Dysphoria

Chapters

Further Evidence #1
14th of Second Ember
Further Evidence #2
15th of Second Ember
24th of Second Ember, part 1.
24th of Second Ember, part 2.
25th of Second Ember
Further Evidence #3
26th of Second Ember
4th of Last Ember
X of N
Last Day, part 1.
Last Day, part 2.
Epilogue
Further Evidence #6
Prologue
13th of Second Ember
Further Evidence #4
Further Evidence #5

Further Evidence #1

The following is a confidential recording taken during the investigation into Pinkamena Diane Pie’s escape from The Mental Health institute. The subject, NAME WITHHELD, listed as a unicorn, occupied a cell adjacent to Ms. Pie’s isolation habitat. The recording was done by a pegasus psychologist named Sherbet West.

NOTE: The following report is confidential and its circulation without the knowledge or consent of the Canterlot Police and the Canterlot Criminalistics Department is expressly forbidden. Anypony found in possession of this document or the audio log faces imprisonment or more extreme punishment.

Tape recorder turns on. The sounds of motion are captured for a moment until a chair squeals from someone sitting down. In the background, a nervous whimpering can be heard, punctuated with crescendos of fear.

W/H- Let me go back, doctor... I’m expecting a package from The Savior.

Dr. West- Alright, Mr. WITHHELD, let’s just calm down and have a nice little chat about the months before your “savior’s” escape.

W/H- No! You can’t know... she’ll never forgive me. She won’t help me!

Dr. West- Why won’t she help you if you talk to me? We’re just friends having a conversation.

W/H- Sh—she said, if I told she wouldn’t send me her magics. She won’t send them, doctor!

Dr. West- Alright then, we won’t talk about her. What do you need help with that requires magic?

W/H- The voices... I can’t sleep. They tell me to do things. They want me to pull my mane out. The Flambers need it. That’s what they say.

Dr. West- Flambers? What are they?

W/H- Those who dwell outside... you know. Of our reality. The realm beyond? The scorching world?

Dr. West- I... see. And what do they need with your mane?

W/H- Not just MY mane, doctor. Everyone’s mane. They build their starships out of them. Their world is quite devoid of... hair.

Dr. West- And how does the magic help?

W/H- Not magic. Magics! She... she said her magics would make the voices stop. If they would stop I could... leave. I could go home again. See my family.

Dr. West- Now, Mr. WITHHELD You killed your family. Do you remember? You skinned them alive and—

W/H- NO! I SAVED THEM! The Flambers were threatening to take them away. I couldn’t... Sobbing breaks his words. They would... have... them. I saved them from their treachery! The HORRORS they will bring about on this world! THE HORROR, DOCTOR! THEIR RUBBERY GELATINOUS BODIES DISPLAY THEIR VICTIMS! I... couldn’t see my beautiful children’s faces in their bloated bellies. Do you understand?

Dr. West- I understand; we’re getting off topic. How would the magics stop the voices?

W/H- They feed through me. I’m a gateway for them to this world. If I ate the magics, it would contaminate their plane. They can’t survive you see, not the magics. They would be silent because they would all be dead, doctor. Strange giggling.

Dr. West- And the Savior promised you the magics for remaining quiet about her escape?

W/H- Not for being quiet. For being her subject. For listening. For following, just like all gods request of their devoted. She is the unicorn of mercy. Our only hope against the Flambers. She fights them now. She’s our only hope. She’s going to close the gateway inside of me.

Dr. West- I see. How did you come into contact with her?

W/H- Biding my time. Feeding their wishes. Giving them hair to make them quiet for a short time.

Dr. West- Where were you getting hair and how did you send it to them? Please explain.

W/H- My body. I told you! My body is a gateway. What I eat is sent to their world.

Dr. West- How did you get hair in your cell?

W/H- The rats had made several holes in the walls. Sometimes they would come out at night... and... the Flambers would tell me to eat them. Their fur was a favorite tool.

Dr. West- You ate live rats?

W/H- Yes... I had to. The voices would keep me awake if I didn’t! They may have even tried to come through the portal. A moment passes with some grumbling murmurs I know she’s doing her best, but I wish she would hurry. I’m afraid they will try to come through soon. They may know about her. I can’t let them know.

Dr. West- Is that why you won’t talk about her?

W/H- Yes. They’ll hear me. They’ll prepare for her.

Dr. West- Did they not hear her when she spoke to you before?

W/H- She pushed little notes through the rat hole. They can only hear what I hear, not know my thoughts. They aren’t listening now, but they could! With only a moment’s notice they could tune in to our world. I can’t talk about the Savior, doctor. Not if I want to destroy the portal inside of me.

Dr. West- Did she tell you she planned to escape?

W/H- She said she would be able to help me once she escaped...

Dr. West- Why did she contact you?

W/H- She needed the key.

Dr. West- What key?

W/H- The key to her room. She said her magic was too weak and she couldn’t break out without it.

Dr. West- And how did you get the key from the guards?

W/H- Guards? No... no no no no no! She needed a special key. One that once lived.

Dr West- What do you mean?

W/H- I snapped my horn off and slid it through the rat hole. She promised to give me her magics if I did.

Dr. West- You willingly gave up your ability to use magic? You understand it was all just a ruse to help her escape, right?

W/H- No! She is a powerful unicorn!

Dr. West- She’s not even a unicorn. She’s an earth pony.

W/H- She told me they would send someone to tell me that. To stop her. A rough growl is heard.

Dr. West- They who?

W/H- You know damn well who! Your masters! The Flambers! She said they had spies here. Now I know why you doctors keep me locked up! It’s too late! She already sent the first magics in a cupcake! There will be more! You didn’t think to check an innocent pastry! Your people are sick and dying from the first magics! You won’t bring them through me! YOU WON’T!

The sounds of furniture being knocked around and scuffling fills the tape. Growling, sickly wet thudding noises, and cries for help can be heard until the sounds of many other ponies securing the screaming unicorn echo as the recorder is turned off.

14th of Second Ember

“Buckshot what the fuck happened!?” my boss demands after barging into my room. I seriously consider getting a lock for my door. And maybe hide some liquor in one of my cabinets while I’m at it. Celestia knows I’ve earned it...

“I hesitated, Mully!” He hates when I call him by his nickname, which is exactly why I do it. What kind of parents name their colt Mulberry, anyway? Mully doesn’t seem to acknowledge my jest and instead keeps his serrated gaze over me.

“Okay,” I say, throwing my hooves up in exasperation. “What the fuck you want me to say?!”

His hard stare doesn’t falter as he throws a folded newspaper at my desk. I snort and pick it up, trying to seem as cavalier as possible. But I can’t help but blink and do a double take when I scan the header:

CUPCAKES KILLER TAPE LEAKED!

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking with me!” I practically scream as I fight the urge to tear the paper to shreds.

Exclusive video showing the brutal, graphic murders of camerapony Cathode Coil and news reporter Ivy Rose was leaked from Ponyville Police Department. The video, made on the same night that Pinkamena Diane Pie (the infamous Cupcakes Killer) escaped from the Canterlot Prison for the Mentally Unstable, was delivered to our station anonymously late last night. After being examined thoroughly by an experienced team of technicians, the video was evaluated as authentic. The family of the victims had nothing to comment except that they are “extremely disappointed with the police” for “mishandling the evidence”. The footage was intended to be aired in the Ponyville News of the same day, but it had been deemed lost after the police had secured the crime scene.

More on page 3.

“This is exactly why we should’ve confiscated that tape to begin with!” I shout, but Mulberry keeps his meaningful gaze over me. “What’s that eyebrow supposed to mean, Mully? You’re blaming this on me, aren’t you?”

“Well, our squad is the only one who had access to that tape. And you were the only one who reacted like that to it.” I don’t like what he’s implying, not at all.

“Are you going to make a formal charge?” I ask, meeting his angry eyes with my own. The silence that reigns for a moment is as good a ‘no’ as any.

“Then get the hay out of my office! I need to be alone.”

His expressions instantly softens and I feel a pang of guilt for screaming at him like this. This situation’s barely started and it’s already bringing out the worst in me. Now Mully will probably be on my ass. Again.

I sigh and turn on my radio, trying to clear my mind of anything and everything:

“—LEADING TO A MASSIVE LOSS ON THE PARTS OF THE BLAZING BUCCANEERS IN THE EQUESTRIAN CHAMPIONSHIPS FOR HOOFBALL, AND I’M NOT QUITE SURE THEY’LL—”

“No.” I punch the dial to tune into another station, hoping for something good to come on.

“—ow, in the name of the princesses, did the policeponies of Ponyville allow such a thing to happen? Do you see it now, Ponyville? Do you see how our great nation has changed? Do you see how the police is no more competent than a wooden fence in helping us? It has been foretol—”

“Yeah, yeah. Up yours, pal,” I mutter as I fiddle with the dial some more. The last thing I need right now is a lunatic screaming at how we’re the ones to blame.

“—police advise all ponies to avoid being by themselves around the town. Especially during the dark hours of the day. If you have any information about the missing ponies, please call—”

I sigh and grasp my head between my forehooves. Since when have we been so violent? It sounds impossible. Straight from one of those damned detective books I used to read as a colt. But it was happening. All it took was one rotten apple. One damned pony and everything goes to Tartarus.

I switch the radio off. The world isn’t giving me a reprieve from the memories, so I might as well write my report:

Year 2 of the Second Diarchy. 13th of Second Ember at approximately 13:42,
Description: I, Buckshot, and my colleagues, Shining Badge, Nightstick, Trigger Happy and Probable Cause responded to a call about suspicious activity in the abandoned building on 18, Sugarcube Street. The anonymous complaint stated simply that “somepony was screaming”. The place had evidently been occupied by Pinkamena Diane Pie, convict currently at large.

“Evidently...” I read my words again. This simple adjective fails to explain why Pinkie chose to reveal herself now, when she was next to invisible before. We’re not stupid; we went through Sugarcube Corner thrice in the past. Once on the same day the convict escaped. The second time, a day after, and the third time a week later. I have a hard time believing that she’d suddenly gotten sloppy without reason. Regardless, I continued to write.

In the building we found a vat filled with pony remains also containing a victim in critical condition. After a successful resuscitation attempt, the victim was brought to Ponyville General hospital by doctor Silver Scalpel and nurse Clean Catheter (see medical report on page 6). I, along with the other remaining officers were then confronted by—It’s here that I freeze. I can still see her twisted smile, manifesting itself right before my eyes.

Writing this report feels pointless. I have gone over my memories of the event over and over again. I can’t find anything! No clues. No leads. No nothing! Was there something I missed? Something I dismissed? My mind scans the scene multiple times, but I end up exactly where I began. She attacked Shining Badge... then Nightstick. Why didn’t she hurt me, then? She had me exactly where she wanted. Then why!?

I hit my head a couple of times in frustration. What did she mean by “having a little fun?” And the way she said it.... There’s just something about how she said it that strikes me as rather unusual. She pushed me to the floor and held me down. She made sure I couldn’t talk or scream. She—wait! One hoof was on my muzzle... the other—

A notion occurs to me. With my heart pounding I remove my jacket and start to feel around my many pockets. I feel around for anything other than air or strands of lint until my hoof meets something with a different texture. I remove from my pocket a crude mimic of a taffy wrapper folded several times. My hooves scramble as I try to unfold it quickly. What greets me is two lines of hastily scribbled capital letters.

WANNA PLAY A GAME?
YOUR NAME HERE

No question about it. This is Pinkie’s mouththwriting. But the note itself was confusing; did she want me to write my name on the taffy wrapper? There was no room left to write anything on it. And besides, what would that accomplish?

I wouldn’t even know how to return it to her. She doesn’t exactly have a regular address and we aren’t exactly best buddies. In the silence that reigns while I ponder this mystery, I hear a small ‘thud’ as something hits the floor. I look around and right below my jacket, there lies a neatly folded piece of paper.

I pick it up and scrunch my muzzle when I notice that it’s sticky. Too sticky. Knowing Pinkie, it’s probably best not to think too hard about what its patina actually consists of. I unfold the note and place it next to the wrapper on top of my desk.

It’s a newspaper clipping of the “Lonely Hearts” column. Puzzled, I scan the names of the poor lonely sods that occupy the column: “Cloudy Day, Em, E, M&S, TV; Crimson Brass, S, U, S, VGL, TLC; Cunning Quill, W/E, U, S, NS, STD, W/S, NSA.”

Incomprehensible acronyms fly past, but even though I re-read the entire column, nothing out of the ordinary crosses my eyes. I try looking for any kind of code she could’ve placed in it, but I can’t make sense of it if she has. This is a sort of code to begin with, after all; abbreviated messages to help you navigate the jungle of personal relationships. Although they tend to lead you wrong more often than not...

I sigh, frustrated. My breath pushes the wrapper to flight and I watch as it lazily floats in the air. With my head rested between my forehooves I keep looking at it until it slowly falls on top of the newspaper. My eyes scan the newspaper column once more and then the wrapper.

Finally it clicks. Of course! If you write something on a taffy wrapper, it would refer to the content of it, not the wrapper itself. I feel like such an idiot.

YOUR NAME HERE

That phrase clearly pointed to the newspaper clipping!

So that’s how she wanted to play? Placing an ad with my name in the “Lonely Hearts” column meant ‘yes, I’d like to participate in your little game’. And she could check for my reply wherever she roamed, just by picking up the newspaper.

Did I really want to play her game though?

Author's Note

Notes:
Owlor: One has to wonder what sort of police department would hire a guy named “Trigger Happy” to be an officer...

I'm being a little naughty here, uploading this while I made the final edits. This means that *I* have supreme control over the linebreaks, which means LINEBREAKS FOR EVERBODY, MUHAHAHHAHA! For context, I'm VERY liberal with the linebreaks while Luce is more conservative. If he screams at me to remove them, I will, but I think it worked like this. This is kind of a small chapter that's mostly for buildup.

Since we’re in the era of Craigslist, I doubt most people are familiar with the annals of indignity that is the personal ad column. In order to save room, people created an entire dictionary worth of acronyms describing various statuses and preferences, from the innocent to the sleazy. We had maybe a little too much fun with the acronyms here, points to anyone who manages to decipher them!

Lucefudu: Seriously. Is there something more humiliating than vomiting? THINGS getting out from inside you while you’re there, making those disgusting noises. And the tears rushing down your eyes. It’s bad. Worse than bad. But then, in comes the “Lonely Hearts” column and lowers the bar significantly. Anywho, this is a relative short chapter, with nothing really “happening” other than us setting things in motion for the future. The idea to come up with pony names for the months was mine, but it was Owly who baptized December as ‘Second Ember’. And I think it’s really clever. Secon-dember. Not to mention First Ember, which also seems pony-ish enough and mimics November’s last syllable quite nicely. Now I kind of wanna see the other 10 months in pony names...

Mikhail: I regret many things.

Further Evidence #2

Year 2 of the Second Diarchy. 21st of First Ember - 08:36

Report number-Incident number: 2C-436
County: Ponyville
Location: Scroll Lane, 158
Building: Ponyville Police Department

Reporting officer: Buckshot.

Pony-Cutie Mark-Coat color(s)-Mane and tail color(s):
Buckshot-One (1) black crosshair-Light-gray-Auburn
Applejack-Three (3) Pacific Roses-Orange-Blonde

Notes: Subject is a well known national hero. Former Element of Honesty.

CONFIDENTIAL TAPED STATEMENT TRANSCRIPTION.

Applejack: Heya, partner!

Buckshot: Hello, Mrs. Applejack.

AJ: Oh, shucks. Now don’t you go calling me that none. Still got plenty apple bucking years ahead of me. Just Applejack will do, sugarc—partner.

BS: Applejack, then. Pause. Applejack, I’d like to talk about Apple Bloom.

AJ: Pause. I was afraid you were gonna ask that.

BS: Just. Pause. Did it ever occur to you that your sister. Pause. You know.

AJ: Of course not! She was such a sweet little filly. Pause. Had nice friends, always helped out on the farm, nothing but kind and respectful to her family. Silence.

BS: Do you respect your family?

AJ: More than anything else. Family above all things; that’s what my granny always says.

BS: Could you describe the relationship between your sister and Pinkamena Pie?

AJ: I don’t know! I don’t know if she looked up to her, wanted to be like her, feared her or what the hay was going on!

BS: I see. Silence.

AJ: Pinkie was my friend. One of my best friends. I never thought she’d do such a thing. Not just what she did to Apple Bloom. What she did to everypony.

BS: That’s an interesting way of putting things, miss. Talking about the prospect of a family member getting in trouble in the same terms as ponies being brutally murdered.

AJ: Now listen here, you have no right to talk to me or about my family like this! I am the Element of Hone—

BS: Former Element of Honesty! That’s what it is saying on my report. With three of the elements dead, Harmony has disappeared. I’m sorry to say, but you can no longer claim that status any more than Pinkie can claim to be the Element of Laughter.

AJ: I don’t like your tone, mister!

BS: Let’s just look at the facts here. Apple Bloom has joined with Equestria’s most infamous serial killer and, so far, neither her sister nor anypony from her family has been killed. And you stated yourself that you respect family more than anything else.

AJ: You... You think I was protecting her? She might have had a hoof in—might have killed some ponies, and you think I was protecting her?

- After a moment of silence, subject starts crying.

BS: Applejack, I need you to know one thing. I respected you as an Element of Honesty. I still respect you; I did not become a cop to see truth get tarnished, y’know? We used to be in the same business you and I, protecting Equestria. Tell me, Applejack, do you still want to protect Equestria?

AJ: Pause. Yes?

BS: Are you willing to give me any information that could lead to the arrest of Pinkamena Pie, even though it could incriminate your sister?

AJ: Long pause. Yes.

BS: Silence. Well, go on.

AJ: I—I don’t know of it will be useful, but once she came into my room because she couldn’t sleep, I thought maybe her classmates had been teasing her again, but I never asked. I just let her cry and told her to get some sleep. That hopefully she’d feel better tomorrow. If I had asked, maybe she’d have told me— Maybe she’d have told me that. Pause. Please, I can’t do this!

- Subject’s sobs become more frequent and louder.

BS: Has any of her friends. Paper shuffling. Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle told ever told you something? Anything.

AJ: Pause. No. Pause. You’d have to ask Rarity and Rainb-

- Subject’s cries intensify.

BS: Could you describe the relationship between Apple Bloom and her two friends?

AJ: They were always sharing smiles and having fun together. Subject sniffs. Why, I remember when they once tried their cutie marks in timberwolf taming. I’ve never been so furious, so angry with her in all my life. With all of them. But mostly I was just relieved she was back home safe and unharmed.

BS: Do you think Apple Bloom’s obsession with cutie marks has something to do with it? I mean, from the sound of it, she had some. Pause. Risky ideas.

AJ: I don’t know. Yes, she always had a thing for getting her cutie mark, but I always brushed it off like some sort of filly thing. Sometimes I’d get so mad at her. Sometimes. Subject sniffs. I’d—I’ll. Pause. Now I’ll never see my sister ever again.

BS: Alright, let’s end it here. Ms. Applejack, thank you for your time and patience. Pause. Do you need a glass of water?

AJ: Long pause. No. Thank you kindly sugarc—partner. Pause. I just wanna go home.

15th of Second Ember

“What can I get for you?” The clerk behind the counter asks me with a smile upon his face. I can already tell today’s going to be a bad day.

“I’ll have a...” I stop and look at all the baked goods on display. I don’t even know the name of half of these pastries and cakes, and of the rest I can only pronounce maybe five of them. My gaze darts from the sweet cupcakes, muffins, eclairs, strudels, ‘vol-au-vents’ and whatever else to the salty simple breads, croissants, pretzels, bage—“blueberry. I’ll have a blueberry muffin.”

“Here you go!” He says, places the pastry inside a brown paper bag and lets it rest on top of the counter. “That’ll be two—” I toss him four bits and snatch the bag from the counter, quickly walking outside. I’m sure that by doing so I’ve earned a few stares, but I honestly couldn’t care less. It’s still seven in the morning and I’m already sick of having to—

“Buckshot!” I hear Mully call my name and I wince; not even five steps away from the bakery and my boss yells at me. Yeah, today’s not going to be a good day.

“You have an assignment today.”

“And a good morning to you too, Mully.” I sigh and wonder if he gets off of making my life miserable. Why else would he approach me when I haven’t even stepped into the PD yet? "Well get on with it. What's the job?”

“That mare you and Shining Badge saved yesterday has been identified—” My ears lower at the mention of my partner’s name. “—as one Ms. Sunset Snow. Amateur painter, apparently. I want you to go to the hospital and question her about what happened.”

This makes me stop and look at him in genuine confusion. “Is she ready to get visits already?” I ask, slightly confused. She had been almost dead not even 24 hours earlier and now she’s suddenly fine?

“The hospital staff gave me the all clear when I went there this morning. She had a visitor already when I stopped by, but I didn’t want to disturb them.” I instantly roll my eyes. This is just like Mully, alright. Leaving all the hard duty to me. “The doctors said that she’s... stable.”

“Stable?”

“Beats me, Buckshot. I don’t understand all that medical talk. Physically, she’s fine, yes. Now, just go over and have a talk with the mare. See if she remembers something. Anything is better than nothing. Just don’t stress her too much, you hear?”

“Yeah, yeah...” I pick up the paper bag with my muffin and turn around, walking towards Ponyville General.

“Oh, and Buckshot?”

“What?” I turn around, frowning at him.

“You did good yesterday.” I stop for a moment, and my face softens before giving him a short nod. He understands it and just walks away. There’s nothing else to be said. One thing I like about Mully is how he doesn’t pepper you with praise unless it really is deserved.

After briefing the nurse on the counter about who I am and the reason I’m there, she tells me the room Sunset Snow is in. A quick ‘thank you’ and I am on my way, walking amidst the maze-like corridors of the hospital trying to find her room. The monotonous and repetitive green walls make me sick to just look at, and this place is supposed to make ponies healthy?

The minutes pass as I find myself lost in this greenish maze. I had already been passed by two nurses, and had got directions from them. But no matter how rigorously I follow them, I end up in rooms I shouldn’t be in, getting chewed out by doctors. Finally, I grow the balls to ask a nurse to escort me to Sunset’s room, something she happily does.

I slowly open the door, trying my best not to disturb her, and see some fancy-dressed stallion talking to her. He is gesticulating wildly with its forehooves. She, however, doesn’t seem to even acknowledge his presence. Her eyes are riveted on the wall in front of her.

“Hello? Miss?” I ask as softly as I manage, slowly walking inside. “Can I have a few words with you?”

“...okay,” she says, still staring at the wall. Her voice makes me cringe; it’s like she’s been smoking one too many packs of Mareboro Golds for twenty years or more. Just as she’s finished speaking her face contorts slightly in a pained expression. I wince inwardly. Was I too rough when resuscitating her?

The other pony ceases his jabbering and stares at me curiously. I too ignore his presence and quietly close the door behind me.

As I walk towards the bed I notice the multitude of canvas scattered around the room. Most of them look as if someone threw multiple balloons of paint from different colors on them. Beside them lies a palette that’s been thoroughly covered with paint, yet almost completely drained of color. It’s only at the edges that true color remains, the rest a wash of a reddish-brown hue reminding me only of blood.

“My name is Buckshot, miss. I’m a police officer from PPD.” I pause to try and come up with the best approach to take with her. It’s probably for the best if I take it slow. “I know this will sound strange, but do you know who you are?”
“She’s a genius! That’s what she is!” the other pony in the room interrupts. I choose ignore him and keep watching her, awaiting a reply. She slowly turns her head and looks at me, smiling with a warmth that I’ve only seen and felt once.

“My name is Sunset Snow.” No matter how warmly she says it, that voice is something I will not get accustomed to. The smile is pleasant, and her eyes show no signs of malice. But her voice...
“Ms. Snow, do you know where you are right now?”

“I’m at the Ponyville General hospital.” She smiles again.

“So, you like painting?” I smile at her and her expression changes. It’s almost imperceptible, but it’s there. The smile remains, but I can see her cheeks twitch down slightly.

“These are some pretty colors.”

“She sure does! Like painting, that is.” That other pony speaks again, answering for her; I dislike him already. “Name’s Arty Eyes. I’m her agent. Pleased to meet you, Mr...?” he asks me and extends a hoof, which I just look at before returning my eyes to Sunset.

“Buckshot,” I reply coldly, trying as hard as I can to perfectly convey my displeasure at his presence. “So, Ms. Snow, what exactly do you like to paint?”

“I...I think these are some pretty colors.”

I turn around and once more scan the canvas adorning the room. There was a hint of desperation in how the hues clashed against each other, like she wanted each to shine as brightly as possible until each pigment gave up and blended together into one homogenous mass of rust and decay.

“Yes, they are indeed.” I try to make my answer seem earnest, but truth be told, I don’t care much about modern art. I could paint better than some of this stuff, and I barely know which end of a pencil you’re supposed to use.

“She’s so very talented! I met her before becoming her agent, you know? Just yesterday, in fact! I once thought her paintings to be rather crude and pedestrian, but now... now she’s a genius!” I shoot him a dark look and try my best to ignore his comments.

“Why is your palette all brown?” I ask. Her smile is falters, before quirking up in a rather harsh slant.

“I think these are some pretty colors.” She keeps her eyes glued to mine and I notice that they look as if she’s pleading me to go away. I know that my next question will be an uncomfortable one and sigh.

“Ms. Snow. Sunset,” I say, placing a hoof over her shoulder. “Do you remember what happened to you?” I ask her as sympathetically as I manage. Her eyes shift, now focusing on her own forehooves. She opens her mouth and mumbles something unintelligible. I see Arty shifting uncomfortably in the corner of my eyes; her distress is clearly making him annoyed.

“Do you know what happened?” It’s the first time I address him properly. He doesn’t seem too comfortable with my tone and pumps his chest forward rather pompously.

“All I know is that she’s now a master in the field of arts! I mean, look at that palette! That technique! Look at how smoothly she moves the brush onto the canvas. With how much skill she obviously contains, she’s certain to be famous! Not to mention the media attention.... Well, with my help she’ll be the new Pablo Pizzicato! No one, and I mean no one is going to—”

“Sunset is a victim!” I say harshly, while a small crack appears in my patience. “She almost died! I didn’t save her life just to have you treating her as some sort of curiosity!”

“The colors...”

“She’s a survivor,” he says, looking at her almost fatherly. “She conquered death and from that achieved mastery in art. She doesn’t need ponies like you that treat her like she’s somepony everypony should feel nothing but pity for!”

And that’s when my patience fails. The dam bursts and the asshole held back by its restraints is set loose. My hoof moves as if it has a mind of its own and clocks Arty in the jaw. His eyes widen in disbelief as he rubs the area where my horseshoe connected.

“You... slapped me?” he asked with a voice that had all its air drained out of it.

“Sunset should not be treated like a commodity to be bought and—”

“THE COLORS!” We both stop, shocked at Sunset’s scream. Arty is quick to grab a blank canvas with his magic and levitates it to her. “THE COLORS!” Her screams intensifies in pitch and panic, and she begins pounding the the bed. I watch in disgust as he places the palette below her hooves and, after they are stained with ink up to her joints, he quickly replaces it with the blank canvas.

“YOU HAVE SUCH PRETTY, PRETTY COLORS!” she yells and I cannot believe my eyes as I see Arty's manic smile, completely disregarding her distress.

“ALL THE COLORS! PRETTY COLORS!” Her screams send waves of anguish cascading through the room as she continues splattering ink all over the canvas. Only when she’s almost tearing a hole in it Arty removes it from her grasp and replaces it with another blank one.

“You motherf—”

“NO!” Her shout cuts me off. Still hellbent on destroying this asshole’s pretty face I look down at Sunset. All my anger evaporates as I notice the panic etched in her face. She isn’t talking to me. She was talking to her. She’s clutching her head with one forehoof and her stomach with another. I instantly let go of Arty and rush to her side.

“Sunset! SUNSET!” I shake her hard, but it apparently has no effect on the mare.

“NO! NOT ME! PLEASE, I’LL DO BETTER! I’LL PAINT ALL THE COLORS! ALL THE PRETTY COLORS!”

“Sunset, snap out of it!” I command and slap her face. It does nothing to stop her thrashing. She almost pushes me to the floor when a nurse followed by a stallion twice my size open the door and rush beside her. I immediately back away, granting them passage. Both the nurse and the stallion give me the dirtiest look I’ve ever received. He holds Sunset down as the nurse pricks her shoulder with a needle.

“NOT ME! PLEASE, ANYPONY BUT ME!” She keeps struggling against the stallion’s grip, but all of us are able to see her resolve faltering. It takes two minutes for her to fall back on her pillow like a lifeless doll. The nurse looks at me and then nods to the muscular stallion. He is instantly by my side, placing one forehoof on my shoulder and forcing it down slightly.

“I think it’d better if you left, sir. Right now.” My only protest is a weary sigh. Unwilling to bother Sunset further, I turn around and begin walking towards the door.

“You too.” I hear the nurse saying, most likely addressing Arty Eyes. I was so frantic at trying to help Sunset that I completely forgot his existence.

“Could I just say my goodbyes to her?” I hear his voice. His tone is completely different from the one he addressed me with. He is making it look like he’s the victim here, not her. “Once you’re famous we’ll write your biography! Yes! Yes! I can picture it already! Sunset Snow was falling...” is the last thing that reaches my ears as the door closes behind me.

The stallion doesn’t leave my side until I’m about one hundred hooves away from the hospital. Great! Just fucking perfect! Mully will have my ass for this, I’m sure! I didn’t even get to ask how Shining Badge is doing! I sigh and try to collect myself. I look to the sky, trying to gauge how much daylight is left, but the thick blanket of clouds blocks my view.

I hate winter. I hate being bathed in snowflakes only for them to melt whenever I’m indoors. I don’t understand why we do this to ourselves. We could have summer all year long if we wanted to, yet Cloudsdale insists on covering the world with this frozen white sheet for five months every year. Why?

