Dead by Midnight

Serenity of Canterlot is, as far as recovery facilities go, a relatively nice one, especially considering its position between the Commons and the East End. It’s a large, three-story building whose first level consisted largely of visiting areas, recreation rooms, and small offices for counseling services, and whose second and third floors were mostly given over to rooms for inpatient residents trying to get clean.

Normally, Serenity is true to its name as a quiet place, but lately, things in the area have been bad… well, worse than usual anyway. This neighborhood is always troubled, but with all the deaths and chaos things have gone downhill even by the East End’s standards.

“We’re sure our guy’s here?” Sterling Standard says, leaning out of the window of the police cruiser to stare up at the off-white building. “A drug house?”

“A recovery facility, Stand,” his partner replies testily. “These people are trying to get better.”

“Once a junkie, always a junkie,” Sterling says flatly as he steps out onto the sidewalk. “Shit, I hate this side’a town.”

Sterling Standard didn’t think of himself as a bad guy as far as Canterlot police detectives went. He was getting older, sure, and put on a few pounds, but he’d been on the force for over twelve years and had seen a lot more of Canterlot’s bad sides than good. If he were being honest, and if he had his choice, he’d retire tomorrow, but he’d only get his pension after fifteen years of service, so he resigned himself to doing the job for another few years.

It wasn’t that he was bad at it, at least he didn’t think so, he was just tired.

His partner, an up-and-comer named Shining Armor, is practically the poster child for the ‘good cop’; early twenties and good looking, clean-cut with a strong jawline and a sometimes-frustrating can-do attitude, the kid had stormed up to the rank of detective in record time, with less than five years on the force, and he’d ended up in homicide.

Armor is sharp, but he’s also still an idealist, like a lot of young cops, and Canterlot has a nasty a tendency to chew those types up and then spit them out. Sterling wasn’t looking forward to the day that happened to Shining Armor. He’s a nice kid, he deserved better than Canterlot.

“Not every ‘junkie’ is there because they want to be,” Shining replies as he steps out and combs his fingers through his short, ice-blue-and-white hair before straightening his long coat. “Some of them are just in a bad spot.”

“Tell that to the poor fucks they mug for drug money,” Sterling says dryly.

“That’s not fair, Stand.” Shining shuts the door hard and glares at Sterling who just smirks back at the younger detective. “Now c’mon, it took me half a year to track this guy down and I’d prefer not to miss our appointment.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sterling waves a hand dismissively. “I’m telling you, though… this is a dead end.”

“We’ll see.”

Sterling and Shining ascend the few steps and push the heavy doors open, a rush of warm air greets them as they enter the main lobby of Serenity of Canterlot.

“Welcome to Serenity.”

A short girl in scrubs is sitting at the desk. The name on her ID tag is Ace, but her full name is Aces Wild, and she’d been at Serenity for four years. The first year was spent occupying one of the rooms on the second floor as an inpatient, and the last three had been spent as an employee; first a volunteer, then, after she got her degree, as a full-time CNA.

She narrows her eyes at the pair of men who walk in. They’re cops. She knows they’re cops even if she can’t see the blue of their outfits under their long winter jackets.

They moved like cops.

Ace cards her fingers through her hair with one hand, hair which had been dyed platinum blonde to within an inch of its life, and with the other she taps the button on the underside of the desk to send an alert to the Doctor two offices down to let her know there’s ‘trouble’ up front.

“Good evening,” the younger cop says.

He’s cute, Ace thinks, and young.

The guy is probably only a little older than her if that. Mid-twenties and already detective by his outfit which meant one of three things: daddy is on the force and bumped his boy up, he’s fucking someone, or he’s just that good.

Ace’s instincts say it’s the last one. The look in the young detective’s eye is hard, sharp, and clear. Something is driving him and he’s smart, and there’s nothing more dangerous than a smart, driven cop.

“If you say so,” Ace replies drolly. “Can I help you?”

“We’ve got an appointment,” the young cop says. “I’m Detective Shining Armor with Canterlot Ninth Precinct, this is my partner, Detective Sterling Standard, we’re with homicide, there should be a note down about us.”

There is. Ace had seen it that afternoon when she came in and she’d been hoping they wouldn’t show. This place was a rat’s nest on a good day, and cops always made things worse.

“Gimme a minute,” Ace replies with a flavorless smile. “This computer ain’t exactly top of the line.”

Detective Armor’s older partner grunts in annoyance as Ace looks down and starts tapping away at the keyboard. Really, she’s just wasting time, the Doctor actually invests in pretty decent equipment for this place, but if she buys enough time the Doctor might be able to find an excuse to kick these two out.

