’t suppose you know anything about a 1011 .45 auto?”

He gulped- something neither Gazer nor I missed. “Yeah, it’s uh… It’s mine. I gave it to her for personal protection a few months back. Taught her how to shoot it, too. Serial number CA293385.” He rattled off almost mechanically. Another dead end, if I took his word as truth.

“Why give up your pistol?” I pressed. “Not easy to keep a service pistol after the war, and CA is a civvie serial.”

“Well… Mother Glory was scared- terrified, really, that she has someone stalking her. Said she was finding personal pictures and the like on her podium before Sunday morning services. That they said… bad things. She didn’t elaborate.”

Star and I shared an alarmed look- the rookie even went so far as to gasp in shock. Probably her first time dealing with something like that. “We didn’t find any pictures in her office.”

Edwin shrugged, pointing to a staircase in the back right corner of the church, opposite the office. “Her bedroom is upstairs. If she hasn’t thrown them all out, they’ll probably be up there.”

I nodded. “Why don’t you stay here, and take a full statement for officer Star Gazer, while I go see what’s going on upstairs?”

“Right, officer.”

<<>>

I tossed aside my combat helmet, trying to ward off the shakes racking my body, as I nervously lit a lucky strike cigarette with my flick lighter. I then went back to wringing my hooves, as if trying to wash away invisible blood that’d never come out. Like a regular Lady MacBuck.

Fuck you too, Spear Shaker.

“Everything alright, Corporal?”

I jumped-nearly out of my skin- as my heart leapt to my throat, and I nearly choked on the lucky strike stuffed in my muzzle.

Scrambling to regain my senses, I barely noticed Sergeant Major Cold Snap planting my helmet squarely back upon my head, and mindful of my horn.

“I-I...no.” I shook my head, shuddering. “I hear ‘em screaming, sarge.” I felt the bile rising in my throat; the tears in my eyes welling up again.

“Hey, look kid, I know that flamethrowers are pretty fucked as far as weapons go, but-”

“No, Sarge. You don’t get it.” I quivered, my jaw tense and the words hard to spit out of my mouth. “It’s not the screamin’ I can’t deal with- It’s that I like hearin’ it.”

<<>>

I frowned, as I sifted through the file marked “Send to police”, shaking my head as I blinked my head clear of my idle thoughts. Bad time for bad memories. Sure enough, though, Skycrest’s story held up. There were dozens of pictures of the admittedly cute middle-aged priest as she went about her daily business- clearly taken without her consent, or knowledge, too.

I bagged the polaroids with a twinge of anger and frustration. As if the decrepitness of postwar Manehattan wasn’t bad enough, these types of fucks- these sorts of criminal shitbags, barely worth the gum on my horseshoes- made it much, much worse.

I was gonna find this pissant, whoever they were, and knock ‘em around for a bit before taking them in, procedure be damned. Looking about the room for anything else, I shook my head upon coming up empty, and trotted back over to the staircase, descending to rejoin the griffon being questioned by my fellow officer.

She was just about done, and I’d missed any important questions, so I contented myself to wait in the Chevrolet, as Star Gazer wrapped up the interrogation. Star trotted out herself a few minutes later, hopping back into the driver’s seat. “So what’s the word on the pictures?” She questioned, as she pulled the Chevy out of the parking lot.

“Take us back to the precinct.” I ordered, levitating the bagged folder out for her to see. “It’s legitimate.”

“Right. What’s the plan then?”

“Precinct, like I said. I’d like to see Red Heart’s full report and see if forensics can get anything useful outta the Polaroids before we move forward. Last thing I wanna do is screw this up because we go off half-cocked.”

Star Gazer nodded wordlessly, and off we went, back to one of the few places in this dying city that I haven’t gotten sick of seeing on a daily basis.

<<>>

I looked down at the lighter in my hooves.

“Sarge?”

“Take it, Corporal. I don’t need the damn thing anymore. They’re shipping me back to Equestria.” Cold Snap growled, forehooves crossed in frustration, as she took a long drag on her apparently last cigarette before she hoofed over her lighter.

“What? You’re headed home?” I blinked, in confusion. The war wasn’t over already, was it? “What for?”

“Medical leave.” She sighed, stamping the changeling hive’s strange floor with an angry hoof. “I dunno when they’ll let me come back. You uh… You should be expecting a promotion from the Skipper soon, I guess. You’re next in line for Squad Lead.”

“Yes Ma’am.” I gulped, keeping calm, for both our sakes. “I’ll uh, I’ll keep an eye out for the colts and fillies, and keep an ear out for Skip.”

“Good Stallion. Torch a few bugs for me, Marine.”

