High Crimes: Manehatten

by JetGrey

Rating: teen
Tags: Dark
Length: 4349

The crime lords of Manehatten have been tyrannizing the city for too long. The law cannot touch them, so it is up to a vigilante group to take them down.

Story by: MrZombert AKA BebopGuy and JetGrey

Manehatten, the shining city on the water, seems a veritable paradise where anypony can make a future for themselves…

The Diamond Dogs, now the core of the criminal underbelly, say otherwise. Those with influence are corrupted, morality painted a bulls-eye on the others. Organized crime happens almost out in the streets, and even the honest cops can't do a thing. Turf wars between various factions cause the city streets to turn into war-zones.

Many ponies are tired of the oppression, and a few are willing to do something about it. Taking justice to the crime lords could save the city, but forever brand them as outlaws.

Note: This is our first collaboration. Depending on it's success, more opportunities for such joint projects should be possible.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-02-24 23:40:02 UTC

Chapter 2: I Tried, Snakes...

Charon's hoof-falls sounded along the cobbled alley ground. The tracking charm the Diamond Dogs had taken now pulled him to their base. A sweet song, audible only to those channeling magic, sung in the paws of some gang member. Charon whistled to it's tune as he paced towards it.

The mission was simple: he was to infiltrate their lair, and try to locate the horse-napped business ponies likely held there. One, an owner of a long-established freight transport service, had been missing for days. Were he to "disappear", nothing could stop the Dogs from seizing it. How Snakes had come to know this was beyond him, but he suspected that Snakes had eyes-and-ears around the city. More importantly, it was up to Charon to free everypony.

The tune changed in pitch and tempo right in front of an old apartment complex. The charm was inside, and hopefully so were the they. He became a shadow, gliding to the dimly lit front door. A quick test of the knob surprised him; it was unlocked. He moved into a empty hallway of chipping paint and moldy smells.

Sounds of normal life came from floors above - the Dogs had kept this a well-hidden secret from the tenants, then. Jazz floated down from the stairwell, mixing with the tune sung by the charm. Up a floor, the Dogs had taken their spoils. Keeping watch around him, Charon ascended.

The music he heard entering was a live band, playing behind a propped door. The sound of soft applause, cheers, and clinking glass emanated as well. A quick peek and Charon was in, blending with the club's regulars. He pulled his hat low as he found a seat. Dark wood covered every surface - lit by soft lamps to hold back the gloom. The smell of cider was think and strong where he sat. If he weren't on a mission...

The night crowd was mostly made up of ponies. A few Unicorns were tending the bar, and the band was led by a Pegasus on the trumpet. Diamond Dogs were present all around, but none were recognizable from earlier. Some of these shuffled through a door in the back. The charm lured him that direction as well - this club was a pleasant front for the gang.

In a moment when the band hit up a rousing climax, Charon slipped through into the back rooms. Wood floor gave way to carpets, muffling the sound of his hooves. He followed turns in the passage, avoiding the sound of paws and growling. A peculiar smell filled these halls, coming from what sounded like kitchens.

The charm gave out one last burst to say it was close. It was a door to an office or suite, emblazoned with a large gemstone. Behind it he could expect lots of the Dogs, and hopefully clues to where the hostages were kept. Holding a steady breath, he -

"Is Sompony lost?

A lone Dog stood behind him, blocking his escape. The hallway stood empty though; now was the best time to try some tricks Snakes taught him. A quick buck, just below the ribs, brought them eye-to-eye. Charon pounded the side of the neck just so: the Dog crumpled into early dreams. Carrying him away was a bit more of a problem, but Charon fit him inside a storeroom.

Behind him he heard more Dogs waddle through the hallway. Their raspy, uneven voices carried through. "... boss moving a whole pack out of the city for a big raid!"

The other barked out a laugh. "It beats sticking here, tending our prisoners..."

The voices faded as they left earshot. Charon pulled up behind them, softly padding in their wake. They opened the room where the charm lay (a small antechamber with a reception desk) and proceeded through the door behind. On the desk lay the Mortician's bag of tools, a pouch of bits, the charm, and assorted pieces of trash. All but the last Charon collected, before the sounds of a struggle snapped him alert.