“Armor… Armor… okay,” Ace says after a few minutes. “Appointment time is here, you’re ten minutes early though.”

“I’m compulsively punctual,” Shining says with a faint grin.

Ace smiles back, and there’s a touch of actual humor in her expression. This boy is dangerous. He’s smart, attractive, has a nice smile and a quick wit… that probably gets him into a lot of places that he has no business being and that’s an even more dangerous skillset for a cop. Ace knew that if she were a little dumber she’d be grinning back at him like an idiot.

Cops shouldn’t be allowed to be that cute.

“Right, well, the Doctor will be with you in a moment,” Ace says finally. “We run on a pretty tight schedule here.”

“So do we,” Sterling grumbled. “Killers don’t though, so if you could maybe hurry’er up, we can get back to doing our fuckin’ job.”

“Relax, Stand,” Armor says over his shoulder. “Let the woman work, okay? We’re public servants, not bullies.”

Good cop, bad cop.

Ace barely keeps a smile down at their antics. They’re good. It probably puts a lot of people at ease, too. These two are like a vaudeville act, too cliche to be real which, ironically, makes them seem more genuine.

They settle in, and Ace sits back in her chair. It’s been a quiet day and she’d been hoping it would stay that way, but with this appointment, Ace got the feeling this wouldn’t be staying that way.

“Mind if I ask you a question?” Shining says as he turns back to her.

“Shoot.”

“How’s the neighborhood here been?” Shining gestures out towards the door. “I mean, you look smart, and given that we’re with homicide you can probably put two-and-two together as to what we’re here about.”

Complimentary and cute. Damn this guy is good.

“I mean, I’m not gonna lie, things have been rough,” Ace says with a shrug. “Pretty much everyone here is scared shitless of the Narc, and the rest have family in the East End where those poor sods are getting beaten to a pulp.”

“Yeah.” Shining lowers his head and for the life of her Ace can’t help but feel a little bad. He looks genuinely upset. “Look, we’re doing our best, but this is… I’m not gonna lie either, the Narc is like Houdini… every time we think we’ve got him we turn up nothing, so we’re doing our best. That’s why I need this appointment to go well, it’s one of the only leads we’ve got right now.”

“That’s a pretty bad sitch,” Ace replies aridly. “So much for Canterlot’s finest.”

“Hey!” Sterling snaps as he storms over to the desk and elbows Shining Armor out of the way. “I don’t see you out there tryin’ to track down a murderin’ psychopath, and if you ask me maybe they’re doin’ this city a favor cleaning up the streets a little.”

“STAND!” Shining Armor snarls, grabbing his partner’s shoulder.

“Will you two please quiet down.”

A gently accented voice echoes from the hall, followed by its owner, and Ace has to struggle not to sigh in relief as the Doctor comes around the corner.

She’s a tall, spare woman with a complexion that’s only a shade or two lighter than her slate-gray hair which is tied up in a neat bun. Her outfit is a functional blouse and long skirt which are covered over by a long white coat, and she pauses at the edge of the reception desk to glare at the pair of detectives through a pair of thin, square-framed glasses.

Sterling turns to face the new arrival with a bellicose scowl on his face.

“You Doctor Nockshovel?”

The Doctor raises a single eyebrow slowly as Ace stands, bristling at the disrespect, but pauses as the Doctor puts a finger out to forestall her.

“Nachschlüssel,” she corrects him dryly, “but if that is too difficult for you, you may call me Doctor Key.”

Detective Armor moves past his partner, putting himself between the older man and the doctor to hold out a hand.

“Doctor Nachschlüssel, my name is Detective Shining Armor, and I apologise for the disturbance,” he says quickly. “We’re not here to cause trouble, we’re just trying to help as best we can, and right now everyone is a little on edge.”

The doctor clicks her tongue, then nods.

“Very well,” she says tersely. “Please leave your weapons at the front desk, they will be kept in a locked container until you leave.”

“I’m not walking into this place unarmed,” Sterling says bluntly.

“Then I’m afraid neither of you are walking in at all,” Nachschlüssel replies. “No weapons of any kind are permitted, not even yours, Officer.”

“And you can’t stop me—us—from doing our goddamn jobs, Doc,” Sterling says.

Doctor Nachschlüssel laughs, and it’s a cold, bitter sound that cracks her face like a sheet of ice.

“You think that do you?” She asks with a false veneer of warmth. “Well let me explain something to you, Mister Standard. Serenity is a government-funded healthcare operation, we follow all of our guidelines and restrictions to the tee.”

Shining Armor takes a silent step back as the Doctor steps forward to square up against his larger partner.

