Act 3 Chapter 20 : They Are Rage, Brutal, Without Mercy, But You Will Be Worse
The cafe smelled terrible.
Torque passed a dozen sewage workers outside but was too bothered by his upcoming meeting to really connect the dots. All he knew was that his coffee tasted like piss and the waitress who delivered it looked like she’d been shooting up Ace in the back.
For the tenth time in as many minutes, he pulled at the collar of his black suit. It wasn’t a comfortable suit, but it was Jeweler wear, and while he’d normally have taken some offense to being made to wait, the pony who was coming was the sort one didn’t take umbrage with if they valued having all four limbs. He took another sip of the coffee and then quickly set it down before the shaking in his hooves became too much to hold it.
His gun felt heavy against his leg, heavier than it’d ever felt because, for once, it wasn’t creating any sense of safety or comfort. How could anypony be safe from something that could do that to ten competent fighters?
He was shaken from his thoughts by the ding of a little silver bell above the cafe door.
A moment later, a thin unicorn mare in an identical suit that somehow seemed to fit her more comfortably slid into the booth on the other side. She took off a pair of stylish sunglasses and set them on the table. He wished she hadn’t; it obligated him to look into her icy blue eyes. They were eyes capable of unflinching cruelty, and when they were on him, he could feel the hours of his life ticking away.
“I do hope you have a truly excellent reason to have called me here today, Mister Torque,” she murmured, plucking a notepad from the inside of her vest and laying it between them. “The emergency contact line is for management use only. You are not management.”
Torque’s ears flattened to the sides of his head. “I know, Ma’am. I know. Believe me, I do. You know Mister Caster?”
She nodded.
“Mister Caster had that phone number in his hoof when he died. He was trying to dial it when...when she got him.”
“She? You indicated the dead totaled ten, including our associate on the police force and Mister Skinner himself. Ten dead bodies is a quantity that management takes notice of. Are you claiming that a single individual is responsible for this?”
“I’m...I’m j-just saying she weren’t there when I got back from the corner st-store and they were all...all over the place!” he stammered, trying to pick up his coffee cup again. He was quivering so badly he dropped it, and she quickly snatched it from midair with her horn before he could spill the hot beverage all over himself. “Mister Caster was in the other office in the building, but she got him all the same. Them bloody hoofprints out the alleyway door was mare sizes...and they come from the interrogation r-room.”
“Yet she was...damaged...in Skinner’s usual manner. What could she have possibly done in that condition?” the mare demanded.
“I...I don’t know. It weren’t natural. Nopony like that is natural...but whatever you do, I don’t think we want to go find that filly. She walked away, and all that blood…”
“Don’t presume to dictate to management, Torque. We must establish what actually occurred and then determine who our assailants were. Then we will determine a course of action.”
“I’m telling you...ain’t nopony besides that mare go in there! The interrogation room was bucked open from the inside!”
----
Preliminary Autopsy Report
Coroner Presiding: Slip Stitch Ph.D, M.D. ADHD.
Subject : Stallion, age approximately 25 years. No identification, body unclaimed, cutie-mark removed.
Date of Death : Currently unknown, estimate three days ago at approximately 4:00 A.M.
Injuries : Lots of.
I show postmortem removal of the cutie-marks, the upper and lower molars, and the eyes. The facial bones have been shattered with a maul or hammer of some sort. I suspect these injuries are the result of an attempt to cover up the identity of the body. A second, much more thorough attempt involving magical scrubbing was used to turn the corpse’s DNA into wet spaghetti, so blood tracking shan't be an option. This was carried out somewhat later than the removal of the various other parts and, I must conclude, by someone else. Somepony did a dance on his genetic code, and it wasn’t a tango.
Two different groups wanted this person to be a complete unknown, though we can establish he is a member of the Jewelers street gang from the black suit and various other accoutrements found on his person. Sadly, until somepony claims him, we are down to a brief description of his injuries. It’ll be very difficult to find who to send invitations to his party to. Considering how closely the damage to his body mirrors that of his nine or so friends in similar condition, I suppose we’ll just have to have a cheerful little get together as opposed to a grand occasion.
When he was lively, our Mister Stallion No-Name was an earth pony of some considerable bulk. I detected traces of steroids which might explain that.
