//------------------------------// // Craftspony of Destruction // Story: The Fifth // by Dconstructed Reconstruct //------------------------------// I tap my hoof on the metal table. My left eye twitches more out of irritation than apprehension. It’s times like this that I regret trying to play the good guy. All it ever does is land me in trouble. If only I had just said something, stood up, stopped her in her tracks—done anything other than just sit down and let her leave.   The drone of the overhead fan is the only sound in the small room. It’s tranquil enough, but it sends just the right amount of chills up my spine. I look at the table. Aside from the radio, all my belongings are lined up and wrapped in clear plastic bags with labels.   I snap my head around when the sound of the door handle turning. A well-built earth pony stallion with a light gray mane and gray coat enters. He’s trailed closely by his partner, a younger pale yellow coated and blonde maned unicorn. They both wear identical black suits, mirrored shades, white dress shirts, and black ties. They sit across from me. The bigger of the two removes his shades, folds them, and puts them on the table. He then starts to glare daggers at me. The shorter pony gazes, but with more interest than hostility.   I try to stare back at both officers indifferently, but the larger pony’s glower makes my wings flutter under my trench coat. He’s definitely playing the bad cop. His partner’s playing good cop.   I have seen all the tricks of the trade by now. I know how the game’s played. Still, something about their combined gazes makes my chitin crawl.   “So what does the E.B.I. have on me this time?” I ask the pair.   “You know well why you’re here, detective,” Good Cop replies.   “Not really. I was put in this room; my belongings were stripped and lined as evidence—” I point to my possessions, “—and I was told to keep quiet, or else I would be charged with conspiracy.”   Inwardly, I grimace. It was all a well-told lie. I knew perfectly well what was going on here, and I didn’t like it.   “We’ve got two witnesses that swear they saw you talking with the murderer,” Good Cop surprises me by sliding a pack of sugar cubes in my direction. He motions for me to get it.   I give the pack a diligent gaze before wrapping it in my magic. He’s supposed to taunt me with them first, I think to myself. What’s he playing at?   “You’re looking at a lot of time, Mr. Gro’gar,” Bad Cop barks. I narrow my eyes at that. “Murder, destruction of private property, misuse of the bureau’s assets; the list goes on.”   Now these tones… I gulp and attempt to keep my hooves from knocking together. He’s not bluffing.   “If you cooperate, then maybe we can clear some of those charges.” He leans forward, supporting his weight with his forelegs. “But if you don’t, we’ve been authorized to use more effective means to get your confession.” The corners of his mouth rise ever so slightly.   I take quick note of the silver cufflinks he wears as he leans towards me. They aren’t standard issue for the E.B.I. or the Equestrian Guards.   Bad Cop’s threat gets both my mind and heart racing. Still, I can’t let the two “officers” see that, so I close my eyes and slowly force the corners of my mouth to rise.   “Before you go calling in the executioner, allow me two things. Firstly, I don’t use my full name anymore for obvious reasons.” I furrow my brow. “Just call me G.”   “Fair enough,” Good Cop replies. “What else?”   “Let me tell my side of the story. You might see things a little… differently.”   This gambit, if it doesn’t… My gut churns and my eye twitches ever-so-slightly at all the grim possibilities.   Good Cop and Bad Cop look at each other for a second before they both nod and turn back to face me. “Alright,” Bad Cop says, “but don’t try and talk your way out of this one.”   I know the drill he has planned: he’s going to pretend to be interested in what I’m about to say despite his mind having already been made up.   Bastard.   I levitate a single cube out of the box of sugar cubes. Without much fuss, I place it gently on my tongue and let it melt. It’s probably a cheap brand, because I can’t feel any taste from it.   I clear my throat and look at my two interrogators, just barely managing to keep the unease hidden behind a cocky smile. “It started a week ago. It was freezing outside and I just wanted to focus on my work, but…” I CRAFTSPONY OF DESTRUCTION ...the sounds of traffic outside my window threatened to send me on an unpaid vacation to dreamland.   I allowed a yawn to escape as I reflected on my rather uneventful day. Resting my eyes for a second or two shouldn’t… shouldn’t… shou—   A snore escaped my lips before I snapped back up and shook my head. I looked at the clock and realized why I was feeling so drowsy. It was almost nine o’ clock at night. I let a smile escape my lips. Time to close shop.   I wrapped the door to my office in telekinetic light. Maybe something interesting will happen tomorrow.   I looked out of my office window. The corners of my mouth dropped at the thought of “something interesting” happening. When my job got interesting, it usually meant somepony was in trouble.   Just as I was about to close the door, a hoof jammed between it and the door frame. I allowed my magic to fade. Soon as I did, she walked in: a stunningly pretty filly unicorn that couldn’t have been older than sixteen or seventeen. She looked around my office with some hesitation, almost as if she was carefully inspecting it, before her gaze fell on mine.   “I hear you can help ponies who are in trouble,” she started in a supple yet authoritative tone, the old “iron hoof in the velvet boot” attitude.   “I can. It just depends on the case. I’m not with the main force anymore, I handle more unique cases.”   Everything about the filly shouted wealth: elegant blue dress over a flawless light pink coat; silver earrings and matching gemstone necklace with a rock the size of an apple that could have bought half the neighborhood, and gold horseshoes that looked to have been shined with a polishing machine and finished with a film of liquid gold.   “I have reason to believe that… something, is stalking me.” The filly ran a hoof over her exquisitely wavy hazel mane at least two times after finishing her statement.   I felt my left brow rising. Not surprising, I thought to myself. You’re a very easy mark for a foalnapping, especially by how you’re dressed.   I leaned forward, brought out a box of sugar cubes—zebra made—and offered the filly one, but she declined. I knocked two loose for myself and used the silence to analyze the facts before me.   The filly was young, rich, and worried about a potential stalker. Or so she claimed. Her slow pace entering my office and sudden bout of nervousness at her request told me she wasn’t being entirely honest though. Something else had brought her here, and it sure as Tartarus wasn’t the scenery—place was utter filth. Rent was cheap, though.   I scrunched my brows. “Tell me, what really brought you to my office tonight?” I gazed at her pointedly, waiting for her reply.   The filly’s eyes widened. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She attempted a smile, but it came out crooked.   “Right.” I felt the corners of my lips lower at my words. “There’s something else you’re not telling me.” I placed both hooves together, hiding my muzzle behind them. “A young pretty filly like you doesn’t just show up in the doorway of a freelance detective without cause. Especially when that freelance detective has ties to the E.B.I and the Equestrian Guard.”   The filly audibly gulped. “I-I told you, I-I think something’s following me!” The filly shifted her weight ever so slightly so that the left side of her body bore the brunt of her weight.   I smiled. “I can’t help you until you help me.” I leaned back on my rather used office chair. Even so, I kept my eye on the filly, taking in her emotion of fear as proof enough that she was leading me around.   I didn’t like being led around by anypony.   The silence between us was broken only by the occasional auto-carriage horn blaring from the street below. My wings started to flutter under my trench coat again as the silence intensified. By the time the filly spoke again, the sugar cubes in my mouth were all gone.   “There… there is something else,” the filly finally said, levitating something out of her purse. “A note... was sent to my father.”   I kept a close eye on the filly as she levitated the piece of crumpled paper towards me. The she placed the scrap of paper on my desk tentatively.   I leaned forward slowly, making sure not to startle her as I picked up the note. It was written in plain white paper that had no markings or quill strokes. The actual contents were typed in blocky letters. It was hard to read thanks to the crumples, but I could still make out the short message:   It is a thin line you trot. Either get back into shape, or suffer the consequences.   I turned it over, hoping to find a stain, blotch of ink, or anything that could shed some light on the author. There was neither a signature nor anything to differentiate it from any other piece written by a typewriter.   I placed the paper down, eyes closed as the mystery before me intensified. “When did he get this?”   “A few days ago,” the filly answered vaguely. “My father said that whoever sent it was just blowing smoke and threw it in the trash. He seemed… off afterwards, though. Saw him leaving the house with some stranger the next day—somepony big and armed to the teeth.” Her eyes wouldn’t meet mine.   I rubbed my chin. “Has anything odd happened between then and now?”   The filly simply looked away at my question.   I grimaced. “Like I told you, kid, I can’t help you until you help me.”   The filly sighed. “My father…” she hesitantly started, “…my father owns the Golden Vision Casino. As of late, I’ve been suspecting that he does more than that on the side.”   It was then that I finally recognized who my “client” really was.   “Velvet Spade,” I breathed. “Your father is Bullion Spade, third richest stallion in Canterlot. Right?”   The filly nodded.   The Golden Vision was the place for the wealthiest of the wealthy to meet and toss away entire fortunes. For years, the E.B.I. had suspected the place to run various illegal operations such as bootlegging and illegal weapons trades, but none of those things had ever been proven. Velvet was sure a long ways from home. This fact only doubled my concern over my “client’s” request.   “Can you elaborate more on your suspicions?” I put Velvet’s identity of my mind for the time being. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder if Bullion had angered the Rosalinos, or if he himself was involved in shady dealings that finally threatened to blow wide open.   “I—” Velvet started cautiously. She closed her eyes and took a deep gulp before turning away from me. “I’ve already said too much. I-I shouldn’t have even come here in the first place!” She turned and galloped out of my office, stopping only to look back at me with what seemed to be a plea for help.   