//------------------------------// // Lies, Damn lies, and Statistics // Story: The Fifth // by Dconstructed Reconstruct //------------------------------// “So, you’ve been on the case since the beginning?” Good Cop asks me. He pulls out a notepad and pencil and starts to scribble down my answer with his mouth rather than his telekinesis.   I glance between his notepad and his eyes as the feeling of unease grows in me.   “No,” I calmly reply. “I just prodded around for information, at least at first. A bad habit of mine, I must confess.” I feign an amiable smile, but Good cop only raises an eyebrow in response.   “Bull!” Bad Cop unexpectedly shouts. “Records prove that you pulled a copy of every murder linked with your former associates!” He stands up to his full height. It’s considerable. “You’re not telling the whole truth!”   “What I’m telling you is fact,” I hiss out through clenched teeth. “Whether you choose to believe it or not isn’t my fault.”   I give the officer a glare. I can feel the small hair-like frills that make up my mohawk-style “mane” rising in a threatening manner as my natural defensive instincts start to take over.  When the officer catches sight of that, he backs off, eyes showing signs of fear for a scant few seconds before they return to their indifferent state.   “Now, would you two prefer hounding me over minor details, or do you want to get to the rest of my story?” I don’t bother to hide the annoyance in my voice.   “For now, just answer the questions truthfully,” Bad Cop replies. It is milder than expected, obviously restrained to keep something hidden.   I glance back down at his sleeves, and once again note the familiar cufflinks. Something about them screams at me. I decide to prod the matter deeper.   “Those are some nice cufflinks,” I say. “Where’d you pick them up?”   “They were a gift from my sister,” Bad Cop swiftly replies, tone fairly rehearsed. I narrow my eyes at his answer, at which point the officer diverts his gaze.   I turn to face Good Cop, who’s looking at me expectantly. “To answer your earlier question, I picked up the case as my own after the fifth death in the series. That was when I realized something wasn’t right.”   II LIES, DAMN LIES, AND STATISTICS Something rotten was brewing in Canterlot’s underbelly.   Though part of me desired to do something about it, I wanted to steer clear of anything dealing with my former “associates.” When the kill count reached five, however, I found myself unable to do so.   Lieutenant Shining Armor had contacted me again after the fifth victim. He had spoken in an apologetic tone, but had kept the same determination to get me onboard the case. His call was soon followed by a personal visit less than a day later, from the last pony I had expected.   “Good afternoon, G,” a dark-brown unicorn said soon as I opened my door. “It’s been a while since we last spoke face to face. Three years, if I’m keeping my count right.”   “Yeah,” I replied, not quite meeting his gaze. “Three years since we worked on something together, commissioner Ingot…”   He beamed at my words. Despite pushing his forties, commissioner Ingot—now a captain of the Equestrian Guards—easily looked like a unicorn half his age. His cutie mark was that of a mining mallet, a sign of his old profession before joining the guards.   “Well, things haven’t exactly been lively up until now,” Ingot said, a warm smile forming on his lips at his words. “You helped give our nation some semblance of peace when it needed it most, and we didn’t exactly thank you properly.”   I bitterly chuckled at the words. He was putting that fact lightly. “What was there to thank me about? I wasn’t exactly on the side of the law ten years ago.” I sighed nostalgically. “Sometimes I do miss the old camaraderie and ‘friendship is magic’ aspect of the E.B.I. that working freelance lacks.” I looked the captain straight in the eye. “Not that I’m complaining. Working freelance has its perks. I get to set my own hours, work the cases I want without an upper branch breathing down my neck, and I can turn in early if I really need it.”   “Yeah.” Ingot gave my office a look over and chuckled. “Though, the benefits don’t exactly outweigh the cons, it seems.”   I raised one of my brows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”   Ingot ran a hoof over his mane. Or rather, what would have been a mane had he not kept it at half an inch long. “G, I’m going to be honest with you: this place looks like manure.”   “That it does,” I replied with a snigger. “Rent’s dirt cheap though,” I added with a bitter smile.   “That’s because you’re only a few hoovesteps away from the slums.” Ingot’s face scrunched at the words. “I’m surprised this building isn’t squatter heaven, considering how many empty rooms it has.”   “The building used to have more tenants, but in the last three years, they’ve moved away due to the worsening crime rate. The only pony that has been here since I first moved in is some DJ that seems really determined to get the name out there. I don’t see that pony much, though.”   “Right,” Ingot said as he took a seat. He crossed his forelegs, took a deep breath and seemingly steeled himself. It wasn’t until the muscles on his forelegs were stretched that I noticed well-defined muscles that no pony pushing his age should even have had. “G, let’s not pussyhoof around the matter. You know why I’m here.”   “Yes,” I replied without giving the captain a glance. Instead, I went for my liquor cabinet and took out a half-full bottle of sweet cider. “You’re here to try to convince me to join you Lieutenant Shining Armor in solving the five recent murders.” I poured Ingot a glass of liquor, which he levitated to him.   “That’s right,” Ingot said as he wrapped the glass in his own light brown magic. “Armor told me all about your reluctance to join the investigation.” He poured the drink down in a single gulp, sighed, and placed the glass on the nearby coffee table. “Now, I know why you would be hesitant—this is dealing with the Crux Nato after all.” I poured him another drink, but he did not take it. “I can understand why you would refuse. Still, the kid does have a valid point.”   “And what point would that be?”   “That you’re likely the best qualified pony—sorry, changeling—for this case.”   I silently chuckled. “I beg to differ,” I took a direct swig of cider from the bottle. “When it comes to the Crux Nato, I’m likely to be more of a liability than an asset.” I let out a grunt as the liquor burned my throat. “You and Shining Armor don’t want me on the case. Trust me on that.”   “I think otherwise.” Ingot put his hoofs together as he gazed directly into my eyes. “I don’t mean any offense by what I am about to say, but it has to be said.” He deeply sighed as he closed his eyes. “G, you’re reluctant to take the case because you’re still running away from your past.”   I slammed the bottle of cider on the coffee table. “So what if I am? You and I both know my past’s not exactly a shining beacon of goodness. I did things, Ingot—terrible things—to good ponies, all under the delusion that I was actually making the world a better place!”   “That may be true, but unless you stand up and face that past head-on, you’re always going to be a tormented wreck.” A warm smile formed on Ingot’s muzzle. “Do yourself a favor and face that past head-on.” He leaned forward and put a hoof on my shoulder. “That’s the only way to be at peace.”   I quickly glanced at the hoof on my shoulder, and then set my gaze directly on Ingot’s weathered, but resolute eyes. Instantly, I was filled with newfound determination. He was absolutely right; I was running away from it all. I had to face the part of me that made me weakest and deal with it before it shaped me further.   I gave Ingot a smile and nod. I poured him another glass of sweet cider. “Guess we should toast my return to the main force, huh?” I asked him.   “We can celebrate once this is over. Right now, we have work to do.”   I smiled at his words. He was right, but I’d already poured myself some cider, and it would be a shame for it to go to waste. I took my drink and silently toasted, not only to renewed determinations and absolution, but to rekindled camaraderie.   As I finished, my gaze fell on the captain’s badge. It was old, worn, and looked as if it had taken several hits in its time. Still, it displayed his name and ranking boldly.   “Say, you still carry around that old piece of junk?” I pointed to the badge.   “Of course I do. Remember, I made a promise.”   “Right,” I said, rolling my eyes with a smile. “ ‘This badge will leave my being only when I’m dead and buried,’ ” I said, emulating the captain’s voice as best as I could. “It’s an odd promise, but one I can respect.” I gave my old commissioner a smile, one he returned.   It was good to rekindle old friendships. It was very good indeed. It had been two days since Ingot had talked me into joining the investigation. While he and Shining Armor took care of business the “lawful” way—they still wore the guard regalia, and as such, had to set a standard—I took care of things my way. I did not sport the guard’s regalia, but rather wore my own uniform: a mythril vest, white dress shirt, red tie, and a gray trench coat.   I started with the seedier bars in Canterlot. From there, I moved on to the nightclubs. The deeper I went into the belly of the beast that was the Canterlot’s underworld, the viler the company became.   It wasn’t long before I was speaking to assassins for hire and psychopaths. I had to restrain myself when speaking to them, since just being in their presence made me want to do nothing but beat them into bloody pulps and haul them in to the Palace of Justice. I had to keep my cool and try to extract information. I would arrest them all in due time.   A long night of fruitless searching later and I had exhausted all possible leads. Not even the vilest of scum had anything useful for me to follow. I found the nearest empty stool in Joe’s Donut Shop and ordered the sweetest cup of hot cocoa he had. I hadn’t even taken a sip when an old and weathered donkey took a seat next to me.   Poor fellow’s mane was rapidly going, and his tired old body looked to be just barely fit to carry its own weight. Worst yet was his gaze—aged, cynical, battered—it was all that and more.   He asked Joe to serve him the strongest coffee he had. Soon as Joe put the cup in front of him, he took out a metallic flask and poured half of its contents right into the coffee. I only had to take a whiff to know it was strong whiskey.   The donkey noticed my gaze, and quickly shifted his sight to me, fixing me with a glare. “What are you looking at, changeling?” Even his voice seemed gnarled and disparaging.   “Just noting the strong liquor you’re about to pour down your gullet, old timer,” I replied, somewhat resentfully. “Seems like someone’s either in pain, or is miserable enough to mix caffeine and alcohol—which isn’t exactly the best combination for this time of day.”   The old donkey scoffed as he took a swig of his spiked coffee. “You young’uns don’t know the meaning of ‘pain and suffering.’ You don’t know about loss, regret, and broken dreams. You’re all just worried about the now, never once giving tomorrow a second thought.”   “Now, you’re just generalizing,” I replied, corners of my mouth rising. “Some of us do worry about tomorrow.” I took a swig of my chocolate and sighed with satisfaction. “Of course, I have to worry about both past and future equally. It’s my job, after all.”   “Oh really?” the donkey’s eyebrow rose at my words. “And what job is that, if you don’t me asking?”   I took another swig before answering. “Law keeper; detective; hunter of vice and sin—” I give the old coot a wide grin. “Sometimes I’m just one. Sometimes, I’m all three. It depends on the situation.”   The Donkey’s ears dropped. “So, you’re an E.B.I. officer.”   I took another sip of my cocoa. “Partially,” I clarified. “I work mostly freelance nowadays.”   The Donkey gave a single scoff. “Guess you would know the meaning of ‘pain and suffering’ then.” He let out a bitter chuckle. “Forget what I said, kid.”   I felt my brow furrow. “I’m familiar with pain and suffering, yes,” I replied, keeping the bitter memories down. “Though, most of the time, it’s not exactly my pain and suffering.”   The donkey rolled his eyes at my words. “Don’t matter really in the end. Pain’s pain, and we all feel it one way or another.”   “I can’t argue there.” The old timer was right in that, at least. “So,” I continued, “got a name old-timer?”   “Cranky,” the donkey replied. “Cranky D. Donkey.”   I gave him a nod. “Name’s G,” I replied back. “Detective G, or just G.”   “Well, Mr. Detective G,” Cranky said, giving sarcastic emphasis to my name, “what brings you to Joe’s Donut Shop? Are you here to drown out your sorrows with sweet drinks as well?”   “I could ask you the same thing about you, old timer. But to answer your question, I’m here to drown out the woes of a long and fruitless work day.” I took a sip of my cocoa.   “Guess you could say the same thing for me.” Cranky paused for a second. “Though my reason isn’t exactly due to a job.” He bitterly smiled at his words. “It’s more of a failed life-long quest—in a final analysis.”   “Aren’t we all searching for something in our lives?”   “I never said my search was for something,” he sharply replied.   “Well, if that’s the case, then you’re looking for somepony—or someone—aren’t you?”   Cranky bitterly grumbled something about being too “loud” before sighing and answering. “Yes. The endgame of my quest is someone, though who that is none of your concern, detective.”   “Wasn’t asking,” I replied. “What a pony—or donkey—searches for isn’t my concern.” I let myself smile. “Though, if I’m ordered, I have to make it my concern.”   “Oh right,” Cranky started as he rolled his eyes. “Like the guards and the E.B.I. are really going to be interested in jumping through hoops to help some old washed-up donkey find his long-lost love.” He shook his head with a grunt. “Yeah, that sounds like a real important case to solve.”   “So, it’s a lost love you’re searching for then?” I asked with a satisfied smile.   “How did you—” Cranky started, but cut himself off once realization struck. At that, his expression dropped as his snout crumpled. “Way to go, you old coot! Why don’t you spill your bank account numbers while you’re at it? Or how about that one time you almost slept with that diamond dog lady?”   “Come again?” I asked, quite surprised at what I had heard.   Cranky grumbled. “It’s a long and rather lewd story, kid.”   “What exactly happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”   “Well,” Cranky started. “It happened in my younger years. After a long night at the bar, I met this pretty looking diamond dog miner from Farrington. She was giving me all the right signals, and I was feeling extra lonely that night, so I—”   “Not that!” I said, cutting Cranky off before he could go further into a story that, while no doubt engaging, would certainly not end well. “I-I was talking about the other tale, the one about the lost love.”   Cranky sighed, took a swig of his spiked coffee, and started.   “Many years ago, I attended the Grand Galloping Gala. It was one of those once-in-a-lifetime deals. ‘Course, having been a soldier for the regime had its perks at the time.” He shook his head. “At any rate, I attended the Gala, and in all honesty, hadn’t really expected it to be more than a good night of dancing and drinking. Met a couple of good looking fillies, but a few of them gave me nasty glares, no doubt because of what I was.”   “A donkey?” I asked.   Cranky brow scrunched. “What? Of course not! They glared at me because I was a regime soldier, not because of my race!” He shook his head. “For all the wrong the regime caused, they at least stamped out racism.” He fixed me with a glare. “The reason your race can live among ponies today without being discriminated against is because of them. Don’t ever forget that.” He took a quick swig of his drink. “Not like today, where the fools in power almost seem to encourage discrimination.”   “Alright, I get it,” I said, unable to keep the annoyance out of my voice. “So you got glares, what else?”   “Well, nothing much happened. That is, until I met her; my sweet, sweet Matilda.” Cranky’s eyes softened at the mention of the name.   “Matilda… Why, she was everything a donkey like me could have ever wanted, and then some! We spoke, we danced, we laughed, and we enjoyed the night away.” A warm smile formed on Cranky’s lips. “I’ll never forget that wonderful night.” His smile then started to fade. “When the Gala ended, we promised to meet again in her room. No need to go into detail as to why.” He started giggling. Then, his giggles slowly turned to sobs. “When I went to meet her, she had not been there...” Cranky took a swig of his drink. “I went back to my post a broken donkey and just barely finished my tour of duty on that forsaken black wall.”   