His pre-mortem injuries were just as extensive as those inflicted afterwards. Somepony shattered his collarbone, five vertebrae, and his skull with what would appear to be hoof strikes. An earth pony assailant would be capable of that. However, while he would likely have died of those injuries given some time, what killed him was a bladed implement approximately nine inches in length thrust into the chest between the third and fourth ribs on the left torso, piercing his heart.
My assistant tells me that this is referred to as a ‘Zebra Mercy Strike’.
Very odd.
I will do a more thorough analysis of his injuries after lunch. Mmm...spaghetti sounds delicious, as a matter of fact.
----
“Sit down, Sergent!” Chief Jade snarled, slapping the top of her desk.
Sergeant Register, who’d been pacing back and forth, promptly sank onto his haunches. “S-sorry, Ma’am. I...I hate not knowing where she is. She’s never been out of contact for this long!”
“I do understand and share your worry for Detective Shine and Officer Fox Glove. Now tell me again, what was the last communication you had with them?”
Register swallowed, smoothing his wild mane back with one hoof. He reached for her candy dish for a second, then thought better of it. “The last one said ‘Situation normal’. To our knowledge, Skinner still doesn’t suspect anything, and the only ponies who know the identities of our officers are in this room. Skinner’s group has been smuggling just about everything you can imagine for months now, and we’ve got almost enough to lock them up, assuming it’s all accurate.”
“And why wouldn’t it be accurate?” Jade asked cooly.
“Well, we’ve been letting most of the smuggling pass un-inspected, but now and then we’ll snatch one just to make them think we’re trying random searches,” Register replied, scratching at his mane. “The last four inspections were what we expected to find. Small or medium quantities of drugs for street distribution. That fifth one...Fox Glove reported that it was a normal container, but it contained enough drugs to put the entire Griffin Empire into a coma.”
Chief Jade snapped up a piece of candy and popped it into her muzzle. “A mistake?”
“I guess. I mean, it really wouldn’t be the first time an undercover agent made one. Sweet Shine is still mapping Skinner’s organization. Until we have her information, we can’t really move on them. Skinner is paranoid and smart, despite his ‘proclivities’. His lawyers are the sort of people who give prosecutors nightmares.”
The Chief looked contemplatively down at the files on her desk. Six months and it wasn’t more than a millimeter thicker, but Sweet Shine had always played things close and tight.
“Damn...I wish I hadn’t assigned her that nitwit,” she muttered.
“Ma’am, Fox Glove did pass his certifications. He’s young, yes, but he asked for Detective Shine specifically. They’ve worked well together the last year, whatever his issues with the rest of the department might be.”
“Doesn’t mean he’s not a reckless fool. Alright, keep me apprised. You hear one word about Sweet Shine or Fox Glove sticking their heads above the parapet, I want to hear it. Dismissed.”
----
The dock smelled like rotting fish on a good day, but with the summer sun beating down on it, the stink was enough to put an Ursa off his dinner.
Two stallions in stained coveralls, one using his horn and the other nothing but brute strength, were heaving large boxes off the dock onto a chute leading down into a boat below.
“So, like I was saying, they done caught this broad,” the unicorn explained, hefting another box into the air. “Now, I ain’t one for hurting girls, but you shoulda seen what she did to the boys before they took her down. Broke three muzzles, dislocated Sand Dollar’s shoulder, and pulled out this crazy jumping around martial arts crap until Lentil gets a lucky shot with that cannon of his. One inch lower and he’d have blown her brains all over the wall instead of knocking her out.”
His companion grunted as he shoved another cargo container off the dock, swiping a hoof across his forehead before he replied, “So, what do they think? Cop? Cyclone, maybe?”
“Probably a Cyclone, what with all that weird fighting,” the unicorn said, straightening the shoulder strap on his coveralls with his horn. “We been losing a few more shipments than normal, so I bet she was tipping off her ganger buddies and snatchin’ em. The boss wants to give her his ‘special treatment’. He bought Lentil a bottle of top shelf just for bringing the filly in.”
“The ‘special’ huh? Poor girl. Glad I'm not there tonight.”
His friend shuddered and swept his tail over his cutie-mark protectively. "You and me both. Ponies shouldn’t make noises like that. Sometimes I wish he’d just kill them what pisses him off, ‘stead of making them...you know.”