“Furthermore, Captain Westbound in IA is a close and personal friend of mine,” Nachschlüssel continues as she draws out her phone from a pocket, “so much so that I have her on speed dial, and Westie always picks up my calls.

“Now, I know that the big bad bully-boys of the Canterlot PD are used to getting their way but I’m afraid that won’t work here. So unless you want to be the subject of scrutiny for your Internal Affairs unit, you will leave your weapons with the front desk, or else get the fuck out of my clinic.”

Sterling Standard works his jaw several times, but before he can manage to say anything more, Shining turns and puts a hand firmly on his partner’s shoulder.

“Sterling,” he says in a low, deadly voice. “How about you go get us some coffee at that place down the road?”

“You fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” Sterling breathes as he turns his gaze to Shining Armor. “I got seniority on you, kid, you don’t just—”

“Sterling.” Shining Armor’s voice takes on the quality of a rifle-round being chambered, and Sterling Standard freezes at the suddenly deadly look in his young partner’s eye. “Step. Out.”

They trade looks for a long moment, and the whole time Aces Wild watches with badly concealed interest. She’d underestimated the smart cop, which was rare for her. He’s not just smart, he’s cold-blooded. Turning to shoot a glance at Doctor Nachschlüssel, Ace waits for the Doctor to give that barely perceptible nod of hers, the one that will tell Ace that the good Doctor is still in control of the situation. Ace and Nachschlüssel had known each other for years and the Doctor had helped Ace through the worst part of her life. She trusted the Doctor just as Nachschlüssel trusted her.

Nachschlüssel bobs her head faintly before turning back to the pair of arguing officers. Ace knew this would be a bad idea the moment those two actually showed for their appointment. Her only hope now is that they didn't spread that bad mood to the rest of the clients or tonight was going to suck.

“Fine.” Sterling steps back and out of Shining’s grip. “It’s your fuckin’ lead anyway, but I’m telling you… it’s a dead end and a waste’a goddamn time.”

“Then get some coffee and take a break,” Shining says more calmly. “If it’s a waste of time, I’ll make it my time wasted.”

“You do that, Armor.”

Sterling leaves the clinic in a huff, and the moment he does, Shining Armor lets out a breath. Then he turns to the Doctor and gives her an apologetic smile.

“Sorry about that,” he says quietly. “Sterling’s under a lot of pressure right now, we all are… now, can we move on?”

“Your gun?” Nachschlüssel says, nodding to Shining’s underarm holster.

“Right.”

Shining Armor shrugs his coat back and turns to Ace before pulling out a matte black forty caliber pistol, loosing the cartridge, and laying both weapon and cartridge on the desk. Then he reaches to his belt, draws out a smaller nine millimeter, and repeats the process.

“I’ll expect those back,” Shining says before turning away from Ace. “Are we good?”

“I suppose we are,” Nachschlüssel says briskly. “Follow me, Detective."

Shining Armor blows out a silent breath as Sterling finally leaves. He and his partner got along better than some partners in the Canterlot PD, but the reason for their dynamic had nothing to do with friendship. Shining didn't consider Sterling to be a friend, and the feeling is mutual. The reason they work together well isn't that they have a lot in common, but because they know precisely what they don't have in common, and avoid those topics like the plague.

So far it's worked well in their partnership, but these embarrassing little moments crop up more often than they should, and more so lately with all the pressure from the mounting body count.

"Sorry about the noise, Miss Ace," Shining says with a short wave as Doctor Nachschlüssel turns away from the lobby. "Have a good night."

He falls into step behind the Docter, following her down the hall to a locked metal gate that divides the lobby of the clinic from the treatment areas. Doctor Nachschlüssel fits a key to the gate lock, then passes her ID badge across a scanner, and the double-lock mechanism gives out a series of clunks before releasing.

“Please try to keep your distance from any of our clients, Detective Armor,” Nachschlüssel says. “Most of them have poor experiences with law enforcement.”

“Of course,” he replies quietly. “I’m only here to see one of your patients.”

“Clients, Detective Armor,” Doctor Nachschlüssel says, pausing at a door to a side room. “They are clients, not patients. They are not sick or injured, they are merely seeking help in overcoming a problem.”

“Right, sorry,” Shining nods genially. “I’ll remember that.”

“See that you do.”

Doctor Nachschlüssel opens the door and steps inside. The room is larger than it looked from outside, with a single, barred, window, and the walls that are painted a soft, unassuming shade of beige. It’s sparsely furnished, with a couch pushed up against the far wall, a loveseat across from it, and a small table between the two. Behind the loveseat is another table with a single chair.