My brow furrowed as I clenched my eyes and groaned. I almost found myself standing up and offering to help her regardless of a case. Something in the back of my mind made me stay seated, telling me it was the smart thing to do.   By the time that idea had been dispelled from my head and I was willing to help, Velvet had already vanished just as suddenly as she had appeared.   “Dammit. I should have followed her…” “Maybe then, she'd... she'd have...” A shiver crawls up and down my spine like a parasite, gnawing away at my conscience.   “So, you mean to tell me that you let a filly, one who came to you for help and turned out to be the daughter Bullion Spade, leave your office without an escort?” Bad Cop leans in closer. The table groans from his added weight.   I give the officer a glare at first, but my sight drifts back down to his cufflinks they’re sterling silver, and the unique design… where have I seen that before?   I answer Bad Cop with a feigned nonchalant tone. “What was I supposed to do? Foalnap her? Tie her to my desk? Force her to ask for my help?” I scoff. “Would I be in any different position than I am now?” I take another sugar cube out of the box and chew on it to ease the sudden weight tugging at my chest. I still feel no flavor from it. “I can only help those who ask for it.” In my mouth, the bitterness is intensifying.   “As it just so happens, Ms. Velvet was murdered only a few blocks away after she left your office,” Bad Cop says as he leans even closer to me, close enough for me to tell what he had for lunch. My nose instantly scrunches at the foul stench. Every fiber of my being demands that my hoof have a high-speed meeting with his gullet.   “If you’re implying that I had something to do with Velvet’s death, then I strongly suggest you look at the records. I was the one who called the murder in. Tell me, why in the wide-wide world of Equestria would I kill Ms. Velvet and then call the murder in?”   “You tell me,” Bad Cop replies.   I shake my head at the answer. My gut’s now churning at the emotions stirring in the air.   “By now, you’ve no doubt looked into this case thoroughly. If so, you would know that the other homicides you’re both no doubt planning to pin on me were committed when I was either indisposed, or actively working on other assignments.”   “Never mind that,” Bad Cop says, abruptly turning his gaze away from mine. His face turns into a vicious grimace for the faintest of seconds before he snaps it back to me, now showing cold indifference. “What happened after Ms. Velvet left your office?”   “I closed shop and took a walk down to the corner store for something sweet to drink. That’s also in the report I made.” I point to a manila folder on the table that neither officer had bothered to open.   “Right, you were conveniently near the murder scene.”   “If by ‘convenient,’ you mean waiting in line for a few groceries, then yes, convenient.” I disliked the market down the street.   The zebra running the place was hard to understand due to his near-incomprehensible rhythmical accent. On top of that, the prices he put on his products were downright outrageous. The worse aspect about the market, though, was the odd looks I sometimes got when shopped there. They almost made me wonder if anypony had ever seen one of my kind outside of a questionable profession.   It did not matter what I thought though. Tonight, I was stuck shopping in the corner store. The next closest market was two miles away—up a hill—through the slums. I didn’t own an auto-carriage anymore. Getting there either meant hailing a cab and dealing with an ornery driver, taking a trolley full of strangers who would no doubt gawk at me all trip long, trotting through dark alleys where muggers and other scum hid and bid their time, or flying…   I gave my legs a look over, sighing with disappointment. All four of my limbs were unhindered by any opening or blemish. To my kind, my physical condition would have been considered an abnormality, and for good reason: it made me twice as heavy, rendering anything other than a hover a near-impossibility. On the bright side, it at least gave me a tough outer shell, which had saved me from serious injury more times than I could count.   I walked up to the store shelf and grabbed the least expensive bottle of sweet rum I could find and a bottle of Sweet Apple Acres cider. I gave both bottles a long look before putting them on the small basket I levitated next to me. I then headed for the counter.   The zebra who owned the small market was anywhere between thirty and forty. He still sported several tribal trinkets, and had his black and white mane braided and tied in a single knot. He gave me a strange look as usual. He knew me well, but never seemed to get over what I was.   Bastard.   He grabbed my purchases and started to ring them. This will take a while…   Five minutes passed. During that time, the zebra had said a barely intelligible total, and I had just given him a few bit bills and taken my change without really counting. I probably should have paid attention to my purchases, but I honestly didn’t want to know what the drinks had ended up costing. I left the store just as quickly as I had arrived, stepping into the cloudy and frigid winter night.   The corner streetlight did little to dispel the thick shadows that all the high-rise buildings cast down. Not that it really mattered; my kind preferred the darkness nowadays, especially since our talents were “strongly discouraged” in all but changeling-controlled territories. Even in such places, changing forms was usually reserved for kids’ games and couple’s foreplay.   