Memoirs of the Mindless

Chapters

Chapter 2: A Lust is Born
Chapter 3: Clock is Ticking
Chapter 4: Silver and Pink
Chapter 6: Pretty in Red
Chapter 7: Guilt and Royalty
Chapter 8: The Noose
Chapter 9: Internal Struggle
Chapter 10: Fire and Steel
Chapter 11: Clues and Whiskey
Chapter 12: Truth and Shadows
Chapter 13: Fever and Debts
Chapter 14: Giants and Monsters
Chapter 15: Red-Mane and Clock
Chapter 1: Humble Beginnings
Chapter 5: Parties and Promises

Chapter 2: A Lust is Born

Chapter 2: A Lust is Born

“Twilight....Twilight sweetie,” said the familiar voice of a mare.

The purple filly rolled slightly away from the noise already waking from her empty dreams. The carriage bumped noisily and pulled her out of the comforting grip of unworldly illusions.

Her eyes slid slowly open to the warm face of her mother smiling proudly at her. She smiled back allowing the memories of what was going on to seep back into her reality.

“We’re nearly there, Twilight,” her mother spoke again. “We’ll be arriving in just a few moments”

Twilight’s eyes studied her mother’s face, trying to read her expression. It was a look of worry badly disguised with a smile.

She turned to face out of the window; everything was grey other than the road which the carriage drove upon. The sickly sweet smell of baked goods drifted in as they drove passed the bakery. A large dark-grey pony stood in the doorway wearing a thick apron and a darker coloured hat low across his brow.

The carriage bumped vigorously several times and continued its slow pace down the road. A young colt lay by the side of the road. His eyes were devoid of all life and were just staring blankly through her as she gradually passed. Next to him an older mare was crying long black tears which fell onto his matted fur. She looked around helplessly calling to those around her but no sound came from her lips; only the sound was the steady movement of the carriage.

The carriage slowed down gradually as the road widened out into a larger network leading to the foot of a large set of stairs. At the centre of the stairway stood two well-built guards. A thick-coated stallion pulled the door open and invited them out of the carriage. Like everything else, his coat was a shade of grey.

Twilight looked up the set of stairs with a despondent look.At the top of those stairs was a task, she thought. A task to test her ability and prove whether she was worthy to enter the tutoring of royalty in magic. Her mother stepped out next, she glanced around looking at the suited pony.

“Where do we he-”

“All guests of the princess shall be escorted to their chamber awaiting the testing phase,” he spoke quickly and confidently.

One of the guards took a step forward and tilted his head up the stairway.

Twilight’s mother smiled back and began ascending the stairs, shortly after followed by her daughter.

The top of the stairs met with a long embellished room. Large decorated tapestries bearing the insignia of royalty hung down the sides of one wall. On the other were many large stained-glass windows, each showing a different story of triumph of good over evil . A thick gold rimmed rug lined the floor, floral patterns spread across it in some natural display of equality and peace.

Twilight stood in awe admiring the place. It was the most beautiful room she had laid eyes on, and despite it being of royalty she felt it outweighed even the rulers of the land and was more suited for a temple of gods.

The guard leaned closer to Twilight’s mother and whispered something into her ear. She nodded quickly.

Twilight failed to notice however, still captivated by the staggering beauty of the place. Twilight turned back to them, a large crescent smile spread from ear to ear as excitement grew inside her to adventure to the further recesses of the castle.

A pejorative look was the response she received from the guard, and her mother gave her the look which Twilight understood immediately. The look meant to maintain a sensible precept and to control her actions.

The guard turned to walk away, his heavy hoof fells were heard as he trudged back down the stairs. Twilight’s mother turned to face her, a warm glow radiated through her pleasant smile.

“Twilight sweetie, it’s just down the hallway, you see that big door?” She asked, pointing down the hallway with one hoof.

Twilight turned to the direction pointed. Roughly fifty metres down, a large purple door was visible at the back although she hadn’t noticed it before. The door, similar to the rug, had a rich golden trim with the deep purple standing behind. The thick golden trim flowed from the centre of the door next to the handles, spiralling out like a tempest of wealth catching the light with a shimmering radiance.

They both began to walk down the corridor, the exterior was devoid of colour similar to outside and only through looking through on of the large stained windows was it visible to be an angelic white with patches of grey looming over the courtyard.

The two progressed further down the hallway, both in a wordless discussion of fear and apprehension for what lay on the other side. The walk down the corridor unnerved Twilight. The insignia of royalty bore down on her, reminding her every step of the way that she was in the domain of a far greater power.

The magnificence of the door was only really apparent once they were closer. It had been encrusted with gems and even the handles of it were studded with the clearest cut sapphires. Twilight’s mother raised her hoof hesitantly to the knocker and gave two clear taps with it against the purple backing.

The two stood in silence for a moment. Either nothing was happening on the other side or the door was too thick to hear through. Twilight glanced back up to her mother, who was looking around for another form of getting their attention.

She approached the door again and placed her hoof on the knocker. The door was quickly pulled ajar and a blue corpulent head and neck shot out and began studying the two of them.

“You must be Ms Sparkle, I presume,” the voice was light and flowing as if that of a singer.

“Yes, I am,” responded Twilight’s mother.

The two of them advanced on the gap in the door which had been pulled wider, where upon the blue pony seemed to only see Twilight for the first time.

“Well hello, Twilight my dear” the voice sounded rich as before. Twilight opened her mouth to respond. “Excellent, excellent do come along, the test shall be beginning shortly.

Twilight walked through the door and glanced around the scenery. A large seating area was visible at one side of the room, on the highest row sat 6 smug looking ponies each with clipboard in hoof.

The stained glass windows had followed through into this room as well. Its light illuminating the polished floor with pristine white finish.

“I’m sorry, Ms Sparkle but only the subject may enter the testing room,” said the blue pony.

She nodded slowly and only her smile passed through the door before it was closed. Twilight glanced around nervously. A double door on the other side of the room opened and two brown coated stallions came through. They were pushing a cart which held a purple spotted egg.

When the cart came to a stop the two stallions walked away panting. The six judges began to stare down at her.

“Well then,” the blue pony spoke with ardour. “The test may begin immediately, all you have to do it cast a basic memory spell and awaken the dragon sleeping inside”

Twilight’s eyes narrowed on the egg. That’s all! She thought to herself. She approached the egg slowly and began to recite the incantation in her mind. It was a basic one, however the method of applying it to different creatures varies, and a bird differs from a dragon largely so some parts of the incantation had to be switched.

She tried several different combinations each one falling short on a single part of the spell. She mixed them around and tried to reword it many times over but each one lead her further astray from the spells intended purpose.

She looked up at the judges; some were already shaking their heads and were likely writing scores for her failure. Taking a deep breath, she decided to take one last attempt. This spell wasn’t designed to be a memory spell however if harnessed in the right way, it could use her her applied knowledge of dragons through literature and use it to awaken the dragon this way.

She focused hard on these words, extracting personal experience and applying it to a spell was difficult without practice. Such practice she had only had a hoof-full of times Once she was happy with the wording, she swallowed all fear of failure as, even if she messed this up, she had achieved being noticed by the royal academy.

Her horn shone brightly and a magenta light surrounded the egg, it rocked violently and cracks appeared however Twilight didn’t notice, her eyes were tight shut in reciting the incantation.

After a loud crack she opened her eyes and stopped the spell. The blue pony was standing next to the cart with a look of shock on his face. Twilight ran over in excitement but was held back by one of the judges who had come down.

“What spell did you use?” he asked in a very firm voice.

“An applied memory spell,” she said hesitantly.

He shook his head and let her passed; she slowly approached the cart and peered inside. The purple dragon had hatched however wasn’t moving.

“He’s a still born,” said the blue pony comfortingly. “It’s not your fault, Twilight.”

She didn’t hear him. She only saw his eyes.

His eyes screamed belligerency as they stared in her direction. he fell backward onto the floor, and scanned the expression on everyponies face, a look of dis-contempt, even hatred toward her, for killing a baby dragon. Her breathing sped up quickly.

Getting up she walked toward the window and looked outside. Her breath quivered as she shook violently. I’m not meant to be here she thought.

* * *

She awoke with a start. Restraints prevented any further movement more than the panting for breath.

Her eyes slowly adjusted to the light, a large steel table was visible on the far end of the room only so because it caught the dim light hanging in the centre of the room. A waft of candy floss caught her attention, she inhaled its pleasant aroma and she smelled another unknown smell but paid no attention to it.

The candy floss meant one of two things Twilight realised. One, there was a candy floss maker in the room. Two, Pinkie was close by.

She inhaled deeply. “Pinkie...” She said quietly. Only the steady sound of dripping was heard. She shouted louder this time, “Pink-” a searing pain shot across her side cutting her shouts abruptly.

A pink figure moved from a corner of the room and rapidly sped toward her. Twilight followed it with her eyes; it darted radically, making small jumps from shadows advancing on her.

Twilight coughed and felt her side flair up once again she grimaced at the pain. Looking around quickly she realised that she could no longer see the pink figure. The sweet aroma was stronger than before. The light rocked gently from side to side illuminating various parts of the room however leaving others in total darkness.

A breath ran through Twilight’s mane from behind, she quivered as Goosebumps spread down her neck. She tried to turn her head but the brace held firm. Another breath went passed her again, this time next to her ear, the heat of a body could be felt all down her back.

“Try not to breath too heavily now Twi,” the voice said from behind her. It was definitely Pinkies however it was different, it spoke slower, clearer and in a more seductive tone. “You broke your rib during the fight if you recall”

Flashes of memory lanced through Twilight’s mind, recalling the most recent events, the breaking in, Spike, the fight and no more after confronting the brown Pegasus.

The memories poured in and rectified most of her confusion.

Pinkie walked round to the front of her, her fur was subsequently darker than usual and her mane was straight and hung down over her shoulders. Twilight stared in her direction studying her new form. Large blood smears were traceable running across her fore hooves and on her chest, but her eyes were the most changed. They expressed the deepest desire for hatred, a lust for answers and a struggle in of themselves. She looked like a different pony, and if the eyes were anything to go by, she was.

She moved quickly and placed a hoof over Twilight’s side, she inhaled sharply at the sudden application of pressure.

“You’ve broken two ribs and from what I can tell, you also have a mild concussion,” she spoke in that tone once again.

Twilight studied her, she felt as if Pinkie was a brand new. A completely rewritten mind place into the body of a friend she once thought she understood. The thought scared her, how little she actually knew somepony.

Pinkie looked up into Twilight’s eyes.

Keeping her voice low Twilight spoke quietly, “why do I have to be in these restraints?” she asked, pulling on the ones on her fore hooves.

Pinkie shook her head as if day dreaming, “just a precautionary measure, I wasn’t sure of the extent of your head trauma so I wasn’t sure about taking any chance.” She began untying the braces, her quick hooves moving nimbly from each one to the next.

Twilight moved out of the vice like grip of the metal structure slowly, testing how far she could manoeuvre to each side before the familiar pain spread over her side. The floor felt icy cold against her hooves as she stood on the stone slabs, only then did she feel the chill in the air.

“We’re in the basement of Sugarcube Corner,” said Pinkie, noticing the movement of her eyes, “I’m sorry about Spike”

She nodded in response. This was the first time she really considered the event since waking, the companion she had grown to love and care for like a sibling was now gone, forever. She felt saddened but by no means was unable to carry on. Her she thought back to the brown pegasus, in mind, relieving the moment he was taken from her. She shuddered as she remembered his final expression.

“Scum like him deserve to die,” said Twilight meaningfully. Pinkie nodded knowing who she meant.

“ I saw what you did to his companion,” Pinkie said, tapping her hoof against the floor. “You’re a murderer now Twilight, your no different from him”

Twilight looked down at the ground, a frown emerged across her brow. “ I killed to avenge him,” she said sullenly.

“But even then you didn’t succeed,” Pinkie moved to Twilight’s side. “Would you like to?” she asked. “Would you like to avenge your beloved dragon?”

Twilight raised her head and faced Pinkie’s, the light caught her eyes and made them shine brightly, her pupils dilated massively to mere pinpricks as a deep smile spread across her face. That look scared her, it was unpredictable to Pinkie’s nature however for once she was afraid of what her friend was thinking, a party popper or shouting of surprise but due to the new unearthing in her psyche the possibilities of what she was thinking were terrifying.

Pinkie leaned in quickly and kissed her on the lips, Twilight’s eyes widened and she felt a hot blushing flare up on her cheeks. She closed her eyes and went with it, allowing herself to be under the influence of that insane mare.

Pinkie broke of the kiss abruptly breathing lightly, “how about we avenge him together?” She said, refusing to make eye contact.

“Alright,” Twilight spoke quietly. “But I want you by my side.”

“I’ll be next to you but his blood is yours to take.” Pinkie began staring into one of the darkened corners of the room.

Twilight turned to see what she was facing; she squinted and stared into the darkness. At first she could see nothing. There were too many shadows. She stared there for perhaps three seconds, sorting through shapes and forms set deep in the dark. Something was moving in there...maybe...no. She frowned, concentrating, and a single white flash lurched in her eyes.

Twilight recoiled, and it was now, with her eyes scrunched shut and temples throbbing, that her became visible. The larger light in the centre of the room flicker on, the form in the corner became entirely visible.

The brown pegasus was tied up, thick leather braces over this legs and fore hooves, his wings moved around freely however. He had a thick gag tied tightly across his mouth, it dug deeply into his cheeks and droplets of saliva gathered running down them. His eyes darted widely around the room, he was clearly afraid and for good reason. If he hadn’t already realised, there was a set of blood-stained surgical tools next to him and the floor next to his feet was stained in a crimson red mist.

Pinkie walked toward his trembling stature, she walked slowly and menacingly with each step purposefully loud. Twilight admired her confidence in this; she’s clearly done it before she thought. She began to walk toward him as well, trying to copy what Pinkie had however slower and quieter.

Pinkie leaned in close to him, staring straight into his eyes. “Was it all worth it?” She asked. “Was killing an innocent worth what I’m about to do to you?” The same deep smile spread across her face.

She loosened the gag by his mouth and picked up one of the smaller scalpels. His breathing sped up as she held it in front of his face, his eyes focused upon the tool which would soon penetrate his flesh.

Still smiling, he pressed it against his chest- but not enough to puncture his skin- his entire body tensed in apprehension for the first cut. “It’s awful how death can come as a surprise,” with that she picked up a second scalpel and stabbed it firmly into his leg. He let out a moan of pain as blood ran down from the wound.

Twilight picked up the other scalper and took Pinkies place in front of him, “It’s even worse when it takes those closest to you,” she ran the knife across his chest. It wasn’t deep but a line of blood poured down his abdomen. His breath quivered as the numbing pain spread across his body.

Pinkie cut the gag over his mouth, slightly slicing part of his cheek in the process.

“You’re Red-Mane,” his voice sounded weak and rough from the gag. Pinkie cocked her head to one side.

“Tell me of this, Red-Mane” she twiddled the scalpel between her hooves.

“You’re a killer, the killer of travellers from the east-,” he coughed dryly. “You kill those regularly,” his voice broke toward the end.

Pinkie turned around and swore to herself, she wasn’t completely anonymous after all she thought. She whispered into Twilight’s ear before heading toward the stairs. “I’ve got a call to make,” her voice rang through the basement. A door banged loudly and silence filled the room. Twilight closed her eyes and listened to his ragged breathing.

“What you going to’ do?” he asked, worry in his voice.

She turned to face him, a dark smile spread across her face. “When I kill you, and you're breathing out your last,” his breathing sped up considerably and his eyes widened in terror. “I want you to remember my face.”

She picked up one of the larger knifes and held it to his neck, his eyes grew wet as he stared down on her. She hesitated, I’m no better than him if I do this she thought. I’m just killing for personal gain just as he was. Her hoof quivered slightly. She looked up into his eyes.

“But I know what you are,” she ran the blade through his neck, “You never knew him.”

Gargles of fading life were heard as like a perpetual phase, more blood coated the floor. She stared at his eyes; they grew glassy as few tears rolled down his cheeks. His final expression was of pain and misery.

“I did this for you Spike,” her voice trembled, “always for you.”

She dropped to one knee and stared down at the floor. The steady dripping of blood made a small pool in front of her; small splashes hit her hooves coating them in ichor. I’m a murderer now she thought. I’m a fugitive, a criminal... She raised her head and looked up into the eyes of the brown pegasus as a dark smile covered her bloodied face.

...and I’ve never felt better.

Chapter 3: Clock is Ticking

Chapter 3: Clock is Ticking

The sun shone its majestic beams through the dense alleyways. Fencing and scattered bins lay around the back of every building. The hustle and bustle of the nearby town centre could be heard from within, but the prevailing noise was that of the wind rushing through the back streets. It was midday, and by this time most ponies were taking a break from their not so busy lifestyles. This was a lifestyle which, not so long ago, was all too familiar to one pegasus, but times had most certainly changed.

Her hooves bounded heavily as she ran across the rooftop. She jumped regularly to avoid the cavern-like falls between the buildings. She was breathing hard but, to her, it was a regular pace which could only be beaten by intensive flying. Hazardously, she glanced down over the edge of the building as she ran; the masked earth pony ran quickly through the alleyways. She turned a corner atop the roof as he did below. It would have been much easier to keep up by flying, but her uniform prevented all but the simplest of wing movements.

She looked up ahead in the long alleyway. A fence had meshed at the wall at either side. A smile spread across her face, he’s trapped. She jumped downward, heading straight at the pony. She broke her fall with two quick flaps of her wings and was only a few metres behind him.

The sound of their hooves against the hard concrete reverberated throughout the pathway. The sounds seemingly echoed to a near deafening level. She sped up to the pace she was capable of, her hooves pounded heavily against the floor and her breathing sped up as she did so. When near enough, she gave a powerful flap with her wing propelling her above the startled earth pony.

She grabbed onto his neck tightly but was quickly shaken off causing her to fall by his side. He hit her in the jaw as he sped off faster than before. She hit the ground running but was dazed by the blow, the taste of blood was noticeable but, in her anger, she barely noticed.

“No flying,” she said imitatively, “breaking civil appearance,” she continued. She threw off her navy jacket and jumped spreading her cyan wings. “I’ll show them what a real pegasus can do.”

She flapped in several powerful strokes, raising her high into the air. The sun shone through her cyan feathers casting a shadow of an angel below. The earth pony had quickly reached the fence and had slowly begun to clamber over.

The wind sailed through her mane as she flew at near rainboom speed; her wings caught the flow of the alleyways gale throwing her even faster toward the earth pony who was blissfully unaware of the rainbow bullet rapidly speeding toward him.

He reached the top of the fence and jumped down to the floor. Once he was airborne, the speeding form of an angry mare struck him hard against the waist. In an air to air tackle, she propelled all of her speed into him and followed it through so they both collided noisily with the litter filled bins.

The dust settled and the pegasus towered above the broken earth pony, blood was dripping down the corner of her mouth. He lay in a state of total bewilderment.

She picked him up by his chest and held him up to her face. “You see that blood,” she shouted angrily at his almost unconscious form. He gave a low grunt as a response. Holding him at arm’s length, she swung her hoof in succession with each word, “You.” The first blow was in the stomach, “Did.” The second was straight at his nose, blood gushed forth almost immediately, “That!” The last blow hit him square on the chin, his eyes rolled back as the hoof connected.

She dropped his lifeless form and wiped her mouth spreading a mixture of both their blood across her hoof. After returning to her jacket, she picked up the radio in the pocket.

She swung her jacket over her shoulder and stared down at his bloodied and unconscious state. Holding in the receiver, she spoke clearly into the radio, “Suspect has been neutralized.”

* * *

“...One last time, Rainbow.”

He slammed his hooves against the desk and leaned forward. His overshadow covered her due to light hanging above his horn. She looked back up from the floor to look into his eyes. Her face bore a casual look, as her eyes were close with a look of disapproval: a look which she knew from schooling years annoyed teachers, and, judging by his aggression, interviewers alike.

A deep frown was set across his face, and beads of perspiration were starting to glisten, “How did he get so injured,” he emphasised every word and raised his voice toward the end.

He stood upright as she leant forward, a smile of confidence spread across her face. “From the fall.”

“So he broke two ribs in the fall.”

“Yes.”

“Broke his nose in the fall.”

“Yes.”

“Became concussed from the fall.”

“Yes.”

“Chipped a tooth, and fractured an arm, all from the fall.”

She leant back into the chair and stared at the recording camera in the corner of the room, “Yes.”

He gave a groan of agitation as she finished her last line. A smile spread across her face. From behind the one way mirror, a voice was fed through the intercom.

“That's all, Clance, you’ve done enough,” the thick voice was that of Detective Clock. He was the lead detective in Ponyville, however had been called upon for this matter.

The grey detective walked sullenly into the room. His head was low, but he had an unmistakable presence about him. A presence which he had developed from many years working on the force. He patted Clance on the back has he passed through the door.

“Well, Ms Dash,” he spoke powerfully. It sickened her to think that he felt so high and mighty. In comparison to what she had achieved, he was a merely a sideshow, but respect was his perquisite she needed to acknowledge.

“That would be Sergeant Dash if I’m not mistaken,” she always found it distasteful not to use a rank if it had been earned.

“Well,” he seemed to chuckle slightly as he spoke, “I’m afraid you are mistaken,” a sinister grin appeared across his face. “If you had admitted to the blatant assault we could have dropped the charge.”

She stood up out of her chair, her breaths heavy with rage. “You can’t reduce me just like that!” she shouted at him.

He flicked his ear with his hoof. “Evidently Miss Dash, I can,” his tone was confident and subtly childish. “But you won’t be demoted for long,” he sang in a cheerful tone as he made his way over to stand next to her, “Only a month or two of execution duties and you can consider yourself a Sergeant once again.” He turned and began walking out of the room.

She fell into her chair in a stroppy way. A deep sigh sounded from her. “Am I relieved now?” she asked.

He continued walking but shouted back, “you have until the end of the week, Ms Dash.”

“Thank you, sir,” she called through the door, but no response came.

She waited for a few moments contemplating what she had done. She had acted rather rash, she concluded, but regardless a demoting was far from necessary. Getting up abruptly, she made her way for the door.

Her office was right next alongside the interview room. She had laughed when they first told her that it was an office. It was a small, cramped room which in its past life may have even been a broom closet had been converted into a mellow set room. There was little to no furnishing: a hard wooden desk, a painfully slow desktop, an upright filing cabinet, and a small, shrivelled plant she received as a gift upon becoming a Sergeant.

She slumped down in her chair. Various papers lay scattered about her desk, related both to her work but her life as well. Final demands to bills and such which she had brought in along with reports from her home. Her eyes closed, and she dropped her head onto the table. It landed with a brief thud. Always too rash, she thought, punished rashly because of this. I should’ve stayed in the weather business.

She slowly lifted her head and glanced up at the clock, it read 19:51. Her shift ended soon, and, as a Sergeant, so did her third last day. A brief knock came at the door.

She lifted up a set of papers to make it look as if she was doing something, “Enter!” she called loudly through the paper thin walls. The grey face of Detective Clock shot through, “Wanna go for a drink? My treat?” he asked. He asked this every other night or so. It was a wonder he was sober enough to continue his line of work with that much alcohol in his system.

She mentally rolled her eyes, “No thanks, I’m good.” Without another word, he closed the door.

The phone on her desk suddenly rang to her surprise. She didn’t often receive calls, and, judging by the dusty dials, didn’t make them either.

She picked it up quickly and spoke into the receiver, “Sergeant Dash here.”

“It’s Pinkie,” a dry voice came back through the line.

“Oh hello, Pink.”

“Tell me this as quickly as you can, what do you know about ‘Red-Mane’?” she asked. There was an unfamiliar tone in her voice. Was it panic? Rainbow wondered. Either way she worked faster to assist, bringing up the file on her desktop.

“Code: Red-Mane is a serial murderer lurking around Equestria and Canterlot. He is thought to have been killing up to twelve ponies a month, ya-da, ya-da, but is somehow untraceable. He’s good, I’ll admit, but we’ll get him.” She could hear notes being scribbled down. “Is there a reason you asked?”

“Well you know me.”

“I know you have killed ponies before, but I also know you stopped so, why do you want to know?” she spoke in a decisive tone, Pinkie clearly had something on her mind.

“Who is leading the investigation?”

“Answer my question!” Rainbow shouted into the receiver.

“Sugarcube Corner, twenty minutes. Bring everything you have on Red-Mane.”

The line went dead.

Rainbow swore quietly to herself. She’s so random, she thought.

* * *

Twilight sat in the corner of the room. The ill-lit lobby highlighted her face. She cradled her body and looked quickly around the room.

Pinkie walked in slowly with a tray in hoof, on which was a plate of cookies and a pot of Twilight's favoured tea. She set the tray down on the table with a sigh and rolled her eyes.

“I killed somepony, Pinkie,” her voice broke toward the end. Pinkie took a seat next to her.

“Yes, Twilight. I know. I saw the mess you made, you did a good job,” replied Pinkie with little enthusiasm.

“I’m a criminal.” She was breathing heavily now.

“So am I, Twi. Just calm-”

“What if they find us?” interrupted the purple mare, “what if they find and catch us then what?” She was practically shouting at her.

“I don’t know, Twilight. I’m normally very careful with my kills.” A dull tone rang in her voice. She began tapping her hoof on the table and glancing up at the clock. Rainbow should have been here by now. She fazed out of whatever Twilight was saying. For a usually rational-thinking mare, she could do very little for herself under pressure.

Many crazy scenarios produced by Twilight later, Pinkie had begun to lose her patience.

“What if they hire the princesses? What if they bring back discord to-”

Pinkie dove in toward Twilight and planted a firm kiss on her lips. This might be the only way to shut her up, she thought. Twilight flushed again but she was more alert than last time. She put up a brief struggle but surrendered herself soon after. She closed her eyes and angled her head.

Pinkie moved her hoof through Twilight’s mane and stroked down her back. Twilight shivered at the sensation of her cold hoof. Twilight broke the kiss and angled herself better, then dove in again. They shared this passionate embrace for a few more moments before Pinkie broke off.

They both sat in their seats still holding each other, panting heavily on the other.

“I would never have guessed you guys swung that way,” came a voice from across the room. They both glanced over to see the cyan mare leaning casually upon the counter. “Pinkie I would have expected, what with the partying and all, but you Twilight? Never woulda put you down for something like that.”

Twilights eyes widened, “We were ju-”

“It’s about time you got here,” Pinkie spoke between breaths. Rainbow sat down at the table.

“With that out of the way, what did you wanna see me about? I have the documents as you wanted,” said the pegasus. She could barely contain a smile after this discovery. “Just so you know, your secrets safe with me.” She winked in their direction.

“Well you have a few more secrets to contain then.” The pink mare held up a blood soaked cloth.

Rainbow rolled her eyes, “I thought you said you weren’t going to do this again,” she scoffed. “And with Red-Mane about you might be accused.” Pinkie fixed her with a stare. Rainbow looked back and forth between the two of them, noticing the blood on Twilight's hooves also. “Are you-”

“Yes.”

“And did you-”

“Yes.”

“And have you been-”

“Yes.”

Rainbow fell back into her seat and took a deep breath. Pinkie reached over and began looking through the documents. They had presumed red mane to be a male, aged 20-25, lived somewhere in Everfree Forest. Pinkie smiled, they didn’t know a thing about her.

“We are favoured for now,” said Pinkie quickly, “Who is the detective of the case, it is a detective I presume?”

“Detective Clock,” said Rainbow slowly.

Pinkie stared at the portfolio and shut her eyes sighing deeply. “We have work to do.”

* * *

Music played gently in the background of it all. Various groups were dotted around the bar. All indifferent but respecting each other’s requirements. Some drank heartily with occasional guffawing, but it was minimal. Others were in smaller, quiet group chatting idly amongst themselves. However, he was alone that night.

He took a small sip from the glass and continued his study around the bar. He was off duty, but he was the type of stallion who brought his work home with him. Much to the disapproval of those closest to him, he never in fact left his work. When not at the station, he would be eavesdropping at a bar or be devising notes at his home. To him work was a lifestyle, not a job.

He grumbled quietly to himself; another fruitless night at the bar once again. He tossed back his drink and got up to leave, slinging his coat over his shoulder in the process.

“Thanks, Cue,” he said quietly to the barman as he left. The broad stallion nodded in response.

He left the bar and was immediately met with the crisp night air. A fresh breeze had stirred up during his time in the bar, and a pleasant chill crept through the night. Luna’s moon was high; its silver light fell upon the quaint buildings at Ponyville’s external west.

He walked slowly down a lonesome pathway taking him further out of Ponyville, and toward his house to the west. The case was taking him nowhere quickly, not to mention the hours he had put into it. For somepony to get away with this much, especially for this long, would require great skill. The only two bodies they had found were that of two pegasi, and they were the first two they’d found at all, on top of the disappearances.

He shook his head slowly. We need a new approach to this, he thought sullenly. His home was coming into view now. It was a small flat, single bedroomed and fit for somepony with low demands from their home- it fitted him nicely.

Unlocking the door, he entered his home. It was just as cold inside as it was out, perhaps more so. He carried himself through the kitchen and straight through to the study.

A long desk stretched out on one side of the room. A few papers and odd-looking blocks lay on the desk, a photo rested upon the corner of a nearby coffee table.

He dropped his coat lazily by the side of his desk and sat down. He put his head in his hoofs and stared down at the paper on his desk. An unfinished report to Cantelot about the elusive ‘Red mane’ stared back. He closed his eyes and sighed, other than the discovery of bodies, nothing was new but useful was new at least.