“You may speak to him there,” Nachschlüssel says, gesturing to the couch and seat arrangement. “Ace will be sitting in to observe and make sure nothing goes wrong, if she feels you’re out of order she will call me in and you will be escorted off of the premises, are we clear, Detective? One strike and you’re out, as they say.”

“One strike,” Shining repeats. “Got it. I promise there won’t be any trouble, Doctor, I just want to speak to him, but given that it’s an ongoing investigation, having a third party in the room…”

“This is not a debate,” Nachschlüssel says. “This is regarding the health and wellness of my resident. My employees are bound by contract to not speak of anything regarding our clients, but if that is not good enough for you then the exit is down the hall.”

“Nope, that’s good enough for me,” Shining says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Thank you for giving me this chance.”

Doctor Nachschlüssel eyes Shining carefully for a moment before nodding and turning her back on him.

“Take a seat,” she says over her shoulder, “Ace will be in with him in a moment.”

Shining Armor nods as the Doctor leaves the room, and he walks across the room to the loveseat, pauses, then passes it to take a seat on the couch. Best, he thought, that he not appear to be sitting between the person he wanted to speak to, and the door.

The wait is roughly ten more minutes of silence before the door opens again, and Ace walks into the room, gives Shining Armor a wary look, then glances back through the door toward the hallway.

“If you want to leave, just say so,” Ace says gently. “This isn’t an interrogation—”she says, then looks directly at Armor—“right?”

“Of course not,” Shining says, standing up as Ace steps away from the door.

Twenty-eight years. That’s how old the young man who enters is, but he doesn’t look it. The first thought in Shining’s head is that this is someone to whom life became very harsh, very quickly, because nothing else explains someone looking so worn at so young an age.

“You’re Tuesday Morning, right?” Shining says, forcing an even geniality into his voice. “Previously employed as an assistant manager at the Danse Macabre, prior to its closure?”

Once upon a time, Tuesday might have been attractive. He’s tall and pale with a hollow look to him that, had he been eating right, would have simply looked intimidating; now he looks like death warmed over and then left in the microwave like a forgotten cup of tea. His hair is a drab shade of blue with hints of black near the tips suggesting an old dye job, and his long, lanky arms have the telltale track marks of a user.

“Uhm, y-yeah,” Tuesday mumbles.

His voice has a pleasant basso quality to it that probably made him a lot of friends of the fairer persuasion. That, combined with what once were good looks, only reinforced the notion of a rapid fall to Shining.

“What uhm… what did you want?”

“Well,” Shining begins as he settles back down to the couch, before leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees, “first off, why don’t you take a seat.”

Tuesday glances at the loveseat, then back at Ace who just nods as she takes her own seat at the little table to wait and watch.

Letting out a quiet sigh, Tuesday walks over to the loveseat and sits down in it, stooping like an enormous crow.

“My name is Detective Shining Armor, and I’m with the Canterlot Ninth Precinct, Homicide Division,” Shining says, carefully keeping his voice modulated to something soft as he draws out his badge and sets it down. “And I wanted to talk to you about a girl named Tallymark.”

The young man’s posture changes the instant the name leave Shining’s lips. His eyes dilate, his body goes tense, and his almost-silent breathing becomes harsh and labored.

“I g-gave my s-statement to the police when they showed up,” Tuesday stammers. “Sh-She overdosed.”

“Yes, that’s what your amended statement, says,” Shining replies cautiously. “However, there is the matter of the one that you originally gave and later recanted and that’s the one I wanted to discuss.”

Tuesday swallows hard, and he wipes his hands on his blank black trousers leaving behind streaks of sweat as he shakes his head.

“I… I was high,” Tuesday says quietly. “I th-thought I saw something, but I d-didn’t, but now I’m here, and I’m clean, and I’ve been clean for months.”

“And I’m here because I think you did see something,” Shining says. “And I think that the other officers on scene convinced you that you hadn’t because it seemed unlikely given the circumstances.”

Rather than looking relieved that someone might believe him, Tuesday instead turns pale.

“Why uhm… why would you think that?” Tuesday asks quietly.

“Because I think,” Shining replies, “that Tallymark might have been the very first murder—or at least the earliest one we have on record—committed by the serial killer that the media is calling ‘The Narc’.”

Tuesday’s hands start to shake and his breathing grows rapid and unsteady. He busies himself by running his quaking fingers through greasy strands of hair, turns his eyes away from the police officer in front of him, and his gaze darts around the room, from the wall behind Shining, vapid paintings hung over them, before finally settling on the window that looks out over the narrow alley between Serenity and a small strip mall.

His hands still. Whatever Tuesday sees out there changes the young man. His breathing steadies as he turns woodenly back to face Shining Armor. The difference is stark. One moment, Tuesday was about to bolt, and now he's almost stable.