“Yeah, well, he’s the boss for a reason. When you want to grow the balls to make the big plays, you can be the boss. Me? I’m happy shleppin’ a little cargo and collecting a paycheck. Nice, safe job, and the worst I do in a week is toss a couple hundred bits at the shipping authority guy to go take a coffee break. Meantime, I don’t care what the boss does to some piece of flank. It’s none of my business, and turncoat is turncoat.”
----
There are few architects in the world who strive never to be noticed, but once in awhile you’ll run across somepony who excels at the art of being unobtrusive. They’ll frequently find themselves hired by city planners who’ve been quietly paid by ponies who value discretion and anonymity over style and character.
1235 Canyon Street was built to a specification of such dullness that even ponies who passed it sixty times a month weren’t aware it was there. It huddled between 1234 and 1236 like a rabbit who’d woken from a pleasant nap to discover he’s bedded down on a griffin dinner table. It was a building that would have radiated ‘shady underhanded dealings happen here’ if it radiated anything whatsoever.
The only thing that made it stick out from its surroundings was the presence of a heavily muscled stallion in a black suit who surely worked inside and had been on a ‘smoke break’ for the last six hours.
The hour had just ticked over to mid-evening when another stallion in an equally ill-fitting suit poked his head out the side door.
“Ink Blot, could you go get another first aid kit? We managed to get Candle Stick downstairs, but she busted Lute’s...eh...his...bits. Blood everywhere,” the new arrival said. “We’ll get him down to the doc’s place in an hour or two, but the boss doesn’t want anypony to see us carry him out.”
Ink Blot stood up straight, putting out his cigarette and shutting a thin novel before stuffing it in his pocket. “You’re kidding. I put those cuffs on her myself. Those were police issue with magic-resistant locks. How’d she get out of them?”
“She didn’t. That idiot thought he’d try to ‘have some fun’ with her, and she got her teeth around his...well...”
“What kind of moron—...ugh, never mind. Stupid prick never could keep it under his tail. Why is the boss keeping her alive? She’s more trouble than she’s worth.”
“You know, I actually asked the boss why he likes to do this crap when we caught that prick rooting through the records last year. I was drunk at the time, mind you.”
“You mean that stallion with the cowlick? Door Knocker, or whatever his name was?” the door guard asked. “I remember that. Mostly I remember the screaming. Never thought I’d feel bad for a blue.”
“Well, right after the boss peeled the guy, he said ‘People who betray me should know they’ll never get to say goodbye to anyone before they die’.”
“That’s some creepy crap,” the guard muttered. “Anyone hear what she actually did to piss off him off?”
“No clue. I thought Candle Stick was solid, too. She never complained. She even helped us work over Yortle The Turtle when he tried to pull a runner with the payout from the Tenth Street deal. Anyway, see about that first aid kit, would ya? Lute’s probably not going to stop howling until we put something on his crotch.”
“I’m off and heading to the bar in ten minutes. Can I just ‘unvolunteer’ myself for doing that part right now?”
----
He stared into the vague reflection of his own face in the one-way mirror. His sharp brown eyes stared back from an angular face that mares once found very beautiful. Of course, a predator must bait his hook with only the finest visions of loveliness to his prey, else he’ll never catch a meal.
Today, his meal was caught and ready to be gutted. It only took away from the satisfaction very slightly that he hadn’t been the one to catch this particular repast, but considering the fight she’d put up, he was only mildly put out.
The interrogation room reminded him of an aquarium.
When he was young, he’d had a fish tank. While other children played outside or joined sports teams, he was content to sit and watch his fish. His parents found it odd, but they never really objected to having a quiet child happy to spend his afternoons in his room enjoying the funny little lives of swimming creatures. The tiny beings were oblivious to the monster who fed them and made sure their home was clean.
Truly, his parents would have done well to check the number of fish in the tank from week to week; it might have saved them if they’d realized that the number of dead flowing out into the mass grave in the backyard was abnormally high, or if they’d asked why he spent so much of his pocket money on replacements. Then again, it might not.
He’d watched so many ponies through the interrogation room window, listening to their weeping, their excuses, their demands, and ultimately their screams. He’d held their lives in his hooves, and their blood, bones, and flesh were his to do with as he pleased.
So it was that he watched his latest little fishy lying there staring at the wall of her tank, her hooves bound and her muzzle bleeding. She was a pretty thing, if a bit plain. Racket had splashed a bit of vodka in her eyes when she tried to bite him, and whatever dye she’d used on her fur was fading, dribbling down the drain.