My mouth twinged into a fake smile. “Yeah. Sure thing, Sarge. I’ll torch a few for you.”

<<>>

“You gonna keep doing that?”

I snapped my eyes off the ro-Precinct Parking lot. When did we arrive? I gazed over to Star, frowning.

“Leave well enough, kid.”

The Filly got the picture, and rolled her eyes, exiting the Chevrolet. I followed suit, leaving my umbrella where it was in the floorboard. The dreary, spiteful storm was finally starting to break. I myself wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, yet. About damn time, regardless.

We headed inside the precinct we called home- Bucklyn Police Department- and I threw the kid a bone. She meant well, after all. “It’s not usually this bad. My shrink calls it uh… hell, I dunno. Post Traumatic Something Disorder. I don’t usually get this jittery, and I sure as hell don’t zone out like that so often.”

She stopped, subconsciously demanding I expand on the declaration. “You’ve got PTSD?” She vocalized.

I frowned immensely. “Hey, hey, keep it down, Gazer. No need to shout it ta’ the heavens.” Not like it really mattered though. Half the precinct knew already, but hey, it was the principle of the matter. “Yeah. I do. Shakes. Jitters. Cold sweats. I get memories. Bad ones. Migranes. Nightmares. I’m fuckin’ paranoid of being shot by bugs. I deal with it. No big deal. Usually.”

“So… why’s it worse then?”

“One, fuck you. Two, fuck off.” My patience was starting to wear thin. “Three… I dunno. Ever since we started this damn case.” I tugged my half-empty pack of strikes and my lighter free of my rain-soaked coat, and went to light a cigarette. I paused.

I looked at my Zippo. Still had Cold Snap’s old Flick lighter, after all these fuckin’ years. She’d told me to keep it when she finally came back to the 58th. A marine’s lighter.

A marine’s lighter.

“We’re missin’ half the story, Gazer.”

“What, hey, we were-”

“Later. We’re barkin’ up the wrong tree here. Let’s get these photos down to forensics. We’re looking for a Marine, Starry, not an army puke.”

<<>>

“Ey, Gunny. Got a couple new flamethrower jockeys for you.” Cold Snap waved to me, as she led a griffon and a batpony- thestral, gotta remember that- into my storage tent, where I kept careful watch over the Company’s Napalm tanks and flamethrowers.

“That right?” I rasped. My throat was sore from a bout of dehydration- we’d been S.O.L in regards to food and water for a couple days now, damn bugs had ambushed our forward supply convoys, and we were tip of the spear, being a “Blowtorch” unit.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Cold Snap nodded, idly rubbing her new Captain’s Bars. Battlefield commission when Skipper Storm Front took one to the dome last night. Just like that.

“Alright. You sorry shits are trained with our buddy napalm and his marefriend the M2 Flamethrower I’ll assume, so I’ll get straight to the important stuff. One, you’re gonna be a big-ass target with these huge fuckin’ tanks on your back, so keep your head down and your ass moving like you’re an olympic sprinter.”

The two nodded, paying close attention as Skipper Snap trotted out of the tent, other work to do. “Second, you’re a big-ass target, and you therefore signed up for probably the most dangerous job in this damned perfect and beloved Marine Corps. If you two sorry shits haven’t filled out your GI waivers, now’s a good fucking time to do so. You don’t wanna lose ten thousand bits to your families if you wind up pushing daisies.” That got a couple looks.

“Finally,” I started, my throat momentarily dry, as I made it a point to dig out my canteen, and take a swig. We were finally getting water again, hopefully food would come later today. “I ah, sorry. Been a long couple days. Thirdly, when either of you two fucks die, try not to die next to your buddies. Bugs love blasting squads half to death via Napalm tank. Napalm’s a hell of a way to go. Any questions?” The pair just sort of stood there, in mute shock. “Good. Grab a tank and nozzle. I’ll help you get hooked up, then figure out what squad you FNGs are in.”

<<>>

“-ow Often does he do that?”

“You get used to it, kid.”

I grunted, shaking my head. I didn’t even bother to ask them to drop it. It was getting pretty bad. I might need to see my shrink again, after I finished this case. “Right, uh, where were we, Line?”

Thin Line nodded, moving on as if nothing had happened, whilst Gazer just gave me a look that I couldn’t make heads or tails of. “We were discussing these pictures, Coal.” Line began, tapping one of them in particular with a forehoof. It was a picture of a Marine Company.

My Company.

My throat was dry, and I resisted the urge to freak out and start hyperventilating. Now I remembered why I’d zoned out. Fuck. “Shit.” I swore instead, voice raspy and low. “Those were my ponies. I served with those tough bastards.”

