Overture

by Dusk Quill

Chapter 4: Investigate the Investigation

It was raining when Fleethoof and Bentgrass arrived in Thatchholm. Fleethoof didn’t see it as an omen—merely an unavoidable circumstance. It always rained in Thatchholm as far as he had heard. The lush green countryside stood testament to that rumor.

The small village barely appeared on the map, and though Fleethoof had a good idea of what to expect going in, the little hamlet still amazed him with its thatched roof buildings and miniscule population. It was one of those towns where everypony knew everypony for generations. The lack of size made it the picture-perfect definition of quaint, and the homely feel was marred only by its lack of privacy.

Thatchholm did not have a train station—no surprise to Fleethoof—and clearly did not get many visitors from the city. It was impossible to ignore the stares from the residents when he and Bentgrass arrived via taxi carriage and stepped out in almost identical black suits and white shirts. He had opted out of bringing his uniform and all his gear, Celestia forbid he stand out more than he did now. Bentgrass had made it explicitly clear that the investigation was to remain as low key as possible, lest they risk putting the missing agents in any further danger.

Bentgrass took a deep breath of the musty air, his head slowly swiveling as he took in the town. He had been to rural places before, but Thatchholm had to take the cake. It looked like the entire town had converged around the one major road that ran through it, and all eyes were beset on them.

“Looks like we’ve drawn quite a crowd,” said Fleethoof in passive observation as the two stallions took note of their surroundings. Fleethoof eyed the ponies more while Bentgrass studied every finer detail of the environment, walking off down the road with the faintest trace of a smile lingering on his lips.

“Indeed… It’s more of a welcome than I anticipated…”

“You were expecting a greeting?”

“Well, it’s not the fanfare and parade I usually like, but it’s more than I was expecting.”

Fleethoof chuckled, unable to ignore the humor from his partner’s heavy sarcasm, and the two set off down the road. “Where do we even start?”

“Special Agents Glimmer and Eye were using the local bed and breakfast as their base,” Bentgrass said, taking the lead down the road. “Since we have no other leads, it seems like the only logical place to begin.”

“I’m amazed this place gets enough tourists to even need lodging.” Fleethoof smirked at his own comment, glancing up and down the road. “There’s literally nothing here.”

“That is precisely what makes it the ideal location for covert criminal dealings. You get the idyllic countryside view with a gift basket of illegal weapons.” Bentgrass flicked his head to a building across the street. The sign out front designated it as the bed and breakfast they were looking for. “If you build it, they will come.”

Bentgrass and Fleethoof cantered quickly up the porch and made their way inside. The bed and breakfast was about as small as Fleethoof expected it to be, the nearly claustrophobic lounge lending little in the way of movement. Bentgrass weaved his way past antique-looking furniture to a desk nestled in the far corner. Nopony was in sight, something that ordinarily would’ve put Fleethoof off. He chalked it up to the small town once more.

With a quick tap to the small bell on the desk, Bentgrass summoned an elderly looking mare from an adjacent room. The mare scurried across the room and took her place behind the desk, readjusting her large glasses bridging the end of her nose.

“Good afternoon, gentlecolts,” she said, looking between the two suited stallions. “Are you two here on a lover’s retreat?”

Bentgrass exchanged a look with Fleethoof. The captain mirrored the agent’s own confusion and merely shrugged.

“Don’t look at me, Agrostis. You’re the one she’s talking to.”

“Sorry, but you’re not my type, Fleethoof,” Bentgrass said, the corners of his lips turned upwards in the permanent remnants of a smirk. “We’re here looking for a couple friends of ours. They were staying here. Have you seen them lately?”

The mare frowned and readjusted her glasses once again. “What happened to your eye, deary?”

“Eye?” Bentgrass asked, furrowing his brow in a most convincing act of confusion Fleethoof had ever seen. “What eye?”

She lifted a shaky hoof, pointing to the right side of his face. “Your eye—“

“Ma’am, the ponies, if you please.”

