The Blood in the Trough

"And this is how you found her?"

Rusted Key and Dim Lamp were standing in the police station's laboratory, with Rusted having just gotten his first look at the body under the white sheet that was now stained red with blood.

Dim had not yet gotten a chance to wash after carrying the body back to the station. As such, she stood trembling before the chief, covered in blood and fecal matter from when the mare's bowels had eventually evacuated.

"Y-yes sir. I-i fought she moight be, w-wunna them salt lickers a-all passed out like. Then I saw the blood."

"Then you went over to see if she was alright, saw that she was dead, smashed the alarm crystal, and rushed her over here."

"Y-yessir."

Rusted sighed. "So now we just wait for Gendril to arrive and give his autopsy. In the meantime, go get yourself cleaned up."

The alarm crystals the police used served a dual purpose. First, it acted as an alarm for the Old Town residents, a deterrent to keep everyone inside their residences while the police handled the situation. Second, it would wake up any sleeping police staff and alert them to get to the station immediately. They hadn't been used in years, but everyone living in Old Town still knew what it meant.

A few moments later, after Dim took the chance to use the hose to clean herself, a knocking came from outside the laboratory door. "Chief?! It's Gendril! I saw the blue light! Is everything okay?"

Rusted went over to the door and opened it, revealing the griffin on the other side, clearly half-awake, likely running on adrenaline.

Rust gave a brief smile, and immediately turned serious. "Good, you're here. Gendril, I have a job for you."

"What do you need me to do?"

The chief pointed to the fabric covering the corpse. "Underneath this sheet is a body. This mare has been killed, and has been dead for a while. The body was cold when Officer Dim Lamp came across it. I need you to examine her and determine the cause of death and anything else you can find. Do you understand?"

Gendril's eyes widened. "Examine the body? Determine cause of death?! Sir, I've only dissected rats before! I'm not even a proper medical student! How do you expect me to-"

Rusted placed his hooves on Gendril's shoulders. "I know. It's a lot to ask of you. You're inexperienced. I understand. However, as of this moment, you are the only expert we have available, and, technically, this is your jurisdiction as our house coroner. But, most importantly," and at this point he looked Gendril dead in the eye, his gaze a disquieting blend of confidence and desperation, "I know you can do this. It's time to move beyond the rats and examine a proper body. Now… are you ready?"

Gendril was silent for a moment. Then, he took a deep breath in, and said, "Show me the victim."

As he made his way over, beckoned by the chief, his mind started racing. What would he find beneath the sheet? Was she butchered? Was it a simple wound? Were her eyes still open, or had they been closed? Why was Dim Lamp so scared? His heart was pounding, stomach cramping, and his breath seemed to catch in his throat. All too soon, he found himself before the table, staring at the blood-soaked sheet.

Gendril carefully removed the sheet, and then had to cringe away. He could smell the blood, potent in its metallic scent. Gritting his teeth and taking a few deep breaths, he slowly turned back to the body at the table.

She was fairly pretty, he supposed, blood red coat, light pink mane, lithe body. She was likely young seeing from the lack of wrinkles or lines. He took note of her cutie mark: a red heart, overlaid by a- shattered golden ring? Interesting.

And then, he stepped back, took a shaky breath… and began his examination.

"V-victim is a biological m-mare, likely late twenties, r-red coat, pink mane. Cutie mark depicts a broken ring overlaying a red heart. May indicate a profession of housebreaking, though information is limited at this time. Injuries present on the mare include… bruising near the temple, single deep laceration to the throat, and three deep lacerations to the belly. Of note, a segment of the small intestine appears to have been pulled out of place and exposed. Likely cause of death: severing of the… hmmm… either the cartoid artery or jugular vein. It seems likely the killer knocked the victim unconscious before killing her. Implement of slaughter…" At this, Gendril fell silent, and then gave a sigh before covering the body. "I'm sorry. I need a moment to think."

"Don't worry about it." Rusted said with a hint of pride in his voice. "You did great."

