"And as we can see, each section-or lobe- of the brain performs different tasks. The frontal lobe, for instance…"

The room was small, a simple sideroom compared to the other university classrooms, only really large enough to host 15 students, with standing room only for the professor. Such as was happening here.

“.....the occipital lobe, on the other hand, is responsible for dreams. Though that is not it's only role.”

Standing before a blackboard was a wizened unicorn stallion, his blue coat faded to a light purple, and his mane completely white. Yet he still carried an air of vigor and purpose, showing no hint of a slowing walk or trembling hoof. His eyes carried a constant spark of eagerness, a longing to spread his knowledge to others.

Amongst the small pool of students sat a griffin, sitting in rapt attention, mentally repeating the terms as if in a mantra: frontal, occipital, parietal, temporal, cerebellum, stem. He had, of course, learned this portion of anatomy already. Hard not to, when he had already dissected a rat and read a text on it. But he was still listening in, at least in part. Gendril was also going over his itinerary for the day.

• [img]data:image/png;base64,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[/img]Attend lecture
• [img]data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAAEgAAABICAYAAABV7bNHAAAA1ElEQVR4Ae3bMQ4BURSFYY2xBuwQ7BIkTGxFRj9Oo9RdkXn5TvL3L19u+2ZmZmZmZhVbpH26pFcaJ9IrndMudb/CWadHGiden1bll9MIzqd79SUd0thY20qga4NA50qgoUGgoRJo/NL/V/N+QIAAAQIECBAgQIAAAQIECBAgQIAAAQIECBAgQIAAAQIECBAgQIAAAQIECBAgQIAAAQIEyFeEZyXQpUGgUyXQrkGgTSVQl/qGcG5pnkq3Sn0jOMv0k3Vpm05pmNjfsGPalFyOmZmZmdkbSS9cKbtzhxMAAAAASUVORK5CYII=[/img]View operation (WATCH CLOSELY!)
• [img]data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAAEgAAABICAYAAABV7bNHAAAA1ElEQVR4Ae3bMQ4BURSFYY2xBuwQ7BIkTGxFRj9Oo9RdkXn5TvL3L19u+2ZmZmZmZhVbpH26pFcaJ9IrndMudb/CWadHGiden1bll9MIzqd79SUd0thY20qga4NA50qgoUGgoRJo/NL/V/N+QIAAAQIECBAgQIAAAQIECBAgQIAAAQIECBAgQIAAAQIECBAgQIAAAQIECBAgQIAAAQIEyFeEZyXQpUGgUyXQrkGgTSVQl/qGcG5pnkq3Sn0jOMv0k3Vpm05pmNjfsGPalFyOmZmZmdkbSS9cKbtzhxMAAAAASUVORK5CYII=[/img]Visit Grimm
• [img]data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAAEgAAABICAYAAABV7bNHAAAA1ElEQVR4Ae3bMQ4BURSFYY2xBuwQ7BIkTGxFRj9Oo9RdkXn5TvL3L19u+2ZmZmZmZhVbpH26pFcaJ9IrndMudb/CWadHGiden1bll9MIzqd79SUd0thY20qga4NA50qgoUGgoRJo/NL/V/N+QIAAAQIECBAgQIAAAQIECBAgQIAAAQIECBAgQIAAAQIECBAgQIAAAQIECBAgQIAAAQIEyFeEZyXQpUGgUyXQrkGgTSVQl/qGcG5pnkq3Sn0jOMv0k3Vpm05pmNjfsGPalFyOmZmZmdkbSS9cKbtzhxMAAAAASUVORK5CYII=[/img]Go to work

He sighed inwardly. While he had gotten another look at the photographs, he still had nothing conclusive. He had a hunch, but nothing to back it up. Maybe the operation would provide some clue or inspiration.

"Mr. Lessel! A question for you!"

Gendril brought his head up. "Yes, Doctor Clot?"

"Let us say you drop a ceramic plate and break it. What is the mental process that leads to you cleaning the mess by sweeping up the pieces?"

He pondered for a moment. "Hmm… I see the mess, the image is processed by the occipital lobe, thereby activating the frontal lobe to run through a series of solutions, deciding upon the solution to sweep up the pieces and throw them away, and thereby executing the action."