“Oh, you’re going to have to be more specific than that, sonny. We get a lot of ponies come through these parts.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” remarked Bentgrass, looking around at the photographs hanging on the wall. “We’re looking for a mare and a stallion—both unicorns. They would have been here very recently. Dawn Glimmer and Keen Eye.”

“Oh, yes! The lovely couple here on holiday,” the mare spoke with a warm smile, and then shook her head. “No, I haven’t seen them in a few days.”

Bentgrass nodded his head. He had expected as much. He glanced passively at the mare behind the counter, who was simply smiling obliviously back at him. He waved his hoof, hoping it would remind her of the conversation they seemed to be having.

“Could you tell me where they were staying?” he asked, flashing his badge to the mare.

The mare blinked in surprise. “Oh, of course! Lemme just check the ledger… Let’s see, here—ah! They were up in Room 3.”

Bentgrass nodded his head curtly and dropped down from the counter. “Thank you.”

“You know, I don’t think I can really let you in somepony else’s room,” the mare objected, pursuing after the two stallions headed up the stairs. “I don’t think this is legal.”

Fleethoof followed the hell-bent Bentgrass as he walked down the narrow hallway on the second floor, all but gliding silently across the hardwood. His graceful gait came to a stop before a door marked by a plain number ‘3’ carved into the wood. The incessant querying of the landlady behind them fell on deaf ears. Bentgrass was already turning the knob, even when the mare demanded to see his ID again.

Bentgrass scowled at the locked door, and turned quickly on the owner. “Do you have keys to the rooms?”

“Of course I do.” The mare looked more put off by his question than by his persisting presence.

“Then open the door.”

The old mare refused to budge. “Let me see your ID again, mister.”

“We don’t have time for this,” muttered Fleethoof, pushing past Bentgrass as the agent moved to confront the stubborn owner.

“Miss, two ponies may be in danger. We need those keys.”

“No we don’t.”

Bentgrass looked over his shoulder as Fleethoof delivered a hard kick to the door, knocking it inward. He knew the pony’s disregard for conventional methods would open a few doors, but he didn’t expect it to be quite so literal, quite so soon. The pegasus was already in the room as the others stepped inside.

“That’s frowned upon in normal society, you know,” Bentgrass remarked as he followed Fleethoof through the threshold.

Fleethoof didn’t even bat an eyelash. “Since when have I played by society’s rules? Besides, I had probable cause. You agents love that technical stuff, right?”

“And what cause was that?”

“I’m working on it.”

The special agent muttered a soft chuckle and began his examination. The room was in pristine condition with no signs of a struggle or foul play. All of the research the two agents had acquired over time lay neatly stacked on the tables and dresser. Photographs of the Clydesdale Manor and one stallion in particular were pinned to the far wall.

As he had expected, Agents Glimmer and Eye were nowhere to be seen.

“Well, if your friends were abducted, it certainly didn’t happen here,” Fleethoof said, moving around to the side of the table and examining the reports. “This place would have been torn apart to hide any evidence.”

“What is the meaning of all this?! I’m getting the police!” the mare threatened.

“We are the police, ma’am,” replied Bentgrass, already rifling through the reports on the table. The touch of a southern accent in his rich voice added an air of authority to his words. “But while you’re offering to get things, some coffee and quiet would be much appreciated.”

The mare lingered in the doorway for a while, unsure whether or not he was joking. Bentgrass glanced up at her, shooing her off with a nonchalant wave of a hoof. Huffing, the mare stormed off back down the stairs, making the agent utter a half-suppressed laugh again.

“Bentgrass, take a look at this.”

Fleethoof motioned with a flick of his head to the photographs hung on the wall. Bentgrass slowly walked down the line of photos, taking each one in with careful consideration. Many of them were outside shots of the manor, along with several of a brown Earth pony around the grounds.

“It’s Clydesdale. He’s been the sole focus on their investigation since the beginning,” he spoke tersely, glancing back at the reports he had been reading. “It seems like they weren’t making much headway in the case.”

Fleethoof went back to the table of papers, skimming over the top few swiftly. He shook his head slowly. “It doesn’t look like they had anything solid. A lot of circumstantial events and intuitive hunches, but no hard evidence.”