‘Plain is passing,’ he thought. ‘Soon, she’ll be beautiful. Her eyelids will be gone, and I will see her as she truly is...’
“Um...Boss?”
He chuckled to himself, turning to the voice’s owner. “Yes, Amber? Is everything ready?”
“You know it,” his lieutenant replied a bit proudly, smoothing a hoof back through her perfectly styled mane as she stepped into the tiny viewing room. “We got Lute to the doc. Probably won’t have a marefriend anytime soon, but he’ll live.”
“Did you find the information our little miss ‘Candle Stick’ managed to collect?” he asked.
“Everything was right where our contact said it would be. The hotel room she was renting was packed full, but...well, she trusted him to pass the information off to their handler. She’s got nothing. I’d almost feel sorry for her if the little bitch hadn’t been trying to get us all put in the pokey. Six months of her life wasted...”
“The whole of her life wasted, you mean. How much did she get?”
Amber sighed, sitting down and resting a hoof on the one-way mirror. “Too much. Way too much. Our security procedures are basically out the window. If management hadn’t identified her as a potential threat, we’d be having this conversation through bars right now.”
“Unfortunate.”
The two of them sat there for a long moment, watching the little fishy squirm about in her bonds.
“Boss, can I ask you something?” Amber said after a short time.
“Of course, Amber. What is it?”
“If management knew this filly might be a threat to their operations, why haven’t they taken her out before now? They let her infiltrate us completely before they moved. Most cops don’t scare me, but she’s cuh-razy. Another month and she’d have cracked our operation like an egg.”
“The will of management isn’t for us to know, Amber. They keep the machine ticking. That said...do imagine, if you will, having a pony of this caliber working for us.”
Amber gave him a sidelong glance. “You’re not going to try—”
“Oh, no...of course not,” he chuckled, waving a dismissive hoof. “No, her body will be disposed of in the usual way. I merely wish to point out that management is longsighted. They might have wished to turn her to our ends. That, or their choice served some grander purpose. If nothing else, it may have been to inform us of the weaknesses in our security.”
“That seems an awful lot of trouble to go to…”
He laughed, heartily, patting his subordinate on the back. “Would you have otherwise believed a single mare could infiltrate us so completely?”
“Now that you mention it, I don’t think I would have. I cleaned your tools myself, by the way. They’re in your office, per usual.”
“Excellent!” A thoughtful look crossed his face. She’d seen it several times during the last few years of her employment, and every time, somepony suffered. “Is she aware of who put her in this situation?”
“Well, none of my ponies told her, if that’s what you mean,” she replied, tapping her chin. “She was too busy fighting like a wildcat once she figured out the ‘meeting’ was a setup. I don’t think anypony has said two words to her besides Lute. After his little romantic offer, most of his words were some variation on ‘please don’t geld me’.”
“Good. Make certain nopony speaks to her. What about our ‘associate’? What do you make of him? Your impressions, please.”
Amber shook her head. “You mean the guy management had watching her? He’s a real piece of work. He looks young, but nopony young has eyes like that. If what he said was true, then he was watching her for two years. He spent the whole time working in one of our warehouses while she was out dealing. She had no idea who he really was.”
“Most interesting. Management gave orders that no one should attempt to ascertain her true identity. We know she is a police officer, but...I am inclined to follow their edicts. She’s a corpse, either way, and wasting resources killing her family will not update our security any more quickly.”
“Certainly, Sir. You want to try that trick you used on the Rhododendron twins again?”
“Ah! Am I really becoming predictable? I never did get them to do it before the end.”
Amber flicked her mane over her shoulder and smiled. “I just know you, boss. I’ll go find our friend and send him up to see you. You want a bottle of scotch, too?”
“Send some scones and cheese with it, if you don’t mind.”
----
The glare of the bright neon bathroom lights made the stallion’s eyes ache, but it was inconsequential. The current job had run longer than any prior, and he was tired. Tired and a bit sad.
“Sad?” he asked himself, aloud. “Where’d that come from?”
The job had cost him so many things. Had his mane always had those little tinges of grey amongst the foggy white? No. Nor had his pale coat always been so ragged around the edges. His fetlocks needed a good trim.
Had he let what he knew must eventually happen really affect him so completely? His disguise had never slipped before and his personal care used to be impeccable.