"Clinical, dry as a textbook, and overall correct!"

The whole class, Gendril included, shared a chuckle at that. Doctor Blood Clot was something of an honorary professor and university secret. He was not a professor in any official capacity, but he was a world-class surgeon, an expert in his field. And it just so happened that he liked to demonstrate his prowess by teaching others, whether by book or scalpel, even those without proper registration to the university. He was something of an eccentric, "a teddy bear surgeon", as some put it. Was it a massive loophole in the university's system? Absolutely, but it was a loophole the staff were unwilling to correct. And for creatures in a similar position to Gendril, he was nothing short of a gift from Celestia herself.

Gendril had been introduced to the good doctor by Gentle Cut. They had shaken hoof and claw, introduced themselves, exchanged questions and answers, and he had almost immediately been given a schedule and rough syllabus. And now he sat, a week later, with the latest class finishing up. Soon, he would get a chance to see a surgery up close, and, hopefully, find a missing piece of this whole mystery.

"Well, would you look at the time! I do beg your pardon fillies and gentlecolts, but I have a surgery to attend to. Take some time this evening to study the major structures of the nervous system, and I will see you all in a few days. Class dismissed!"

In the murmuring and shifting that followed, Doctor Clot gathered his materials, placed them in his satchel, and headed out the door, Gendril following close behind.

Walking over to the university's operating theater, the griffin and pony duo took a moment to talk.

"So how is the mystery coming along?"

"I'm pretty sure you of all creatures should know that I can't answer that question."

"You can't blame a pony for his curiosity. Although, I'd like to help in some way, if you would hear me out for just a moment."

Gendril looked at him quizzically. "I can't give you a place in the investigation, if you were wondering. I don't have that kind of authority."

"Never even crossed my mind. I'd like you to be my assistant for this operation."

Gendril screeched to a halt. "What?!"

"It's nothing major: passing tools, putting organs into ice, that kind of thing. I have one stipulation, though." At this, he turned and looked him dead in the eye. "Observe. Everything. Every cut, every motion, blade placement, all of that. I assume you know your basic surgical tools?"

Gendril swallowed, and shakily nodded his head. "Yes, sir."

"Good! Then I won't need to specify too much about the tools at use. The current operation is an organ donor, recently deceased. A stasis spell was placed upon time of death, and will cease upon operation start. Blood has been vacated, replaced with a saline fluid." The doctor started trotting, speaking more rapidly. "Heart doesn't last long; that goes first. Then lungs, liver, kidneys. Anything else is by demand. Understood?"

"Yes, doctor!" Gendril kept pace.

"You will have several medical containers near you. Each will hold one organ. They will be labeled, so pay attention to which organ you are putting where."

"Yes, doctor!"

"Look sharp, Mister Gendril! We've arrived."

A set of double doors stood before Gendril, with a small set of stairs on either side for observers to climb to the seats. He would have taken the stair on the left at this point, maybe found a front row seat if he was lucky, had he not been offered a more…. personal view. Doctor Clot went through first, while Gendril followed close behind.

The first thing that struck him was the quiet buzz of low conversation: brief “good afternoon"'s, and "how do you do"'s, and other inconsequential chatter. Ahead of him he saw a gurney with a sheet, covering a mass that he assumed to be the body. Near the gurney were two white smocks, clearly meant for the operator and assistant, and a large surgical light hovered above the gurney, held in place from its grounded pole. Several ponies were already waiting on the floor, though he wasn’t sure who they were. He then noticed that the lighting in the room was rather dim, and, striding forward behind the doctor, he saw that the light came from several strategically placed candles, providing just enough light for the audience to be comfortable, or so he assumed.

As he came up to the gurney, Doctor Clot sorcerously gave Gendril his smock, which he hurriedly donned. After donning his own, the doctor turned to the light, and switched it on.

For a brief moment, Gendril was blinded. Then, as his eyes adjusted to the pure white light above the concealed cadaver, he saw the tools upon the surgical tray, held by a wheeled cart. They were pristine: clean, clearly sharp, glittering in the light like silvered jewels. He saw before him forceps, needles, a pair of shears for cutting bone, and many different sizes of scalpels. He looked at those tools….. and saw beauty. However, his attention was pulled away from the tools when Doctor Clot moved in front of the gurney, and addressed his— now silent— audience.