Bentgrass’ frown deepened. “They must have found something that isn’t here then.”

“You’re thinking somepony took only one thing from this room and left it this immaculate?”

“If it was the proverbial nail in the coffin, it would explain a lot.”

“Well, if that’s the case, then we’re up the river without a paddle,” Fleethoof muttered dismally. He lifted a tiny notepad and flipped leisurely through the pages. “Your agents could be anywhere by now, and we don’t have the slightest clue where to begin looking.”

Bentgrass dipped his head, tracing the grain of the wood in the floor beneath his hooves. The gears in his head that never stopped turning began rotating in overdrive. To the untrained pony, it would appear as if both agents had vanished off the face of Equestria. He knew better. He had been in the RIS long enough to know that nothing was ever as it seemed.

“What do you want to do, Special Agent? It’s your call.”

He nodded his head, and replied, “We’ll start here and work our way forwards. If we can find any leads in the reports that they might have followed, we’ll try to mimic their most likely course of action.”

“It looks like they were just staking out the manor constantly.” Fleethoof looked from the photos on the wall down to the notepad in his hooves. “Special Agent Glimmer kept meticulous records on where they scoped the place out from. They might have gone to one of those places.”

It was a long shot, but Bentgrass couldn’t think of a better alternative—unless they had missed something groundbreaking in the research. He turned back to the stunned and very confused landlady, still standing idly in the doorway. “The two ponies that were here, where were they going when you last saw them? What were they doing?”

The mare looked positively speechless for the longest time. “I… I don’t know. They came and went at all hours of the day, always carrying cameras and notebooks around with them. I thought they were just tourists though.”

Cameras and notebooks. The wheels in Bentgrass’ head began to turn faster. “Were they taking cameras with them when they left a few days ago?”

“…I think so. Is that important…?”

“Captain Fleethoof—”

“Already on it,” Fleethoof said as he stuffed the small notepad in his jacket. “All right, let’s go investigate the investigation.”

Dandridge slowly dragged a chair across the room, the wood scraping over the hardwood like nails on a chalkboard. Dawn Glimmer tensed up where she hung, wincing as she tried to block out the sound. Her eyes watched the shadows glide across the shiny floors, creeping closer towards her like serpents.

A twitch rippled through Dawn’s weakened body as she fought to avert her eyes from the monster looming before her. Dandridge took a seat calmly in front of her, looking over the mare’s lithe form with a grin, admiring the cuts and bruises that covered her torso and legs. He dipped his head slightly, trying to see Dawn’s eyes. He desperately wanted to see the hope and light leave her.

“How are you feeling, Miss Glimmer?” he asked, his voice as smooth as silk and cold as a glacier.

Dawn refused to answer. She simply stared down at the floor, counting the speckles of her own blood staining and seeping into the wood. The metallic taste of the fluid still lingered in her mouth. Her heartbeat pounded around in her skull, just behind her eyes.

Dandridge ducked his head a little more, looking into her glassy, distant eyes. “Feel like having a little chit-chat, my dear?”

Her lips quivered gently, fighting against the urge to yell and the urge to surrender. So many angry, vicious words buzzed around her mind. She was dying to scream and fight—to do anything against her captor. She was trained for situations like this, she had spent months preparing for this exact moment. Now, she was pinned to a wall like an insect in somepony’s collection.

“Now, why don’t you tell me about your little investigation, hmm?” Dawn Glimmer refused to even lift her head, let alone speak. “Who knows about your field trips out here?”

“What are you going to do to me…?”

“Now now, no need to fret, Miss Glimmer,” said Dandridge, leaning casually back in his chair. “Now, let’s talk about your investigation.”

“Go to hell, you bastard…”

Dandridge sighed with disappointment and stood up, twisting his neck to stretch the muscles within. His hooves clopped softly as he took long, slow strides across the room, back over to the switches on the wall.