Bodies are one thing, but for all we know there are dozens more. The two they had found were almost expertly dealt with, no trace of the killer, no trace of where they were killed; all they knew was that they were killed within minutes of each other and that one was a criminal. He opened his eyes again, they had learnt nothing.

* * *

Rainbow sat in her office. A box of all her thing sat in the corner. This was the last day in her office until the temporary move to another office. But for the moment she was waiting for the perpetual event which occurred at every point at the end of every day, clocks ticking were a certainty, and as was his question.

She rolled the lid of a pen between her hooves and tried to look saddened by the temporary position change, but it didn’t entirely faze her. She knew some good ponies in the execution area of Canterlot. It was a small section, rarely used, but always a high priority task for maintenance. Moving out of Ponyville would happen within a few days, and the train journey over there is always debilitating.

A short knock came at the door. An abrupt smile broke across her face, but the movement of the door sent it back to a frown.

“Coming for a drink, Rainbow?” Clock asked through the door.

She looked from the table desk, a perfect false look of sadness set on her face. She looked down at the box in the corner and then nodded slowly. “Okay, I could do with a good time.”

He almost looked surprised as a look of confusion shot over his eyes and a twitch snapped sharply over his left eye. “Great, I’ll meet you out front in ten,” he said quickly, and then shut the door.

* * *

Clock stumbled out the front door of the bar. Rainbow came close behind. They were both laughing loudly, although they'd forgotten why. The whole ‘undercover-listen-in-on-conversations’ didn’t go too well. She’d gotten drunk rather early in the procedure, so Clock joined her.

“C-Can you remember Jones at the *Hic* party?” she asked with a slur. A look of lazy pleasure floated around in her eyes.

Clock racked my memory, but the alcohol deliberated his thoughts to long drawn out, seemingly irrelevant ideas. “Oh yeah,” he called back laughing.

She laughed as well although he had no idea of Jones even being at the Hearth warming party. They walked clumsily down the path toward the centre of Ponyville. She was leaning heavily on him.

She looked at him with a begotten smile and a look of drunken glee over her face. He looked at the path and then back to her.

“What?” he asked.

“Oh.” She swung her hoof and hiccupped. “Nothing.”

He gave a brief smile and carried on walking. He contemplated dropping her off at a friend’s house. He was sure she was close with Rarity. “Actually it is something,” she called out again. “Wanna head back to my place?” she asked.

He turned to look at her. She wore a look of seduction, but the appeal was altered by her drunken state. His current state also made the situation more tangible. He stared at her for another moment; she almost seemed to squirm under his glare. “Sure.”

Her house was a little bit out of town; a bakery to his surprise. He hadn't expected somepony of her physique to live in a place full of temptations, especially with her being a pegasus and all. She opened the door slowly, her hoof missed the handle and the key seemed unfamiliar in her grasp. Perhaps he was just overthinking it; he just needed to turn off once in a while. They entered the room noisily, stumbling over the step. Clock looked around with a strange awe at the darkened room.His eyes slowly adjusted, shadows of the corners slowly crept into ways in my peripheral vision, a counter and table became visible. She shut the door behind me. HeI thought he saw some other movement in the kitchen area, but he disregarded it as my mind playing tricks.

Rainbow's laugh came from behind him. "Welcome home," she said, her voice free of any slur.

An overwhelming force struck the back of his head. His world spun, and a bright flash burst in his eyes as a numbing pain spread like fire over his head. The lights came on suddenly and his eyes burned in the intense light. Another swing struck his head, and he fell unconscious

* * *

A slow drip counted down his final moments. He was strung up against the wall, hooves tied above his head and a brace along his abdomen. She lifted the metal bar and struck it hard against his flank. He grimaced but gave no shout; he would not give in yet.

Twilight stood in the darkened corner of the room, beside her stood the Rainbow pegasus.

Pinkie swung again landing the heavy bar across the joint of his leg which shattered. This time he shouted. “Greatest detective in Ponyville,” she said swinging again. He gave another grunt of pain. “Mastermind behind the Bomblock case.” She swung again. He took a sharp inhale of breath which broke into a whimper as a crimson bar came crashing down on his already mangled leg. “And finally, greatest mind in Ponyville,” she said in a tone of spite.

He looked up from his leg. His eyes bled dark shadows of the room, a deep frown embedded across his face.

“Greatest mind, compared to whom?” she asked, leaning in. She was only an inch or two from his face, “Well?”

He gave a short cough to clear his throat. “Greater than you."

Pinkie gave a wry smile. “How so?”

“For one,” he stated confidently, “I am the lead detective on a case looking for a diabolic murderer. Two, they know you are the only murderer in these parts and that I suddenly disappeared, they will put two and two together.”

“And I will still remain in the shadows.”

“True, but how could you have found out who I was?” he asked looking about the room. “You would need an insight, a spy, like Ms Dash. She never liked me, and I only just fired her, so there is a motive as well.” He gave a broad grin.

“This case goes further down the rabbit hole then you may like to believe,” she said, rolling the bar in her hoof.

“Thirdly, we are well aware of t-“

The pipe smashed across his nose, a red spray climbed up the wall beside him as his head rolled back. “Thirdly?” she asked, taking another swing. This one hit him in the corner of the jaw.

Rainbow vomited behind them, Twilight holding onto her shoulders but still savouring every moment of the violence.

Pinkie pressed the pipe against his throat, and steadily began applying pressure. His eyes widened as if screaming a harmony of his own demise. She carefully nursed the desire not to kill him, until he passed out.

She stood panting heavily. They were smarter and more informed than she had dared hope. Turning around, she planted the pipe in Twilight’s hooves and went to comfort a broken Rainbow.

“Kill him how you wish,” she said. She began whispering sweet tones into Rainbow's ear.

Chapter 4: Silver and Pink

Chapter 4: Silver and Pink

“It’s still your move,” he said slowly. He raised his eyes from the chessboard to the bloodied stallion. His face was messed-up and still swollen from the week's ordeal, but they still didn’t have what they wanted. The stallion move a knight and sat back seeming pleased with his efforts. The shorter stallion who had previously spoke shook his head. “You’ve lost again, Blitz.”

Blitz studied the board, but he still couldn’t see it and he knew what it meant. His hooves began shaking involuntarily. “Come-on, one more game,” he pleaded. “Clock, come-on, please.”

The smaller stallion moved a his bishop then raised his eyes from the board. He smiled and propped a hoof under his chin. “Call me Detective, or call me Silver. I don’t go by Clock.”

Blitz swallowed hard. “Detective, please d-”

“Did I make you lose?” asked Silver, looking away from the sweating stallion.

“No.”

“Do I owe you a favour? Am I indebted to you in any way?” he asked leaning forward.

Blitz shook his head. A door opened behind him and he tensed up.Two large stallions grabbed him and dragged him to his hooves. They quickly turned him and walked him back to the same room, like the other twenty-two times that week.

“Better luck next game, eh?” Silver shouted down the corridor. He sat back in his chair and wondered how many more rounds until they broke that stallion, both physically and mentally beating him. The stallion had been charged with harbouring a fugitive with sufficient evidence to prove it. All they needed was an admission and a location of said fugitive, neither of which he expected to come any time soon.

A short, fast knock came at the door. Silver glanced to his wristwatch then to the door. “Come in!” The door opened just enough for a blue mare to step through.”Before you say anything please be aware that this conversation is being recorded and anything said can be used in contribution to this or any other cases and that-”

“Shut-up, Silver,” she said grinning.

He smiled and switched off the recorder. “What’d you need?” he asked, standing.

“You, in the east staff lounge, twenty minutes.” She noticed the open door at the other end of the room. “We’ll get somepony to cover for you.”

“Am I in trouble?” he asked hesitantly.

She shook her head. “It’s about your brother, Detective. But we’d need to talk somewhere a little more...confidential.”

He nodded. He hadn’t seen his brother since the last Hearth-Warming Eve, at least eight months back. They never really got along well. From youth to adulthood, always competing. It was partially the reason they both got into the same profession, and although he didn’t like admitting it, also because of their father. His father was a stallion of older morales. Earth-pony through every generation. He wanted the best for his sons. Both going to good educations, but it never felt like a life he had chosen. More so, he felt like his father had given it to him.

His brother wouldn’t complain either way. He had to appeal to their father. Show he was the better son. Silver would like to say he wasn’t competitive, that he didn’t care too much about who his father chose, but he’d be lying. He cared whether he wanted too or not. A child will always to try and appease their parent.

He stood and shoved a few files from the table into his bag and slung it over his shoulder.

* * *

He pushed open the door to the staff lounge. The poster ‘Silence is considerate’ stared him in the face with small pictures of reading unicorn and sleeping pegasus.

The entire room was littered with motivational posters. ‘Try harder, and you will succeed!’ with a picture of a pegasus flying through the air with a tied parchment in their hoof. ‘Inital errors are only lessons,’ with a picture of a stallion in deep thought with a pencil pressed to his chin.

He looked across the room and saw the blue mare sitting at a table by herself. He gave a small wave which she responded with a cool nod of the head. He sat down opposite her into the overly padded chairs.

The mare cleared her throat and dropped a small file onto the desk and leaned either side of it. “We have reason to believe that your brother has gone missing, and we’re suspecting a kidnapping, but we cannot be sure yet. “

He studied her eyes for a second and then looked back down to the file. “When was he last seen?”

“A week ago. But I need to clarify that we’re not asking you to take this case. Y’know with it being family and all. We just need to inform you as being his next in kin.”

“I don’t mind taking it. He was always wandering off when he was growing up,” he said snidely.

“Yes, but as we said a potential kidnapping.” She pushed the file over toward him. He spun it around to face him.

“Red-Mane?” he asked, without looking up from the file.

“Your brother was investigating this case before his...disappearance.”

“There are some big names in here,” he said while scanning through a list of all those involved.

“It’s a big case,” she stated.

He shut the file and paused. “Why haven’t I heard about this if it’s such a big case?”

“You’ve been...occupied in your own work. It would be easy to miss something like this if your were committed as much as you are.”

He gave a well-humoured laugh.“Bullshit.”

She flinched slightly then tapped on the table. “There have been dozens missing over the past eight months,” she said hesitant. “Only a few locals, but enough.”

“So...homocide?”

“It’s probable.”

He sat back in his chair and rubbed a hoof down his face.

“As I said, you don’t need to take this case, we have-”

“When can I start?” he asked. He stood and dropped the file into his bag without looking away from her.

“Two days should be long enough,” she said.

“I’ll leave in the morning.”

* * *

“Ponyville Station, ten minutes!” shouted a conductor from the other carriage.

Silver looked up from the file on his lap to the window. The greenery outside the train slowly melded into districts of fenced-off land and became more rural. Pastures became roads. Trees became signposts. He wiped his eyes then looked back down to the file.

Another stupid government edict had prevented the contents of this file from becoming common knowledge. ‘A scare to the people,’ apparently, ‘an unnecessary disturbance.’ He couldn’t help but wonder how many other cases like this had been covered up.

We would all love to believe that it’s a perfect world, free of crime. Our race is not inclined to violence, but a bitter situation can turn anypony.

The ponies up in Canterlot look down from their embellished balconies at the pastures below.They see the fields and the towns, but they don't see the dirt, every city has them. But he can’t accuse them of anything. He would love the ignorance for himself. To wake up and think about his beautiful world, and not just the bad forgery of a perfect reality.

He flipped over another document in the file. A page was filled with names and addresses of those missing within this short period. Pictures of some, all seeming innocent enough. Besides them, a black box with the white lettering ‘Red-Mane’ stamped diagonally across it.

The killer had remained elusive for far too long. Even if it wouldn’t lead to a capture, he needed to lure them out. He looked at the bottom of the page and read the previous writer's notes, and as the train pulled into the station his mind sparked up and kindled an idea.

He stood quickly and shoved the file into his bag. A stupid smile was growing on his face as his mind began weaving a plan. There would be a cost to the plan, but the gain of a capture would be invaluable. He left the train and walked through the station into the street where he hailed a taxi.

He climbed into the elevated cart and the stocky driver turned back to face him. “Where t-?”

“Waitwaitwait,wait...” shouted a mare. She pulled the door open of the taxi and leaned in. “Are you...Detective Clock?” she asked between breaths.

“That’s my brother, I'm SIlver,” he said.

“Thank Celestia,” she said climbing in. She looked up to the driver. “Station please, Sir.” The driver nodded and began running.

“I’m sorry, but you are?” asked Silver holding out a hoof.

The mare snatched it up and shook it vigorously. “Speckled Print.” Silver nodded and removed his hoof from her grip. “Sorry, I’m your...um, assistant in this case.”

Silver looked out the window to his side. They’d thrown him in with a rookie.

“Have you made much thought into this case?” Print asked leaning forward so she was in his peripheral vision.

Silver sighed. “I have, but this isn’t the place to talk. And you haven’t shown me any ID, so to my knowledge you might even be Red-Mane.”

“Oh, ID,” she said as the isolated thought jumped back into her head. She patted her pockets and reached into her bag. “I had my ID this morning...um.” She fumbled around a bit more. “One sec’.”

Silver watched for another second before turning back to the window laughing. “Fucking, rookies,” he said to himself.

* * *

The roads out of Ponyville spread like cracked glass from the simple town centre. One road came from the north. It was a great road travelled by thousands over the years. Originally a path to the southern cities, now an interception with a simple town. It is less travelled now, but it still accommodates as the main route from the north to south.

Pinkie leaned out from the side of a tree and stared down the long, dusty path. A stallion peaked over the top of a hill, his silhouette stark against the sun.

She looked back toward Twilight and gripped her cloak.

“Remember, be forward but not overzealous,” muttered Pinkie from under her hood.

Twilight nodded and took a deep breath. She had only one chance for this to work. She stepped out from behind the tree onto the path and started walking down the track. The stallion hadn’t seemed to notice her yet. He was her mark. Her first assignment alone.

He was of medium build, slightly taller than average, but with red eyes like many of the travellers from the north. He towed a small cart filled with bags and other small wrapped parcels.

She gave a small nod and a smile as she passed . Seem initially friendly. She lit up her horn and moved the spoke of the wheel backward so it jarred the wheel. Make him start talking anyway you can.

The carriage wheel locked and spun the back-end so it collided with her leg knocking her to the ground. Create a scenario and roll with the punches, get him here however you can.

“Oh, my leg!” Twilight shouted clutching her foreleg. The stallion quickly undid his saddle and made his way over .

“Oh my, I’m so sorry,” he apologized with an unfamiliar accent.”This stupid cart has been acting up all day.”

Twilight clutched her leg and groaned again.

“Are you okay?” he asked taking a step closer.

“No, I think it’s broken,” she said wincing as she clutched it.

“D-do you want me to take me to a hospital?”

“You could just take me back to my place, my roommate is a doctor,” she said with a false stuttering of her voice.

“If you’re sure.” He picked her up and placed her carefully into the cart. “Where’d you you live?” he asked with obvious worry in his voice.

* * *

Pinkie dropped the blood-soaked towel into the tub of water. Twilight stood behind her clutching a crimson knife.

“You did this one all on your own, too,” Pinkie said smiling. She swirled the towel around in the tub turning the water into a deep pool of red ichor.

Twilight smiled. “When can we get another?” she asked, rolling the blade in her hoof. It was beginning to feel more comfortable in her grip, like a extension of herself.

Pinkie shook her head. “Couple of months, maybe?” This had been the second killing this month, and after the only recent killing of a leading detective. She was expecting another to be en route, and the police who still existed would probably be very cautious.

Twilight nodded and gripped the knife tighter.

“You’re both dead,” said a weak voice from behind them.

Pinkie snatched up a smaller blade from the table and stepped toward him. “I hardly think so.” she said slowly. She stroked the blunt-end of the knife under his chin. He shivered as the cold steel ran over his exposed neck.

He choked and gave a small grin. “This is what he planned.” The stallion coughed and spat blood.

“What does he mean?” Twilight asked, taking a step toward him.

“They...” she gave a small gesture of the knife toward him, “they sometimes do this. Making random threats of second or third parties coming to avenge them.” She laughed. “You ignore them eventually.” She turned to walk away.

“You’re a fool Red-Mane,” said the stallion.

Pinkie stopped at her second feared name spoken to her. It felt good. It felt empowering. She had a presence. A name to carry in legends. She turned back to him slowly. “How am I a fool?”

“You’re late. Going to loudspeaker in ten!” came a voice from one of the stallion's many bags.

Pinkie winced and ran to the bags. “Kill him!” she shouted.

Twilight gripped the knife and ran toward him. The stallion looked at her then to the bag. “Detective, they live at-” Twilight plunged the knife into his neck. He spluttered and began drowning as his blood entered his lungs. He shook for a moment and then fell limp.

Pinkie opened two bags and threw them to the side. She opened a smaller red bag a saw a green flashing light. She reached in and pulled out a walkie-talkie. The wire was bound at the end with tape.

The room fell silent apart from the occasional echo of dripping blood landing in a pool by Twilight`s hooves.

Pinkie brought the receiver to her lips and stared at Twilight, who still held the knife into the stallion’s neck.

"Hello?” “Hello, Red-mane.”A stallion laughed on the other end. “I never thought this would actually work, truly I didn’t. We could have spent weeks handing out these things to every passer-by. But just one the first night!” He laughed again.

“We haven’t met.”

“My apologies, Red-Mane. I’m Clock.”

“You’re the new detective.”

“Indeed I am. “

“In relation to the stallion I bled out last week.”

“Two for two. How's my companion doing over there? He was a nice fellow, quite chatty.”

Pinkie sighed. “Dead."

"Shame, really. He was one of the more cooperative ones."

"You don’t seem all that concerned that I murdered your kin.”

“He was always a wild one anyway.” Clock smacked his lips. “You probably wouldn’t have liked him. But we’re not here to talk about him, are we? I want to know about you.” Clock laughed. “I mean how does one go about murdering–what is it?–eighteen ponies in eight month, and still not get caught?”

“I have my methods.”

“I’m sure you do. But we’ll have plenty of time to talk about those when we’re face to face.”

“It might be difficult, though.”

“Why’s that, Red-mane?”

“I heard it was difficult speaking when there's a knife in your chest.”

“So I could imagine. Oh and who’s your little friend?”

“I work alone.”

“Aw, isn’t that sweet, trying to cover for your little pal. I’ll tell you what, and you’ll like this, I’m going to find you, Red-Mane, and your little friend. And then I’m going to watch you get hanged for your crimes.

“Is that a promise?”

“You have my word.”

Pinkie laughed. “I look forward to it.”

He laughed. “Until then.”

The line went dead. Pinkie slowly removed the walkie-talkie from her ear and smiled. Twilight watched her intently as she moved to place down the walkie-talkie on the bench.

“What happens now?” Twilight asked, still gripping the knife.

Pinkie walked over to the dead stallion. “Now,” she said stroking his cheek, “now, we wait.” She swallowed hard. “We wait for him to make the first move, we learn our enemy.”

She began laughing and turned to Twilight.

She bore a look Twilight had only seen once. A look of blinding mallace stirred into her darkened psyche. Eyes wide and staring, lips stretched in toothy grin. All mixed in a unassuming body with a rosy laugh. “And once we know our enemy.” She continued laughing. “We will kill him.”

Chapter 6: Pretty in Red

Chapter 6: Pretty in Red

Would you ever risk your life to save another’s? Would you ever run into a police station bent on killing all of them until you found the one you wanted?

For Pinkie, that would have been a no. She was cold and calculating. A plan was always needed even on the simplest jobs. The plan is one of the few reasons she hadn't been caught –that and luck. But her partner was dead. Her love was dead. Her longing to survive was dead, at least it would be. There was just one last amendment.

* * *

She must have looked crazy when she walked through town – crazier than usual Pinkie Pie that is. Armed to the teeth, as it were. She had knives strapped to both her forelegs and an assortment of home-made explosives in a bag over her shoulder. And, of course, true to the legacy she wanted to leave, a red mane. She wore an unforgiving mask as well, to hide her identity for the most part. However she knew today would be an important one. She would die and be discovered or be captured. Before either eventuality, she wanted a body count.

The station came into view. The building where Twilight’s body was surely held. Clock would be in there, too.

She ran up the stairs picking up speed as she did so. Her body flew through the double doors into an office area. There were a handful of ponies sitting behind their desks, all oblivious to what was about to transcend. A few ponies had turned their attention to her. Their eyes widened as they took in her appearance – as they realised what she was about to do. She drew a knife and threw a home-made bomb into the centre of the room.

In a mere moment, carnage ensued. She reached the second floor and was faced with two equipped police officers. Her coat was now red like her mane. An officer ran at her, baton raised in the air. She parried the blow and stuck the knife through his throat. His body became limp as he bled out. She didn’t take her eyes off the other officer. She was smiling.

She dropped the corpse and strolled forward. The officer trembled and turned, running to the other room.

“Clock!” shouted the stallion. His voice was broken where he was unmistakably crying.

Upon hearing his name, as though snapping out of a trance, Pinkie ran faster. She rounded the corner into a large room.

Clock sat in the middle of the room. Even from this distance, Pinkie could see the sweat running down his face.

* * *

Three minutes earlier

“How do you not have any firearms?” shouted Clock.

The policeman flinched and adjusted the brow of his hat. “We haven’t had any since the riots eight years ago. Ponyville has been quiet ever since." He paused for a moment as he mentally searched the station. "We have batons,” he offered.

Clock laughed. “A baton is no good. If she can kill an armed officer and so many others do you really think a baton will keep her at a distance,” he said.

The policeman frowned. “Our officers are trained to the highest levels and I have been enough scuffles to-“

“Then be my guest!” Clock said throwing his forelegs open. “She’s only a serial killer after all. I’m sure your officers can have a crack at it. I’ll let your officers stand between me and her then.”

“We have some basic utility armour left from the riots. The other officers will bring equipment when they return.”

Clock narrowed his eyes. “Return?”

“The Royal Guards Parade in Canterlot. Some of our officers are representing us there,” he said absently smiling. His smile quickly faded.

“How many officers do we have capable of defending the station if she were to come?” Clock asked.

“Six,” stated the policeman. He paused. “Actually five, Rainbow Dash has been suspended and sent to Canterlot. So five…including us.”

Clock wiped a hoof over his face in exasperation and groaned. He sighed. “Over the next few weeks I we cannot guarantee the safety of your staff,” he stated. “Your officers are required to stay while we try and track her down before she gets here, but if she comes in the mean time we cannot let others come to harm. She is only after us.”

The policeman nodded. “They will be gone by tomorrow. They will only need-“

He was interrupted by an explosion from the ground floor which shook the building. The sound of shattering glass could be heard before the screaming began.

“Equip two of your officers and sent them down. The rest, on me. Move it!” shouted Clock. He rounded the corner into a large open room, the rest of the staff behind him. He opened his saddlebag and chucked a set of keys to Print. “Get the prisoner upstairs as quickly as you can, use the door at the far wall. When you get back threaten the prisoner. It may be the only thing we can do.” Print nodded and ran across the room.

“What about us?” asked a young stallion brandishing a baton.

Clock looked at the stallion but only saw a young colt, too young to be in this profession, or at least in this situation. When was the right age to face a killer, anyway?

“Stand behind the doors. When she enters shut them and we’ll stall her all we can until Print comes back.”

The stallion nodded. He and his partner positioned on either side of the doors. Clock smiled. It was all speeding up so quickly. The collision was coming. He picked up a chair and dragged it to the centre of the room in line of the doorway. As he sat, he heard his name shouted from one of the officers who had accompanied the commissioner. His voice was terrified. The stallion rounded the corner; tears were streaming down his cheeks. He ran behind Clock. A shadow fell into the doorway as the killer neared. Clock took a deep breath. The collision was near.

* * *

She entered the room, her eyes fixed on Clock. She could feel adrenaline pumping through her, making her hooves shake, her heart race, and her blood become ice in her veins. This was living.

The doors slammed shut beside her and two policemen ran to Clock’s side. He stood as they turned to face her. The other stallion was at the back of the room. He was crying and trying to push the door down. “So what happens now, Red-Mane?” asked Clock. To his credit, his voice didn’t portrait the fear his body clearly did. “You gonna kill me? Kill all of us?” Pinkie’s voice was low, calm. “I only want you. If others step in the way, then so be it.” “You’re not killing him,” said a young stallion by his side. “He’s done so much for us and we…y-you need to stop.” He took a step forward. Pinkie matched that step. They stood silently for a moment. Each party was trying to stare the other away–trying to break them down. “Fuck this,” said the other stallion. He ran at her holding the baton in his teeth. Pinkie dodged one swipe but the other connected with her ribs. Pain flared across her side as another blow landed across her back. She fell, still clutching the knife. The stallion reared up on his hind legs ready to drop onto her. She quickly rolled to the side leaving a gash in his underbelly as she did so. He groaned dropping the baton to clatter against the floor. As quickly as she had stood, Clock charged at her. He drove her backward but lost momentum quickly. He jumped back as Pinkie swung out with the knife. A line of blood erupted from his throat. It wasn’t deep, but it was enough to kill him unless he got treatment. She would ensure he wouldn’t get treatment. Clock held a scrap of his uniform to his throat. It soaked his blood up quickly turning the blue shirt crimson. The younger stallion charged at her. His head down. His strength shocked her as she was lifted off the ground and rammed into the wall. She felt a rib crack as her back impacted the wall. She raised the knife and stabbed it into his back. He moaned but didn’t stop. He backed up and slammed her back into the wall. There was a sharp, tight pain in her chest as the rib punctured her lung. It ached to draw breath. She lifted the knife again and stabbed him again and again. He back up, seemingly oblivious to the blood oozing through his uniform. He charged one last time as she stabbed him in the neck. She hit the wall. It wasn’t too much of an impact, but the pain in her side was like a hot coal burning in every breath. She grabbed the stallion by his mane and turned to Clock. The knife was pressed into the stallion’s throat. Clock opened his mouth but no words came out. He was shaking his head. Pinkie dropped the stallion. His wounds would kill him. There was no need for excessive force. She hobbled over toward him. Her side entire body ached and each breath was agony. She sat in front of him holding the knife. She sighed and stared at him. His bleeding had slowed, but his uniform was almost entirely bloodied. A hoof was still pressing the saturated rag to his throat. “This is what we wanted, isn’t it?” she said in a low voice. She took off the mask. Clock didn’t seem surprised, or if he was he didn’t show it. “This,” she said with a gesture to the body, the stallion groaning in a pool of blood, and to the crying stallion, “this is what you fought for.” She gripped the knife tighter. “I fought for her.” She stood as she blinked back tears. “I’m going to kill you,” she said plainly. As she stepped forward, the door at the end of the room swung open. “Red-Mane, run!” shouted a mare. Pinkie’s ears perked up as she heard that voice. She spun her head to face her. The adrenaline–the ice in her blood–was replaced by warmth, relief. Twilight struggled against Print. She was still hoof-cuffed, but she fought her bindings. Clock moved out the corner of her eye, but her mind was focused as anger built to save Twilight. Her anger was short lived. She turned back to Clock as he swung his torch against her jaw. Twilight screamed her name as the world faded into blackness. She hit the ground but there was no pain, just an echo. It was Clock’s voice. “Gotcha.” * * *

Pinkie awoke with a bump to a dull throbbing in her head. She rolled over onto her back and brought a hoof up to her face. The wooden binding hit her in the eye making her wince. She was in a cell judging by the bars, and on a train judging by the rhythmic clatter from outside.

She groaned and stood shakily. Her chest was bound with a clean bandage and the pain was all but gone. It was replaced by a dull throbbing in her head and a curious nausea which crept through her in every breath.

“Pinkie?” said a familiar voice from through the wall. A lilac hoof came around the corner and waved. That made Pinkie smile.

“Are you okay, Twi?” Pinkie asked leaning as close to the bars as she could. She couldn’t see her, but knowing she was near and alive was good enough.

“I’m sorry.”

Pinkie winced at that. “It’s okay. We’re together now.” She could hear gentle sobbing from the other cell. She wanted to run forward and embrace her so much. She pressed her face harder against the bars and wished they would break.

“What’s going to happen to us?” said Twilight. Her voice was weak. Pinkie let out a wavering breath. Her tears ran down her cheeks and chilled the bars. She knew what would happen, so did Twilight.

“It’s okay.” Pinkie said slowly as she blinked back her tears. “We’re together now.”

Chapter 7: Guilt and Royalty

Chapter 7: Guilt and Royalty

The doors of the courtroom opened with a flurry. The criminals were quickly rushed out of the room by several guards. A stallion ran out after them but was tackled to the ground by another of the guards. The stallion was shouting profanity about how they were sick monsters who should be brutalized before their deaths. He claimed the noose was too kind of a way to go for the monsters that had killed his father. Many agreed with him.

A sombre mood followed the prisoners as expected with the news of their execution. It lingered in the air and made each breath heavy, purposeful. As though the execution was imminent and they were breathing their last. The hanging would commence in two days.

The court had come to a rather swift and unanimous decision for the execution. Upon discovery, Sugarcube Corner had been cleaned and the evidence bagged. There had been a lot of evidence, although far fewer bodies than expected. Some of those in the small town who had known Pinkie and Twilight, of which there were many, refused to believe such innocent mares could do anything less than good. Those who could believe and just wanted to forget, had set fire to the bakery burning it to the ground. Some had been accused of arson but none were charge, and they probably never would be. The criminals had left a scar in the minds of all those who lived near, and a deep impression on Equestria as a whole. News quickly spread of the murderers. The rumours of Red-Mane were confirmed and the travellers thanked luck that they did not contribute to the body count.