“Fillies and gentlecolts, good morning to you all! I do hope everyone is seated comfortably and paying close attention, because this will not take long, but it is no less important. The subject today is one Mr. Watered Gaze, former resident of Baltimare and organ donor, placed under stasis spell half an hour after death. Upon the first cut of the scalpel, the stasis spell will fail. After that, each organ will have a limited amount of time for transplant. As such, they will be immediately placed on ice and rushed to Canterlot General by our fine paramedics, without whose presence this operation would not be possible. May we give a round of applause for them?”

At this, Doctor Clot turned, and gestured to the other ponies on the floor, while the audience burst into a polite applause. Gendril couldn’t help but stare at this. Why was there so much…. theatricality going on? This was supposed to be for learning, right?

“And with me today, assisting with this surgery is a student of the college, Mr. Gendril Lessel!” Gendril was split from his line of internal questioning by the sudden realization that everyone was now looking at him, giving that same polite applause. What is going on here? Gendril was puzzled.

“Mr. Lessel, the small scalpel, please.”

For a brief instant, Gendril stared at the doctor, blinking dumbly, before turning his gaze to the tray of tools and picking out the smallest tool. Slowly, he turned it in his hands, before holding it out to his professor, handle out.

The doctor took the scalpel in his magical grip, stood next to the donor, and addressed the audience once again.

“Pay attention everyone! You’re about to witness a master at work!”

With that, he slowly brought the scalpel to the dead stallion’s chest…. and began the surgeon’s dance.

The “surgery” had been a success. Each organ had been quickly sent to the necessary locations, and, at that moment, were being utilized in likely life-saving transplants on the other side of the mountain. Gendril, on the other hand, was hurriedly making his way down the street, satchel slung over his shoulder, partially lost in thought.

Scalpel provides very clean cuts, not like the lacerations on Pretty Red. Could lend credence to a talon slash from some disgruntled griffin, but it doesn't feel right. I need to look at those pictures again.

Grateful as he was for his chance at the Canterlot University of Medical Science, he had been pulled away from his work at the station. He absolutely needed to apologize to Rusted Key for lagging behind. Working the apology in his mind, he found himself walking up to probably his favorite place in Canterlot: The Grey Feather Butchery, the workplace of a personal friend, Grimm.

The building was simple wood and white plaster; nothing spectacular, though the new graffiti certainly drew the eye. Streaks of red, curses, scratches, all adorned the walls of the building. And painted over the double doors were the words, "Fucking Crows".

Gendril held back a scowl, took a deep breath, and opened the doors. The front was clean, but simple; just the kind of front you would expect from a butcher. The only thing different was that the front was a bit more bare than usual. All the different meats usually on display in the glass display case were now absent. A set of white curtains were set over the entryway to the back and no one was at the counter. Gendril walked forward, and rang the service bell on the desk.

*ding*

"One moment!" The voice that called back was hoarse and cracked. "Who is it?"

"It's Gendril!"

A few moments later, the curtain was pushed aside, revealing a griffin that was clearly aged, with many white feathers going dull and gray. His front was covered by a leather apron, the same tan color as his hind legs. His eyes were deeply bloodshot, yet he smiled. "Hah! If it isn't my favorite doctor!"

"Give it four to six years, and it might just be true," Gendril said, smirking.

"Hahaha! Well, how can I help you today?" Grimm grinned broadly.

"Could I have a quarter pound of lamb, 2 ounces of pork and…"

Gendril hesitated. Unconsciously, he rubbed the back of his head as he grimaced. The smile on Grimm's face slowly dropped into a serious frown. He closed his eyes. "How much?"

"... three tablespoons."

"Reason?"

"Insight and clarity of mind. I just need a small edge for this."

"You're sure about this?"

Gendril frowned. "I screwed up. I should have done the closer examination when I had the chance, and now I only have pictures. I think I may need a bit of creativity at this point. I know the risks, I know your policy."

Grimm breathed in deep.