In the next room, the Diamond Dogs were carrying a Mare hog-tied. She tried to scream through the gag, but only muffled sobs came out as they lugged her back. Her mane was unkempt from a long confinement, and one eye was swollen shut. The Dogs lifted her up on a pole, growing as they moved.

"Another one for the kitchens... I'll buy a drink for who thought of this!"

"A little sweet for me, but very tender." The second Dog licked his lips, almost drooling as they marched out of the room. Charon pulled his head out from under the desk - his make-shift cover. He watched as they marched to the kitchens...

They were eating the hostages?!

Charon's body shook, in spasms that increased in ferocity. Shrieks of pain echoed in his head as he was pulled back into an abyss of horror.

Fire lept from his surroundings, burning away his coat and tearing his eyes with smoke. He choked on the depleted air as he tore through fallen beams of timber. Coals fell in his face and mane: moving forward was an inferno that flared as he moved ahead.

He tore through a smoldering wall to see his parents trapped on a blocked staircase. He screamed as he rushed to pull away the wreckage. Ash exploded from beneath him, hurling down through floor after floor...

Soft halls encased him now, hooves bound together in front of him. Time ran away from him, leaving only horror and pain. Ponies in white coats pulled him through a nightmare with howls of laughing and weeping following his steps. Lightning arced through his body as they tried to cure him, but all he could hear were screams...

All of this swept through Charon's mind as he shook. His bag of tools lay open in front of him, and cold steel reflected wild eyes...

Charon bolted out of his bed, still shaking. A presence placed a cold cloth on his head, and filled his hooves with a steaming drink. He sputtered on the hot cider as the room settled back into the soft buzz of a city night. A fuzzy outline resolved into Snakes. A look of concern softened his eyes, slightly, and he eased the Unicorn back into bed. The green stallion hung by the doorway for a moment, just long enough for a soft whisper to catch him.

"Snakes, I-I can't go back. It'd be too much, and I - "

Returning to the bedside, he gazed into Charon's eyes. Fear, genuine terror glazed over the pupils. Snakes sighed, "There's only one way to beat back those memories."

He sat down, momentarily placing a front hoof over Charon's head and chest. " You have to fight back here, and here. Nothing will hurt worse, or be more difficult, but I need you here."

"Why?" This question caught Snakes off guard. "Of all the ponies who would have joined you, why come and find me?"

Silence stretched as the older pony thought. Moonlight outlined a face that was as still as stone. Finally, Snakes grunted.

"That is something you need to learn yourself, but I also can trust you. Keep that head clear and you will shape up to be a dependable stallion. You are the pony I need if you decide to be. Now, get some sleep."

Charon was left alone again, but this time felt anything but. His dreams could not touch him that night: he shoved them away for the night. He had a mission, in the morning.

Outside the room, Snakes poured over street maps and the scroll he carried with him constantly. The Dogs had taken the transportation service like he had feared. Their next move was clearing out a warehouse on the bayfront, likely to open up a black market connection.

Charon would fit the mission nicely, but he could not send him alone again. Reading through the list of names, one agent stuck out. He would be a good eye for the younger pony, in the meantime.

Prologue: Unforgiven

One Week Ago

The sun's last rays faded in the hills to the west, slipping off the tips of glass towers. Night descended upon the landscape in a rush, tackling the coast.

A city spread along the valley. highrises and penthouses grew in a “forest” of buildings, few with less than five stories. Concrete jungle, ponies called it – and some even knew why. The clean streets of Canterlot had no place in a city like this, where a much harder life exists. Manehatten was a city of facades, lies, and the two-faced; Celestia herself had long since given up hope of redeeming it.

The end of the day meant rest for more more honest ponies; for the others, night began.

So the city never stopped at night – only picked up. A starless sky looked down upon the city streets, where the lights of clubs kept downtown bright. Music would spill out into the dark as ponies made their way home from a long night. Celebration, commiseration – many found these social hubs to release the pent up stress of the week.

Not everyone was here to unwind. At such hours, all kinds of business could be conducted if you knew who to ask. For this reason alone, a stallion sat alone on a Friday night. As the regular crowd filtered in and out, he watched. “Snakes”, as he was called, hunched at a corner table waiting for one such contact. He sipped at his cider as he cast a wary eye around.