Arty's smug, self-satisfied smirk lingering in my mind is just the icing on the cake. I force it out of my mind. As much as I hate to admit it, however, he's not the one to blame here. At least, not any more than the bed bugs are to blame because your sheet is unwashed. Somehow, we let the fabric of society become dirty. Only now, instead of cleaning it up, it's a fight over who has to sleep in it. We've made the job of psychos like Pinkamena almost laughably easy. It's like she's daring us to catch her and she laughs as we stumble all over ourselves.

I sigh and gather my resolve before pushing the doors of the station. Once inside, I walk straight to my room, giving only curt nods to those who bother to watch me go by. Mully hasn’t come to talk to me, meaning that he’s probably doing something elsewhere. Good. Nopony needs to know about this.

As I close the door behind me, I let my mask fall. My day had been one bad circumstance after another, and I feel like bucking through the wall in irritation. My mind goes to the taffy wrapper with Pinkie’s instructions in my desk drawer.
“Two can play this game, you little bitch,” I mutter before biting down on a pencil and pushing its tip against a blank piece of paper. I hear the graphite grinding against it as I write my name and some vague, random letters after it. Once I’m done, I spit the pencil away and look at it. Before I am home today I’ll stop by the post office and send this to the Lonely Hearts column of the Ponyville Gazette.

Author's Note

Owlor: I think I was the one inspiring the scene where Bucky gets lost in the hospital. Luce is of course a med student, and prolly knows his hospital fairly well. I’m not and hospitals makes me freak out a little.

Sunset Snow (Vector | Drawing) was a character accidently created by a typo while I was editing Lucefudu’s story “Forever Yours”, and ever since we’ve joked that she’s our metafictional “daughter.” As this story can attest, we’re not very good parents... At the end of writing this, I think all three of us were more pissed of at Arty than we were with Pinkamena. Sure, she kills ponies, but she’s criminally insane. What’s Arty’s excuse?

Lucefudu: Sunset Snow’s scene in the hospital was kind of hard for me to write. It kept reminding me of a fanfic of mine, Trixie’s Choice. I wrote Buckshot jumping over her bed and tackling Arty to the wall and, just as he’s about to feed him his teeth, Sunset screams. I liked it a lot, especially since Arty is an asshole from the get-go. But it had to be cut since it’d [REDACTED]. Thankfully, Owly conceded me the chance for a bitchslap. Needless to say that I was all up on that.

Mikhail: One might say that I no longer have actual blood running through my veins. Rather, I subsist on caffeine and electricity; a poor borg’s got to get what he can.

24th of Second Ember, part 1.

I had just forgotten about my response to Pinkamena’s challenge when the first letter arrived.

The envelope sits on my home’s desk, undisturbed as I study it. The seal is a little smiley sticker and the edges are tainted with a brown smudge that I quickly identify as blood. Strange, this made all its way through the postal system, and nopony noticed?

The yellow figure splits in half as I open the letter, using my teeth. Sometimes, when dealing with gross stuff like this, I kind of wish I was born with a horn. The paper itself is even more smudged by blood than the envelope, but the text is still perfectly legible.

There's no need to wait, ‘cause it finally came:
Welcome to Pinkie Pie’s awesome guessing game!
Yes, it might be a crime
these murders sublime
But it's more fun that watching this town go lame

To be successful, you must first master your fear
The rules are quite clear, I will state them all here:
I'll send you two clues
and now you must choose
To which path you’ll finally steer.

These point to the pony whose number
and life that I chose to encumber
The victim won't wait.
And I won't hesitate
To put them forever in slumber

This is a gift, your chance to rejoice.
Through this game I have given you voice.
Will they be saved
or put in their grave?
Because now it comes down to your choice.

PS: If you tell anypony about our little game, expect the body count to grow.

I furrowed my brows after reading the letter. Just to be certain, I read it two more times. On all the stanzas, I scan the words and their contexts for any kind of double meaning or subtlety. I read the first word of each paragraph, then the first letter, then do it backwards.

Nothing.

The gist of it all is quite clear, at least. She will apparently send me two clues, and if I fail to figure them out, somepony will die. Also, anypony who hears about this will quickly follow. My throat knots at the realization; it feels as if Pinkamena Pie just put a millstone around my neck and kicked me out of the boat.

I consider the option to bring this letter with me to the station and show Mully, who’d surely either fire me on the spot for keeping a key piece of evidence to myself or chew my ass over it. Then when the first clue arrive, he’ll sentence me to write so many reports that by the time I’m done, Pinkie will have moved on to the next unfortunate victim.

And that’s exactly why I didn’t show it to him, Pinkie can run in circles around the ponyville police department, and she knows it. If I want any chance of catching her, I gotta do it myself.

To the caretaker of miss Sunset Snow (Arty Eyes)

On behalf of Ponyville’s police department, I apologize for my actions and the distress I might have caused you or miss Sunset Snow. I was acting contrary to specific orders not to put undue stress on the witness, orders which I ignored. My actions and statements did in no way reflect the official stance of Ponyville’s Police Department.

I sigh as I look at what I’ve managed to produce. Mully was of course less than pleased with the fact that I hoofslapped the caretaker of an important witness. But instead of doing the merciful thing and killing me on the spot, he sentenced me to write a letter of apology. Of course, he never specifically said I had to send it... When I’m done, it’s going straight into the trash can!

The important thing to Mully is that he can point to the fact that he ordered me to write it, in case anypony involved decided to raise trouble with the department. That’s the PPD in a nutshell, so much of it is about generating the right paperwork to make the bean-counters go away. I abandon this trash-can fodder of a letter before slipping off to do some actual police work.

In the basement of the police department is the archive, rows of hoof-cranked shelves on wheels with just enough room for one pony to squeeze themselves between one row. The atmosphere is tempered with dust and cobwebs, neglect and abandonment. This isn’t exactly a place you go to hang out, and in a way that’s helpful; it gives you a place to think without anypony to disturb you.

I have little need for the shelves full of routine paperworks, ignored forms and reports of trivial crimes. But down here we also have the really good stuff, files on some of Equestria’s most notorious criminals. Every aspect of a case you could ask for recounted in great, sometimes excruciating, detail.

I put the file with Pinkamena Diane Pie on the lectern and find the psychiatric reports. I’ve already read these to the point of memorization, but perhaps there’s some detail that can shed light on her cryptic poem. After all, even before it all came to light, she was unusually cryptic when she wanted to.

“Ahem... still on the Pinkamena case, I presume?” I hear someone behind me asking. I don’t need to turn around to recognise Mully’s rough voice. So much for this place being free of distractions! I hold my breath in order to calm myself.

“Yeah... I figured that we should try to find more clues about what happened. You know, so we could save her next victim.”

“Buckshot,” he says, sounding almost like my father, “you’ve been losing your sleep over this case for days now. All of us, in fact. Believe me, this girl knows how to cover her steps. If even the best psychiatrist of Canterlot failed to figure out what goes on in that sick mind of hers, what chance does we have?”

I don’t reply, keeping my eyes locked in with her psychiatric report. I’ve picked up some medical books these last few days. I figured that I’d have to be up-to-date with everything if I hoped to catch her. however, all it really taught me is the myriad ways a doctor can phrase the statement “I don’t have a clue.”

“Buckshot.” I keep ignoring Mully, hoping he’ll get the message. I don’t think I can take seeing another pony like Sunset Snow put in a hospital or worse. If only I could find something. Anything. The doctor must’ve noticed something she said. Even though she trick—”Buckshot!”

“WHAT!?”

“I don’t get all up in your grill just to annoy you, y’know?” Mully said with a faint note of irritation in his voice. “I have a job to do just like you! And right now it’s to keep you in check.”

“What do you mean?

“Do you remember officer Cold Gaze?” The question is rhetorical. He is the stallion I whose job I replaced when I first came to Ponyville all the way from Manehattan. Mully continues without waiting for my reply, “have I ever told you why he left the force?” This manages to get my curiosity.

“Four years ago, Ponyville was almost destroyed by a pony named Firebrand. He was an arsonist who lived here.” I nod for him to go on, I had read about the Great Fires once before, but I had never known the real story behind it. Mully doesn’t like talking about the past much, unless he has a point to make.

“Cold Gaze was one of the best officers this city had.” Mully sighs and rubs his forehead with his hoof. “Something changed, though. I don’t know what exactly set my alarms off, but I just knew something was wrong, so I conducted my own private investigation. Turns out that Cold Gaze began to sympathize with Firebrand.”

“Why? Why would anypony, especially a police officer sympathize with an arsonist.”

“I don’t know, Buckshot.” He say, and I notice that he looks almost forlorn. “I really don’t know. We had Firebrand pinned down as exceedingly clever, leaving almost no evidence behind. I, however, found out that Cold Gaze purposefully sabotaged our investigation; removing crucial evidence and planting misleading ones.”

I blink twice at this, somepony tampering with the evidence in a small sleepy town like this?

“We arrested him, of course,” Mully continued, seemingly able to see my shock. “Cold Gaze refused to say a word. The only thing he let slip was Firebrand’s name. By the time we were at his door, however, he was nowhere to be found. Still is. Even now, most ponies don’t know about Cold Gaze. We decided that it was for the best that things be kept beneath the rug.”

I shoot Mully a harsh, inquisitive stare and he sighs. “You’ve got to understand, Buckshot. We symbolize hope. I like to think that more than the Princesses themselves. Especially on these troubled times.”

“Get to the point already, Mully!”

“My point is that it’s not unlikely for criminals to sooner or later contact the police. If she should contact you directly, promise to tell me, alright?”

Silence. I am stunned for a moment, wondering if Mully had somehow entered my mind. It would be impressive, especially since he lacks a horn. “Yes. You know I would tell you if I knew anything.” My eyes dart frantically from one side of the room to another.

“This is why I’m here. I—we need to everything we need if we want to catch her again.”

I am reminded of the poor farmer as the next words form in my brain and coalesce into a sentence, ‘I did not become a cop to see truth get tarnished, y’know?’ Mully lingers for a moment, looking strangely at me before nodding and turning around. As he go up the stairs, I look at the psychiatric file once more. I can see myself reflected back in the glossy paper.

“Honesty never really was your Element, was it you son of a bitch?” I mutter to myself once I’m sure he’s out of hearing range.

Thank Celestia for lunch breaks! The good thing about working as a cop in a small town as opposed to Manehattan is that you have time to eat lunch in the comfort of your own home, a luxury you never get in a bustling city.

I close the door to my house behind me and breathe a weary sigh. I lock the door behind me and leave the keys on the counter next to it. I slowly drag myself to the living room and plop onto the couch. Even though I am in this comfortable position for less than ten seconds, my eyelids already feel heavy. I inhale deeply and stretch my four members as the air leaves my lungs. I hear my spine popping and I can’t help but to mutter a satisfied moan.

I allow myself a few more moments of relaxation but get up once I’m certain that I’ll fall asleep if I stay in this position for long. I open my refrigerator and take out some tomatoes, lettuce, white cheese and some walnuts.

“Hm hmm hmmm hm hm hm. Hello! Hm hmmm hmm hm hm hm. How’re you doin’?” I hum as I begin preparing my bowl of salad. Tomatoes and white cheese sliced, lettuce cleaned and walnuts grinded, I place the bowl over the kitchen table and look for some oranges in my fruit basket.

“Hm hmhm hm hm hmmmmm hmhm hm hmhm hmhmhmhmmm. Hoof bump!”

I cease my humming and dig into my bowl. I’m not a chef by any means, but it’s hard to go wrong with a good salad. I feel pleasantly full as I walk back to the living room, wanting nothing more to sit down and rest, but my break is almost over and I need to get back to the police department.

My attention is picked when I see an envelope beneath my door. I curiously approach the item and pick it up with my mouth. I set it onto my table and tear the envelope and remove what’s inside. The first thing that falls out is a plastic spoon, the kind little foals use to eat their cake on birthday parties.

The envelope still doesn’t feel empty, but a quick shake dislodges the second item from its innards. It’s a postcard, the kind you would find at any gift shop. But there’s nothing written on its back whatsoever, even tough it very clearly has lines for an address and a greeting.

“What the hay?” I flip it over to look at its image. The photograph depicts a wolf howling at a crescent moon. This is most clearly the clues Pinkie pie told me would arrive, but that’s pretty much the only thing clear about it. I set the postcard down near the plastic spoon and begin to ponder on its meaning. There is something about this combination, a kitschy picture of a wolf in a noble pose and a sorry-looking spoon that sparks memories.

If you made the photograph into a velvet painting and turned the spoon into a metal one with its underside forever scarred black by flames, it would look like the things you’d find in any run-down apartment in downtown Manehattan.

This mental image, of basements lined with posters, of soot-stained spoons and shoelaces, is so vivid that I’m sure it’s not just a random thought. I pick up the postcard again, this is screaming out a name to me, but what?

And as if in a snap, it all becomes clear. I mouth the name to myself:

“Crescent Moon!” I quickly back away from the table and dash towards the door.

Author's Note

Owlor: Who the hell is Crescent Moon? Don’t worry, you’ll find out in the next chapter.

jMj took one look at my original draft for Pinkie poem and said “Ugh, this makes me want to kill myelf.” (Hey, my poetry isn’t THAT bad, is it?). So Jmj helped me rewrite the poem into it’s final, non-suicide-inducing form.

I highly recommend that you read the second “Further Evidence” chapter to understand what Bucky is referring to when he talks about “I am reminded of the poor farmer...”

There was a mare from Ponyville
who one day decided to kill
She sharpened a knife
took several lives
that murderous mare from Ponyville
(In the style of Edward Lear)

Mikhail's Journal, April 7th, 2013. A mediocre story is in the featured box this morning; it’s a non-consensual clopfic with a fickle, rather feeble plot. These authors are afraid of me, for I have seen their true face. The stories are extended gutters; the gutters are full of shit. When the drains finally scab over, all the vermin will drown. The accumulated filth of their bad writing and comma splices will foam up around their waists, and all of the pegasisters and bronies will look up and shout "Save us!" I shall simply whisper, "no."

24th of Second Ember, part 2.

“Bucky, ye auld trunk donkey!” Crescent Moon exclaims from the door as I approach her. “Ah hae nae seen ye in ages, whit ur ye daein' haur? Ur ye still slavin' awa' for th' gov’mnt, or hae ye finally seen th' lecht?”

Crescent greets me from the door, trailed by a grey puppy, as I approach her little shack.

Her eyes twinkle with recognition behind those thin half-moon shaped glasses. Before I know it, she’s insulted both me and my job in the most affectionate tone possible. And more is surely on its way already; she reminds me very much of a snowball rolling down a hill in that once she gets going, she’s very hard to stop. I try my best to get a word in edgewise between her torrents of Coltish.

“Listen Crescent, I—”

“Ah gotta make some herbal tea fer us, Ah jist found it a new recipe,” she continues undeterred. “Och, we hae so much tae catch up on—”

Her dog runs at me and begin sniffing my forehooves. The puppy, having had enough of my scent, looks up at me and begins to bark playfully. It’s a high-pitched bark, no doubt calling me to play with him. I instinctively flinch back, but it only seems to make the dog more eager. Between the barks and Crescents rambling monologue, it’s next to impossible to get a word in edgewise.

“Miss Moon!” I finally manage to blurt out. This gets her attention, she always hated to be called a ‘Miss’.

Crescent turns around and smiles at me when she notices my trouble with the dog

“Oh, shew! Shew, Tammy, yer disturb'n Buckshot e'yer,” she says, wiggling her old forehooves. The dog stops barking at me, turns to her and tilts his head.

“Ach, you learn fast,” she says and magically produces a treat for him from somewhere in her kitchen. She throws it over a small bed on the corner of the room and the pup follows. He lies down and focuses on chewing his treat.

“Crescent?” Once again, I try to get her attention. “I have reason to suspect that somepony is trying to kill you.”

She turns around and stares at me a while as if to try and determine if I am joking, but when I show no sign of irony or jest, she unexpectedly starts grinning.

“Och, Ah ken 'at,” she replies, leaving me with an eyebrow raised in confusion.

“You knew already, how?”

“Aye! Ah hae gart many a big corparations radge in mah days. Ah am sure somepony woulds be glad if they could erase me from th' planet.” I roll my eyes. Typical Crescent Moon chat.

“But dinnae fash yersel,” she continues. “Ah ken how tae handle m’self.” She winks at me, trying to look brave, but all I see is a frail old mare. Stronger than she once was, sure, but still with her prime years behind her.

“Well, Ms. Moon, I—”

“'Main 'en noo, Buckshot. I’d loch tae think 'at I’m talkin' wi' a mukker haur.” She giggles. “Maybe mair than jist a mukker, hm?” She rolls the words over her tongue, trying to come off as sultry. It’s no use, however, Nightmare Moon would sooner reign over us than Crescent learns how to properly flirt.

“Yeah... It’s not that I doubt your—”

“Capoeira.”

“Yeah, that. Look, it’s not that I doubt your capoeira skills, but I’d rather stick around, just for safety.”

“Braw that. Havin' a hunky, oodilin' stallion followin' me around isn’t somethin' I’ll greit abit,” she says and adds a bounce to her step as she walks into the kitchen.

I can’t say that the gesture didn’t grasp my attention. Even though her hair has aged-silver locks, she acts as if she’s young and full of life. It’s a pleasure seeing her this thoroughly rejuvenated. There isn’t the slight bitterness that permeated the personality of my ex wife, even during the days when we were together. As Crescent turns around, she notices my stare and lets out a giggle.

This is going to be an interesting day indeed.

We’re walking through a winter landscape, shielded from the unyielding snowfall only by our coats. My civilian trenchcoat really wasn’t made for harsh Ponyville winters and I shudder as I pull the collar up. Crescent Moon however, thrived in this environment like a fish in a pond. Compared to the highlands of Coltland, this was practically autumn.

“Where are we going?” I ask her casually. She eyes me for a moment, wary, but then, as if she remembered something, she flashes a smile.

“We're gonnae somewhaur fun. We're pure close, actually.” I can already tell that I won’t like it. Fun with Crescent Moon usually borders minor offenses. “Don’t be loch 'at, Buckshot. Ah tryst you'll loove it!” She singsongs.

She leads us to what at first looks like an abandoned building before I see the dim light coming from inside. There is only one thing about this structure that is unmarred by decay; a sign on the front with the words “Hookin’ Hookah” written on it in a swirly font. I do not like where this is going...

Suddenly, a slit in the door opens to let a pair of suspicious eyes peer out at us.

“Quem é esse aí com você, Crescent?” the pony on the other side of the door asks, his wary eyes evidently aimed at me. Even though I have no idea of what he said, I can’t help but feel my presence being unwanted, judging by his tone.

“Relaxa, ‘Tero, ele só tá aqui pra me proteger,” Crescent replies, turns her head and winks at me.

I hear a snort and then the slit loudly closes. We wait for a few seconds as I hear the sounds of chains and keys moving on the other side. The door opens and Crescent doesn’t hesitate to walk inside. She purposefully swings her tail beneath this ‘Tero character’s chin, who just grunts. I try to hide my smirk at this display and follow her in.

We walk through a small, narrow hallway and cross another door. I’m hit by a smell that instantly dissipates any doubts I might have about the nature of this establishment. Clove, I recognize that obnoxiously sweet smell anywhere. I involuntary move my hooves to my waist, looking for a pair of hoofcuffs, but they are on my belt back at the station. I sigh; Crescent hasn’t lost her touch when it comes to finding subtle ways of driving me insane at least.

I notice the place was only half-heartedly renovated. The wallpaper was torn in some places, revealing an older, dust-coated wallpaper behind it. The only source of light, a soon-to-be-dead lightbulb dangling precariously from its chords, gives of a somber, almost gloomy look. And still, the ponies grouped around a suspicious looking apparatus seem not to mind this, sharing in drug-induced laughter, while throwing caution, and their lives, to the wind.

Crescent plows deep into the den and leads me to a table made out of planks and cinder blocks. Next to it is a lumpy couch partially covered by a sticky patina of some kind. She leaves me to be seated and heads over to the bar, or what passes for it.

While she talks with the mule behind the counter, I eye the crowd wearily. I find it interesting that nopony seems to even care about my presence. Either they’re too high to notice that I’m a cop or they don’t know me. This suits me just fine, really. I’m not looking for trouble today.

It doesn’t take long before Crescent Moon makes her way back to the table, carrying a bag of clove between her teeth. I watch with disapproval as she removes a exquisitely carved jade pipe from her saddlebag. Such a nice piece of craftsmanship did not belong in a dingy place like this. And I could say the same thing about her...

Crescent stuffs her pipe with the clove, oblivious to my glare until I make my displeasure known with a forced cough. She looks up, but not before igniting the leaves with her horn, and shoots me a wide grin.

“Dinna fash yersel! Now Ah got a prescripti’n fer it!” As a response to my skeptical look, she produces a neatly folded paper from her saddlebag. “Ah keep this wi' me in case th' coppers come,” she adds and the slight hint of irony in her voice does not escape me.

“No way! Let me see that!” I pick up the paper from her midnight-blue aura and quickly scan through it. Sure enough, it’s a prescription for medicinal syzygium, issued for Crescent Moon, and it seems real. The doctor’s signature, however, makes me snort.

“Hasty Diagnosis?”

“He’s a brammer doctur. Ah don’t ken wa he gits sae much bad press abit his practice. Th' pony’s a genius! Who’d guess 'at water has memory?”

I refrain from questioning the scientific validity of this and gestures towards the rest of the crowd. “And all these ponies, do they have a presciption too?”

“Ay course!” She flashes me a sunny smile. “No gonnae-no bein' a downer an' lit me enjoy m’self.” I roll my eyes an I let this slide.

She takes a puff from her jade pipe, let’s the smoke out in a thick milky cloud and inhales it through her nostrils. I knew she had experience with this, but I didn’t know she was this good. She doesn’t offer me a drag. Out of respect or self interest, I have no idea. I can’t help but shift uncomfortably in my seat at how effortlessly she works it. She turns to me and smiles, trying to hold back some laughs.

“Somethin' wrang?” she asks, with a stray puff of smoke still trickling from her snout.

“I thought you had quit.” This remark completely dissolves her smile and she slumps down in the couch.

“Ah hae. Mostly. I've tossed awa' mah needles, an' Ah don’t e'en bevvy anymair, but sometimes Ah sill git it...” she focus her eyes at some middle distance and sighs. “'at boss feelin'.”

She turns her attention to the swirling wisps of smoke and I let the silence hang over us. For a second, it feels like I’m back in Manehattan again until a cold gust of wind from the door snaps me back to reality. Somepony just left early, to spend Hearth’s Warming with their family, perhaps? I wonder idly if they’ll notice the slightly glazed eyes, and if so, if they’d care. As for the rest, they evidently didn’t have any better place to go this evening.

“You moved away from it all to a quiet little cabin where you could be close to nature, ”I remind her to break the silence. “And yet you still manage to find ways to get in trouble with the law, you never cease to amaze me.”

“'Spikin’ ay which,” she says and leans closer, lowering her voice to a whisper, “I’m surprised ye hae nae huckled anypony yet.”

“I’m not on duty, and besides, it’s Hearth’s Warming Eve! I figured I ought to give these poor unfortunate souls a chance to run before tossing them in the slammer, It’s good exercise for the both of us!” I say before letting out a hearty chuckle which she answers with one of her own.

At the end of the night, we’re let out into the cold winter dark. Almost immediately, Crescent threatens to wander off, giggling to herself. I sigh as I lead her back on the path home. Our trek home is a slow one, since I have to accommodate my gait to Crescent’s slow, high-in-the-cloud steps. She’s acts more like a child than a pony her age. She walks in circles, laughing and dancing to the tunes of the night.

“Can ye sin' me a sang?” she asks me and it take me no more than a second to reply.

“No.”

“Aw, 'en i'll hae tae sin' a sang m’self!” she proclaims and launches into an impromptu number:

“A unicorn's horn starts puny an' wee
loch a bump on the noggin’ so small ye can’t see
but as he touches his horn, it grow at th' end...”

It’s around this time that I realize that this song isn’t really about unicorn and start to blush. This is the sort of thing I would sing after having a pint or three of sweet apple cider, not the sort of thing that should come from a little old lady!

“Th' ridges turn stiff an' it's startin' tae mend
magic is surgin', it turns stiff an' hard
ain when he shoots his load, flies at least fifteen yards!”

Okay, I admit, that ending got me. I let out a hearty chuckle, which sets off another giggle attack from Crescent. We’re nearing Ponyville’s Town Square now. The rows of houses and shops are widening into a large circle surrounding the Town Hall. Most doors have a wreath made out of evergreens and every ledge or pillar was lined with a tinsel that almost glistened as well as the snow. At the epicenter of these lavish decorations was he Sun Statue, which was adorned with multiple red flags and banners.

Crescent suddenly stopped dead in her track to take the festive environment in.

“It is sae beautiful!” she says and I can see the gleam in her eyes. She points the Sun Statue in the middle of the town center. Ice crystals were forming on the rough surface, giving it a shine not unlike if the statue had been covered with glitter. Surrounding it are multiple banners, the only aspect of the scenery that’s untouched by snow.

I don’t comment of this, I just turn my collar up and wish I was in bed already. The cold wind picks up until even Crescent Moon had to shiver. I approach her and sweep one side of my coat over her. She gives me a bashful look, enhanced by her ice-stung cheeks. I smile back, she has no problem flirting with stallions young enough to be her colt, but a small friendly gesture still catches her off-guard.

I hear the soft creak of a hoofstep in the snow. That is the only warning I get before somepony launches out from behind the banners. I catch a glimpse of a pony in a black suit, not unlike those worn by newly wedded grooms and businessponies. In other words, a costume that stands for nothing but trouble. His face is obscured by the red flags and my eyes drift downwards where I see a gleam at the end of their hoof.

“Crescent, look out, he has a hoofblade!” I manage to blurt out.

Crescent wastes no time in deploying a high, sweeping kick that only succeeds in knocking down one of the flagposts. This forces the suit out of hiding and he quickly gallop behind the next banner before the first one hits the ground. He extend his foreleg and the image of the hoof-blade from before flashes through my mind. Crescent Moon grunts as he passes and a few near-black droplets of blood leaks down on the ground.

“Crescent! Crescent! Are you alright?!” Her muzzle is scrunched up, but she manages to open her eyes and nod at me. “Let me see it,” I knee beside her and take her hind leg in my hooves. The cut is shallow and there is not much blood flowing from it. I breathe a relieved sigh. “Can you walk?”

“Aye.” I help her to her four legs and pause, looking towards where the fleeing pony went. She follows my gaze and urges me through gritted teeth.

“I’ll be okay. This auld mare can tak' a lot mair than 'at. Noo gang git th' dobber!”

“Promise me that you will go to the hospital!”

“Och aye, now go!” I spare no second and turn around, following the trail of hoofsteps left behind by the assailant.

I keep my trenchcoat open as I quicken my phase into a gallop. The heat from from my muscles and my rage keeps me warm in spite of the winds icy sting. Rows of snow-covered houses blur past until one house towering appears, towering over the others. The Silver Mansion, this guy has some chutzpah wandering this close to i with blood on their hooves.

The tracks lead me over snowdrifts and around bushes until I see that suited bastard wandering about like nothing ever happened. I waste no time in tackling him. He clocks me over the jaw and tries to get the upper hoof. He’s good, I’ll give him that, but getting pounded into the snow mellows him out some.

I can finally get a good look at the asshole who went after Crescent. His snout had the slightly off-kilter angle of somepony who’s taken a few horseshoes to the face in their days, and judging by how he fought, he seemed to consist of nothing but long, lean muscles. This was a thug in a fancy suit, no more, no less.

“Did Pinkie Pie set you up for this? Where is she?!” I belt out, forming the words into a roar.

“I don’t fucking know...” he manages to stutter out. I slap him across the jaw and put my hoof over his throat, ready to block his air supply should he try any sudden move.

“I’ll ask you just once more, where is Pinkie Pie? And this time, I want a straight answer, or else...”

“What the fuck is your problem?” The stallion gathers some resolve in spite of being overpowered. “I saw that pink fuck skulking just outside the gates of the Silver mansion, and when I set out to investigate I get jumped from out of fucking nowhere by you! The fuck is going on, asshole?” The gears are clicking in my head, and as I finally manage to put two and two together, I feel just about ready to curse myself.

“You’re... a member of the security staff?”

“That’s right, you fucker. Now get the fuck off me!” He stares at me like he’s trying to stab me with his gaze, and he pretty much succeeds. My demeanor softens considerably and I speak with a forcibly calm voice.

“Alright, now listen carefully. My friend was just attacked by a pony in a black suit that matches yours to an inch. I believe this was either Pinkie Pie, or an accomplice.” I speak slowly to let the words sink in. “Tell me, the Silver couple, they have a daughter, right? What’s her name?”

“There’s no way in tartarus I’m telling you that, you fucking cre—” His words are cut out as I shift my weight, pressing my hoof down slightly as a warning.

“I could still kill you, y’know?” His eyes widen instantly as he gasps for air. “Now tell me!”

“Sil—Silver Sp—Spoon.” he blurts out between gasps. And that was the cue for the last gear to click into place and my brain to start racing like a screaming locomotive. I got curse words on the tip of my tongue I bet even this stallion would hesitate to put in his mouth.

“Listen to me closely,” I demand, allowing him to breathe once more. “If I’m right, Pinkie is heading straight for the Silver Mansion. You need to protect Silver Spoon.” I soften my grip around his throat further, somewhat as a peace offering. “I am going to let you go now,” I inform him. “And I trust that you’ll head straight for the mansion and not buck me in the head like I probably deserve, okay?”

The stallion nods silently at this. As I roll off him, I scrunch my muzzle and prepare for the moment of truth. But all he does after he picks himself up from the ground is to give me a quick impatient look.

“Are you coming with me or what? Like hay am I facing that crazy bitch alone.” I’m dumbfounded at this statement, prompting him to snort displeasingly. “You’re a cop, right? I could tell by the way you fight.” I reply with nothing but stony silence.

“So that’s how it is, huh?” he continues. “Nevermind then, four pairs of hooves are better than two in any case. I’m Drydock by the way. Now are you coming with me or not?”