“I uhm… I didn’t see anything,” Tuesday says more steadily. “I was high, we all were, and she OD’d, and we didn’t realise it until it was too late, so I called nine-one-one, and they tried to bring her back, but she was already too far gone.”

Shining narrows his eyes at Tuesday, then turns to look at the alleyway window. Nothing. Just the blank window, the dark of the night, and the faint suggestion of old masonry so common to the older parts of Canterlot. He saw something. That was certain, but what? Possibly nothing, but his gut says that's bull.

Fine, the nuclear option it is, then.

Turning back to Tuesday, Shining reaches into his pocket and draws out a folded piece of paper which he takes his time unfolding until the creased page is held up in his hand like a battered flag.

Then Shining Armor clears his throat and starts to speak.

“I was with Tally and Greased Wheels and we were doing some molly when all of a sudden this fog fills the room, and then Tally starts screaming, and Grease is screaming, and I heard someone laughing—”

“—wait that’s—”

“—and talking, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. It’s like the fog made everything sound far away, and all the while Tally was screaming—”

“—please stop—”

“—and then there was this wet sound, and it made my stomach turn, and the laughter changed, and got sick-sounding—”

“—STOP IT PLEASE!”

“That’s enough!”

Aces Wild storms across the room and rips the page from Shining’s hand, throws it on the ground, then turns to Tuesday who’s curled up in the fetal position, shaking and crying and begging.

“Are you fuckin’ insane?” Ace snarls. “He asked you to fuckin’ stop.”

“I’m sorry,” Shining replies, and for all the world he genuinely did mean it, “but I’ve got people dying left and right out there, I have to do what I have to do.”

“Yeah well, so do I,” Ace says. “Now get the fuck out.”

Shining Armor sighs, then stoops to pick up the paper, stands, and moves around the fuming form of Ace, pausing only to look down at Tuesday who is still cowering in the loveseat and looking utterly wretched.

“I am sorry,” Shining says quietly. “But I will do whatever it takes to catch these killers, and I hope you understand that.”

With that, Shining turns his back on the pair, the angry CNA and her sobbing client, and makes his way out of the room.

Out in the hallway of Serenity of Canterlot, Doctor Nachschlüssel had been listening, and nothing about that conversation had been particularly endearing, so when Shining Armor emerged it was to find her with her arms crossed over her chest and a deep scowl on her face.

“I misjudged you, Detective Armor,” she says sharply. “I thought you someone with a soul… my mistake.”

Shining blows out a slow breath and shakes his head.

“Please understand that I respect everything you do here, Doctor, but…” Shining pauses, then grimaces and nods to a door. “Do you have an office we can speak in? I’ll be brief.”

The answer she wants to give is a sharp no, but the look on the Detective’s face is one that Doctor Nachschlüssel hasn’t seen often, even in her long and occasionally unpleasant career. It’s the face of someone who has seen a great deal of very bad death. The kind of death that comes back to you at three in the morning after a night of restless sleep, and wakes you up with two fists gripping your lungs and a knife in your belly.

“Fine.”

“Thank you.”

Doctor Nachschlüssel leads the Detective not towards the lobby but deeper into the clinic, through a small recreational area, and into an office that Shining Armor could best describe as quite neatly cluttered.

Everything is everywhere; papers, pencils, pens, and folders, and yet it’s all in places where Shining imagines he could easily locate it, and he has no doubt that the good Doctor knows where each and every file and paperclip is in this room.

“Take a seat,” Nachschlüssel says, gesturing to one of the two chairs in the room, which has a large stack of manila folders on it.

Nodding, Shining scoops them up and deposits them carefully at the foot of the chair, then sits, as Doctor Nachschlüssel takes a seat across from him.

“Tell me why you’re so insistent on speaking to Mister Morning, Detective,” Nachschlüssel says curtly.

Shining Armor takes a deep breath and nods.

“In the past several months, Canterlot has seen a rash of murders the likes of which no crime analyst in the nation can account for,” Shining begins. “We’re not sure where it started, but the one I’m assigned to currently is the Narc. A serial killer who targets people involved in the drug trade.

“Your Mister Morning witnessed something in early January, and according to all official documents, what that ‘thing’ was, was his friend Tallymark overdosing on some bad molly, crashing, being taken by the ambulance crews a while later, and being pronounced DOA by the attending Doctor.”

“All official documents?” Nachschlüssel repeats. “And… unofficial ones?”

Shining nods and lays the paper he’d been reading from earlier flat on the desk before pushing it towards the Doctor.