Moody lighting obscured faces, but the quality of the suits seen told more. This was a club favored by wealthy business-ponies, city hall officials, and individuals with great connections. It was also the “gateway” to the dark underbelly of Manehatten. Money flowed along with the promises of favors and shifting alliances. Darting glances gave away a nervous energy that pulsed. Snakes could smell the paranoia.

After a while, a lanky colt with a slicked-back mane sauntered over. His ratty jacket pulled eyes where zuit suits made the standard. Underneath was a shirt that may have been white, once. The smell of sweat and his last meal clung to him. The newcomer made a point to ogle the mares as he passed – a measure of status. His very presence irked Snakes, but this city-rat had a web of ties to ponies who pulled strings. Dirk was as slimy as his appearance, but very useful.

Dirk looked around nonchalantly while picking his teeth with his tongue. Spotting Snakes, he slid onto the opposing stool. He motioned to the nearest waiter, who pulled a screen over for privacy. Dirk poked his head out to check, before turning back to Snakes with a wide grin.

“Look who it is? My new partner sits before me: how can I help you...”

It was less a question than a suggestion. Dirk had been the only pony to show interest. Snakes had little choice in the matter, and had to approach him. Dirk wasn't pleasant but he offered information, and silence, in exchange for bits.

“Dirk, I need the names.”

The other was already nodding, pulling a tattered scroll from his jacket. “Yeah, yeah, I got it right here. Ponies from all over the big city. Cost me a pretty bit to find them all...”

Snake nodded: he expected this. From his suit came a pouch that jingled unmistakeably with silver. This, he handed over in exchange for the scroll. Checking the inside, a list of names and contacts lay. All was in order, and it was just what he needed to carry out his plan. Some of the names were friends, others were services...

All of the targets were there, as well.

Snake finished his drink, then pulled away. A call from the table stopped him. He turned to see Dirk sitting with a bemused expression.

“Snakes, that list... what are you planning with that?”

Silence was the reply, and Dirk shrugged. “I guess that's up to you, now. Just do me a favor, and don't get bumped. Good luck – better yet, pack heat.”

“Same for you, Dirk. You'll have trouble when they find out”

The greasy little information broker chuckled at this, and waved the warning away. “I'm too useful – even protected by them. They know your coming, Snakes.”

Dirk looked up to see his client had already gone. His chuckle continued as he bounced the sack of bits in his hoof.

“I have a wager on you. Don't let me down, now”

Snakes pulled into the Manehatten night. Below the shadow of his Fedora, a widening grin spread across his features. He had a job to do.

He wouldn't be alone, either - there were plenty of good ponies on that list. Ponies with the same grudge against the other names...

Chapter 1: We Put the Fun in Dysfunctional

"Damn it........Damn it all to Tartarus!" The gray stallion thought as he lay broken and bloody from the beating that he had just received, his shame did not end there as his attackers had then decided to rob him as well.

The word failure rung in his head repeating itself over and over and over again, reminding him that not only had he failed himself but also the family that lay in his Morgue only a couple of blocks away. They would forever be a constant reminder of how he had been so close to punishing the ones responsible for their untimely demise. Diamond dogs, shortly after being allowed into the city due to a recent changes in pony law, became one of the top crime syndicates in Manehatten.

Once they had claimed their territory it wasn't long before the bodies began to pile up. At first it was only Griffins and Dogs as well as a few ruffian ponies. All of these were known to have been associated with other gangs in the city. One day, though, he arrived at work to find the Royal Guard waiting for him with the news.

The guards informed him that three of his brothers had fallen, killed trying to evacuate and protect the ponies of an apartment building that was set ablaze due to an escalation in gang activity in the area. And that's when an unknown stallion showed up. He came offering an opportunity to do some good for the city that he had grown up in. Warned of the risk to his life, the stallion decided that was a debt that he would willingly pay for if he had too.

"What was I thinking, signing up for this?" He gave a pained chuckled at the humor of it all. "Then again, it was my decision........a decision which I probably should have thought through before making a commitment to someone I have only known for a little under a week."

He was pulled away by the soft hum coming from one of his coat pockets. Without hesitation his horn lit up in a soft grey glow, as he effortlessly pulled out what appeared to be a small mirror the size of a glasses' lens. He carefully maneuvered it so it sat directly in front of him on the pavement.

"What is it now?"