Ah...well. Unimportant. Emotion could be tucked away just like memory, names, and pain with the flick of a feather. He flexed his pale wings, gently brushing the tips of them over the nearby sink, then his own flanks. Peering over his shoulder at his cutie-mark, he considered it for a long moment.
‘Maybe if she’d asked,’ he thought, then shook his head. “If she’d asked what my mark meant, would I have told her? Would any of this have ended differently?’
Probably not.
Most ponies assumed his mark was a vase of some sort, until they looked more closely and could see the twin faces looking in opposite directions. A few colts in the academy had called him ‘Potter’, but she’d never mentioned his talent. Not once in a year and a half.
‘What an odd little pony she is,’ he thought.
When the orders came down to insinuate himself into the Detrot Police Department and watch a particular officer, he’d had no idea what he was getting himself into. She was passionate, driven, and madder than a hippogryph swallowing nails. Her talent made her weak, but it also made her dangerous.
Management assessed the risk. The job was ordered. He accomplished his task with his usual savvy. Why, then, should he feel guilt?
Somepony knocked on the bathroom door.
“Hey? You fall in? The boss wants to see you,” a mare said loudly enough to be heard from outside.
Swallowing, he quickly turned on the tap and splashed some water on his cheeks, then ducked his head under one wing to tug out a loose feather, dropping it in the sink. “Sorry, I’ll be right out. Is Candle Stick still able to talk?”
“The boss hasn’t started on her, yet. He likes to make ’em wait.”
“If it’s not too much trouble, could you be certain I get to talk to her before the end?”
“Sure. The boss is feeling clever tonight, so that might fit nicely with his other plans for the evening.”
----
Candle Stick’s eye hurt where one of the thugs popped her with a lucky shot, and her ribs felt like a xylophone that’d been played a little too vigorously. None of them were broken, so far, but that was likely to change as the night went on. She’d helped in a couple of beatings over the last six months, and broken ribs were always one of the more agonizing but more easily healed injuries you could inflict on a pony without worrying overmuch about killing them outright.
Thankfully her opponents were the same kind of street filth she’d spent the last six months dodging, fighting, and pissing on.
The little room only had the one white lightbulb, two chairs bolted to the floor, and a metal table similarly bolted.
‘What I wouldn’t give for some mouthwash right now. Ugh. That colt hadn’t washed in three days,’ she thought, trying to work up enough saliva to spit the taste of blood and other unpleasantness out of her muzzle. ‘Alright. Priorities. Priority one, find Fox Glove, make sure he’s safe.’ She shifted her hooves, making her bindings clank against one another. ‘No...wait, priority one is escape. Escape is definitely priority one.’
Shutting her eyes, she extended her senses, trying to feel if she was being watched at the moment through the one-way mirror.
A tickle. A tingle. A slight burn.
‘Phew...yeah, somepony is definitely there,’ she thought, pulling herself into a sitting position. ‘Probably Skinner. His victims tend to suffer for a while, and he likes a buildup.’
She reached up to wipe her face with both hooves. There was blood caked in her mane and a thin scratch where something had grazed her. Considering that was the blow that’d taken her out of the fight, it was probably a bullet, but the damage seemed pretty superficial. No cracked skull, though she was a bit woozy. Maybe a concussion, though a mild one if it was. Using the injury as an excuse, she felt around in her mane until she touched the hoofcuff key woven into a patch of hair. They’d done a pretty thorough search when she was unconscious; her nethers ached from some aggressive intrusions, either with magic or probes of some sort.
She’d wanted to go drinking their first week together, but her first partner out of the Academy insisted she bury that paycheck in a See-Me-Not enchantment on a hoofcuff key. She’d learned why six months later when a couple of Cyclone toughs dropped her off a pier with her hooves cuffed to a cement block.
“Thanks, Pan Pipe,” she whispered.
It was time to get organized. Get thinking. Get out of here and find Fox Glove. He’d left the message that led her into her current predicament. That probably meant they’d captured him. If she was alive, he likely was too. If not, then she’d find his body.
‘So, how many unicorns are in the building? Probably no more than three. I can handle pegasi and other earth ponies. We’re in a nice enclosed space. I can probably get on top of them before they can cast anything especially ugly at me. Skinner needs to leave, though.’
The door handle rattled, then opened. Candle Stick tensed, pulling her rear legs up to kick out if the pony approached her.