I remain silent, choosing to follow Drydock’s gallop. Truth can’t be hidden in snow for long, and soon enough, we pick up the trail again, heading straight for the mansion as we suspected. I must admit, I’ve never seen their house up close before. Normally, I don’t even go near the rich ponies’ avenue. But I get the impression that this house has been standing there for at least a century, it practically smells of old money.

“Here’s how we’re gonna do this,” Drydock informs me. “I’ll search the rooms, and you’ll follow right behind me. If you run off on your own or cause any trouble, I’ll bash your fucking skull in, capisce?”

“Alright, Drydock. Let’s do this!” And with that we rush in.

Author's Note

Owlor: I’d loch tae apologize tae th' fowk ay scootlund fur badly manglin' yer leid. If it helps, hink ay loch a “what if Applejack was ‘scottish’ insteid ay ‘soothern’” kin' ay accent. The Portugese, by contrast, should be fine, cus Luce handled that part.

I'd also like to apologize to everyone for having to sit trough Crescents incomprehensible accent, it seemed like a good idea at the time...

I’m a little dissapointed we never managed to shoehorn in a swedish character so I could show of my language skills as well. Så jag kanske borde skriva resten av mina anteckningar på svenska så inte en jävel kommer förstå vad jag säger, såvida de inte också är svenskar. Du gamla du fria du smälllfeta ko... allright, that’s enough of that.

This chapter took longer than it should have to upload, cus Luce is studying for a test and I had trouble finding motivation with a google docs a wasteland. Next chapter should hopefully not take as long to upload.

“But Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!”
--To a Mouse (Robert Burns)

Lucefudu: Engraçado como tudo fica... estranhamente diferente, quando você introduz uma língua diferente na história. Mesmo assim, eu pessoalmente acho que combinou bem.
Also: Homeopathy is placebo.

Mikhail: One must first walk before they can run. Any attempts to do otherwise end up looking like this.

25th of Second Ember

“Code pink, code pink!” Drydock yells out as he burst through the door.

The words had barely finished echoing through the halls before the previously tranquil building started bustling with activity. At least a dozen ponies appear from various rooms, all dressed in dignified black-and-white outfits. I watch in amazement as they line up in the central hall with the same discipline as a military unit.

Drydock completed the military image by wandering down the rows of servant with the same stern expression as a drill sergeant. He trots up to one of the butlers and gives him a fierce look which is met with nothing but a dignified silence.

“It’s code pink, Skeeves. So tell me, where are the masters and Silver Spoon right now?”

“The Silvers are out having dinner with Fleur de Lis and Fancypants, sir,” Skeeves replied, his face unyielding like it was carved in marble. “As for Silver Spoon, I do not know.” Drydock nods at this and turns his attention to the rest of the servants.

“Alright, we have possible indication that the Cupcakes Killer is near or around the master’s property. This entire place needs to be secured.”

The five butlers tense up a little at this. There is no change in their expressions, although their aloof detachment now looks a little more alert. A young mare in a frilly black and white dress shivers a little in the back of the line. As Drydock approaches, she nearly breaks into cold sweat.

“Nursery Rhyme, you are responsible for Silver Spoon. Tell me where she is!” The mare shifts her head, apparently unable to look at Drydocks battle-scarred face.

“S—she is sleeping in her room right now. So I ask, can we please keep it low?” She replies, while studying her own front hooves. Drydock gives her a displeased snort.

“We got more important things than the little miss’ sleep schedule to worry about right now,” he mutters. “You go straight to her room, and I’ll go with you to protect—” He pauses and looks at me.

I can see the doubt in his eyes. Obviously, he isn’t gonna leave a stranger like me unaccompanied in a mansion when they already have one shady perpetrator to worry about. He struggles with his priorities for a few second, then nods towards the butler.

“Skeeves, you used to be in the military. Go with miss Rhyme and make sure that she isn’t getting jumped by some pink motherfucker.” The butler clears his throat meaningfully, causing Drydock to scrunch his muzzle.

“Alright, alright, I owe one more bit to the swear jar,” he admits reluctantly.

“That would be one hundred and eight bits this month, if I’m correct, sir,” Skeeves remark with a hint of schadenfreude. “And counting.”

“Oh for fudge’s sake!” Drydock exclaims after a groan. “Can we please get a move on? The rest of you, search the mansion. And if you see anything the least bit suspicious, yell for either me or Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome over here.”

He gestures at me, and I can't help but crack a smile at the nickname. ‘Mister Tall, Dark and Handsome’, I should put that on my business card...

The servants disperse, leaving me and Drydock to wander alone down the hallway. The combined treasures of countless generations lines the corridors and I can't help but be stunned by the excess of it all Even the dim light couldn’t diminish my awe at seeing the old paintings, candelabras, ancient shields and antique furniture, all of which would be more at home in a palace than in a modern, Second Diarchy-home.

One modern luxury stands out against the ancient anachronisms; a copper tube, nearly invisible to the naked eye, goes along the floor and up to several exquisitely moulded gas lamps. Concealed behind frosted glass were thin but intense flames that just about managed to light the steps right in front of them, bathing everything else in shadow.

This display reminds me once more—if the décor wasn’t enough—of just how rich the Spoon family is. With today’s gas prices, even having a stove puts a sizeable dent in your coin purse.

“Wake up, sunshine!” Drydock exclaims and hits my chest with a forehoof, taking the attention away from my musings. “We’ve got to find that bitch.”

“One hundred and nine,” I respond with a smirk. “Are you gonna have any pay left after this?” Drydock responds with a loud groan.

“If as much as a hair is harmed on Silver Spoons head, I’ll be lucky if I have a fucking job afterwards. Anywhere. So fuck my paycheck!” His words wipe the smirk off of my face, for a second I had almost managed to forget that a little filly’s life was in danger.

Further away from the main hall, the gas lamps became more sparse and their light grew thinner. Drydock navigates through this labyrinth with trained ease, but I keep stumbling into furniture. Ponderous Selenean tables and lavish Discordian chairs are rudely scraped across the floor due to my inability to see. I don’t want to voice my discomfort and seem like a liability, but Drydock can’t help but notice how much my half-blind staggers is slowing us down.

Without a word, he grabs a candelabra from the ornate wooden table and walks on silently, the flames swaying with his every step. It takes me a few seconds to acknowledge this gesture, and once I do, I have to trot a few steps to catch up with him. My hoofsteps echoes against the polished marble floors and walls, making Drydock tense up as I approach.

There is an awkward moment where I’m not sure if I should apologize for startling him or pretend that I didn’t notice.

“Drydock,” I whisper to break the silence. “If Pinkamena was wearing a suit very much like yours before I jumped you, don’t you think she could be disguising herself as one of the servants?”

He pauses his gait and takes the candlestick in his forehoof before turning to me. “All the servants in this house are well acquainted to each other. I think they can damn well recognize an impostor.” His words are sharp, but hushed, and I can't help but feel their edge.

“Yeah, but I can’t!” I protest. “How many of the servants here are pink or light-red?” His eyes look up as he searches around his memory for specifics.

“Only four. Dustfeather, a pegasi mare with an unmistakable short black mane. Clean Dishes, a portly stallion with a blue mane parted in the middle. Wheel Spin, but he’s away with the family and Pickled Onions, a unicorn mare with more wrinkles than a rotten apple.” I acknowledge the intentional lower volume the last sentence came accompanied with, but decide not to comment on it.

“But if you’re right about her being able to disguise herself, this information is useless. Stop asking stupid questions and let’s just go.” He motions to bite the candlestick once more, but I motion him to stop.

“You don’t understand. Pinkamena’s mane is... resistant to change, somehow. Either it’s long and completely straight or poofy and wild. I doubt she’d be able to style her own mane even if she wanted to.”

His eyes meet mine and before I realize that I’ve said too much, he gives one step towards me. “Y’know, if I had any sense, I’d pin you against the wall and hold your throat until you tell me just how the fuck you know so much about her.” His eyes, cruel. His steps, undeterred. “In fact, I think I’ll—”

“Drydock!” a voice calls out from the far end of the corridor behind us.

We both turn our heads towards the direction of the sound. I tense as I see a pink coat turning the corner to face us. Drydock must have noticed the same thing, yet he remains stoic.

“Dustfeather? What’s wrong?” Drydock asks and that’s when I notice the short page-cut and breathe a sigh of relief. She stops right before us, gasping for breath.

“I—I think I found something!” she stammers out.

Drydock bites the candlestick and nods, prompting Dustfeather take off, leading the both of us across the mansion. We arrived in a run-down hallway, far from the essential rooms of the house. A door was left open, revealing a completely darkened room.

“I was s—searching the rooms when I heard a noise coming from this room. I opened the door but it was all dark. I was scared and came to find you.”

Drydock opens the door slowly and we peer through into the darkness. The moonlight just barely etched a contour of the window frame, leaving everything else as dim silhouettes. Something was moving at the far end of the room, a slow heaving that made our fur stand on edge. Drydock looks at me as if for confirmation and I nod in reply. With that he turns back to the maid.

“Say here, Dusty,” he commands her. “Scream if you see or hear anything, okay? We’re going inside.”

The flames from Drydocks candelabra create a halo of flickering, yellow-tinted light around us. I squint, trying to track any movement in the darkness. There’s a twitch next to the window, and a cold jolt runs through my nerves. I force away my startle and approach the source.

Something glistens in the dark and I can’t help but brace for the worst.

A pair of yellow eyes meet with mine, followed by a row of sharp carnivore teeth. I yelp as the critter hisses, prompting Drydock to immediately come to my end, wielding the candelabra like a weapon. What appeared in the cone of light radiating from him was a docile, but startled house-cat.

“Princess Whiskers,” he informs me with a note of disgust. “It’s Silver Spoons little beast. Nasty critter, but harmless.” We both breathe a collective sigh of relief. I can’t believe we got this worked up over nothing. Even Drydock has to let a tiny smile break through his hard-nosed façade.

“Alright, this was a good fire drill, but let’s get back to business,” I say to him and motion at the door.

He once again takes the lead and places the hoof on the doorknob. In the back of my mind, I wonder why the door is closed. I don’t recall either of us ever closing it. He gives the door a light push, then a heavy push, but it refuses to budge.

“Motherfucker” I hear him mutter, while repeatedly pressing his hoof down on the doorknob.

“And here I thought you were strong,” I remark. “But you can’t even handle a door that’s blown shut? Let me help you.” I take half a step back and ram the door, letting it hit my shoulder just right for maximum effect. But this produces nothing but a loud bang.

“Alright, you’re clearly either a cop, a crook or both,” Drydock notes. “But I can do that too. Let’s ram this fucker on the count of three. One, two...”

“THREE!” We throw our collective weight at the door, but with little results. I hear something scraping against the marble on the other side, a sound that evidently went unnoticed by Drydock.

“For fucks sake, Dustfeather, open the fucking door!” he yells, banging repeatedly on the door until I stop him.

“There’s something blocking it from the other side,” I inform him. “A few more good pushes should do it.”

“Either that or we take the fucking hinges off the door,” Drydock adds, inspecting the obstacle with the help of his candelabra. “Alright, one more time. One, two...”

There’s a crack at the other side of the door as an undoubtedly priceless chair caves in on itself. We fall over each other as we stumble out into the corridor. My vision, having adjusted to the dim room we came from is stabbed by the lights of the gas lamps.

While lying prone on the floor, I notice a small puddle of something both dark and vivid pooling in a crack. I instantly recognize this; it’s blood, freshly spilt. My eyes widen as my gaze drifts upwards.

“Where the fuck is Dustfeather? I told her to wait here!” Drydock yells while looking around.

“L—look at this!” I point upwards to the wall in front of us. There’s a sentence written in blood with letters that resemble the writings of a foal.

DEADMAЯE, COME ALIVE. COME ALIVE AT THE COUNT OF FIVE!

Not long after I’ve seen this, the gas lights flicker off. The place is immediately plunged into a darkness that appears like a thick black cloud. I blink several times, trying to help my eyes to adjust to the dark. Only the candles are still burning, casting a sphere of light that barely reaches out a hoof-length.

“She shut off the gas. She shut the fucking gas off!” Drydock yells, the sound seemingly amplified by the darkness. He runs as if to chase some unseen enemy down the corridor but bumps right into me.

“Hey, watch it! Where are you going?”

“The basement! That’s where the main is!” he says, keeping his trot.

I quickly follow after him, wanting nothing more than to catch Pinkie and end this madness. My eyes are take their time in adjusting to the dark. At least now I can make out where the corridors go and the general shape of obstacles as dark voids in a slightly less dark void. To make sure we don’t miss any turns, we keep ourselves peeled to one side of the corridor, as much as the paintings and statues will allow.

My flank brushes up against the wall, and I feel something slightly wet against it. I signal for Drydock to illuminate the area. What appears is a slightly smeared arrow made with half-dried blood. It points in exactly the opposite direction we are going in.

“The basement, it’s the only place one can shut off the gas, right?” I ask Drydock, who seems much more sombre than before. He leans close enough to study it, then scrunches his muzzle.

“You think she’s trying to tell us something?” I ask.

“No! This must be some sort of fucking mind game. Probably trying to lead us in the wrong direction,” came his analysis. “Let’s just go.”

If it was a mind game, it is working. My thoughts keeps coming back to that infernal arrow. Could it be possible for Pinkie to rig the gas remotely somehow? I doubt it; she’s smart, but she’s not an engineer. Would it really be possible for her to run to the basement and back, still dragging Dustfeather—injured or dead—along? Unlikely. She’s a pony of flesh and blood, not a supernatural entity. At least that’s what I tell myself...

We’re going down the stairs to the basement. It’s getting even darker now, without even Luna’s moonlight to guide us. All we have is the slowly wavering candles that could go out any minute. The Spoon Mansion must be as old as Ponyville, by the looks of it. The whole basement seems more like a wooden-and-stone dungeon than an actual basement.

There’ a noise in the distance, the rhythmic clanging of metal. The shadows seem to be moving, and there’s a stifled breath alongside the clanging. We approach the source, all the while anticipating an attack.

“Alright motherfucker. If you’re there, show yourself!” Drydock demands to whoever’s he thinks is hiding in the dark, heavy shadows. The lights are nearing the gestalt, illuminating a figure that has its outlines drawn in pink. I nearly freeze up, but I force myself closer. It’s only when I see that the pony is a pegasus with short dark hair that I can relax a little.

“It’s only Dustfeather”, I announce.

She’s bound to a copper pipe, struggling against the ropes around her fore and hind hooves. Her wings flap frantically and, when they hit the pipe, they create the faint clanging we heard. She stops moving when we approach, letting out a relieved sigh at our presence.

I reach behind her to untie her forehooves from the pipe, noticing more than a few wounds and many healed scars. Some of them was fresh but some of the scars must be months or even years old. She looks at me as if she’s begging me not to say anything, and I focus my attention on untying the knot.

Suddenly and without apparent reason, her eyes widen and she starts to mumble something.

“What’s the matter?” I ask in an almost fatherly voice.

“She’s got a fucking gag, you idiot!” Drydock, who’s closer to the lights, tell me. And sure enough, she seems to have some kind of cloth tied around her mouth. I put my mouth uncomfortably close to her trembling face.

“Don’t worry,” I reassure her as she inches away from me. “I’m just going to loosen the gag.” I find the edges of the cloth and struggle with them for a couple of seconds before finally pulling it loose.

“Behind you!” are the first words from her mouth.

Drydock stands dumbfounded, I turn my head just in time to see something pink loom from behind him. The contours of a face stretched in a wide, sinister grin appear, a maw from the darkest pits of the abyss. As I open my mouth to speak, the grin suddenly disappears and the candles go dead.

“What the fuck?!” He starts flailing his hooves around and his limbs woosh by my ears, too close for comfort.

“She’s behind you!”

“Take that you pink fuck!” he yells and promptly kicks straight into a concrete wall.

His howl is louder and shriller than any wolf’ and, as he dances around in pain, he nearly bumps into both me and Dustfeather. I run past him to attack the spot where I last saw her, but my muzzle suddenly burns and my vision flashes red as yet another horseshoe solidly connects with my snout.

“Watch where you aim, Dock!” I say, clutching my muzzle.

“She’s heading straight for Silver Spoon’s chamber!” he yells, undeterred by the fact that he kicked me hard enough that my snout could very well be bleeding.

He pulls me close and I can feel the heat of his breath stinging against my fresh injuries. I try to recoil from the damp, pungent odour, but his grip is too strong. His grasping hooves dig into my fur, pulling, almost separating it from my skin.

“I need to know this.“ I hear a feral snarl coming from the back of his throat. “And I need to know it now: can I trust you?”

“Yes, you can,” I reply in earnest. “And if you were to find that you couldn’t trust me anymore, I am certain that you would hunt me down to the ends of the earth, just to extract your revenge.”

He pauses for a brief moment to consider my words. “I suppose you’re right,” he concludes, and his voice takes on a passive-aggressive quality. “It is on the second floor, third door to the left from the eastern staircase.” He sighs, pausing for a moment. “But if you tell a living soul about the location of Silver Spoon’s chamber, I will take your balls and nail them to my mantelpiece. If you’re lucky you won’t be attached to them at the time.”

I struggle in the dark for a few moments before successfully untying Dustfeather. Once loose, she release her wings and I can feel a cold gust of wind breeze past me. There’s a sound coming from behind me that instantly grabs my attention. A nondescript ‘ker-clunk’ that could mean anything from a rat falling off a pipe to Pinkamena stepping on something as she lounges at us. i tense up, expecting the worst, but I’m calmed down by Drydocks voice:

“I turned on the gas. At least now we can light the lamps as we go.”

With that accomplished, we try our best to retrace our steps through the darkness, back to where we last saw lit candles. Nopony says a word; we’re all too worked up for conversation. I count our hoofsteps as we walk, mindful that any out-of place step could mean that she is following us.

Tense seconds pass, weighing down on me like years. When we reach the stairs and slowly climb to the ground floor, we are rewarded with a faint light that comes from somewhere around the corner. Galloping towards the source, finally free of the darkness, I allow myself a moment to breathe in relief.

After a sharp turn, the three of us are greeted by the hallway’s table, hosting a lit candelabrum. Drydock wastes no time in acquiring the new light-source, and we’re once again surrounded by a sphere of warm yellow light. Dustfeather and I are only about seven hooves away from him when he turns to us and points to the set of stairs that lead to the first floor.

Having at least some lights again should be comforting, but instead, it just makes me more on edge. The comforting shroud of darkness have been pulled back to reveal a thousand potential hiding-spaces in the swaying shadows.

We pass the open room where moments ago me and Drydock went into and found Princess Whiskers. I notice Dustfeather taking a deep breath and moving a step away from the wall and I recall something I remember seeing before.

“Hey, Drydock. Could you shed some light here,” I ask him, pointing at a dark spot on the wall. He grunts, but steps closer, illuminating the wall. Just as I thought, the bloody arrow is still there, completely dried this time. Dustfeather tries her best to keep her composure, but ultimately turns away from the blood.

“Where—where did you say Silver’s chambers were again?” I ask him. Something hits him; his eyes instantly widen and his mouth hangs open, dropping the candelabrum on the floor. The flames protest against the currents of air, but manages to remain lit anyhow.

“Drydock?”

“No, no, no!” he exclaims, beating himself over the head. “The arrow! It’s pointing to Silver Spoon’s chamber!”

“Why didn’t you say that before!?” I almost shout, making his ears fold to the sides of his head.

“I—I didn’t know if I could trust you completely. I—”

I grit my teeth, Drydock has just about earned himself a good ol’ beatdown. Pinkie’s clue was right there and he actively chose to ignore it, pursuing her to the basement instead!

“Save it. There’s no time to lose now!” My anger threatens to swell, but I manage to contain it.

I pick up the candelabra from the floor and take the lead this time around. Dustfeather follows close behind me, only willing to stay near a source of light rather than in the middle of our herd.

Traversing the corridors proved easier the second time around. The pathway to Silver Spoons room. The few things that could’ve been in our way had already been knocked aside. My heart skips a beat when I see the door to Silver Spoon’s chamber half-open, rocking back and forth slightly. The room itself is a mess of dolls and lace, but my eyes are turned directly to the two ponies on the floor: Skeeves and Nursery Rhyme.

The stallion lies unconscious, but the steady movement of his chest says enough about his condition. Nursery Rhyme is curled in the corner, sobbing on her forehooves. Dustfeather quickly approaches the mare and hugs her tight, joining her in her terrified chorus of sobs. Drydock kneels by Skeeves and rips his suit open to expose a nasty flesh-wound.

“Ouch, this looks bad, old friend,” Drydock says to the unconscious butler, lowering his voice to a whisper, apparently under the impression that I wouldn’t hear it. “At least it’s not bleeding too much, just hang tight until we can call for the doctors, alright?”

With both victims tended do, I am free to look about the room. And the more I see, the further my heart sinks. This mess goes beyond normal fillyhood disobedience. There’s a clear sign of a struggle in the careless way some of the precious porcelain dolls are strewn about, some of them cracked and broken. But there’s one thing that really catches my attention:

A small pair of blue glasses lie broken on top of the torn mattress, right next to the open window. Looking out, I find a rope made out of bed sheets twisting in the cold wind. There’s a trail in the snow underneath the mansion, leading far away from it.

“FUCK!” I shout as I lean out, nearly dropping the candelabra. I manage to catch the piece itself, but the candles dislodge themselves and fall down on the ground below. I can see them burn as little embers for a few seconds before the snow snuffs them out for good.

The chamber is plunged in darkness, but not for long. Drydock soon finds a pair of matches and lights a small kerosene lamp lying nearly intact on Silvers first diarchy-era dresser. I give him a nod of appreciation before I turn around to walk towards the door.

I was hoping to make a silent exist and make it back home before dawn, but Drydock got other ideas. He extends a hoof to stop me, then grabs a hold of my fur and pulls me close.

“Fuck no!” he yells as he releases every ounce of rage and suspicion he must’ve kept suppressed for the sake of Silver Spoon, as well as several ounces of spit. “You're staying right here until the cops arrive. I bet they’d really like to talk to you!”

Several images, depicting me being hauled away to jail or being beaten by my colleagues, or worse yet, being sent straight to Mully’s office. If anyone were to recognize me, they would either link me directly to the crime or they would certainly ask why I was in here in the first place.

Truth is, I’m trapped in a web of my own lies. I ditched a day of work in order to escort Crescent Moon, so if I bump into anypony from the P.P.D. I’d not only have to explain what I’ve been doing all day, but also why I’m in the Silver mansion. I’d be forced to admit that I’m keeping contact, if you could call it that, with Pinkie.

“Well?” Drydock asks, walking closer to me.

My reply comes in the form of a right hook directed to his temple. A little police trick, he should be seeing circling birdies over his eyes for the next hour or so. Drydock grunts as he leans his weight over me, his back hooves giving up underneath him. I wipe his hooves off me and lets him sink to the floor. Dustfeather screams and, in the microsecond our eyes meet, I can see her staring at me as if I was Nightmare moon herself.

I slip away into the dark hallway, leaving her paralysed and shrieking. paintings and plates slam to the floor as I knock them over, darting across the hall without care. My only goal right now is to get as far away from the mansion as possible before...

I see a large and unruly shadow sweep across the wall, followed by a cone of light that could only come from a police lantern. A number of voices are heard from just behind the corner, mumbling observations and commands. I scramble behind a suit of armour just before the searchlight reach it.

There’s a tense moment as they advance; I can only stand frozen and hope the shadows will conceal my form. A dozen or so police ponies—with voices I recognize belonging to my squad—gallops past while announcing their presence.

“Is there anypony there? Ponyville Police department!” My heart skips a beat as one of the officers shout. I hold my breath, fearful that any loud exhale might give away my position.

“PLEASE HELP!” I hear Dustfeather’s voice echoing through the hallway and soon after all my colleagues are rushing towards Silver Spoon’s bedroom.

I stay immobile like that for a while after they’ve all passed by, hiding in the darkness like a common crook. What is becoming of me? As I wait, I think about how I hit Drydock without even hesitating. Would I ever have done that a few weeks ago? Or for that matter, would I be skulking in the corridors of the Silver Mansion, hiding from my own squad? No matter how I look at it, I can’t deny that this job is changing me. Pinkie is changing me.

I try to swallow, but my mouth is dryer than bootlegged whisky that's been sitting in the sun for an hour. I take in one large breath and, once more, make my way towards the front door. The remaining servants look on in bafflement as I emerge from the shadows and trail me with curious eyes as I step out of the gate.

“You should go upstairs and help Drydock,” is the last thing I tell them before I leave.

Author's Note

Owlor: This chapter almost didn’t exist, I had to fight Luce to split this off into it separate chapter as opposed to it being the ending of chapter 5. The mood was largely informed by me playing waaaay more Amnesia: The Dark Descent than is probably healthy...

Lucefudu: We fought to the death, it’s true. But the Emperor gave me a thumbs up, thankfully. I still miss my left eye...

Mikhail: I rather liked that jaguar...

Further Evidence #3

From the journal of White Linen -- Year 2 of the Second Diarchy, 13 of First Blossom.

We definitely weren’t ready. Not for something like this. Or maybe I’m the one that’s too weak?

When I first accompanied the Equestrian Royal Guard to Sugarcube Corner, I didn’t know what to expect. I felt so... out of place. Me, a recently graduated medical doctor, accompanying Equestria’s finest. Three teams were assembled. Three doctors accompanied by ten golden-clad unicorns.

I still don’t understand how Celestia came to the conclusion that another one of the Elements had done it. Loyalty and Kindness were the first two, but it was only when Magic herself fell that Celestia’s eyes started scanning the land. ~~Was it selfish of her?~~ Celestia always knows best.

I remember how the two little foals cried when the soldiers busted down the doors. One yellow earth pony stallion tried to talk to them, only to be tackled to the floor by a guard. A blue mare arrived, but were caught in the shuffle They protested, but none of the guards were hearing. They answer to Celestia, and to Her only.

The situation threatened to go out of control, but then she arrived on the scene. Laughter. It still haunts me how perfectly she fits her Element. Laughter laughed. Even as the foals cried and their parents laid pinned on the ground shouting and cursing. Even as two guards tackled her to the floor and completely immobilized her! The other guards began searching the house thoroughly.

The couple protested as dishes and pastries were thrown on the floor without any regard. In my head I was composing a millions of apologies. All of which was forgotten when I heard a guard announce, with that unnaturally calm voice, that he had found something.

The trapdoor. Under the rug. It was so simple! Why couldn’t anypony have noticed that before?!

I’ve seen life escaping a pony’s body as their eyes lost their spark. I’ve seen life being breathed in as they were born. But nothing. Nothing could’ve prepared me enough for what we saw. The guards didn’t even flinch... and I can’t help but ~~admire~~ envy their resolve.

~~I can’t~~ The only way I can properly describe this scene without pushing myself into madness is to let go of my literary aspirations and describe it as I would the contents of a pony’s dissected ribcage.

The room was stained from the floor all the way to the ceiling with a red color that in places was drying into a darkish brown. The smell of rust... of death was unbearable. I was let down the stairs and... Oh dear, the memories are returning.

Several skinned corpses are thrown carelessly on the floor, innards and bones protruding through the muscle tissue. Three corpses had been specially put aside and preserved by amateurish taxidermy. I can identify these as three of the other Elements, Loyalty, Kindness and Magic, but they are missing their features.

The missing horns and wings are found... There ~~is~~ was a ponyquin standing proudly at the end of the room, with a dress and a necklace resting on it. The dress was a multi-colored quilt of skins. I try to count the numbers of cutie marks visible, but I get sick after five.

Then I ~~hear~~ heard it. A little filly’s voice. I ignored the gore that surrounded me as I desperately searched for any survivors. Only when I found her, a scalpel held between an innocent grin, I realized that she was calling for Laughter, not somepony who could help her.

She rushed forward, aiming for my carotid artery. The scalpel bounces against the chitin of my hooves; I had apparently raised it to shield myself. I couldn’t process what happened until she was struggling on the floor, a stallion holding her down.

She screamed. She begged for Laughter, and laughter came. The pink pony laughed from upstairs, so carefree that for a second, I thought that she might’ve overpowered the guards. Drops from a leaky pipe filled the silence as we expected a pink hurricane to launch at us at any second.

The guard up above announced that everything was fine, prompting the one with me to reply with an all clear of his own. He explained that a filly tried to attack me like I wasn’t even there. Called me meat. Is a piece of flesh everything I truly am?

Hearing this made the little filly cry. It would have been heartbreaking to see if only the nerves under my hoof just where she hit them with her knife still didn’t ache.Everypony was escorted out, Laughter, the filly, the still screaming foals and their parents. I think about all the trouble they will have to go through with the Foal Protection Agency just to get their own children back and I can’t help but feel sympathy.

I’ve never felt as superfluous before in my life. Even getting summoned to retell my experiences to Celestia in person felt more like a formality than anything else. The ponies at the scene were all beyond my help in one way or another, as I reported to Celestia.

And then, she asked me what had struck me the most about the scene.

Good question. Like anyone studying medicine, I probably have more experience than most with handling cadavers. And something I noticed during my time in the Royal Academy of Medicine was how hard it was for my fellow students to wrap their heads around the fact the cadavers we used were once living, breathing ponies with lives, friend and family.

I saw none of that tendency toward deponification in the basement of Sugarcube Corner. She seemed to have honed in on the aspects of a pony thats generally seen as representing their individuality and vitality; horns, wings and cutie marks. What struck me the most about the display in that blood-stained basement is that she absolutely seemed to understand that the ponies she was killing were individuals in their own right... she just didn’t seem to care.

Celestia simply thanked me before I was dismissed from her presence. After that, I was finally allowed to return to my life.

But life will never be the same again.

~~I sometimes wonder if Celestia would grant me a memory cleaning spell.~~

26th of Second Ember

One of these days, I am going to crush my alarm clock into a pile of gears and sprockets, smiling all the while. In a perfect world, I’d get at least the day off just to recover from my ordeal at the Silver Mansion. Of course, in a perfect world I’d still eat bagels at Sugarcube Corner in between catching small-time crooks.