".... fine. Food first, plenty of water after. Be smart. I'll get your order ready."

Gendril paused outside the station, taking a moment to admire the lamp with it's blue-tinted glass panes, and the slightly rusted sign bolted to the wall beneath it:

Constabulary for the C.H.D.
On the 5th of November, 750 ANM, this station was established to provide protection to this, the historical district of Greater Canterlot, for the memory of all Equestria.
May the lamps be lit eternal.

Gendril pushed through the door and made his way to the front desk.

"House Coroner Gendril, reporting for duty."

The stallion behind the desk responded, "Sign in please."

He did so, taking his clearance card from his satchel for authorization. With all the formalities done, he made his way back to the main office area, looking for Rusted Key all the while. A low chatter was going on, hushed words, murmurs, a fat cry from the new energy of two weeks ago. He found him, not at his desk, but instead talking to a couple other lower ranking officers. He made his way over.

“- to report?” “Nothing yet sir. All suspects we have tailed seem to be behaving normally. It’s possible this might have been a one-and-done.” "Possible. We just need Gendril to get his beak out of his books, and give us a hypothesis. Speaking of which…"

Gendril found himself halted in his tracks as Rusted turned to face him, an unamused expression on his face. After a moment, Gendril started. "Chief, I'm sorry I-"

"Spare it! Follow me."

The silence that followed was palpable. Every eye turned to the dumbfounded griffin and unenthused unicorn. The walk to Chief Rusted Key's desk was made in silence, with Gendril plodding behind the chief, feeling the eyes boring into the back of his head. Eventually, he found himself seated at his superior's desk, the pony sat across from him. Rusted glared behind him.

Does this business concern any of you? No? Then clear off!" The chatter resumed as it had before, with the stares abating at last. Gendril signed in relief, only to catch the stern glare of Rusted Key.

"Care to tell me where you've been the past week?"

Gendril swallowed nervously. "The university, sir."

"I see. And why were you there and not here?"

"... Sir, I really-" "Answer. The question."

"... I wanted to learn more than I could here."

Rusted sighed, rubbing his temple, before looking Gendril dead in the eyes. "Look. I understand that this is important to you. Tartarus, I gave you this job because it could help you with it, even if only slightly. But here's the thing: this isn't a normal job. You're not some underage colt standing at a register in some local supermarket. You're not bussing tables in some D-grade restaurant. You're the coroner of the police. And when we're in the midst of an active case, you need to be here! And right now, you are actively holding back progress. If you're not willing to take this seriously by the end of next week, then by Celestia, I may be forced to charge you with obstructing justice! Do I make myself clear?!"

Gendril’s words were stuck in his throat from the shock. He had known the chief for two years now, and he had never raised his voice like this before. He’d expressed annoyance or slight frustration, but never anger like this. With all words caught in his throat, all he could do was timidly nod. To which Rusted responded, quietly, “Then why are you still here?”

Like Cerberus himself was on his heels, Gendril bolted from Rusted’s desk, down the stairs, and into the lab, slamming the door behind him.Taking a few breaths in, he allowed himself to calm down before setting to his task. From a nearby cupboard, he pulled down a hot plate and a small frying pan, and set to cooking his pork. The lamb he placed in the top drawer of the freezer, a habit he’d gotten into from oftentimes rushing to the station from Grimm’s.

In time, the pork was ready for consumption. He brought the now warm pan to the center table, along with a needle to act as a utensil, and began to eat while trying to study the pictures. The longer Gendril looked, the more his brow furrowed in confusion. The pictures confirmed that the cuts weren’t clean, but they also didn’t seem large enough for talons. Gendril pounded a fist on the table in frustration, and hurriedly finished his meal before going to his bag and pulling out a small vial.

Gendril beheld the red liquid in the vial as if it were melted gold. Gingerly he removed the cork and took a tentative sniff. The copper scent of pig's blood filled his nostrils and flooded the roof of his mouth, putting his vision into sudden, sharp relief. He exhaled shakily. “I hope to Celestia I find something.” He downed the liquid in one gulp.
In an instant, his demeanor changed. His pupils began to dilate and constrict, until, finally, fully focusing. He became hunched, beginning to prowl restlessly around the room, and a light growl started coming from his throat. He found himself gazing at the pictures once again; and his expression shifted. First confused then surprised, then smiling.