Clock saw this all through a tinted lens. He saw the nation collaborate in hatred toward the criminals. The spotlight fallen on the police force, including himself, but not those who had died. To those who had died defending him, to the innocent travellers at the wrong place at the wrong time, to his brother. They had been swept into history as casualties to a monster yet time would go on, and faces would be forgotten. Red-Mane would go down as a legend in history as serial killer in a tier beyond that of any seen before. Yet, his brother remained forgotten. Only those who had known him would remember him. He was just another number in a body count.

Clock stood from his seat and began walking out of the courtroom his eyes were fixed on the ground. The justice felt bitter and sat like lead in his stomach. His brother had been given justice but he had not been avenged. Vengeance spoils the mind and the soul. It corrupts and warps an individual into a monster.

A mare stood in front of him blocking the door. He looked up to face her. Print smiled back. “We got them, didn’t we?” she said grinning.

Clock forced a smile. “We did,” he said. He walked around her and she followed by his side. “I suppose you’ll be looking for a promotion now. Seeing that you helped catch two of the biggest killers Equestria has ever known.” The turned a corner into a smaller corridor lined with small offices.

Her voice was light and smooth. “You’d think that, but I’m thinking of taking some time out. Go to Manehatten maybe. I’ve been offered a place in Ponyville but…” she paused. Clock reached for the door handle and pushed open the door.

“What is it?” he asked. “You won’t get much trouble in Ponyville.” He regretted saying that. “You shouldn’t get much trouble.” He walked into his office.

A smile touched her lips but she shook her head. “It’s not that. I just don’t want to live the rest of my career investigating usually minor crimes in a usually minor town. I want to face Red-Manes and stop them.” She stomped a hoof in assertion.

Clock laughed as he sat hoping that she wouldn’t take offense. “There won’t be anything like Red-Mane in a while. Best you’ll get is a homicide for most of the year. Cases like that don’t normally crop up. So why Manehatten?”

“Big city,” she said plainly. Clock raised an eyebrow as he pulled a file from the top drawer. “Gangs, drugs, homicides.” She chuckled. “Practically a gold mine.” There was a pregnant pause as Clock looked through the file. “So,” she sang as she glanced around the room. “This is Detective Clock’s office?”

He pulled a paper out from the file and began reading. “One of them,” he said without looking up. “This is my office this sector. I have another in the main station.” He stuffed the paper into an envelope and handed it over the desk toward her. “Could you give this to the warden?”

“What is it?” she asked as she took the paper.

He smiled. “A favour.”

* * *The next day

From out of the cell window, Pinkie could see it was raining. The raindrops fell into puddles which had formed in the courtyard. She was in one of the oldest parts of the castle itself. It was the wing used to hold prisoners before their sentence.

She had never been familiar with death, despite how often she had dealt with it. She found herself drowning in fear of the unknown, of the beyond which would be waiting for her. Would she pay for her crimes in this life? That was the question she feared to answer the most.

Twilight was on the other side of that wall, in a separate cell but on the same path. Pinkie took solace in that. She could face death with Twilight by her side, although it was the solitude beyond that truly scared her.

A guard unlocked the door with a grinding of key on metal which made Pinkie jump. He was accompanied by another guard who gripped a baton by his side. “Clock wants to speak to you,” he said. Pinkie stood slowly.

“What more is there to be said?” she asked solemnly. The guard nearly looked sympathetic.

“Not for me to say.” He locked the door behind her as the other guard guided her down the dimly lit corridor.

* * *

Clock strode purposefully down the corridor. A courier had left him a note on his desk informing him that the warden would comply with his request of an audience with the prisoner. He had no official reason to be doing this of course. This was why he had to call the warden upon a favour. A favour which he had earned by forgetting about the warden’s assault on a prisoner after a heated dispute over an alleged murder of his kin. The prisoner was found guilty and hanged by all account, but that did not justify the situation.

A guard stood outside of the interrogation room and gave a polite but respective nod as he opened the door. Clock nodded back and entered the room. There were smaller rooms on each side of the hallway. One of the doors was open.

Clock glanced in and entered once he recognised the warden. He looked older than he had remembered but still looked like an abrasive arsehole. Clock smiled knowing the warden hated that.

“We ready to go?” Clock said as he pulled off his jacket. The warden gave a huff of approval and gave a quick tilt of his head toward the other door. Clock opened the door and the warden followed him in. The room was dark and a camera was pointing through the glass at Red-Mane. She looked weathered, tired, but still unpredictable. Even in manacles and under the watch of a guard, she could not be underestimated. Clock exhaled loudly and entered the room.

A guard mare stood in the corner. She had one hoof on the wall as she leaned casually away from them. Clock sat down at the small table opposite to Red-Mane. Her expression remained unchanged from his entrance.

He had wanted to be here so badly. To tell her about how sick she is—how the world will be better from her death. He wanted to beat her until she bleed forgiveness. He leaned forward his eyes meeting hers in a cold stare.

“We got you,” he taunted, his voice as smooth as silk. “We tracked you down and lured you out and at the cost of many valiant officers…we got you. We finally fucking got you.” He laughed. “And we got your fucking little partner-“

“Shut up!” Pinkie shouted slamming her hooves on the table. The guard-mare in the corner braced and stop leaning. Clock held up a hoof toward her. She visibly relaxed. “You’ve got me. So why are you here? Nothing more to interrogate, you’ve got a basement full of evidence.” Clock scowled. “Do you want to know how your brother died? Is that it?” Pinkie laughs. “I fucking bled him dry.”

Clock frowned as he fought the urge to hit her. It was a losing battle. He closed his eyes and took a long breath. He spoke coolly and slowly. “Where’s his body? Where are the bodies?”

Pinkie grinned and leaned forward. “Putrefied. And washed into the gutter like the filth he was -“

Clock snapped and lashed out wildly and landed a solid punch on her cheek. Pinkie fell back off her chair onto the ground and began laughing.

Guards rushed in and restrain him. He grunted with the effort to fight his way toward her.

“He said your name as he died, Clock!” Pinkie taunted. “He fucking screamed as he bled.”

Clock struggled back into the room as the guards pushed and pulled him out of the room. “I’ll kill you!”

He could hear her laughter as he was pushed into the next room. Her voice rang through as the door shut “We’re the same you and I. We hate the world. You’ll see.”

Clock shouted back but the door was already shut.

The warden rubbed his face as he stared at Clock. “That’s enough, gents,” he said .The other guards left the room. The warden shut the door and looked at him with pain in his eyes. “I knew you were gonna snap, but you had to do that didn’t you? Poke at the nest.”

“I had to know if there were bodies.”

The warden laughed loudly and to a single syllable. “You can tell yourself that, but I’ll tell you that you owe me a favour.” The warden smirked as a recording of the interrogation disappeared into his satchel.

“Given the circumstances,” Clock said slowly. “You may be in more bother for agreeing for a one-on-one interrogation with the murderer of my brother.”

The warden shrugged and glanced out of the doorway. “Maybe, but I’m betting you’re not gonna rattle on me. Anyway, we have company.” Clock looked to the door as a royal guard pushed the door open.

The stallion scanned the room in a smooth motion before landing his gaze on Clock. He strode forward ignoring the warden completely. “Detective Silver Clock,” he said authoritatively. Clock nodded. “Princess Celestia has requested an private audience with you. I suggest you come immediately. The princess does not like to be kept waiting.”

Clock had met Princess Celestia before. She had welcomed him to the Grand Galloping Gala several months ago. Clock turned and smirked at the warden. “Could you excuse me?” he said as he followed the stallion out of the room.

* * *

They walked deeper into the royal castle pausing at occasional checkpoints with other royal guards. The hallways were long and very well decorated. Long purple rugs stretched from end to end with tapestries hanging beside each of the beautiful stained glass windows. The windows portrayed the elements of harmony, Pinkie Pie and Twilight Sparkle included, fighting off the greatest foes of Equestria.

Clock found himself comparing Red-Mane to them. Both great evils in their own right, but Red-Mane was different. Red-Mane had been a former element, and she had betrayed Equestria in her actions, Twilight, too. Yet, she was worse than they were. They were evil and had acted with force to take Equestria and harm its inhabitants. Red-Mane was a knife in back, unexpected and, for the most part, undetectable. She slowly bled Equestria of its inhabitants and its heroes while she remained in the shadows. It is true that fewer have fallen by her blade than that of the other great villains, but she was different. He wasn’t quite sure how, but her actions sickened him more, and the deaths by her hooves felt crueller.

It had been no coincidence that he was thinking of Red-Mane as an element. He had been in the Royal Castle before; maybe the princess had forgotten that. Celestia was likely situated in her tower, which was more easily accessed through the courtyard or through the royal gardens. She had told the guard to take him this way, to purposefully pass him through the checkpoints to show him her power and influence. To pass him through these hallways to show him the elements were great and just. This is what the meeting would be about.

They guard turned a corner to the base of a large gem-embedded staircase which gently spiralled upward. He turned to Clock at the bottom of the stairs and nodded.

“I cannot go any further. This walk is for you to take,” he said. He nodded again. “I hope you can help our princess.”

Clock nodded to him and began to ascend the stairs. Between each flight of stairs was a small, ornate room. In that room was a clear window. At this height, you could see far into the distance with remarkable resolution. No doubt the window’s viewing had been enhanced by magic. At each level, more of the kingdom was revealed and the extent of the princess’ rein became apparent. If they had wanted, they could have forced him into doing whatever they wished. For now at least, they were being civil. Clock made a mental note not to overstep their apparent kindness. It was clear that the princess’ valued the lives of the elements over his, so if a deal needed to be struck then his negotiation may well include his life, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want the best deal possible.

He arrived at the final room with a plain wooden door at the other end. This room did not have a window. Instead, there was a large framed picture of all of the elements surrounding the princess’. This picture was after the changeling attack on Canterlot. They were all wearing their best attire for the wedding.

Clock swallowed hard and strode up to the door. He knocked on the door out of politeness. He was certain that the princess knew he was here. There was a brief pause, likely also out of politeness, before a soothing voice called out through the door as he heard a latch slide.

“Come in, Clock,” she said.

He took a deep breath and pushed the door open. The room was simple, seemingly bare in comparison to the rest of the castle. Celestia was sitting on a small chair opposite another with a wooden table between them. She smiled to him and gestured to the other chair. He smiled back and sat down. The chair was very uncomfortable.

She furtively glanced behind him then met his eyes. “Tea?” she said. She sounded very calm and in control, as though this was going to be nothing more than an idle chat about the weather.

Clock shook his head. “No thank you, Princess.” In an instant, her mood changed. Her sweet look faded to one of contempt and her eyes began to bore into him. His uncomfortable chair felt cosy in comparison to that glare.

“Do you know why you are here, detective?” she said. Her voice was cold and unforgiving.

Clock smiled and leaned forward as he soaked in the tension making himself comfortable. “I do. And I don’t care for how you've arranged it.” He scowled. “If you wish for a deal to be struck then you do not understand the stallion I am.”

She gave a wry smile. “A vengeful one, I know. A caring one. A smart one, certainly.” She paused as though contemplating something. “But you’re not a fighter Clock. You don’t stand at the top, you don’t make waves. You do as you’re told, and you respect the power.”

He laughed. “So you’ve read my report.”

“Not all of your business is in the report, Clock. As I’m sure you’re aware. You do a job the way you like to, and you have been known to cross the line. I know that, the department knows that, but we forgive you because you can get the job done. The stuff you’ve swept under the rug has a habit of creeping out. We know more than you may think. We let you get away with an assault less than an hour ago.”

Clock tried his best to not look phased—to not care as all of his mistakes were brought into the light. He swallowed hard. “What do you want?”

The princess smirked. “As you may already know, Twilight Sparkle is a student of mine. She shows incredible potential in the field of magic and will likely pave the way for future advancements. She understands ponies in more depth than I ever could. In that sense, she is more powerful than I.” Celestia paused as though the next words were difficult to form. “Like any of us, she has made a mistake. And unlike you, I will practise forgiveness for the sake of Equestria.”

Clock was silent for a moment. “So you want her off the hook? To be forgiven for the murders she has committed? What about Red… Pinkie Pie?

“Pinkie Pie is a powerful element. Her roles in Equestria’s defence are admirable.” She shook her head. “But not forgivable. As I’m sure you are away, Pinkie Pie has been doing this for longer than Twilight, and is likely to have been the one to have lead my Twilight astray. New evidence has been discovered that your party has…overlooked. Twilight was innocent and has committed no crimes against Equestria. She was a captive of Pinkie Pie and is not at fault for any of the deaths.”

“And you need me to vouch for this evidence and commit myself to Twilight’s innocence.”

Celestia nodded gravely. “We have no other choice. To save my pupil from herself, we must.” She paused for a moment. “It’s for Equestria,” she added, although it sounded mostly for her own benefit.

“Even if Twilight goes along with it, even if the court finds her not guilty. Twilight will live with knowing that she killed all of those ponies and she abandoned Pinkie,” said Clock. “She won’t be the same pony.”

Celestia sighed. “After she is found innocent, she will have her memories wiped. We cannot do this until after her innocence. The spell needs her to agree with it.” Her eyes looked dull and glazed over. “I will wipe away the memories over the past few days or weeks. She will awaken as though none of this has happened. She will be given a second chance at life.”

“And Red-Mane will be hanged for her crimes?”

Celestia nodded. “For Equestria,” she repeated.

“So what’s my incentive?” Clock asked as he leaned backward. “Equestria is nice, but… I don’t know. I was looking for something else.”

“I expected as much,” said Celestia. “But I don’t think you’re looking for money. You want something for your brother, don’t you? He was a hero to you, and you want Equestria to see him that way.” Clock nodded. “A statue? A news story as to how he sacrificed himself to reveal Red-Mane’s identity?”

Clock nodded. “I also want to be the one to hang Red-Mane. I want to pull that lever.”

Celestia considered that for a moment. “You are a vengeful pony, and your hate will consume you,” she stated without remorse. “But if that is what it takes for my Twilight.”

“It is.”

Celestia stood. Clock looked at her and only now realised how thin she was and how her coat was a lustreless grey. “Then you may have your wish.”

Chapter 8: The Noose

Chapter 8: The Noose

She awoke with a start at the sudden banging against the door. She glanced quickly around the room trying to orientate herself. For a brief moment, she didn’t know where she was, and that moment seemed blissful as the memories and realisation flooded back.

The morning light fell through bars onto her face. This was the last morning she would ever see. Today was execution day, but not yet. Not until midday. She stood as a metal grate opened and a pair of eyes glared through making her feel very exposed. The grate slid shut again and was shortly followed by the groan of metal on metal as the door was unlocked.

The door swung open to reveal a royal guard with a prison guard standing behind him. “Twilight Sparkle, the princess has requested an urgent audience. You must come with me.”

Twilight walked forward and wiped her eyes. “What time is it?” she asked.

The prison guard glanced at the wall above her door.“Six-thir-“

“All questions will be answered when you are with the princess,” interrupted the royal guard. He fixed the other guard with a scowl. “As I said, this is an urgent audience,” he repeated.

Twilight nodded and began following the royal guard. The other guard followed behind. They walked through the tunnels below the castle. Nopony spoke as they walked, and the tunnels would have remained silent were it not for the rhythmic clopping of hooves on stone. The royal guard’s horn lit up casting occasional orbs of light which clung to the walls.

The royal guard took a turn and they climbed a shallow staircase. There was a locked wooden door at the top of the stairs. The guard knocked three times and heard one knock back before the door was pulled open. The room was surprisingly ornate considering its location.

Twilight walked inside as the door was shut behind her.

The cold of the tunnels seeped away from her and was replaced by comforting warmth. She walked forward and looked around the room. It was clearly very old with most of the décor being out of touch with the rest of the castle, but it was still warm and welcoming. Two of the walls were covered in bookcases and a large, deep-purple rug was stretched out across the floor.

At the other end of the room, a door opened and Celestia entered. The princess walked over to a chair and sat seemingly not taking notice of her. Twilight walked toward her and sat across from her. For a moment, they both sat in silence as they faced a blazing fire which illuminated the room in an orange glow. A log from the fire fell and sparks hit the flame guard.

Twilight sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Celestia looked at her, seemingly only noticing her presence now. “Thank you. And I’m glad you could meet with me.” She took a deep breath. “You have disappointed me, Twilight. You showed incredible potential in magic, far more than I ever had at your age.” She noticed that her voiced was raised and she stifled it. “Everything you’ve done with her,” she paused for a moment, “is not forgivable.”

Twilight nodded, her eyes averted. It hurt to hear her teacher speaking to her like this, but it was expected. Forgiveness was beyond her now, and her death was the only thing that would ail the minds of those affected.

“I’m sorry,” Twilight repeated. After a moment, she added, “I cannot undo what I have done.”

Celestia nodded. “Like I said, it is not forgivable.” The next words came slowly and almost dripped from her lips. “But it may be forgettable.”

Twilight looked at Celestia and frowned. The implication was outlandish. You could not rip the memories out from an entire population, no spell, or wielder had such power. “How?” she asked cautiously.

“I’m calling upon a favour from an old friend,” Celestia said cryptically. “The case concerning you shall be looked at in a new light following the new evidence uncovered. The trial will postpone the execution for you, and if all goes to plan, you will be free by tomorrow.”

“This is impossible.”

“This is your only chance—a second chance to live how you were supposed to live.” Celestia looked nearly empathetic as she spoke. “And you will not have to live with what you have done. Those memories need only be taken from your mind. The others, I can keep quiet.”

Twilight felt as though the rug had been pulled out from under her, and she just kept falling. Only it was now her choice if the noose was around her throat. She would either fall in the dirt, or hang a few feet above it.

She could be given her life back, and all this chaos could end.

“What about Pinkie?” Twilight asked.

Celestia took no pride in her words. “She will be hanged for her crimes against Equestria. As justice would have it.”

Twilight shook her head like it was the easiest decision she could ever make. That decision, in her mind, was made. “I won’t leave her.”

“Twilight, listen to yourself. You are being given a second chance at life. You will never get this chance again.”

Twilight stood, the manacles around her legs going taut. “I will to stay by her side. I will not abandon her. Either we both go free, or neither of us do.”

Celestia’s voice became soft, pleading. “Please, Twilight. Please think, just for a moment, just think.”

“I killed those ponies, Celestia,”said Twilight. The words seemed to physically harm the princess. Her expression darkened.

“This is your choice?” Celestia asked. It was a final chance at redemption. Twilight nodded. It was only then that Celestia realised that Twilight was crying, and just how young she looked. She had come so far, and Celestia had lost her student. “Very well.” Her breaths became shallow and her words seemed distant. “Your execution will continue as planned. You will hang at noon.”

* * *

Pinkie stared out of her cell window. The sun was nearly at its peak. It was nearly time. She wondered if Twilight was watching the same sun. It made it easier that way. It was almost as though they were together. Soon, everything she had done in this life would be a legacy. Anything she was proud of would be forgotten under the hooves of Red-Mane.

Still, an infamous legacy a better hoofprint on the world than none at all.

There was a heavy-hoofed knock at the door which made Pinkie wince. She had cried earlier in the morning in anticipation for this moment. Now that it had come, she felt empty. She was no more than a vessel to carry her soul to the next life. What happened to that vessel didn’t seem to matter anymore.

The small window on the cell opened and a black bag was thrown in. “Put the bag over your head.” Pinkie did as instructed. This would be all she saw before her face was revealed to the public and the noose was placed over her neck.

She heard the door open and she was grabbed by her hoof. “It’s time,” said the voice. “I’ll take it from here.”

Each step felt meaningful and slow. As it was, they were walking rather quickly and stopping regularly. The guard was probably passing through the checkpoints. They passed outside at one point, probably cutting through one of the many courtyards.

“Stay here,” said the guard as they stopped abruptly. Pinkie nodded through the bag. They were in a corridor with stone under-hoof. The air was dank and smelled like rotting vegetation.

Another voice spoke out, different to the guard escorting her. “Who are you? You’re not supposed-“ The voice was interrupted with the familiar sound of metal on bone followed by a meaty thump.

The escort guard spoke up, the voice sounding more familiar now. “Fuck.”

Pinkie tried to remove the bag but was dragged quickly away by the escort. They travelled down a flight of stairs into a room with a wooden floor. The escort was quietly swearing under her breath. Pinkie was pushed into a chair. She had been disoriented since the third turn and had no idea where she was.

There was a buzz of static and a voice called through a radio. “All call signs, the prisoner Red-Mane has escaped. She is believed to be assisted. Assume they are armed. Do not engage alone. Call for assistance if spotted. Do not engage alone.”

A different voice came through the radio. “Rainbow Dash is one of the officers on duty.”

The escort guard spoke up. “I’m on my break you asshole, but I’ll join the hunt.” The bag was lifted from Pinkie’s head a familiar unimpressed face stared at her. Pinkie smiled. Rainbow shook her head. “You’re in deep shit.”

Pinkie nodded. “Where’s Twilight? Is she out?”

Rainbow nodded as she undid the manacles. “Celestia got her off with new found evidence,” she said sarcastically. “She’ll be fine as long as she keeps her mouth shut.”

Pinkie took in the room. It was a house by the looks of it, only it hadn’t been lived in in decades. There was a pile of broken furniture in the centre of the room and a kitchen counter had been ripped from the wall.

“Old Canterlot’s housing district,” Rainbow said analysing Pinkie’s expression. “Not lived in, not occupied.” She grinned. “A few blocks of desolate houses. You’ll probably be able to camp out in these houses for a while. Y’know until you get some place better. I’m going to have to head, they’ll be looking for me.”

Pinkie nodded. “Leave the radio. I’ll pick up any chatter if they plan on searching here.” Rainbow unbuttoned the radio from her utility barding and placed it on one of the intact kitchen counters before opening a wooden door and running down the corridor.

* * *

Twilight slowly stood as a bag was placed over her head. They walked. Twilight couldn’t recall how long. When they were outside, she could hear the voices of other ponies. They shouted profanities and of how she was a monster. On some level, she found herself agreeing with them.

She stepped onto the wooden trapdoor which rocked gently. The noose was placed over her head and tightened. The bag was removed from her head.

Immediately, she saw her mother and father in the distance, at the back of the crowd. The crowd itself was filled with mixed expressions. Some angry, some sad faces, but some only looked tired.

Looking up, she saw Celestia and Luna on a balcony. They both wore an expression which was impossible to interpret. It wasn’t anger or even sadness. It was likely looking at an empty vessel. There was a shout from behind her. Twilight turned as much as she could to face the guard pony.

“Red-Mane has escaped!” he shouted. The crowd became more animated as several ponies left and others looked about them.

Twilight looked to her side. The second noose was empty. It swung gently in the breeze. Twilight smiled but it was bittersweet.

Clock stood on the other side of the podium. He was frowning with his hoof around the lever. He nodded up to Celestia. Celestia nodded back and turned to leave.

For a moment, a smile seemed to adorn his face. He pulled the lever.

Chapter 9: Internal Struggle

The crowd dispersed after the execution. The plaza felt empty. Twilight’s parents stood in front of the podium as they came to terms with their loss. Clock stood beside the body of their daughter. He absorbed their sadness and became a beacon for their hatred. It was the only kindness he could offer them now: a face to blame for their daughter’s death. Although that decision was of her own making.

The hanging was short-lived. The fall had broken her neck and she stopped convulsing forty-seconds later. Her body would hang until midnight, and then it would be disposed of.

“One down,” he said under his breath. The sun bathed him with its warmth, but it wasn’t comforting. It was a stark reminder that Red-Mane was watching the same sunset. She was still out there—still dangerous.

His ears pricked up as the sound of galloping hooves approached from behind him. The sound resonated through the hallway that the prisoner had walked through. He turned as a grey-coated guard stallion slowed to a trot in front of him.

The guard was catching his as he spoke. “We found Rainbow Dash. She was in the tunnels below the guard house,” he said.

Clock nodded and gestured for the guard to lead the way. He had expected Rainbow to have played a role in the escape. It was obvious in hindsight. Rainbow Dash was the Element of Loyalty. It was expected that would try and help them. It gave further credence that she deserved the title. It was this title which would result any charges against her being dropped. She did exactly as she should have. The princesses would only see fault in the guards for putting Rainbow in a position where she was able to help.

Friends in high places were one thing, but friends in palaces were another. Rainbow was untouchable on the legal side. Clock cast a narrow glance behind him at the suspended body of the former Element of Magic. Nearly untouchable.

They passed two mares as they walked down the hallway. One was trailing a rubbish bin behind her while the other spoke amiably. Clock listened in on their conversation as they passed.

“-and then the guards were swarming everywhere,” she said. “I’m surprised Red-Mane isn’t caught. Either the police have underestimated her again, or they’re just plain incompetent.”

Clock groused at that. Some of the public were losing faith, although it was foolish to base a public reaction on a single mare. Her reaction was honest, however, and worst of all, she had a point. They had underestimated her reach into their ranks and her ability to manipulate. Still, they had taken down the sidekick.

Clock thought back to a few days earlier and contemplated whether that was as much of a good thing as it seemed. On one hoof, one of the perpetrators against his brother had been brought to justice. On the other, Red-Mane had become very dangerous when she thought Twilight had been killed back in Ponyville. She had killed six and injured eight in that single attack on a small town. Now, she was in a dense city, and she had nothing else to lose. Her identity was known. Her partner was dead. Her legacy and body count was revealed. She was in a corner and in the spotlight, but was not, by any means, at the end of her rope or noose.

She could wait. She was cold enough to wait. To bleed the city until she got him. Part of him wanted her to do that to some extent. Some of the ponies of this city need to see the blood. They need to feel the dirt on their coats. To know they are not above this, that everypony could bleed to a monster.

But Red-Mane had to be stopped. Not for the public, but for Detective Clock, the real Detective Clock. If she escaped, any statue in memorial would be a reminder that he had failed. She had to be put down. By noose, by steel, or by bullet she needed to fall.

The guard stallion stopped abruptly pulling him out of his reverie. He oriented himself as his brooding was drained away. Rainbow Dash was being held in the detention wing while legal accusations were hopelessly thrown her way.

They walked through the door and entered the first room on the left. Clock smirked as he realised that this room had formerly been that of the warden. The warden’s oak desk had been replaced by a metal one. Rainbow sat on the opposite side of the desk facing the door as they entered. Other than the removal of filing cabinets, it was difficult to tell if anything else had truly changed. The lack of décor was identical. It even seemed a little livelier with the walls white rather than grey.

Clock walked in and the room fell silent. It felt good. It felt empowering. He had a presence. He sat down opposite Rainbow without looking at her. She also had the good sense to fall silent. He pursed his lips as though the next words were difficult, but he knew exactly what he was going to say. He looked up toward her. She was scowling. She was unbroken; there was still information to be gained. A smile broke across his lips.

“Tell me, Rainbow,” he said just loud enough to be heard. “Do you know how many ponies Red-Mane has killed?”

Rainbow’s scowl fell for a second then hardened again. “Yes, I know how many Pinkie has killed. No, I do not approve. I’m her friend, not her life coach.”

Clock nodded, feigning understanding of her logic. “Yet, even for you, to be loyal to a murderer who is disloyal to Equestria,” he paused letting those words sink in. “Does your loyalty lie with a criminal, or to the good ponies of Equestria?”

“I am loyal to both. Pinkie Pie will always be my friend. I would trust her with my life. She would also never force me to be disloyal to Equestria.”

Clock nodded again and looked down to the desk. “Fifty-eight,” he said without raising his head. “Fifty-eight ponies have fallen by her hooves. Their blood, and the blood of any more she kills, will be on your head, Rainbow.” He looked at her. She was staring vacantly at the edge of the desk. “Pinkie Pie was bad, corrupted. Your loyalty lies with the real Pinkie Pie, the Element of Laughter, and your friend.” Rainbow looked at him. Her eyes glistened as the first tears began to form. Clock leaned forward. He nearly had her. “We need to put down the monster that takes your friend’s body. Please tell me where she is.”

Rainbow was trembling as tears slowly fell down her cheeks. This decision was tearing her apart. Clock held his gaze. This might be the only chance they had to speak with her.

She squeezed her eyes shut and began sobbing. “Under the watch of Princess Celestia, I am not required to divulge any information I do not wish to.” Clock’s eyes widened. The Princess already had Rainbow under her wing. Untouchable. “My actions and yours may be held against us if the Princess sees fit,” she said before covering her head on the desk as she wept.

He resisted the urge to slam his hooves on the desk and demand the location, but he had a reputation now. The detective who had captured Red-Mane—who had held her so close to the fire, but the heat had loosened his grip and dropped his guard. Now, the public saw the statue and saw vengeance. That fire, too, burned him and he knew it would keep burning him.

Red-Mane was scorched, but she was hiding while he stood in the spotlight as a hero: a painted target. She would not lick her wounds in the dark. She would sharpen her knives. She would come for him.

Clock stood making one of the guards jump. He glanced at her. She was the guard in the room when he had attacked Red-Mane, when he had been so close. He sighed. “Take me to her belongings in the vault,” he said dourly.

The mare who had jumped nodded and unlocked the door, leading him out of the room. As they exited the room, Print spotted him and ran over.

“Watcha doing here?” Print asked, matching her trot to his.

“They found Rainbow Dash,” Clock said. Print’s face lit up expectantly. Clock shook his head as they turned a corner. “We got nothing, and I doubt we’ll get any more.”

Print nodded. “So what are you doing now?”