Mornings like this were made for coffee. But my percolator is achingly slow in delivering the heavenly liquid, forcing me to wait desperately second by second as it finishes, droplet by droplet. Sleep tries to take advantage of my morning boredom, making my eyelids weigh down. To escape this drift back towards dreamland, I stagger to the door to fetch the newspaper.

I’m hit almost instantly by the full force of winter; nothing like a gust of blizzardy wind on your face to start the day. Even the sun struggles to shine forth from the thick layer of clouds. I can sympathize, my own consciousness is trying to break through the thick grey clouds of sleep and mostly failing.

I pick up the morning paper, and I am visually assaulted by the breaking news header.

MISSING FOAL! CUPCAKE VICTIM?

Right below the heading is a black and white photograph of a small filly. She looks happy. The image shows her alongside another filly, partially cropped out of the frame. At first I don’t recognize her, I may have seen her around town some time along with half a dozen other foals,but nothing sticks out in my mind.

That is, until I recognize the glasses.

The context of the image changes. Those out-of-place happy eyes seem almost accusatory now. Her eyes stare deep into mine, drilling holes into my skull that are quickly filled with overflowing guilt. She was so young, she—she still had so much to live for.

I abandon the newspaper and make my way to the mailbox. The icy wind tries to creep under my skin, but I barely notice it after the rude wakeup call. With heavy eyes, I flip through the latest crop of misery: gas bill, divorce settlement, rent, junk mail... One of the envelopes in the back of the pile feels curiously moist. I blink a few times, barely acknowledging it though my drowsiness.

I feel around my correspondence once more when a sticky sensation hits my hooves. The familiar sensation jolts me into alertness. I toss the rest of the pile into the snow and skip right to the end. The last envelope is stained by a deep red fluid; I don’t have to check the mouthwriting to guess who it’s from.

Inside the envelope is a neatly folded paper, also stained by blood. My fears are confirmed when I read the tight, slightly smeared writing.

Thanks for the present this Hearth’s Warming Eve
a dying little filly and a family left to grieve
Yes, it was quite a lark
fumbling around in the dark
Oh, Bucky, sometimes you can be so naïve!

There is no way the letter came through the postal system! A bloody letter might slip through once, but twice? I rush inside the house, stopping only to get my coat. Without a second thought I rush to the post office leaving the coffee to grow cold. Mully will just have to deal with me being a little late for work today.

I arrive at the post office just as the mailmares in charge are getting ready to deliver the last rush of letters. Most of the postal workers look as caffeine-deprived as me as, bundled up in their standard-issue coats and earmuffs.

The mare at the desk—the name tag identifying her as one “Derpy Hooves”—looks the most tired of them all. She sits as if in a trance, focusing her eyes on two different points somewhere in the distance. I wonder, did she get even an ounce of sleep last night? I clear my throat to get Derpy’s attention and she jolts awake.

“In my defense,” she blurts out as she gets a good look at me. Her lazy eye is desperately trying to follow her good one. “I didn’t know she was married at the time!” I blink a few times at the sudden comment, but I choose to ignore it.

“I’m just wondering about a letter I was sent.” I produce the bloodied envelope from under my coat and put it down on the desk.

“Ah... yes, oh... work...” Derpy shakes herself awake and accepts the envelope. She studies it intently with one eye while the other drifts to look at something in the ceiling.

“Yeesh, you must've cut yourself trimming pretty bad, Mr. Buckshot,” came her analysis.

“The blood isn’t mine.” At my comment her eyes widen in shock. “It came like that,” I finish explaining; somehow it fails to calm her. “I know the postal office has a reputation for being... chaotic at times, but this is the second time it’s happened. Surely somepony should’ve noticed it?”

She turns her attention to the letter again. At first she gives it an almost fearful poke, as if she expects it to explode. Then she flips it over with her hoof and begins scanning the envelope, humming dispassionately.

“I’m sorry, but this can’t have possibly been delivered by us.” She says this in a matter-of-fact tone, and points to the upper right portion, right next to the stamp. “There’s no postmark on it, and that stamp is a fake. This must be some sort of prank, Mr. Buckshot. Sorry I couldn’t be of any help.”

“A fake? Let me see it.” She flinches away slightly as I reach for the letter.

My eyes wander through the envelope, examining its corner. Sure enough, the postmark is missing and when I examine it closely, I see that the stamp looks odd. It was the polar opposite of the usual stamps, monochrome engravings of famous ponies against a colorful background. Instead, this was pink heart against a light gray background.

Something about it seems oddly familiar, though. I inspect the stamp more closely; that’s when I notice it. The texture is one I’ve seen before, from at least one crime scene in particular: it’s dried pony skin. As my eyes focus on the colored patch of stiff skin, I can see that it isn’t a tattoo of some sorts.

It’s part of a cutie mark.

I look up to the mailmare, who still has the same vacant look as before, apparently oblivious to my discovery. I do my best not to openly display any sort of emotion that might upset her as I bid her adieu.

“Well, thanks for your help anyway, I need to get back to the office.”

“Wait!” Derpy stops me as I reach the door. “I am sorry,” she adds. I give her a quick nod, but I don’t turn around to see if she acknowledges it.

I arrive at the police headquarters just before the lunch break, biting my lip as I wonder if somepony will notice that I’ve been fashionably late or not. Although, being late will be the least of my problems if they catch me sneaking this package in the police department.

I slip through the corridors like a spy, turning my trenchcoat up to conceal my whole from my co-workers. When passing by the meeting area, I see the newbie assigned to placate two older, aristocratic-looking ponies. I slow down a bit in order to make sense of what they’re saying:

“—you don’t understand, there hasn’t been any ransom demand yet! We’ll keep in touch and notify you if the situation changes.” The fatigued stallion says this for what must be the thousandth time. There is no need to look closer at them in order to understand who exactly those ponies are. I pull the lapels higher in an attempt to become invisible, and quicken my pace.

Finally at the office, I slump down in the chair and let out a heavy sigh. Well out of sight from any of my colleagues’ prying eyes, I finally dare to reveal the bottle I’ve been hiding this whole time: Cutie’s Mark; the finest of Equestrian bourbon.

It’s with a slight sense of awe that I place the bottle in my cabinet: it almost seems to glow faintly with a dim amber light. After admiring it once more, I push the thought of its presence away and focus on getting my workload done.

As I mechanically look over endless piles of paper, my mind is still fixated on Pinkie. She’s a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma. How she was able to fool an entire town to the extent that she did, no one knew. Even the state-appointed psychiatrist was unable to peer through the many layers surrounding her. How she could still bear the Element of Laughter with pride...

Even when we thought the nightmare was over, that we were finally safe, we weren’t. Just when we thought that we could finally lay down to sleep without the fear of what lay beyond hovering over us, she goes and escapes one of the most secure facilities in the entire nation.

And nopony has a clue as to where she is right now.

Maybe I’m trying to approach the problem from the wrong angle? I’m focusing too much on the now, without thinking back on the whole context. Maybe her past has something to do with it? Just who is Pinkie Pie?

I remember Mully briefing us on what he had discussed with the head director of Canterlot Prison for the Mentally Unbalanced. Unfortunately, the details weren’t quite clear to me. I remember that even Mully got confused when trying to explain it to us. The records were promptly sent back to Canterlot without anypony bothering to make a copy of them.

Still, this brings me a grander opportunity: to ask for a copy of said records, and to also ask permission to conduct a questioning of the medical doctor assigned to her case. Good thing that the request needs to be approved by the board committee of the facility before it falls on his hooves; I can’t, for the life of me, remember that pony’s first name.

Between the torrents of reports and standard forms, I begin to write the letter.

From the desk of Officer Buckshot
Ponyville Police Department, Criminalistic Section

PhD. E. V. Bolus,

I write this letter to ask you, head director, about the case of a Ms. Pinkamena Diane Pie, a known killer who recently escaped your facility. I am well aware that my supervisor, Mullberry Mustache, had her files, including her prompt book, in his possession for a brief amount of time. Unfortunately, due to recent events, we feel that having a copy of all her files with us is crucial to our investigation.

I know that this will sound unprofessional, as we should’ve had copied them beforehand. But it was only due to recent events that the need for a more detailed look arose. I would also like to take this opportunity to ask the P.P.W. a short review made by the doctor accompanying the case of the patient Apple Bloom regarding said filly. We have reason to believe that anything that remotely relates to the fugitive will help us in our investigation.

Thank you for your time,

Buckshot.

With all my paperwork complete and the letter composed, my attention is turned to the cabinet once more. I bit down my lip as I mentally contemplate the odds of being caught red-hooved with liquor on the job. Those thoughts are quickly suppressed as I wonder how good it’d taste. Why, it would be only fair to give it a test round, no?

I unscrew the top and barely feel the strong aroma before I hear hoofsteps in the corridor. With a curse in my lips, I put it back in the cabin, spilling a bunch of the precious bourbon.

“Well hello there, Mully,” I say with my best innocent voice as he crosses the arch separating my office from the rest of the station. “Barging into my office unannounced as usual?” Unsurprisingly, Mully ignores my remark.

“I have an assignment for you to clear your mind of the Pinkamena case,” he says, and I sigh. That’s Mully-speak for ‘You screwed up, mate. To the salt mines with you!’

“What is it?” I mutter, trying to direct his attention away from the faint smell of bourbon coming from the carpet.

“It’s judgement day over at the P.A.C.A. shelter and I want you to take the animals to the vet.” P.A.C.A, the Ponyville Animal Containment agency. They are the ones who catch your cat if it’s gone astray, and who euthanize it when there’s no home to be found for it.

“I’m gonna have to be the alicorn of death?” I ask, but Mully simply shrugs and turns to leave.

“Well, no one else wants to do it, Bucky,” he says and turns to leave.

“Hang on!” He pauses and looks inquisitively at me. I hand him the letter I just wrote. “Be a dear and get this approved for me, will you?” Mully looks me straight in the eye and snorts. For a moment I fear that he might rip the paper to pieces, but after quickly glancing over it, he places the sheet in one of his many pockets and walks away.

P.A.C.A. used to be a much happier place. Back in the days, it was more like a place where animals waited before Fluttershy could pick them up. She’d either rehabilitate them for the wild or give those who wished to stay with her a loving home. There was never any real danger of any animal being put to death.

Not so much anymore...

My steps feel somewhat heavy as I trudge through the snow to the depressing little concrete buildings that housed the animal shelter. I try not to think about the various animals it used to house, such as dogs, cats, and even some reptiles. I’ll be one of the last thing they’ll ever see... I have no problem roughing up a punk if needed to, but I can’t stand animals being punished due to pony negligence.

I fight with between my desire to turn back to the station and my desire to be inside, not out walking in the cold snow. The latter eventually wins over —if only because Mully would fire me for disobeying his orders if I turned back now— prompting me to pick up my pace considerably.

Once inside the animal containment agency building, I force myself to be calm. I am still assaulted by the shivers; some of that Last Ember cold seems to linger even inside this bareboned interior. Its strangely quiet, none of that usual chorus of howls, barks and hisses from the cages.

It was only after staring blankly into the middle distance for a few minutes that I finally notice some life in the barren concrete building; at the far end, next to a row of metal bars, snores an ageing security pony.

“Oh, you’re from the PPD, aren’t you?” a sleepy guard asks, alerting me to his presence. “Sorry to have bothered you, but there doesn't seem to be any animals for you to get. The ponies pretty much cleared the house out yesterday.”

He laughs a little to himself. “It’s funny, it’s as if they all expect Fluttershy to come back from the grave and haunt them if even a single animal was harmed in her absence. Cats, dogs... there was even somepony who adopted a baby cub! Fluttershy kept wolves in her house! Can you believe it?”

I breathe out and relax a little, but just as I’m about to leave, the guard motions me to stop.

“Oh that’s right! I almost forgot. There’s still one animal left. I keep forgetting about him!” he exclaims whilst rushing into the pound.

The silence is broken by the faint rustling of straw and the guard comes back, carrying what by all appearances seems like a slightly mossy stone.

“I think that’s a rock,” I remark. I give him a quizzical look while waiting for an explanation.

“Oh, he’s just kinda shy,” the guard says, waving a crisp lettuce leaf in front of a hole in the shell. Slowly, a wrinkled face pops out, shyly looking around before taking a daring bite of the lettuce and retracting back into hiding.

“This is Tank! He’s a tortoise, or turtle; I can never remember which.” The wrinkled face peeks off once more, staring at me with a mix of curiosity and hope. “No one wanted this miserable bastard. He barely eats, mostly sleeps, and when he moves—well, you can see for yourself.”

The guard places Tank on the floor. Feeling a firm weight underneath him, all his four limbs protrude from the interior and he gets on his four legs. He makes a few slow steps, looking more like somepony wading through syrup in slow motion than actually walking.

After breathing out a sigh, I hold the door open for the turtle. “Okay, Tank. Let’s go.”

Tank moves with the speed and grace of a glacier. He is mostly light enough to walk on top of the snow, but every third step or so, his foot breaks through and he must stop to dislodge it. Keeping pace with his slow gait not only helps stall the inevitable, but also gives me a lot of time to think.

When Fluttershy was killed, a hole was left behind. Not just a little one either, easily filled by any random foal with some sand and a shovel. No, Kindness herself dying left a vast, gaping hole; a hole felt by everyone pony or not, an unnatural chasm that by its very nature was wrong.

There are attempts by ponies and others to fill the vacancy, desperately trying to bring some joy and empathy back into the world. In a way, it’s rather interesting to watch, to see the attempts by others to close the gap like a wound closes and heals. I’ve seen real wounds heal, though, and it’s rarely pretty; some wounds simply won’t heal at all. While the bleeding may stop, the scar tissue always remains.

In the end, no amount of good intention will ever replace Fluttershy. The combination of knowledge and dedication to animals that she possessed only comes around once in a lifetime. Death affects everypony, no matter how much they try to deny it.

I remember when Rainbow Dash first disappeared, how there was a lot of talk going around about the nature of the elements. Some ponies believed that she literally held the spirit of loyalty and a premature death would make any long-time relationships impossible. Marriages would shrivel and wither, they reasoned. Friendships would be broken and maybe even that civilization itself would dissolve.

I know it’s probably wishful thinking, but I’d like to think that the reason for the estrangement between me and my ex-wife. At the very least, it would be nice to have something to blame other than myself. Having seen the intact relationships between other ponies, however —not to mention the fact that civilization hasn’t crumbled completely yet— I’d have to conclude that the loss of loyalty can’t have been as catastrophic as the doomsayers have predicted.

But if it’s true that the “heart” of loyalty disappeared, now that half of the elements are gone, what do we have left to cling to? Mad laughter and the awful truth?

… and generosity of course, let’s not forget that.

I can’t help but feel as if the turtle’s pleading gaze is drilling holes in the back of my head. Appealing to a police-stallions sense of justice, it just isn’t fair. A thought, a niggling little idea, keeps lurking in the back of my mind, pestering me with the possibility: I can take care of Tank. Sure, I’m not really fond of pets, but he’s more like an animated rock than anything else, really; taking care of him shouldn’t be too difficult, right? Besides, I am pretty sure that he counts as a less-lethal weapon according to Section 5, Paragraph 11 of the P.P.D.’s Code of Conduct...

“I’ve got no idea how to take care of turtles, though,” I muse out loud, prompting Tank to give me a confused stare. I acknowledge his look, but keep walking forward. “Yeah, you hear me, buddy. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Hello and welcome to Leashes & Collars. I’m Daydream, how may I help you?” The rather nonchalant statement comes from an obviously bored cream earth pony near the front door. I quickly notice that her eyes seem puffy and are all reddened, but I withhold my commentary. It seems that everypony you see nowadays has the same weary, sunken eyes...

My eyes wander around, scanning the interior of the shop. A wonderland of chewing toys, scratch posts, leashes and assorted things for any type of critter, this place has it all. Beside the counter is a bulletin board showcasing your typical “happy foal and her baby critter” posters along with reminders of feline and canine vaccination dates.

“Can I help you?” Daydream repeats, forcing my attention back to her.

“Oh, yes, sorry. It seems I’ve recently adopted a turtle.” I gesture towards Tank, who slowly hides his head inside his shell. “Thing is, I’ve never taken care of one before.” Daydream immediately understands me and takes a good look at Tank before furrowing her brows.

“Well, doesn’t he look terrible. Don’t tell me you let him walk all the way here through the snow?” She raises an eyebrow at me.

“No, of course not! Don’t be ridiculous. He just came from the shelter. The previous owner... passed away.” Daydream’s ears fold back at this. I can’t help but mimic the gesture.

“Oh, so this tortoise is—was Rainbow’s?”

I pause before nodding to the mare. “Fluttershy probably adopted the turtle after Rainbow Dash died,” I clarify. Mentioning both the former flying ace and the compassionate veterinarian in such a short span drives Daydream further into her sullen, morose mood. I bite my lip, not knowing what I can say to cheer her up.

“I haven’t had much experience with pets, to be honest” I volunteer after a few silent seconds, trying to break the gloomy mood. “I did have a hamster as a colt, but he ran off to join the circus. I suppose it was because of the ladies.”

At first she looks aghast, stunned and unsure whether or not I was joking. Eventually, the absurdity of my statement manages to pry her lips apart with a hearty chuckle. I follow her example as the tension is finally broken.

“So, if you have any tips on taking care of turtles, I’d love to hear them.”

“Tortoise, really,” she corrects me. “And the guy’s fine. This kind of weather isn’t exactly kind to cold-blooded animals, but I’d say he’s handling it pretty well. Judging by his shell, he’s probably between ten and twenty years old.” The upbeat phrasing and cheerful topic contradicts her monotone voice; it’s actually rather off-putting.

“So, in other words, he’s old?” She turns to look at me, raising an eyebrow as if I were insane.

“Of course not! Tortoises have a very long natural lifespan. Since this one will be staying with you and you’d know when to seek medical help for him, I’d say he’d live much more under your care than he would in the wild.”

She sizes me up, as if to determine whether or not I’m worthy to take care of a turt—tortoise. She seems oblivious to how uncomfortable she’s making me feel, but, judging by the smile she gives me, I guess that I’ve passed the test.

“Well, I’ll give you the crash course, then. Tortoises, like other reptiles, are cold-blooded animals, meaning that they should never be exposed to extreme temperatures for too long.”

“Not a problem,” I say, grinning, “my house has a heater. It’s always in a comfortable temperature.”

“Sorry, that won’t cut it. Reptiles need a more efficient source of heat.” She places a beige rock with a small red crystal on its center. “This one is a heat stone. You just power it up with magic or a stove and it slowly releases the provided energy.”

“Right,” I say, wondering just how much will this make my wallet lighter. “Would that be all?”

“Now you just need to know about their food. Most reptiles don’t need a lot of variety in their food, ponies usually buy dietary supplements and sprinkle them over the food. The most commonly given food is plain lettuce leaves, but you could give them cacti, if you wish.”

She turns around and grabs a small plastic bottle with an orange lid. “This one is perfect for him. Plenty of calcium and vitamin D3, but you still need to get him some hours under the sun.”

“Um, sure.” I nod. “Anything else?”

“Well, if you were to get a more fragile reptile, I’d have to give you a few tips about further care. Tortoises, however, are pretty sturdy on their own, so you should be fine. Needless to say that if he starts acting weird, you should definitely seek medical attention for him. Since they can’t communicate properly, the first thing that changes when they’re feeling weird is their overall behavior.”

“Is that all?” I ask and my question is answered by a quick ‘mhmm’. “Well, thanks for your help,” I say after producing the necessary bits to pay for the supplies.

“Wait!” she says as I’m nearing the front door. “Promise to take care of him well.” Her eyes are glistening and her voice falters, breaking away from her usual monotone. “Celestia knows he deserves it.”

I close the door and shake myself, brushing some of the cold off and almost making Tank fall in the process. I take the tur—tortoise from my back and place him on the floor, giving him an apologetic smile. His only reply is to stare at me before slowly blinking.

I leave him alone for a bit and open up the fridge. I take out some lettuce leaves that still haven’t lost its crispiness due to the cold, dehydrating air and wash them in the kitchen sink. After rinsing them for the third time, I turn around and spot Tank walking towards me, nearly having covered half the distance towards the kitchen.

I take a small glass bowl, mostly used to store food, and lay the leaves inside. Before taking it to Tank, I open the bottle with the orange lid I just purchased and slowly tilt it over the bowl. Small multi-colored particles fall over the green, crispy leaves. I carry it on my mouth and lay it next to the critter, who eyes it for a moment before slowly diving in for the bite. I watch with mild amusement as he slowly bites and swallows small fragments of the leaves at a time. As I take a look around, my eyes meet the clock in my living room.

“Shit! Oh, hey, Tank. Look, buddy, I gotta get back to work. I’ll just leave you to get acquainted with the house. Don’t worry, I won’t be long!” To my surprise, the tortoise flashes me a toothless, slow-widening smile.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that. This is the wrong season to leave anyone hanging,” I say before galloping outside once more.

I feel my whole body getting heavier as I enter my office and am greeted by the immense amount of not-even-half-finished paperwork sitting on my desk. Slumping down on my chair, I ready myself for what promises to be another three plus hours of nothing but tiring boredom.

To help me zone out a bit, I turn on the radio and grab my bottle of Cutie’s Mark. The strong but pleasantly smoky aroma hits my nose as I pour myself a modest amount in a shotglass. After downing a shot, I instantly feel much better. My cheeks and stomach practically radiates with warmth.

I pull the topmost paper out from its pile and start reading it. I have barely gotten through the first paragraph and my mood already starts to dwindle. This is the bad half of my work. I could be focusing on Pinkie Pie right now, but no—Mully insists that I’m the one to get all the paperwork over with. Honestly, couldn’t they just hire somepony specifically for this job? I mean, what the hay?! This is valuable time we’re wasting!

I pour myself another glass and place the bottle back inside the cabinet, catching a breath in order to help me focus. It certainly helps, as the paperwork became much more methodical and automatic now. My eyes and hooves seem to work on their own accord as they read file after file after file, signing it if it’s properly typed. My ears, however, have my full attention as I listen to the cracked mumbling coming from my radio:

“—foretold in the old books of an anticorn, who will disunite the three tribes, and put an end to Harmony. Now, I may be crazy—”

I move my hoof to switch the frequency, but I’m stopped as if by an invisible force. As my curiosity picks up for a minute, I bring my forehoof away from the device, allowing it to continue broadcasting this idiot. I’ve had a similar feeling, that Pinkie isn’t entirely normal,. Sometimes she appears almost more like an entity than a flesh and blood pony...

“—and what’s to say about this one Pinkamena Pie? Isn’t she the spawn of Tartarus itself? Conceived in the fiery, deepest pits of pain and despair, she is a creature unable to feel emotion! And how can I be so sure, I hear you ponies asking? Well, how else would and earth pony be able to remain hidden from unicorn guards that long? How would a magicless pony break free from the most secure institution in this country? Dark magic, I tell you, Ponyville! No doubt that mare used the blood—”

Well, that’s what I get for being curious about ridiculous preachers. Sure, some ponies do believe that Pinkie has some sort of magical power, but this is just too over-the-top. Even for those conspiracy theory crazies. Dark, magical powers... population control... the end of times... I’ve heard it all already and I am sure Pinkie has nothing to do with any of those things.

The truth is that Pinkie is just very good at killing and getting away with it. To Pinkie, the world is just a sandbox and she’s the oldest child in the playground. Not only that, but she’s also the kid that taunts you for not being able to play and threatens to burn your house down if you tell on her...

I hear somepony banging on my office’s door and I quickly turn the radio off. Once I’ve safely stashed away the bourbon, I order them to come in. A pony appears with the approximate shape of a cinderblock; bulky and slightly angular. It’s Trigger Happy, one of the newest additions to the force.

“Oi, Buckshot! The girl at the reception just gave this to me. Says it’s for you,” he says and places the package over my desk. I give him an odd look, but he doesn’t seem to acknowledge it.

“Sounds like someone’s getting lucky tonight, eh?” He winks at me and then purposefully messes his own olive-green mane before striking a pose. “Hey, once you’re done dating her, be sure to give me the address, right, Buck boy?” My reply comes in the form of a snort; no need to strike up conversation and waste more time than I already am.

My eyes scan the package quickly and I need but a second to look at the pink wrapping before I deduce just who sent it to me. But then it hits me; Pinkiedelivered this to the police station! With my eyes wide as saucers, I immediately walk up to the young officer and grasp him.

Trigger Happy is immediately startled by my action and starts flailing around with his eyes closed. His hooves whisk by my head several times as he thrashes about, trying to land hits on his would-be assailant. I give the stallion a firm shake, prompting him to open his eyes and look at me.

“Geez, don’t scare a pony like that, old man!” He slaps my shoulder lightly, but his smile withers as he notices my eyes riveted on his. “W—what’s wrong?” His bewildered expression makes me calm down a little, I loosen my grip of his shoulders and the stallion instantaneously relaxes his tense muscles.

“This package, I wanna kno—”

“I dunno anything about it, swear! The receptionist just told me that it is for you,” he blurts out a bit too quickly.

“But who’s it from? Who left it here?!”

“She didn’t see it either. I asked her, but she told me she just found it outside! Honest, Buckshot!” His eyes are serious; gone are his arrogant attitude and quickly jumps in the trained police officer. “What’s going on, Buckshot?”

“No, it’s—it’s nothing, don’t worry about it, Trig’,” I say, trying to turn his curiosity away. He looks at me questioningly, but ultimately nods to me.

“Alright, I believe in you, Buckshot. But, hey, if you need any help, just ask, okay?” He asks, slowly backing off. I keep watching him as he leaves my office, not even bothering to close the door. I wait for a moment before grumbling and closing the door myself. Plopping down on my seat once more, I scan the package wearily for a few seconds.

What if Pinkie had placed a bomb inside it? My heart skips a beat at this thought, but the more I think about it, the less likely that idea seems. A time bomb simply isn’t her style; too quick and not nearly sadistic enough.

My curiosity eventually gets the best of me and I grab the package and start to rip apart the wrapping. Just a hole in and I am instantly assaulted by the sweet aroma of freshly baked cupcakes. Before I continue tearing the wrapping paper, I turn the box upside down, looking for any kind of postal stamp. I find some scribbled lines on the bottom, but a second take tells me that the address is fake.

I tear open the wrapping completely and a rough cardboard box greets me, along with a postcard. The latter falls unceremoniously onto my desk, face up, showing me a cheesy photograph of a kitten hanging onto a tree branch, the words “Hang in there!” beside him.

I snort and push it away, focusing on the cardboard box. I cut the duct tape sealing it and look inside to find... a rock. I can think of several ways by which Pinkie could cause damage with a rock, but all of them involves her throwing it at somepony or tying it around somepony’s feet. Since this rock isn’t nearly big enough to do either of those things—it’s a pebble at most, I’ve gotten larger things hurled at me during riots—I take a closer look at the object.

The stone is jagged with nearly concave fractures, but the surface itself is smooth and milky-white, almost like the wax used to glue letters together. When I angle the rock against the light, it gives off a strange sheen. The light splits into multicoloured splinters, each glowing elusively just below the surface.

A noise stirs me and I look up to see Mully walking into my office, carrying a pile of papers on his back. He places them over my desk and archs his eyebrows at me. I stare back, not knowing what he was doing. He takes a whiff at the air and scrunches his muzzle as I hurry to hide the rock away.

“Oh, you found the package, then,” he comments. “Bucky, you know our policy about mixing one’s personal and professional life, if you have any personal business to take care off, please, do it outside of work.”

“Yes boss,” I reply, glad that he didn’t seem aware of the stone I just hid. “On that note, would you mind if I leave work early, I have some personal business to take care of.”

Mully keeps looking at me and then breaks out in a chortle. My eyebrows furrow, but he continues his mocking laughter undeterred. “Good one, Buckshot! Leave work early, can you believe this guy?” He mimics my voice, mocking it.

I groan and wait for a few seconds as he slowly calms down. “No, Buckshot. You may not go home. You may, however, plop your plot on that seat and start sorting through all the overdue paperwork you’ve yet to check,” he says and taps the pile of paper he previously dumped on my desk.

Mully seems a bit too much amused for his own good as he looks at my baffled expression. Once he’s done savoring my perplexed appearance, he leaves my room, leaving me to work overtime—probably.

My hooves and eyes begin to work automatically as my mind goes back to the strange, beautiful stone Pinkie just sent me. However, as much as I try, I can’t seem to wrap my brain around what it’s supposed to mean. Is it the form? The stone itself? Its properties? The name of whatever mineral this is? There are so many variables that I just can’t seem to find an opening to tackle this problem.

I can’t solve this one by myself. I’ll need an expert’s help to tell me something more about this rock. If only Mully hadn’t given me more paperwork to sort through... I can only hope that the ponyville jewel shop will be open after I’m done here.

“Good evening and welcome to Diamants de Conflits. My name is Karat, how may I help you, sir Buckshot?”

“Um, have we met before?” I ask, a little taken aback by the use of my name. I haven’t introduced myself yet. Karat snorts at the question and I can detect a slight superior air in his tone.

“Maybe you won’t remember, given the circumstances happening at that time. But I always remember my customers, sir Buckshot.”

“Bu—”

“You came here some years ago and sold me a D-grade, 0.1 carat, brilliant cut diamond. A fine piece of jewelry, truly, but it didn’t do you a bit of good in the long run. My condolences.”

“Oh yeah, my wedding ring... that was a bit ago. I’m already over her. Anyway, look, I came here because I need a pony that has knowledge of rocks.”

“Not rocks, gems! And yes, I’m a pioneer in Ponyville. I’ll have you know that I have quite the reputation on Canterlot as well.”

“Great! Then you’re the perfect pony for the job!” I shuffle around my trenchcoat’s pocket and produce the small artifact and hand it to Karat. “I need to appraise this one. I’d also like any information you might have on this particular stone.” The pony purses his lips together as I mutter the word “stone”, but nonetheless takes his loupe and begin looking at the gem.