“This,” he says, “is the original statement given by one Tuesday Morning when his friend was picked up, and it differs… considerably from the one in the files. Officially, it’s recanted, so it’s inadmissible as evidence, which is why it took me months to even come across it.”

Doctor Nachschlüssel pins the paper to the desk with one finger, then drags it toward her and looks it over, skimming it quickly.

“You’ll forgive me if I say this reads like…” Nachschlüssel trails off as she waves a hand around before settling on: “like a bad trip.”

“I know,” Shining says. “Trust me, I get why the original crew looked it over and asked him to think a little harder, but there was more to it… the body had some odd qualities we hadn’t learned yet.”

“Such as?”

Shining folds his hands in front of his face, her brow creasing as he takes a few more breaths.

“It’s not uncommon for EMT’s to administer epinephrine to a patient suffering overdose,” he says slowly. “That was what everyone assumed had happened when the Doctor’s found a needle mark in the chest upon autopsy. But the blood work didn’t support that, neither did the EMT reports, but by the time anyone— that is me—put that information together, six months had passed and the body was beyond any use.”

Shining hangs his head over the Doctor’s desk as he leans against it.

“No one questioned it, because there was no investigation at the time,” Shining says through grit teeth. “It was open-and-shut, a junkie OD’s, toe-tag and bag’er and that was it, and we missed what I think was the Narc’s very first murder.”

“How do you account for the fog?” Nachschlüssel asks. “It sounds like a hallucinogenic haze or something similar.”

“They were in a nightclub!” Shining says. “How easy would it be to turn one of those fog machines toward a small room and fill it in? A bunch of stoners in a room filled with smoke? They probably walked right in, murdered Tallymark, and strolled out!”

Nachschlüssel runs a hand over her face and up across her neatly kept hair, then sighs and shakes her head.

“It sounds good, but it’s a lot of supposition,” she says finally.

“Which is almost word-for-word what my captain said,” Shining admits. “But I have a gut feeling that this is the right track… the needle mark is the clincher. There was no EMT documentation of using epinephrine, there was no unusual levels of it in her bloodwork either, but there are documents referencing the puncture in both the ED reports and the autopsy reports, and that’s the Narc’s MO!”

“I thought the Narc targeted people on the profit side of the drug trade,” Nachschlüssel says, “not buyers.”

“Tallymark wasn’t just a user,” Shining says. “She was a pusher. She had bags of the stuff, all marked for sale… if she hadn’t been dead she’d have been up on better than a dozen charges of Possession with Intent.”

As a Psychiatric Doctor, Nachschlüssel could count on one hand the number of times she had encountered this kind of blatant honesty. Shining Armor is driven, intelligent, and absolutely certain, which can be dangerous, but in this instance, Nachschlüssel’s own mind put the pieces together the same way that Shining Armor had.

Yes, there are a few holes in the story, but not in the logic.

The logic is sound.

That’s the worst part.

The logic is sound.

“This would mean that Tuesday is lying,” she says quietly.

“And I need to know why,” Shining Armor replies. “I need to know why he would lie to protect a murderer… so even though I know I’m asking you to violate your oaths, I’m asking anyway…” he reaches out and puts a hand over Nachschlüssel’s, and grips tight. “Please… tell me everything you know about your client, Tuesday Morning.”

Doctor Nachschlüssel sighs, then reclaims her hand, reaches over to her phone, and presses a button.

“Ace, hold my calls, I’m going to be in a meeting for a while.”

Down the road from Serenity of Canterlot, Detective Sterling Standard is nursing a cup of coffee in the front seat of the police cruiser he and Shining had arrived in earlier that evening. It’s his fifth cup in two hours, and he’s starting to get angry. Shining Armor is a good kid, he knows that, but it’s galling that he got promoted out of nowhere after only a few years on the force.

It took Sterling better than twice as long to get the same recognition and this kid got it while he was still wet behind the ears!

Of course, that anger would be easier to hold on to if Shining weren’t so damn good at his job.

Tipping his cup back, Sterling swallows the last of the coffee, then grumbles as his bladder makes it clear in no uncertain terms that he needs to find a bathroom, and quick.

“Too much fuckin’ coffee,” Sterling mumbles as he steps out of the cruiser and onto the sidewalk.

It’s freezing outside, the dead of winter, and Sterling shivers. He wants to move south where it’s warmer. Retire on a beach or something, maybe.

That’s what he’s thinking of when it happens.

A beach in the sun.

It starts with a thud from across the street, and Sterling, lost in his daydream, ignores it. He ignores the sound until it gets louder. Harsh breathing, pounding feet, and suddenly he’s surrounded by Fog.