It didn't take long for the image of a deep green stallion, dressed smartly, appeared on the other end. His face was calm, showing indifference at the question.

“What do you think, Charon?” An edge in the voice betrayed annoyance for his companion's attitude.

"Hey! don’t get mad at me Snakes. I just had my flank handed to me by a group of very large Diamond Dogs.”

Slowly the grey stallion began to get to his hooves, it didn't take long for him to locate what little he had brought with him - or better yet, what hadn't been stolen. Charon slowly collected his fedora before returning to the mirror still laying in the middle of the ally. He was greeted by a rather disgruntled looking stallion.

“Charon if you're finished, then I would like to get to get to the reason why I called you in the first place; I don’t have all night.”

The dispassion of the caller caused Charon to subconsciously flinch. Demeaned by the older stallion, Charon shook his head. “ Yeah. I’m done. Lets get on with it.”

Snakes lifted his leg (glimpsing at his watch) before looking back at Charon, “ Because of your antics we have wasted three minutes of time that we don’t have.”

“Well pardon me, but I don’t remember you volunteering to get your flank kicked for this job, so if you want to lecture me I would be more than happy to oblige you but as you said we are short on time.”

The older stallion seemed a bit taken aback by the young Mortician's words - he only spoke this way when he was truly irritated with somepony or something.

Snakes spoke his voice regaining its usual monotone, “Did you manage to get the Diamond dogs to steal the tracking charm?

A small grim found its way to the grey stallion's face as he turned away from the mirror, “Of course I did Snakes! I mean, it took no effort on my part. They're so greedy they took everything without even checking it.”

“Good: they shouldn't have gone too far from here. I expect us to be ready to strike within the week.” Again, spoken in a matter-of-fact-like tone.

Charon could only nod in response, a look of both determination and excitement filling his face. “And this time I don’t have to let them beat the buck out of me. I'd say it’s time for some payback.”

Snake gave him a stern look his face becoming that of stone, “Just remember our objective is not to kill them; merely get the information that we need and them move on. Do I make myself perfectly clear, Charon?”

The pony in question gave a grunt before continuing out into the crisp Manehattan night.

The Next Day

There it was again, that annoying voice. A repetition of the same sentence, a chant, it began to grate on Charon's nerves. He was almost used to hearing almost every morning, and like most mornings the voice went largely unnoticed. This was, of course, until the voice lobbed a heavy sack onto the sleeping form.

The grey unicorn shook off his sleep, raising himself in order to step out of bed. The offending bag jingled with the feel of bits. However, it had also left a bruise. Charon hunted for the source, but whoever had thrown the bag at him had already taken their leave.

Charon lived alone in an apartment in midtown Manehatten. It wasn't a dump, but it wasn't a Canterlot penthouse either. To him it was home and his home had been invaded by the very pony he had been dreaming about not but four minutes ago.

“Snakes...” Charon whispered to himself as he made his way toward the sweet aroma of brewing coffee, it was a beverage that most ponies found too strong or pungent to drink; most still only drank tea. He had too, up until he picked up the bad habit from his guest.

As Charon entered his small kitchen, he became aware of another presence in the room. The grey stallion let out an exasperated breath as he caught sight of a pony he had hoped to avoid. Alas, life (and Snakes) had other plans for him today.

“Good morning, Charon. Judging by your appearance, you were a busy bee last night - care to share the details?”

The question came from a white Pegasus stallion clad in the gold armour of the Royal Guard.

“So what if I was?” Charon said as his overall mood had gone from being happy to completely and unequivocally pissed off.

This earned a chuckle from the white Pegasus before he turned his attention from Charon to Snakes, who stood in the kitchen carrying on about his business - as if nothing was happening in the next room over.

“Well, you weren't kidding when you said he wasn't a morning pony.” The Pegasus barked out a laugh as he set about finding a seat.

Snakes did little more than give him a nod before pulling up a chair. Both sat around a small table in what could be considered the dining room.

“Now Charon, need I remind you that while you reside here in Manehatten - under your work visa - you must and will abide by the laws of the city.”  The guard now stood only inches from the now visibly seething Mortician.

“Do I make myself clear?”

Charon answered with venom in his voice, “Crystal clear.....sir.”

The Guard gave a diabolical grin at the Mortician's submission before replacing his helm and walking toward the door, as he passed Charon he made sure to bump into his side further - to assert his dominance over the grey stallion.