Whilst I wait for Karat to finish his analysis of the gemstone, I look around his store and marvel at the multitude of gems, their cuts and accessories on display there. It almost makes no sense, a shop like this being in a simple town like Ponyville and not on Manehattan or Canterlot, but I digress.

“Well, it does look rather familiar, I admit,” Karat says, bringing forth my attention. He’s still inspecting the stone with his appraising glasses as he continues, “Hmm, amorphous, with some conchoidal fractures, and a faint vitreous luster... It's a semi-precious stone alright, but the quality is fairly low.”

“That’s it? That’s all you got?”

“I’m sorry, but identifying field samples isn’t my strong suit.” He sighs and carefully places the stone on top of the counter.

“Wait, field sample?” I ask, taking the stone and returning it to my trenchcoat’s pocket.

“Yes. Uncut stones, raw from the ground or the mountainside. I don’t identify them geologically; I just cut, polish and appraise.” He gestured to the whole array of fancy, shining gems surrounding him. “Do you want this stone cut?” His expression was something akin to what a professional chef would look like when being told that the guest of honor would be having instant noodles.

“No no no. But if you don’t identify them, how do you know if a rock is worth something?”

“I can recognise most gemstones and semi-precious stones once they are cut, obviously,” he says, sounding a little offended. “And when the samples arrive to me, they are usually labelled.”

“Usually?” I cautiously add.

“Yes,” he admits, allowing a bit of his shame to flash on his face. “You know, sometimes the labels fall off, and sometimes I get a batch collected by some amateur looking to make easy money. In those cases I—hang on, I got her card here somewhere somewhere. Maybe she can help you out.”

I wait patiently as he rummages through his drawer before he looks at me and hands me the business card. I can’t help but do a double take as I read it.

“Are you sure this is right?”

“I’m sure. Finest geologist this side of Foals mountains.” He notices my stare and quickly adds on. “Who am I to judge what ponies choose to do with their lives?” He shrugs, and resumes looking at other gems on the counter with his loupe, writing on a notebook next to him all the while. I linger for a few more seconds before turning around and walking home.

Karat clears his throat as I near the door. I stop and turn to look behind me and see him looking like he’s expecting something. I immediately blush for forgetting my manners.

“Thanks, Karat. You’ve been really helpful!” I say and resume my way out of his store. As I cross the door, I hear a faint groan coming from the inside, but I don’t bother to look back, knowing that he is probably busy polishing a gemstone.

“Hey, Tank. How are you doing?” I ask the tortoise as I enter my home, not really expecting a reply back. The critter in question turns around to look at me for a moment before going back to chomp on some crispy lettuce leaves on his bowl. I remove the postcard and the rock from my trenchcoat and set them on the table.

Directing myself towards the couch, I allow myself to fall onto its cushions. It’s only then that I notice just how much every inch of my body, from the waist down, feels numb. I stretch and hear the pops from my joints, but it does nothing to alleviate my lower half from a full day’s work. Tank’s slow, dull munches and my calm, yet labored, breathing are the only sounds present in the house.

My mind starts to wandering off on its own accord. Pinkie, the postcard, the rock, the innocents, the police, Equestria, the princesses, Harmony. Everything coalesces into one single amorphous thought that constantly shifts and yet always stays the same. Questions.

Questions and answers. Pinkie’s youth, the clues, the victims, Pinkie’s helper, our safety, true order, death. No matter how much I try my brain insists on creating stories, sometimes unbelievable ones, to try and fit what little information I have together. I’m only grateful for one thing, at least: it hasn’t tried to shift the facts I know in order to fit the stories I create.

A sudden noise coming from outside kicks my gears and I’m awake in less than a second. My first instinct is to check my surroundings, but everything is as it should be. But... Tank is not by the bowl anymore. I must’ve dozed off... how long have I been napping for?

Another thud reminds me of why I was awoken in the first place. I slowly make my way towards the curtains blocking my window, ears perked for any sign of hoofsteps anywhere. I slowly move the thick fabric out of the way and dare a peek outside. The sky is a blotched mess of black and gray, the moon barely visible atop the blanket of clouds. Still, nothing moves from the many shadows cast about.

Slowly, and as quietly as I can, I reposition myself next to the front door and push the door handle down. I feel my legs’ muscles tightening, ready to spring into action. My free forehoof takes a nightstick from the belt attached to my trenchcoat and it doo grasps the item as tightly as possible.

I wait.

I hear the thud once more and I throw my weight at the front door, jumping outside. I yell as I do so, trying to scare away whoever it was, but besides my vocalization, nothing breaks the bleak silence of the night other than some distant barking dogs. My eyes wander from side to side slowly, trying to detect any movement whatsoever.

When nothing comes forth and I feel that my eyes have adjusted to the darkness enough, I breathe a relieved sigh, dropping the nightstick to the ground. It is then that I see Tank, making his way to the roof via a pile of snow that had accumulated next to the house. His steps are slow and seem calculated, but it only takes me five seconds of observation before he falls onto his back, producing the same thud that woke me up.

“Are you nuts?!” I ask him. He stops and turns his head at me. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?!”

Surprisingly, the tortoise shakes his head at me.

“Then, what’s the matter?”

Tank sorrowfully looks up to the night sky.

“Oh, you miss flying around in Cloudsdale, huh?” I say and cradle the tortoise with my forehooves, shielding him from the cold snow. “Well, maybe in the summer we can rent a hot air balloon and go there. You may even get to walk around! There was this magician in tow who discovered a cloud-walking spell after at least a century! What was her name again...?”

“Oh... It was Twilight Sparkle...”

Author's Note

Owlor: you know what? Fuck it, we’re posting this chapter. We’ve been working at it for forever now and eventually we had togo “y’know what? It’s a long boring chapter, who cares if its a long boring chapter with minor flaws in it?”

Luce has this tendency to claim to take a backseat, but then he ends up writing a huge portion of the story anyway. I intended to write most of this chapter, but had a lot of other things on my mind I’m afraid.

This is worth mentioning because so far, all our beta-readers have been confused about this, but I simply can’t make it any clearer without simply spelling it out: The stamp is NOT an entire cutie mark in and of itself, it’s PART of a cutie mark, it’s a DETAIL from a cutie mark. Specifically, it’s the little heart on top of Silver Spoon’s spoon.

Lucefudu: I don’t dare to even try writing SoL. I just took a backseat at this chapter and did minor edits. Owlor lies. Don’t believe him! Mikhail is also a liar, as he edited good chunks of the text.

Also: Radioguypony is going nuts there.

Mikhail: I did almost nothing.

4th of Last Ember

Sometimes I’m glad I moved to Ponyville. A small town like this, everyone knows everyone else—you can imagine what an advantage this is to the police force. There’s no need for me to ask around for the address written on the card. Everypony in town knows Rarity, national hero and former Element of Generosity. I never thought, however, that she would know all that much about geology.

I pick up my pace as the chilly wind blows past me. Carousel Boutique is just a couple of blocks away and there is plenty daylight yet. I just hope Rarity will be able to provide me with some information about the stone.

When I arrive at the Boutique I notice to my dismay that the shop appears closed. There’s a light by the window, but it glows faintly and the mist on the glass makes it hard to determine the source. I don’t want to turn back now and walk through the piercing cold, so I stick around, hoping for any sign of life to come from the building.

The light flicker for a bit and I can hear Rarity’ voice coming from inside the shop. She’s muttering some sort of rhythmic mantra over and over, but too softly to distinguish the words. Curiosity taking the best of me, I walk near a window, taking care not to be seen, and place my ear on the wall just beneath it. I have to repress a shudder as the cold wood touches my ear, but nevertheless I remain still.

“I know you said it won’t matter, but I want to say it again!” Rarity’s voice sounded, somewhat distorted and weakened by the glass. “It’s okay, I know I deserve it, but... I’m still sorry. For this. For everything.” Her voice fades out until all that remains is a weary sigh.

I linger a moment longer, trying to determine if she’s talking to anypony besides herself. The seconds tick, but nothing further is spoken inside. Well, at least I know she’s home. In any other season, I would’ve quietly slipped away to return at a more appropriate time. But the bone-chilling wind lashing against my hide makes me desperate to get indoors. It’s better to get this over with now rather than later anyhow.

I ring on the front door after yet another unwelcome trek trough the snow. Then I wait, trying my best to stop the shivers and hoping that she will invite me in just so I can get away from this infuriating cold. Seconds pass and I hear her muttering to herself once more. Too focused on a dress to acknowledge the bell, apparently.

“Ms. Rarity?” I shout after ringing the bell once more. “This is police officer Buckshot. I’d like to speak a few words with you.” I wait for a reply, but all the reaches my ears are the hasty sounds of hooves scrambling and something heavy being dragged on the floor.

“Ms. Rarity, open up! I just wanna talk to you!” I ring the bell and bang on the door, but I’m greeted with nothing but dead silence from the other side. The bell sounds a third time, an angry buzz that mirrors my own frustration. Still, no sounds coming from inside.

Okay, this is just too strange.

I reach for the doorknob, but before I can turn it, the door nearly slams open into my face. And there she stands before me, the Element of Generosity herself—well, former Element of Generosity.

She looks stunning in spite of the harsh weather. Alone of all ponies she seems to have resisted the toll of this season. Her mane, so carefully maintained, is something known around town to stir the jealousy of all the ponies, mares and stallions alike. Nothing more than whispers, I’ll bet, but everywhere Rarity walks by I’m sure that ponies can’t help but comment on it. I heard once a particular mare say that she’d kill to have her locks.

I honestly doubt that she was joking.

Rarity is quite powerful. Not only as a former Bearer, but her appearance screams prestige. Ponyville, as a quiet down, does a magnificent job at protecting her from everyday vices. Intrigue would fester. Couples would divorce. Lovers would be driven to murder. Friends would become backstabbers. All if it meant they could get a single instant under the light from her ever-watching sapphires.

I believe she’d love it.

There they are again; her eyes, looking at me. Wondering, piercing, attentious. It almost makes me forget about the outburst I heard earlier.

“Good evening, Mr. Buckshot.” Though her words ring sincere, I am sure that the prospect of having a chat with me wasn’t in the list of things she’d like to end the day with. “Welcome to Carousel Boutique. We’re closing now, I’m afraid. But I’m going to venture a guess that you are not here to look for a suit?” She measures me, not judging; asserting. The slight hint of sarcasm in her voice does not escape me either.

“Uhm... no, not really, I’m from the Ponyville Police Deparment and—” I shift a little in place, trying to dance away the cold. The cozy heat from inside the boutique trickles out and teases me with its presence. “Could we talk inside? It’s very cold out here,” I plead to her.

“Oh, how uncouth of me. Please, do come in, Mr. Buckshot.” She flashes me a wide grin that tugs a little too hard on her cheeks as she stands aside, inviting me in.

I instantly understand why the shop was closed; her boutique is in complete disarray. Many dresses lay strewn across the floor, thrown about without a care. There is also a large amount of boxes scattered around, filled with various assorted items. On a particularly clean corner—where every furniture seems to shine and the linoleum floor is perfectly polished—lies an assortment of cleaning materials; turtle wax polisher, House Clean’s disinfectant, many kinds of different scrubbing items and a white silk blanket, laid perfectly without any folds.

Rarity cleans her throat, bringing my attention back to her. “So, Mr. Buckshot, what prompted you to come by my humble abode?” she asks, dragging the sentence as if it’s too tiring to ask. I guess that I caught her in a bad time; she is clearly in the middle of a little spring cleaning. Or, more accurately, a big winter cleaning.

“Please, call me Buckshot, Ms. Ra—”

“Just Rarity, then,” she fires with stunning precision.

“Right... Rarity.” I blush a bit, being reminded once more of just how quick she can be. “I came in here because I wanted to make a few questions.” I instantly notice her shoulders shifting slightly. The gesture is minimal, but it sure tell me just how uncomfortable she is right now. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing official,” I add, wanting to make her more at ease, “won’t take long, I promise.”

She looks behind her back for a second, biting her lips. Eventually, she returns to face me, shoulders slumped in defeat. “It’s not like I have much else to do today except... well, no matter.” She sighs.

I nod, thankful, before retrieving the stone from my pocket. Her eyes instantly focus on the gem, but she remains silent. “I just wanted to know what can you tell me about this.”

Rarity brushes a hoof on her mane and purses her lips before looking at the floor. “Oh, but would you look at that. This simply won’t do.” She says and grips my trenchcoat with her azure aura. “I know you must be freezing, Buckshot, but you shouldn’t wear coats indoors. It’s most impolite.”

I roll my eyes and tug at my coat, breaking her telekinetic grasp. She keeps looking at me with pleading eyes until I sigh and walk toward the coat hanger by the door. I take it off and hang it there—trying my best to leave it as neatly as my host would’ve desired—before returning to face her.

“Ah, yes, that’s,” she gulps, “much better.” I catch her nervous stance and the subtle movement in her neck, as she darts her eyes around the room. If this profession gave me anything, it’s an eye for detail.

“Ms.—Rarity, please don’t worry. I’m not here to take you to questioning at the police department.” I say, trying to ease her worries once again. “I just wanna know what you can tell me about this particular gemstone.” Once more, I hold up the item which is quickly enveloped in her light-blue veil as it gently levitates towards her.

“This is potch,” she says in an annoyed tone before scrunching her muzzle.

“Potch?”

“Yes, a low-quality gemstone that’s used to mount precious opal on, making the gem look more exclusive than it is.” She sounds more insulted than mad now. Her eyes glisten with the faintest trace of extra moisture, but I can’t for the life of me pin why.

“Haven’t you noticed anything about it? Anything else?”

“I’m sorry, darling, but this is all I know about it. I apologize I couldn’t be of further assistance.” I sigh as she levitates the stone back to me.

“Well, thank you for your time, Ms. Rarity.” I turn around and walk towards the door.

“I’m sorry.” I hear her faint, dragged voice. Her eyes cast down and she sighs forlornly. I give her a sympathetic glance, one that fails to console her from whatever it is that is dragging her down, and walk out the door.

Well, back to square one, I guess. I was so sure that Rarity would be able to tell me more about the gem than the jewel appraiser did. But I guess her talent is finding them, not cataloging them.

The thick, cold blanket still hangs from the sky as I step outside. I had completely forgotten just how damn cold it was outside, but I have no idea how; I barely stayed a minute inside talking to Rarity. I’m not sure if I asked all the questions I wanted, but seeing just how uncomfortable she was, I guess she really wanted some privacy.

A gulf of wind makes the skin beneath my fur crawl, sending tingles up my spine. It is only now that I’m aware I forgot my trenchcoat at Rarity’s. Turning around, I quicken my pace, trying to escape the piercing wind as much as possible. I halt by her front door and lift a hoof to ring the doorbell but stop myself as I remember how occupied she seemed. She would most likely not hear it anyway, so instead I chose to knock a few times on the door before walking in.

“Rarity? I’m sorry to trouble you, it’s just that I’ve... forgotten... someth—”

The words die in my mouth as my eyes register the scene before me. Rarity is lying on the floor, surrounded by a pool of blood. I am instantly by her side, checking for a pulse. I plead for the faintest movement to manifest while some of her blood trickles down my front hooves.

It is all for naught, however. Her neck is slit from side to side and the blood is slowly staining her immaculate white coat. I curse under my breath and hit the floor next to me in frustration. Blood splashes everywhere, coating everything around me with the liquid. I look at Rarity and instantly freeze when I notice it.

Her face.

Even though she has a wound bigger than a whole hoof on her neck, he expression seems as peaceful as Celestia’s. Her closed, serene eyes and the half-smile adorning her face make her look like she was just taking a pleasant nap after finishing her all-nighter sewing marathon.

I hear a creaking noise as the doorknob behind me turns and I immediately retrieve the nightstick from my belt.

“I’m sorry I accidentally ruined the winter clothes you made for me, Rarity. Promise you won’t be mad?” a weak voice says from the doorframe. I look around just in time to see a small filly, Rarity’s rambunctious sister, dressed up in what had once been a really dapper winter outfit. Even though the garments had been shredded to pieces, I could see that Rarity had intended to awoke some kind of butterfly in its design; a pair of antennas bowed sorrowfully from her cap and behind her she dragged the remains of a torn felt wing.

She suddenly stops, not even five hoofsteps into the room and stares at the body laid before her with a look of primal terror stamped on her eyes.

She stays by the door, paralyzed as we exchange looks. My eyes are fixed to her entire being, encompassing her small hooves to the strange gown on her. Hers dart frantically from Rarity’s body to me, stabbing my heart with a mix between confusion and accusation.

“Mu—murderer...” she whimpers.

I bite my lip as the accusation is muttered. Can’t fault the filly, though; a stallion with bloodied hooves standing next to the corpse of her dead sister—who wouldn’t come to such a conclusion? I inch my body towards the filly, but the act just manages to make the air get caught in her throat.

She quickly turns around and starts fumbling with the doorknob, muttering frantic pleas as the dread shakes her whole. I sigh at the sight and slowly walk towards the filly. She thrashes inside her coat-slash-butterfly costume, trying to get the door open. Eventually, she gives up and presses herself against the wooden surface, trying to shrink away from me.

“No! St—stay away from me!” I feel something inside of me dying as her desperate shouts escape her lips. “Please! Don’t kill m—” Her words trail off as the panic overcomes her completely, winning over her faculties. She drops unceremoniously to the floor and curls into a ball, crying openly.

I approach the filly, but stop myself from doing anything. The only thing I’m certain of right now is that any and every movement from me is a potential threat. She dares a peek from behind her hooves and scooches away from me, leaving behind a sparse trail of tears. My instinct finally kicks in and I suddenly find myself hugging the filly, trying my best to shield her.

“Shhhh. I’m not gonna hurt you.” I say, trying to stop her protests. I run my hoof through her mane slowly, desperately trying to calm her down. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” I repeat. She fought against my grip with everything her frail little form allowed her to. In the end, however, she gives up and her entire body goes limp. For a moment, I fear that she might’ve fainted.

“Why?” Came the choked-out words in-between sobs. “Why did you kill my sister?” That question hurt me much more than it should. I slowly move my forehoof from her mane to my belt. She flinches, prompting me to slow down my movements.

“I didn’t.” I allow some space between the two of us and handle her my badge. “I’m a police officer.” She remains still for a moment before carefully taking the item into her grasp. She turns it around, trying to make out a meaning in her malström of thoughts. She looks up at me with eyes begging for guidance.

“I’ve got to call for reinforcements,” I say. She nods to me, very slowly. When I move back away from the filly, her head starts moving towards her dead sister’s corpse once more. I stop her, placing my hoof under her chin and slowly pushing her face away from the gruesome view. The filly nods once more and her eyes mist up to the point where she can no longer bear to look me in the eye. A trickling stream of tears appear from under her curly bangs.

“A-are you going to-to leave?” she sobs out.

“Only for a little while,” I explain, and then start unfastening something from my utility belt. “I am just going to go outside and release this,” I say, showing her the item I produced, “this is a signal flare. It will make a bit of a noise, but don’t worry. As soon as the other officers see it, they will be right here.”

The filly nods with a bit of insecurity. I lower myself in order to look her in the eyes. “Hey, nothing bad is going to happen, I promise. If you need me, I’ll be just outside the door. I’ll protect you.” She remains silent, but seems a little more at ease now. To reassure her a bit more, I pick my trenchcoat from the coat hanger and place it over the filly.

She accepts the gift, wrapping herself tightly with it. I pause on my way out, but don’t dare risk another heart-stabbing moment by looking at how sullen she looks. Instead, I sigh and slowly walk outside. The first gust of wind makes me regret lending my coat out, but I endure. As the wind’s frosty bites dig into the skin beneath my coat I bite the protective plastic around the device and aim it towards the sky with a forehoof. With my free one, I twist the bottom cap.

An orange arrow of flame quickly ascends before blowing up and scattering its embers across the sky, leaving a sickly-orange trail that keeps coming from inside the flare’s tube behind. Even in daylight, the bright orange flare colors the sky under the grey cloud-cover. The sound makes my ears fold instinctively. The sonic crack is loud enough be heard from a very wide radius, and the lingering smoke will no doubt guide them to my location. The clouds briefly take on a yellow tint as the flare explodes.

I put the flare down in the snow as a signpost before I walk inside. The trencoat lies flat on the floor—abandoned—and I scan the room quickly before noticing that she’s now standing near her deceased sister. Her entire body is shaking in time with her whimpers, sullen and desperate, resonating from the back of her throat. I deliberately make my hoofsteps as quiet as possible as I approach, trying not to startle the filly any more than she already was.

I pause by her side, but her attention is completely drawn towards Rarity. The filly’s eyes glisten with the fresh tears and her gaze silently begs her dead sister to do the impossible.

“Come,” I say, trying to get her away from the view, “help is on its way.” She keeps her eyes riveted on her sister. I place my hoof over her shoulder, finally drawing a verbal response.

“Who’s going to help her?”

I stay like that, paralyzed and silent for what feels like minutes. My mind is swarmed by different approaches I should take, but neither one of them brings a satisfactory result. I sigh once more, choosing to drop the subject. “Come, let’s wait for them outside,” I urge her again.

“Can I—” She looks at me with pleading, tear-stained eyes. “Can I say my goodbyes to her?”

“I—I don’t think that’s a good—” She looks up at me, midway through my sentence, and what was left of me instantly crumbles. “I’ll just wait out there. If you see or hear anything, just tell me, okay?”

She doesn’t reply, but I know that she perfectly understood it. It is with some hesitation that I walk back out in the cold again. I ntoice everything seems more peaceful now, like time itself slowed down.

As I walk outside I can already hear the crowd of ponies that gathered and, thankfully, the officers telling them all to back off. Through the crowd, coming forth unimpeded by the ponies on his way, walked Mully.

“Well, well, well... if it isn’t mother-“I have the Pony Pox”-fucking Buckshot?” I automatically cringe and turn away from Mully as he approaches, undaunted by the number of ponies watching the scene unfold. “How are you, you lying piece of sack of shit?!”

“Hold on, Mu—” He throws something at me and I manage to catch it with my hooves.

A taffy wrapper. I needn’t unfold it to know it is the same one Pinkie sent me.

I’ve seen him annoyed. Mad, even. But I cannot even begin describing Mully’s expression right now. My mouth moves feebly, trying to choke out a reply that ought to get me out of this one, but nothing comes forth.

“You see, Pinkamena thought tha—”

“It sounds to me that you’ve been willingly withholding vital information—”

“No, it wasn’t like—”

“—from the police headquarters. You lied to your colleagues and to your superior—”

“But sir, if you would just let—”

“—and, to top it off, you’ve been keeping contact with the criminal! Is that what you just told me!?”

“I didn’t think it would be like this!”

“I don’t give two shits about what you think, Buckshot! Do you think this is some kindergarten, where you play cat and mice on recess?! Do you think you can dick around and nopony will get hurt!?” As much as his words make angry, I can’t help but feel paralyzed by the accusation. He is, after all, correct.

“Well, I’m sorry!”

“Sorry? You’re sorry!? Well, Buckshot, you can take your apologies and shove them right into—”

Mully’s verbal machinegun ceases as a puffy-eyed Sweetie Belle exits the boutique. She looks at him inquisitively and then towards me. When I turn back to look at my him, Mully looks in a mix between confusion and annoyance.

“Wha—who is she?”

“She is Rarity’s sister,” I say, feeling much more guilty about not remembering the filly’s name. “She walked in on me just as I had discovered the body.”

“Yo—you let a kid? In there?! You let this little filly look at that horrible scene and you did nothing!?”

“Well, I—” my words are cut off as Mully headlocks me with one of his forehooves and starts dragging me away from any prying eyes or ears. I do my best to keep up with his pace, but he’s almost trotting now, forcing my hooves to practically drag themselves onto the floor.

He takes a turn around the building, unaware that the filly unicorn is also following us. My vision is assaulted by a whiteness that quickly dissipates, leaving my vision blurred as Mully practically throws me at a wall.

“Why the fuck did you let a kid in there?!” he asks, a bunch of saliva being flung toward me in the process.

“She wanted to say her goodbyes... to her sister...” I mumble, blinking rapidly as I try to clean my vision.

“Do you have any idea of how much she could be damaged?!” He asks, fuming from his nostrils. My eyes grow wide as I see his mane slowly changing shape, becoming puffier and puffier. He keeps staring at me, waiting for an answer, but the sudden change in his mane’s color steals all the words from my brain.

“Well?!”

“This isn’t about you, Mully!” I blurt in a moment of rage. I already regret it.

“Why, you son of a bitch!” he screams in my ear and chokes me with one forehoof. In my daze, I can see his other forehoof getting ready to punch my teeth down my throat. I do nothing but close my eyes and wait for the inevitable punch.

I feel his muscles tensing up and his body shifting his weight. The blow never came, however, and only when I dared open my eyes, I saw the little filly clinging to me, sobbing on my hind leg.

Mully backs away a few paces and just looks at me in disgust. He motions for an officer who also has been following us, new recruit, didn’t quite get his name, to take the filly away and lead her to an ambulance for a triage.

I fear the Mully will beat me to unconsciousness after she’s gone. To my surprise, he just stares at me. Now, with his eyes drilling into my being, I feel like a beating would be better. I know that look; I’ve seen him giving it to many officers in the past.

I shuffle around my coat and locate my badge inside one of the inner pockets. I hold my hoof on it for a few seconds, as if a soldier telling his family he’s off to war only to never come back. Yeah, it feels like a lie. Not just about me and the badge. This whole fucking country is a big cesspool of lies, and they’re so afraid of what the truth will say that they waddle around their filth, reveling like pigs.

And, just like that, the badge seems alien to me. I take it from my coat and practically throw it at Mully. Any second longer and its filth would’ve probably infected me too. I wait until he’s returned to the other ponies in the squad before hurrying to my home.

I slam the door behind me and pay no attention to the tortoise who looks at me quizzically. I only stop when my eyes see something lazily sitting on top of my table.

Waiting for me is another envelope. Judging by how it’s not stained with blood, I, for a brief second, hope that it isn’t from her. I know, however, that this is not the case. I pick up and tear the whole envelope in two. I inhale sharply, trying to calm my frantic thoughts as I unite the two pieces of the letter and proceed reading.

That was fast, I hope you’re not woozy
Tell me, was it really a doozy?
You’ll just have to do better
when you get my next letter
Or somepony else will get snoozy

“Oh,” you might think, if you play that card
“She’s unhinged, loose from hospital ward,
It’s just a scratch in her mind
without a lead here to find!”
As if my clues were simply too hard

They were all clear, just your mind hazy
Or perhaps, in this case, you’re lazy?
The game has not ended yet.
Keep feeding flies to my net
Until you’re aware of what truly means to be crazy!

“You’ve taken everything from me.” I crumple the letter with both forehooves and throw it on the wall, wishing that the small paper ball could, somehow, tear the whole structure down. “YOU HEAR ME?! EVERYTHING!”

I grasp at my wooden table and flip it over. The cacophony of shattering glass and porcelain doesn’t stop me. I pick each chair, lift them above my head and hurl them towards the floor. The splinters and shards dig deep into my hooves as I walk over them, but I don’t stop smashing the furniture against the wall.

The blood doesn’t have time to gather and pool, as I gallop towards the kitchen smashing everything that is left out in the open. From my peripheral vision, I see Tank hide inside his shell, not even his eyes are seen from the inside. The tortoise’s fear is able to make me stop my rampage. The stifling air makes it hard to breathe. As my vision blurs, I can’t help but collapse, completely exhausted on the floor. I hug my hind legs close, trying to find some sort of solace from the moisture that trickle down my eyes.

“I don’t give two shits about what you think, Buckshot! Do you think this is some fucking game?! Do you think you can dick around and nopony will get hurt!?” Mully’s voice, spoken by myself, whispers from somewhere around me. I hold myself tighter as my heart starts pumping faster than ever before.

“Fuck you, Pinkie!” I scream, nearly emptying my lungs, “I’m done playing your sick game!”

Author's Note

Owlor: Our editor quit at around the time this chapter was finished. Also, Jmj quit in disgust over my poetic abilities.

Luce: The inspiration for Sweetie’s outfit came from the cutest picture the internet has ever been graced with. I suggested it and Owly simply said: “Yes, good idea, Sweetie Belle must have some sort of cold weather clothes on, preferably as cute as possible, ‘cuz we are cruel heartless people.”

Also: Owlor told me to tell you guys that I have written pretty much this entire chapter by myself.

Mikhail:

X of N

“Open up, Mr. Buckshot! We know you’re hiding in there!”

The repo ponies is at my door, and this time he sounds like he means business. Every bang on the door resonates through my living room, sending shivers crawling up my spine. The beats seem close, much closer than they are, and I feel as if my eardrums are about to burst. I try my best to keep my panicked breaths under control as I lie crouched behind my living room couch. My hope goes to the hinges and the lock mechanism; if they don’t decide to simply bust down the door, I think I might be safe, for a little while longer at least.

“Mr. Buckshot! Open this door right now!”

My whole body begins to shake as I feel my control over it slipping. I hold my breath, unwilling to produce any sound, no matter how faint or dim. The pony seems to have grown tired of banging on it with a forehoof, because after a brief moment of silence, I hear a loud noise, no doubt coming from a powerful, angry buck.

“Mr. Buckshot, we are going to get in there whether you want to or not! I’ll bring back two police officers tomorrow and, unless you’ve paid your mortgage and all the fines you’re due, you are getting out of this house!”

I hear the repo pony’s hoofsteps walking further and further away from my house. Still, I hesitate to move out from my hiding position out of fear that he might catch a glimpse of me from the front windows. I count at least fifteen minutes before daring a peek from behind the couch.

They can’t evict me. No, not now. This is where I am safe. I realized it back at the Silver mansion: she came in through the door, but left through the window. I spent three days without batting an eye as I thought about this fact. I wrote many theories and pasted them on the wall, right next to all the information I could gather from her.

In those restless nights, after remembering every single detail about what happened, I came to the conclusion that she can’t both enter and leave a building through the same door. I have been too naïve to accept it at first, but the more information I was able to come up with and paste on the wall, I finally accepted the truth.

