//------------------------------//
// Chapter 2: "suspicious cabbies and back alley surgeons" 
// Story: memoirs of a private detective: volume 1 
// by Inkwell_the_writer_horse 
//------------------------------//

I found it hard to get back on my own four hooves. the bullet that freed me, also sent me on my back, rolling around and squirming in pain, knocking loose teeth completely out of my mouth, and further dislodging out of place bones and internal organs. I eventually balanced myself on the small surgeons tray used to torture me earlier, I emptied it, sending assorted tools and blades all over the warehouse. I slowly limped to the exit with the help of my makeshift walking frame and was shocked to find where I was, they didn't bring me to the middle of nowhere or some rural, mafia controled town, they brought me home, Baltimare.

I was hurting bad, it was becoming hard to breathe as my lungs filled with blood and my head became heavy, I thought I was a gonner. Suddenly a bright light appeared, blinding me for a brief moment. As hard as it was to think about anything other than surviving, my brain raced, and visions of an angel of death reflected in my glazed and bloodshot eyes. I blankly stared into the beacon as a voice snapped me out of my trance.

"Hey, buddy, you o-kay?"

Some cabbie blinded me with his cart lights, on top of every other wound I'd gained I guess he wanted to blind me, too. I wanted to reply, the words kept ringing in my ears: NO, but all I could muster up was pained grunts and moans. I passed out, landing on my knees before slamming my face into the cold, dark gravel.

I woke up in the back of a cart, my tongue a little looser, able to form complete sentences.

"Where are you taking me?"

The cabbie didn't miss a beat.

"To the hospital, you don't look too good, pal."

He was a regular good samaritan, was probably gonna set me up in a nice hotel, all expenses paid, but their was still work to be done.

"No, take me to the corner of trotter and west."

I had an old friend in those dark alley ways, a back alley surgeon who fixed up thugs after shootouts, and he wasn't above helping an old, tired private detective.

"Trust me, buddy, it's a dangerous area, you don't wanna go down there."

I somewhat regret what I did next, he didn't notice my hoofgun, tucked close to my broken ribs, while setting me up back here. I pointed it at his head.

"whatever happened to the customer always being right?"

He was calmer than I expected, good cabbie, kept his compusure, didn't pull the gun tucked under his seat that I neglected to remove.

"I was wrong about you, I thought you got roughed by one a' those gangs, but you're a gangster yourself, ain't ya?"

He stopped the cart, we were here. The deep black of the alley way was complemented by the orange street lights. It's unholy halo. I answered the cabbies question.

"Far from it."

I hobbled out the back and hoped he'd be here, the cart left with the speed and noise of a stampede, leaving me alone again.

I stumbled into the alley and called out 

"BONES!"

When I got no reply I slid down a wall, I always hoped I wouldn't die on my back. I called out again.

"BONES, GET YOUR FLANK OUT HERE, RIGHT NOW."

Blackness was closing in on me. I was already dead but now I knew, once my eyes closed they wouldn't open again.

I woke up in great pain, a metal brace half inside me, the light reflecting off of it half blinding me.

"What the buck?"

I was confused, unsure what had happened, then I heard that raspy, creepy voice, obscured by his medical respirator mask.

"Hold still, little pony, your almost FIXED!"

His sudden maniacal laughing didn't help to ease the tension, the best I could do was to just grit my teeth and let it happen, I faded in and out of conciousness from the pain, occasionally catching glimpses of rusty bone saws and heavy, bloody mallets. It's a truly terrifying thought to imagine what they were used for. I finally woke up, half dead, but still more alive than when I came in.

He was friendlier, and more professional than I remembered, running every manner of test to assess my physical well being, giving me glassess of water and offering oxygen tanks at the slightest throat scratch. He told me somethig big was going down and I was at the center of it, told me I needed to be prepared. I didn't heed his warning, he'd always had a couple of screws loose and I was in no mood to play his games.

He told me I was on the table for 4 hours, but it was still dark out, guess that's winter nights for ya. He offered me perscription  painkillers, and went to grab them for me,  I saw my oppurtunity to leave and immediatley took it, leaving an I.O.U on a piece of paper on his desk. Their was nopony outside, no cabbies, no gang bangers, not even a hit pony, just empty streets and vacant roads. I walked for a short eternity before I recognised a tall, decrepid building. I was home.