“I thought I recognized you, Gunny. Wasn’t too sure, since you’re about fifteen years younger here, but it’s kinda hard to miss you.” Thin nodded, a frown gracing the Earth Pony’s aged face, as he idly adjusted his glasses. “These pictures all came from the same type of camera- different cameras in the owner’s sense, but they’re the same model. You remember who all carried a camera in your unit?”

I racked my brains. “Several of us.” I admitted, chewing on the side of my lip. “Hell, I lugged one around myself. Never got around to using it, though. Still gathering dust up in my attic.”

“Yeah, I getcha. Any way you can think of to narrow it down, Coal? I’ve got nothing on my end unless you get me every single camera the unit had.” Thin Line pressed, getting me to think harder.

“Well, let’s see.. Out of the like… hell, twelve of us that kept cameras on us all the time? Yeah… Let’s see… Coin Flip and Tempered Steel got shot pretty fast, so they’re a no go. Kinda hard to take pictures from six feet under.” That made ten. “Cam Flash- the colt taking the picture here- he died of a surgery complication a couple months ago. Nice funeral. Good kid.” Nine to go. I was a pallbearer for that one.

“Anything else? What do we know?” Line inquired, as he and Star wrote down notes.

“What about that lighter we found in Glory’s pockets? You said it belonged to a marine.” Gazer piped up again, reminding me of the Zippo Lighter’s existence.

“Yeah, hey, good call kid. Flash Powder, Gun Smoke, and Stone Crusher never smoked. Crusher drank enough for all three, though.” I remembered fondly. I remembered drinking him under the table once or twice, too. From nine, down to six. We were trimming the list.

Another thought crossed my mind, as I continued to regard Cold Snap’s lighter. “You know, Flint Lock and Rock Steady used matches, it comes to mind, and Midwinter Halo- our combat mage- was a literal living flamethrower, and didn’t exactly need one. She just magicked it up when she felt like smoking.” Three left. Two, discounting me.

“Which leaves us with two.” Star vocalized my thoughts, as I nodded.

“Yeah, Cold Snap, my Skipper- that is, my Company Commander- and Raven Wing, one of my flamethrower jockeys. Unicorn and Thestral, respectively.”

“So what do you think, Coke?”

“I think I need to speak with Doc Heart.”

<<>>

The short trot down to Red Heart’s morgue was nice and uneventful, thankfully, as I stepped inside. The office bell ting-a-linged overhead, once, then twice, as Star Gazer followed me inside. “Hey Doc, got a full report on my stiff yet?”

Redheart gazed up from her work with a slight frown. Hardass. “Just about.| The triage doc turned coroner nodded curtly. “Verbal or written?”

“Verbal now, written when you have the time.”

“Right.” Red Heart gestured to the holes in the luckless priest’s neck. “The puncture wounds are incredibly smooth. Too smooth for a tool, or knife, so probably either a claw or a fang- or even a unicorn’s horn, though I’d say that’s probably not the case.”

“How so, just for the sake of argument, and covering all my bases?”

She continued with another nod, extrapolating. “All four wounds are pre-mortem, which would be very difficult for the locations punctured. If I were to hazard a guess, I’d go for fangs. I don’t see a unicorn jamming their horn into a pony’s throat four times before they bled to death. Can’t tell about the fangs for sure, though. The positioning’s a bit off to me.”

“Off?”

“Yeah, out of alignment from what you’d see in a fanged perpetrator- like a thestral or changeling. But hey, what do I know?”

“Sarcasm is unbecoming of you, Doc. I appreciate the work.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just find the pissant that ruined this mare’s life- and my week.”

“No argument there.”

<<>>

I tossed the Marine Company’s picture back on the desk where Thin Line was inspecting the rest. “Thanks for the help, T-L. Gazer, pack a gun, we’re heading out.”

“Huh? You figure out who it was, Coal?”

“Yeah, Line.” I nodded, as Gaze headed out towards the Chevy, following shortly behind her. “We’ll talk later.”

I caught up to Gazer near the front door, where she gave me a questioning gaze. “One of my flamethrower jockeys was a Thestral, remember? Raven Wing. Lives down on 82nd. We used to shoot pool on weekends, down at Midnight’s. Remember how Doc Heart said the bite wounds were off?”

“Yeah, I do.” She replied, tossing me the keys as I slid behind the Driver’s seat. The Chevy growled to life a couple moments later, and I tore out of the parking lot, privately glad that Gazer had thought to add a police siren to her personal vehicle, the familiar whine getting the cars before us to move out of the way.