Some monsters have rules. Pinkie has rules. Some can’t touch running water, some have to stop and pick up sunflower seeds and Pinkie can’t use the same door twice. Oh, no no no. It says right here! All the facts were always there; I was just too blind to see them! Reaching the conclusion itself was hard, but once I did it, I couldn’t understand why couldn’t I before. It was so simple. And the simplest explanation should always be prefered.

The broken furniture scattered around hindered my movements a bit. But it’s okay, she can’t come in here. I only had the broken pieces pushed aside a little in order to allow some room for Tank to roam freely through the house. The tortoise and Pinkie are all that is left for me to look forward to.

Speaking of the devil, here he comes with his slow steps. Carrying a crumpled envelope in his teeth. I look at the pile of envelopes next to the door. Bills that should’ve been paid weeks ago, various ads and, of course, her letters. They all sit unopened on that little pile, forgotten. I’ve received four of them since I was fired from my job and, judging by the state of the letter he’s carrying, the eighth just came.

He places the envelope by my hooves, but I lack the will to bend down and pick it with my mouth. Instead, I pet the turtle and throw myself on the couch. Tank, relentless, picks up the letter and brings it to me, poking my dangling forehoof with the paper. Once again I pet him, but ultimately ignore the letter.

Instead of carrying it towards the pile, he drops the letter to the floor and makes an unintelligible sound at me. I wonder if he understand that I can’t read the letters. It’s the only way I can be free from Pinkie. After looking at me for a few seconds, he walks towards his bowl to eat some lettuce. I move my hoof and manage to kick it beneath the couch.

Fuck Pinkie. Fuck her game. She already proved that I’ll never be able to save those ponies, so why should I care ultimately? The only pony that could be harmed further in this town is me.

My ears perk up as I hear the sounds of hoofsteps nearing my front door. Maybe the taxpony changed his mind and he figured he’ll evict me from the house right away? I scramble behind the couch, trying my best to not produce a sound, and prepare myself to wait through another onslaught of beatings against my door.

I hear the sound of a metal latch being opened and something being pushed through. I hear his or hers hoofsteps disappearing in the distance. Good, crisis averted. Since nopony is banging on the door, I hastily get out of my hiding place and risk a glance out the window. I catch sight of Derpy as she takes off and soars through the sky, somewhat camouflaged by the gray cloud blanket that enshrouds Ponyville.

I glance at the letter on the floor and, for some reason, I feel drawn to it. It isn’t crumbled like the others and the seal has a professional quality. I bend down to pick it up and immediately glance at the address. Ponyville General Hospital.

I bit my lip, as the seed of curiosity grows roots inside my brain. On one side, this is an intriguing occurrence. since I’ve never even heard of a hospital dispatching letters to ponies. On the other, this could make me vulnerable to Pinkie once more. After all, it is a letter.

But… I’ve never had any problem before I received Pinkie’s letters. So… maybe, this would mean that every other correspondence is harmless?

I throw a cautious glance all around me. The entire world outside sits still, motionless and mute. The only sign of life in this barren wintry wasteland is the tortoise, slowly munching on his lettuce leaves. With no clear sign of danger around, I bit my lip and close my eyes, tugging the top of the envelope and slowly ripping it open.

I count the seconds, but I still don’t hear the sound of a pony coming. Maybe my theory was slightly off? I still wait a couple more seconds before prying the entire envelope open and reading the contents of the letter.

Mr. Buckshot,

The patient under my care, Shining Badge, has asked your presence at the Ponyville hospital.

I am aware of how unorthodox this may sound, but the patient was very adamant in her request. We sent a couple of ponies to your house, but all of them reported that you weren’t present at the time.

Willing to acquiesce to my patient’s constant demands, I send you this letter with hope that you will come.

Sincerely, Dr. Serpent Coil.

P.S.: Try not to cause any more trouble this time.

The words flow through my mind as I read it again, and again, and again. How could I have forgotten about Shining Badge? Even though it has been so long since we’ve last met, I had no reason to forget about her. A rolling wave of guilt splashes against my mind, shaking me physically. What would she say if she knew I was keeping contact with the most vicious killer this world has ever known in a long time? My hind legs give up and I fall to the floor, feeling another rush of emotion overwhelming my being.

I feel so pathetic now. A grown stallion crying over a lost job and an entire life wasted trying to pursue the silly notion that, somehow, he was helping making the world a better place. I lay there, sprawled on the floor for long minutes until Tank comes along and nudges me with his head.

I roll to the opposite side, refusing to look at the tortoise. There’s nothing more that I want other than to be left alone on what’s probably my last day in this house. My eyes drift between the door and the letter, while a heavy feeling washes over me.

You’re weak, Buckshot. Weak! a voice seemed to whisper to me from the back of my mind.

Resisting every urge to just collapse and await doomsday, I bite my lower lip and get up from the floor. My hooves work by themselves, making me walk in circles as my brain buzzes, debating with itself. On one hand, Shining Badge has gone through all this trouble to ask me to visit her. On the other… I’m just so at a loss of what to do. My life is in shambles and I don’t want to add another worry to Shining’s mind.

The minutes tick themselves away, making me even more apprehensive about the situation. Outside, a slight red tint in the marble of the clouds hint that the sun is setting. Some of my worries sink away as I come to a top in the middle of the hallway. Today may be the last day I’m even able to fake respectability, and if the sun sets without me taking advantage of it, I only have my self to blame.

I take a trial step towards the door, then another. Another minute ticks.

Then it’s like my mind breaks through an invisible barrier. I quickly gallop towards the rack and grab my trenchcoat. It’s worn and hasn’t been washed for days, but it’ll do good service in shielding me from the razor-like wintry wind. Tank just looks at me quizzically as I stare at him with a dumb smile etched in my face. I pick him up and place him on my back as I make my way to the front door.

“Friends have a way of making even the worst of times into something pretty great,” I mumble, with a smile on my face as I set off to meet Shining Badge.

Sans for the two security ponies and the secretary at the front desk, the hospital is completely devoid of life. The three ponies present give me odd looks as I walk towards the desk, probably noticing my disregard for bathing, shaving and trimming my coat’s fur. That and the turtle currently resting on my back.

“Good morning,” I say, trying my best to sound amiable. “I’m here to visit Shining Badge.”

The secretary immediately scrunches her muzzle, but nonetheless, tries to flash me a warm smile. The result makes her look like someone is stretching her facial muscles with hooks.

“Good afternoon,” she says and starts rummaging through some papers. “Ah, yes, Shining Badge is clear for visitors. I’ll just need your identification, mister.”

I tell her my name and she quickly writes it on a paper before looking at me.

“All clear; she’s on room 307-A.” I nod and make my way towards the hallway, noticing the security ponies giving me one of the dirtiest looks I’ve ever gotten. Can’t fault them, though. As I walk the narrow, seemingly alien corridors of the hospital, I breathe a sigh of relief when a plaque, hanging from the ceiling, instructs me towards the stairs.

I make my way upstairs, constantly assaulted by the smell of disinfectant products. My mind shifts gear, focusing on Shining Badge. I am instantly gripped by a tight feeling of apprehension, almost making me choke.

Then I see it, room 307-A. As my heart drums against my chest, I have to fight back the urge to run away. Eventually, I take in a breath and overpower my insecurity and open the door. I see Shining Badge turning on her bed to get a better view of the door. I can’t help but cringe as I notice the bandage that’s covering half her face.

We stay silently looking at each other for what seems minutes before I can gather my thoughts.

“Hey.” My voice is faint, barely audible, but she flashes me a warm smile and nods. I close the door behind me and slowly approach her bed.

“You’ve taken your sweet time.” Her comment, although not serious, sends another wave of guilt that washes over me.

“Well... a lot has happened. Has been happening, Shining.” I try to keep my tone neutral, but by the look on her face, she has me completely read already. Like a open book. Then again, this is exactly why I recommended her to Mully.

“What’s wrong?” She holds out her forehoof, reaching for me. I give a few tentative steps forward and take the extended hoof into mine.

“Well, Shining... truth is—” I look into her eye, the one not hidden away by a cloth and, underneath, by a scar. The air escapes my lungs, leaving the words stuck in my throat as I stare into the single orb that promises me ineffable forgiveness and mercifulness.

“Truth is, I’m scared, Shining.” The tears threaten to spill as I gather the courage I so desperately need. “I—I know we promised never to keep a secret from each other and—and I know you’d never make a hasty judgement, but—” I turn my head, looking away from her, “—but I’m really scared right now.”

“Hey,” she says, moving her forehoof from mine to my cheek. “Hey, look at me.”

I’m reluctant to gaze upon her. Every time I see the bandages hiding her wound I am reminded not only of how I failed her, but how I failed myself as well. Tank, however, decides that he wants some attention and roll from my back and onto the floor. For a second, both me and Shining are startled by the sudden noise, but when the Turtle pokes his head outside his shell, signaling that everything is okay, I feel relieved that he didn’t hurt himself.

“Your buddy there gave me a scare.” Tanks looks timidly to her, looking almost unsure if jumping from my back and into open view was the optimal choice.

“Not just you. For a second there I thought he had hurt himself. Well, it seems Tank deserves his name, after all.” I chuckle.

“Tank, huh?” she asks, looking at the little guy. I pick him up from the floor and place him on top of her bed. The tortoise immediately hides back fully inside his shell. “Hey, little guy... How are you?” Eventually, the timid tortoise sticks his head out and looks quizzically at Shining, who keeps smiling at the sight of him.

“I didn’t know you had a pet, Bucky.”

“Yeah, well... it’s kind of a long story and, to be honest, part of the reason I’m here today. You see, Tank’s gonna need a new home.” Her eyes widen and I immediately flinch.

“Buckshot! I’m disappointed at you! You took this turtle without knowing if you could properly take care of it?”

“No, it’s not that, Shining. It—I—”

“But if that’s not it, then—” Her eyes widen. “The house! Bucky, what’s going on?”

“I’m about to lose my home, Shining.”

She visibly sinks down into the bed a little as I say this, and I feel very guilty for laying it on her so suddenly. Still, we always were very honest with one another.

“You are? But why?”

I find myself biting my lower lip. There’s a torrent of words on the tip of my tongue that refuses to come out. Seeing my hesitation, Shining pulls me close and lets my head rest against her chest. Above me, I hear her struggling to compose herself, and I respond with a gentle hug. The thick sheet of ice inside of me seems to be melting, suddenly the world seem a little less cold and grey.

“I—I didn’t pay my rent,” I let out, soothed by her soft fur. “I was fired from the job and—” I choke back something resembling a sob.

“Tell me everything Bucky,” Shining demands “don’t feel like you have to bottle it up just because I’m in the hospital. I’m not gonna heal any faster worrying about you.”

So I take a deep breath, compose myself and lets everything spill. I tell her about my contact with Pinkie Pie and about her sick little game, and I can see Shining stifle a shock at every revelation. When I’m done, I bow my head down to face her judgment like a convict.

You’re weak, Buckshot. Weak! Look at how fucking pathetic you are right now! Crying in front of her, wishing that she could just work up some magic and clean your mind of all your problems. Shining Badge doesn’t want a stallion like you. She doesn’t need someone to hinder her life like you do. You can’t just push your fucking problems to her and hope for the best. Newsflash for you, sunshine: this is not how life works.

You know what’s waiting for you in Shining’s face? Do you, Buckshot? Disgust. You disgust her. That’s right, keep your head low like the fragile little shit you are. You’ve never amounted to nothing more than a broken marriage. Your whole career has been a failure! ‘To serve and protect’? Hah, big fucking lie, and you know that! You couldn’t protect Sunset Snow. You couldn’t protect Shining Badge. You couldn’t protect Silver Spoon. You couldn’t protect Rarity. You can’t protect anypony!

The silence is deafening. Shining’s breathing and mine are the only things breaking the room’s silence. I feel like clutching my entire body and curling up like a newborn.

Her covers shuffle quickly. When I look up to see her, I can only register a blur coming at me. Her motion is quicker than I predicted. I feel her hooves wrapping around me and, in confusion, I search for her eyes. Hers are there, filled with warm, acceptance and understanding. Before I can work out any sentence, she closes in on me, planting her lips over mine.

We stay like that, caught in each other’s embrace, for several long seconds. I am instantly reminded of how much I had missed her presence. Her smell. Her touch. I feel the tears streaming down my eyes, as the joy that grips my heart fills me completely.

We talked for hours. Shining reassured me that it wasn’t my fault that those ponies died and that I did my best. Still, it wasn’t enough to completely drain me from my guilt; especially when she told me how long she still had to stay in the hospital before being discharged. She indeed was understanding of my situation, and it showed sometimes, when I expected a smack on the back of the head and only got a downward look. After a while, neither of us had anything left to say and we both stood in silence, feeling and enjoying each other’s embrace.

“I don’t like it, Bucky,” she spoke, out of the blue.

“What?”

“The way this is affecting you. The way Pinkamena is affecting you. It’s like… like…”

“What, Shining?”

She sighs. “I know you don’t like talking about her, but it’s just like how Magnolia made you feel. This… this humiliation and mind games. I don’t like it.”

Yes, even though I still feel my stomach churning when we talk about her, this time I can’t help but laugh a little. “Well, last time you were there to save me.” I look up into her eyes and see her blush. I love it when she does that. Moving quickly, I lock lips with Shining, drawing some surprise from her closed mouth.

Her lips soon part as she allows herself to be swept away by the moment. We remain entwined for what feels eternity, making the sandstorm in my mind settle down considerably. When we eventually break the embrace, I notice her blush once more. We are suddenly interrupted by a nurse knocking on the door, announcing that visiting time is over. At least she had the decency to knock and not open the door outright.

As much as I’d like to stay in this position forever, I don’t want to risk another incident and be banned from the premises, and from seeing Shining before she’s discharged.

“I’ll come back to visit tomorrow. I promise!” I give her a light peck on the lips.

“I’ll be waiting, Bucky,” she says, still blushing. I find it amusing that no matter how tough Shining is on the job, she is nothing but a softie, really. And I love her for it. “Oh, and… Bucky?”

“Yes?”

She pauses and looks down. I notice her muzzle moving, trying to produce a sound, but i. “It’s… nothing. Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell you about it later.” She smiles.

I pick Tank from the floor and place him safely over my back once more. “Well, if you say so.” I don’t mean to intrude on her privacy. She’ll eventually tell me what it is once she’s ready.

“And, Bucky, one last thing?” She speaks just as I’m about to open the door. I turn around, waiting for her to finish. “Please take a shower. You smell like shit,” she barely finishes her sentence before she’s laughing away. At first I stood dumbfounded, but now, seeing her laughter, seeing how good she is feeling, I can’t help but laugh too.

I guess it is as they say; Laughter is infectious.

As I put Tank on the floor and close the front door behind us, I can’t help but feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. However, just because I had a pleasant conversation with Shining Badge it does not mean that all my problems are solved. I still feel physically and mentally spent, but now I think I’ll finally be able to rest, collect some thoughts and move on with my life. Yes, I should definitely search for a new job. But not right now.

Tank, as if reading my thoughts, keeps looking between me and Pinkie’s most recent letter. I sigh. Even though I do not need to do it, I desperately seek some closure from this whole ordeal. I also feel like I owe the citizens of this town. It was my screw up that lead me to lose the job. Me, the pony who has more info on the killer than anypony else. Which means that it’s up to me to fix the mistakes.

I sigh and pick up the envelope, taking care to bite on the seemingly cleanest part of it before taking it on my forehooves. This will be dangerous, no doubt. Illegal, even. But I’m ready for her. Come on, Pinkie, hit me with your best shot!

I tear the envelope and—

“No... no! Please, oh Celestia, no! No!”

Author's Note

Owlor: The name for this chapter was originally intended to be a placeholder, but I think it fit the mood of the chapter, with Bucky being too disheveled to remember the date, and anyway, I'm the one uploading the chapters, so who's gonna stop me?

Last Day, part 1.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I immediately drop Pinkie’s letter, along with the clues she sent me, and gallop around my house, trying to find my trenchcoat. Tank, noticing my rush, tries to follow me, but he’s left quickly changing direction, as I gallop past him several times. Several frantic minutes pass as I search every room in the house thrice.

“Sun damn it, fuck!” I shout, grabbing my old wardrobe and pulling it down to the floor. The furniture’s fall is stopped by my bed, leaving it dangling at a low angle. All the drawers inside immediately open, spewing forth clothes and junk. Just as I’m about to give up, I spot my trenchcoat lying battered on one corner of the room. I rush to it and put it on, thanking Celestia that Mully allowed me to keep my nightstick after he fired me.

After it and its inner belt is secured around my waist, I dash outside, forcing every inch of my muscles to comply. Even in my speed, I am stopped by a sound coming from my home. It sounds like a deep, grave yawn. I turn around and see Tank walking as quickly as he can manage towards me.

“Tank! Go back!” I yell at him, but the turtle merely opens his mouth and produces the same deep sound in protest. “Oh, for fuck’s sakes!” I gallop towards the tortoise, pick up up and place him over my back and gallop towards the hospital.

I slam the double doors open, nearly shattering their glass in the process. Everypony inside, which is not much, considering the late hour, looks at me. I do not care, however. I have to work quickly.

“Ma’am!” I shout to the pony at the reception, recognizing her as the same one who was here a mere half hour earlier. “Please, I need to talk to Shining Badge!”

Without batting an eyelash, the mare smiles to me and says, “I’m sorry, Mr. Buckshot. Visiting hours were over half an hour ago. You’ll have to—”

“No! You don’t understand! I need to see Shining Badge this instant!” The mare takes her time, looking at me. “You know what? Fuck this. I am going to see her!” I say and start walking towards the main hallway.

“Please wait a second, Mr. Buckshot,” she says stopping mine and the security pony’s advance. “I’ll make this an exception. If you’re willing to wait, I’ll call her caring nurse and see if Mrs. Badge is feeling disposed.”

“But—”

“Please, sir. It’s hospital policy.” I feel the security pony eyeballing me as I wait pacing around on the reception in anxiety. She picks up the interphone and proceeds to talk with somepony.

“Calling doctor Stronghoof! Doctor Stronghoof, you are needed in the surgery room.” the ceiling intercom announces.

That’s when I notice it; not only did the reception remained dead-silent, everypony’s eyes were on me. I look behind me and see that the security pony moved, blocking my way to the exit. From the main hallway another one emerges, followed by a nurse and a doctor. I slowly pick up Tank from my back and place him on the floor. When I return my gaze to my surroundings, another pony has joined their team.

“Mr. Buckshot, would you mind accompanying us?” the doctor asks. I notice his forehoof shuffling hastily on his lab coat’s pocket. No doubt looking for a needle. Damn it! I’ll have to be quick about this.

“Sure, is anything wrong?” They don’t reply, choosing to just keep their eyes focused on my every move. I walk slowly towards, them, unwilling to startle any. As I approach the main hallway, I see another security pony standing near the door, invisible from my previous standing place.

Said security pony starts walking in front of us, leading the way to the office where, I’m sure, they’ll strap me to a bed and start asking questions about my mental health. The doctor walks by my side, standing too close for comfort. As we walk, I see an opening when the stairs come into view.

I silently inhale as much air as I manage and jump forward, knocking the security pony to the floor. My muscles complain as I gallop towards the stairs. I ignore the orders for me to stop, focusing only on making it to her room.

“Get him!”

I duck my head and hear something whisking pass by my ears. I look up to see what it was and am surprised to see a needle floating, suspended by a golden glimmer. It quickly readies its trajectory before being flung toward me once more. I halt my steps for a moment, enough so that the needle misses my neck.

The doctor, surely followed by all the security ponies present, near me, forcing me to dash my way up the steps. It seems as if Lady Luck has it for me, for a small cart is sitting on the first floor, unattended. I bite it and pivot my body, transferring all my momentum to the cart. It rolls down the stairs, fortunately not hitting anypony in the process. But its size is enough to create a small blockage in the landing.

Now undeterred, I continue to the third floor, looking for her room. All the doors in the corridor seem the same, sans for their number and the following letter. All the hospital staff seems to be mobilized into getting to me, it seems, as a new squad of health-related professionals pursue me as if I’m a common criminal.

Finally, I find her room. Just at the end of the hallway. I push my muscles a little further, trying to get enough distance between me and my pursuers.

I try to stop before opening the door, but I misjudged my position, so my momentum propels me into crashing with it. The door opens and I am practically thrown inside, skidding to a halt on the middle of the room, sprawled on the floor.

I get up and quickly look for the light switch inside. I turn it on the exact same time a doctor grabs me by hind leg. Another one is quick to follow, restraining my forehooves with his. They all let go of me, however, as they see that her bed is empty, save for mattered covers and sheets.

“What did you do to her?” one of the doctors asks, pointing his forehoof at me.

“This is what I wanted to warn her about!” I say, slapping his forehoof out of the way. “She is Pinkamena’s next victim!”

“But—but how could she steal a patient without anypony noticing?”

“Does it matter now?” I ask, shooting him an annoyed glare. “We need to find her!”

“He’s right!” a nurse, this time, says. “We need to split up and cover all the exits and floors!” As quick as they were to chase me around the hospital, most of them disband and spread out throughout the hospital.

“I’ll go call the police!” one of the security ponies say. Fuck, I need to get out of here as quickly as possible.

“I go with you,” I say to the security pony, who just nods at me before turning around and galloping towards the reception. I follow him, only stopping to pick a surprised-looking Tank up in the middle of the way back. We quickly reach the reception, taking another set of stairs, and the pony quickly runs towards the door.

“Wait,” I tell him. He stops, shooting me an irritated glare. “You’re the strongest one of us! You should stay here, guarding the door in case that psychopath tries to exit this way.” He lowers his eyes, looking thoughtful. “Think about it: I am quicker than you! I could go and get the police while you stop Pinkie from leaving.”

He stays silent for a few moments, pondering my words.

“Okay, but the only reason why I’m doing this is because I see you care for the patient as well. Don’t pull a funny one at me!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” He steps aside, granting me passage to the outside. I waste not a second, unwilling to test his faith in me for a second longer, and gallop towards the town. I disappear inside thin alleyways, unwilling to look back and check if the stallion has, somehow, followed me.

I make it halfway into the town proper before I pause to collect my thoughts. There’s no use in calling the police. If Pinkie has her hands on Shining, that means that her time is short as it is. Were I to call some help, they’d only slow me down with more questions, meaning that it would give me less time to try and find Shining.

Fuck!

I see no easy way out of this situation.

I spend a couple of minutes galloping towards the more desolated part of town. Not that it was needed, since Ponyville seemed like an abandoned town due to this harsh winter. I stop in an alleyway and, after placing Tank on the ground, sit beside a big garbage container to ponder.

Alright, now I need to find out where Pinkie is hiding. She called it a game, hinting that I could stop her. But stopping her would not only mean saving her victims, no. Pinkie takes her “games” seriously. This whole time, all the clues must’ve had a double meaning. Both the next target and her hiding place. Which means that the clues must be connected somehow, since all of them are different.

I work my mind, trying to remember every little detail about all the clues I’ve gotten so far. What’s their connection?! Well, so far, every single one of them had an animal… okay. But what does that mean? Shining’s clue, for instance, makes absolutely no sense! A tortoise and a medal… Well, I could link the tortoise to Tank, and him with me, but that still doesn’t lead me anywhere!

I stay there, trying my best to make some sense of it, but nothing comes of it. Every second that passes is another second I waste in trying to find Shining. But I just can’t make these subtle hints work!

“Fuck!” I mutter in frustration, punching the garbage container as hard as I can. The instant my hoof meets the iron, I hear a rumble from the inside of it and something falls on my lap. It is a bottle of a cleaning product. Utterly defeated, I pick it up and prepare to throw it as far away as possible. That is when I see Tank looking at me.

I close my eyes, inhale and exhale, slumping down to the floor completely, allowing the bottle to fall from my hooves. When I open them, I see Tank smiling at me from my peripheral vision. When I turn to look properly at him, I notice that it isn’t Tank, but the bottle. Out of curiosity, I pick it up and inspect it further. My breath gets stuck in my throat as I read its front sticker.

“Turtle Wax; The best product to give that extra special something a nice polish. Guaranteed to leave it shining!”

I drop the bottle, shocked from the sudden epiphany. This is it! This is it! A wolf and a crescent moon… A stone and a cat… A tortoise and a medal… All of these clues include animals! But not only that; they all include animals that could have been at the PACA shelter. Maybe her hideout could be…

No wait, that couldn’t work. Too much security, and I don’t remember there being any wolves at the animal shelter... My mind stops dead in its tracks, only to kickstart again when a notion enters my mind: there were no wolves… except for one! I didn’t see it, but I heard other cops talking about it, I’m sure! And… before going to the animal shelter, all these animals were under the care of...

Oh, dear Celestia!

I instantly got up from my lying position and galloped towards the open streets. Before I was completely out from the alleyway, I turned around to face the tortoise.

“Tank, I need to hurry now! I’m so sorry to do this to you, buddy, but you’ll have to walk home yourself.” Without waiting for a reply, I depart once more.

My heart thuds. My lungs burn. My muscles cry. But I have to be strong now. For Shining! I mustn’t falter. My hooves impact against what feels like hard concrete, shaking my bones. Through the dirt road I gallop, cursing myself for not being able to notice it sooner. I was such a stupid fucking idiot. If I hadn’t spent most of that time around my house, moping, then I would’ve been able to deduce this sooner. I’d be able to save them… maybe not all, but at least one more pony.

Stop it, Buckshot! You have to focus now! You’ll have all the time in the world to mope later! Right now what we need is to save Shining and catch Pinkie!

I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw the cottage in the distance. To put it simply, the place was dead. The rich vegetation that surrounded it had long since died, when they weren’t given any more care. Some of the roof tiles were missing and the paint on the walls was cracked in many places. It sent a pang of sorrow through my heart, seeing a place that was, no doubt, so happy and full of life in the past in this state...

Mother Gaia died in there.

I start walking slowly towards the cottage; moreso when I have to cross the small bridge over the now-frozen stream. The boards crack with my every step, making me pause at every couple of those in order to see if she managed to hear me. Eventually, I approach the door and sigh.

This is it. This is finally it. After all she’s done to me… to Equestria... it all ends tonight. When I’m done rescuing Shining Badge, Pinkie Pie is gonna pay!

I twist the doorknob...

Last Day, part 2.

… and I’m in.

Not even five steps in and the pungent, heavy aroma of dried blood and formaldehyde hits me like a sucker punch. My muzzle scrunches up as my eyes start to burn and water.

The interior of the cottage seems like it has been abandoned for years, though the smell reeking from everywhere tells me otherwise. It is stale, but not as pungent as the smell of an already-rotting corpse. Yes, this is definitely the place. Not to mention that the furniture isn’t as dusty as it should be, if left to time itself.

There are clean spots on some areas of the couch, dragging a multitude of small tails of dust from its edges. Not to mention that the cobwebs would certainly cover the entire house if it really was abandoned. And yet, they only remain cluttering the ceiling and only a few sets of furniture. It is pretty clear to me, now; she’s here!

I start walking slowly, careful not to make too much noise, paying attention to every sound and sight.

“Just look at him! He’s doing everything wrong! Is this what they teach to the rookies these days? This isn’t an investigation! It’s a disaster!” a faint voice whispers behind me. My heart skips a beat and my whole body freezes. Cold sweat rushes from my forehead as I feel the room getting slightly colder; darker. The voice seems to echo endlessly through the walls, being twisted and distorted with each repetition.

“Oh, darling, give the poor dear a chance, will you? It’s true that he has been performing… less than admirably, but I’m sure he’s trying his absolute hardest.” Wait. I know that voice.

“Rarity?!” I whisper.

“Well, his hardest isn’t doing anypony any good!” I slowly turn around and gasp when I see the four Bearers behind me. Twilight Sparkle is biting her own lip, looking all around me. Rainbow Dash fiercely measures me from head to hooves, a gesture that Rarity is also partaking in, albeit more condescending than angry. Fluttershy stands behind Twilight, looking unusually vacant.

“But… but it can’t be!” the words roll out of my mouth before I manage to trap them within my throat.

“Now, look at what you did, Rainbow Dash!” Rarity says, looking at her friend. “You nearly scared the poor dear to death.”

“It’s not my fault he’s so jumpy.” The transparent blue ghost mutters, sounding very annoyed.

“Are… are you all real?” I ask, mind still being cradled by disbelief.

“Ugh. Just look at him!” Rainbow exclaims, gesturing towards me. “What the hay is he doing, now?! Don’t he know that Flu—”

“No!” The new voice makes me jump, surprised. Fluttershy, who was been up until now quietly lurking behind Twilight, screamed, silencing her friend. “Don’t.”

“I don’t understand,” I plead with them. “What is going on? Why are you all here?!” All the ponies turn their heads, riveting their eyes on me. I stare back, unsure of what I should do or say in order to get them to converse with me. To my shock, their bodies begin to fade away. Slowly at first, but by the time I ran towards them, trying physical contact, they were all gone.

“Oh, Buckshot, you’re so stupid!” I mutter to myself, pounding my hooves on the floor in frustration. There I was, alone in that damned, haunted house. Once more had my foolishness gotten the best of me. I could’ve warned somepony that I was coming… even though that would put them in danger.

No… this is my fight. This is the only chance I have to stop Pinkie dead in her tracks and arrest her. If she were to find anypony else in here, she’d probably kill the both of us and start her rampage anew somewhere else in Equestria. But with me here, we all stand a chance! Ponyville stands a chance! I have to stay focused on my tas—

“Nighty night,” a voice singsongs behind me.

“Wha—”

Consciousness slaps me awake as a bucket of water is poured on my face. Some of it got inside my nostrils, making them burn and giving me an irresistible urge to sneeze. After I’m done gagging and coughing, I open my eyes and take in my surroundings.

The first thing that hits me right away is my position. I’m lying onto my back on top of a cold, iron bed. I try to move, just to find out that all my four legs and head are have been strapped down to said bed.

“Don’t bother trying to break free.” Pinkie exclaims from somewhere behind me. I instinctively try to turn around to face her, being reminded once more of my situation. She eventually walks forward and I manage to see her inside my peripheral vision.