I looked Cranky over and gulped. The black wall: over a thousand mile stretch overlooking the fetid, deadly marshes. I shuddered to think what horrific nightmares he must've seen there.   “I did not re-enlist,” Cranky continued, snapping me out of my derailed thoughts. “Instead, I took everything I had and traveled all of Equestria—heck, all of the Vindrigoth continent—looking for my sweetheart. Been at it ever since.” He emptied the last of his drink and closed his eyes. “I’m getting too old for my quest though. For all I know, Matilda could have gone to live happily with another donkey or pony. Maybe she’s got kids of her own now, who would no doubt be having kids of their own.” Cranky let out a sigh that sounded more like a dry sob. “My quest’s meaningless, kid, but it’s all this washed-up vet’s got left before the big dirt nap. Is it too much to just want to see her one last time?”   I was left speechless. The only thought crossing my mind was the question of how an individual could dedicate his whole life to a fruitless search for a single individual. It was a quest that couldn't be accomplished. Even if, by some miracle, Cranky found his beloved, he was correct in believing that she would have a life of her own by now.   Yet, I could still completely relate. Cranky’s quest was no different than mine; only difference was that the journey’s end for Cranky could at least hold the promise of a happy ending.   In contrast, my quest was a never-ending battle against vice and sin. The happiest end I could imagine was being forcefully retired while the very forces I had striven so hard to stamp out my whole life continued thriving—or evolving into a purer breed of decadent monsters.   It was that little reminder of the futility of my job that led me to sigh and empty the remainder of my cocoa in a single swig before looking down at the table in an attempt to think of happier thoughts.   Honestly, the only one that came to mind was the notion of sleeping. I gritted my teeth at that idea. It really wasn’t until then that I was struck by just how alone I really was...   “Something wrong with you kid?” Cranky unexpectedly asked.   “Yeah,” I answered without really giving it much thought. “Something about your situation rings with me. It kind of reminds me of my own tribulations. Difference is that my ending isn’t exactly happy.” I sighed. “So far, the journey’s been nothing but a drag.”   “I’m guessing your case isn’t going as you planned?”   I bitterly chuckled. “That’s a very nice way to put it. Case’s almost dead at this point. All leads point to blank walls.”   “Well, murders tend to do that at first, you know.”   I turned to face him directly. “How did you know that?!”   Cranky gave me a wave of his hoof. “To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure. But now I know.” He gave me a wry smile. “I’m taking a wild guess here, but your case has to do with the recent murders here in Canterlot?”   Well, Cranky had certainly used my own trick against me. I felt like smiling and scowling at the same time. With a well-meaning smile, I nodded.   “Well, I’m no expert when it comes to crime, but it sounds like you may be overlooking something, kid—a connection perhaps?”   I gave Cranky’s words thought. I looked to the counter before me, thinking deeply as to what I could have possibly missed.   All five murders had been of wealthy and influential ponies. Far as I knew, they’d all been killed by the same goat that had murdered Velvet. What connection could they all have?   Age? Possibly, but not exactly a valid connection, as far as I could tell since some of the ages varied significantly. Velvet had been the youngest at sixteen, and the oldest so far had been fifty.   Relationships? None of the victims really had connections to each other that could be traced in paperwork or through family testimonies.   Wealth? Yes. Matter of fact, all five ponies had been quite wealthy.   Method of death? Again, yes. All five had been killed using the same “tool”: Blood Magic; just like velvet ha—   Then it hit me like a freight train: Velvet. She had been the first official victim. Killed with the aid of Blood Magic, wealthy family, and had had a strong connection to the Golden Vision casino. The other victims had also had connections to the casino, though not as direct as Velvet’s. I levitated the piece of paper she had brought into my office the night of her demise and read it over again:   It is a thin line you trot. Either get back into shape, or suffer the consequences.   I was again reminded of the news article the morning after Velvet’s murder. Bullion had looked utterly indifferent, not a single trace of grief in his face. It was almost as if he had been hiding something. That’s when the pieces started to fall into place: Velvet’s murder and the five other victims had no apparent correlation save for how they had all perished. They were all wealthy, and where did the wealthy hang out in Canterlot city?   The Golden Vision Casino.   Velvet’s note had mentioned Bullion somehow stepping out of line. Was it possible that the other murders were also because those ponies stepped out of line? It made sense that whoever killed the other five wouldn’t kill Bullion, as it would attract the attention of the Guards and E.B.I., but by going after his daughter, a clear message would have been sent, forcing Bullion to keep quiet by covering the death up.   That was it then. The one place where I could start to unearth real answers was the Golden Vision. I had my lead at long last.   I got up from my stool and shook a confused Cranky’s hoof. I ordered him a few more rounds of coffee and donuts before I bid him not only a fond farewell, but the best of luck I could spare for him. Cranky’s story might not be a happy one, but it at least it could end happily.   As I made my way out, I heard him mumble something along the lines of “kid’s are always in a rush,” but I had no time to reply. I had a Casino to visit, and a gilded pony to interrogate.   If the night was kind to me, I also had a scumbag to arrest.     The Golden Vision was swarming with customers of all kinds soon as I stepped in. Every individual, regardless of race, was ready and willing to lay their hard-earned—or not-so-hard-earned—money on the line for a chance at striking it rich. Too bad the place was more advertisement than payout.   I strolled through the gambling floor slowly, noting just how sterile it all looked. All slot machines looked brand new; made of the gilded metal that glinted in the artificial lights, they gave the place an almost enchanted feel.   Beyond that stood many poker tables for the more “serious” gamblers, a couple blackjack tables for the confident, and a few dozen roulette tables for those feeling particularly fortunate. Fifteen burly griffons, all wearing fancy suits, stood near the entrances and exits of the casino floor. They all kept passive looks on the activities within the gambling hall, ready to act at the slightest indication of trouble.   I adjusted my suit and tie before entering the main lobby. I seated myself at the nearest open table, acting like I belonged there.   The dealer, a young mare of white coat and light ginger mane, took one look at me and tensed a bit. This instantly told me she wasn’t used to dealing with changelings. That, or I was expected.   She noted my quizzical look, and quickly straightened her expression before speaking to me in an amiable, yet deadpan tone. “How much do you want deal in?”   “Twenty-thousand bits.” I reached into my saddlebag and brought out a bundle of bit bills that equaled the amount stated, putting it on the table gently. The dealer took my bet and gave me the equivalent in playing chips.   “Hello, friend. My name is Fancy Pants. Care to join me in a game of cards?” I heard a voice ask me from the blue.   I turned around to face the source of the question. The voice’s owner was indeed Mr. Fancy Pants, one of the wealthiest ponies in Equestria. I recognized him from his moustache and fine tailored suit, complete with a pair of fine sterling silver cufflinks, imports from Gryphos by the unique design pressed into their surface.   Next to him stood a stunning young mare that seemed to be just as regal as he was. She was a very light, almost white lavender tone, sporting a bright pink, long mane with a faded cherry stripe, and radiant violet eyes with a violet-tone eye liner.   “Forgive my interruption,” Fancy Pants continued. “I couldn’t help but notice the rather large sum of money you’re ready to bet at once. Clearly, you’re a changeling of wealth if you are willing to make such an audacious play. I would very much like to be a part of your game.”   He noted my silence and gave me a puzzled look. I momentarily diverted my gaze as I considered my options.   I honestly hadn’t expected to run into Fancy Pants. After a few seconds of contemplation, I decided that rejecting his offer might just signal me as somepony up to something suspicious, so I looked back at him and gave him a smile. “Sure, I don’t mind. Though, to be honest, I usually don’t play against the elite,” I added, salvaging my mind-set. I broadened my smile to drive the point further.   “Oh, don’t mind me at all, friend. Out here, I’m just another gambler looking for a good game.” He gave me a quizzical look. “Hmm… how rude of me; I haven’t even asked for your name yet. You are?”   “G,” I answered. “Detective G.”   “Charmed,” Fancy Pants amicably stated. His voice could have easily resonated as high-brow or conceited, but instead came off as humble and affable. He turned to face his companion, who raised her head, closed her eyes, and smiled. “And this is my confidant and dear childhood friend from abroad, Fleur De Lis.” He turned back to me with a friendly smile. “She’s recently moved from Prance, and I’m getting her acclimated to Equestria, starting with Canterlot.”   “Well then, welcome to Canterlot, Ms. Fleur,” I said, grabbing hold of her hoof and shaking it. She only looked at me with a slight tilt of her head.   Fancy Pants let out a chuckle before whispering something to Fleur. This caused her ears to perk as the young mare gave me a beaming smile. “C'est agréable de vous rencontrer aussi!”   Now, I was the one tilting my head. “I’m sorry. Come again?”   Fleur placed a hoof over her lips. She leaned over to Fancy Pants and whispered to his ear. I looked back to Fancy Pants, who again chuckled at my confused expression.   “Oh, I’m terribly sorry about this. Fleur doesn’t speak the common tongue yet, so I have to act as her translator.” He laughed jovially. “I don’t mind one bit though!” He gave Fleur a nod. “If you are wondering, I told her who you are in her native Prançais.”   “What about what she said?”   Fancy Pants smiled. “Oh, that’s easy. She just said ‘it’s nice to meet you too!’ ”   Fleur leaned in again and started whispering to Fancy Pants again. He gave her another nod and turned to face me. “It seems like Fleur’s quite enthralled by your profession and has asked if you would do her the honor of sharing some of your more adventurous stories with her.” Fleur took out a very beat-up book with a Prançais title.   The book’s cover was that of the fictionalized Détective Privé. The character was garbed in a black trench coat and sported a lighter black brim fedora hat. He stood on a dimly-lit street, hoof-repeater tightly strapped, but set on the “walk” position. He looked vigilant and ready to deal justice to the lawless.   “You see,” Fancy Pants continued, “Fleur is an absolutely huge fan of detective stories and crime dramas.”   “Sure, sounds g—”   “Think you can accommodate one more in your game?” said the voice of a young stallion all of a sudden. It was a voice that carried a level of self-righteous hubris that I couldn’t hope to match in my most prideful moments.   Fancy Pants and I turned around and found ourselves facing the pony that had so abruptly disrupted us. It was none other than Prince Blueblood. Of course it’s him, I thought to myself bitterly.   Everypony knew who blueblood was. His well-groomed blond mane and overtly cared-for coat being proof enough of his regality. To say he was infamous was an understatement.   Soon as we faced him, Blueblood gave Fancy Pants and Fleur a nasty glare. It was as if their very existence irked him on some fundamental level. When his eyes fell on me though, they changed. His expression considerably lightened. It almost liked like he was about to crack a smile.   I considered refusing the prince’s request, but I knew better than to displease royalty, especially if I wanted to maintain my cover. “Sure, I don’t see why not,” I reluctantly answered. I did my best to hide the glower threatening to appear on my face, but I think I would have had an easier time trying to hide my sneer from Tirek itself—and Tirek was all-seeing.   Fancy Pants scooted over and allowed the prince to take a seat to his right. That left me sitting on the far left of the pair.   The dealer shuffled the deck of cards as Fancy Pants and Blueblood placed their respective bets on the table. Fancy Pants placed two bundles of bit bills next to mine. Blueblood had one of his attendants also place two bundles of bit bills for him.   The dealer swiftly took the bets and exchanged them for playing chips. Both ponies were placing double my bet, which meant they had the confidence to win. I was suddenly feeling very much out of place.   “Well, isn’t this interesting.” A voice unexpectedly rang from behind the young dealer. “We’ve got a poker game here where a prince, an entrepreneur, and a changeling square off for riches and recognition. Now, how can I not join such a match?”   The unicorn took himself a cushion close to the dealer, opposite me. “Love,” he started, looking directly at the dealer, “I’ll also be participating in this game.”   I recognized the unicorn soon as his eyes fell on mine. He was Mr. Bullion, owner of the Golden Vision, and the very pony I had come seeking.   I again had to hide my expression from him and the others. He put four bundles of bit bills on the table, face absolutely oozing smugness.   The dealer took Bullion’s bet with some nervousness and gave him his chips. She then waited a few seconds to see if anypony else would jump in the game before finally deciding to deal the cards out.   ...My mind suddenly trails off as I struggle to recall the coming events. Why didn’t I see it then? I think to myself as a few more facts start to pop into my mind.   “Something the matter?” Bad Cop asks.   “No, everything’s fine,” I quickly reply, shaking my head and clearing away the intruding thoughts. “Now, where was I? Ah yes, the game…”   “…Sugar cubes?” a sultry, song-like voice suddenly asked me.   I turned to face the lovely pair of pipes my ears had just been blessed with. The filly that met my gaze had everything where it mattered. Her light sepia coat was just outstanding, with a lustrous mane that was a well-cared for light azure with even lighter stripes. Her eyes were literal pools of gold covered by a beautiful set of violet-adorned eyelids and strong long eyelashes. I couldn’t help but gaze into her eyes, and there I saw how they shone with inspiration and a lust for life.   She held a tray of very expensive Saddle Arabian sugar cube packs around her neck. “Would a fine changeling like yourself care for a pack of sugar cubes?” she again asked me in her sing-song voice.   As much as it pained me to refuse such a stunning filly, I didn’t trust Bullion’s wares. He could have easily put something in the cubes to poison me. After all, the filly had asked me directly. It was either a coincidence, or part of a plan.   I mentally sighed with exasperation. You’re being paranoid again...   “No thanks,” I replied politely. “I carry my own pack.” I levitated a carton of cheap but tasty zebra-made sugar cubes from out of my vest pocket.   The filly nodded with disappointment and turned around. My eyes gazed back at her. I was instantly hypnotized by her swaying hips and generous flank. Then, I noticed that she had no cutie mark. She was a blank flank.   Poor gal, how much must she suffer, I thought to myself. I felt my brow furrow at the injustice.   “Ah, excuse me, miss,” Fancy Pants unexpectedly called out. The filly quickly turned back to face us. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I would like to buy all of your sugar cube packs, if you don’t mind.”   The filly’s eyes lit up, a smile quickly forming on her muzzle. “Why, thank you, sir!” she said, quickly racing back to our table and unloading her entire stock on it.   The dealer, I noted, wasn’t too thrilled to have the game in progress interrupted. That, or she was jealous of the filly’s stunning looks. After all, the dealer was nice-looking, but did not even come close to taking anypony’s breath away.   As Fancy Pants looked over his purchases and paid—generously no less—I heard the filly humming and singing along to the background band playing in the small stage not too far from where I sat. Her voice, even in such a hushed state, was simply angelic. I couldn’t help but close my eyes and smile, taking in the dulcet tone. A few seconds of hearing the tones and I couldn’t help myself. I had to voice my thoughts.   “Say,” I started, “you’ve got one of the loveliest voices I’ve ever had the pleasure of hearing.” I gave the filly a soft smile. “Have you considered getting on a stage and letting the world know what you’ve got?”   The Filly’s face went rosy at my question. “Oh, uh… well…” she stuttered, visibly racking her brain for an answer. After a few seconds, her face lit up as the corners of her mouth rose into a wide, lungful beam. “Oh, what would I give!” The filly’s eyes lit like a pair of stars. “What wouldn’t I give to get up on a stage and sing!”   Her mood slowly changed as corners of her mouth slowly dropped. It wasn’t long after that she reopened her eyes and drank in the cold reality, all but deflating her enthusiasm. “Alas, it’s just a dream.” She looked me in the eye. “I’ve too many debts to pay, so I have to put my dreams on hold.”   “I don’t see why you can’t make that dream real,” Fancy Pants unexpectedly said. He turned to face Bullion. “What about it, Bullion, old chap? Why not give Miss, uh…” He again paused, and then gave a smile and slight shake of this head. “I seem to have once again forgotten my manners. Might I request your lovely name?”   “Sapphire,” the filly replied, her cheeks going rosier as she took a step backwards. “Sapphire Shores.”   “Charmed,” Fancy Pants said with quite the amiableness. “I’m Fancy Pants. This is my close friend and confidant Fleur De Lis.” He pointed to his companion, who smiled and nodded. “And this fine fellow is detective G.” He motioned to me. I gave Sapphire Shores a smile and nod of my own.   Sapphire replied to our greetings with a meek smile, her demeanor taking on a shrinking violet quality.   Fancy Pants again turned to Bullion. “So, will you give this Miss Sapphire her chance to shine?”   “Well...” Bullion started, hoof on his chin. “Oh, what the hay? Sure, I don’t see why not.” He gave a wide smirk at his words. Most would have seen it as honest and maybe even enthralling, but I could sense malice behind it.   “I have been looking for a new headliner for quite some time and, well…” He turned to Blueblood, who had kept surprisingly quiet up to this point. “What about it, Mr. Blueblood? What do you think of Miss Sapphire?”   Blueblood gave the filly an indifferent gaze, but inspected her closely nonetheless. After a minute, he turned to Bullion and gave him a shrug. “She’s adequate in the looks department, and her voice is above-average. I say you give her a shot. You really wouldn’t lose much if she disappoints.” He gave the filly a pitiless glower. At the prick’s words, Sapphire lost some of her luster. Worse, she seemed hurt.   I half-considered decking the pampered young prince where he sat. I restrained myself, however, feigning another smile. Blueblood was a prick. But he was a young and powerful prick. Last thing I wanted was to end up in a prison for striking a member of the royal family, even if the princess could get me out in less than a day—she was well aware of her nephew's less-than-stellar reputation.   Bullion rubbed his hooves together. “Wonderful! Miss Shores, you’re my new upstart then. Your first show is tomorrow night at eight o'clock sharp.” He turned to face me, Fancy Pants, and Blueblood. “I thank you kindly, fine gentlecolts.”   “Oh yes, thank you so much!” Sapphire uttered with eyes both wide and moist. She gave a sniff before nearly breaking into tears over her gratitude.   Fancy Pants looked on with a warm, almost fatherly smile. Fleur also looked on with acceptance. I reached into my coat pocket and handed the filly a hanky to dry her tears. Blueblood looked on with interest only on two things: the cards before him, and Sapphire’s flank.   I could feel my wings start to vibrate under my coat.   “Thank you so much, Mr. Pants, detective G, Mr. Blueblood,” Sapphire said, then sniffed as her eyes filled with tears. “I’ll find a way to repay you all. I promise!”   “It was nothing, my dear,” Fancy Pants replied, his tone still warm. “Just go out there and make your dream come true.”   “Yeah,” I said. My tone was quite frivolous despite the inner rage I felt towards Blueblood. “Don’t let anybody tell you that you can’t do anything.” I shot Blueblood a quick glower.   Blueblood, as expected, said nothing. He didn’t even acknowledge Sapphire anymore, at least not the aspect that mattered.   Bastard.   My desire to hurt the prick was increasing by the second. I could get a good blow or two to his face, leave him swollen and bleeding on the floor, and just have enough time to avoid Bullion’s bouncers.   I felt myself smiling at the idea, but I quickly gave myself a mental slap. Now was not the time to become a white knight.   Sapphire gave me and Fancy Pants a nodding smile, gazing deep into our eyes with something more than just mere gratitude. She gave us all one final thanks and departed, her tray now empty.   After Fancy pants had some of his attendants take most of his purchases away, we decided to resume our game. In the moment of silence that ensued right before we started trying to psyche each other out, Bullion spoke. His words hadn’t pertained to the game or contained their same level of amiableness as before. They had been cold and calculating, wholly indifferent, and aimed directly at me.   “So, Mr. Gro’gar, how did a changeling like yourself end up as one of the most infamous detectives in the E.B.I., especially considering your origins?” Bullion had a wide smirk plastered on his muzzle. The fact that he had both knowledge of my past and knew my name disturbed me.   “What brings your investigation to my establishment?” He asked, leaning back while adopting an amused persona that made my chitin crawl.   “I’m just looking for a good game of cards, that’s all,” I answered, keeping my tone as neutral as I could. The vibrations from my wings were getting stronger. It wouldn’t be long before my trench coat wouldn’t be able to hide them.   “Regardless of your current motives, it’s still an honor to have you in my casino, detective.” He put his hooves together. “I hear from a few of my sources that you were just recently ‘terrorizing’ Canterlot’s underworld.” He gave a faint chuckle. “Got tired of the police not doing their jobs correctly, or did somepony wrong you?”   I grinned. “Scum was starting to build up in the gutters. Someling had to play plumber before that filth started overflowing.” I gave Bullion a quick glance. I wanted to irk the bastard enough to make him slip up. It was liberating to be cocky for once. It was also dangerous. One error and Bullion could catch on and turn the tables on me.   “We must all give you our gracious and heartfelt gratitude, then,” Fancy Pants unexpectedly said, tone surprisingly amicable despite the revelation.   Blueblood placed his cards down and once again turned to face me, his eyes surprisingly devoid of animosity. “Because of my position in the senate, I have been hearing some rather disturbing rumors of a dangerous cult tied to the recent acts of gaudy violence.” He diverted his gaze, the hint of a smile forming on his lips. “I know it isn’t my place to ask this, but have you had any luck with… taking them out?”   I shook my head, surprised the prince was being so… polite.   Bullion chuckled. “So, despite your reputation, you’ve yet to actually deal with the lowlifes plaguing the city.”   Blueblood slammed his hoof on the table. “Mr. Bullion, I have been finding it very odd that you of all ponies is taking this matter so lightly, especially considering how your daughter was a victim of the cult’s violence.”   Bullion put his own cards down, his brow furrowing. “My daughter was a victim of a mugging gone wrong. She wasn’t a sacrificial virgin offered to appease some obscure old god.” He glared daggers at the prince. “I suggest you check your sources well before speaking on matters you know nothing about.”   Blueblood bore his teeth. “I’ve seen the records. I know for a fact that she was a victim of the Crux Nato cult.” Blueblood turned to face me. At first, he seemed as if he would address me. But he changed his mind half-way, instead giving a light shake of his head and turning to glare back at Bullion.   