“I had the power increased in these, just for you, Miss Glimmer.” Dawn tried to smother the twinge of fear that passed through her. Dandridge tapped his hoof idly against the switch, staring with a smile at the mare across the room. “Now, about your investigation…”

“You’ll never get away, you monster… The RIS will come and when they do, they’ll bring the entire Guard and then they’re going to chop you up into little pieces while you’re still breathing. You’re going down, and nothing you can do to me can ever break me. Equestria’s finest will break through your front door and—”

With a roll of his eyes, Dandridge flipped the switch. Dawn’s tirade ended in a bloodcurdling scream of agony.

“This is the final spot on Agent Glimmer’s map,” Fleethoof said as he and Bentgrass trudged up the muddy hill. “If it’s anything like the others, though, I don’t think we’re going to find anything.”

Bentgrass pursed his lips, creases forming in his brow as the two stallions reached the crest of the hill, the sun beginning to dip lower in the afternoon sky. Each spot the agents had chosen had been methodical and had a perfect vantage point over the front of the manor house. What had been most frustrating was the rain. If there had been any trace evidence left, it had long-since been washed away.

If only we’d had another agent check on them sooner… Bentgrass thought bitterly, the sting of failure biting at his soul.

The hilltop looked exactly the same as the many others surrounding Thatchholm county, and completely identical to the other three they had searched. Bentgrass’ eyes swept meticulously over every blade of grass, hunting for any abnormality with the area or for any object left behind. Hell, anything that would clue them into a lead would be a godsend. Desperation was not something Bentgrass enjoyed being subjected to.

“Do you see anything?”

“No,” said Bentgrass, shaking his head. The frustration was rapidly mounting on his features. “The rain must have cleaned the scene if they were abducted from here.”

Fleethoof circled around the top of the hill slowly, tipping over small rocks with his hoof, hoping to uncover something. “So we’re still stuck at square one…”

Bentgrass merely shook his head, his eyes scouring the ground like a hawk. “Not exactly. We know they were staking out the manor when they were abducted.”

“Doesn’t mean they were abducted,” Fleethoof pointed out. “They could have been double agents.”

“I have a tad more faith in my colleagues than that, Captain. Foul play seems much more likely, and if there’s any trace evidence here, we’ll find it.”

Scoffing, he turned back to the agent meticulously searching through the lush tufts of grass. “You like to deal in the logical and possible, Bent. We can’t rule out that they didn’t jump ship—”

“No.”

The response had come so swiftly and with such vindication that it caught Fleethoof off guard. “No? Just… no? No reasoning? No debating? No nothing? That’s awfully closed-minded of you, Agrostis.”

“I trust the agents I work with, Captain. I have as much faith in them as you have in your team.”

“It’s a different case,” Fleethoof said. “My soldiers risk their lives doing things nopony else would dare do. They’re the finest, most patriotic bunch in Equestria. They make sacrifices greater than anypony should have to bear.”

Bentgrass’ head snapped up in the blink of an eye, his gaze locking with Fleethoof’s. In his contrasting eyes, he could see nothing but limitless dedication and unwavering faith. Bentgrass’ stare was intense, more so than Fleethoof had seen come from the stallion.

“Dawn Glimmer’s mother died in hospital while she was buried deep undercover with a gang in Baltimare, diffusing a robbery and hostage situation. She never got to say goodbye to her,” he stated, his voice so hard it made Fleethoof cringe inwardly. “Keen Eye missed his own brother’s graduation from the Guard Academy because he was working a case on the other side of the country. Then he missed seeing him off when he was deployed to the war for the same reason.”

Fleethoof was stunned silent. He dipped his head apologetically, feeling his insides knot up. “I’m sorry, Agrostis. I didn’t know… I shouldn’t have assumed—“

“Not everypony needs to be a superhero to make sacrifices, Fleethoof. My agents may not be perfect, but I would never doubt their loyalty.” Bentgrass swiveled his head to the left, and caught a glint of something shiny partially hidden by the grass. He paused and leaned in for a closer look, pushing the blades of grass aside with a hoof to inspect the object. “Hello there…”

Fleethoof looked up at his partner. “Find something?”