“What the f—”

It’s the last thing he manages to get out before an impact like a Mack Truck slams into him out of nowhere. Stars explode across his vision as something heavy and metallic cracks so hard across his skull he tastes metal and feels something break.

A grip like steel closes around his throat and something strong enough to haul a two-hundred-and-seventy pound man in body armor with a single arm drags him into the alley between Serenity of Canterlot and the block of business nearby.

“Detective Sterling Standard.”

The voice is raw and wet like someone just finished screaming their way through an entire rock album before speaking, and every syllable is punctuated with a nasty snapping noise like splintering bone.

“W-Wha—?”

“You’re poisoning this city,” it says as it throws him to the ground.

Sterling’s senses are spinning, but he manages to orient himself just enough to look up from where he’s lying bloody and dazed on the filth-encrusted concrete ground of the alleyway.

The thing standing over him could never be confused for human. It’s hunched over and wearing a large, mantled coat of old brown leather over its misshapen body. A hideous, scoliotic hunch turns its back into a twisted caricature terminating in a hood over a face that has a lambent gold glow to it.

Thick leather gloves cover a hand with too many fingers that grips a metal-tipped cane stained red with blood. Sterling vaguely recognises the blood as his.

Vertigo assaults Sterling’s senses as he tries to stand. Something is wrong. Something is busted. A cracked skull… maybe worse.

“Don’t get up on my account,” the thing hisses as it crosses the distance faster than Sterling can process and plants a heavy boot against his chest, driving him to the ground.

For the first time, Sterling gets a look at the thing’s face, and all he can think of is how very much he wishes he hadn’t.

It’s dead.

It should be dead.

Ragged strands of multi-coloured hair hang over hollow eyes that are lit from within by a sickly golden glow, and its jaw hangs broken, lolling from its face. Teeth of different sizes and shapes, fangs and molars in all the wrong places, sprout from noxious gums while some kind of viscous fluid the same shade as the glow that lights it from the inside drips from its shattered maw.

“Scream if you can,” it hisses. “The Fog swallows all of that noise… just like all of those drugs you stole from the evidence locker swallowed so many people on the streets, Sterling Standard.”

It was one time, Sterling thought.

Just one time!

He wasn’t a betting man. He never went to casinos or anything like that, but once, just once, two months back, he’d been at a big wrestling match and bet his whole paycheck on the guy he thought was a sure thing.

Turns out he wasn’t.

Sterling had lost big, and rent was coming up. Rent, bills, car payments… but he knew a few characters on the streets through some buddies in Vice and…

“It was only once,” Sterling sobs.

His attacker’s shattered face twists into a hideous mockery of a smile as they dip their malformed hand into the pouch at their side and draw out a single metal syringe with an empty chamber.

“Once is enough.”

Outside of the alleyway, no one heard Sterling Standard’s final screams.

The Fog swallows those sorts of things.

As the Fog fades in the alley below, Tuesday Morning settles into his bed on the fourth floor of Serenity of Canterlot and tries to stop shaking.

That cop knows, he has to know. He was asking too many of the right questions. Or wrong ones, as the case may be. He was asking questions that Tuesday couldn’t answer, not with giving everything away.

Not without—

Tuesday shifts in his bed and it creaks loudly, as it usually does, but this time instead of the normal noise, the creak echoes. It echoes far more than it should in such a small room, and the sound puts a cube of ice down Tuesday’s spine.

“I didn’t say anything,” Tuesday mumbles quietly as he puts his back to the room and buries his face in the pillow. “I promise… I didn’t say anything.”

“I know.” The voice is a wet, crackling hiss that snaps, twists, and then softens to something human. “You’d never sell me out like that, right Tuesday?”

Tuesday swallows back a quiet sob as he rolls over.

His room isn’t heavily furnished, none of the rooms in Serenity are, but he has a bed, a nightstand, a chest of drawers, and a desk with a single chair.

In that chair is a human figure in a heavy brown mantled coat with the hood pulled up over her face. Her gloved hand is gripping the haft of a cane, and even though he can’t see her face, he knows that she’s smiling.

She’s always smiling.

“You’re one of the good ones, Tuesday,” she says brightly. “Just keep on being good, and we’re all awesome, alright?”

“Y-Yeah,” Tuesday stammers. “A-Awesome.”

“Cool, well, I just wanted to check up on ya,” she says as she stands up. “That Armor guy was really giving you the third degree, huh? Don’t sweat it though… he’s a good guy too,” she gestures out and down towards the lower level. “Even if he’s trying to stop me, I know it’s nothing personal. He’s a cop, and I’m… well, it’s the principle of the thing, y’know?”

“I know,” Tuesday says as he swallows hard. “P-Principles are important.”