Being an E.B.I. officer—albeit a freelance one—meant I was actually required to use my powers every once in a while. When asked why I didn’t just take on a pony form and live out my life as one, I answered that I preferred my original self, if for nothing more than to remind myself of who I really was.   I hadn’t taken two steps when snow started falling. I quickened my pace along the deserted sidewalk. There weren’t that many pedestrians out and about, but I kept wary of the few that I did see.   “Damn snow,” I sourly muttered. I opened the bottle of sweet cider and downed a good quarter of it in one gulp.   In my younger years, I had marveled at how snow seemed to have been made with such care and beauty— each flake had been like a star fallen from the very heavens, almost as if somepony had taken the extra time to shape each and every one. Nowadays, it almost seemed like snow was just dumped at random without any real care or reason.   At least I wasn’t feeling hungry. The air was thick with the sort of emotion that I had come to use as nourishment. It tasted like utter manure, but it was filling, at least.   I had barely walked a block away from the store when the unmistakable sound of fell chanting reached my ears, followed soon after by a sharp shriek. Both sounds had originated from an alley not too far from where I was.   I dropped everything I carried and raced toward the sound, preparing to deal with them…   Another shriek pierced the night.   I galloped as hard as my lungs would let me in the burning cold. I was already running a thousand and one different battle tactics through my mind.   When I turned down my target alley, I saw a lone figure garbed in a crimson set of hooded robes. It sported a brass mask, though from the being’s spiral horns I could tell it was a he, and he was some kind of ram or goat.   He stood over a dead body. Her dead body…   Before I could even blink, the ram turned to my direction and uttered a set of fell words:     Instantly, I jumped out of the way, recognizing the vile eldritch tongue.   Blood from the now deceased Velvet rose into the air and shot at me, forming crystallized icicles in mid-flight. The first volley missed, but the second came far too close for comfort.   Before I could fully take in the situation, the goat had closed the distance between us and was right on top of me. His eyes glowed, and I heard what sounded like a trio of bells resonating under his robes.   Magic surged from out of this hood and pooled into his right foreleg, where it formed a blade of pure purple miasmic energy.   Instinctively, I reached into my holster and brought out my hoof-repeater, a beautiful piece of unicorn weapon engineering that was the next evolution of the hoof-held crossbow: a miniature magic-powered cannon.   Without even strapping it on my right hoof, I fired two bolts at my assailant. Both shots were deflected by the goat, who retaliated. I was forced to use the repeater as a makeshift shield. The weapon held against his blade due to its magic nature, but I knew it wouldn’t endure another strike.   Realizing I was being pushed towards the alley wall, I cast a flash spell. My assailant staggered back momentarily. I used the opening to shoot to one of his limbs. To my horror, as soon as the bolt made contact with his coat, a thick film of crimson-like gel absorbed the shot.   I tried and aimed for another shot—this time to the mage’s face—but at that precise instant, he struck back using the same flash spell I had used on him. The retaliation left me utterly blind for a fraction of a second, time in which the goat could have easily run me through with his blade and been on his merry way.   He didn’t. And that disturbed me.   By the time I finally recovered my sight and hearing, he had been long gone.   I lowered my weapon, adrenaline still surging through my veins like pure electricity. It took a second for the scene to truly sink in. I felt myself shaking at the facts before me. Velvet, an innocent filly that had been in my office just an hour earlier, was dead. Her blood had been defiled, and her remains were now barely recognizable from the head down.   My gaze settled on her face. Her eyes were still wide open and glassy, filled with shock, fear, and agony. The heavy stench of copper hung in the air like a sickening perfume. I looked away as the sight stirred awful memories within me.   I turned and walked down the street before finding a payphone. I dug out some of my change and placed a call to the Canterlot Police Department.   I momentarily mulled over the desire to take on the case, but dropped that idea. Had this been any other homicide, I would have gone after the scumbag myself, but the presence of that masked goat changed everything. For the first time in quite a while, I had actually felt very afraid; afraid that he was working for them...   “Canterlot dispatch, how may I help you?” a female voice came through the line. I recognized it instantly as Sunny’s voice. She was an old friend of mine. She hopefully wouldn’t ask too many questions.   “Sunny, this is G. I’m calling in a homicide.”   She was silent for a moment, probably running a quick trace to save time. “I have your location. Is anypony else at the scene?”   It was a standard question, but something about Sunny’s voice and the swiftness with which she had asked made me feel uneasy. I hesitated for just a second before answering. “I’ll be at the scene. Send a squad over.”   “Wai—” before Sunny could get the word out, I placed the receiver back down.   I was probably just imagining it, but it all seemed too convenient. A filly that had come to me for help being killed only a few blocks away from where I happened to be shopping. The suspect, whom I was more than certain belonged to a cult I had helped to put out of commission, vanishing near instantaneously after failing to subdue me, and then the only dispatcher on duty indirectly asking if I was alone at the scene.   I slipped out of the phone booth, pulling my trench coat tight to keep warm. Chitin wasn’t the best type of skin for keeping balmy.   I walked back to the alley, mind abuzz with paranoid thoughts. Once I was back in the shadows, I decided it was only fair to pay respect to Velvet. I stood next to her and lowered my head before using my telekinesis to close her eyelids.   As I looked at her remains, I started to feel a heavy pang in my chest. I had no way of telling myself that it wasn’t my fault, because it was. I could have prevented this back in my office, but instead I had allowed it. I was just as guilty as the actual murderer.   You. Do. Not. Care... A voice rang in my head. You. Do. Not. Care…   I departed from Velvet’s side and leaned under a nearby overhang. I levitated the grocery bag I had tossed aside earlier. The bottle of sweet rum had shattered. Thankfully, the Sweet Apple Acres cider was still intact. Those folks at the farm knew how to make their bottles hardy.   I decided to drink while I waited for the squad carriage to arrive. From the vantage point I had chosen, I had a clear view of the road. I also had a good spot to attack first should bad company make itself present.   ***          ***          ***   I was nearly finished with the bottle of cider when a pair of headlights pierced the gloom. Instinctively, I shrunk further into the alleyway, right into the alcove of a doorway.   The squad carriage stopped near the phone booth. By the markings of the vehicle, I knew it was from Canterlot PD. Still, why had they stopped in front of the phonebooth of all places?   My hoof moved involuntarily toward my repeater, just in case I was dealing with corrupt officers.   A pair of stallions dressed in dark-blue shell coats and police caps exited the carriage.   “He’s not here,” the younger officer said. “Dispatch said he was on the scene.” He stopped for a second to look around before moving on.   “Forget it. From what I’ve heard about him, he’s a very shifty individual.” The older stallion clearly held me with animosity. “He probably would attack us before listening to us.” He straightened his cap and moved on.   The younger stallion shrugged and walked over to Velvet’s corpse. He visibly winced as he got a better look at her condition. “Who, or what do you think did this?”   I considered keeping to the shadows, but I had seen enough of the two officers to know they weren’t under anypony else’s payroll.   I stepped out of the shadows and faced them before answering. “It was the Crux Nato.”   The older colt went for his baton soon as he heard my voice, but was halted by the younger officer, who gave him a shake of his head.   “You should know!” the older stallion viciously barked.   “Watch it,” I growled, pointing a hoof at him. “Insulting me isn’t the wisest choice right now.”   The older stallion shot me a look of pure hatred before holstering his baton and turning to the body instead. “The Crux Nato you say? Weren’t they all supposedly wiped out?” He gave me a smug look.   I didn’t reply. I could feel my brow furrowing as I gave the officer a glare.   “How many of ‘em?” the older officer asked.   “One.”   “That doesn’t limit it down much, does it?” the younger stallion asked in a tone that was surprisingly neutral. “So, uh… are you taking this case, detective?”   Velvet had come to me for help, and I had allowed her death to happen by ignoring it, but this looked like nothing more than a random homicide—my suspicions notwithstanding. I was better off letting the police handle it.   “No.”   The younger officer shrugged, walking to his vehicle and calling in for a coroner while his partner started to cordon off the area. I helped where I could.   A few minutes later, a white ambulance carriage arrived at the scene. Four unicorns garbed in white stepped out and started to take pictures. They then placed Velvet’s body on a white stretcher, careful not to harm her remains further.   Once Velvet had been loaded and the scene marked, each of the auto-carriages went its way, the ambulance towards the Palace of Justice, the cops back to their HQ.   I took one last look at the alley, yellow tape marking the location where Velvet had been slain. I picked up my bottle of sweet cider and downed the last of it before starting my bitter walk back to the office.   We should have destroyed every last one of them when we had the chance… “That’s it?” Bad Cop asks. “You just hung around and took no real interest in the case?”   “As I said earlier, there really wasn’t a case for me to take at the time.” Small beads of sweat are forming on my brow. I wipe them away before either officer can see them as a sign of my inner turmoil.   “Never mind that,” Bad Cop replies. “When did this become an official case for you?”   “Well…”     …The following morning started just like any other. I got up, showered, and made some coffee using at least twenty spoons of sugar for every cup of water.   