Bentgrass carefully extracted the shimmering object from the mud it was half buried in. After wiping it clean, he held it up in the light. It was a brass cartridge, discarded without care in the grass. Fleethoof came closer, examining the bullet casing up close.

“Yes, a spent cartridge.” He slowly turned the cool metal cartridge around in his hoof. “It’s the same caliber as the firearms RIS agents carry.”

“Save for you,” remarked Fleethoof with a touch of a smirk. “You and your custom tools.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“I always seem to be. May I?” Fleethoof gingerly took the evidence from Bentgrass’ hoof while the agent began to diligently check the immediate area more closely. Fleethoof inspected the cartridge from all sides. He took a curious sniff of the inside. “It’s been lying here a while. The rain’s washed all gunpowder residue out of it already.”

Bentgrass nodded his head slowly, processing the information in his mind. “Approximately three days, would you estimate?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say it’s possible. Definitely no less than twenty-four hours. You’re the investigator, you’d know forensics better than I would.”

The stallion nodded his head slowly once again. One clue did not leave them much to work with, but he could hypothesize what had occurred. His eyes scanned over the hill once again, taking a step back towards the slope a little more. Faint silhouettes of two bodies were just barely visible, outlined by partially flattened grass. They must have been staking out the manor for some time. His eyes returned to where the bullet casing had been found. It was right beside one of the outlines.

“They were lying here… both of them…” Bentgrass said, pointing to the two nearly invisible shapes in the grass. Fleethoof stepped back and looked over the whole scene along with him. “It would take a few hours to leave that sort of indentation in the grass this long…”

Fleethoof gave a nod assent, following the shape of the outlines to the Clydesdale Manor. “They were watching the manor.”

Bentgrass lifted his head, staring across the way at the distant manor house. The front porch was perfectly visible from this vantage point. The agents would easily pick up everypony coming and going.

“They weren’t watching the manor… they were watching somepony in front of the manor. This spot is the only one where you can clearly see down the road. Anypony approaching the house would be seen, as well as the house itself. Something must have been happening out front and they chose this spot so they could see it all.”

“This spot is awfully visible to anypony watching from the manor too, though,” Fleethoof said, noting the lack of cover around. “Do you think your agents got ambushed and abducted, one tried to fight back, got a shot off, and then got overwhelmed and taken?”

Bentgrass pressed his lips tightly together, glancing over at Thatchholm. The town was a short distance away. “Perhaps. It would explain the lack of blood. I don’t think there was much of a fight. We are far enough away that a gunshot of such a small caliber may have gone unnoticed or mistaken for something else, but multiple shots fired and being ignored is a stretch.”

“So we’re pretty much where your agents left off, with nothing but speculations and circumstantial clues…” Fleethoof heaved a sigh as he glanced from Thatchholm to Clydesdale Manor, and then back to Bentgrass. The agent was staring off at the large house, his eyes fixated and narrowed like a hunter. “What are you thinking?”

“I think it’s time we go pay Mister Clydesdale a visit,” said Bentgrass, a ghost of a smile on his face as he stashed the casing in his jacket and set off for the manor.

Fleethoof gave a hard chuckle. “That’s your grand plan? Go knock on the door politely and ask if he did it?”

“If only my job were so easy… But when all else fails, try the front door.”

“I hope you’re prepared to have it slammed in your face…”

“He won’t do that,” Bentgrass spoke confidently. “Dandridge Clydesdale is notorious for his ego and superiority complex. If he’s behind something, he’s going to enjoy toying with us while we conduct our investigation.”

“He’s also known for his short temper,” Fleethoof said in reminder. “Let’s not try to push him too far that he shuts down and has us benched.”

A slow smirk worked its way across Bentgrass’ ever-impassive face. “Just leave the small talk to me.”

Dandridge watched with fascinated pleasure at the way Dawn Glimmer’s body contracted and thrashed against her bonds as electricity ran through her. The mare’s eyes rolled up into the back of her head and her mouth hung open limply. She had long-since given up on screaming, her vocal cords torn asunder now only giving short, guttural groans and choking sounds.