While he made his way toward the door Charon gritted his teeth and kept his eyes locked on Snakes. From the kitchen, a glare held Charon. Remember your place.

“I hope I don’t have to come back here gentlemen, because my next visit won't be all sunshine and celery stalks.” The guard's haughty words floated back as he made his way out the door.

“Especially you, Charon.”

It wasn't merely the smug tone, but the look in the guard's eyes. They seemed to gleam with both a knowing and a sinister intent Charon had seen before.

As the door shut both ponies sat in silence just staring at each other, Snakes spoke his voice giving no emotion, “Charon. Can you please tell me what the buck you did last night?”

Charon’s eyes went wide as his best friend and mentor began to shake with anger and rage. For him to erupt like this was a rare thing indeed.It was never a pleasant time when he did.

“I...uh...I was go-”

The sound of glass breaking cased the mortician to abruptly stop, looking at him was a visible enraged Snakes and in front of him was a shattered cup with hot coffee slowly spreading across the table and onto the floor.

“DAMN IT ALL TO TARTARUS CHARON! WHAT DID YOU DO LAST NIGHT? HUH? CAN YOU EVEN FATHOM THE SIGNIFICANCE?

Charon had only seen Snakes this angry a couple of times. The last time involved a "conversation" with a slave trafficker. Certainly, nothing Charon had done before brought this upon himself.

The green stallion had moved from his seat and in only five steps was in Charon’s face. His eyes burned with wrath as he continued blasting the younger pony. “WELL, ARE YOU GOING TO ANSWER ME? CELESTIA DAMN IT, OR ARE YOU GOING TO SIT THERE LOOKING LIKE AN IDIOT ALL DAY!

Charon’s ears were flat as he was slowly being backed into the wall. “Snakes it's...it's not like that I was in control this time I swear, I only killed them to protect the ponies they were attacking.”

Snakes reigned his fury in, pausing to pull in ragged breaths. Before Charon could loosen up, though, he was pierced by cold eyes. Speaking as if by rote, Snakes began recalling the criminal report.

“A raid on a criminal hideout left several Dogs and ponies dead. The former, known associates of the elusive gang 'Black Mange', were reportedly assaulted by an unknown vigilante. Autopsy reports the Dogs' wounds were inflicted with a lacerated cutting tool...

Charon's eyes were bigger than dinner plates as the green stallion changed tracks. “Not yourself? One only uses a  hack saw to maim if they're out for blood."

“N...no Snake I swear I....I didn't g-”

Within a second, Charon found himself pinned against the wall. Snakes held him upright, hoof poised over his throat while holding him down with the other. For a moment, his stony face showed a trace of disappointment and concern.

“Charon. The day you joined up I swore that I would take care of you as if you were my own family, but that also means getting you help when you need it. I need a pony, not a bomb. Not even I would keep you from the sanitorium if you kept this up."

Charon felt his blood chill at the very mention of the word. Greson Sanitorium was an asylum he had been sent to once when the...incident first happened. Charon was never the same, shaken from his weeks spent there. He never spoke of the horrors to anyone, never could shake off the dark shadow over his mind. Even Snakes, his only confident, knew only so little.

"The lack of self-control costed those ponies their lives, you know. Your assault preempted any negotiations, and panicked them enough to kill their hostages to escape. Think about this, then."

“I understand... now please, get off of me.” Charon spoke his voice almost a whisper.

Snake slowly moved his hooves from Charon’s throat and chest, letting him fall. He walked to the door, grabbed his fedora, and stopped to leave his last words.

“Charon.”

The mortician turned to acknowledge his mentor while rubbing the spot where Snakes had planted his hoof. “Y...yes?”

“As of this moment you are suspended from service until I deem you fit to return. I will be monitoring your actions at all times. If I get so much as one shady report I will personally beat you myself, dragging you back to the Sanitorium. Do you understand me? Control it!

“Y.....yes Snakes I understand.” Charon could only stare at the floor as the door closed: signaling that his flank chewing was finished. He was left with a bitter taste in his mouth, knowing that his closest friend -  who had claimed the lives of everypony were under his protection - now held his, in hoof. No word summed up Charon's life better, or how he felt now, than one.

He was screwed.