“Raven took a pretty bad shot to the jaw from some Bug tanker’s pistol after he torched the damn thing. Screwed up the entire left side of his face- jaw and fangs included. Never looked good since. Nine to one odds he’s our pony.”

“Shit. Okay. I’ll follow your lead.”

<<>>

The tenement building that Raven Wing called home wasn’t too shitty on the outside, all things considered. Not that I’d ever move in, though. The inside was a lot uglier than the outside. Funny analogy of the city, really. Too many neighbors. Too many questions. Too many prying eyes.

I knew where Raven’s apartment was already. We’d shared a hell of a bunch of drinks there, that was for sure. I popped open the trunk before we headed up, and looked at the Ithaca 07 resting inside. I passed it over to Star. It was her gun firstly, and I was rubbish with a shotgun anyways, so pistol would do.

We headed up, as other tenants caught sight of Gazer with her Ithaca, and wisely stood out of the way, wondering what new fresh hell they’d woken up to. Was the grim reaper here to collect their dues? Who knew. Depended on how the arrest went.

But no, not really. Just Bucklyn PD. Just as shit, really, when it came down to it. Who wanted either at their door, after all?

I found Raven’s door. Gazer nodded.

I spun about and gave it a solid buck with my hind hooves, pivoting back about and raising my .38 detective special to my eye as I did.

Oh, fuck.

I flinched, brain not wanting to turn it’s gears, as Raven spun about, holding a 1011 service pistol himself. I should have shot him dead, then and there, but the very large and very tell-tale napalm filled flamethrower canisters littered about had stalled that idea.

Emphasis on the Oh, fuck.

His pistol barked, and I felt as if somepony had gone and bucked me square in the gut, as I slammed against the hallway’s opposite wall, another shot snapping past my forehead, and into the wall behind me. My whole body felt numb momentarily, followed shortly by the familiar cold fire of a gunshot wound. Crap.

Star Gazer ducked back around the corner, as another pair of pistol shots sunk themselves into the tenements plaster wall. I tried to speak, to warn Starry about the full Napalm tanks, but all I could really manage was a choking, bloody cough.

Go me.

Raven dropped the service pistol, as Gazer ventured a look back into the room, and swore, spotting what caused my earlier hesitation. She then turned tail and booked it out the room and into the dilapidated hallway, as a familiar blazing pressure of a jet of napalm roared into existence, out the door and past my crumpled body, as I tucked as compactly as my wounded self could manage.

The bastard stepped over me, a mad gleam in his eye as he worked his shattered jaw and adjusted the spray nozzle, readying a fresh gout of horrid flame.

There was no real way that Gazer would be able to clear the hall in time. The elevator hadn’t been in service for a month bare minimum, and the stairwell was on the other end of the hall, past Raven and I.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl, as my mind pondered how to resolve the situation as quickly as possible. I was screwed anyways, if the blood loss and lightheadedness was any indication.

Ah, hell, this was gonna suck.

Rule number one of wearing a flamethrower.

You’re a big, explosive target.

My service pistol snapped up to my eye, as Raven readied his flamethrower, moving in slow motion, as if guided along some macabre ballet of death. The pistol wavered in my magic’s grip, as I fought to keep it on target, then barked, as I tugged firmly upon the trigger. With a hiss of escaping air pressure, the Napalm canister went from being a fuel tank, to a pony sized bomb. Everything went white.

Guess dying wasn’t too bad after all.

<<>>

“Hey Gunny?”

I gazed up. My eyes met the exhausted gaze of Gerhard Windbreaker, one of the two new flamethrower jockeys. Kid barely looked twenty.

“Whatcha need, private?”

“Oh, uh, just a question, sir.” He wiped the sweat from his brow with a bandage-wrapped claw. Operator error, probably. He’d learn. “What’s our odds we get outta this alive?”

It was a fair question. We’d pretty much moved onto mop-up operations at this point. No more front lines, just hunting patrols checking every dark and deeper corner of the Changeling hive we’d been tasked to clear two months ago.

“Alive? Pretty good.” I began, frowning curtly, as I fiddled with Cold Snap’s Cigarette lighter.

“What do you mean, sir?”

“We can walk outta here on all four hooves, but this?” I gently tapped one of the napalm cans. “This sorta work sticks with you. Just like napalm.” I paused, gathering my thoughts, then continued. “You don’t just forget this sorta thing. You’ll wake up some days cryin’. Wringing your hooves or talons to try and wipe the blood off. But the blood’s always there. Violence begets violence, n’all that shit. Just a matter of time before death decides to catch up, and let you forget all the blood you’re carrying with ya.”

<<>>

“And whosoever shed mare’s blood, by mare shall her blood be shed, for in the image of Celestia made she mare.”