With my “breakfast” in order, I sat down to read the printed edition of the Canterlot Times. The front page raved about the princess’ upcoming trip to Gryphos. The dogs and half-eagles were really starting to get on each other’s neck over petty land disputes. Princess Luna was going to be at an “emergency summit,” probably so that she could stop the two super-powers from tearing each other limb from limb. War between the two would end up escalating to world war.   I scoffed. As if there hadn’t already been enough fireworks ten years ago.   Flipping through the rest of the pages, I spotted a minuscule headline lost among anecdotes of other high-status soirees and stock market expansions. Velvet’s death was out: “Attributed to Mugging,” it had read. What had struck me as odd was the picture of Velvet’s father—he hadn’t looked the least bit distraught about it. My brow creased at the image.   Velvet had sought me out fearing a stalker, but had been reluctant to speak of it. Yet, she hadn’t hesitated to show me the threatening note her father had received. She had then gotten frightened when I started prodding deeper and left just as suddenly as she had come, only to wind up dead a mere hour later. Then, her father gave her a public funeral, yet didn’t seem the least bit upset that what might be his only family and bloodline was violently murdered.   Something was very wrong here.   A piercing whine from the telephone shattered my concentration. I caught it on the second ring. “Detective G speaking.”   The voice on the other end was formal, but friendly. “Morning detective, this is Lieutenant Shining Armor speaking.”   A lieutenant under Captain Ingot, Shining Armor was one of the Equestrian Guard’s most promising young officers. He was also brother to Luna’s personal protégée, Twilight Sparkle—and from the few bits of info I’d gathered here and there, the unofficial suitor to Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, aka Cadance. Nice kid; did the badge and cause honor.   Speaking of Princess Cadenza, she struck me as both off and familiar at the same time. Something about her seemed deceptive, almost like she was somepony else. Maybe I was being paranoid, but as a changeling, my instincts were sharpest when it came to spotting phonies. From what I had seen of her, she was a literal saint, adored by all and capable of dispelling hatred wherever she went. All of that made me wary—nopony could be that nice without having something to hide.   “Lieutenant Armor. To what do I owe the pleasure?”   “It’s about the homicide you called in last night,” the lieutenant answered.   “What about it?” I can already feel another accusation building up.   “The results just came in.” The lieutenant’s tone was fairly morose. “It was Blood Magic, the likes of which hasn’t been seen since the Liberation Wars some ten years ago.” The ring in his voice told me he was struggling to keep his tone even.   Just as I feared, I thought to myself. They’re back…   “We’ve very few leads on the cult itself, that’s why I need your help.” He paused, voice wavering between determination and hesitation. “You’ve had experiences with both the regime and cult. You were not only a member of the cult at one point; you were one of the four that struck them down in their prime.” I heard a low sigh coming from his end. “Detective, you have to help me destroy them once and for all.”   I thought about it for a second. While Shining Armor was right about my past involvement with the Crux Nato, I had gone so far as to renounce my name in order to get away from it. Going back just wasn’t an option for me.   “I’m sorry, lieutenant, but that stage of my life is long over. Ask Captain Arashi; he was one of the other four that fought alongside me. He’s a far better choice than I am, since he’s more versed in the arts of war.”   “But,” the lieutenant started, but then paused. I could hear him sighing on the other end of the line. “Detective, look, I know your past isn’t something you like to recall, but you’re the only one who can shed light on this right now.”   “Captain Arashi.” I firmly repeated.   “Captain Arashi is on sabbatical in Neighpon and Zhengzhou. Nopony knows when he’ll be back.” He let out a groan of regret before finally coming out and saying it. “Detective Gro’gar, please, you’re a changeling, for Luna’s sake! You can take a disguise, go undercover, infiltrate! Are you just going to sit back and let thos—”   “I’m sorry. But I can’t help you. Princess Luna gave me another chance despite the crimes I committed in the name of those gods-forsaken groups. There’s no way in Tartarus I’m going to waste it.” I removed the phone from my ear and got ready to slam it on the receiver, but I stopped. I felt my face scrunch as a sigh escaped my lips.   I again brought the phone to my ear and spoke. “Lieutenant, look; there’s not much I can do for you. I can give you all the information I have on the Crux Nato, but no more. I’m... I’m afraid—” I caught myself, “—I’m afraid that’s all the information I’m at liberty to discuss over the phone.” I lowered my tone. “The lines are too loud.”   The lieutenant was quiet at first, but after a few seconds, said one word: “Fine.” I was about to again remove the phone from my ear when I caught more words from the lieutenant. “I… I understand, and I’m sorry if I’ve opened up new wounds. It’s just that—” he paused. I could hear a slight hiss from his end. “I have to do something. There’s just too much at stake, and.... I—I was really hoping you would be willing to end what you and the other four started ten years ago... But I understand; your torment runs deep. Thank you for your time anyway, and good day.” He let out one final deep sigh, and then the line clicked.   