Clock fixed her with a look. He did not appreciate the questioning. “Taking a look at Rainbow’s things. See if there’s any trace or evidence that might help us find-“

“-like a clue?” Print interrupted.

Clock gave a hmph. “Yes, like a clue.”

The entered a room and the mare pulled out a key opening a metal door. She gestured inside. “Locker twelve has Rainbow Dash’s items Detectives.”

Clock thanked her then stepped inside. He stopped as his mind caught on a single word. “Detectives?” he asked casting glances between the guard and Print who was smirking.

“Detective Print was promoted following her work on the initial Red-Mane case,” the guard stated. Print produced a badge from her uniform and tapped it with a hoof.

Clock paused, analysing the new situation. This had to be one of the fastest promotions he had ever heard of. Not entirely undeservingly, she had saved his life, but her experience to be a detective and to lead a case was limited. “Congratulations,” he said in strained tone.

Print nodded. “Thank you, Detective.” She gestured into the room and followed him in.

Clock opened the locker and pulled out a plastic box filled with uniform and various items. He dropped it onto a table and began sorting through the evidence.

“Why’d you think I was asking you what you were doing?” Print asked laughing slightly. “Normally, ponies return the question. It’s called being polite.”

“Haha,” Clock said as he lay the uniform flat on the table. “Now help me sort through this.”

They both examined the items closely. Anything significant about them was old and unrelated. They searched each item carefully, individually over half an hour. Clock stepped back running a hoof through his mane.

Print was quiet for a moment until a smile broke across her lips. She smothered it, playing it cool.

“Well, at least we have one clue from this,” she said.

Clock turned to face her. “Which is?”

Print dramatically feigned surprise. “Surely the experienced Detective Clock—the detective who captured Red-Mane—can see such an obvious clue.” Clock frowned. "I mean, its so clear if you think about this logically."

Clock sighed. “This is because I didn’t ask you what you were doing, isn’t it?” Print nodded. “There’s nothing here which is of any significance.”

“True, but what isn’t here which every guard carries?” Her voice was painfully smug. She chuckled as Clock turned to faced her. “A radio.”

* * *

Clock ran a hoof down the page as he read through the ledger. Print sat beside him looking through another of the dozen ledgers. His hoof reached the bottom of the page. He grunted and threw it to the opposite side of the room into the pile of others. He picked up the last ledger from the unsearched pile and opened the cover

“I’m beginning to suspect Rainbow got her radio privately,” Clock said. He leaned closer to the ledger reading some smudged ink closer. “Either that, or she took somepony else’s radio.”

Print shut her ledger and threw it into the pile. “Or she could have signed in with a different name. I doubt she did any of that. I don’t think she thought that far ahead.”

Clock nodded and kept reading. Rainbow was fatally short sighted, evident of her temporary removal from Ponyville’s police force following an alleged assault on a suspect. She was quite like him in that way, he mused. He was about to turn the page when Print slammed a hoof on the book crumpling the paper.

“There,” she said. Her voice carried a sense of relief that this ordeal had not been in vain.

R. Dash 09:30

The boxes of radio and baton were ticked indicating their removal. The radio and baton ID codes were in the comments box. Clock smiled. They were one step closer.

Clock wrote down the ID code and closed the book. They picked up the rest of the ledgers and put them back in the cabinet, locking it securely.

Print held the door for him as they left. “Comms?” she asked.

“Comms,” Clock agreed. They began walking down the corridor. The radio could not be accessed by a simple hoofheld; it required a more refined system to contact the single device, to isolate the call. The communication department of Canterlot had such a machine. Although they would not likely let them use it unless a reason was declared.

They rounded a corner and were confronted by two stately unicorns. They both wore commissioner's uniforms and both significantly outranked each of them. Clock stopped abruptly and Print a step later. He threw a hoof in salute and stood to attention. Print watched him and imitated his actions giving a novice salute.

“Good day, Sirs,” said Clock.

One of the stallions nodded. “At ease, you two,” he said. He exchanged a look with the other stallion. “Detective Clock, we have some…business to discuss with you.” He glanced at Print. “I take it you are helping Clock in this case as well, Detective Print?”

“That’s correct,” she said smiling. Clock winced.

The stallion nodded. “I see. In that case, we have matters that involve you too.” He looked back to Clock. “Head office, second floor, six-thirty. I’ll have an associate waiting for you.”

Clock nodded and gave another salute as the two stallions walked away. When they were out of earshot Clock relaxed and resumed walking to communications.

“What was that about?” Print asked as she trotted to catch him.

“I don’t know. But I don’t think it’s good.” He considered telling her about his meeting with Celestia and of his deeds which had been ignored. That was the only reason commissioners would actively go looking for him.

“It could be a promotion,” Print suggested. “I’ve just gotten one. Surely you are owed one as well for leading the case. If not, you should be.”

“Thanks, but I’d rather be a detective. There’s no way I’m gonna spend a couple of decades on my ass when I’m this young. Give it ten years, and I’d consider the position.” They reached an elevator. Print hit the switch. “I doubt it was a promotion,” said Clock. “Something big is going to happen. And I think it has something to do with Red-Mane.”

There was a whirring sound in the elevator and the doors opened with a ding of a bell. They stepped inside and Print hit for the third flood – Communications Department.

“Red-Mane?” Print asked. She racked her mind for any connection. “What would Red-Mane have to do with senior staff?”

Clock shrugged. “A hunch. I doubt it is coincidence that this business needs to be discussed while Red-Mane is out there.”

The elevator doors opened and they stepped out into a lobby. The department was small holding only a few ponies. Most of them had no experience of crime outside of these rooms. They were the relay between departments and sectors.

Clock trotted up to the desk where one of the stallions was slouching by a computer. As he approached, the stallion sat upright and began typing quickly. His eyes were focused on the computer screen and did not sway to see Clock.

“Hello?” Print asked.

The stallion looked toward them and visibly relaxed. “Sorry,” he said letting out a sigh of relief. His voice was raspy. “We don’t get many visitors, and the last two were commissioners, in person.” He emphasised that last part. “I didn’t want to be seen to be slacking again.” Print nodded understandingly.

“We have a need for the ACD. We need to get in touch with a single radio,” Clock explained. “And we may need your help setting it up.”

The stallion nodded and pulled out a ledger. “All ponies using the ACD are required to state the reason and give details. I’m sure you remember the incident in Manehatten.”

“What happened in Manehatten?” Print asked. She leaned onto the desk.

“Ponies started calling each other with fake events as a joke. It started okay, but ended up with a robbery in progress call being ignored leading to a murder.” The stallion scribbled in the ledger. “Don’t ask me on the details on how a joke about robbery got ignored by several officers on patrol,” he said.

“Wow,” Print said.

“I know,” replied the stallion. “So, your business?”

“Contacting a single handheld radio unit. A possible-“

“That’ll do,” said the stallion. “And your names?”

Clock pulled out ID. “I’m Detective Clock and this is Detective Print.” He gave her a sideways smile.

“Silver Clock?” asked the stallion. He had put down his pen.

Clock studied his face trying to gauge his reaction. “Yes, that’s correct.”

The stallion stood. “One moment, Detectives.” He walked over across the room and approached a higher-ranking mare. The stallion gestured toward them. The mare gave a badly disguised glance toward them. The mare entered an office. Through the slightly tilted blinds, the mare could be seen picking up a phone.

The stallion sat down in front of them. “Sorry Detectives, but the ACD is currently in use and has been booked for the rest of the day.”

Clock scowled. “Then we shall return tomorrow, morning. May you book it for us then?”

The stallion paused and then smiled. “Of course, Detective.”

* * *

Clock leaned around the corner. A uniformed unicorn mare stood outside of the meeting room. She would likely be the associate he was sent to meet. He turned back to Print.

“If they separate us,” he said slowly, carefully. “We have no evidence pertaining to this case, we were going to use the ACD to contact the warden. We wanted to speak to him personally about his views on the case.”

Print nodded. “Gotcha, what about searching Rainbow’s belongings? They may have record of that.”

“We found nothing there. Like I said, there was nothing there of interest. If I missed it, so might they.” He gave her a smile. She smiled back. She had a beautiful smile.

He stood upright and walked around the corner, approaching the mare. She smirked as they approached. “Clock n’ Print?” she asked. Clock nodded. “In here.” She pushed open the door and held out a hoof, guiding them inside.

Clock was taken aback initially. Princess Luna was sitting at a table opposite to the door. By her sides were the two stallions. He was caught between the urge to bow and salute. The princess gave a gratuitous smile.

“They are no need for the formal pleasantries, Clock,” she said. Her voice was soothing. It was like a mother speaking to a child. Clock stood, dazed for a moment by the delicacy of her voice. She smiled. “Please, sit you two. We have matters to discuss.”

Clock nodded and sat down. Print sat beside him. The princess glanced at Print but her gaze returned quickly to Clock.

“This business, Clock,” said the stallion on the princess’ left. “It relates to your involvement with the Red-Mane case, and this new case to recapture Pinkie Pie.” They was a pregnant pause. They air in the room suddenly felt brittle. “You should never have been involved in the Red-Mane case.”

The princess held up a hoof to silence him. “We know your brother meant a lot to you. We know this case has been eating away at you. We know Red-Mane is responsible,” she said. Her eyes looked him over as though she was reading his thoughts. “You are not the one who has to bring Red-Mane to justice. You are not at fault. This is not a debt, or a,” she paused. “Or an act of reprisal.”

Clock tensed a little at that. “I started this case,” he said. “This is no act of retribution, it is my commitment to the case. I want to see Red-Mane brought justice for Equestria. Just like Twilight Sparkle was. This case is not personal any more than it is for you with Equestria being your home.”

The princess did not look convinced. Although, to her credit, she did seem to mull that over as though trying to believe it. “You struck Pinkie Pie on the day before her execution,” she said with her gaze averted. “We do not hold that against you, she antagonised you. But despite what you believe or want to believe, this case is personal to you. We cannot allow you to continue.”

Clock sat back in his chair. Red-Mane was escaping again.

“However,” said the stallion on the right. “We know you will not want to sit on the side-lines. You may review the evidence from your department, but you may not be involved in the search or have any direct contact with Red-Mane.”

“Then, you will need a new detective?” Clock asked.

The stallion nodded and glanced to Print. “If she is willing, we would allow her to take this case. If you trust her enough, Clock, she may lead it.” Clock nodded. “Of course she will not be alone, one of our trusted detectives from Canterlot will be at every evidence review, and the entire department is at her disposal. We want Red-Mane caught, but Clock.” His voice dropped and the air seemed to chill. “You will have no contact with Red-Mane. We can’t lose you to that.”

The princess spoke up, quickly. “If that is all?” said asked, glancing to the stallions at her sides. They both nodded. She turned back to them. “We request that you turn over all evidence you currently have for this case to our trusted Canterlot detective at the next meeting, we will forward you the details.” The princess stood, as did the two stallions by her side. “Good day, Clock. Good day, Detective Print.”

* * *

“They’re cutting me out,” Clock said, speaking up for the first time in the entire cab ride.

Dusk had begun to settle in Canterlot. It nestled itself down across the horizon. The light fell across Clock’s face. Print tried to decipher his tone, but all she could see was his face. He looked tired.

“You can still help with the case,” she said. “Your experience is more useful than the department they offered me.”

Clock shook his head. “She wants me,” he stated. “If she believes Twilight lives, then she has no reason to be here. She will leave and I will lose my chance.”

“We will,” Print corrected.

Clock turned to her, the sunset covered one side of his face. The other half remained dark. “She wants me,” he repeated, emphasizing each word. “She will bleed this city to get to me. If we want her, we need to act now while she is near. I need to speak to her, but I cannot communicate with her directly according to the Princess.”

The cab stopped outside of the apartment block in the lower regions of Canterlot. Despite its close proximity to the capital, this part of the city was run down. Print opened the door, but did not get out.

“Okay, Clock. I’m with you. I always will be.”

Clock smiled but it quickly faded. “We need to use the ACD.” He paused. “We need to break in.”

Chapter 10: Fire and Steel

Pinkie dashed across the road and pressed herself to against the wall of the house. She waited a moment and leaned around the corner, the cold stone wall against her back. The two guards were walking away down the path, the street lights stretching their shadows toward her. She waited until they had disappeared from sight before slipping around the back of the building.

She was in the run-down region of Canterlot. The side that many knew about, but few in the gilded districts of the city spoke about. Drug cartels ran this part of the city, parallel to the police. The two forces avoided each other as much as possible, both content to let the other live, providing it did not affect their society or their idea of peace.

It was not corruption which had brought about this peace, rather dismissal. If the police fought the crime, the crime would become armed. By arming the crime, the crime would become dangerous. The city could deal with occasional deaths by overdose, not by drug-fuelled murders and gangs fighting over territory.

Around the back of the building, a red door with the paint peeling was left ajar. A warm glow emanated out through the doorway. Pinkie pushed the door slightly further open, looking inside. An oil lantern hung from a nail in a support beam in the centre of the room. Several ponies were lying at the sides of the room in mouldy piles of hay. Many of them were dirty and wore torn garments which were wrapped around them. One of the ponies was a sea-blue mare. She lay on her back with a needle protruding out of her foreleg. The plunger was entirely down, the contents of the needle having been pumped into her veins. A foal was curled up by her side.

Pinkie took a step into the light. A gun barrel was raised to the side of her head. She froze. The light of the lantern glinted off the barrel’s tip.

“Oh,” said a gruff voice from her side. The weapon was lowered. Pinkie turned to face the voice. A dirt-brown stallion was tilting back in a wooden chair, his hindlegs crossed casually over a wooden keg. He held the shotgun in two hooves across his chest. “You ain’t one of Greenbill’s ponies are ya?” he asked in a thick accent.

“I’m not,” Pinkie responded.

“Well,” said the stallion. His hindlegs fell to the ground and he stood upright. “I’d guess you’d be looking for a place t’stay the night. Am right?” Pinkie nodded. This place seemed safe. “For two bits, you can jump in with these lot, five if you wanting something a bit cosier upstairs, and ten for a bed your highness.” He smiled, showing a gap in his teeth.

Pinkie shook her head. “I don’t have any money.” Her possessions had probably been burned in Canterlot, and her home in Ponyville would have been cleaned by the police. All she had was Rainbow Dash’s radio which had been turned off while she was sneaking through the city.

The stallion walked forward, placed a hoof over her shoulder and turned her toward the door. “I’d call that a shame, ‘specially tonight, Red-Mane’s on the loose, y’know.” Pinkie stopped abruptly, making the stallion walk into the back of her. He chuckled. “Guessing you didn’t know about that? She’ll be madder than ever, tonight,” he said. “I’m sure you heard her partner was executed this morning.”

Pinkie spun, pushing a hoof against his head so it struck the door frame. He groaned, stumbling backwards. Pinkie ran at him as he tried to pick up the shotgun. She lowered her head knocking him backward against the wooden beam. The lantern fell to the floor beside him. Pinkie picked it up and smashed it against the ground. The oil ignited setting one of the piles of hay ablaze. A few of the ponies stirred and ran outside as the fire began to spread, filling the room with smoke.

“You bitch!” shouted the stallion. He lifted a hoof but recoiled as a shard of the lantern’s glass was pressed to his throat.

“Tell me what you said,” Pinkie said slowly, dangerously.

The stallion’s breaths became heavy. “I-I what-“

“About Red-Mane.” The fire had spread to cover all of one side of the room, the heat and light bathing their sides.

“Sh-She got out,” he stammered. “Got broken out or something-“

Pinkie pressed the shard harder against his neck, just short of drawing blood. “Tell me about her partner!”

“She got hanged, she’s dead!” the stallion wailed. Tears were pouring down his cheeks, probably both from the smoke, and his situation. “H-her name was Twilight, please, that’s all I know, I swear.”

The coloured drained from her face. She dropped the glass. The stallion stood and ran out of the door. For Pinkie the world seemed to slow down. Her mind was flooded with thoughts. Rather, with the same thought.

Twilight was dead. Rainbow had assured her that Twilight was with Celestia. She couldn't have been hanged. The fire reached the other side of the room. The sea-blue mare was still unconscious. The foal was pulling at her mane. The air had been sucked out of the room as the flames climbed the walls. The foal was crying and screaming.

Pinkie turned and left the building. A mare who had been in the house was sitting against a fence post. Her mouth hung open and she was struggling to stay awake. There was a sharp crack from the building as a beam fell down across the doorway, showering embers across the path. Pinkie sat down beside the mare, leaning against the fence.

She watched as the building groaned and began to collapse. A few minutes later, a red cart was dragged down the street. Two uniformed stallions were pulling it, two more sitting in the back of the cart itself. They fought the fire, but nothing could have been done for those inside. They had managed to contain the blaze to just that building, but the building itself was ruined.

In the fire’s last moments, it reached out to the other buildings. It was seeking sanctuary to continue on its path with carnage in its wake. These stallions came, of course, to stop the carnage, to protect others. The others did not deserve to be saved. Drug addicts and twisted ponies who were feeding off their addiction, dragging the innocent down into the flames with them. They were blight upon the land, warped flesh that needed to be cut away. A disease that only fire and steel could cleanse.

Pinkie stood, making the drugged mare raise her head which promptly fell back against the fence with a thud.

“You only had to scare the guy,” said a rough voice from behind Pinkie. She turned to the sound of the voice. A lime-yellow stallion was leaning on the fence. He was frowning. “The contract only said to scare him, not to destroy his livelihood.”

Pinkie studied him for a moment. “Are you Greenbill?” Pinkie asked, thinking back to what the dirt-brown stallion had said.

The stallion smirked but shook his head. “I’m one of his associates. I take it you’ll be wanting the bounty?”

He was part of a drug cartel, Pinkie suspected. Greenbill was probably the drug baron. As things were, she had no money in this city. No tools and no idea on the situation. In her mind, Twilight was still alive. The new information from a probable drug addict would not be enough to condemn her thoughts, although it had already begun corrupting them. Paths of sombre thoughts were beginning to leak from his words forming a web which snared her mind.

Pinkie nodded. “I need money,” she said.

The stallion stood upright. “Greenbill has your money,” he explained. He paused for a moment before turning to the smouldering house. “I’ll take you to him.”

* * *

The stallion led her through the underbelly of Canterlot and the streets were its ravaged, drug-filled veins. In one alleyway, she saw a pony being mugged. Those passing by barely paid a glance as the stallion was beaten.

A mare stood on the street corner, dressed alluringly. She seemed little more than a shadow; there was hardly enough body to provide for sex. Her large eyes were forever drooping, and a pale skin was merely clinging to her bones.

A stallion was heaved out of a bar landing on the floor in a mess of blood and teeth. He tried to stand, but another stallion ran out and bucked him hard in the chest. She was sure she heard ribs crack. The lime-yellow stallion walked around them, paying them little attention.

He turned a corner and approached a building which could have once been a rather stately home. A stallion at the door nodded toward Pinkie’s escort. His eyes then fell on Pinkie, taking her in.

“She’s with me,” said the escort. The other stallion’s gaze remained on her a moment longer before he seemed satisfied with that. He knocked twice on the door and pushed it open. Pinkie followed him inside.

A mare was leaning over a paper-strewn desk when they entered. Her mane was in a bunch over her head and she was chewing gum. She looked Pinkie up and down.

“Who da hell is she?” she asked, pointing toward Pinkie.

The escort stepped forward. “The mare who hit Cropper,” he said.

The mare shook her head and started to frown. “I ain’t never forgot a face. She ain’t the one who picked up the contract. So who da hell is she?”

The door behind Pinkie opened as the stallion looked in. A second stallion emerged through a door, a pistol held loosely against the door.

“I’m here to see Greenbill,” Pinkie said, trying to defuse whatever doubt seemed to be building.

The armed stallion raised the pistol almost immediately. “How the fuck does she know Greenbill’s in town? Huh!” he shouted. “Cage, knock’er.”

“Wait I said-“ said the escort.

Pinkie turned as the stallion at the door pushed the butt of a fire-extinguished into her head. An overwhelming pain spread across her skull. She didn’t realise she had hit the floor as her vision became black.

* * *

The tumblers fell into place and the lock turned with a click, opening the door. The beam of a flashlight shone through into the room illuminating a radio-device on a desk.

“When did you learn to pick locks?” Clock said, genuinely impressed with Print’s talent.

Print grinned, slipping her tools into a pocket on her uniform. “I grew up in Manehatten. We weren’t very rich,” she stated.

Clock thought about that for a moment and arrived at a conclusion. “You stole from ponies?” he asked, shutting the door and hitting a light switch. The lights flickered for a moment before solidly illuminating the room.

“It was a lifetime ago; I’m here to help now.” She smiled to him as he sat.

Clock held this new information against her profile which he had built in his head. A poor mare who left Manehatten to become a detective in Canterlot. She must have been fairly good, he realised. She could not have joined the police with a history of crime such as that. That means she hadn’t been caught.

Print glanced out of a window looking outside. The cover of night had effectively aided their break-in. The lack of patrolling guards had also helped.

Clock hit a switch and turned a dial. A monitor above the ACD lit up and a green light began flashing on the device itself. Clock pulled out his notepad and punched the radio’s ID into the device. The green light continued flashing for a minute before becoming solid as connection was reach. He smiled as he picked up the microphone and held it to his lips, holding a button on the side in.

“Red-Mane…” * * *

Pinkie awoke and leaned upright. Almost immediately, a wave of nausea passed over her and she vomited beside her steel-framed bed. She raised a hoof to wipe her mouth, but a set of hoofcuffs pulled taut stopping it from reaching. She leaned toward the bed frame to get closer.

The room had white-washed walls and a metal door which opened into a hallway. From out of a window, Pinkie could see it was night still. She hadn’t been out for long. Pinkie spotted Rainbow Dash’s radio on the desk. It was still switched off.

“I’m glad you’re awake.” Pinkie turned to see a stallion in the doorway. He was impressively well-built. His muscles rippled beneath his green coat as he walked over. His voice however was gentle, just loud enough to be heard, yet it seemed to demand all else fell silent. He pulled out a key and unlocked the hoofcuffs. “I assure you they were for your protection, and not ours,” he said gesturing to the unlocked manacle.

Pinkie sat upright. “How does restraining me help?”

The stallion smirked. “We do not often have unfamiliar mares in this place,” he explained. “We do have stallions who would take advantage of an unfamiliar mare if she could not resist, however. The manacle marks you as being important to me, and those who are in this place do not interfere with what is important to me.”

“And why is that, Greenbill?” Pinkie asked, guessing that this was their leader.

Greenbill smiled and laughed before crossing over the hall to another door. Pinkie followed him inside. The room was a well decorated suite with a bed, an ornate oak desk, and a wall with a map of the city. “Put simply, ponies do as I ask. Those who do not, I ask to be killed.” He sat down behind the desk. His voice dropped impossibly lower so it was barely audible. “If I ask for a pony to be killed, they are.” He smiled charismatically as his voice returned to its normal volume. “Please, do sit.”

“So you have a reputation?” Pinkie said as she sat in the smaller chair than his.

“Deservingly I would hope, but so do you.” His eyes met hers in a stare. He seemed to be looking deeper into her than just her eyes. “Isn’t that right, Red-Mane?” Pinkie paused, contemplating Greenbill’s words. “You are safe here, Red-Mane,” he said. “Like I said, you are important to me as a mare who can get things done.”

“But what do I get out of it?” Pinkie asked.

Greenbill smiled. “A good question. As you probably know, your partner is dead.” Those words shook her. “The stallion responsible is a liability to the police. A loose-cannon in their words. I can get him for you.”

An eye for an eye, Clock had once said. Until one of them is blind, she would have to cut deeper. “What do you need?” Pinkie asked.

Greenbill stood and looked over the map. “The centre of our operation is in Manehatten. Canterlot is good business, admittedly. The police do not bother us, and neither do we bother them,” he said. “In Manehatten, we had a…” he paused. “A slip-up. A robbery from one of our own.” He was scowling as he turned to face her. “A large deal ended with six dead and one mare escaping with more money than she can handle.”

“And you want the money back?” Pinkie asked.

Greenbill shook his head. “I don’t want the money, I want her dead!” he raised his voice for the first time. Pinkie felt herself recoil from him. His voice became low again. “Nopony crosses Greenbill and lives for long. But she has been on the run for eight months. I know she is in Canterlot, I know she has changed her name. I know she is trying to cover her misdeeds.” There was a long pause. “I will give you time to decide, I know this is an offer which will take time to mull over.” Greenbill left the room without saying another word, leaving the door to the hallway open.

Murder was different to assassination. Murder was for the thrill, the excitement of bringing somepony so close to the edge of their own sanity and tearing them across the boundary. What Greenbill wanted was quick and untraceable. It was the work of a surgeon not a butcher. But this deal was one step closer to Clock. A final step, Pinkie realised. At the end of this, she could never return to Ponyville. Never live happily again. Without Twilight, why would she want to?

She stood and walked into the hallway. Her eyes caught on a flashing light in the other room. A small light on the top of the radio was flashing. Pinkie walked over and switched the device on.

“Red-Mane…”

Pinkie froze. That voice. “Clock.”

There was hushed laughter from the other end. “I haven’t spoken with you in a while.”

“It won’t be much longer until I see you at least.”

“So…you heard about your partner? Shame that, really. She was a delicate flower.”

“You don’t know her.”

“Oh, but I did know her. Do you know what happened yet? Why she didn’t accept Celestia’s offer to live!” Pinkie remained quiet. “She waited for you, you know? On the podium. She came back for you! She couldn’t let you die alone, so she came back!” Clock laughed. “Honestly, it was quite beautiful really.” His voice became hard. “But you weren’t there, were you? You escaped. She died in your place. You left her. But you don’t care do-“

“Enough!” Pinkie shouted. She was crying. “I will get you, Clock. I will kill you.” She thought back to Twilight’s second kill. “And when I kill you, and your bleeding out your last.” She began laughing hysterically. “You will remember my face!” She switched off the radio and fell on the bed. She was trembling from a mixture of sadness, fear, and excitement.

She looked up to see Greenbill stood in the doorway. He looked frightened. Pinkie grinned and continued laughing, tears still flowing down her cheeks. “I’ll take the job.”

Greenbill nodded, regaining his composure. He handed her a piece of paper detailing the agreement to rent a flat. “This is all we have as a lead,” he said. “She had changed her name to Print. Speckled Print.”

Chapter 11: Clues and Whiskey

The elevator door opened with the ding of a bell. Print stepped into the hallway carrying a bag of takeaway food. She glanced down the corridor and then out the window by her side. The cab driver talked to Clock under the street light for a moment before they pulled away. When they disappeared from sight she turned and walked down the corridor. The automated lights of the hallway flickered on as she turned the corner.

She dropped her bag and pulled out a key. As she pushed the key into the lock, the door was pushed open. The key hadn't been twisted in the lock. The door had been left ajar. Print pushed it wider and looked inside the apartment. It was dark inside, just like she had left it, but something felt off. It was like the entire apartment was slightly out of place, not enough to worry, but enough to be unsettling.

She hit the light switch and stepped inside. The light flickered on, illuminating the living room and kitchen. She dropped the bag on the table and looked around. The apartment felt still, quiet. It was late at night. She was probably just tired and over thinking things. She hadn’t been in the apartment for long time anyway; maybe it just behaved differently at night. The landlord could have left the door open or even the maid from earlier in the week. It was nothing to worry about. She sat down and ate in silence. Despite wanting to believe that she was over thinking, she was paying close attention to the silence.

The clock on the kitchen counter read 01:34. She was working again in seven hours. She sighed and pressed her head against the wood of the table. There was a click from the front door. Print stood instinctively. She stepped around the counter, her eyes locked on the door. The latch must have been pulled from the inside. Her stomach dropped as she realised that she had eaten with a stranger in her apartment. She pressed a hoof against the latch. It held firm.

She took a knife from the wooden block and walked toward her bedroom. She opened it with a push, the knife held in her other hoof. There was a piece of folded paper on the end of her bed. Print picked it up, glancing behind the door before reading.

Print read the message again. Greenbill, Red-Mane, and Moondew. How are all three connected? Greenbill was one of the largest drug lords in Manehatten. Print thought back. Moondew: the mare who escaped. She was the girlfriend of Greenbill. She apparently stole from him and escaped. Print felt her skin tighten. Or at least they never found Moondew’s body.

Somehow, Greenbill had found out that she had stolen from him. Somehow, he knew her name and where she was. Now Red-Mane was coming. How is Red-Mane connected to a drug lord? This didn’t make sense. Print racked her mind but couldn’t remember knowing anypony in Greenbill’s company, not enough to make them go out of their way to give her this information.

For the rest of the night, sleep was no longer possible. She sat on the end of her bed and looked over the note again and again. Red-Mane was coming. That couldn’t have been true. Greenbill and Red-Mane, the two were on different sides of business. One worked for profit the other… Print thought for a moment. Red-Mane had no reason. It wasn’t meaningless, not anymore at least. Revenge was the best word she could think of, but even that seemed to fall short.

Print grabbed her satchel and left her apartment. She wasn’t sure where she was going, or what she hoped to achieve, but if a friend knew where she was, so might Greenbill or Red-Mane.

* * *

This side of town felt very different at night. It was like a forest when the sun was no longer keeping watch. The sirens were the howling wolves. The nocturnal came out to hunt, but the real monsters killed in the day. They killed right in front of you.