Still a bit groggy, I force my brain into working out the details of everything surrounding me. Apparently, I’m in some sort of cobblestone room, with the faint lightning coming from burning torches affixed to the wall. The walls are slightly mossy, making me aware that we are under a place with a lot of humidity.

Of course, the stream in front of Fluttershy’s cabin! We must be beneath her house. But… but how?

“Good boy,” she says and walks near me. I am instantly reminded of the pony I had met a few years back. Her puffy mane and tail remained the same, though her eyes seemed glimmerless. “Though, now I’m curious. Why did you scream? I mean, if you had kept your mouth closed, you’d be able to sneak up on me and end the game right there and then! So… what happened?”

“I… I saw them,” I simply stated, not knowing if I should comply with her requests or not. “I saw your friends.”

“Oh? Which friends?” She puts both elbows on top of the iron bed and rests her head on top of her forehooves, smiling warmly. “I had a lot of them, you know?”

“T—the Bearers.” Her smile instantly vanishes. Pinkie Pie, now wide-eyed, stares at me for a few seconds before her eyebrows furrow slightly.

“You know, sometimes I see them too,” she says, looking pensive.

“Who? Them?”

“My friends,” she says, morosely. In a quick movement, Pinkie grabs her own head with both hooves—a feat that made me recoil instantly—and screamed. Her guttural howl sent shivers up my spine, just due to how painful it sounded. Her hind legs buckled and she fell to the floor, beyond what my tied head managed to see.

She screamed once more and, by the sound of it, banged her hooves against the floor. As quickly as the sounds came, they were gone. I waited for a few agonizing seconds before my mouth worked some words by itself, against circumstances screamed at me not to do so.

“P—Pinkie? Are you alright?” As the words escaped my lips, Pinkie chortled. It wasn’t exactly mirthful, given that it sounded too visceral; as if she was cleaning her throat. She got up and looked at me with the only eye that was visible beyond her straight pink mane.

“Not Pinkie.” She smiled. “Not anymore.” My brain racked to make sense of the sudden change in her demeanor.

“What’s going on?” Instead of replying, the mare turns around and walks toward a bloody, rusty gurney. From there, she takes what I manage to see is a knife from it and turns around, facing me once more.

“So, shall we begin?”

“Pinkie... you... you don’t have to do this, Pinkie.” My voice trembles as the words roll out of my mouth; as arid as the desert. “P—please. T—think about this f—for a second.” I lift my gaze, meeting her azurest sapphires and noticing that they are open wide.

“You still... remember that? My nickname... ?” She stops walking towards me, holding the knife firmly within her forehooves. I can see her body shaking slightly.

Seeing the opportunity that has been granted to me I don’t hesitate in taking it. “Yes, Pinkie! I do! I remember you as the sweet mare who’d always smile when bringing me my bagels every morning. Fresh from the oven, you’d say. I remember back then how your smiles were the only reason for me to wake up.”

At this, Pinkie hides her face between her forehooves and begins to sob lightly. The sounds echo on the walls, creating a spine-tingling symphony.

“I don’t want this, Bucky... I’ve never wanted this.”

“But you can stop it, Pinkie!”

“No... it’s too late. I’ve—I’ve killed nearly all my friends now. It’s too late for me.” Her sobs pick up intensity. From the bit I manage to see through her forehooves, I can tell that the tears are running freely from her eyes.

“Listen, P—”

“No!” Taken aback by her sudden shout, I remain silent, fearing the worst. My eyes fixed on her blade all the time. “No... please. I—I just can’t. There—tha—I can’t!”

“Bus you can! Fight it! Try to remember what was life like. Remember what you were like.” She lowers one of her forehooves, the one with the knife, and looks at me with only one eye open. I can’t help but feel as if my chest has been stabbed; behind her mane, I can peer her cerulean eyes, giving me the most pitiful expression I’ve ever seen in my life. Her sobs pick up intensity once more and she lets out tiny whimpers as her body shakes.

She suddenly jumps forward. I instinctively cringe, but the pain of having my flesh being cut never registers. Instead, I feel the weight of her body against mine.

She’s—she’s hugging me?

“I’m sorry, Bucky! I’m—I’m so sorry!” she exclaims, crying on my chest. Her tears are real; I can feel them dripping from her cheeks, getting tangled on my dry fur.

“It’s okay, Pinkie. It’s alright,” I console her. She looks up at me once more, without covering part her face this time. I can’t help but shudder; it’s the same look Pinkie Pie always gave me. Only... more forlorn. More... desperate.

“I—I try to fight it! I try to fight her! I just can’t win! I try, Bucky! I—I—She screams at me! I don’t like it, but she doesn’t stop! And the screams only get louder and louder and—”

“Shhhh. It’s alright, Pinkie. You can do it this time. And you know why?” she slowly shakes her head to me, repressing another sob. “Because, this time, I’ll help you. I’ll be here to help you, Pinkie. You could have your old life back.”

“You... you really think so?” she pleads.

“I know so.” I smile at her. She looks down to my chest and then to the knife in her forehoof. I can see her internal struggle, as she keeps exchanging her gaze from the knife and then to my chest, going down to my abdomen. Her eyes linger at my belly and I can’t help but think that I’m losing this battle.

“Please?” I say. It is enough to break her stillness.

She looks up to me once more and nods. She slowly moves towards my left hood and begins cutting the strap that held it with her knife. I choose to remain silent, unwilling to shatter her newfound courage.

Finally, my forehoof is free. I can’t help but shudder as Pinkie gently grasps it with her knifeless hoof. She slowly moves it, placing it over her own cheek and tries to fight back a few more sobs. Once more, I remain silent, waiting for the pink mare to take her time. No need to push my luck.

“Oh, Bucky,” she says and I can feel the warmth from her breath on my left forehoof. “I’m so, so sorry!”

“It’s oka-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!”

The pain rushing from my left hoof is unbearable; it’s as if she drove white-hot needles into it and electrocuted them. I turn to look, only to see her knife sunk bone-deep in my forehoof. Behind it, I can see the cracks on the wooden table, no doubt shattered from the force of her impact. The blood spurts from the wound, leaking on the table I’m strapped on, and pooling on the wooden floor.

“Oh, you’re so predictable,” she says, drying one of her eyes with a forehoof and giggling in the other.

“You fucking bitch! I’m going to kill you!”

“Pfffff... yeah. Like I didn’t hear that one before.” She giggles. “Oh, save me, save me, Buckshot!” she says, mocking her prior voice, falling into a giggling fit shortly after. Her mirth escalates to full blown hysterical laughter as I do my best to try to ignore the searing pain in my left forehoof.

“Fuck you!” I say, clenching my jaw as hard as I can. It does nothing to stop the pain that invades my skull, however. The pain buzzes around my temples, scrambling all my thoughts and actions, making my whole body shake. I have to fight with all I have against my instincts and keep my hoof still.

“Oh, come on, Bucky! Where’s your sense of humor?”

“YOU TOLD ME YOU SAW THEM TOO!”

“Ghosts?” she asks, looking at me with bewilderment. Suddenly, in a gesture that makes me flinch, she clutches her own stomach and begins to laugh. I can feel the chortle reverberating inside her throat, as if there’s just too much laughter trying to get out at the same time, blocking her windpipe. “Don’t be stupid, Buckshot. There are no ghosts,” she says, cleaning the tears of mirth from her eyes.

“But I saw them! Clear as day! They were there! They were talking about me!” She approaches me and lie on top of my bound body. She holds her head with both forehooves and looks deep into my eyes.

“Tell me, Buckshot, have you ever heard of the word hallucination? Hmm?” She waits for an answer, smiling as she stares into my eyes. The only thing I manage to do is swallow dry. “No?” she waits for my reply once more. As the seconds eventually tick, her smile slowly transforms into a frown. “Wow, you’re dumber than I thought.”

“Well, you see, an hallucination happens when your itty bitty brain,” she says, poking my forehead, “gets so messy, that it starts showing you these clear, vivid images when there’s actually no sensory stimuli that would create these images. And they always seem to know just what to do.”

No, no, it can’t be!

“I’ll bet that they didn’t even pay attention to what you were saying. Pretty rude if you ask me.”

No! I saw them! They were there! I—I just know it!

“You wanna hear something funny?” she asks and, without waiting for my reply, continues, “Even though they intrude in the most inopportune of times, they’re still not as rude as they were when they were real.”

She takes the knife from the table and looks at her own reflection. Suddenly, her hair starts losing volume, falling flat to her sides. I see a small frown forming on her face, one that grows by the second. I can’t do naught but shudder.

”No… they weren’t rude! They were downright deez-picable!” she screams, slamming her knife-holding hoof on the table I was bound to. The blade comes close to my skin and I thank Celestia that it didn’t cut me.

She presses her free forehoof to the bridge between her eyes and sighs. In one swift motion, she moves her mane from blocking her face, revealing her blue, piercing eyes once more. I don’t know which one I prefer. She notices my distress and looks to me, smiling. “Well, that’s enough chit-chat. Time is candy,” she singsongs, wiggling the knife before my eyes.

“You know, Buckshot, as predictable as you are, I wasn’t sure you’d really come. I mean—my clues were ridiculously easy, but you’re just so thick that I didn’t think you would be able to piece them all together.” She begins stomping her forehooves on the floor, clapping for me. “I’d say you deserve a reward!”

She directs my attention to a small portion of the wall, covered by a filthy blanket. I notice a piece of string ascending from behind it, going all the way to the ceiling. I can see the slight movement in the blanket and I am suddenly aware of a few displaced grunts coming from behind it as well.

“You wanna see it?” She looks at me, beaming with joy, breaking my concentration before my mind manages to wrap around it. She hops toward the blanket and bites on it. With a quick movement, the piece of fabric is removed.

My breath gets caught in my throat as I see Shining Badge, with her bandaged removed, standing upright on her hind legs. Her forehooves are tied behind her back and to the string that is fixed on the ceiling, forcing her into the uncomfortable position. Her pain is visible; I can notice the beads of sweat running through her entire body as her hind legs shake, struggling to maintain her weight.

As she sees me, her eyes widen, but the ballgag in her mouth prevented her from producing anything other than unintelligible grunts. Pinkie's smile only seems to grow wider as she walks towards Shining and strokes her cheek with the back of a hoof. “She’s very pretty.”

Shining recoils at the touch and turns around, trying to headbutt Pinkie. She is more agile, though, and grasps Shining's neck between her forehooves. “Now, that wasn't very nice!” she says and begins to tighten her grasp around Shining's throat.

“No!” I scream, noticing the guttural sounds coming from the mare trying to breathe. “Pinkie, stop!”

She obliges, leaving Shining coughing and trying to support her own weight once more.

“You love her.” That wasn't a question, so I remained silent. “Yeah, I can tell you do. If you didn't, you wouldn't have told her our little secret.”

“W—what secret?” I say, eyes still locked with Shining, as she sobs in her gag.

“Oh, silly, you know!” she says, massaging Shining's head with a forehoof. “So it's only fair that I made her tell me a little secret of her own, wouldn't you say?” Shining looks down to the floor, refusing to make eye contact.

“Well, I’m betting you’re real curious about what her secret is, aren’t you? Too bad, Buckshot, I’m-not-tel-ling,” she singsongs, smiling at me.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I scream, unwilling to play these stupid games of hers any longer.

“Oh, Buckshot, you should know by know that I’m a pony who keeps her secrets locked all nice and tight.” She stopped walking and gasped in an overly-exaggerated fashion. “Oh, I know! Why don’t we ask her?”

Upon hearing this, I thrash against the straps. It is all for naught; no matter how hard I try, I can't break free from these restraints. And my every move only serves to bring more pain to my deeply wounded forehoof. I look to Shining and notice her sobs, long and exhausted. Lost and alone. “Pinkie, please! Don’t. I’m begging you!”

She works with her hooves behind Shining’s head and removes the ballgag. “So, whaddya say?” Shining’s expression changes instantly. Her pleading eyes turn more aggressive. She waits until Pinkie is facing her to spit on her face.

“You’re disgusting.” The pink mare frowns and cleans her cheek with her foreleg. She, then, grabs Shining Badge’s head between both forehooves and locks her eyes with Shining’s.

“You’re going to regret this.” Shining merely frowns, bracing for a punch that never came. Instead Pinkie walks over to the gurney once more. She comes back, carrying a pair of scissors and walks towards Shining, who instantly begins to quiver.

“Pinkie, no!” I scream, but it has no effect on the maniacal pony. She stops between me and Shining and pokes at the mare with the scissors. The heart-wrenching howl that emanated from Shining’s lungs gripped my heart and squeezed it dry. Pinkie, undeterred by the agony that reverberates around the room, continues working with her forehooves.

“Oh look!” she moves her body, giving me sight of Shining once more. The image makes my eyes swell with tears instantly. Shining hangs precariously, her hind legs almost giving under her. Blood pools and dribbles from her mouth, as tears do the same from her eyes.

“How could you?” I ask, looking at Pinkie with all the hate I could muster. “How could you?!”

“Oopsies! Looks like she won’t be revealing the secret either!” She proceeds to bite Shining’s recently cut tongue and carries it over to me, stopping by my side with a quizzical look. After a few moments spent in silence, she picks the tongue and smears the ballgag with its blood. Once she’s done, she licks the item and inches it closer to me. I try to turn my face away from her, but she grabs my hoofwith her free hoof and tries to keep it stable. I try my best to deter her from gagging me, which brings a noticeable frown to her face.

“Stop—” The pink hoof holding my hoof is now over the handle of the knife lodged through my hoof, pressing it down.

“AAAAARGHHHH!”

“—moving!” She lets go of the knife, prompting my whole body to go numb. My vision blurs the instant Pinkie places the bloody ballgag inside my mouth. By the time she successfully strapped it to the back of my head, I am made aware of a ringing coming from inside my skull. The rust-tasting liquid pools inside my mouth and my tongue instinctively recoils from the taste, nearly blocking my throat.

I don’t know what exactly is going on, but through the ringing I can hear the muffled sound of screams, followed closely by laughter. Is that Shining? I don’t even know anymore. My mind is buzzing, in synch with the powerful hum of what sounded like a power tool.

The blood travelled down my throat, leaving its alien taste through its course imprinted on my hazy mind. It burns my throat, forcing me to gag; a feat that is hard to accomplish given my numb tongue.

Suddenly, I feel my heart racing. My lungs begin to ache, moving desperately beneath my ribs. The air! I can’t breathe anymore. The blood seems to freeze inside my veins as my heart nears its bursting point. The pain radiates throughout my entire thorax, spreading toward my lower jaw, back and left foreleg.

The muffled sounds of screams and machinery seem even more distant than before. The cobblestone in the ceiling seems to be washed by a fog that thickens by the second. It changes colors, turning from a simple grey to a threatening black void that begins to swallow my vision. My entire body floats in a sea of numbness as I descend further inside myself.

“Don’t go yet, Buckshot! We’ve still got a lot more playing to do.” The disembodied voice pierces the mist of confusion, but it does nothing to change my situation. My heart has long ago stopped throbbing painfully, though I can still feel it trying to cling. I feel something poking my leg’s hinge, but it seems so far away from my body right now.

Immediately, everything is back to full clarity. Like I was force-fed reality itself from a feeding tube, the world regains shape once more. I gasp, taking in a massive amount of air, as my entire body springs to life. I can feel all my muscles tensing at the same time, making the numbness disappear completely. My lungs and throat burn; it is with much difficulty that I manage to cease my breathing for a moment in order to swallow the blood and saliva that still lingered inside my mouth.

I try to ask what happened in-between hungry gulps of air, though the ballgag makes it nearly impossible to make out something intelligible.

“You were gone for quite some time. I was afraid you were gone for good!” she says, sounding legitimately relieved. She throws a hypodermic needle somewhere in the room and I can already tell what she has done to wake me up. “Now, be a good boy and lay there while Mama Pinkie finishes playing with Shiny-whiny!” She pats my head, turns around and walks towards the dangling mare once more.

Even though I know what is going on with Shining, I can’t help but feel… powerful. Even though my heart is beating faster than ever before, it doesn’t hurt anymore. The pain on my wounded hoof is also considerably distant, though still quite powerful.

Adrenaline… she revived me with adrenaline.

Pinkie revs a loud machine, something that is followed by Shining’s screams. I’m… I’m sorry, Shining, but I have to do this. This is our only chance.

I force my bind hoof against its strap. I exert my muscle until I am sure that if I continue, my bone will snap. Even though I stop pressing against it, I can already feel that the strap is a little more loose than previously. This prompted me to try once more. And once more. And once more, until I had successfully released my foreleg.

With just one hoof, I removed the straps on my hind legs. Now that I was completely free, I quickly scanned my surroundings more thoroughly, trying to find an exit. I smile once I see a staircase leading upstairs, with the passage on top left open.

“Now just look at what you’ve done!” I hear Pinkie muttering to a sobbing Shining Bagde before I turn around to try to escape. I jump from the iron bed and gallop on three hooves up the stairs. Once I am through it, I turn around to close the door, sealing Pinkie inside. Trying to neglect the pain coming from my hoof, I start pushing the bookcase that is beside the hidden door. It isn’t heavy, but with my hoof shooting sparkles of pain that pierce my skull, the task isn’t easy either.

It eventually collapses in front of the passage, allowing it minimal room for opening. I take this opportunity to quickly look around and try to determine where inside Fluttershy’s cottage I am. The constant thumping of my heart and the buzzing pain make it hard to focus. Suddenly, I hear a loud bang on the door and a pink foreleg protruding from the opening, trying to reach for me.

“Aw, don’t run, Bucky! I was just getting started!” I immediately lounge towards the door, applying all my weight trying to close it. I hear the piercing snap of bone breaking, but no vocal response Pinkie Pie other than an annoyed grunt. She pushes back and I curse the days I spent home, moping around and not feeding correctly.

“I’m going to get you, Buckshot! And when I do, we’re going to have so. Much. Fun!”

She is quickly overpowering me, but the fallen bookshelf is still enough to deter her advance. Knowing that my time is deadly running short, I gallop around the house, trying to find anything to defend myself with.

After wasting precious seconds, I end up in the cottage’s kitchen. There is no door, but right above the gas stove, I notice a window big enough for me to escape. I put both forelegs on the stove, trying to get a firm grip on the mould that has grown above it, and push down. The pain is too much and my wounded hoof ends up slipping, falling towards the side of the stove.

I fall to the floor, groaning, but the metallic clank that followed my accident did not escape my ears. I quickly look around and find the source; a rusty pipe, probably from the falling-apart stove. I scramble back to my hooves and pick it up before placing it above the stove and try to climb on top of it once more.

I ignore the pain this time and manage on top of it just in time to hear a rumble coming from behind me. Without wasting time, I raise the pipe with both my forehooves in order to smash the wind—and I am gripped by weightlessness.

I feel something sharp poking and prodding me, forcing me to curl up. When the feeling passes, I find myself lying outside of Fluttershy’s cottage. I try to move, but a searing pain forces me to slow my movements. I turn around, face up, and am only able to see Pinkie, smiling from inside the house.

I try to drag myself away, but the pain is back, forcing a grunt from my throat. I look up once more and see Pinkie having trouble climbing down the broken window. She lands, grunting, and picks up the pipe with her good hoof, wasting no second as she limps towards me.

“You are a coward, Buckshot,” she says, leaning close. My eyes are blurred and my mind barely registers what she’s saying. I move my shaking hooves to the source of trickling warmth radiating from my belly. I wince when I touch the large glass fragment piercing my abdomen. As my breaths begin to quicken and my heart starts throbbing incessantly, it all finally dawns on me.

It’s over.

She won.

Tears start pouring from my eyes. My lungs choke, giving birth to guttural sobs that shake me whole. Pinkie, seeing this, immediately frowns.

“Look at you. Look at you! You’re fucking pathetic!” I try to look away; trying to cut her existence from my last moments. “Your entire life has been leading up to this, Buckshot. This very moment! And all you can do is cry?!” I put my hooves over my ears, desperately trying to block her words.

“Where’s the hard stallion that endured the toughest of Manehattan nights?! Where’s the tough pony who wanted to rid the world of all its crookedness? Huh?! Tell me!” she screams, dropping the pipe and grabbing my head by my mane, lifting my face towards hers. “Tell me! Where the fuck is your mask now, Buckshot!? Huh? TELL ME!”

I do nothing but cower in shame.

“You’re disgusting,” she says and drops me to the floor. “You’re not worth my fucking time.” She grips the pipe with a forehoof and raises it high. I shut my eyes tightly and allow another sob to escape befo—

Author's Note

Owlor: I'd like to end as I begun, grumbling about the completely stupid rating system on this site. Granted, it doesn't apply here because this fic got pretty good ratings, if anything the Borderline connection slanted it towards the positive, but in general this is the sort of fic that gets screwed over by the system, cus it has very specific "flavour" to it that some people will like, but a lot of people won't. The problem with the thumbs up/down rating system is that it doesn't allow fics to find its audience, instead it judges every fic by the reaction of the lowest common denominator.

Having a thumbs up only system would be much better for the site as a whole, cus let's face it, it isn't fun when you spend over a month or more writing something and then some lazy slob who prolly hasn't strung together a coherent sentence in his life gives it a fat thumbs down with the press of a button cus he doesn't like Rarity/Rock romance or something. And the only fics that survive this treatment is those who are so bland and non-challenging that noone can really object to it.

A thumbs up system would still allow you to have ratings by tracking how many likes per viewers the fic have and not only is that a much more reliable measure of a fics quality, cus it can't be swayed by a bunch of trolls, it'd allow for more diverse fanfics to achieve the top stop. And that will help raise the bar of the fimfiction community much more than a dozen smug self-satisfied tutorials would.

Ahem, I have opinions, apparently...

Lucefudu: How fond of Psychomina Diane Pie are you guys right now?
Also: For those of you that don’t know, Fluttershy’s cottage does have a secret room.

Epilogue

Sweat trickled down his neck as he tried his utmost to remain calm. It wasn’t the fact that he was about to be face to face with Princess Celestia, the all powerful monarch of the land, that scared him most; he knew he would have to relieve that dreaded episode in order to feed her every single detail.

He inhaled deeply, to the point where it hurt, and held the air in. After slowly counting backwards from ten, he released it, hoping that all his fears would follow. It was all for naught, though, if the constant shaking of his forehooves was any indication. He was suddenly made aware of just how quiet the hallway that lead to the throne room was.

Is it always like this? he asked himself. So… dead? I thought the castle was always bustling with ponies. A sudden noise caught him off guard, making him jump from his seat and give an wide-eyed look towards its source.

“Her Majesty, Princess Celestia, will see you now,” the guard said, eyes always looking straight ahead. He wondered how these guards managed to remain stoic after such tragedy had befallen the kingdom. How is it that they manage to remain so neutral about all this?! He felt the disgust roaming through his guts. Followed closely by envy.

The pony sighed in defeat, got up from his seat and walked towards the throne room, head hanging low. He heard the royal guard stepping aside to give him passage, but he still didn’t dare look up. He approached the Princess until he was able to barely see her golden-clad horseshoes, and bowed.

“Please rise, my little pony.” The words were not commanding, but he could’ve sworn that there was a hint of apprehension in them. He remained still for a couple of seconds before obeying, keeping his eyes fixed to the floor.

Noticing this, Princess Celestia gave one step forward, stopping when she managed to detect nigh-imperceptible shudder. She swallowed dry and tried again, in her most amiable voice: “What’s wrong, Quick Fix?”

Hearing the princess address him by name made him slightly more at ease. His head turned upwards a bit, but he still didn’t have the courage to look her in the eye. “I guess I’m just… nervous.”

“I’m terribly sorry if I seem imposing.”

“Well, although I am a bit nervous about this meeting, what really scared me is… well, you know.” He finally looked into her eyes, desperately seeking comfort; something she was happy to provide.

“I know it must be very hard,” she said, trying her best to not sound condescending, “I won’t lie and say that I understand what you’ve gone through, but if there is a chance, even dismal, that getting it out of your chest would help, wouldn’t you consider it?”

He pondered about what the Princess said for what seemed like an eternity. He couldn’t help but think that she was just smooth-talking him into giving her the information, but he also couldn’t dismiss her benevolence outright. In the end, what she said did make sense; even though it would be a nightmare and a half remembering it, getting it out of his chest would be a step towards finally confronting his problems.

He sighed.

“Well, how do you want me to say it?”

“Start from the beginning, my little pony. Then we’ll go from there.”

“Well, I work as a technician for Galvan’s Pipes. Our company is tasked with the construction and maintenance of gas lines. Our biggest clients are the industries, but we also have a department for domiciliary lines. My department, to be specific.

“It was a pretty normal day, still early in the morning, until my boss came in and told me something about a complaint about an entire town being affected by some problem. I didn’t pay much attention to it, other than that detail. He tasked me with finding out the problem and trying to fix it if possible. If not, I was to report to him ASAP. You know how gas prices are.” She nodded.

“Since my friend, Nickel Wrench, was the only one around at that time besides me and my boss, we were both tasked to handle the situation. So we took the train to Ponyville and—”

“It never crossed your mind about what you could be facing? That it would be prudent to ask the police or royal guards for help?” He didn’t seem to be annoyed by the interruption.

“You have to understand that even though we knew she was in Ponyville, gas leaks are a pretty common thing, Your Highness. It is still a new commodity, making the technology to harness and transport it far from perfect. I honestly thought this would be an everyday occurrence.

“We arrived shortly after in the town and went straight to the Mayor. She spoke about the situation but never gave us any crucial information. So we headed to the main line and measured the flow from the first bifurcation and followed the path that had an inconsistent flow. We spent nearly three hours doing so, until we… arrived…”

Celestia noticed the long pause and how his body quivered. She allowed him a few moments to compose himself.

“When we first got there, we thought that we had made a mistake, since the place seemed abandoned. We were too tired to go back and take more measurements, so we figured that we might as well just take a look around, since nopony was around. Just to be sure, we both put our gas masks on. This is when Nickel spotted a broken window on the side of the house.

“I didn’t think anything of it, since any bored kid could’ve had broken it. I wouldn’t be surprised to find graffiti on the walls either. I guess that when I look at it now, with the knowledge of what happened, it was pretty obvious. Still, I merely shrugged and waited for Nickel to fit his gas mask.

“We slowly open the door, trying our best to avoid any sort of friction that could create a spark. It was then that I was sure the place was abandoned; the living room was in total disarray. Every table and sofa had been turned over or simply fell prey to time, mold or termites. I wait him to pick the L.R. and the H.R. marker papers from his bag before carrying on.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt once more, Quick Fix, but what is the purpose of these two papers?”

“They are reagents, Your Highness. Both of them have been stained with a chemical marker that makes the paper turn brown when there’s gas in the house. We usually take two, one with a bigger concentration of reagent, which we call L.R., and one with a smaller concentration, which we call H.R.. The L.R. marker will turn brown at any presence of gas. The H.R. marker will only do so if the gas concentration is too high. We use the latter to both avoid entering houses with a high risk of explosion and to, in houses with a small leak, help us find the source of the leak.

“Since only the L.R. marker turned to brown, we both ventured inside. Nickel takes the lead, eyes fixed to the H.R. marker, since we didn’t hear the sound of a leak. At one point he turned to me and told me that the H.R. marker started to change color. We followed the direction he was last facing and… and…”

“Go on, Quick Fix. I know it’s hard, but you must be strong.”

“We reached the kitchen. Nickel suddenly stopped, even though I could see the missing segment of the pipeline coming out the stove. I asked him what was wrong, but he didn’t reply. I walked up to him and… I’ll never forget the look on his face. His eyes were like pinpricks, Princess. He was literally half scared to death.

“I was starting to feel nervous too, because he wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. I asked and asked, but he kept staring straight ahead. When I turned to look, trying to see what was wrong, I saw the blood. Oh Princess, there was so much blood…

“It was old, almost brown, and it had been dragged from outside, from what it looked like by the trail. I immediately felt a lump forming in my throat. I saw Nickel, now able to move again, clutching his belly with a hoof, coughing. I turn him around and try to calm him a bit. It takes a while, but he manages to breathe once more.

“He was scared and begged me to go, but I couldn’t, Celestia,” the pony says, begging, “I—I was curious! I couldn’t help myself.”

“Calm down, my little pony. You’re safe now. It’s all in the past.” Quick Fix took some deep breaths, calming down considerable.

“We followed the trail. It lead us to an odd-looking bookshelf. Nickel kept begging me to just go, but I needed to see it for myself. We kept looking at the many books until I heard a clicking sound. I turn to face my colleague and am able to see him holding a fake book, attached by some metal to the bookshelf.

“We both pull it open and feel the stench that came from below. Even through our gas masks I could feel it. It burned my nostrils and made the air heavy, as if the source of it came from inside my muzzle, tainting it from the inside. Nickel started coughing once more, so I silenced him with a hoof and told him to wait up there.

“He was more than happy to agree, and walked away from the bookshelf. I crossed the path, making sure to leave the secret passage open, and slowly walked downstairs. The cobble clapped lightly against my hooves, no matter how quiet I was. I think some part of me already knew what I’d find down there, but my body just kept going on and on.

“I eventually reached the end of the stairs and saw her. She was… humming. She was humming while she did… those things. The walls… they were painted with death. Organs and… and… and blood. It was… everywhere.”

Celestia closed her eyes whilst the pony kept describing the crime scene, trying to fight the mental images that his words brought to her. She had lived long, longer than anypony would be able to even comprehend, but the details he fed her disgusted her on a primal level.

“I... remember cringing when I first saw her, getting completely paralyzed. A part of me wanted to scream to Nickel for help. Another wanted her to pay. Pay for everything she did. Pay for everything she could do.”

”Really, you really saw Equestria’s most notorious killer and thought you could take her on?”

”Well, yes, she was limping, see? She looked like somepony trashed her up good, and I had the element of surprise on my side. Levitated a rock right to her coconut, she never saw it coming.

”The most notorious serial killer in all of Equestria, and you knock her out with a rock?”

”Well, she's just a normal pony after all, ain't she ma'am? To be fair, if she hadn't been roughed up before we even got there I doubt I'd be talking to you today. We tied her up with our best colt scout knots, there was no chance she'd struggle out of this. But...”