A smile spread across the wide-eyed stallion’s face as he admired his work. It was always such a delight to see results firsthand before his very eyes. Each spasm and twitch Dawn made only further enticed him to do more. Dark flashbacks of the past flittered past his eyes. Her pain was like his drug, and he was getting dangerously close to overdosing on it.

He popped open a pocket watch concealed within an inner pocket of his blazer. He had been at this a lot longer than he had thought. I guess it is true, time flies when you’re having fun, he thought with a hummed laugh. Snapping the watch closed again, he threw the switch off, shutting down the electric circuit and freeing Dawn of her anguish.

For the longest time, Dawn just hung there, her weak body unable to ever lift her head anymore. It simply hung, leaning against her shoulder for support. Her breathing was ragged and labored. A thin trail of drool had begun to spill down the side of her gaping maw.

“It’s been a little over two hours, Miss Glimmer,” Dandridge said, standing up again and trotting slowly alongside the far wall opposite of her. His hooves clopped rhythmically against the floor, each echoing sound sending chills down Dawn’s spine. “Won’t you spare yourself any further torture and just tell me what I want to know?”

Dawn spat out a mouthful of bile and tried to put on her bravest face as she glared at Dandridge, still unable to lift her head much. All of her muscles felt like they’d been turn to gelatinous lead. Her head was swimming, and a ringing had filled her ears.

“Whoever you’re protecting is certainly not worth this level of dedication, my dear.” The cold-hearted stallion stopped beside the table, eyeing the sharp instruments lain out neatly across the surface.

“Equestria… is worth protecting… from scum like you…” Dawn muttered, her voice hoarse and raspy with the strain it took just to draw breath from her lungs.

With a slow nod of his head, Dandridge slid a sharp knife across the table towards him. “You adhere to your morals, Miss Glimmer. That’s very admirable—but very unwise.”

Taking the blade between his teeth, Dandridge closed the distance between him and his captive. Dawn’s pupils shrank as she watched the light reflect of the sheen of the knife. Even from where she was, she could see how dangerously sharp it was. She squirmed, trying to worm her way away from whatever the sadistic pony had in mind.

Dandridge gave a low chuckle that sounded more like a hungry animal’s growl and made his move. He placed his hooved on either side of Dawn’s restrained body, bringing the knife up and pressing the flat side against her cheek. The feeling of the icy metal against her skin made Dawn whimper quietly. Slowly, he brought the knife down, parting her fur with the edge with careful gentleness, like a lover caressing her body. As he reached her shoulder, he began to apply pressure. Dawn felt the metal bite into her tender skin gradually, ripping past the skin and drawing a drop of rich red blood.

The sounds of two doors opening with a bang made both ponies tense up and freeze. Dawn Glimmer glanced at the knife digging into her skin, and then at Dandridge. The pony had a distant, unreadable expression on his face as he remained statuesque, the knife still clenched tightly between his jaws. For a while it was silent, and then a pony’s voice broke the tension.

“Master Dandridge, sir? Are you here?”

Dandridge recognized the voice of his housekeeper. With a vicious growl, he dropped back down and returned the knife to its former resting place on the table. Storming with quick, heavy paces across the room, he threw the doors open and pulled them shut behind him, sealing Dawn away from the world once more.

He turned and strode into his spacious office. Standing amidst the fine furniture and ceiling-high bookshelves, a petite pony waited nervously, looking very awkwardly out of place. She turned around with wide, startled eyes when she heard the doors open and shrunk away timidly when she saw the bitterness on Dandridge’s face.

“What is it?” he snapped impatiently. “You know never to disturb me when I’m in my study. What could be so bloody important that you broke the most consequential rule in this house?”

The housekeeper shrunk back further, all but folding in on herself. Her eyes diverted downward, not daring to look him in the eye. Her ears folded back, her tail tucked tightly between her legs.

“W-Well, sir… There’s—”

“Oh, out with it! I’m busy, you dense filly! What, is Equestria burning? Has the sky fallen? What?!”