I looked at the phone and felt my brows crease. “Guess he didn’t get my message. Oh well.” I replaced the receiver gently and finished my coffee in one gulp. I gave the lieutenant’s request more thought as I tossed the newspaper into the trash on my way out of the office. His request weighed heavily on my conscience for the remainder of the day.   Nothing out of the ordinary happened for the next two days. Eventually, Velvet’s murder started to ease away, no longer keeping me up as it once had.   Then, a second murder took place.   I didn’t waste my time with reports after-the-matter; I went straight to the Palace of Justice to speak with the head pathologist. I was now certain that two ponies being killed in the same fashion was no mere coincidence.   The smell of formaldehyde and other preservation chemicals hung heavy in the air. They all mixed with the stench of rotting flesh to create a tumult of odors that could have driven a pony insane. If said pony already wasn’t.   Grave-keeper, as she was morbidly called by the other doctors, gave me a pleased and warm look as I entered her laboratory.   “Ah, detective Gro’gar, it’s been some time since last I saw you. What brings you down to my little office today?” The dark silver mare adjusted her thick goggles. “I do hope it has to do with that little business proposal of mine.” She gave me a far-too-eager smile for comfort.   Doctor Grave-keeper’s real name was Sun Beam—the irony was stunning; she even had a smiling sun behind two clouds as a cutie mark.   She wasn’t the most popular pegasus for many reasons, the most obvious being that she was, quite frankly, insane. She enjoyed spending her days and nights in the company of the dead.   She quite literally worshiped the sciences, to the point that she believed that the old religions were nothing but comfort for the weak and feeble-minded. This attitude put her at odds with many ponies, especially the more pious ones.   In the end though, none denied that she was likely the best forensic scientist and researcher the E.B.I. had in its employ.   “No, Sun,” I answered, rolling my eyes at her question, “I am not going to submit to laboratory testing regardless of how much it can help Equestria learn about changelings, or how to best re-create that formula or yours.” I gave her a wry smile.   “Very well then,” Sun said with a cheery smile. “So, I’m guessing you have cadaver-based business with me then?”   “Yes. I need to ask a few questions about the newest cult victim.”   Sun Beam’s expression dropped at my words. “I see. A simple leads check-up then. Here I was, hoping you would bring me the news I wanted to hear. I was also hoping for something more.... unique.” She licked her rosy lips and gave me a rather depraved smirk. “Like the last time you were here and—” she paused when she saw my glare.   She gave a rather malicious giggle—one I had to admit was kind of cute, in a demented sort of way. “Well, that’s in the past now.” She ran a hoof over her plain orange mane. “Still, if you were to accept my scientific proposal, it would begin to pay back the damages you incurred on your first ever visit to my wonderful laboratory.” She gave me a few alluring blinks of her hazel eyes.   I rolled my eyes at her words. “Erm… Look, Sun, I really appreciate you resuscitating me and everything, but...” I turn my head to the hall and the massive dents in the metal walls of the room beyond. “I think I’ve apologized enough for that little outburst, don’t you think?”   “If you say so, Gro’gar,” she said as she took to hovering. “You can always just take me on a date. That would make us more or less even.”   “No.” I was unable to keep my blush from showing. “You’re not exactly my type of filly. I like my mares a bit more… stable. No offense”   Sun giggled. “None taken!” She sighed somewhat disappointedly and dug into her lab coat pocket, bringing out a single sugar cube. “Oh well. Shall we get to your request then?” She unwrapped the candy and popped it into her mouth.   “Only if you stop using my full name,” I replied as I momentarily diverted my gaze away from her.   “Yes, I forgot about that.” Sun smiled and motioned for me to follow her.   We moved down to a new, surprisingly well-lit room. In the middle of it was a single metallic cot, on top of which rested a covered body. On the sides were two trays full of medical tools. Sun Beam flew to a nearby cabinet and bit into a clipboard, which she brought to her hooves.   “Well, there isn’t much to tell, honestly,” she started, her tone, changing from the playful one of earlier to one that was more serious. “The victim had been in that trash can for almost two days, eliminating any chance of finding useful clues outside of what he was wearing at the time of death.” She looked at me with a wicked, almost deranged smirk. “On the plus side, I got to see the effects of frostbite on internal body tissue firsthoof.” She beamed quite proudly at her words.   That’s more like her, I found myself thinking.   “You wouldn’t believe how many restrictions the senate puts on cadaver research! Really—their attempts to shield Equestrians from the morbid subject of death have affected the entire science of forensics. Almost tempts me to go out and dig up bodies from the local graveyard.”   I gave Sun a raised eyebrow—or rather, what would have counted as an eyebrow. My kind didn’t exactly have eyebrows to begin with.   