”But what?”

”But then she woke up,” he said and shuddered.

”Go on.”

“Bitch can really talk, y'know? She talked about all the ponies she had killed, and that' when we saw…”

Celestia swallowed. “Saw what?”

”On the wall, there were two corpses... nailed to it. One of them, a mare, had the nail coming from her skull. There was a stallion and… and...

“And she had, like... painted with them. Oh, how do I even explain,” he shook his head, closing his eyes tightly, “she… she had gutted the both of them and the entrails just lied there under them. And that's not even the worst part, there wa—”

The massive throne room doors suddenly opened, cutting Quick Fix’s volley of words as he jumped around, looking with wide eyes towards the source of disruption. A servant walked nonchalantly towards Celestia and offered both her and Quick Fix a glass of water. The stallion drank it in a single gulp, gasping for air afterwards, and the servant promptly took his glass.

Celestia simply nodded to the servant, who left the golden tray with her glass by her side. Quick Fix noticed that her smile seemed to tug on her cheeks a little too much, though he refrained from commenting. Once they were both left with a bit more privacy, he slowly looked up to her and continued:

“The worst part was that they had a foal there! No, not even a foal, a fetus!” Her eyes instantly widened and, although she forced herself to contain her emotions, her stomach churned.

“Quick Fix, are… are you sure of what you’re saying?” Even though what he would say next mattered little, given that the complete report was already prepared for her perusal, she still hoped against hope that his words would be able to change what happened.

“I’m sure, Your Highness. She… she told me that herself. This is why… why I…”

“Why you broke her jaw, yes?” Quick Fix’s head dropped and he ducked his tail behind his hind legs. “Do not worry, my little pony. Given the circumstances, I can understand why you did it.”

“I—I just saw red. Everything became so distant when her explanation downed on me. Suddenly, the dried blood painted on the walls and floor weren’t important anymore. The smell faded away almost instantly, and the many… organs and pieces were just… gone. I just… I don’t… how could she? How could anypony do this?! This… this… barbarism! To end a life, before it even started! I… just lost it. And… no matter what I did she wouldn’t shut up! She just kept… speaking and giggling and taunting me! Daring me!”

“What happened then, my little pony?” He looked up upon hearing the soothing, calming words.

“She began to tell me… about everything. How they cried and how they tried to fight back. How they lost hope and how they tasted. She… she told me to try it, that I’d like it! That’s when I noticed that Nickel was gone. He left me there, alone with her.

“But… but she just kept talking and talking and talking! How the mother cried… when she took her baby from inside of her. And giggled after telling me that I spoiled the secret and… I just wanted her to shut the fuck up!

“I punched her again, but she just smiled back and turned the other cheek.” Celestia noticed how Quick Fix’s eyes were unfocused as he unleashed his memories. He spoke quickly, almost no pauses between words. “She told me to do her! Oh, I’ll do you alright, you bitch! I’ll fucking do you in, you… you monster”

“And then… and then I just put my hooves on her throat and squeezed. I wanted to crush her, to destroy her! Just… erase her from existence so she will never hurt anypony ever again!” He stopped, realizing that he was hyperventilating.

“I heard some noises coming from behind me, but before I could look, somepony had tackled me to the floor. I hit my head pretty hard on top of a puddle of blood, so my ears were buzzing for a while. When I came to, I saw Nickel trying to talk to me and some more distant sounds coming from everywhere around me. I tried to move, but all my hooves were cuffed.

“For a second I panicked, thinking that she, somehow, managed to overpower both myself and Nickel. But after I stopped thrashing, I saw a lot of ponies surrounding me. Some talking to each other and a couple taking photos of everything.

“My friend stopped trying to talk to me, so I just kept looking at the ponies in the room. There was one of them, a middle-aged bulky stallion with a moustache that was looking at… her mural. You know, the one with the couple and the…” he swallowed, “the foal. I just then noticed how the stallion nailed to the wall had a rusty pipe coming out of his head… and then it all fell into place.

“That was the missing pipe from the kitchen we had seen earlier! She must’ve been mad with this stallion, since he was one of the few in that room who had this… different treatment. He and the other two.”

“I see,” was all she could comment.

“Then I was levitated by a different officer. I remember asking him if I had done something bad, and he told me that the cuffs would come out when I had calmed enough. As we passed the front of the house, I saw the Royal Guard arguing with some officers, with her lying tied to a rolling bed behind them. I didn’t pay attention to what they were saying, since the last thing I saw before being placed inside a chariot was her winking at me.

“I spent a few days at the hospital, since they wanted to be extra sure I didn’t get hurt and, well, after that I was summoned here to speak with you, Your Highness.” He ended his tale with a bow.

Celestia could feel how this episode had hit one of her little ponies hard. And even though many of her beloved citizens had lost their lives to her, she couldn’t allow herself a single second to mourn. Her country, however, would. And she needed to be strong for them. She needed to help her citizens to reunite once more, especially now that there was only one Element of Harmony currently alive.

“Thank you for being strong for me, my little pony,” she said, touching her horn to his forehead. “I apologize for forcing you to relive it once more, but know that what you said will be of much importance to this country.”

She turned around and retreated to her chambers. Quick Fix was alive. And so were many, many others affected directly or indirectly by former Laughter. She would see it that all of them could get proper treatment for any issue that the whole ordeal would cause. After all, what is a government if not a tool to usher those it protects into prosperity and happiness?

She shook her head dejectedly; the healing would commence, but this particular scar would live on the nation’s face for generations to come. But—and as much as she hated to admit it, it was true—nopony was hurting more than her. It seemed that all the happiness had been drained from the kingdom.

Celestia came to a stop before a large vitriol that depicted six ponies. Six improbable friends who had bonded together and persevered in the face of danger multiple times. It was too much. Using her magic, she shut all the doors to the corridor and created a magical barrier around the whole room. Safe from everypony, Celestia spilled her heart to nopony; knelt down and cried.

Her pace, steady. Her mind, determined. Celestia knew she could push this issue back no longer. The time for her to act had long came and went, something that only served to further her guilt. No matter, for now this is the only thing on her mind. She walks through the dark hallway, paying no mind to the guards that unlock the doors and bow to her presence. Nothing seems as important at the moment.

Her hooves crash onto the cobble floor, shattering her neutral mask and revealing her true emotions. A final set of doors are opened, granting her passage. She walks through, and they are closed and locked behind her. Although bathed in complete darkness, she doesn’t need a moment of repose. She is prepared.

“Pinkamena Diane Pie!” Her voice echoes like thunder inside the wide rotunda. Though she knows what Laughter would think, this isn’t about intimidation.

The gas lamps turn on with the help of her magic. The form of a pink pony, strapped tightly by hooves and neck to a vertical bed. Celestia approaches, her steps still firm, until she’s two heads away from the small pony.

“So… you’ve finally came, huh?” she giggled, a sound that reverberated as sickeningly as it came out. “Well, what now?”

Author's Note

Owlor: I swear we had this stupid plot twist planned from the beginning, and I can prolly dig up the chatlogs to prove it. This epilogue have been delayed for riiculusly long cus Luce has been busy and I've just plain lacked motivation to do it. It's always the problem with ending longer projects, I imagine. For the last chunk of it, it's DONE in your mind, it's not gonna get any better than what it alreay is, you're just putting the capstone on it.

Anyway, I am never doing a fic like this again, I mean holy shit! I hope someone is entertained by it at least, for me it's been a source of roughly equal ammounts joy and frustration.

Lucefudu: I got the idea of this silly, albeit plausible way to get arrested when I watched a LP of Bioshock Infinite in which the guy playing left a tap running in the lighthouse before going to Columbia. Then I thought how amusing it would be if others got to know the entrance to the flying city because they were sent to investigate a water leakage.

Further Evidence #6

Prologue

The earth pony shifted in her seat. On the other end of the table, a suited unicorn used his gift to flip the pages of a rough, but lovingly made binder. Each page contained photographs of large paintings resting against a bare wall, and as the unicorn studied these, he vocalized small ‘hmm’s that only contributed to the mare’s anxiety.

With nothing to do other than to wait for a reply, Sunset looked around, trying to find comfort in the soothing pastels that bathed the many lively painted canvas that hung from the walls. Even in the midst of her anxiety, she couldn’t help but picture her art alongside them, sharing space with some of the greats of contemporary art, even if only temporarily.

”So, Arty... what do you think, are they any good?” she risked asking. The stallion turned to her and swept his eyes over her entire form. From her bichromatic orange and pink mane to her cutie mark, a sunset over a beach.

The silence lingered, making her wish she could simply vanish. Suddenly, Arty Eyes closed the binder with a forceful 'thump' and slid it back to her.

“It's a little hard to tell, Sunset Snow,” he said in a voice that, at the very least, was less harsh than she thought it would be. “Your theme is 'colour', and that's the one aspect of your paintings that doesn't translate well in a photograph.” Sunset Snow's ears perked up hearing this, sensing a sliver of hope.

“Do you want me to bring some of them so you can see it in person?” she asked, her eyes timid. Her quick words had an edge of desperation to them. “I'm especially proud of Atmospheric study #5—”

“That won't be necessary.” His short remark seemed to take what brightness was left out of Sunset Snow's eyes.

“Oh, I see...” She slumped down in her seat.

“I can tell that your palette is excellent, and I’m sure they look even more vibrant in person. However, your brush technique still leaves much to be desired, the strokes have a rather crude primitivistic quality that—”

“Why don't you just say it plainly?” Sunset queried, with a hint of steel in her voice. ”You're rejecting me because I'm not a fancy unicorn!”

“Being an earth pony is not necessarily a barrier against breaking into the art world, Sunset. Take Pablo Pizzicato for example—” Mentioning this name made Sunset slam her hoof onto the table.

“There's Pablo Pizzicato, and who else?” she snapped. “He's treated as a curiosity! Even my art history book says it: Pablo Pizzicato's technique was excellent, dot dot dot, by earth pony standards! Can’t he just be appreciated for his art instead of who he was?” She peppered each ‘dot’ with spite, the hint of steel in her voice had already coalesced into a blade.

The unicorn shielded himself with a raised eyebrow, but otherwise remained unfazed. “Are you alright, miss?” he asked in a tone that said: “Are we going to have to escort you out?”

Sunset reigned herself in with a sharp intake of breath. She slumped back into the chair and said with a much lower and calmer voice:

“Yes I'm fine. Just having a bad day, I suppose. I'll see myself out, thanks for taking a look at my art in any case.”

She put the binder back into her saddlebag, making an attempt to hide the tears that formed in the corner of her eyes. Getting up from the stool, she quickly fastened her saddlebag to her loins. The grip was tight, but she didn’t care; she just wanted to get away from here and be alone. Turning around to leave, she couldn’t help but feel like his eyes were drilling holes in the back of her skull.

Outside was a stark contrast to the cosy interior of the gallery. Instead of warm pastel colours, a semi-perpetual grey blanket of clouds dulled even the most colourful façade. It was the first day of winter and snow was already piling up on the side of the street. A cold wind howled through the town, leaving a chill that stayed in her lungs after each breath.

“It’s okay,” Sunset told herself dismally. “It’s just a rejection after all. Doesn’t mean I’m a failure. I’ll just have to keep on trying.”

Her words failed as a consolation, however and, since nopony was around, Sunset did nothing to hold back the tears that rolled around her eyes. First a drop quietly slid down her cheek and fell onto the pavement, where it stood for a moment before freezing, then another one fell and yet another. They were soon joined by a couple of miserable sobs from the back of her throat.

Her sorrow was interrupted by a sudden sound coming from behind a corner. She tensed up; she could hear the creak of hooves against the snow underneath the whining of the wind. To avoid having to cross paths with a stranger in this state, she started to walk away.

The stranger’s hoofsteps started up again behind her, a little quicker this time. The sounds slowly got nearer and nearer, even though she had picked up her pace. They kept following her, only to cease a beat or so after she stopped to look around.

At first, she saw nothing but the quiet town shrouded by snow, not even the sound of the second pair of hoofsteps were present. Looking closer, she thought she could discern a figure through the snow, too far away to see in which direction it was heading. In spite of this, she quickened her pace once more, adrenaline pushing her into a half-gallop. The crunching sound of the stranger’s hooves against the snow kept going, just offbeat of her own.

“Wait,” she thought, trying to calm herself down. “If I'm being followed, maybe it’s just because I dropped something and they want to give it back to me.”

She dared a glance over her shoulder; silhouetted against the snow she saw the stranger trailing behind her, its colour dulled by the evening fog. Glimpsing into its eyes dispersed all notions that this could be a fright caused by a harmless misunderstanding. Peering back at her were the predatory eyes of a hunter, and Sunset was the prey in its sight.

“Oh, dear...”

She rounded a corner and at the first opportunity tossed herself behind a pair of bushes where she curled up, waiting to be found or for the stranger to go away. Seconds filled with hyperventilation ticked away as Sunset desperately tried to calm her frantic heartbeat.

As the seconds turned into minutes and no sound came forth, Sunset slowly peeked from the bush and into the alley. Apart from the trail of kicked up snow after her, there was nothing to even indicate that she had ever been chased. Silence was once again returning to her corner of the world. Even the wind didn’t seem to blow as harshly anymore.

She slowly worked her way out of the bush, tense at even the slightest unexpected sound. Once she was back on the street again she did a double take. With no strange figures in sight, she dared to breathe a sigh of relief. Sunset turned around to take a quick look down the street only to find herself staring at a smiling pink face.

“Hi!”

“GAH!”

“Ooh, that’s a good one! Gotta remember that. I usually go with ‘found you’ when playing hide and seek, but I think that also works!” The pink mare giggled, eliciting a curious eyebrow raise from the rather confused Sunset.

“Um...”

“Oops! Sorry if I scared you! It’s just that I saw you hiding in that bush and I thought you were playing hide and seek! Oh! Oh! Can I join? Pretty please?” Sunset shook her head, suddenly remembering the reason she had been hiding in the first place.

“But I’m not playing! Please, you’ve got to help me! There was a pony! And—and—and it was following me!” she pleaded, grasping the pink mare with both forehooves.

The strange pink mare gasped. “A Spyerton McSpy?! NO! Did he hurt you?”
“No... I think he left.” Sunset Snow paused and looked at the pink mare. There was something about her that seemed familiar, but she couldn’t put her hoof on it. “Do I know you? I apologize if it sounds rude, but I feel like I know you from somewhere."

“Balloon Popper! Just like my cutie mark says!” she said and practically shoved her bum on Sunset’s face. Not that she needed the gesture in order to see the three colorful balloons and a safety pin that donned the pink mare’s flank.

“That’s... um... that’s some int—”

“FUN, right? I’m all about fun things! Parties and streamers and balloons and cupcakes! You seem like a pony who likes fun too!” Sunset’s ears folded back at the comment, prompting Balloon Popper to slow down her verbal artillery. “Oh, I’m sorry! Did I say something wrong? Am I annoying you? Are you diabetic? Maybe you are—”

“No, it’s nothing like that.” Sunset sighed and brushed her eyes with a forehoof. “I’ve just... had a rough day.”
“Oh... well, you know what cheers me up during these nasty grey cloudy days?” Balloon asked and before waiting for a reply, she pulled Sunset into a tight hug. “A party!”

“Well...” Sunset Snow paused and pondered about this, poking her chin in thought. On one hoof, she was mentally exhausted and needed rest. On the other hoof, she didn’t want to be left alone, with only emotions to keep her company. A party was just what was needed, a few hours to forget the rejections of the critics and just relax.

“Okay then. Say, Balloon Popper, you seem like a really nice pony.”

“Oh, I am! The nicest there is!”

From the director of

Borderline

Comes another chilling tale

Directed by Owlor...
“If cold bothers you, your only option will be to go north.”

... and Lucefudu
“Our minds are always more cruel than reality.”

Guest director
jmj
"There are moments when even to the sober eye of reason, the world of our sad humanity may assume the semblance of Hell."

With special effects by
MikhailWilson
“The more one learns, the more one truly knows how stupid they are.”

13th of Second Ember

I blame the coffee. Some days, it’s our only lifeline, but the pot over at the station is as bitter as my ex-wife, enough to make even the most hardened officer crave something sweet. As a cop, you become a connoisseur of baked goods by necessity. And like any connoisseur, you get your preferences.

This is why, each time I managed to finagle a break, I went to Sugarcube Corner with a smile on my face to order my bagels. And why, every day for as long as I could remember, I saw her smiling back at me. Between my job and my ex wife, I looked forward to those soft upturned lips and the gentle bounce in her cheeks.

Later, when I saw her true face—plastered all over the news—every warm curve had withered into cold straight lines. I felt like a lot like a little colt would feel when meeting his childhood idol for the first time off-stage, realizing that the character he knew and loved was just a figment dreamt up by a skilled actor.

I remember how she’d ask me about my work and I’d give her carefully edited accounts, leaving out the details I thought would upset such a delicate soul as her. In retrospect, it was almost laughable; she had committed atrocities ten times worse than the criminals in any of my stories.

So, if not for the bad coffee, I would’ve never gone to Sugarcube Corner in the first place. I would’ve never known who the heck Pinkie Pie was. And I wouldn’t feel like shit right now.

I’m back at Sugarcube Corner, but this time it isn’t to get a bagel. Somepony heard a noise and we were supposed to investigate it. Thankfully, the Cakes left Sugarcube Corner and this forsaken town, they’ve got foals to raise for Celestia’s sake. The last thing they needed was to see their old home turned into a crime scene... again.

“Buckshot! Nightstick! Come here!” I hear Shining Badge shout through the megaphone and I instantly sigh. Ever since Pinkie was apprehended, the town’s been a hellholle. Ponies left and right think took her example and now they too believe themselves too cunning for the law. Damned idiots. It’s like New Horsey’s plague is slowly infecting all of Equestria.

“Come on Buckshot, time’s not going to wait.” My partner flashes me a grin, but it does nothing to lift the mood. I sigh and after adding another curse to my day’s list I walk inside the building.

The place is different from how I remember it. The boarded up windows keep the sun’s light from illuminating the interior, and the smell of mold permeates the whole building. The once vibrant colors are now dull. I wonder if it's due to the passage of time, or if they were always like that. Perhaps I was the one who saw them as being bright. With every creak of the floorboards, a chill rushes down my spine.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” We quicken our pace as we hear Shining Badge moan.

We kick the double doors and I’m hit by a foul smell. The whole place stunk more than a griffon’s butcher shop; fitting, since that’s exactly what it looks like. Blood had been spilled all over the walls and the counter tops, a macabre mix of fresh and drying gore. Shining is standing next to the taffy machine, clutching her stomach with one hoof and coughing repeatedly on the other.

It made no sense. Shining Badge may not have the strongest stomach in the world, but she’s danced this waltz before. The corner containing the taffy machine was probably the least gory area of the kitchen, the only thing in the room without a patina of grease and decay. It’s incongruities like this that makes you suspicious as a cop... Yet, I keep a steady pace towards the machine.

I look over the edges of the vat slowly, expecting a thousand different possibilities. The first thing that strikes me as unusual is the colour of the batter. All of the normal taffy colours are there, coalescing in a technicolor swirl. But I’ve had my fair share of taffy in my days. It’s easy to note that there’s a particular dark rusty hue that simply doesn’t belong.

The second unusual thing is how chunky the batter is, and this exactly what shifts my mind into overdrive. It’s like looking at one of those optical illusions where all you see is random blobs of ink until something clicks and you start to see the true image. The colours that sprinkle the batter aren’t taffy.

As I squeeze my eyes I’m able to notice the small details; pieces of skin, muscle and even small shards of bone are present. And the chunky red swirl... I feel just about ready to join in with Shining’s nauseated coughs.

There’s something else about the batter that strikes me as odd; it shouldn’t be moving. I reach in to try and see if there’s anything else in there, only for my back hooves to slip on some of the viscera. With my front hoof still in the vat, I can’t help but overbalance and fall, flipping the vat over in the process. The whole machine resonates loudly as it crashes on the floor, spilling the batter and, to my surprise, a body.

“Nightstick! Call the medics!” I instantly yell. My partner gallops outside while Shining and I move the body, carrying it to the only dry spot we could find. I notice the delicate curves of her snout and instantly recognize it as a mare. Her body is still warm. I can only hope that she’s still alive. I place my ear over her chest and allow a few seconds to fly past while listening for any signs that the heart still beats; there’s no sound.

I curse, there’s not a second to waste. Who knows how many minutes this mare has gone without any blood flowing in her brain? I shift over her and place both my forehooves on top of her chest before I bring my weight down over her, repeating myself in constant rhythm. I have to be careful; too much force and I could do her more harm than good.

“One, two, three, four...”

I hear her ribs cracking under my weight but I continue the compressions; Celestia knows that a pair of broken ribs is the least of her worries. Shining Badge moves close to the mare’s head and grasps it between both her forehooves, extending her neck as I continue to pump her chest.

“... twenty nine, thirty!”

I’ve barely said the word and Shining quickly wraps her lips around the mare’s and attempts to force the air in. She repeats the process once more before I resume the compressions. We repeat this for minutes, struggling to somehow bring her back from the brink. My back feels like it has a knife lodged in it and I feel like I’d be the next to have a heart attack. My lungs crave for oxygen, and the kitchen’s foul stench does nothing to alleviate the burning within them. Still, against my body’s protests, I struggle to keep pumping.

What seems to be hours pass as my body seems like it’ll fall apart like a little filly’s plastic doll. That is until we hear a faint wheeze. I immediately stop the CPR, but Shining Badge keeps her head still as the body thrashes some. The wheezing continues. Good. At least she’s breathing by herself now. Barely, but still. Shining moves her head closer to the mare’s open muzzle as I look around. We didn’t even notice when Nightstick came back.

“They’re coming, Buck,” he says, smiling proudly at me. I finally manage a grin of my own, grateful that we were able to save this mare’s life. Shining doesn’t look at us, busy as she is in keeping the mare’s head as still as possible. Nightstick nods at me and goes outside to guide the medics in.

“I’m no doctor,” Shining says as she inspects the mare’s mouth further, “but her airways are almost completely blocked!” Just as she’s done speaking, the doctors —seemingly undeterred by the 'picturesque' scene— rush into the kitchen.

“Move aside!” We obey the command as they approach her and begin their procedures.

Shining Badge keeps staring at the stallion and the mare that are now intubating the unconscious mare and I take the time to look around once more. After the initial shock of being confronted with this visage, I’m hardly impressed by it. We’ve seen worse when we first raided Sugarcube Corner looking for Pinkie. Upon remembering this, I start to look for anything out of ordinary. Whatever the current definition for that is, anyway.

“It’s too messy.” I manage to say as the doctors haul the mare away. There’s no way she would leave one of her unfortunate victims alive for long. And even if she did, the victim would show more signs of abuse than this.

“What’s that?” Shining Badge asks me, perking her ears. She looks after the medics, possibly in sympathy, before turning back to glance over the scene again.

“I said it’s too messy... this isn’t her usual MO. And she wouldn’t just dump a couple of bodies here either.” I turn to Nightstick for some sort of confirmation, but the only kind I can find is that his face looks as green as a freshly picked olive. “Besides that, there’s no way that she would leave somepony alive. Either we’re missing something here, or she wasn’t quite done. Could we get some kind of ID on the—”

My breath is cut short as I see it, those unmistakably insane blue eyes from beyond a broken window. I open my mouth to warn my colleagues, but I’m stunned when I see her smile. That same sunny smile she always offered me before, right before handing me a delicious bag of bagels. In the split-second I’m stunned, she lunges through the window and lashes at Shining Badge.

She can’t help but fall backwards and clutch the new five inch gash on her face. Nightstick rushes towards Pinkie, but she’s too quick; he’s instantly felled by a well-placed buck to his jaw. I turn around to go get aid from outside, but freeze once more at the sight of that manic smile right in front of me.

“So, you’re the kind of pony they’ve got going after me now? You don’t exactly look like much. But perhaps... I can have a little fun after all.” Her voice is different from what I remember: a mix of cold, jagged-edged realism and sultriness. It makes my fur crawl.

I open my mouth to scream for help and she tackles me to the floor, clapping one hoof over my mouth. I thrash around, trying to break free of her bear-like grasp. It’s all for naught, however. The exertion of having to perform CPR has me almost completely drained.

“It’s a shame I find myself having to leave; after all, I can’t exactly leave loose ends behind. Nevertheless, I’ll see you later.” She pats my back almost consolingly, before dashing out the back.

She let’s go of me and I’m left staring at nothing in particular. My mind is completely jammed and everything else seems to happen in a blur. I see her vague shape jumping outside and gallop away as Shining Badge tries to follow suit before grunting and collapsing on the floor. It’s only after she’s gone that I finally snap out of it.

I hear Nightstick shouting orders, but I know it won’t matter we only had enough ponies for regular call. Out of the five of us, one lay semi-incapacitated and one is probably bleeding to her dea—

“Shining Badge!”

I instantly leap to my hooves and gallop towards my fallen colleague. She seems to have lost consciousness, but the pain etched in her face is evident. Without thinking about it twice, I haul her over my back, despite the protests of my fatigued muscles, and gallop as fast as I can towards the hospital, shouting orders for the other two officers to call in reinforcements.

A raspy wheeze escapes from my throat as the air feels acidic to my lungs. My body, propelled by the thought of having a colleague dying because of my stupid mistake, rushes towards Ponyville General. When I barge through the entrance doors, I acknowledge that I don’t even remember how I got here so fast.

“DOCTOR! SHE NEEDS A DOCTOR RIGHT NOW!” I scream and instantly all eyes are on me. The nurse behind the counter, instead of faltering like I did, rushes and magicks Shining Badge from my back before carefully placing her onto a gurney and hauling her away.

I can do nothing but carry my sorry flank to one of the seats at the reception and sit down. Minutes pass before a nurse, different than the one who took Shining, tells me that my friend is in a stable condition but will need to go through reconstructive surgery. I meekly nod at her and she’s off her way. The “good” news do nothing to stop my mind from elaborating various scenarios in which I acted differently. Or in which Pinkie acted differently...

Author's Note

Owlor: The original intention was to write this story without any gore whatsoever, just like “Borderline” before it, but that idea got squished almost instantly. However, we did decide from the beginning that gore should not be the point of the story, merely an element to use when and if the story calls for it. As a guideline, we used the movie “Se7en” which features some very brutal crime scenes, yet the focus is still on the characters and the investigation.

Worth mentioning is that this was a team effort. It's uploaded on my account for convenience more than anything else. But all four credited authors, me, Lucefudu, Jmj and Mikhail had a hoof in every part and every aspect of its creation. Who wrote how much largely depends on who you ask and how humble they are feeling at the time.

And since we’re bound to get some down-votes simply because we decided to make Pinkie a killer and write a story where violence happens, I have prepared a statement to those who’d downvote frivolously: “Fuck you! Downvote if you think it is a BAD dark story, not just cus it’s a dark story.” That is all.

Lucefudu: The story begun on an impulse, really. I mainly wrote Borderline because I honestly thought that Cupcakes had some hidden potential rather than gore/shock value, but I was downright sick and tired of all the “AND THEN PINKIE PIE PRANCES AROUND PONYVILLE, DECAPITATING PONIES WITH A CHAINSAW. AND ALL IS WELL IN THE MAGICAL LAND OF EQUESTRIA!” fanfics that were plaguing the site on the first half of 2012. I, being a medical student and an aspiring psychiatrist, wanted to explore a side that was left almost unexplored (and the few who explored it, sorry to say, failed). I’ve read a lot of Cupcakes spin-offs and Rocket to Insanity was the closest it got to being somewhat interesting. That isn’t saying much. Still, Borderline has its flaws. I failed to deliver exactly what I intended to and I honestly believe it to be a failed project of mine. That or an incomplete one. Mostly due to my inexperience with writing and the profession.

The idea came after April Fool’s, where I told Owly that I should’ve written a(nother) troll chapter for Borderline. Owly then queried me as to, if I were to continue with the story, how would I proceed. And we started brainstorming, keeping in mind that we would like to avoid gore as much as possible. Adapt it to the story, y’know? Make it meaningful when it’s needed and cut the parts where it isn’t. As for my part in the story, this time it was almost a backseat-ish experience. I wrote some scenes in it, yes, but mostly helped Owly, someone who I consider much more experienced than me, out.

With that said, I do not think that “this [or Borderline] is the greatest spin-off ever”, no. But I honestly think we managed to build something very interesting that, pastel magical happiness aside, manages to be a little bit more realistic than the usual gorefest that usually attributed to the original story.

Mikhail: As the introduction to this particular chapter says, I blame the coffee. I really ended up working on this due to my previous help on Sky Matron, of which I cannot recall a whole lot. When Luce came back after a prolonged absence, he asked if I could help with something about two months down the line; I accepted. Somehow, I’ve ended up helping these two long before I needed to. Shaping up their text has always been a pain in the arse, but they are a lot better than some writers on this site. By the way, if you see anything that I missed, just send me a message. If nothing else, it would help me in the future. (I do more work than they give me credit for.)

jMj: By some sort of freak occurrence, Lucefudu ran across my fic “Rainbow Dash Gets an Abortion” and enjoyed it. Well, that was a real motivator for me. Lucefudu wrote one of the three stories that I credit as the entire reason I began writing again after a seven year hiatus. When he asked if I wanted to help write a sequel to “Borderline”, I was thrilled. I hope that you readers of the dark genre enjoy this fic. It’s mostly Owly and Luce’s with only a few plot suggestions, rewritten sentences, and moral support from me. As the chapters continue, you will be seeing more of my work becoming part of the story, but time has held me back from the first few chapters. I’d like to think that the story is one hell of a spawn from three fathers, (4 counting Mik), but each reader will have to judge for themselves. This is a psychological drama wrapped in the ashes of grimdark. Sit down, turn the lights off, and don’t think about what those creaks are behind you.

Further Evidence #4

Further Evidence #5

Author's Note

Owlor: I should probably mention, the drawings are credited to jmj and we still have permission to use them even though he's not on board the story anymore, thankfully enough.