Print shivered as the night lay over her shoulders. It was a heavy blanket which beckoned her to sleep back to her apartment, but her mind continued to roll around in her skull. She thought back to Manehatten. That night. Like everypony who is lost, she found herself drawn toward a beacon. For her, it was a bar on the street corner called: The Blue Eclipse. She pushed the door open and stepped inside feeling the cold seep out from her bones. It was dark and dingy inside. The bar either had a power outage, or it was going for an authentic touch with lanterns hanging on the walls.

There were two other customers in building. One was sat on a stool, leaning on the counter, the other was sobbing in a booth. She sat at the counter, ignoring the glance from the stallion beside her.

The barmare brought something heavy, as requested. Print drank. She was grateful as her mind slowly began to numb to the pressure around her that had seemed to be building. Red-Mane, Greenbill...a friend, all became hazed. Even the idea of work in several hours melted away, replaced by a warm buzz. Her thoughts however were static, painfully so. That night in Manehatten. She could feel her hoof on the trigger as it was pulled. She took another drink.

Her past self—once buried, forgotten, yet never mourned—was reanimating. A lifetime ago. Greenbill wanted to see that body destroyed. Print wanted that, too. She couldn’t bury the past entirely, not for long anyway.

She remembered that she was standing by the stallion, Hollow…Harrow? She struggled to remember his name. Time and alcohol drove a stake through comprehension. He threw the duffel bag between the two groups, a metre from the other gang. They…what did they do? It was a haze, like looking through steamed glass.

“Drop off the payment. Pick up our goods. Get out,” said a stallion’s voice. It was Harrow’s. She was sure of it. The gang looked it over. It happened so fast. Harrow fell, he was shouting. She remembered shooting back. Then it was just her. She could still hear the sirens—the wolves were coming. She was running out of time. She picked up the bag, and…Harrow.

He was looking at her. She could remember the pain in his eyes. Time had not weakened that stare. She could feel his eyes boring into her. The bag felt so heavy.

“Don’t even think about it. You turn away now and I’ll make sure Greenbill gets you!” His voice was rasping. Blood poured from beneath his hoof which he held to his chest. It was so simple. Just take the bag. Print took another drink.

She picked up his gun. A revolver. It was so light, it wanted to be held. The howling grew louder. She walked forward. Harrow coughed blood and tried to crawl away on his stomach. She kept walking, following the crimson line. Her hoof didn’t even shake. The barrel pressed against the back of his head. Never look back.

Print was trembling as she raised the glass to her lips and found it to be empty. She poured another and downed it. When had she started crying? She wiped away the tears with the back of her hoof.

“Miss?” Print turned her head. Blinking away the tears as she looked toward the stallion. He was cute. She smiled. “Are you okay?” he asked, his speech slightly slurred.

Print opened her mouth to speak but a wave of nausea surged through her. SHe held a hoof over her mouth.

“Get out! Get out!” shouted the barmare.

The stallion took her by the shoulder and led her out to the alleyway besides the building. It was illuminated by the orange, flickering light on the front of the building. Print leaned with against the wall and emptied the contents her stomach. Her nostrils burned and her mouth felt vile. The stallion leaned on the corner of the building smoking a cigarette while she manually cleansed herself of the toxin.

She righted herself and wiped her mouth with the back of a hoof. She was shaking as the waves of nausea began to pass. Her head felt clear of the alcohol, like a veil had been lifted from her senses. The stallion dropped the cigarette and stamped it out.

“You’re Speckled Print, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice completely even.

He knew her. The cute stallion who she had nearly vomited on knew her. Her ears drooped. “Yeah.”

The stallion smirked. “I’m Cross Clue,” he said, extending a hoof. She shook it with the one which she hadn’t just used to wipe away vomit. “I’ll be joining you in your case tomorrow.” He glanced at a hoofwatch. “The case later today, I mean.”

Print’s eyes went wide. Cross was the new detective who would be joining the case. She had nearly vomited on the new detective. Despite this painful revelation, her mind caught on one word. “It’s Clock’s case. Not mine.”

The stallion nodded without looking at her. “Unofficially, perhaps, but he is not fit for this case given his personal involvement. Though, I agree he will probably be leading from the sidelines. I’ve read all about the cases he’s cracked.” He nodded to himself. “He’s very good, but it is officially your case, Print.” He looked her up and down. “Let me take you home.”

“I can’t go home,” she said quickly. He tilted an eyebrow questioningly. Her mind skimmed the surface of her previous thoughts. Red-Mane. Greenbill. Harrow. “I just can’t.”

“You’re a little forward, but I’ll take your offer. You can come back to my place if you’d like,” he said. A thin smile emerged on his face.

“I-I didn’t mean like that,” Print said, floundering over the thoughts which were rapidly piling up in her head.

He gave a well humoured laugh as he started walking down the street. “I was only kidding. I know a classy mare such’s yourself, wouldn’t go for a stallion like me.”

Print trotted up beside him. “I didn’t mean that either. I’d love to go for you. I-I mean I think your nice.” She shut up, and mentally scolded herself. Nice? What the hay kind of a complement was nice?

He chuckled again making her immediately relax about her awkwardness. “Well, I think you’re nice too.”

* * *

“Do you think of me as Pinkie Pie, or Red-Mane?” Pinkie asked. The lime-yellow stallion frowned, clearly caught off guard by the question. They turned a corner into a rundown district of garages and derelict buildings.

“To Greenbill, you are being, er… requisitioned.” He said that word like it was foreign. “For your skills in dealing with ponies. You are, to this job, a killer.” He looked at her as he said that. “To Greenbill, and me, you are Red-Mane. Although publically we will not refer to you as Red-Mane.”

Pinkie nodded. “Just a hired killer,” she said aloud.

The stallion ignored her and turned down the side of a large-unassuming building. The windows were boarded up and the door locked with a padlock. On closer inspection, the padlock was a sturdy one and the door had been replaced to be able to withstand more of an impact. Appropriately reinforced for the tasks this building has probably held. He pulled out a key and twisted it in the padlock dropping it beside the door. He pushed the door open and hit a switch just by the doorframe.

Pinkie stepped inside, as the lights came on and a generator began to rumble to life. The door led to an elevated metal catwalk which ran across the wall in a ‘U’ shape with metal stairs on the opposite side. Pinkie followed the stallion on the catwalk, taking in the room as they went. Below them, there were two steel surgical tables with an assortment of precise and blunt tools on a trolley. There were two upright restraining tables facing into the room at an angle. At the back of the room were two shut double doors. All in all, the building’s interior looked clean and well equipped for a specific purpose.

They descended the stairs to the theatre below. Memories of Sugarcube Corner bled back into her mind as she recognised the smell of bleach. It brought a smile to her lips but it was bittersweet.

“As you can see, Greenbill has provided you with all the tools you may need, as well as a secure and soundproofed building which has been cleaned since its last…um usage,” he said as he gestured across the room. “He has also set aside a neat sum if you need more specific tools. As for assistance in the job itself he has provided you with a list of specialists.” He paused and turned to face her. “I’m sure you understand we can’t help you directly. If we were seen to be involved in the murder of a detective the peace would be unnecessarily strained.”

Pinkie nodded. “I understand.”

“Good.” He turned and climbed the staircase. When he reached the door he leaned on the railing. “You have your radio. You have your tools. You are back in the shadows. Do not disappoint Greenbill.”

He turned and shut the door. The echo resonated in the room for a moment before fading to the low metallic humming of the building’s generator.

“Speckled Print,” Pinkie said aloud. “I know that name.” She racked her memory, but could only conjure images of Clock. She looked around the room and suddenly felt the immense nature of this task. Find a single pony in city who may have changed her name. She sighed.

Clock could wait. This was the step to reach him. Just one more amendment.

* * *

Print awoke to an unfamiliar beeping and an unpleasant droning in her skull. She opened her eyes and immediately regretted it as the light attacked her with tiny daggers. She rolled over as the beeping stopped and a figure leaned over her.

She squinted as her eyes came into focus the sorting shapes from shadows. Cross had a stupid grin on his face. Print groaned and slumped her head back onto the sheets.

“We’ll have to leave in forty if you want to be on time,” he said. Print groaned again louder. She tried to remember how she had gotten here. Had he been sleeping next to her? Did they…she couldn’t remember. Her mind was a haze of isolated random thoughts.

She looked up. “Did we… y’know,” she said awkwardly. The words felt like sand in her dry mouth.

He laughed a little at that. “You passed out when I opened the door. I put you in my bed, and I slept on the sofa.”

Print rolled onto her back and watch the spinning ceiling fan. “Such a gentlestallion,” she said, nearly sarcastic.

He gave a humph as he walked toward the door. “I’d call it manners toward my new boss,” he said. Print looked up at him, trying to analyse his tone. He leaned on the doorframe. “Rumour of the office is that she thinks I’m nice.”

Print gave a final groan as he shut the door.

* * *

Clue held out a hoof as the bus emerged over the brow of the hill. It rolled to a stop and the doors opened with a metallic hiss. Clue stepped on, nodding to the driver as he scanned his card.

Print stepped on afterward. “Single to Canterlot Station,” she asked, smiling.

The driver stared at her as he punched a number into the machine. The smile was not reflected in his face. “Three bits,” he said. His voice sounded infinitely bored.

Print reached into her jacket, but only felt the pocket’s fabric. No satchel. No bits. She forced a laugh and turned to look down the bus. Clue raised an eyebrow. She pulled out the lining of her pocket and gave her best, ‘could you cover this one?’ look. The other passengers looked resentful as Print finally sat down and the bus pulled away.

“So…” Clue said a moment later, breaking the unusual silence which had fallen. “What’s Clock like? I’ve never had the chance to talk to him in person.”

Print turned to face him. Was he a fan? “I’m sure you already know lots about him,” she said. The bait swung like a pendulum before his eyes.

“I know every one of his cases since he was a casual in Canterlot. He saved my mum when I was just a colt,” he gushed. Print smirked. “What is he like as a stallion?” Print opened her mouth to speak. “I bet he’s amazing.”

A fan indeed. “He is focused. Honest. Resourceful.” Print cast a glance in Clue’s direction. He was eating this up. Her voice became dangerously low. “But he hates rookies. Make one rookie mistake and he’ll cast you away like you were nothing.” She turned to him, a deadly look forming across her brow. “And he listens to me, I’m his partner.”

Clue nodded. “I’ve never heard of that side of him. He sounds so-“ He caught the small smile which had crept across her lips. “Since you’re his partner,” he said, as he began to smile. “Since he’ll listen to you, could you tell him how nice I am? I wanna make a good first impression.”

Print turned to look out of the window. “How long will you keep reminding me of that?”

“I’m not sure. Until I forget. Or you do something worse which I feel I need to mention more often,” he said with a horribly sweet tone.

Clue hit a button and the bus slowed to a stop outside of the station. They got off the bus and walked side-by-side into the station. The meeting initial meeting with Clock would start in twelve minutes. They both took this opportunity to get a coffee in an attempt to postpone the wrath of having little sleep the night before.

The office itself seemed to share the morning hatred with many of the workers slouching on desks and battling to look interested as they walked in the room. A yellow-maned mare with a smiling sun as her cutie mark walked down one of the rows of desks pushing a trolley of various caffeinated beverages. She was a morning mare. Her smile was the sunshine in the morning. Friendly, yet painfully so at this time. She dropped off cups and cans to the others in the office as she went.

Print took a deep breath as she took in the various faces. This was her office, at her disposal. A team to catch Red-Mane. Red-Mane was coming. She smiled. Let her come. She opened the door of an enclosed office, Clue followed her inside.

Clock was sat at a table with his head resting upon it. He groaned as Print opened the blinds. Clue stood by the door.

“Clock, this is-“ Print began.

“I hate whiskey,” Clock interrupted. “I don’t know why it treats me so badly.” He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He had treated the stress of antagonizing a murderer the same way Print dealt with painful memories. Only he looked worse. His eyes fell on Clue. “Who’s this?” he asked.

“Detective Cross Clue,” Print said. “The detective who will be helping us with this case.”

Clock stood and poured himself a cup from the water-cooler. He drank it greedily and sat back down. “Detective Clue,” Clock said. He rubbed a hoof on his chin. “I know that name.”

Clue stepped forward. “I’ve solved many cases as part of Canterlot’s homicide team and foreign related-“

“No, no, no,” Clock said. “That isn’t it.”

Clue’s eyes seemed to light up. “You saved my mother Blue Clue years ago. I’m her son. I was there the when-”

Clock shook his head. “That isn’t that either. Were you…” He gave throaty laugh. “Were you the colt who started the Clock-Fanclub? Clue seemed to deflate as Print began grinning. “It was you, I’m sure of it. Do you remember the song you sang when I came to your club?”

Print’s smile became infinitely wider. “Oh please, tell me you remember the song,” she said, beaming.

Clue’s cheeks burned. “I-I don’t think I do.” He did. He remembered perfectly word for word. He had sung aloud the day he found out he would be working with Clock.

Print pulled out a chair and sat down beside Clock. “We didn’t come here to talk about your fan club,” Print said. Clue gave a sigh of relief at the change of topic as he took a seat opposite the two of them. “Although I would love to hear about it later, for now, we will fill you in on what we know, and then we can discuss how we can use this department.”

Clock leaned forward, resting on the desk. “Red-Mane escaped. Red-Mane is likely still in lower Canterlot. That is where the tunnels lead to. Red-Mane was unarmed when she was left.”

“I know that from the file I was sent upon starting the case,” Clue said. He too, leaned forward. “What have you learned since then? It’s been three days since she escaped.”

Print glanced at Clock. The radio. He had said not to discuss the radio. “Nothing concrete. No sightings, no suspicious deaths. She’s in the shadows again,” she said.

Clock spoke up. “She is after me. She feels I am responsible for her partner’s death and she wants me dead.”

“Detective Print helped in the case as well,” Clue observed. “Surely she is just as much of a target as you.”

Clock frowned. “It’s me she wants. She-“ He caught his mouth before he said anything else. “She has it against me since I was the one that lead the case last time.”

Clue nodded and leaned back in his chair. The tension that had built began to diffuse. “If what you say is true, Detective Clock. How do you know? You had no meeting with her alone to discuss this. Any criminal profiles we have are insufficient to describe a killer such as Pinkie Pie. Did you know her?”

Print frowned. “We spoke with her in Ponyville. Out of the books.”

“This was before Twilight’s death, no?” He looked between them. “You’ve spoken to her since the execution. Pinkie Pie escaped immediately after the execution. Either you two are harbouring a criminal and you speak to her, or you aren’t telling me something. How else would you know of her intention post-execution?”

Clock laughed. “That’s a very tenuous deduction, Clue. We’ve been dealing with Red-Mane for a long time and we know how she acts.”

“Then you and I know her differently, Clock. Evident in that you refer to Pinkie Pie as Red-Mane.” He paused. “I’m not here to stand on anypony’s hooves. I will accept that is why you know all of this, but if there is something you aren’t telling me, I will need to know sooner or later. To catch this killer, we need to work together.”

Print edged in, sensing the unease. “We are both willing to cooperate.” She glanced at Clock who leaned back in his chair, crossing his hooves. “We have…some things we must keep to ourselves, however.”

Clue raised an eyebrow. “I can be more helpful if I know all the details. Nothing has to leave this room.” He looked at Clock. “I know enough about Clock to know he does not always work by the book.” He smiled. “It’s one of the reasons I idolise you. You get things done your way. Much to the chagrin of your superiors at times.”

Clock laughed. “If we tell you.” He paused choosing his words carefully. “You might not be safe. You could lose your job, or worse. If what we are trying is successful, you will be exposed.”

“I would not have accepted the job if I wasn’t able to handle the risk. I’m happy to play this your way. I only want you to be open with me. Evidence shared,” Clue said.

Clock turned toward Print and nodded. He then stood and walked toward the door. “I’m going to get a coffee from Sunny Shot,” he said. He stepped out and shut the door.

Clue and Print sat in silence for a moment. Print found herself admiring Clue. He had set aside his childhood fantasy of meeting with Clock to talk business. He even sounded confident about it, like a good detective.

“So…” Clue said, opening the previous conversation at a blunt end. “What don’t I need to know?”

Print looked at him for a moment before she spoke. “She has a radio. Rainbow Dash’s radio.”

Clue nodded. The information did not seem to faze him. “And Clock cannot be involved with talking to her due to his…personal involvement.” Print nodded. “So what has he said to her?” he asked, not missing a beat.

“He is trying to antagonise her. Make her reckless. Lure her out.”

“She’s coming for him. She said that?” he asked. Print nodded. “She’s either foolish or smart, and since you are yet to pin her, I’m guessing the latter.” He sighed and leaned back rubbing a hoof through his mane. “And there are no other leads?”

Print shook her head. “Best we got was a stallion who claimed Red-Mane burned his house down so he could make a claim. He also admitted he was high at the time,” she said. “So no, we have no leads.”

The office door opened and Clock stepped in and shut the door. He sat down and sipped his coffee. “I hate whiskey,” he said again, taking a longer sip.

“So how we going to catch her, Detectives?” Clue said. “I imagine you’ve given it a great deal of thought, Clock.”

Clock placed his cup down on the table. “Less than twelve hours ago, I heard her said she was going to bleed me dry. I spent the following hours drinking, and now I’m talking to you. So yes, I’ve given it some thought. She wants me. She has nothing to lose.” He shrugged.

“So you’re the bait?” Clue asked. He began questioning whether Clock was as great as he had once thought.

“I never said it was a good plan,” he said. “She only came out of hiding last time to kill me. She failed, but killed several others in the process.” His voice took on an edge. “That will not happen again. Let her come for me. No collateral.”

Clue nodded. Ponyville was the biggest loss of police lives since the early days of Canterlot, which Clock had clearly taken badly. However Clock’s plan wasn’t a plan at all; it was barely a grade below suicide.

“That isn’t the plan, Clock,” Print said.

“You’re going to stop me?” he asked.

“No…Clock, you don’t have to do this,” she said. “I get it. She took your brother, but she took so many others.” Clock said nothing, but maintained a frown. “We can get her, without risking anypony.”

Clock shook his head. “She wants me only.”

“But we don’t have to give you up to get her. We can have both. There has to be a way,” she said.

Clock stood and opened the office door. “If we can’t find a way, I’ll step up.” He looked at Print. Her left ear was tilted like it always was when she was angry. Let her be angry. Give her something to channel. He wouldn’t let Red-Mane touch her. She had to live. “I’m ready to end this,” he said. “Let her come. No more will fall because of me.”

* * *

Pinkie stood in the centre of the courtyard. Twilight’s body was still strung up. Her coat was a sickly pale colour. Pinkie walked forward standing in front of the podium. Twilight’s face was frozen in a look of anger. Her final thoughts were about how Pinkie had abandoned her, she was sure of it.

“I’m sorry, Twilight. I’m sorry couldn’t save you,” Pinkie said.

The corpse stirred. The eyelids snapped open. Blood poured from the hollow sockets and down her cheeks. “You abandoned me, Pinkie!” it said. The voice was coarse as though it had been screaming. “I thought you loved me, I thought you would save me!”

“I-I tried-“

“You left me!” The voice became softer, nearly identical to Twilight’s. “I came back for you, Pinkie.” The corpse shuddered as the neck gave a sharp crack. Twilight’s head craned to one side. The blood was dripping onto the podium. “I loved you and you left me!”

Pinkie shook her head, ignoring the tears that rolled down her own cheeks. “I love you, Twilight. I’ll kill him. P-Please…I-“

The corpse shuddered as it began to suffocate, going through the motions of death again. Twilight extended a hoof, reaching out toward her love.

Pinkie ran forward and began to climb the podium, her eyes locked onto Twilight. Clock stood at the top of the stairs. He swung a hoof and landed a solid punch on her jaw. Pinkie fell. The back of her head impacted the step jarring her neck as she landed in a heap. Her vision flickered. Twilight was struggling, dying. She couldn’t help her. It was happening again.

Clock strolled forward and stood in front of her. Twilight became still, the life in her reanimated corpse finally diminished. He crouched down, a smile spreading across his face. “An eye for an eye, Red-Mane.” He pulled out a handgun and pointed it toward her. “She loved you, Red-Mane.” His smiled faded as he gripped the gun tighter. “You left her alone, but I’ll reunite you.” He pressed the gun against her head. “An eye for an eye.”

Chapter 12: Truth and Shadows

“How did you convince them? It’s the only machine they fully regulate and they just hoofed it over?” Print said, genuinely impressed with Clue’s work.

Two stallions passed them carrying the bulk of the ACD between them into the office.Clue simply smiled. “I said that it was a valuable asset to the case,” he said. “When they weren’t fully convinced, I said that if there were any more Red-Mane deaths, their department would be liable at not fully cooperating.” He gave a toothy grin.

“It’s not entirely a lie either,” Print said, now smiling too. “They didn’t ask why?”

He shrugged. “Who needs to know? If it helps, they don’t care. Dealing with murderers is more than their department normally has to deal with.” He spoke louder as one of the technicians walked past. “We’ll just have to make sure Clock doesn’t use it.

”

The mare didn’t respond. Either she didn’t hear or didn’t care, probably both. Clue had asked for the ACD to be set up in the private office. Nopony would see Clock breaking his only assigned rule.

Clue leaned into the office then popped his head back out. “Where’s Clock?” he asked.

Print frowned. “He’s decided that the best way to find Red-Mane is to get to know the area she’s in-like look at the buildings and the general layout,” she said.

“So, why are you frowning?”

“On paper its fine,” she said. “What he’s really doing is walking around an area of Canterlot which is notably hostile to policeand which has a killer with nothing to lose who expressed clear enthusiasm in bleeding him dry. To really make sure he’s in for a safe trip, he’s doing a patrol with an officer who only graduated one month ago.”

Clue nodded. “Safe and sound. Why didn’t you stop him?”

Print reached into her pocket and pulled out a scrawled note which she handed to Clue. It read, ‘Print. Looking around area with some rookie officer (just like you, huh?). I’ll be back before lunch. S.Clock.’

“It’s nice of him to leave a note at least,” Clue said.

“It’s something.” Print looked around the room: the office at her disposal. The officers were in their own group at one station, the radio crew and administrators were at others. Print took a deep breath. “What do you think we should do?”

Clue followed her gaze across the room. “You’re in charge, but if you really want my advice. I’d say send patrols out in threes. Each one has a radio. Comb the area asking anypony if they have seen anything. With luck we may get a lead, if not, it looks like we are doing something while Clock gets to work.”

Print sighed and rubbed a hoof across her face. “I really have no experience with this.”

“Don’t worry.” Clue put a hoof on her shoulder. “You’re in charge because you can handle pressure, and you are nearly as qualified as Clock for knowledge of Red-Mane. Just speak. They are here because they are ready to listen.”

Print nodded, faking a smile. She walked to the centre of the room. “Alright, listen up.”

* * *

“What tips would you give an aspiring detective?” Blue Radish asked.

Clock thought for a moment. One month ago, he would have said that you couldn’t be a detective without significant experience. Print flew in the face of that, having been only been working for the police for seven months. No additional training was required. Just chuck her in the big league and solve crimes by the side of a stallion who had been in the biz for more than twenty years.

That fact halted his mental train. He’d been doing this for that long, and Print had still picked up a clue that he hadn’t. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea that she had been thrown at him. She clearly had some talent for the job.

He tried to think of an answer, realising he hadn’t said anything for a while. “Be lucky. Work hard. Scrutinize everything, mentally or physically. To get to my position, you just have to stand out in applications, or do something of considerable significance in your superior’s eyes. Their word is worth more than a well written application.”

Radish nodded. “You make it sound easy.”

“It was for me.”

She chuckled. “Well you’re Clock. One of them anyway. Two great detectives solving crimes across Equestria. A duo who work independently cleaning up the scum. It’s not difficult to see why it was easy for you.”

He didn’t say anything and continued walking. They had been working for most of the morning and had only one encounter with 'scum'. It was a drunk who was probably still trying to find his way home. This place brought back memories of being on the beat as a younger officer. He had shown potential from an early age, but every officer, apart from those with connections, started off on the beat. Even with connections, Clock was on the beat. His father’s voice rang in his ears: The beat makes an officer. Pushing papers makes a pussy with badges. He smiled absently as he walked. His father had a way with words. Blunt and effective, like the butt of a gun.

The radio on Radish’s belt gave a burst of static and a voice called out. “Blue Rad, call in, over.”

She levitated it up to her lips. “Blue Rad here, go-ahead, over,” she said. There was a pause before the voice spoke up again.

“Been a few reports of a disturbance at Hoofstruck Apartment Block, one report mentioned a gun shot,” it said. “Check it out and call in. Most calls came from fourth floor, apparently its room forty-six or forty-seven. We’re sending an armed team to check it out if there were shots fired, but I want you as a first response.”

“Blue Rad here, heading there now, over.” She put the radio back onto her belt.

* * *

A few minutes later, they arrived at Hoofstruck Apartments. Blue Rad pushed the doors open and entered the block. She walked toward the elevator and held a hoof toward the button.

“Always take the stairs,” Clock said. He stood in the doorway to the staircase. “If power goes out and we need to get there in a hurry, we’re screwed.”

She retracted her hoof and walked toward him. “But it’s faster,” she said. It wasn’t really a complaint as she knew he was right. She even remembered being told that at The Academy by her instructor. “And my hooves hurt from walking so much.” Clock didn’t respond. She groaned louder as the elevator door opened with a ring and a mare hobbled out.

They climbed the stairs quickly. As always, any disturbance could be something more serious. All too often, in this part of the city, it was something serious. Especially with the possibility of a gunshot. The staircase was grimy with water leaking through one of the windows and the lights flickered occasionally.

Clock pushed open the door with the black ‘4’ above it and stepped into the hallway. He ran his eyes across the numbers on the door as he walked around the corner. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the pool of blood coming from the forty-eighth door. A hoof lay out of the doorway with the door left wide open. Regaining his composure, he dashed forward.

“Rad call for back-up and parameds,” he called. He pulled out his baton as part of his beat equipment. He walked up to the doorway and glanced in.

A green-coated mare lay in the entrance hall. He frowned when he saw the large laceration across her throat. That was Red-Mane’s work. He had no evidence to base this on, but he knew it in his gut. Just as much as he knew that the mare was dead. “Cancel the paramed, Rad,” he said.

“Is it bad?” she asked in a low voice.

He turned back toward her. She had gone terribly pale. He remembered that she head only been on the beat for one month. This may have been the first body she had seen. Still, she would have to get over it. “Just stay near,” he said. “You don’t have to look.”

He entered the apartment, carefully stepping over the body and around the pool of blood. Nothing else seemed to be disturbed. He noticed the knives all were present in the block in the kitchen. The killer brought their own weapon. His mind screamed Red-Mane again, this time louder. She could be in this apartment, and she was armed. He gripped the baton tighter and looked around the corner.

The only other room was a bedroom and it was empty. He relaxed and lowered his baton. Whoever came here knew what they wanted. It couldn’t be a robbery as nothing was touched. Unless the killer came and lost their nerve after killing, but that didn’t seem likely given the nature of the wound on the green mare. The pony that did that knew what they were doing. It was well aimed to kill as quickly as possible.

“Rad, get the security footage of the building, and get an ID of the two mares,” he shouted into the hallway.

Rad appeared in the doorway and took one glance at the body then looked away immediately. “T-two mares? How do you know it was a mare that did this?” she asked.

“I…” He paused. Red-Mane was plausible, but not the only possibility. Yet in his mind, he was certain it was her. “A hunch,” he said.

“Get the ID.” Rad nodded and turned back down the corridor, purposefully keeping her eyes high to avoid looking at the body.

What had happened to him that he could look at a body and not feel sickened? Cruelly, he began comparing himself to Red-Mane. How far away was he from taking joy in a kill? But he already knew that answer to that. He would take great joy in killing Red-Mane. By his hoof, or hanging, he would love to watch her die.

He realized he had begun to smile as his mind played a scene of her death.

* * *

Pinkie looked at the flat renting agreement. The archive in Canterlot Library had revealed it was Hoofstruck Apartment Block. She felt a smiled creep across her face. She had used a library to help track down Speckled Print. Twilight would be proud.

A sound from the alley behind made her turn quickly. The alleyway was empty. A bottle rolled out from behind a bin a few meters in front of her. Part of her said it was blown by the wind. Another part of her suspected she was being followed. She turned back to the building. She had the feeling of being watched shortly after she left the safe house.

She approached the building and pushed open the door. She glanced behind her before entering, looking down the alley. Everything was still. Maybe there wasn’t a shadow, or maybe they were just good at being a shadow. Either way, there was an apartment to investigate on the fourth floor.

Pinkie walked in and straight toward the elevator, hitting a small braille-covered button. She rode the elevator to the fourth floor where the doors opened with the ring of a bell. She stepped out into the corridor and walked around until she found the forty-eighth apartment. She stood outside the door for a moment. It was of sturdy construction and probably couldn’t be broken down. The lock was tough and probably couldn’t be simply jarred or scraped open. The bolt in the door was too deep to pry open as well. There was no spare key under the rug or in a light as some careless ponies do.

Can kill a pony in a few seconds, but stopped dead by a door. One set of skills can be made redundant by any situation. The door to the stairwell opened and Pinkie ducked around the corner before anypony stepped out. It could have been one of the building’s residents, perhaps, but no hoofsteps followed the opening of the door, neither did the door close. She smiled. The shadow was waiting. She could wait too.

After a minute, the hoofsteps came. They were quiet. Each step was purposefully slow as if walking through a minefield. They were stopped just around the corner, outside of the fourty-eighth room.

There was a brief rattle of keys and then the cocking of a gun. The lock clicked and the door was pushed open. Pinkie glanced around the corner. A green-coated mare stepped inside. She had a handgun. Pinkie crept forward toward the door. The mare must have thought she had gone inside. Was she protecting this place or its occupant?