The entire time that Gendril had been speaking, the chief had been watching him closely. He noticed how Gendril was hardly able to speak at first, seemingly stuttering, yet, as it went on, he became detached, more clinical, gaining the same hungry gleam in his eyes that he had seen between the coroner and his dissected rats.

It was at this point that a knock sounded on the door.

"Come in," Rusted said gruffly.

At the beckoning, the door opened, and in stepped a rather nervous Spit Polish.

"Sorry to disturb you sir, but a crowd has gathered outside."

While the emergency crystals' main point was to keep residents in their domiciles, nothing prevented them from stepping outside after the floating ball of light went out. Hence why a crowd of concerned residents found themselves outside the police station doors, with a very confused Oculus among them, camera around his neck. Near the front of the crowd stood a unicorn stallion, wielding a pen and notepad in his magical grip. He was a blue stallion with an ink-black mane, bearing the name Side Article, and he was a reporter for the local paper, The Old Town Lamp. He seemed pensive, almost afraid to find out what might have happened to warrant activating an emergency crystal as they had.

The murmuring of the crowd was brought to an abrupt halt, as the doors to the station opened, revealing the chief of the police, with a very stern look on his face.

Rusted Key surveyed the crowd, catching the confused eyes of Oculus, and the pensive stare of Side Article. He said, in a loud voice, "Everyone! Please return to your business! The police have this matter well in hoof. There is no cause for concern at the current moment. Side Article, if you would step in please, I will answer your questions inside."

Mumbling and whispering, the crowd started to depart. Oculus made his way to follow the throng, but a voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Are you a photographer?"

Oculus slowly looked back to the station to see a griffin looking at him through the station doors.

"Er… yes? I suppose you could call me a freelancer."

"How steady?"

"Relatively."

"Squeamish?"

Oculus smirked. "Not sure where this is going, but I lived under an insect that spat immobilizing goop and possessed a head with a ridiculous range of motion. I'm kinda desensitized to the grotesque."

"What's your name?"

"Oculus."

The griffin smiled. "Come inside, please, Oculus."

Oculus suddenly felt very apprehensive. What did this griffin want that he would ask if the changeling was squeamish?

Side Article observed this exchange, and turned to the chief, brow raised.

Rust sighed. "Come inside. We've got a lot to talk about."

Side Article had a decent relationship with the police. He had an understanding with Chief Rusted Key- he reports on the salt lickers and keeps his nose clean, maybe lends an ear to the chief's salt-driven ramblings from time to time, and Rusted gives him free reign of the office.

Thus far, Side had honored that agreement.

But curiosity reared its head.

"Care to tell me why that crystal was activated?"

At the moment, there were six creatures seated around the large table in the office area, dimly lit by several candles. On one side sat the chief, the second in command, the coroner and the officer that called the emergency. On the other side sat a changeling photographer and the unicorn reporter.

Rusted turned to Dim Lamp and gave a slight nod. With the blessing from the chief, she took in a deep breath, and began her explanation. From there, each of the police personnel gave their side of the story. As it turns out, each of the other three officers, aside from Gendril, had been relatively close to the station when the crystal was smashed. Thus, they were able to get to the station before Dim had arrived with the body. Gendril talked about his "autopsy" of the mare, and with that, the story was told. Silence fell over the table once they were all finished.

The silence lasted a full minute before the silence was broken by another question from Side Article.

"Do you think it was a griffin?"

Gendril sent a harsh glare and a rather rude gesture his way.

Rusted grimaced. "We can't rule out the possibility."

Gendril turned to Oculus. "That's why I asked for your photography skills."

"Wait! You want me to photograph a dead mare?!"

"More precisely, a close shot of the wounds, and a picture of her face."

"Why!?" The changeling's expression had shifted to one of horror and panic. "I came to this place to take some time away from the hive and explore the oldest part of Canterlot! I didn't ask for this! Why do you need me to do this?!"

"I need a way to examine the body, even after decay sets in and I need to put it in the freezer. I also need photographic evidence of injury, and we need someone to identify the mare." Gendril looked Oculus dead in the eye. "At this moment, you are the only photographer I can trust. You're not a news photographer, you're a freelancer. So we can trust you not to leak any photographs you take here to the press. Not only that, but we can guarantee your safety while under our employ. But most importantly," and at this he leaned in close, "you've already said you could do something like this."