Sun gave me another devious smirk in reply. I slowly shook my head and asked if I could see her clipboard. She gave a small cough and hovered silently over to me. I wrapped the clipboard in telekinetic magic as I started flipping through the information.   Victim went by the name of White Cane. Unicorn, thirty-five years of age. Victim was found inside dumpster in the industrial sector of Canterlot, ten miles away from his home in the upper residential district. Death has been attributed to internal hemorrhaging brought about by full-on internal organ combustion. Further study of body shows signs of abuse in the posterior sections.   As soon as I finish reading, I gaze up at Sun, who is snickering. I roll my eyes and sigh. Classic Sun.   My sense of amusement vanishes as soon as I re-read the report. My expression started to drop as the realization dawned on me. He died just like Velvet. This was the undeniable mark of Blood Magic.   I turned to face Sun. “Who found the body?”   “Don’t know,” Sun replied with a shrug. “It was probably some steel-mill worker or a trash collector. I can tell you the officer who brought him to me had been a rookie though.” She let out a rather malicious chuckle. “Quite the eager fool if you ask me; hounded me for nearly twenty minutes before I threatened to leave him in the morgue overnight.” A wicked smile formed on her lips. “I tell you, I’ve never seen a living pony turn that pale before.” I half-imagined the situation and couldn’t help but crack a smile of my own.   I took that thought out of my mind as I continued reading the file. The longer I stared at the pictures of Cane’s remains, the more my brow creased. I knew well the Crux Nato reveled in acts of wanton gaudy ultra-violence, but this was different. These attacks... they were methodical—efficient in a way that was all too familiar to me. Just thinking about it... I could feel the ice form in my veins.   “Sun, did anything strike you as off about the victim?”   “Only that whoever killed him at least left him ‘whole,’” she replied. “While the body itself was little more than a bloody pulp from the head down, the coroners still managed to haul in every part of him.” She looked me in the eye with a growing smirk. “And I do mean every single part.”   I felt a chill run down my spine at the words. My chitin started to crawl with goose-bumps as the grisly image formed in my head. Then I looked at Sun’s depraved smirk and realized she was actually talking about something else entirely. I again rolled my eyes.   I flipped through a few more photos that were paper-clipped to the file. The first was a close shot of the ruptured abdomen; a few arrows and words were drawn onto the glossy surface. Just as Sun had said, the next few pictures were of other body parts and organs, all neatly categorized.   The next photo was of the full breakdown: organs set in various pans for testing; a large Y cavity that ran down Cane’s entire abdomen, sides of flesh pinned outward to allow access to the internal cavities, and partially restored chunks of muscle unsuccessfully brought back to bones.   The final picture was of Mr. Cane’s personal belongings: a beat-up leather wallet with an identification card to the side, a pair of reading glasses, and a, blood-stained silver pocket watch.   “Sun, you said the body was in a trash bin when it was found?”   “Yes. Preliminary tests showed the victim perished the moment his innards became his ‘outards,’ nothing more. There were trace amounts of magical energy that cross-referenced with Blood Magic, though,” Sun continued. “Exactly the same class of magic your former buddies were known to use.” She gave me a mildly decadent smile.   I turned to face her at that statement. My blood was already starting to boil. Even as I tensed my forehooves, ready and eager to strike—gender ‘ideals’ notwithstanding—I knew that if I lost my cool I’d just be playing right into her hooves. That meant either ending up in some medical cot as another one of her test subjects, or on her actual bed as…   Oh Luna, I didn’t even want to think what kind of freak Sun was when she actually wanted to have her definition of “intimate fun.”   I shook that thought out my mind and gave Sun the most neutral expression I could muster. Quietly, I returned the clipboard before asking her a new question in the hopes of derailing her sick mind: “Do you have a copy of the Spade case?” There was a lot more to these deaths than physical similarities. If the Crux Nato was involved... I needed their MO.   “You’ll have to get it from the record room,” Sun answered nonchalantly. “I don’t keep extra copies here in the morgue for obvious reasons.” She again smiled wickedly, her implication not at all subtle.   Drop it, you freaking bi—I stopped the thought, taking a deep breath. Keep it calm, dammit. Keep it calm…   “Well, thanks for your time,” I said with a feigned smile as I gave Sun a wave of my hoof. She looked disappointed at first, but after a genuine smile, returned to her own work on Cane’s cadaver.   I made my way out of the main labs. As I did, I kept uttering curses under my breath. Most were directed at Sun, others at the one responsible for the slayings, and a hooffull at me. I couldn’t help but feel utterly sickened by the deaths. I was far too familiar with this kind of violence.   “Never again,” I found myself whispering. “Never again…”   Just because something isn't a lie does not mean that it isn't deceptive. A liar knows that he is a liar, but one who speaks mere portions of truth in order to deceive is a craftspony of destruction.