Pinkie reached into her cloak and pulled out a knife. She wouldn’t stand a chance at range, but if she could get close enough she could finish the mare before she even pulled her gun. She leaned around the corner. The mare wasn’t in the entrance. Pinkie took a breath and advanced in. If she could get close, she had the advantage.

She realised her mistake shortly after entering the apartment. The mare would know the layout, she would know the blind spots and the best places to hide, and it had been awfully quiet when Pinkie entered. It was not the sound of somepony looking about. Sure, the mare was quiet when she moved, but she was far from silent.

“Don’t move, Red-Mane.” The voice was delicate. It was also close; the mare was just beside her. “I want you to-“

Pinkie spun, swinging the knife in the mare’s direction. Attack quickly, before she adjusts, before she has a chance to monologue or shoot. The wild slash tore wound in the mare’s foreleg as she raised them to protect her face. The mare wasted no time and fired a shot. Pinkie’s foreleg jolted as the bullet buried itself deep, but didn’t pass through. The pain didn’t come immediately. The adrenaline masked the pain under a feeling of enormous pressure on the limb. Pinkie stabbed straight forward.

Her luck held out as the blade passed cleanly between the mare’s forelegs and into her throat. Almost immediately, she fired again. This shot missed entirely as it hit the wooden floorboards. She dropped the gun as she fell in the doorway into a pool of her own blood. She spluttered for a second as the blood poured from her mouth then she stopped.

Pinkie’s foreleg began to throb. The bullet probably only stopped because it had struck bone. She could dig it out while she was here, but there would be a chance that she could be linked to the scene or worse, she could pass out from the pain. Pinkie grabbed a kitchen-towel and tied it around her foreleg. Under the cloak, it would not draw too much attention. It also wouldn’t bleed too much.

The police would be alerted by the gunshots and would probably be here soon, she had to work quickly. She moved into the bedroom, wincing at the pain that erupted in her foreleg. There was a note on the bed. It was a message to Print. That was probably why she wasn’t here. It was warning her of Red-Mane and Greenbill. Pinkie stuffed the note into her cloak pocket and fished around in the drawers pulling out random scraps of document and anything that looked vaguely useful—anything that could help locate Print.

She shut the drawers and left the apartment. The bound wound had begun to bleed through the makeshift bandage. She stepped around the body, careful not to stand in any of the blood to leave a trail, and walked back toward the elevator. If any of the police were coming, they would always take the stairs.

She rode the elevator down. The door to the stairwell closed as she stepped out. With luck, she had just avoided a run in with the patrol. She left the building and crossed over the road, back into the alleyway—back into the shadows.

* * *

There was a small amount of local anesthesia in the safe house for a reason Pinkie didn’t fully understand. The tools of torture could also be implemented in constructive ways when it came to removing the bullet.

Pinkie sat on one of the surgical tables, her back propped up against the wall. She had gathered a tray of possibly useful equipment. She had no medical experience, but a great deal of anatomical knowledge. She hoped it was enough. She raised the needle to eye level and tapped the end, although she had no idea why. It was just something professionals did.

She wiped the area around the wound with rubbing alcohol wincing as some entered the wounded. She buried the needle into the skin and the plunger was lowered. She got a flashback of the mare who was lying in the hay back in old Canterlot. The image resurfaced of the colt pulling at her trying to wake her up during the fire. After a while, the numbing came and she felt it would be safe to operate.

She raised the scalpel above the wound, her hoof shaking. This was a lot more difficult than she had imagined. It wasn’t as easy to fix as it was to destroy. She pressed the blade a centimeter away from the bullet wound and cut across to the other side. Fresh blood welled from the wound and flowed into the older wound. Despite the anesthesia, the blood was warm against her skin. There was no pain, but instead there was a great pressure on the limb.

She lifted a small clamp off the tray and used it to widen the incision by twisting a bit. She held the clamp steady in her mouth as she reached for a pair of scissor forceps. Using the forceps, she swabbed the open wound with a cotton pad. With the blood gone, she could see the top of the bullet shining out from the gore. She reached in with the forceps and dislodged the bullet from the surrounding flesh and dropped it beside her. She dropped the clamp allowing the incision to close.

Although light-headed, she swabbed the area with rubbing alcohol again and sewed up the wound and then wrapped it in a bandage. A combination of fatigue, tiredness, and blood-loss made sleep rapidly follow as she placed her head against the wall.

* * *

When Pinkie awoke it was night. The moonlight was twice-filtered by the clouds and the tinted windows as it reflected off the chrome surgical table. Her head ached terribly, but it was nothing compared to her foreleg. The anesthesia must have worn off a number of hours ago. The few traces of it clung to the end of her nerves and were slowly dragged away. It felt like the bullet had instead been replaced by a hot coal which burned through her flesh.

She was certain it would become infected if it wasn’t already. The inflammation around the wound was to be expected post-op, but the red hue felt more like a warning before a greater pain. Like the tide receding before a tsunami, this was the bare-shoreline before fever.

She rolled off the table. After lying in that position she felt like a mannequin with stiff and only vaguely natural movements. She sat down at one of the desks in the backroom. The desk was covered in all the papers that she had grabbed from Print’s apartment, including the list of ‘Specialists’ provided by Greenbill. Pinkie picked up the list. One of them was labelled as a ‘chemist/doctor/pharmacist’. The questionable job title was a little unnerving. One pony could be all three things, but surely the idea of a specialist is to specialize.

Either way, soon the infection would come and the fever would impede any logical decision or movement. She could remember back when she lived on the rock farm. When she was seven, she spent a good part of the summer in bed. Wild fantasies and ideas ran through her head as part of the hysteria that accompanied the fever. In particular, she remembered that she would hook up the entirety of the farm to solar panels and give her family free electricity. It was a bizarre thought which was not native to the mind of a seven year old. Even now, she felt herself slipping back into childhood. The fatigue that initially accompanied the fever was setting in.

She rang for the specialist to come with medication. From that moment it all seemed a blur and she couldn’t remember if she had asked for a specific type of medication or if it had simply been drugs. Either way, she passed out shortly after making the call and was lost in delirium. The fevered thoughts were cruel, not unlike her dream the previous night. Many were centred on Twilight’s death. Some were initially pleasant, but all ended with Clock. He was always a step ahead stopping her from reaching Twilight—always smiling in that twisted way that he does.

Eventually, the black-cloud of fever dispersed and her sleep became mild. She was no longer haunted in her sleep, but neither did she rest completely. She came in and out as the days past, all the while, the specialist looked after the mare that Greenbill wanted to stay alive.

* * *

“Any ideas why there’s a dead mare in your apartment?” Clock asked, point blank. He was dripping wet after walking back to the station in the rain. They were all in the office, with Clock standing in the doorway. He knew in the back of his mind, that Print knew something—something that was connected to that mare and to Red-Mane killing her in that apartment.

Print paused for a moment. “I-I…what?” she said, taken aback. Then he felt suddenly guilty if she had known the dead mare, but he drove forward, driving the knife deeper. She was keeping something from him.

“While on patrol, there was a disturbance in Hoofstruck apartment block,” he said calmly. “In apartment forty-eight, a mare was found dead with an incision in her throat.” Print’s jaw tightened. “Call me paranoid, but I think it was Red-Mane’s blade that did it.” Under her breath, Print mouthed something. Her mind was racing. A friend. Red-Mane is coming. Clock shut the door with more force than he had intended, snapping her out of her reverie. “What did you say?”

She didn’t meet his eyes. “Red-Mane is coming,” she said.

Clock sat down at the table. A droplet of rainwater fell from his mane onto the table as he turned his head to face Clue. The new detective had remained silent since Clock had entered. He looked back to Print. “Tell me what you know,” he said. His voice was quiet. His partner, a friend no less, had hid something from him which resulted in another mare dead, and worse, Print had known Red-Mane was going to be at the apartment. It had been the perfect opportunity to catch her.

The silence was perforated as Print began to cry. Clue moved to comfort her but Clock raised a hoof, stopping him. “Tell me what you know,” he said again, louder this time.

She raised her head, looking straight at him. “I-I can’t,” she said.

Clock stood, slamming his hooves on the desk. “Why not!” Print flinched but held her gaze.

“It won’t leave this room,” Clue said. He ignored Clock’s stare as he wrapped a hoof around her. “I don’t care what it is. If it helps us catch Pinkie then we need to know.” He stroked her mane with his hoof. “We need to end this.”

There was a longer silence, and then she finally spoke. She told them everything they needed to know. About how she stole the money, omitting the part about Harrow, and how Greenbill was after her. She admitted her confusion with how Red-Mane was associated with a Manehatten drug lord. She admitted that she had no idea whether the ‘friend’ was the dead mare from her apartment. She admitted that she hadn’t told anypony because she was afraid she would lose her job and be branded a criminal.

Clue only spoke to comfort and tease out the information. Clock hadn’t said anything. A vital opportunity to catch Red-Mane had slipped past them because Print was worried about her job. After she had proclaimed that there had to be another way and that Clock shouldn’t be bait. He could see that it was a stupid plan, but now that Print was the bait he felt sick. He was no longer the target. Through some affiliation that they couldn’t see, Red-Mane was working with a drug lord to bring down the mare who got away.

Clock got up and left after she finished speaking. He knew where he was going. He knew who he was going to meet. He had worked many cases in his life. Often, you began to see familiar names. Greenbill’s was such a name. He had met the stallion before. In one sense, Greenbill was comparable to one of the Elements of Harmony: he was completely untouchable. His hooves were buried deep into the legal structures with money influencing the power figures. Clock, too, had taken such a bribe once. He had known Greenbill would get off without a charge, so he took it as a personal asset. Only it was not a bribe of money.

A favour to one of the most powerful drug lords in Equestria was worth more than money, and he was going to call it in.

Chapter 13: Fever and Debts

Clock pushed the door open and entered the building. Inside there were three sofas facing a fireplace. Ponies sat on them staring at the ceiling. Others just stared vacantly into the flames. Some just sat in the corners whispering to themselves.

Clock approached the desk. The stallion behind stood at little taller at Clock’s approach, his chest puffing up as Clock stopped in front of him.

"What’s your fix?" the stallion asked.

"I'm here to see Greenbill," Clock said. He was surprised by the determination in his own voice.

The stallion paused for a moment looking at Clock in a new light as his stare hardened. "Greenbill doesn't just meet with any you-hah fucks that just come walking in off the street."

Clock leaned forward, challenging that stare. "Greenbill owes me personally. I'm here to call in that debt." The stallion said nothing for a long time. Afraid losing the opportunity, Clock persisted. "I'm an old friend of his, and I think it will be better for the both of us if you let me see him."

Without another word, the stallion turned and went through a door behind him. Clock could hear voices through the closed door. At one point they were heated with a mare's voice shouting profanities and the stallion shouting back. Eventually silence fell and a sea-blue stepped out with the stallion by her side.

"If you want to see Greenbill you need to wear this," said the mare, holding a black sack out toward Clock. It was just like the ones prisoners wore before an execution. Twilight would have worn one a few weeks earlier. He considered that for a moment. He would be completely trusting scum with his life, but he needed to see Greenbill. He needed to put down Red-Mane and save Print.

He took the bag and placed it over his head. It smelled like dirt and sweat. Almost immediately his shoulder was seized by a strong hoof and he was pulled forward.

* * *

They walked for a while. No doubt they were taking the longest route to Greenbill to confuse him. At one point they were outside as the rain fell on his back. Another time they were in a tunnel of sorts with their hooves echoing with each step. Nopony spoke for the duration. They arrived at a building that smelled like sex and sounded like a rowdy tavern. The hoof was taken off his shoulder and he was pushed into a chair. A door opened behind him and a voice spoke.

"So, I owe you a debt, do I?" The voice was strong and smooth. The bag was pulled from Clock's head. A hulking, green-coated stallion sat down opposite to him across a table. Greenbill had changed in the years. His muscles had lost their tone but none of their mass, and his voice had lost its edge. He had adapted to his role, but there was something more intimidating about him now although Clock couldn't put his hoof on why. Three other stallions stood against one wall. If they were guards, Greenbill didn't seem like he needed them.

Clock spoke slowly, carefully. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me Greenbill, I'm not sure if you remember me but-"

"Detective Silver Clock, brother to Detective Golden Clock. You've been in this business for many years and to you've both cracked a number of cases relating to my business," he said. "Your brother was a good detective, I dare say he was one of the best I have met. He will be missed." There seemed to be genuine condolence in his voice. "You worked with me years back." He stood up and began walking around the side of the desk. "You were offered a bribe. Enough money for a pony like you to retire, but you asked for something else, and now you're here to call in that favour." He leaned forward on the desk. "Yes, Clock, I know who you are, so what do you want?"

"Red-Mane," Clock said. He looked straight into Greenbill's stare. Greenbill smiled.

"Of course you do," he said as he walked back to his chair. The smile did not reach his voice. "I will give you Red-Mane, but not until she finishes her job for me. I need her first."

Clock frowned. "What about the debt?"

One of the stallions against the wall stepped forward. "Greenbill doesn't owe you shit!" He turned to face Greenbill. "We should just kill him. Take out a detective and free up any debt he thinks we owe him."

Greenbill nodded and walked forward. The stallion seemed to realize his mistake immediately. The part of him with the courage to speak was crushed as Greenbill advanced on him. "We should kill Detective Clock, should we? Kill a stallion who helped us in a time of need? Then again, we are just criminals after all. Hmm." He rubbed a hoof against his chin as he turned to face Clock. Greenbill hadn't changed too much. Clock had seen this act before. Greenbill held out a hoof toward the stallion. "Give me your gun."

The expression on the stallions face softened as he handed a revolver over. Greenbill took it check the load, and then fire into the head of the stallion. Blood and brain matter coated the wall behind him. Greenbill's eyes never left Clock. The body slumped onto the floor in a growing pool of ichor. The left half of the skull was completely demolished.

Greenbill's voice still held no inflection—no emotion. "I will give you Red-Mane when I am done with her, no sooner and no later, and then the debt is paid." He turned to the other stallions. One of them had flecks of gore on one side of his face. "I always pay my debts."

* * *

The throbbing returned first, cold and dull in her foreleg. The pain was forgotten as the light lanced into her eyes. Pinkie raised a hoof to blot out the light.

"You're awake," said an accented voice.

Pinkie's eyes slowly adjusted. She was in the safe house. The orange hue leaked under the door indicating it was either dawn or dusk. She turned to one side toward the voice. A brown-coated stallion was sat on a stool. He leaned forward clutching a piece of wood in one hoof and a pen knife in other. He was watching her from over the top of his yellow-rimmed glass which sat low on his muzzle.

"You're fever broke last night and the inflammation has gone down in your leg," he said. "You'll make a full recovery in a week. Just…don't try self-surgery again." He nodded toward her bandaged limb. "It was a mess in there."

"Thank you," she said. Her voice was coarse and her mouth dry.

The stallion continued cutting away strips of wood from the block which fell into a growing pile on the floor. "S'Quite alright. For the record, your stitching is pretty good. Maybe you were a healer before..." He gestured to all of her before he settled on, "this. And I can't say that I like this very much."

Pinkie gave a dry laugh as she leaned upright. She sucked in a sharp breath as pain jolted up her leg. "For the record, I can't say I like your bedside manner very much, either."

There was genuine disgust in the stare that he returned. "The truth can be more painful than any physical trauma. And you have caused a lot of that in your time." He paused. "If I could guarantee my safety I would have pumped your veins with the poison you deserve or called the police to drag you away." Pinkie was silent. "You're a monster that needs to be put down." The knife trembled in his hoof, but a tight grip stopped that. "But I'm not a killer, not like you, not like Greenbill, and in this world that makes me weak. So here." He tossed a plastic container toward her which clattered beside her. "If you want to end it, give me the pleasure of letting me help." He stood. "That stuff will kill you in under a minute."

"Did I kill somepony you knew?" Pinkie asked. It was the only reason she could fathom for such a strong reaction.

"No, but from now, the blood on your hooves is on mine as well," he said. "And while that may come easily to you, it is crushing for me. I made an oath to never harm. The oath is to my patient but not to thosethey may harm, but that doesn't make this any easier." He turned and climbed the stairs. "I've taken my payment. If you need assistance again don't call me, I might not be able to resist twice in a row." He opened the door.

"Thank you for saving my life," Pinkie said again.

The stallion stopped, the sunlight making him a silhouette in the door. "I'm not a murderer. I ask you not to make me responsible for many more." He shut the door.

* * *

Pinkie was leaned over a desk reading the papers she had taken from the apartment. The plastic container sat on the corner of the desk. Her leg ached from walking over to the desk, but the pain was beginning to lessen. She popped one of the painkillers into her mouth and began to chew, enjoying the bitter, chalky taste.

The pages revealed that Print had an affiliation with the police. Given her previous occupation with Greenbill, she may have sold out criminals and locations for money, although it was unusual for a criminal to associate with the police in any case. So it would stand to reason that the police would have no record of her crimes. After all, Speckled Print is a pseudonym, and Red Robin is the criminal.

She turned over a certificate and frowned. Seven months back, Speckled Print had graduated from the Canterlot Royal Academy and was enlisted in the Canterlot department of investigation. She worked for the police. This made no sense. A criminal who was free and rich goes back to work for the other side. Pinkie turned over another certificate. Print was promoted to the rank of detective a few days ago and had been assigned to the Red-Mane case. She leaned back her chair and ran a hoof through her mane.

Detective Speckled Print. The Red Robin that got away from Greenbill. He needed to know about Print. If he could hand over Clock, he might be able reach her.

* * *

"I don't understand," Print said. She paced around the office. Clue knew better than to confront her now so he was keeping quiet. "I get that he's angry at me, but why? I'm trying to change. Why doesn't he get that?"

Clue spoke up for the first time since the rant began. "Clock is very serious about his cases. I know that from all I've heard about him. I doubt he's taken it personally."

Print stopped pacing and turned to face him. "But it's not about him," she said. "I don't know." She sat down opposite to Clue. "I wish he'd just shout at me or something. Get it over with."

Clue was silent for a moment then a smile broke across his face. "He cares about you," he said. Print didn't meet his eyes. "He's only upset that you are in danger. I am as well. Remember when he said he would be the bait? That was to protect us." Print nodded absently.

The office door opened and Clock walked in. Print stood immediately, moving toward him. "Clock, I'm sorry I'm-"

"Greenbill will give me Red-Mane only after she kills you," Clock said. Despite all the time she had known him, Print couldn’t distinguish the tone in his voice.

"You met with Greenbill? How did you-why would he give you Red-Mane?" Print said. The questions fought for priority in her mind.

Clock spoke calmly. Annoying calm to Print. "He owed me a debt." At the blank expression on her face he expanded. "I've been doing this for many years. I've seen titans of the underworld rise and fall. Greenbill has outlasted them all. You've met him Print, you may understand." Print nodded once. “He is untouchable and ruthless. I knew he would not be found guilty when we caught him. This was long before he sunk his hooves deeper into our ranks. He would blackmail you, he would bribe you, and failing that, he would kill you. I took the bribe. He owed me a debt to be repaid on my terms. He wasn't as smart as he is now, so he agreed."

Clue's face had gone pale. Truly, this was a blemish on the idol he had grown to love. Print opened her mouth to speak but Clue jumped in. "You took a bribe?" Clock nodded. "Why did you take the bribe?"

"Like I said, to save my life."

"So. what do we do now?" Print asked, before the gushing could continue.

Clock shrugged. "I'm not sure. This really messed up any plans I had, but as far as we know, your apartment was broken into, a mare was killed there, and worst case scenario, Red-Mane and Greenbill know where you are and what you do."

Clue spoke, his nostalgia driven anger cooling in the back. "Change routine," he said. "New apartment and we can meet somewhere new." He turned to Clock. "If Greenbill's hooves are as deep as you say they are, then this will have to be off the grid. If he now knows which way to be listening he'll be on us soon." Print nodded. "You can stay with me." After a pause and a glance from Clock he added, "For the time being."

"Thank you," Print said. For a moment her past sins felt a little further away. The pressure they caused was now spread between the three of them, and that made it all easier.

"We can't all meet there," Clock said. "If either of us is tracked back to that place it's over." Clue visibly deflated. He had seemed more enthusiastic at the idea than Print had. “My place is good. It’s right above a bar as well which could be a meeting location. Who would suspect one of us going to a bar anyway?”

Print nodded. “That just might work,” she said. “Where is the apartment?”

“Canterlot suburbs,” said Clock. “It’s a little more luxurious than you may be used to, but I’m sure you can dress up, cant’ you?”

She fixed him with a scowl. “I was a fairly rich mare when I came to Canterlot.” She paused for a moment, unsure whether it was wise to speak jovially of the topic. She decided against it. “But, yes, thank you for the help. Both of you.”

Clock smirked. “Don’t thank me yet.”

* * *

“How do you live here?” Print asked. She dropped her bags in the doorway.

The apartment was large. At one time, she was sure it was a beautiful home—one worthy of a star detective. At one time the marble floors would have shone, and the gilded furniture would complement the room. Now, it looked stale. The embellished furniture looked like an ancient relic from a time before takeaways and cheap alcohol, the remnants of which lay strewn across the floor, the white marble barely visible beneath.

Clock carefully stepped around the debris. He turned back to her when he stood in the middle of the room. “Ta-da!” he sang.

Print’s face didn’t change. “How do you live here?” she asked again.

“I rarely return home sober,” he said earnestly, glancing around the room and scratching his chin. “It never normally seemed that bad. Anyway, I will sleep here.” He gestured to a pile of detritus which had taken the shape of a sofa. “And you can have my bed which I…” He glanced through a door at the other end of the room. “I will probably change for you.”

“I think we should clean up,” Print said.

Clock smiled. “That’s the spirit. We!”

Print sighed. As she made headway on pushing most of the rubbish into one corner, clearing a temporary pathway, she found herself wishing that she had stayed at Clue’s instead. She felt herself smiling inwardly. Clue had a clean apartment, and he was nice.

* * *

The next few days went quickly.

Greenbill was informed that Print worked for the police. He tried to get to her, but it was already too late. She was ‘ill’ for the foreseeable future, and she was off the grid.

The green mare that Red-Mane had killed worked with Print before they had met Greenbill. Print did not recognise the name or the body when shown.

Clock, Clue and Print met every other night unless there was something else to discuss. With both sides now at a standoff, and Red-Mane being quiet, they only met every other night for the next few weeks.

Time for the two sides seemed to slow, but neither grew impatient. They were both content to let the other make the first move.

That is until a month later, when Greenbill decided to force a hand. He was done waiting.

* * *

The cage door slid open, and Greenbill stepped inside the ring. The crowd roared as he raised his hooves in the air. They should, of course. The crowd was made entirely of his own ponies. The ring was surrounded by the large metal cage without a roof. This allowed other ponies to jump in or throw in tools if the fight wasn’t going Greenbill’s way. In the past few years, the fights had always gone his way.

Another stallion stood in the centre of the ring. He was well built, but leaner, younger. An open wound below one eye poured blood that flowed down past his lips. His hind leg was raised off the ground and bent just above the hoof. The broken bone pressed against the skin making it look like a tumour had sprouted on his leg. In front of him, lay the body of his fourth competitor. A piece of a metal strut was lodged in his chest. He had been one of Greenbill’s personal guards—the one who had been splattered with the gore of his partner a month earlier.

“You fight well, Ironbone,” Greenbill said. He paced around the edge of the ring, forcing the stallion to shift uncomfortably, nearly putting weight on the damaged limb. “I dare say you may even be a match for me.” A smirk crossed his lips. “If it wasn’t for your leg, I would let you join my bodyguards. Sadly, that injury will be too much of a liability.”

“I could still beat the shit outa you,” Ironbone said. His voice was coarse from shouting.

Greenbill gave a well humoured laugh. “Many in your position have said that, many more have fallen by my hoof. Only one has beaten me, and Red-Mane killed him.” He stopped and squared his shoulders to the stallion. He flexed the muscles in his back and neck. He hadn’t had a good fight in a long time. He addressed the stallion who controlled the cage door. “Bring in two more! I feel like a party!”

The door slid open, and two stallions ran in. One was red and the other blue. Neither was as large as Ironbone or even close to Greenbill himself.

Greenbill braced himself. “Earn your freedom! Earn your right to be my guard!” The two fresh stallions rang forward, closely followed by Ironbone. Greenbill smiled. “Earn your deaths!”

There are those who say fighting is an art—a dance used to summon death incarnate. Others say it is a tool of savagery, used by the weak-minded to embody ideas they themselves could never form. Perhaps there is truth in both. Greenbill fought like a savage in the sense he showed little restraint, but, truly, there was beauty in it as well. Some hidden flow that he tapped into, some music that only he could hear as he danced and hit every beat so perfectly.

The red stallion kicked forward, standing on his hind legs. Greenbill sidestepped using the momentum to land a solid punch his gut. With his breath knocked out, the stallion kicked wildly, hoping to land any hit to give him time to recover. Greenbill pressed forward and bucked landing a solid kick in the sternum and another in the solar plexus. The latter kick would disrupt any attempt to recover his breath, taking him out of the fight in the short term.

The blue stallion was smaller than the other and faster. As Greenbill turned, a punch landed on his collar, just shy of missing his jaw. He had taken too long on red and now Ironbone was upon him. The larger stallion stood on his hind legs. The back hoof was now correctly positioned, likely it had only been dislocated at the joint, or Ironbone was simply fighting through the pain. Ironbone brought his forelegs down straight into the concrete where Greenbill had been.

Before he even adjusted himself again, the blue stallion was on him. He covered his face, but the rapid jabs were too quick to block, so Greenbill pushed forward. The stallion danced around him to his side, landing a kick in his rib which he thought he heard crack. The crowd rumbled. He could hear shouts to get help in there. Another kick landed on his lip. He jumped back again, narrowly avoiding the haymaker by Ironbone who had crept closer while the blue stallion danced.

The fight wasn’t going to plan, but he’d missed this. The pounding of his heart and the blood on his face—his own blood on his face. He missed the familiar aches and the burning as he struggled to draw breath. He began laughing. The blue stallion lunged forward.

Greenbill braced and took the blow as the smaller stallion threw himself into his side. The crack rib screamed but the pain was welcomed. Before the stallion could dart back, before he could dance around and jab and stall, Greenbill lashed out. He grabbed a hold of the stallion by his mane pulling him down. He brought down a hoof on the base of his neck. The stallion’s body went limp as the head bent at an impossible angle. The crowd roared in appreciation.

Greenbill looked up toward Ironbone. One had a dislocated leg. The other had a cracked rib. One had a bleeding eye. The other had a bleeding lip. Truly, there was no purer form of combat. Killing with a knife is meticulous, it is the work of a painter, but this was the real art. To stand in front another and to destroy their body with just your hooves. That was the dance—albeit a savage one.

“You fight well for an old buck,” Ironbone said, laughing. Greenbill laughed too. It was the mutual appreciation for jest in the aftermath. Greenbill glanced to the red stallion. He had been shot through the head. The bullet had emerged near one of the sockets removing half of his face. Maybe three stallions had been too much. He was getting older after all.

“Honestly, I’m tempted to let you live,” said Greenbill. “Only so I can fight you when we have both recovered, I think you would be a good sparring partner.”

Ironbone smiled, too. “I would enjoy that, Greenbill.”

“It’s a shame though—a shame you had to steal from me,” Greenbill said. “A shame truly, that a fighter like you will die by the hoof of an old buck.”

* * *

The fight lasted for another minute. By the end, Ironbone lay in the centre of the cage. He had his foreleg dislocated, his hindleg with a compound fracture, which was bleeding profusely, and his skull crack from being smashed against the floor. Greenbill had broken his nose and cracked his ribs since stepping into the cage. As well as a popped lip that had stopped bleeding.

He had needed this fight. The pent up frustration from dealing with Print had gotten to him, and this was the steam that was released. Those who were caught in it were scalded and burned. While the fight had helped, he was still angry. It was combined sourly with the revelation that he wasn’t as young as he had once been.

Yet there was something purifying in the fray. Something which cleared the senses in a way only survival can. He was in a city with a high population density and the defenders were corrupt. He was working with a mare who could kill effectively.

It was a simple plan. Print wouldn’t want others to die. Since she worked on the Red-Mane case, she would likely see Clock, and he hated to lose. Each death was a point in Red-Mane’s favour.

Greenbill smiled. All he had to do was play one side against the other. Clock would come, and Print would follow. Clock would get Red-Mane. Oh, he would get her in the open. The debt would be paid for both of them and he would get Print and he could pound her skull in the dirt and the mare who got away would be another death at the hooves of the greatest criminal lord Equestria had ever known.

“Terrifying as always, Greenbill,” said a familiar voice from behind him.

He turned, trying to control his breath and lessen the pain in his chest. The voice had come from his favoured bodyguard: Grease Shackle—the stallion who had originally found Red-Mane.

“Send a note to Red-Mane,” Greenbill said slowly, carefully. “Tell her, to start killing—tell her to bleed this city dry, and when Print emerges from the grizzled husk, we shall take her.”

The stallion nodded. “That’s quite a message.”

Greenbill chuckled dryly, wincing at the pain it caused. “The deaths are the message. This is merely a note to my messenger.”

Chapter 14: Giants and Monsters

“She killed seven ponies in just two days,” Clue said dourly. Clock nodded, grimacing as he took a drink from his whiskey. “Seven ponies, just gone.” Three of the seven dead had been officers who were on a patrol. There had been no call on the radio. They were killed before they had any chance to call for help. Print was staring vacantly at a poster proclaiming, ‘Happy hour, happiest hour around: 7-8pm every weekend.’