Oculus thought back and realized that this was what Gendril meant when he asked if Oculus was squeamish. He then thought over the injuries the griffin coroner had mentioned. Cut throat, torn belly, exposed intestines- he weighed the image in his mind, and thought: 'Not as bad as it could be'. He sighed. "Let's do it quickly."

Gendril let out a breath. "Thank you."

As the griffin and changeling went down the stairs, Rusted turned to Side Article with a serious expression. "Once you get the headshot, you put an article in the paper asking for information about the mare. Tell them that if they have any information, talk to the Old Town police. But, under no circumstances are you to mention murder, or the injuries. Do you understand?"

Side's expression had shifted multiple times throughout the conversation, from pensive to curious, to horrified, to fretful. He turned to look at the chief, the one who he trusted and who trusted him, and said, "Okay. I'll do my best."

Oculus found himself staring at the body, both the mare herself, and the injuries she bore. He had already taken the necessary pictures, with a great deal of hesitancy when it came to the close shots, but he noticed that something seemed… off.

As a changeling, he had the ability to taste different emotions, both those that other ponies gave off, and those that others received. To any who knew changeling anatomy, or even just knew their basic changeling facts, this came as no surprise. They fed on love, and still could post-reformation, so it stood to reason they could taste other emotions and feelings. It was likely a way to choose their targets before The Metamorphosis, as they called it. If a pony left a bitter taste behind them, they weren't likely to have much love. If there was a saccharine sweet taste, it signified an overabundance of lust. Sour indicates jealousy, rotten disgust, peppery anger and so forth. Even love had different flavors, depending on the object of affection: simple love is sweet and filling, parental love is like a warm spiced beverage, love of money is metallic, so on and so forth.

But what many did not know was that even the recently deceased could hold the tastes about them. And from the mare he got the senses of overwhelming lust, jealousy, and… hatred, mixed with nearly overwhelming panic.

"Are you okay?"

Oculus shook himself from his reverie. "Sorry. Just… getting a lot of emotions off this mare. Whoever killed her… I think it was a crime of passion."

"What makes you say that?"

"Lust, jealousy and hatred. She's no longer capable of feeling emotions, but I can still taste the emotions of others that were near her."

Gendril frowned thoughtfully. "Noted. Rule out murder, file under mareslaughter. Let's get these photos upstairs to the ponies who can put the images to use."

With that, they covered the body once again, and left the room, closing the door behind them.

Side Article sat at his desk, deep in thought, pen poised over paper.

It was about 6:30 in the morning, 4 hours since he found out about the slaughter that had taken place. At the moment, he was meant to write an article asking for information about the mare beneath the sheet. No more, no less.

And yet…

He sighed, and looked at the office in which he sat. As his name would imply, he did not have a prestigious position at the office, often relegated to reporting on the more inconsequential drivel: flower competitions, store openings, nothing of any weight or import, at least to his mind.

Befitting his station, his office was cramped. One might even say claustrophobic. There was barely enough space to move around, most of it taken up by the large, lightly polished wooden desk.

Not that one would be able to tell that it was polished.

His desk was crowded, most of it taken up by crumpled paper: false leads, useless information, stories he couldn't use, and other notes of the sort.

He looked at the state of his desk and office and just… thought.

He thought of the trust the chief had placed in him to get information and not spread anything about the mare’s death.

He felt the cramped confines of his office.

He thought about the friendship that would break if he wrote a full article on the crime.

He saw the useless papers on his desk.

He thought about the panic that would follow should the information be put out into the world.

He eyed his notes on the biggest story anyone in this town was likely to cover in decades.

He thought about his responsibility to write the articles that would get lost amongst the bold headlines.

He thought of the story that could be his salvation from the doldrums he faced in this cramped, suffocating office.

To Tartarus with it. Sorry, Rusted.

He began to write his masterpiece.