“Dead right,” she says.

Then she laughs, and it’s haunting for how absolutely normal it sounds. That’s the worst part, in Tuesday’s opinion. When she laughs, she sounds completely normal, and not at all like a monster out of someone’s worst nightmare.

“Anyway, keeping talking to the new admits here, okay?” She’s smiling under that hood as she puts a hand on the pouch at her waist. “Get me a few more marks, but no rush. Take a day or two, and I’ll be back to talk.”

“Sure thing,” Tuesday promises. “I’ll talk to everyone.”

“Good man! Employee of the month!” she says as she starts jogging in place in a fashion that would be comical if it were anyone but her. “Anyways, gotta go! Got a hot date, y’know? Seeya!”

And with that, she backs up, turns, and steps into… nothing.

She’s just gone.

Tuesday rolls back over in his creaky bed and closes his eyes, and as he does he finds himself seriously wishing he’d just taken up his mom’s offer years ago to be a CPA.

Leather boots strike curling vinyl tile as the murderer the police call the ‘Narc’ emerges from the Fog into the disused closet on the fifth of a certain apartment building and casually elbows the door open, and as she does the mantled coat and brown gloves fade away into Fog, and the pouch at her hip and the cane in her hand go with it.

Rainbow Dash steps out into her building and kicks the door shut, then heads down the hall toward the door at the far end with a skip in her step. The door is marked five-nine-five, and the white paint covering it is chipped. The water pressure is pretty bad too, making showers pretty disappointing, and half the time at least one part of the washer and dryer combo in the apartment isn’t working.

Best place she’s ever lived, in Rainbow’s opinion.

Fitting her key to the door, Rainbow pushes it open and steps inside. It’s faintly humid, and the scent of shampoo is in the air. She’s in the shower, then, and that puts a smile on Rainbow’s face.

It’s always best when she’s right out of the shower and all warm and flushed.

Pulling her hoodie off, Rainbow hangs it from the rack by the door, then kicks off her converse, and stretches, savoring the cracks and pops of her spine as she makes her way into the bedroom.

“Welcome back.”

“Holy shit!”

Rainbow stumbles back and jerks her hand out, and the cane snaps into existence in her grip.

Sitting on the bed is a shape cut from blackest shadow with a face like bone and hollow eyes stretched into an endless scream. It’s a mask. Rainbow recognises that after a moment, but her heart is still hammering in her chest.

As it stands, it rolls its shoulders, and a faint pulse of Fog the color of shadows spills off of them briefly, shrouding them.

“Father sends his best wishes, sister.” The voice is female, where it isn’t muffled by the mask that’s twisted into that face of a screaming ghost. “How goes the harvest?”

“The… oh!” Rainbow relaxes back and settles her cane on the ground before glancing back towards the bathroom before turning to look back at the Ghost. “Look… can we do this like, not here? Flutters isn’t involved and I don’t shit where I eat, y’know?”

The Ghost cocks its head curiously, then nods.

“Fine,” she says after a moment. “The bridge between Whitetail and the Commons. I’m there most nights.”

“Why?” Rainbow asks. “It’s kind of a shitty bridge.”

“I know,” she replies as she puts a hand to her face and pulls it loose, drawing it down to show a startlingly average, freckled face with a green complexion, and curls of messy green hair beneath her hood. “But I like it anyway… lonely places like that are just nice. My name is Wallflower, by the way.”

“Rainbow Dash, and suit yourself, I guess,” Rainbow says with a shrug. “Now, uh… can you scram? I’m about to get… y’know, busy.”

The Ghost frowns, then rolls her eyes and sighs.

“Father is dying, you know,” Wallflower says bitterly.

“Yeah well,” Rainbow shrugs again. “The old man isn’t gonna croak tonight, right? So beat it.”

Wallflower mutters under her breath as she fits her mask back on, then turns as she draws out a sharp, single-edged blade and draws it through the air like she’s cutting a throat. Where it slices, Fog falls from its edge, and a moment later the Ghost is gone.

“Finally,” Rainbow mutters as she banishes her cane.

“Rainbow?” Fluttershy’s voice echoes out from the bathroom as the water shuts off. “Is that you?”

A smile finds its way onto Rainbow Dash’s face as Fluttershy steps out, her pink hair plastered to her face and bare shoulders, and a towel wrapped around her body.

“Hey, beautiful,” Rainbow says as warmth wells up in her chest. “Looking good.”

“Rainbow, I just showered,” Fluttershy says quietly, wrapping her arms around herself.

“And I—” Rainbow replies as she steps closer and puts her arms around Fluttershy, slipping hands beneath the towel—“do not care.”