Their small group sat in one of the booths in the corner of the bar. A large group of four stallions and two mares were at the bar, creating most of the noise. A mare and stallion sat opposite each other across the room casting resentful glances at the louder group. For a happy hour, it was dead. One possible reason was the current resurgence of Red-Mane. She had maimed and killed seven, leaving their bodies on the streets for others to find in the morning.

“What can we do?” Print asked, looking between her partners. Clue stared at his drink. His thoughts swam through it: Red-Mane, the elusive Greenbill, and seven; his mind always returned back to the seven deaths. Clock was more lucid. He had more experience in the field, although never with a case like this. He doubted there would ever be another case like this. “Clock?”

“I don’t know,” Clock said. He took drink, grateful for the fire that burned in his throat. “I’ll-We’ll try and sort this in the morning. After sleep.” He had no intention of sleeping. There was too much to think about, and he doubted sleep would come to him even if he wanted it. He downed the rest of his drink and stepped out of the booth. “Coming up, Print?”

She shook her head. “I’ll have one more.” He nodded and went up the stairs in the corner of the room, holding tightly on the rail to steady himself.

“There was a...note on one of the officers,” Clue said. His eyes were averted. He hadn’t wanted to mention it while Clock was there. Clock would insist that he was the only one who was expendable. “Her name was Shower Burst, she…” He sighed. “I attended her birthday party a few months back. Her kid was there.”

“What did the note say?” Print said. She knew that she had to divert his thoughts. Not because she didn’t care, but because the melancholy would consume him.

Clue didn’t look at her as he spoke. His eyes remained fixed on his beer. “If you give yourself over, Red-Mane will stop.” He hated himself a little more at that moment. He was ultimately giving her the option to kill herself, an option she wouldn’t have otherwise had, but it was right, wasn’t it? Just to give up one and save many more lives. Even if it was the one he loved. He looked up toward her. She was about to break, he could see it in her eyes. He moved to sit beside her, placing a hoof around her shoulder. She leaned into the embrace.

“I have to, don’t I?” she said. Her voice was frail.

Clue took a deep breath, inhaling her scent and hugging her just a little tighter. “No, you don’t have to.” But you should. In the end, living was selfish, and she had never been a monster, because not all criminals are bad. Some were just in bad circumstances, but they weren’t bad ponies.

She leaned away so she could look at him. “I told you, didn’t I? Red Robin died—I left her in Manehatten. Speckled Print would do what is right.” She began to laugh but it faded to a sob. “At least she should.”

“You don’t owe us anything,” Clue said. He regretted telling her about the note. Part of him, the part that loved her, wanted her to live. The selfless part of her that wanted to walk up to Greenbill was beautiful, he thought. She was the detective that Clock wasn’t, and Clock needed her. He was cold without her. Another part, the rational, cold part that Clock embraced said she should walk out of here and end the madness. No more would die at the cost of one.”

“Only a monster would run away. Speckled Print is not a monster.” She failed to blink back her tears as they trailed down her face. She had accepted this path.

Clue leaned forward. Their lips met, and for a short time, Print forgot she was about to walk to her death. She forgot about Red-Mane, Greenbill, and Red Robin. It all faded to simplicity during the fray—the surge of emotion as she shut her eyes and let it happen with the nice stallion who she loved. Eventually the kiss broke, and they looked at each other, softly panting and giddy.

“I’ll miss you, Clue,” she said. She felt that something needed to be said, because she was about to leave the booth and walk out onto the street. Just like that, a simple note, and she knew she would die. It hadn’t even began to set in yet. Perhaps, it never could, no matter how long you were given.

“I’m coming too,” he said.

She smiled. “They don’t need you.”

He took her hoof in his. “I’ll take you there, you‘re not alone anymore.”

* * *

Greenbill needed a replacement. His experience here showed that Canterlot needed a strong hoof to hold them down. As much as he owned the police, the rogues like Clock in their ranks were a bigger threat than the entire force. He could undermine everything they wanted, but his threat was considerably lessened as they had him by the balls. They had Red Mane as a bargaining chip, and the lives of the innocent were all hostages, but even now, Greenbill knew Clock could be dangerous. His brother had been. He was the only stallion to beat Greenbill in hoof-on-hoof combat, but now he was dead and the little brother was here to play.

Greenbill was old now, but still strong, still dangerous, and just as mad as he had been in his youth, although he had developed a temper more than a whim. He couldn’t hold down Manehatten and Canterlot, so he needed a trustworthy hoof in this city. The strongest applicant used to run an opposing drug gang but he was only loyal to money and power. He respected Greenbill and would be paid well, so he could be trusted. His name was Riser, and he was notably ruthless and supposedly as crazy as Greenbill had been in his youth. Both talents were invaluable in this business.

A knock came at the door. Greenbill folded up the papers of Riser and placed them in the top draw of his desk. He looked up toward the door. “Enter, Grease,” he said.

The door opened and Grease stepped in. He panted, out of breath. “She came. Speckled Print gave herself up!” he said. His voice was filled with elation, a broad uncharacteristic smile on his muzzle.

Greenbill frowned. “And Clock? She’s alone?”

Grease shook his head. “She came with Detective Cross Clue, the new detective on the case.” Greenbill nodded, remembering his file. “He tried to leave when we took her but we…” He paused. “We weren’t sure what to do with him, so we took him too. They’re both drugged and knocked out in the keet.”

It made no sense for Print to give herself up. Clock would take the deaths personally and he would have brought Print. He was cold and he would do what was right to save ponies. He would hand her over. Why would she come without him? He stood. His mind was too caught up in Clock that he forgot about Print. “Take me to her.”

Grease nodded and led him down the hall. The long stairwell lights flickered as they descended into the keet. It was the basement of the building which used to be a brewery or industrial plant before it was abandoned. Greenbill down through the window. The glass from the window lay strewn on the floor twenty feet below. Print was tied with her hooves above her head to a pipe. Clue was chained to a boiler, his hooves crossed around a valve. They were both unconscious. It was so simple. He only had to go down and kill her.

But it was never too simple. Silver was still out there. And he knew better than to underestimate a Clock again. He wanted Silver dead. A thought rolled loose as he imagined Red Mane stabbing Silver in the throat. He had every detective on the Red Mane case. He could kill every detective. The police would tremble, and any rogue would never stand again! If anypony opposed him, even the infamous Clock brothers, they would be cut down by Greenbill: the greatest druglord in Equestria.

He needed Print alive. She could be useful leverage, Red Mane could as well. Greenbill had the upper hoof, but he knew not to underestimate Clock, not again. In Silver, he saw Golden. He saw the smile as Golden stood above him—as he brought a hoof down. He would get revenge for him. Nopony beats Greenbill.

He wouldn’t just kill Clock, he would humiliate him. He would show him Red Mane—the prize—and laugh as the victory turned to ash in his mouth. He knew exactly what he would do it.

Greenbill spoke slowly, struggling to contain the excitement that churned within him. “Tell Clock to meet us at warehouse seventeen in the industrial district. We will give him Red Mane there on our terms. If he tries to get any support from the police, we will find out, and we will kill Print and release Red Mane into the city.” He paused. He had Clock, he knew he did, but he was afraid. It was emotion that he hated, and he hated Clock for making him feel it. What could Clock do? Golden had been a fairly thin stallion, unassuming. Yet he had beaten him, embarrassed him in front of his ponies. “I want five of our best in the warehouse. If he is armed we kill him on the spot. Tell him to meet us at dusk.”

“Why don’t we kill him on the spot as he walks in?” Grease asked.

Greenbill turned. He grabbed Grease by his collar and pushed him through the window gap. With a single hoof, he held the squirming stallion above the twenty foot fall. Greenbill watched him with a blank expression. In Grease, he saw Silver. He smiled. “I want him to squirm. I want him to think he’s won. I want him to kill Red Mane and as she dies, as the joy courses through his veins, I want to shoot him. I want him to bleed the joy out over the floor. I want Print to watch as he dies.” The face changed. In Grease, he saw Golden, he saw him standing above him all over again. Greenbill shouted, throwing Grease back through the window so he landed beside him in a heap. “I’m gonna kill you Golden. I’m gonna kill you.”

* * *

It was an ordinary day, at least that is how it started. Clock awoke with a terrible headache, that wasn’t new. Print wasn’t in the apartment, so he assumed she had gone back to Clue’s place. The two had been getting close over the past few weeks. It was about time one of them let it happen.

He got the bus to work as usual. Clue wasn’t in yet. He smirked as he realized they were probably having a quickie before they left. Clue was always in before him. He sat down with a coffee. Today would be another slow day. There had probably been more killings. Another seven maybe. Print would stay at the apartment doing whatever it was she did, and they would meet at the bar and drink. They would discuss what had happened today, but they would certainly drink.

The door opened with a click behind him. He smiled. “So…” he sang. “Did you and her-“ He turned to face the stallion in the door. He had been there when he met with Greenbill. “Can I help?”

The stallion stepped in fully and shut the door. His voice was low, almost apologetic. “We have Print. We have Clue. We have Red-Mane,” he paused, giving time for those three names to sink in. “You want them, go to the industrial district, ware-“

“-house seventeen,” Clock finished. He knew that Greenbill used that place. It only had one door. The stallion nodded.

“If you warn the police, he will cancel the request and kill Print and Clue, then he will release Red-Mane into the city.”

Clock’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you need me? You broke her, you have your prize. You’ve won.” He sighed. “Just give me what I’m owed and leave this city.”

The stallion opened the door. “Greenbill will give her to you, but he knows you can be…” He paused. “Unpredictable. You will get Red-Mane on our terms and then we will leave.” The door shut. Clock was alone.

He knew this was a bad deal—he knew Greenbill had planned something, but he didn’t know what. It didn’t matter what he had planned. He was going to walk into a trap because there was nothing he could do to stop him. Greenbill had won, and he would get Red-Mane: the prize. In the end, however, he knew it was worth it. Two lives are worth less than the hundreds that could be saved by killing Red-Mane, and the satisfaction of watching her die would be priceless.

But…what if he could have both? His friends and Red-Mane. Hell, why not kill Greenbill too. Legally untouchable, but a bullet in the head bypassed the paper work. Holding detectives hostage, there was enough reason to take him down.

But Greenbill had everything Clock wanted: his most deadly enemy and his closest friend. In the end, Clock knew he was expendable, and he knew he wouldn’t free her alone, and he would dying trying to free her. Only, Clock knew he couldn’t do it alone, and he was almost out of friends.

Almost.

* * *

Clock knocked on the door. After a pause, a familiar voice came through the door. The voice of an abrasive asshole who everypony loved to hate.

“Come in.” The warden was sat behind a desk. He smiled as Clock entered. “Well, well, if it isn’t my favourite detective.” The song in his voice ended. “What do you want?”

“Hello, warden,” Clock said. “I need a favour.”

The stallion spread his arms wide. “New office. I’m not a warden anymore, I run the SWAT teams, so any favours will have to be sent to the new guy.” He laughed and leaned back in his chair. “Apparently he’s a bigger ass than me. They call me Swat, now.” He puckered his lips and nodded. “I like that name. ”

Clock’s smile held no humour. “I know that you run the swat teams. I still need that favour.”

Swat’s smile faded as he nodded, looking Clock up and down. “Close the door.” Clock shut it. Swat gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit.” Clock sat down. There was a short pause. “You still owe me one favour, you know? Since you punched Red-Mane in the face and I said nothing.”

“I know, and I’ll repay you when you need it,” Clock said. “But I need this, and it has to be out of the books, command can’t know.”

Swat laughed. “Oh, they never can, can they? Every favour is out of the books as I understand.” Clock said nothing, but maintained a stare. “Yes, then this will be out of the books. What’d you need?”

“An armoured team. Guns and bullets, the lot.”

Swat leaned back in his chair, running a hoof through his mane. “That’s a lot to ask. You don’t just send out an entire swat team out of the books.”

“Fake a call, send them to me instead, do whatever you want,” Clock said. “And if it goes to plan, it can go back in the books.”

“Ah, so you don’t want somepony to know that the swat team is on its way, and they have eyes in here.” Clock nodded. “I miss having to sneak you into an interrogation room to punch that bitch. Things were simpler then.” He paused. “It’s her, isn’t it? That Red-Mane.” Clock nodded again. “You’re gonna get yourself killed, Silver.”

“Will you do it, Swat?” Clock asked.

“Yeah, but I’ll need details.”

“Print needs to survive. Everypony else is expendable, myself included. But before that there’s just one more thing,” Clock said. His eyes scanned the cabinet at the back of the room. Marksmanship trophies stared back. “You still a good shot?”

* * *

Clock walked through the rain. He was thoroughly soaked and had been for the past half-hour. The industrial district, as he had imagined, was silent. The setting sun tinted the sky red, bathing the warehouses. He walked past warehouse sixteen.

“It all ends tonight,” he said if only for himself. Swat would be on the roof of sixteen. His shot would mark the attack, and the giants would fall. Red-Mane and Greenbill would fall. Just as planned.

He turned into the alleyway alongside warehouse seventeen. The door was left ajar allowing light from inside to pour into the alleyway. He took a deep breath and stepped inside. The first thing he noticed was Red-Mane. She was tied to a chair, her hooves behind her back. Only the left half of her face was illuminated. Then he saw Print, and then Clue. They were both bound to separate chrome tables. Print was gagged but looked unharmed. Clue, he could tell, had not fared so well. One of his eyes was swollen shut and his lip was bust.

Greenbill stood in the centre of the room. He held a revolver, resting the barrel against his head. Hen was surrounded by five of his guards. Each guard held a rifle. If Greenbill was planning on just dealing with Clock, five guards was a lot. If Greenbill had expected him to plan something, five guards weren’t going to be enough. It was likely that Greenbill’s ego had played a large part in there being few guards, and his paranoia played a part in their being more than two. He was, after all, a drug lord. He was untouchable legally. Why would he need a guard when the police don’t kill? He had expected Clock to make a move.

“Welcome, Clock,” Greenbill said. “You arrived in good time as well. That’s good. I want to finish this before late. So, there she is.” He gestured to Red-Mane with the revolver. She remained silent, maintaining a stare at Clock. “Scary, isn’t she.” He walked over to her and stroked a hoof through her mane. “But useful. Zephyr, give Clock a knife.”

One of the guards placed her gun down and walked toward Clock. When she was close, she drew a knife and flipped it casually so the handle pointed toward him. In an instant, Clock grabbed the knife, and the mare by the shoulder, turning her to face Greenbill with the knife to her throat. SHe resisted and struggled at first. She squeaked and froze as the steel was pressed into her flesh. It wasn’t enough to draw blood yet.

Come on, Swat. Take the shot, Clock thought. This was the time to shoot. There was a pregnant silence. Swat must be hold up, or he was having trouble outside.

“What is this Clock?” Greenbill asked. “I give you Red-Mane. Take her. Please just take her out of my hooves.”

“I want Print and Clue released,” Clock said, his voice low.

Greenbill frowned. “You are in no position to make a request.”

“I’ll kill her unless you free them.”

Greenbill cocked his head. “You will?” He raised the revolver and fired. His aim was remarkable from that range and he hadn’t even looked down the sight. The mare’s head rolled back as the top half blew away. Her body became dead weight and Clock dropped it, cringing as he was sprayed with her gore. “No, I don’t think you have that card to play anymore.” He laughed. “I don’t think you deserve Red-Mane anymore. I offer her to you in charity, out of the kindness of my heart as I honoured this debt, and you do this to me?” He shook his head. “Take her away.” Red-Mane’s chair was pulled backward into the shadow.

“We had a deal Greenbill,” he said. He stepped forward. The remaining guards pointed their guns at him. Greenbill raised a hoof.

“We did,” he said. “And you tried this shit!” He pointed to the body of the mare. “You did that to her.” Clock said nothing. “I’m going to make you a deal Clock, because our old one is no longer active. If you don’t comply, I’ll take Red-Mane with me to Manehatten, and she’ll spend the rest of her days in the dense metropolis killing seven a night, until you top yourself. Because I’ll make sure you don’t catch her in the big city.”

“Why would she let that happen?” Clock asked. “Why would she choose that over killing me?”

“Because she hates you,” he said with a smile. “And their deaths are more pain to you than your own.” Clock felt part of himself slip. At one time, each death by Red-Mane was personal. On some level, it still was, but it was no longer painful. He thought back to the bar. When the seven died, his first thought was that there were three more officers who couldn’t catch Red-Mane. He was cold now. Red-Mane had made him cold.

There was a long pause before Clock spoke. “What do you want?”

“I want you to kill Clue,” he said. His voice held endless joy.

Print screamed through her gag and pulled on her restraints. Clock grimaced. She wouldn’t fight if she knew he wouldn’t do it. He was cold and Print knew it too. Clock turned toward Clue. The stallion was looking down at the floor. If he killed Clue, he could kill Red Mane. Simple. One death for another.

“Please…Silver,” Print said. Clock turned. The gag had fallen from her chin. Greenbill made no movement to fix that. Her voice was coarse. “Don’t kill him.”

“But I’ll never get her again. I’ll lose my chance and others will die.” He didn’t care about the others. Not anymore. Red Mane had to die because she had killed his brother. Golden’s statue still stood in Canterlot while his killer was loose. No, she had to die. He had to end this. He only had to kill one and then it Red-Mane was his. Then it was over.

Clock turned back toward Clue.

“We’ll catch her,” Print said. “We’ll find her and…” Her voice broke into a wretched sob. “If you do this you’re no better than her.”

Clock paused. He remembered why he had stood next to Twilight’s body when her parents were there. He was a face to blame. Maybe that was his virtue, to do what others couldn’t for the greater good. He had to be a monster to stop a greater monster. He stopped at Clue’s side.

Clue sang. It was sombre song, his voice barely above a whisper. “If you’re bad, he will catch you. If you fall, he will catch you. Through

it all, he’s the greatest. Of them all, he is Silver Clock.”

Clock recognised that song from his fan club from all those years ago. He had changed since then. He was cold. But he knew that even if his mind grew dull from the things he had done—even if he was condemned for his crimes he would keep going like a zombie until he was stopped or killed. One goal: to end Red-Mane. He was close now. Even if he died in the end, even if he was imprisoned or hanged for these murders he had to. Swat wouldn’t take the shot, maybe he wasn’t there. He owed Clock nothing after all.

He raised the knife. Print shouted something but he didn’t hear the words. The knife fell into Clue’s throat. The blood erupted from his mouth and poured down his neck. He raised the knife again. Droplets of ichor landing on his face then he plunged it down again, this time into the chest. Clue’s eyes went wide and after a moment they glazed. The lustre of life extinguished in his eyes. They stared at Clock: the idol he grew up wanting to become. Clock soaked it up. He was a monster: a face to blame.

Print was screaming and shouting and crying. She thrashed at her restraints. “I’ll kill you Clock! I’ll make sure you’re hanged you fucking murderer!” she wailed. He looked her and didn’t blink. Cold. A long few minutes followed. Print cried, and Clock waited. Maybe Swat would take the shot now, but nothing came.

“Quite a show, Clock,” Greenbill said. “Here’s your prize.” His voice became hard. “Both of you.”

The ropes around Red-Mane fell loose and she stood from the chair, a knife clutched in her hoof. Clock’s jaw gaped. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t what he had wanted. He was supposed to kill Red-Mane. He had killed Clue so he could kill Red Mane. She shouldn’t put up a fight. She ran toward him, closing the distance quickly. Greenbill raised the revolver to Print’s head. It wasn’t supposed to end this way.

A shot was fired. The window of the far wall erupted and glass rained down on the guards. Greenbill fired the revolver as a bullet punched a hole in his skill. He began to fall, dead before he hit the ground. His shot grazed Print’s cheek, but did no more. The single door was kicked open and the swat team ran in. There was a brief firefight, but the remaining four guards stood little chance against the eight that poured in.

Red-Mane was on him. She lashed out and he jumped back. The stab went across his face and he screamed. He lost the vision as pain erupted across his face. He lost the vision in one eye nas warm, sticky blood poured down his face. Red-Mane turned ready to stab again. She was tackled to the ground by one of the armoured officers. She began stabbing him in the back and he howled. One of the other officers fired. Two bullets went into her foreleg holding the knife and another into her shoulder. She wailed, dropping the knife as two more restrained her and tried to help the other officer.

And like that, it was over.

Clock was trying to feel his eye and wipe away the blood. A hoof fell on his shoulder. Swat looked down toward him. “Sorry for the delay,” he said. “Turns out Greenbill had ponies in my department too. Had several attempts to stop me and more for the team. Also, I’m apparently fired now so…” He pulled Clock to his hooves. “I’m sure it was just a heat of the moment kind of thing.” Clock laughed, despite the agony in his eye. It hurt to touch and he couldn’t wipe away the blood. “And, I’m sorry.” Clock tried to turn to face him but was forcefully stopped. He felt cold metal click around his hooves. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Detective Clue. I saw what you did.”

“Then why didn’t you fire?” Clock demanded. “You could have saved both of us!”

Swat said simply. “I wasn’t ready to shoot. The rest of the team hadn’t arrived and I doubt either of us would survive long enough to save Print.” Clock remembered his words from the night before. She has to survive. Everypony else was expendable.

The giants had all fallen, and he was arrested. He had won.

He was taken out the warehouse with Swat holding onto his shoulder. It had taken monster to do what others would not. Had had won, but he felt cold.

Chapter 15: Red-Mane and Clock

“Was it worth it?” Clock said. Red-Mane stared blankly at the table. Clock leaned forward onto the table. She looked up toward him. “We got you, we got Twilight. All those deaths, and was it worth it?”

Red-Mane smiled. “I could ask you the same thing. Was it worth killing Clue: your biggest fan, just for me.”

“I had to,” he said. “If I didn’t you would have killed more—hundreds more-“

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Silver.” Clock spun recognising the voice. It was his father who had spoken. He was standing next to his brother in the doorway. He wasn’t withered by age anymore. This was him in his prime. “You did this for petty revenge you stubborn piece of shit. Was it worth it?” He advanced on him. “Was it worth killing Clue for this?” Behind him, he saw Clue. He was sitting, just like he had when he was killed. He was humming the song from the fanclub. He looked up toward Clock. His eyes were white without a pupil or iris.

“I won,” Clock said. “I killed Greenbill, I got Red-Mane, and Print lived. Don’t you all get that? I won!” As he shouted the ghosts of his father and brother vanished. Clue stopped humming looked away, then he vanished too. “I…I won.”

I hoof ran down his back making him shiver. “You did, didn’t you?” Red-Mane walked past him, a smile on her face. “Got me, right where you want me.” She opened the door to the observation room. Through the glass, he saw silhouettes. He was certain it was Swat and Print. They were judging him. “You’re cold, Clock.”

“I got you,” he said. He dropped to his knees and stared at the ground. He was in a pool of blood. Clue’s blood, and his own. He could feel his eye starting to throb and his vision flickered. “I won. You’ll get hanged and I’ll-“

Red-Mane lifted his head with a hoof so he looked into her eyes. “I was hanged three days ago,” she said. He remembered her being taken past his cell. “When you wake, you will join me.” She smiled but it quickly faded. “Don’t look so down, Clock. After all, you won.”

* * *

Clock awoke with a start. He had won. He looked around the cell and then up to the door. Swat was watching him through the bars. Print had trialed to get Clock executed for murder. She had won. Clock had been in hospital last week. They hadn’t managed to save his eye, leaving a it clouded with a scar running through it.

“Is it time?” Clock said.

Swat gave a single nod. “I’m sorry.” He had been called to tell the court about what Clock had done. He had told the truth and was given his job back. He had won. He held the bag toward him.

“Can we…can I put it one when I’m about to go out?” Clock asked. There was painful resignation in his voice.

“Sure we can,” Swat said. “You know the way, don’t you?” He smiled. Clock smiled too, but the humour was lost on him.

He spoke. Not wanting to walk in silence. “What happened to Greenbill?” They turned into a corridor. It was the last turn Clock would take.

“He’s dead,” Swat said. “Most of his workers were happy about that, as I’m sure you’d guess, seeing how he shot one of his own die just because he could.” Clock nodded but said nothing. “He had been looking for a replacement in Canterlot before he died. Apparently the new guy is worse, goes by the name Riser, makes Greenbill look like a chump.” Clock laughed, mostly because no-one could make Greenbill look like a chump.

“And how’s Print?” Clock asked.

“Uh…” Swat paused. “Scarred, from cross her face when Greenbill shot her, but she’s…I dunno. Different. Never talked to her much before, or after much, but she’s coping, I think.”

“Good. Good. That’s good to hear.”

They stopped by some doors. Clock hadn’t realised it before, but the brown wood and thick planks were quite intimidating. He stifled the thought. Swat held the bag toward him. “Could you?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” He leaned forward, letting the bag be placed over his head.

“It’s okay,” Swat said. His voice became unnaturally softer for him. “Good working with you.” He pulled Clock forward.

He could hear the crowd. More than had been at Twilight’s execution. He took solace that Red-Mane had walked these steps a few days earlier. He stopped on a panel which rocked gently. The manacles were placed around his hooves. One of them clipped his skin. Swat’s voice apologized. Clock said that it didn’t matter. Then the noose was placed over his head.

Silence fell, apart from the occasional murmurs as his crimes were read out. The most notable being the murder of Detective Cross Clue. At the mention of the name, Clock hunched slightly. There was a short pause then bag was removed from his head. The light was temporarily blinding. Then his eyes adjusted.

Print was stood at the front of the crowd, frowning. The scar across her face did her well. It only added a fierceness to her beauty. She wasn’t a rookie anymore. At the back of the crowd, he saw Twilight’s parents. Beside them, he was sure he could see his brother and father, their ghosts at least. He didn’t even try and rationalize that. They turned to walk away.

He turned to his side. Another noose fluttered in the breeze. Red-Mane’s noose, he imagined. And like that, he saw her. Hanging limp.

He turned back to the crowd, wanting the image out of his head. That was him soon, but he saw her. In one of the alleyways, he saw her. Red-Mane. He knew it wasn’t her, but his heart was already pounding.

He would die for this. For saving all these ponies. He would die a monster because he dared to fight a greater evil. A face to blame.

He had won.

He looked up to a balcony above. Celestia nodded and turned back into the castle. Then his eyes fell on Swat who held the lever. His eyes were pleading but he shut them, looking down at the trapdoor. All eyes were on him. Print’s especially. She would saver this—maybe enjoy this. Cold .

He exhaled and held it. It would make his death faster. Then a pause, longer than usual, or maybe it just seemed longer.

The lever was pulled and he fell. The manacles on his hindlegs went taut first, throwing his chest forward. Then the noose went taut.

He began to slip, as he heard the crowd roar. He opened his one good eye, and looked forward. Print was crying. She could still be saved. She wasn’t cold yet.

Oddly, as his mind turned to distant, familiar places, one thought emerged—one line he had heard, but never quite acknowledged because it had never seemed real. It was her voice, Red-Mane’s voice.

“You will remember my face.” And he did. He saw it just like he had in the dream. She held her hoof under his chin as the world fell away beneath him. She was smiling.

Chapter 1: Humble Beginnings

Chapter 1: Humble Beginnings

“...it’s all for the thrill” she spoke slowly, a tantalizing lure to inspire a final fighting sprit into his broken form. She stood a few metres in front of him breaking the silence with the gentle distinct tapping of hoof on stone floor.

He faced downward, blood trickled out the corner of his mouth from where she had bust his lip. His body was riddled with healing and fresh wounds covering his blue form. Dried tears had formed beneath his blindfold from his twisted ordeal. His psyche was seemingly broken; she had to drag out his suffering over the course of a week-a week of horror behind closed doors.

She couldn’t keep getting new recruits like she used to, the numerous disappearances were beginning to be noticed by the locals. She had to find a new source of targets and in a town as small as Ponyville the only new faces were those of travellers. They had come from as far as the hill marsh plains in the north, all of them seeking adventure but some finding instead, something far less enjoyable.

The travellers sadly weren’t frequent visitors which reduced the amount of fun she could have with each, so instead of one night murders she was forced to stretch the torture over the course of a week however she proudly managed to break one of them in two days.

She sighed heavily and walked slowly toward him, with each hooffall his breathing quickened, a response he had adopted shortly into this nightmare. His restraints prevented much movement however he still quivered and tensed his body. She breathed purposefully loud to intimidate him further. An aura of fear surrounded him. She leaned menacingly close to his face until she could feel his ragged breathing on her face.

“It’s all for the thrill,” she repeated, hoping for a response to show he wasn’t ready to give up yet, showing he was still determined to battle through his ordeal.

She waited patiently for a response but none came, just the same fluctuations in his breath and the occasional tremble but otherwise a dormant form. She sighed once again.

“I thought you would last longer, but I guess we all reach a point,” she said in a grim tone.

She scratched loudly upon the chrome table next to him, so he knew she was picking up one of the various instruments of torture. However she picked the simplest and favoured weapon. Its blade was still stained with the dark ichor from the last execution. She stared at it fondly, smiling like a mother with her child. She gripped the handle tightly.

Reaching over to his face, she pulled down his blindfold and was met by his bloodshot eyes staring wildly at her, his face contorted in fear after seeing the monster that caused his suffering. This would be the second time he had seen her and notably the last thing he would see.

She smiled reluctantly at his fearful expression intent on showing him her confidence in what she was about to do, she spoke the final words all other victims heard before reaching their demise.

