Just another day in R.O.

"What?" Marcus asked, raising an eyebrow.

"A pony, Marcus. Do you know what a pony is?" Jason asked with a straight face. Hands now on the table.

"Isn't it a small horse? Why do y-"

"No, and they find that word rather offensive." Jason interrupted. "A pony Marcus. A pegasus, unicorn, big eyes, marks on their asses telling their special talent?" Marcus was rethinking his friends sanity. But... no, let's see this through ...

"Jason, you're scaring me son. What are you-"

"I see this is going to be a lot harder than I thought." Jason looked at the photos, looking for a picture to help him explain. Scratching his shaven head, he sifted with a finger. C'mon, c'mon, it's around here somewhere ... Aha! He pulled out a photo with two fingers, his double jointed fingers needing no assistance from his thumb.

"Okay, whatever you want to call it. Just-" He was interupted once more, the photograph shoved towards him. Marcus picked it up, squinting at the image. Jason was there with a rainbow haired horse right next to him, giving off a challenging look, as if ready to challenge someone. And... It had wings?

"Just what the hell am I looking at here Jason?"

"Not what. Who. Who are you looking at. And that is a mare named Rainbow Dash. "

"Can I speak to you as a friend Jason, not a police officer? "

"I welcome it." The pale adult gestured.

"Just what the fucking hell is this? Do you think anyone will believe what your saying right now? This hor-pony thing looks like it came from a cartoon!" Jason stared at him, his expression of neutrality not even showing any chance of changing.

"That tail that was in my bag. It's all the evidence I need. You think I would come back unprepared Marcus? I knew better than that. Now I have pictures, genetic and physical proof from all those firearms and other weapons found in my possession. There is a curved knife that has blood samples from a Griffin. A sword that has dirt samples that have no impurities, nor is it made from any element known to the human race. Marcus, these are all evidence. Personally I don't care if you believe me. I don't have to because it's true." Jason's face never changing, blue eyes continuing to bore into Marcus'. "Really though, I wish you wouldn't jump to conclusions. I even have a unicorn horn. This is all in my favor. Scientists will be forced to recognize this as proof."

Marcus was silent. He was right. He was completely right. The katana in the evidence room was being analyzing. It held no known elements, the giant tail was already analyzed, nut needed further testing. The curved knife? Eagle and lion blood on it. The dirt? No contamination from any man made chemicals. The horn? Made from bone and other isotopic elements from the periodic table. Jason had this by the balls.

"You... You thought this through, haven't you?" Jason nodded. "Huh. So, tell me. Just what happened when you were at..."

"Equestria."

"...Yes. What did you do there?" Marcus asked. "Now you have me curious. Plus I'm still trying to decide whether this is bullshit even with the evidence."

"This is a very long story, Marcus. Are you sure you want to open this book?" Jason sat up, tenting his fingers in front of his mouth. Marcus nodded. "Very well then. We shall go through with this, from death to death, good times to bad, new sentient beings, and a whole new set of laws of logic."

"Alright... Let's get us something to eat first, huh?" Jason nodded. "How's Mexican food sound? With some coke?"

"I'd love that Marcus. I suppose a whole five years shouldn't be told on an empty stomach." Jason gave a small chuckle. Marcus left the room to order the food, meanwhile Jason looked through the photos again. One stood out in particular. One with his whole squad at the party his marine instructor threw for the winning squad, him holding up the trophy over his head.

Oh, memories. Bittersweet. He looked at himself in the photo. Yup, there was Bones. Heh, fitting nickname. I suppose being able to stick both hands in your rib cage earns such a name. Jason 'Bones' Dupont. He put it back quickly, not wanting to face those he had failed. All I can do now is tell their tale, and hope they are remembered. He sighed, then stared at his reflection. Ever since his return, he has been denied a shower. As one could predict, the grime on his usually white face had only gotten worse. And his mouth tasted like shit. At least he doesn't have to wash his hair.

Marcus came back in, with a tape recorder and note-taking material. Jason raised a brow.

"I never took you for a note-taking kind of guy." Jason eyes the tape recorder. "Do you have a video camera on the other side of the glass?" Marcus nodded, shuffling some papers. "Reminds me of Edgar Allen Poe..." This time it was Marcus' turn to raise a brow.

Jason put on a reminiscing look. "The telltale heart, if I'm not mistaken..." He put a hand on his chin. "TRUE!" Marcus flinched. " --nervous --very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses --not destroyed --not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily --how calmly I can tell you the whole story." Jason jumped out of his chair, slamming his hands on the table. "No doubt I now grew very pale; --but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased --and what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound --much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath --and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly --more vehemently; but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men --but the noise steadily increased. Oh God! what could I do? I foamed --I raved --I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder --louder --louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! --no, no! They heard! --they suspected! --they knew! --they were making a mockery of my horror!-this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! and now --again! --hark! louder! louder! Louder! LOUDER!" Jason turned and kicked his chair! "'Villains!' I shrieked, 'dissemble no more! I admit the deed! --tear up the planks! here, here! --It is the beating of his hideous heart!'" Jason pointed to the ground, as if the planks were really there. Marcus sat dumbfounded. "I love poetry, namely Edgar's works." He picked up his chair and calmly sat on it.

"Jason... I'm going to question your sanity. Period. That being said, a psychologist should be here tomorrow to diagnose you. Are you sane?" Jason chuckled.

"I don't know. I honestly don't. I was hoping me and you could find out together."