Bullion continued glaring at Blueblood. Then, cracks began to appear on his scowl. Soon enough, he snorted a couple of times before bursting into laughter. “Good one Mr. Blueblood. You really had me going there for a second.” He grinned as widely as his lips could muster. “You’re entitled to your beliefs, but the truth is that my daughter—Luna bless her soul—was a victim of this city’s growing crime rate.” He turned to face me. “Something neither the Guards of the E.B.I. has been able to deal with, especially now that the Rosalinos mafia has gotten better armed. Besides,” he turned back to Blueblood with a sly smile. “The Crux Nato cult answered to their masters, nopony else. Last I checked, those masters had been all but wiped out ten years ago.” He diverted his gaze back to me. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Gro’gar?”   I put down my own cards and sighed. “Yes. The demise of the masters would have destroyed the Crux Nato…” I struggled to keep the venom out of my voice on that last part, but I failed miserably.   “The… Caelestibusque…” Blueblood said. The very words seemed to bring about a chill in the air. “I… I know you don’t like to be reminded of it Gro’gar, but you were under the Caelestibusque’s influence for most of your life. You’re one of the last living ex-members.”   I could feel my veins ice over at the prince’s words.   I gave a bitter smile. “And I take it you hate my guts because of it?” I scoffed. “If you want to insult me, then take a number and get in line. It stretches across two city blocks.”   Blueblood’s expression livened as his eyes met mine. “On the contrary. The fact that you broke out of their control and dealt them a near-fatal blow, one that—if I have my facts correct—was crucial to their downfall, that’s just… amazing!”   I again scoffed. “Yes, that’s true, I guess” —I smiled— “even if everypony forgets that I wasn’t alone in that fight.” Blueblood smiled at my words. I swore I saw his cheeks redden slightly for a few seconds.   Fancy Pants finally put his cards down as he fixed me with a gaze that bordered on pure shock. I quickly glanced at him before giving him an awkward—and sincere—smile.   I looked down to my face-down cards and gave a shake of my head. “Apparently though, we didn’t finish the job properly.” I picked up my cards and inspected them. I took the opportunity to shift my gaze back to Bullion, and then towards his burly griffon guards, all of whom were eyeing me with cold gazes, almost as if they were mentally undressing me.   I heard a sudden cough come from Fancy Pants, forcing me to shift my gaze back to him. Soon as I did, I noted how he was beaming widely, almost as if he had just met some national hero. I couldn’t help but mentally scoff at that idea. I certainly was no hero.   Quite the opposite.   “You give yourself too little credit,” Blueblood said. “Why else would auntie sign your pardon and make you an honorary member of the E.B.I. if not because of what you did?” The prince gave a haughty grin. “Well, I did suggest it.” He put a hoof on his chest. “Hard to believe auntie took the advice of her then seven-year-old nephew into consideration, huh?” He gave a proud laugh.   I put aside both the notion that I was free and alive because of the suggestion of Blueblood—as well as my desire to scream out “WHAT?”—and instead focused on the prince’s words of encouragement. No matter how I tried to dice them, I could not deny that they were absolutely true.   I turned to face Fancy Pants, and noted how he had turned to speak to Fleur. Her eyes widened soon as he finished whispering to her in her native Prançais.    “I got lucky,” I said, motioning the dealer to give me another card. “I nearly got killed aiding to destroy the Caelestibusque.”   “Well, I’ve always been a believer in redemption.” Bullion stated in a sickeningly smug tone. “It’s not like you haven’t more than earned your pardon by now. The last big mission you undertook with your old Partner, Roy I believe his name was, ended up saving an entire town from a group of auto-carriage thugs.”   “And he lost his leg because of it,” I said, swallowing the desire to call Bullion on his knowledge of my past.   “Well, you win some, and you lose some.” Something in Bullion’s tone spoke to my paranoid side. It was rehearsed and almost impossible to tell apart from the truth. Almost.   “Guess the rich and powerful have means of gathering information, huh?” I said. A jab directed at Bullion’s knowledge of my last mission.   It was Fancy Pants who answered. “Nothing gets past you, hmmm, G?” he said, outright omitting any of the usual suffixes. “I pay good money to be kept informed of what goes on in the city, but I do so to protect that which is dear to me.” He grabbed Fleur’s hoof and gave it a light kiss, at which point her eyes glowed, and she smiled widely. From her emotions, I could tell she loved Fancy Pants as more than just a dear friend.   “While many ponies like to delude themselves into thinking that they live in a near utopia, all of us in this table know the sad truth: dangerous and vile things hide in the shadows, and there are few who are willing to stand up to them.” Fancy pants smiled warmly. “It’s a good thing we have ponies like you fighting that darkness, G.” He turned to our dealer, requesting another card. For her part, our dealer looked to be quite fascinated by the conversation.   “My reasons are exactly the same as Mr. Fancy Pants’,” Bullion said, waving his hoof and smiling. “My stakes are much higher though. After all, I own one of the wealthiest and most successful casinos outside of Los Pegasus.” He gave Fancy Pants a rather smug grin that Fancy Pants either ignored, or was oblivious to.   I gave Bullion a shifty glance. “Makes perfect sense,” I put my cards on the table: four kings. “It’s just a shame that your information couldn’t prevent your daughter’s death. Regardless of who killed her, her death must have not been easy to take.”   Bullion grew shifty at the mention of his daughter, more so than when Blueblood had brought it up. Despite his practiced suaveness nearly shattering, he managed to keep the façade up enough to trick most. I could feel his feelings towards me shifting to utter hatred, as well as fear.   “Quite the tragedy,” Bullion replied, tone full of rehearsed sadness. “She wasn’t quite the offspring I would have wanted, but she was still a good filly in her own ways.” He feigned a frown. “She’ll certainly be missed.” His tone did nothing to hide his cold stance towards his own daughter. Bastard.   “Velvet didn’t deserve to die like she did,” Blueblood unexpectedly said, tone a mix of annoyance and solemnity. “With a bit more preparation, she could have easily entered the political field, maybe even give me a run for my money.” I sensed that Blueblood had harbored feelings for Velvet. It didn’t feel like another of his hour-long crushes, which always ended badly. He held genuine feelings of comradeship for her.   Bullion didn’t reply. Instead, he kept a level of coolness that only years of practice could have forged. “Well, we better continue our game; otherwise our lovely dealer is going to fall asleep.”   We all turned to face our dealer, who blushed at the sudden attention she had received. She quickly started dealing out cards, trying to keep a neutral expression despite her rosy cheeks.   I turned to my table companions and concentrated on their feelings. Blueblood looks deep in thought. I sense… no, it can’t be…   I swiftly shifted my gaze towards Bullion. He still has so much indignation and fear towards me. I’m surprised it doesn’t show on his face. It’s filling but it’s just so damn bitter…   I gazed to Fancy Pants. He’s radiating a very friendly aura; almost like he sees me with respect. Obviously thinks I’m some kind of hero. If only he knew the real truth…   Finally, I turned to Fleur. Still has feelings of admiration towards me, but now seems a bit torn about my past associations with the Crux Nato. I don’t blame her.   I caught another emotion in the air; a very strong love. I couldn’t really tell where it came from since it was directed towards Fancy Pants, Bullion, and me. Still, it wasn’t too hard to know who was radiating it.   Before I returned my gaze to my cards, it moved to Fancy Pants’ cufflinks once again: sterling silver with what appeared to be a family crest engraved into the metal, clearly made in Gryphos. Interesting…   The dealer gave him more cards, and he started to build his hand. I half-suspected the game to be rigged against me, but I had no real proof of that…   “…Well, I had no proof, up until I realized that his cards, and only his cards, had very faint marks on them.”   “If the game was rigged in Bullion’s favor, then why’d you play?” Good Cop asks me. His tone has genuine concern and curiosity to it, which only increases my suspicion. The two “officers” have to be working for Bullion.   “If the game was rigged, one of the other players would have pointed it out,” I truthfully answer.   “So, let me get this straight,” Bad Cop suddenly, and angrily, starts. “Instead of trying to find leads on a case you had no official jurisdiction over, you went out gambling using evidence money?”   Other than what I had revealed, the officer has no proof of anything, especially the money—which, ironically enough, was indeed gained from underworld raids and kept for the purposes of serving as potential evidence.   I wasn’t too proud to stuff bills down my jacket whenever I busted a gang or smuggler, but dirty money’s dirty money. Better I use it then it goes back to the scum on the streets. I can see Bad Cop sweating as he waits for my reply.   “More or less, though to be fair, about five hundred or so bits were out of my own pocket. Sometimes, you just have to take a few risks to gain greater payouts.” All of that was a lie. If Bad Cop had read the files I had submitted, he would know that all the money used has been “evidence” money.   “Right, right,” Bad Cop agrees with a nod; a rather bad attempt at trying to save face. He is now annoyed that I’d slipped right past his trap and instead had fallen into mine.   This interrogation is a sham. Now, I just confirm these two buffoons are working for Bullion.   “If there are no further questions, may I get back to telling the story?” I calmly ask. Bad Cop nods.   “Thank you. Now, as I was saying…”   …After five more plays, I was up ten thousand bits. That changed when Blueblood made a move to win five thousand of those bits back.   By the time he had won them back though, one of his attendants had whispered something to his ears, which perked instantly. “What do you mean the meeting’s been cancelled?”   “I’m sorry young master, but the princess said she had a pressing matter to attend to tonight.” The attendant moved closer to Blueblood’s ear. Even so, I still managed to hear his words. “The griffons and diamond dogs are threatening to go to war with each other. The princess is currently boarding the S.S. Wonderbolt to attend the emergency peace summit tomorrow. The senate has requested your presence immediately.”   “What?!” Blueblood stood up so abruptly that he nearly knocked his chair over. “Damn!”   “Something the matter?” Bullion asked.   Blueblood snapped at glare at Bullion. “Of course there is. I wouldn’t just stand up like this for no reason. It’s unrefined for a prince!”   “Calm down,” Bullion said to the suddenly irate prince. “It was only a question.”   “Bullion, I suggest you keep your mouth shut, or so Luna help me, I’m going to have your gambling permit revoked!”   At his words, Bullion genuinely got scared. “Woah there! No need to do something so drastic!”   “Yes, it would be most reckless to abuse your power like that,” Fancy Pants added, looking quite concerned.   Blueblood glowered at Fancy Pants and Bullion. “I don’t have time for this!” He turned to his attendants. “We’re leaving.”   “What about your winnings?” Fancy Pants asked the prince.   “There are more important things happening right now—” He turned to face me. “—much, much more important!” He snapped a glare at Bullion. “I give all my winnings over to Mr. G.” He gave me a warm smile. I nodded in return.   Blueblood departed the gambling hall. His pace, while not a trot, certainly came close to a canter. Bullion kept his eyes on the prince until he exited the double doors.   Once Blueblood was out of sight, Bullion let out a deep sigh. He turned to face me and Fancy Pants, the corners of his mouth lowering. “Unfortunately, I have some pressing matters to attend to as well. I was going to take care of them at later time, but I think it’s best if I handle them as soon as possible.” He gave us both a feigned smile. “Gentlecolts, my lady—” he directed his eyes at Fleur, “—It’s been quite the pleasure.” He turned to the dealer. “My sweet, I’m splitting my winnings between Mr. G and Mr. Fancy Pants.”   With those last words, Bullion stood and swiftly retreated through a nearby set of doors labeled STAFF ONLY.   I stood up cautiously and picked up my winnings. As I did, Fancy Pants gave me a friendly nod and extended his hoof.   “It’s been quite a pleasure meeting you in person, G.” Once again, he used my name directly, this time quite the obvious sign of comradeship.   “I know you probably get this a lot from other ponies, but if you ever find yourself in need of anything, don’t hesitate to call.”   I gave Fancy Pants a nod and smile before shaking his hoof. I sensed no malicious emotion from him. Either he was being absolutely genuine, or he was damn good at hiding his emotions.   Fleur once again said something to Fancy Pants before she looked at me with sultry eyes. Fancy Pants once again translated for her. “Fleur would also like to say how much of a pleasure it was meeting you.” I nodded in reply to Fleur, who smiled.   With that, Fancy Pants and his companion departed, leaving me alone with the dealer, who also gave me a warm—albeit timid—smile before parting through the same door Bullion had used.   I finished gathering up my chips. My eyelids started to feel heavy, so I brought out my pocket watch. My eyes widened at the time: ten to midnight.   I looked around. The gambling hall looked very empty all of a sudden. Discounting the few dealers that were now packing up their stations and the few bouncers still in the premises, I was practically alone.   I headed for the nearest exchange window. There, I emptied every chip I had. In return, the teller gave me ten bundles of bit bills. In total, I had earned a hundred thousand bits. Quite a hefty sum, especially considering I had only bet twenty thousand originally. I had to thank Blueblood for what was essentially a very big donation on his part.   As I started to make my way out of the gambling hall and towards the foyer, my surroundings grew quieter and darker. Soon as I walked into a shadowed part of the casino, something struck me in the back of the head.   My vision blurred, giving me one last glimpse of a shadowed griffon figure before I blacked out.   “Some detective you are,” Bad Cop gleefully mocks. He doesn’t even bothering hiding it.   Bastard.   “You let somepony sneak up on you far too easily.” The officer crosses his hooves. “What an amateur mistake,” he taunts, giving me a dark smug grin. He’s making it very hard to resist the urge to deck him across the face.   “You would be surprised how easily you can be snuck-up on inside a casino.” I do my best to keep the cold righteous fury out of my voice.   “So,” Bad Cop continues, “you got knocked out. What happened when you woke up?”   I lean back in my chair a bit, taking a moment to recall the proceeding events. “The only thing I really remember with clarity is waking up to a butt-ugly griffon using my stomach as a punching bag.”   Instinctively, my hooves move to my gut.   My stomach felt as if a two-ton weight had repeatedly been slammed into it. As I wheezed from the most recent impact, I slowly opened my eyes. Once the world started to come into focus, I saw where I was: a large dark windowless room lit only by a single light bulb.   An extremely muscular griffon garbed in a crimson robe stood front and center. He was smiling wickedly in anticipation. He had some blood on his knuckles, no doubt my blood. I felt myself scowling. This certainly wasn’t the first time I had been awoken via a beating.   Next to him was the shadowed figure of what I knew was a filly changeling. Unlike her partner, who radiated sickening joy, she radiated hesitation and anxiety. I could sense three more entities in or near the room, though they all hid in the shadows.   I tried to move, but couldn’t. I was bound in a sitting position, hooves tied behind my back with magically augmented rope. Again, not the first time this had happened. My hoof-repeater, along with the contents of my pockets and saddlebags, were all spread out on a nearby table.   A silky voice spoke directly into my mind from somewhere in the shadows. “[Detective Gro’gar, the changeling known for being one of the five that took out the Caelestibusque, tied up and ready for me to kill? This really must be my lucky night!]”   