“H-h-h-h-h-hee, I see! I see! Smaaaallll cut, very small cut! Or! Or-or-or! Is that a cut? Wait. W-w-w-w-wait. Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong! Fibers? What is-? Hold on… skull. Broken? Dented. There-”

*squeak*

Barely even thinking, Gendril lunged towards the noise, capturing a rat in his talons before it could run away. “Oh, hello there! Something to share, eh?” The rat squeaked and struggled pathetically in Gendril’s grip. “Oh, gooood point, good-good-good-good point. Let’s try something, shall we?”

*BAM-crack*

The rat went still.

“Hmm, death was wrong, skull broken, died that way. Now, can talons break skin? Let’s see-see-see… nonono, not really, no. Needs force there. Wait… oh… ohohohohoHOHOHOHO! I’ve got something!”

The neck of the rat gushed red as Gendril grabbed for the needle still on the table. “Let’s see… yes… yesyesyesYES! Torn! It’s torn! Wait…”

The rat lay, disemboweled and forgotten, as Gendril grabbed the pictures. “Small cut, wide entry. Hook, maybe?... Hook. Improvised, most likely. Weren’t planning murder? No, panic. Angry, lashed out, not thinking… h-h-h-hahahaha, tried to cover it up, eh? Clever… but not clever enough. I– w-woah. Light’s– getting brighter. Huh? I’m– holy Celestia, I’m parched.”

Gendril shook himself and dragged himself over to the basin, where he drank straight from the tap for a good fifteen seconds.

“... I need to talk to the chief.”

“... and that’s my hypothesis.”

Rusted leaned back in his chair, silent. The theory that Gendril just presented… was completely plausible. The blow to the head in anger, then panicking and trying to cover it up with a slash to the throat and three slashes from the same improvised weapon. It was, as Gendril aptly put it, “clever, but sloppy.” His brow creased in thought. “If the killer was angry, they wouldn't necessarily need to be strong to break the skull, just need a good amount of force. A hoof could certainly do the job if it connected to the temple. Let's focus on the weapon. You said the hook would have to be small, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And if it was improvised, it stands to reason that it may have been an occupational tool. No reason someone would find a hook on the ground. Couldn’t be a fishhook, we’re nowhere near any streams or other bodies of water with fish. Couldn’t be a stolen tool either. The panic indicates they didn’t think through the kill, lending even more credence to a mareslaughter charge. It doesn’t make sense unless they had it on them from the start. That narrows it down considerably.”

“Sir, didn’t you mention at one point that one of the suspects was a seamstress?”

Rusted’s eyes widened, and he slammed his hooves on the desk. “That’s right! It’s possible she left her business, forgot to put her tools down, ran into Pretty Red, got angry, and then killed her! In fact,” Rusted began talking more rapidly, “the motive is there! She was clearly jealous, even Pretty Red said so! It’s not too far a leap in logic that Graceful Design could accidentally kill her!”

“Well,” Gendril said slowly, “is it enough?”

“Not quite enough for a conviction. But there’s cause for suspicion, and that’s enough to warrant a search and interrogation. I’ll set up a team and head down to our suspect’s place of work, and we’ll see what we can find. In the meantime, you stay here and log your findings. Make sure to leave nothing out. I’ll be back soon,” and at this Rusted gave a hesitant smile, “and I hope we can soon consider this case closed.”

Gendril returned the smile. “You and me both, chief.”

“Side Article! There’s a letter here for you! Apparently it’s urgent?”

The reporter raised his eyebrow, facing the mare at the front desk. “Who’s it from?”

“Chief Inspector Rusted Key, I think.”

His brow rose up even further. “What could he be writing to me about, after my last story?”

The mare shrugged. Side Article rolled his eyes, opened the letter, and began to read.

“How’ve you been, blah blah blah, new story for me?...”

His jaw slowly dropped before curling up into a smile.

“... They did it. They actually did it.”

Author's Note

Critiques are welcome! Sorry it took a while for this to come out, I only recently finished another chapter for this story. I hope you enjoyed the chapter!