The mare swallowed hard, lifting herself a little to give herself the courage to even speak. “There are two ponies at the door asking for you, sir.”

Dandridge groaned and rolled his eyes, starting back for the doors he had come through. “You know what to do with them. Turn them away. Dear Celestia, do I have to tell you how to do every job—”

“They’re RIS agents, sir.”

Dandridge stopped dead in his tracks. He felt his body go rigid, hackles rising slightly. His housekeeper watched as the ripple ran through his muscles. He turned, his irate expression gone, wiped clean by a look of curiosity and interest, cold and calculating like a predator.

“RIS, you say…?” The housekeeper nodded sheepishly. Dandridge glanced upward in thought, then gave a short nod of his head. “How intriguing… Well, let’s not keep our guests waiting.”

Putting on a faux smile, Dandridge headed down the long corridors of the manor, bound for the front door.

Locked away back in his hidden torture chamber, Dawn Glimmer had begun to writhe and fighting against her bonds, straining and abrading her skin in a desperate attempt at freedom. She winced as she felt the unyielding metal scrape at her flesh, the pain stinging through the haze of numbness her muscles had grown accustomed to. Her body felt weak and powerless, but the prospect of waiting around for Dandridge’s next round of amusement.

Tendons strained and skin tore beneath the grasping metal. The more she struggled, the more her legs were rubbed raw, smearing blood against the shackles. It took several forced tries, but with enough lubrication and a cry of pain she managed to tear her hoof free. Her wrist was rubbed raw and blood dripped down her leg, but she was free—partially free. The sight of her hoof dangling limply at her side brought renewed hope and vigor to the trapped pony, and with her eyes narrowed, she began to yank with dire desperation at her other hoof.

Comments

[Word Bearer]

Well damn and MOAR.

[MariusIoannesP]

3599237 If it came from the Doctor's mouth, than I must accept it. Alternate universes. Geronimo!

What was that song anyway? It sounds familiar in a parody-ish sort of way.

[MariusIoannesP]

And now I'm am caught up with the Skyfall series. Now, I have to actually wait for this story to update. I'm looking forward to Dandridge's first meeting with Bentgrass and Fleethoof. Should prove to be interesting.

“Good afternoon, gentlecolts,” she said, looking between the two suited stallions. “Are you two here on a lover’s retreat?”
Bentgrass exchanged a look with Fleethoof. The captain mirrored the agent’s own confusion and merely shrugged.

Seriously, now it's not just mares they mistake him for being in a relationship with. Just went from James Bond to Jack Harkness.

This is probably the darkest of the Skyfall stories with this poor filly being tortured by this psychopath who is sickeningly enjoying it. I gladly await the next installment. Keep up the good work.

[Dusk Quill]

3599073
Canon: the worst enemy to anything fan produced.

[Silverstein]

You write excellent torture scenes. And Bentgrass seems to be a natural detective. Should be a good combination.

Silver out!

[FenrisianBrony]

Damn Fleethoof, you don't play by anyponies rules except your own do you?

3599645
Did someone say Captain Jack Harkness?
fc04.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2012/324/f/8/captain_jack_pony_by_flyingscotsman4472-d5lkzex.png

[Veyron]

Woo finally had time to read. Lovers retreat.

[Spriggs272]

If looks like a trap and smells like a trap. And it is quite obviously a trap .... you spring said trap! Then involve a large amount of running, explosions and gunfire and you get a Michael Bay film Dusk Quill Story.

[Ser_Galahad]

Gets home at 10. Needs to read Tale of Two Cities for tomorrow. Opens computer. Sees update. Throws Tale of Two Cities across the room.
Oh Well

Aim High: Fly, Fight, Win

[Dusk Quill]

3606891
Eeyup.

[Habanc]

Good chappy.

I found a typo, though:

Her body felt weak and powerless, but the prospect of waiting around for Dandridge’s next round of amusement.

It seems you forgot the end of the sentence there. The prospect of Dandridge's next round of amusement was what? Too much?

[Dusk Quill]

3615307
Copy/paste fail. Fixed it.