“When I kill you and you’re bleeding out your last, I want you to remember my face,” she said quietly, but enough to be heard.

His breathing speed up once he digested what she meant, a look of terror locked in his unwavering stare fed her desire further to end him.

She raised the knife to his neck and with a smiling glance passed it cleanly through his throat. His body immediately convulsed and blood sprayed from his newest wound covering her coat and face. Gargles of fading life were heard, as his final thoughts were lost to the void.

She stood stationary for a moment listening to the slow dripping of ichor becoming less and less frequent until a silence she so desire filled the room. The simplicity was astounding she thought, if we but listened to the sound when there is none, we can hear the laughter of a filly and the scream of an antagonist.

It filled her with content that this loose end was tied and another successful killing was complete. She wiped her face on a cloth from the table and stared at the body. This was the annoying but necessary part of the job, dealing with the body.

She had no need to dispose the body, only to make sure it was in pieces to hide in her basement, and that it wouldn’t produce a noticeable smell, both of which were solved by mutilation and large amounts of bleach. However the process of soaking the body took many hours and the mutilation wasn’t an entirely pleasant experience due to the large amounts of blood and the thorough hygiene she required at the end.

Almost six months she had been doing this- six months and nopony had noticed the rapid disappearances of their closest villagers. The travellers were the safest she could be with any killing. No-one knew them and gladly none would remember them. The lack of activity with the officials had surprised her, the police weren’t paying any attention to the disappearances. Despite this being rather good news it made her rather suspicious as the body count was already in double figures and at the current rate was likely going to fill her basement soon.

Judging by the news, no official declaration of missing ponies had been released recently, at least locally that is. The lack of media attention was very fortunate, picking up and drugging a traveller who is suspicious of everypony would be very risky work. If word got out, there would be little between her and retribution of the many she had killed.

She sighed deeply and unstrung the body. It fell to the floor with a gentle thud and she stared pensively at his form. Now came the part she disliked, tying the loose ends. She put her hooves under each of the foreleg and dragged him over to a shallow steel basin. Straining under the weight, she lifted him up and dropped him in with a loud band as his skull bounced of the metal base. There was just enough bleach left to fill the basin, she would need some more she thought to herself. The body would soak there overnight awaiting the next stage of the procedure, but for now she needed to get cleaned up, as an oblivious crimson stain covered her body.

She walked up the stairs out her basement and then glanced over to the clock on the wall; she was meeting up with Twilight in an hour. She moved the thick metal latch and pulled open the heavy soundproof door to Sugarcube corner, the Cakes were out for the day so she had no concern of being seen.

The metal door swung shut with a bang, locking the several bolts and locks immediately after. She was visiting Twilight to assist her with her studies. What little Pinkie knew about some topics was easily dismissed by her very extensive knowledge of pony anatomy. Twilight never asked how she knew, but she always had a lie installed to readily explain herself. Luckily her friend respected her knowledge and only asked questions related to the rather difficult subject.

She had to be clean for seeing Twilight. She was a smart pony and if she had noticed the disappearances might be able to put two and two together. She began climbing the stairs; she would hate to have to kill a friend she thought.

The unicorn scanned quickly through the text, picking up relative information although the topic was rather familiar to her. She enjoyed the work of this author. The writing style was a similar one to her own making it a more comprehensible read in comparison to the more complex styles she had seen.

In a brief moment of panic she glanced up at the clock, Pinkie was due to arrive soon. If Pinkie’s usual timekeeping was met, she would be arriving in about twenty minutes either two minutes before or two minutes after the designated time like she normally was. She was receiving another lecture about the anatomy from the party pony. Despite her usual persona, Pinkie's knowledge was admirable in more than just anatomy, but was the topic she had offered to teach.

Twilight was beginning to understand Pinkie more, she thought. She was a sociable pony but on the inside was a great mind perhaps exceeding herself in more than one shared area of study.

She ended the sentence she was reading and, after memorizing the page number, put the book down. There were a few minor preparations which needed to be attended to before Pinkie arrived. Primarily just the recovery of the books she needed for the enrichment and the equipment with which to take notes.

Spike was asleep his bed next to her however she had no fear of waking him. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was sleep. The books were at the desk where she studied. She had tried to read them but without a basic knowledge she could decipher what to her was an encrypted code. The four books together should be all Pinkie needs she thought as she set the books down on her bed.

She was nervous now. The first encounter with Pinkie had took her off guard she never expected her to know so much. She had a notepad and pen at the ready to take notes this time.

A gentle knock came from the front door below her. She turned her head quizzically toward the clock, Pinkie wasn’t due for another 18 minutes and she was never far off the designated time. The knock was heard again however slightly louder this time. She glanced down to Spike who was still undisturbed by the noise.

She gradually made her way down the stairs, her eyes fixed on the door. She found herself strangely worried by the unexpected visitor. She stood next to the door and glanced through the eyehole. She saw a brown pegasus pony on the other side glancing around nervously.

“The libraries closed now...I’m sorry,” she said loudly through the door, to avoid having to open it. Her eyes dotted around nervously for a response.

A thick voice shouted back “It’ll only take a second I just need one book”

She didn’t expect a response, simply an approval or understanding of her decision; she rarely got any visitors during its opening time so to find somepony especially one she hadn’t seen before was worrying. “What is its name then, I’ll post it through.” She spoke through the door once again.

A brief moment of awkward silence passed. “I can’t remember its name, let me in and I’ll find it. I know what it looks like...Fluttershy sent me,” said the voice again.

Not many ponies know Fluttershy, she thought. She was a solitude loving pony who didn’t often leave her isolated house. So for him to know her name meant one of two things: they knew her and were telling the truth, or they lived in Ponyville, both of which would make them easier to trust.

“Okay,” shouted Twilight. She raised her hoof hesitantly up to the door, and moved the lock. Using her magic she pulled opened the door slightly to allow the Pegasus in.

The door suddenly crashed inward and two ponies ran inside. The pegasus she had seen before was carrying a wooden bat and an grey earth pony brandishing a knife.

In shock she fell to the floor and the earth pony dived on top of her, holding her down and pressing the knife against her neck. He smelled strongly of dirt and an unfamiliar musky smell indicating he hadn’t washed in a long time. His eyes darted furiously across the room. He was probably looking for valuables she thought.

She struggled against his weight on top of her, but he pressed the blunt edge of the knife hard against her neck.

“Hey get away from there!” came the playground voice of Spike.

She endeavoured to turn her head toward the noise, to see her longest and closest friend try and stop the criminals, but what she saw was from then on burned into her mind.

It all seemed to happen so slowly. He ran at the Pegasus, claws out ready to strike. Her heart pounded in her chest as she felt his determination. The Pegasus swooped down and, swinging the bat, met the rounded end on the bottom of his jaw. She screamed but her voice was carried away by the vision before her. His eyes rolled back into his head and his neck bent further back than it should, he spun and landed in a crumpled lump on the floor- his neck hanging limply over his shoulder and his eyes. His eyes screamed belligerency as they stared blind in her direction.

Her breathing became heavy and, aware of this; the earth pony applied the knife harder to her throat.

“Don’t try anything! Or you’ll end up like your friend over there,” he spoke with a coarse voice.

That moment she felt something she had never felt before, a lust to kill. Never before had she ever wanted so badly to do what was wrong. Her eyes narrowed in concentration as she stared into those of the grey earth pony, she slowly mouthed ‘I’m going kill you’ and maintained a hard stare in his direction.

His eyes darted over to the pegasus raiding the cupboards in her room. “You might want to hurry it up in there Snatch!” he bellowed, clearly disturbed by what she had said.

His distraction was the opportunity she needed. Levitating a large cultural vase she got from Zecora, she launched it against the back of his head.

It smashed into various fragments which rained down on her, however it sent the earth pony across the floor squirming-still holding the back of his head. The sudden release in pressure allowed a quick breath into her lungs fuelling her for the fight ahead. She rolled over and her hoof landed upon the handle of the knife, was she ready to do this she thought? Was she ready to kill in revenge for what they did to Spike? Her rational mind asked theses questions however she was more than that. She knew what she had to do and she knew there was only one way to do it.

She picked up the knife in her hand and leapt toward the vulnerable earth pony. He rolled on his back and raised his hooves to protect his face. She slashed wildly at his arms leaving long gashes. He shouted for assistance but none came. She feinted stabbing at his forelegs and twisted the knife allowing it to pass through a thin gap between forelegs.

His thrashing ceased almost immediately and his hooves fell, landing across his chest and by his side. The knife had penetrated under his chin and was buried deep in the maze of blood highways. He was either killed immediately or was just pretending which didn’t seem likely as he had four inches on steel through his neck, either way she ensured he wouldn’t get up again.

She pulled the knife with little effort out of his throat, splatters of blood lifted up with it covering her face then, raising it high, she planted it firmly into his chest with one powerful swing. The knife shuddered as it passed through his sternum. More blood came pouring from his throat at due to the impact. The knife came out after two sharp tugs dislodging it from the earth pony’s appendage. She once again lifted it high and struck it back into the chest of the earth pony with less effort this time, she repeated this numerous times leaving large gaping channels in his grey body.

She had killed one of the perpetrators against her home, against Spike. She glanced over to the pegasus, only his wings were visible from the top of the stairs in her room. Standing up quickly she walked slowly toward the foot of the stairs, determined to avenge the killer of a family member and willing to do whatever to achieve it.

“How’s your friend doing Snatch?” she shouted as menacingly as possible up the stairs.

His brown head emerged over the top, over his shoulder was slung a hemp satchel. His eyes scanned the body of his associate in disbelief. His face turned to horror as the morbid realization set in. He dropped the satchel suddenly and his jaw tightened in rage. His breathing sped up considerably.

“I’m gonna’ kill you for that!” he screamed leaping higher than either earth pony or unicorn possibly could. He held the bat high above his head and swung it down with combined momentum at the purple unicorns head. She parried the attack with lethal precision, running the bat over the side over her shoulder with the side of the blade. Swinging again he struck at her chest this time. She jumped backward just out of his reach the knife held down by her side.

They stood opposite from each other staring the pony they were determined to kill despite Twilight showing no evidence of it yet. They were both panting heavily.. His eyes flicked at the door then back to her.

Her eyes narrowed. He was going to try and escape she thought and if he got outside there would be no way she would catch him, his wings gave him that oblivious edge.

Her grip tightened on the knife and, swallowing all sense for her own safety, she launched herself at the pegasus stabbing at his chest. He parried the strike faster than she thought possible and a smile spread across his face as he struck her in the temple with the end of the bat. Stars floated across her vision as she dropped to her knee dazed by the impact. She stared blankly in front of her oblivious to the pegasus swinging at her, sparkles floated across her peripheral vision with a feeling of nausea stirring up. The bat struck her once again, in the ribs this time, she thought she heard a crack but wasn’t sure, she rolled over onto her side and continued glaring aimlessly. It hurt to breathe, and gradually her breaths grew shallower.

She focused her eyes for a second and what she thought was a pile of books at first was in fact the broken form of her assistant- his eyes pointing just above her, glass bulbs with no expression or soul. She heard a thump behind her but paid no attention to it as her world began to tunnel, narrowing on the centre of her vision dragging her into the darkness.

The party pony pulled the door shut firmly behind her, locking it with the chrome key. She checked to see if anypony was around which other than a shadow disappearing round a corner there was not. She walked to the trough to the left of the building and deposited it behind it in the usual spot, she wouldn’t be more than an hour or two at the lesson so didn’t mind leaving it there. The key wasn’t stored there to keep Sugarcube corner safe, there’s nothing to steal anyway she thought, it was the things in the basement she worried about, it always came down to them.

She turned to walk to the library; it was only about 7 minutes away so she would arrive approximately 1 minute before the suggested time. The narrow illumination of the street lights gave the path a comforting feel, she didn’t feel exposed in the spotlight nor was she unable to see where she was going. Ponyville in Luna’s night was most beautiful she thought, only then could you appreciate it. The ponies who lived there weren’t by any means a downside to the place, she was a sociable pony however she was always waiting for the silence, at the end of every killing and at the end of every day.

The upstairs lights of Rarity’s boutique were still on; she was probably getting ready for bed by about now. Rarity went to bed early and slept late into the new day, beauty sleep she called it, laziness others Pinkie included.

Turning the corner, the library came into view. The enchanted tree in which the library was built, dominated the landscape with its vast spread of thick coated branches. As she got closer something didn’t seem right, for starters the front door was wide open and if Twilights normal paranoia of house security was anything to go by, it shouldn’t have been. She thought she saw a dancing silhouette cast out on the door way but wasn’t sure, it had moved to fast. The door was wedged tight against the back wall, obliviously due to a large impact; she looked inside to see a brown pegasus standing over a hopefully unconscious Twilight holding a wooden bat.

She put two and two together and didn’t need a second opinion on the matter; it wasn’t oblivious what had happened however the outcome was a one against her friend, an outcome she couldn’t handle.

Pinkie entered the room as loudly as possible, deliberately dragging her hooves against the floor and kicking books across the room. He spun round quickly to facing her. He was breathing heavily she noted, the fight had been going on for some time. She hadn’t paid much attention to the grey pony by the door but it was clear the two were together; his eyes were set on the earth pony’s mangled form.

She cleared her throat as if to speak but refrained from doing so. He took a step forward brandishing the bat; she quickly began to calculate her odds:

He was tired +1, she was faster (probably) +1, he was armed -1, he would already be up with adrenaline -1, and he wouldn’t expect her to be able to fight well +1. In the end she scored +1, not the best of odds in her opinion however for a friend she would happily risk the fight.

Her pink mane deflated as she prepared to fight, she hoped she wouldn’t get too bloody; she had just gotten cleaned up after all. She rolled her shoulders and began walking slowly toward him, his eyes narrowed and he ran swinging his bat. Too predictable she thought to herself, his body leaned over to the left so he would swing with his right. She parried the blow with relative ease and, grabbing hold of the bat, swung round hitting him hard in the nose with her hoof. She jumped backward to avoid his second swing and survey the damage.

He held his hoof tight over his nose, either broken or at least bleeding she thought. A deep frown appeared across his face.

“Not much of a fighter are you?” she said to antagonize. It clearly worked as he ran once again at her, same as last time swinging to the right. She mentally rolled her eyes.

At the last second she jumped back, she felt the bat skimmed through her mane and smashed off the floor heavily. With his head down she turned and with her hind legs hit him strongly in the face. He fell backward soundlessly, clutching the bat still tightly in his hooves.

Twilight’s breathing was now visible from her body, a wave of relief washed over her. The purple dragon she had just came to notice hadn’t been so lucky, she had never really been that close to him but was saddened all the same, Twilight would have witnessed his murder she thought.

An idea began to brew in her mind- a propitious idea, random to her nature, but as sound a thought as any- an unexplored region of consequences all at opposite ends of the scale. She dismissed the idea but brought it closer, finding loop holes with which she could implement a more through plan. She smiled at the result it could bring and accepted the risks as her reality.

She glanced quickly between the two live bodies and then at the dead two. It would take half and hour she predicted- half an hour to re-draw a perfect world.

Chapter 5: Parties and Promises

Chapter 5: Of Parties and Promises

He’s out there, she thought. He’s waiting for us to make a move–to expose ourselves. She rubbed her face. He had them cornered.

Rain fell lightly across the pavements and over rooftops. Water cascaded down the tiles and overflowed the gutters. The sky seemed to churn and swell in the nightly wind. Each gust bringing fresher, fuller clouds which in turn wept upon the small town. A cloaked mare trotted quickly down the street to get out of the storm, her cloak billowing behind her as she was assaulted by the wind.

Pinkie watched the mare make her way to the front of Sugarcube corner before hearing the latch open as she entered through the door beside her.

“It’s awful out there,” Twilight proclaimed, shutting the door. She removed her cloak covering the floor in rainwater before slinging it on the hook on the wall. “There has been word of two visitors in town, a stallion and a mare. Apparently the mare is called Print.”

Pinkie raised an eyebrow. “It’s possible that the stallion is Detective Clock, although any stallion passing through Ponyville who is staying for a few days could be.”

Twilight walked over and sat beside Pinkie. “The mare in the inn was quite adamant that at least one of them was a detective. Apparently the mare was rambling on about being a side-kick,” she said.

Pinkie narrowed her eyes. “An odd thing to blurt out, isn’t it?” She sighed. “He may have already expected us to ask around. He could have even gotten somepony to play as ‘him’ as a lure. No, we cannot be sure.”

Twilight wrapped a hoof around Pinkies shoulder in support. “We’ll get him. He’s bound to slip up.” Pinkie smiled and broke into a small chuckle. “What?” Twilight asked scanning Pinkie’s face for a sign of what she was laughing at.

Pinkie stood letting Twilight’s hoof fall from her shoulder. “We don’t have to sneak around to find him.” She glanced down toward Twilight, a grin on her face and a look of lunacy fixed in her eyes. It was a look Twilight was starting to become all too familiar with. “We can throw him…”

* * *

“…a party!” Pinkie shouted at the stallion in the doorway of his office.

“I really don’t need a party, Ma’am,” assured the stallion. He looked back into the office to see Speckled Print stifling a laugh.

Print stood up and then leaned through the doorway. “What is the party for? And you have to answer that; I’m a detective,” she said, looking smug. The stallion scowled at her washing the look away.

“Well, it’s a super-duper, extra special welcome party!” Pinkie shouted. “You’re both new to Ponyville and that means you don’t know anyone and that makes you lonely and that made me sad, so I thought I’d throw you a great big party!” This second mentioning of ‘party’ caused an eruption of confetti from her saddlebag to shower the two standing in the doorway.

“I’m not that good with strangers. I really don’t want to meet lots of ponies,” said the stallion, trying to close the door.

Pinkie put a hoof in the doorway before it shut forcing him to open it again. “Well you’re good with me and they don’t have to be strangers. If they are your friends then they won’t be strangers. And who doesn't want to meet lots of ponies who can be super-nice to you?” Pinkie asked relentlessly.

“I don’t, I’m only here on business for a few weeks.”

“Aw, don’t be a grumpy-chumpy, or I’ll never leave you alone. I need everyone in Ponyville to be super-happy or I’m not super-happy. Please, please, please come to the party. I promise you’ll have an amazing time,” Pinkie begged. Her puppy-dog eyes and a protruding lower lip completed the full package of pleading.

“You really can’t say no to that,” Print said earnestly, fully captivated by Pinkie’s display. “Just look at her, really.”

The stallion sighed. “Fine, but I’ll only be there for one hour and I want a full list of all the guests who attend.”

Pinkie smiled emphatically. “Dealy-wheely. You will not be disappointed. It’ll be great. The best hour of your partying life!”

The stallion continued to hold a stare. “Of course it will.”

Pinkie turned to walk away. “I’m going to go tell everypony to come to the amazing welcome party of Speckled Print and…” She spun on the spot. “and?” she said staring at him.

The stallion sighed. “Clock.”

“Okie dokie lo-“

“No, no. You did it wrong!” Print interrupted. Clock looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “You have to say your name cool-like. Watch: the names Print, Speckled Print.” Clock blinked slowly trying to comprehend what he was watching. “See? Much cooler that way. It was one of the first things I learned before becoming a detective so that I didn’t look like a little rookie.”

There was a pause as they waited for Clock. “Names Pie, Pinkie Pie,” Pinkie said, joining in with the theme. A first name will seal the deal.

Clock looked between them both with an expression comparable to one of the dying stallions she had killed. He wore a look that had no emotion, just pain at their position and no hope of escape. He blinked slowly and finally spoke with a voice as cold as ice and dry as sand. “The names Clock…Silver Clock.”

* * *

Pinkie stood on the top level of the ladder and tied the banner to one side of the doorway whilst Twilight levitated the other at the opposite side.

“A classic Pinkie Pie party,” Twilight said proudly as she finished tying the knot, “the perfect way to get close to him.”

Pinkie climbed down the ladder. “Not close to him,” she said slowly looking over to Twilight. “I don’t think he’ll come. A crowded area, lots of strangers, each one potentially Red-Mane. Like walking into a game of Russian roulette. I’m hoping he stays put; he’ll be alone in his office. Easy to deal with: no witnesses.” She began packing away the boxes of decorations around the room.

“And what if he does come?” Twilight asked. “Then he won’t be alone, and in a crowd his murder would be hard to not notice.”

Pinkie stopped what she was doing. “I hadn’t considered him taking the bait. It would be too difficult for him, however equally for us. If he comes, then I’ll tail him as he leaves and disposes of him in the walk home.”

Twilight smiled for a moment but it quickly faded. “If you leave, ponies will notice. You’re the hostess of the party after all,” she said, staring at Pinkie.

Pinkie matched her gaze. “You cannot expect to do it on your own. He is a trained detective-“

“And he’ll never see me coming,” Twilight interrupted taking a step toward Pinkie.

“What if he has Print with him?”

“Then I’ll back off,” Twilight said. She paused. “Rather than taking a risk and getting caught. We know who he is now. It’ll be harder for him to hide. I’ll follow him to his apartment and make note of where he lives.”

Pinkie smiled and closed the gap between them. She wrapped a hoof around Twilights neck and pulled her closer so they were but an inch apart. She could smell Twilight’s lavender scent. “I knew you were special on day one, a keeper,” she said in a low voice. She smiled. “But I’d never have guessed you’d be such a valuable partner.” She closed her eyes and moved in to kiss. Twilight closed her eyes soon after and angled her head.

After a few moments, the two broke off and stared at each other. Pinkie wanted to do so many things at that moment, so many things she had only ever thought about doing with other mares. But she had to resist. The real party started in two hours.

* * *

Twilight pushed the kitchen door open and leaned through. The lights and loud music clambered in with her through the gap in the door. The cycle of coloured light flashed and illuminated one side of Twilight’s face.

“He hasn’t arrived yet!” Twilight said over the music. She looked back into the party-room for a second before fully entering. The music became far quieter and the kitchen was lit by only a single light. “Do you think he turn up?” she said quieter.

Pinkie looked up for the first time from her work. She was icing some cupcakes she had baked for the party. “I hope he doesn’t but I’d rather hold off for a bit longer,” she said as she looked down at her work. She stuck her tongue out in concentration as she built each small towers of icing on each yellow-dyed cake. “But if he does then that’s when you’ll come into play, although I was hoping to make the kill myself.” She looked up and gave a short shrug. “As long as he dies I don’t really care whose hoof he falls by.”

Twilight nodded and then smiled.

“What?” Pinkie asked putting the down the icing bag.

Twilight gestured to the table of cupcakes, still smiling. “I forgot that you’re also a baker, such an innocent profession.”

Pinkie matched her smile. “It is an easy life and it first introduced me to knife skills,” she said as she picked up the tray. “Let’s not forget that you’re a librarian, here. It’s far from what I’d consider a criminal profession, either.”

Twilight held the door as she walked through. “I made some really later returns, so it was sort of like stealing,” she said grinning. Pinkie rolled her eyes. Twilight leaned toward Pinkie and whispered, “He’s there, beside the drink stand.”

Pinkie swallowed hard and nodded. “It’s up to you now,” she said with a tone Twilight couldn’t quite identify.

“I’ll get him. I can’t see Print anywhere.”

Pinkie nodded and went over toward him. Happy mode: ON. “Silver! I’m so glad you could make it,” she said smiling.

Silver smiled back but it ended abruptly. “Just call me Clock from now if you don’t mind.”

“No problem Mr Clock. I baked these for you,” she said holding up the tray of baked goods.

“They’re wonderful, but I hope you don’t mind if I decline this time around, I’m on a diet you see,” he said.

Pinkie was rather taken aback. “Oh, I should have asked before. Sorry,can I get you anything else?”

He shook his head. “Nonsense, just take them to the other ponies. They certainly look delicious enough for everypony else to enjoy.”

“Will do, Clock,” she said and turned back to face the room.

The party wasn’t as large as it could have been but that was all by intention. He had said he didn’t like strangers, so that was the excuse she would give. However the real reason would be manageability, more ponies to keep an eye on, less time to see what Clock was up to and whether he had left or not. Not to mention it being less time to talk to him and find out less information. Although finding out he was dieting wasn’t exactly valuable information.

She handed out most of the cupcakes and returned to the kitchen. Before entering, she glanced back to Clock who was still beside the drinks stand although now happily conversing with Berry Punch who had likely visited the drinks stand for other reasons.

Twilight sat at the kitchen counter staring at her when she entered.

“He’s alone,” Pinkie stated. “All we have to do is wait him out until he leaves and you can follow him out.”

Twilight nodded. “Only an hour?” she asked.

“Yes, but don’t let him out of your sight. We don’t know what he’ll try. If he has already suspected that this is a trap then he may have planned anything, he may even have an escort home,” Pinkie said.

Twilight stood and looked out the window. It still hadn’t stopped raining, but the party would go on when she was out there. “I’ll go keep watch,” she said as she stood.

Pinkie hugged her tightly. “Good luck,” she said only above a whisper.

Twilight nodded and left into the main room.

* * *

It had been over an hour since Clock had left and Twilight had followed. The party was drawing to a close and ponies were starting to leave, but there were no signs of Twilight returning. Pinkie was worried, but she had to keep her composure as others were still around. The idea that Twilight might be in trouble sickened her, but she had faith that Twilight would be alright. She was a capable mare after all.

The music was turned off along with the coloured lights and groups of ponies chatted idly in different regions of the room, some drifting between groups. Occasionally ponies left in groups or just in twos. Eventually each group thanked Pinkie for the party and left soon after.

After all had left and the building fell silent, Pinkie looked up to the clock, it had been three hours since Twilight had left.

Pinkie swore to herself. She had thought Twilight competent enough to stay out of danger but for the first time she considered the possibility of one of them being caught. It was a frightening prospect. The punishment for murder in Equestria was execution. Fortunately they couldn’t punish Twilight without sufficient evidence, and such evidence was safely locked in the basement.

Pinkie didn’t have the energy to clean up the mess left from the party but did she want to sleep. She wanted to stay up and wait for Twilight’s safe return. She wanted Twilight to walk through the door and even if she hadn’t killed Clock, simply to see her would be a great gift. Having her back would be enough. They knew who Clock was, the rest could be planned, but she wanted Twilight back.

But Pinkie was alone that night and Twilight didn’t return.

* * *

“Quite smart of you really,” Clock said sucking air through his teeth in a grimace. He clutched a wound on his side below his ribs. “To use a party to get close to me, you’re unpredictable, I’ll give you that.”

Twilight scowled fiercely from her cell, a gag and set of cuffs making any communication or movement impossible. The room was a simple one with granite floors and walls. There were three cells lined up on one wall with Twilight in the middle cell. Clock sat just outside of the cell’s door on a wooden stool.

He coughed and winced as a searing pain burned at his side. Print entered the room clutching a set of bandages. Clock raised his hooves above his head as she tied them around his waist tightly enough to stop the bleeding. The dark ichor seeped through the first two layers of bandage quickly but left no trace on the additional bandages. She cut the remaining bandages and left the room.

He lowered his hooves and leant forward once she had finished. He took a sigh of relief. “You did a good number on me,” he said slowly. “But I caught you.” He looked down to the floor. “Fuck.” He shook his head and stood quickly. He slammed a hoof against the bars making a loud metallic bang.

Twilight flinched slightly at the sound but tried to control her composure.

He sat back down and took a long, deep breath. “You’re not Red-Mane, are you?” he said. “You’re just her fucking sidekick sent to do one over on me.”

Print leaned back through the door. “Everything alright?” she asked scanning the room. “I heard a bang.”

Clock snorted in laughter and gave a short smile. “Come straight away next time you hear a noise,” he said. “I could be dead right now and she’d have a weapon in that time.”

Print nodded and entered the room. “So what happens now, we’ve got her, haven’t we?”

Clock leaned sat upright on his stood and put both his hooves behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. “Nope, just the sidekick, the rookie,” he groaned and rubbed his face. “When I get her, I’ll make sure she dies. Hanging preferably, a loose rope, just enough to make her squirm die slowly.”

“She’s getting upset,” Print said staring at Twilight. Twilight was shaking with fear, anger or both, she couldn’t tell.

Clock leaned forward a smile crept to his lips and he started laughing. “Oh, you two got close, didn’t you?” he taunted. “Real nice and close.” He stood and laughed louder. “Keep an eye on her. I’ve got a call to make.”

He entered the station and went upstairs to his office receiving many worried looks from the officers at his bandages along the way. He entered his office and pulled the walkie-talkie out from the top drawer.

“Hello, Red-Mane,” he said happily.

After a few moments the voice replied. “Hello, Clock,” said Red-Mane.

“Next time you send a fucking sidekick to do your dirty work, ensure that she can handle a knife,” he said in a tone of malice.

“What have you-“

“Now listen Red-Mane, I’m going to be honest here, spare you the pain of finding out from someone less close to you. She’s dead. Gave me a great big slice down the side, mind you, but self defence allowed me to shoot her.”

“You’re lying.”

“I being serious here,” he said. His voice became slower and quieter. “I didn’t want to. I’ve never killed before. But she kept coming at me, I shot her once in the arm but she still kept coming.” He paused for a moment. “I know this is hard for you. I’ve lost someone close to me as well. An eye for an eye, I believe.”

Red-Mane’s voice went cold. “You’re still coming for me.”

“I have to.”

“Then you’d better hope you find me first.”

He snorted. “I understand…I’ll see you soon.”

The line went dead on the other end and he sat back in his office chair. He considered what he had just done: antagonized a killer in a town with a weak police force of low numbers. He smiled. It was soon about to be interesting.