Though the situation terrified me, I let out a feigned laugh, answering the voice in my best defiant tone. “Unfortunate? Yes, but certainly not for me.” My witty reply only resulted in another blow to my stomach, followed by a punch to the face—all courtesy of the griffon. This time, I really tasted the blood.   “[Do not think that you will be walking away from this, detective. You made a grave error in seeking information this night.]”   Before I could really ponder the implications of that statement, the griffon ran his claw across my cheek just hard enough to pierce my thick chitin, but not hard enough to cause a deep cut on the flesh below. He traced a line under my throat and up the other cheek, leaving a fine incision that expanded and contracted every time I let out a raspy breath.   Despite what was “common knowledge” about changeling biology, what the griffon had done hurt a lot, even if it didn’t look it. The wound was made to expose my skin nerves to the air, leaving a horrid burning sensation in its wake.   Despite the pain it would cause me, I managed a smile, spitting out the blood that had pooled in my mouth. “If you five are going to kill me, then just get it over with,” I defiantly wheezed. On the surface, I presented a half-interested façade meant to throw my opponent off. Without my trench coat, I was certain that my captors could see my wings vibrating from my restlessness.   “I honestly have better things to do tonight,” I continued. Inside, I was desperately praying that my ploy would work.   The griffon once again lashed out, this time opting to rake his claws diagonal across my chest. His attack tore right through part of my shirt, but didn’t even scratch the mythril vest underneath, which—thankfully—he did not see.   “[Your attitude needs adjustment detective. My Gryphan partner here will work on that,]” the voice said, tone full of dark and sickening satisfaction. The changeling filly slowly retreated deeper into the shadows, her face a mix of fear and regret. She left me to face her griffon partner alone.   The griffon, for his part, flexed his body and cracked a smile as he readied his claws. I took a deep breath and steeled myself.   It was now or never.   Soon as the griffon launched his blow, I changed form to that of a pony foal. My bindings slipped right off, and in a matter of seconds, I had used my new size to slip right past his legs.   Before I even finished the roll, I had transformed into a perfect emulation of one of Bullion’s griffon bouncers and landed a devastating strike cross the half-eagle’s beak. Not waiting for him to make the next move, I grabbed hold of his arm just as he stumbled backwards and slammed him against the nearest wall before taking him straight to the floor, twisting his arm until I heard a snap.   The griffon let out an ear-piercing screech. I took the opportunity to lift my right claw and end his misery. I didn’t get the opportunity, however, as I was swiftly grabbed by a pair of black, holey hooves and pulled away.   The griffon took the sudden pause in my attack to stand, arm limply hanging by his side. He glared swords at me. He extended his good arm and rushed towards me with the desire to drive his claw into my chest and out my back, preferably with my still beating heart in his palm.   His claw made contact with my chest, but his face turned to horrified surprise when he realized that his talons weren’t digging into my carapace. I took the opportunity to deliver a smack to the head of the changeling that had grabbed me with the back of my own skull, and in one swift move, tossed him over to his partner, knocking the two to the floor. That’s when I noticed the changeling was the same filly from earlier.   I changed back to my original form and made a dash for the table to grab my weapon. The griffon roared as he tossed the filly aside with reckless abandon and charged me full-force. Unfortunately for him, I had managed to levitate my repeater off the table and met him with its barrel. I telekinetically pulled the trigger, hoping the bastards had forgotten to unload the weapon. They had.   The magical explosion hurled a bolt straight into the griffon's chest. He reeled for a moment, but recovered quickly. He let out an impressive shriek as he rushed once more.   I fired a second shot. The bolt bored deep into the griffon’s cranium. I watched in shock as half of his head blew apart, leaving behind a single wide eye. He fell on his knees and hit the floor face first.   The filly changeling lay there, horrified by what she had just witnessed. I quickly dashed up to her, weapon pointed at her head.   She didn’t make a sound. I noted her wings fluttering haphazardly and her eyes overflowing with tears. At the sight, I eased off the trigger. I stared at her for a few more seconds before slamming the repeater over her head. She hit the floor, out cold.   I turned to the darkness, my brow furrowed as cold fury ran through my veins. “Care to make more threats on my life?”   “Well done, detective. Well done,” replied the same shadowy silky voice, this time physically sounding across the room; its tone taunting and ominous. “I would have expected no less from one such as you—”   All of a sudden, a sharp pain assaulted me, like somepony was driving a metal spike through the thickest part of my skull. I screamed out in pain as I dropped my repeater and clutched my head, falling on my knees.   “—but in the end, you lose,” it whispered in a viciously delighted tone.   The pain intensified, feeling as if the world’s worst surgeon had taken to performing a lobotomy using a crank drill.   “I’m… stronger… than you think….” I managed to groan. “I will… beat… you… you…” I mustered up what little energy I had left in me, forcing all of it back.   My pulse was pounding in my ears, drowning out the taunting voice in my head. I slowly forced it back, the latent energy that my kind possessed pushing the mental assault away. I was dimly aware of the crimson strands of blood forming around my body, but I was starting to lose my sight. I could feel the pain creeping back, threatening cause my skull to explode.   “You will fail, detective. You. Will. Fail!” the voice barked in what I could only describe as a half-cackle, half battle-cry.   “Never!” I shouted back with all my might. I forced every ounce of my strength into the counter assault. By sheer force of will, I managed to repel the unseen attacker, but the price had been steep. What little energy I had was all drained.   I fell on my knees as a deep shadow claimed me.   I pause for a moment. Something isn’t right here…   “Something wrong, detective?” Good Cop asks, staring at me cautiously, which I ignore.   “No, it’s nothing,” I quickly reply. I can feel my wings starting to vibrate harder as the wrongness seems to intensify all around me. It almost feels as if a black veil slowly wraps itself around me, ready to choke.   “Then continue your narration,” Bad Cop harshly says. His tone’s harsh, cold, and calculated.   The pain was nearly as intense as the mental assault before it. It was like being struck in the face by a flaming minotaur’s fist.   After it subsided, I picked up my repeater and half blindly dragged my hooves toward where I thought the voice had been coming from.   “I’ll… give you… five… seconds… to come out of the shadows and… fight before I start… shooting.” I managed to wheeze out. “And I promise… I won’t… miss…” I ended, weapon barrel pointed to the shadows…   …I pause once again. What did happen after that? I think to myself. All I remember was that I walked out of there, and then I was here… here…   I look to the two officers—officers I had been dead-certain were under Bullion’s payroll. Now, I had the awful gut feeling the actual truth was far more sinister than that.   “That’s it?” Bad Cop asks me, his tone a mix of indignation and slight shock.   I stare at his being, or more accurately, at his cufflinks. Just like Fancy Pants’, I realize Exactly…   I stand up slowly; taking a fresh sugar cube from the carton Good Cop had given me. I place it on my tongue and bite into it. No taste at all.   “Not your brand?” Good Cop asks as he himself stands up, pulling another carton from his suit’s pocket. His face tries to hide the sudden onset of terror.   Suddenly, it all made sense: the loaded questions, the seeming amnesia, and the two “officers” before me. I felt a genuine smile grow on my muzzle as the final realization clicked in my head.   I gave the two phony officers one last look. You play, you pay, you bastards.   There are three types of lies: lies, damn lies, and statistics.