The newcomer was an older stallion with a bushy mustache and one of the few tailored suits she’d seen. His fit him pretty good. She’d heard her captors call him ‘Picket’ a couple of times during the fight. He’d fought cautiously and avoided most of her strikes, keeping well away as he waited for the younger colts and fillies to wear her down. The order to capture her alive must have been pretty ironclad, considering how much trouble she’d given him.
Another pony, a short, stocky mare, came in behind him. She was a pegasus, her eyes darting back and forth until she laid them on Candle Stick. Pushing her coat sleeve up, she revealed a snub-nosed revolver in a civilian gun harness, then picked up her trigger bit in her teeth, leveling the barrel at the bound pony.
“Move and I put a bullet in your flank,” the Jeweler filly growled. Candle Stick held her hooves apart and did her best to look relaxed, though her mind was racing.
Picket, meanwhile, skirted around the prisoner over to the table and produced a brightly polished knife from under his coat. It was a curved blade, almost a sword, with wide cutting edges and a handle canted at an angle from the base that made it ideal for holding in one’s teeth.
Candle Stick’s breath caught; she recognized the weapon. She’d seen a drawing of what they thought it looked like during the early mission briefings, though seeing it in person was something else.
It was a skinning knife; a griffin skinning knife, modified for pony use.
Picket set the weapon on the table, then backed away towards the door, keeping a careful eye on her.
Candle Stick wanted more than anything to launch herself at them, but she wasn’t sure of her ability to get to the gun or the knife before one or both of her opponents could put her down. The concussion was a factor, along with the bruises on her legs and sides. Those would slow her considerably, assuming there weren’t any more injuries she hadn’t discovered yet. Picket’s suit-jacket sleeve bulged, and a trigger bit dangled against his knee; it was safe to assume that he was also armed.
Warily, the two jewelers eased out the door. It swung shut again, leaving her alone with only the stink of her own blood for company.
‘Alright, time to get up,’ she thought, pushing her hobbled hooves under her chest and testing her weight on them. Her front knees held up alright, though there was a bit of a twinge in her back. Nothing major, but it held the promise of an achy morning. Her rear legs shook, then slowly steadied under her.
Moving to the table, she peered down at the knife, giving it a light poke with her toe, then looked up towards the mirror. Her reflection left much to be desired. The black eye was going to take a fair bit of makeup to cover, and her mane was a lost cause.
A speaker set into the wall crackled, and then a cheerful, cultured voice echoed around the room loudly enough to make her flinch in pain. It was a familiar voice and one that made her coat stand on end.
“Miss Candle Stick. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, however temporary it may be. Do you know who I am?”
She slowly nodded, shifting her weight as she flexed her back legs, trying to work out the residual stiffness. “I know who you are, Mister Skinner.”
“Good! Then you know why you are here?”
“Your people jumped me,” she replied, thinking quickly. Maybe she could talk her way out of the situation. “Look, I deal straight and I deal for you, so—”
“Don’t bother, officer,” Skinner replied from behind the mirror. “We know what you are. I am aware that Candle Stick is not your name, but it will suffice for our purposes.”
Drawing herself up, she waved towards the knife on the table. “Alright, Mister Skinner. You should be aware that my people know where I am. You hurt me or my partner, you’ll spend the rest of your life in Tartarus Correctional.”
There was a pause, then a chuckle that made her shiver.
“Oh...I sincerely doubt that. Nopony outside of my organization knows where you are right now. We have your little safehouse and all of the evidence you’ve gathered. I must say, I am very impressed. If you were anypony else, I’d be inclined to recruit you...but I won’t insult your intelligence. You know how this ends, tonight.”
Candle Stick inhaled and tried to steady herself. They had the safehouse. That meant they had everything. She’d long since scrubbed the room of anything that might give away her real identity, but anypony with half a brain could have put together that it was a police investigation. Fox Glove was smart, but he wouldn’t survive a real torture session.
‘Don’t freak out. Don’t lose it. You can still get out of here. There are ponies who need you,’ she thought.
“Alright, so long as we’re not insulting each other’s intelligence, how did you find me?”
“Oh, simply enough. We discovered your partner attempting to make contact with a police liaison. A simple mistake, and one that anypony could have made. The liaison is dead, of course. Your partner is alive, however. I wish to make you a deal. A simple deal, for his life.”
Glancing down at the knife, she faced the window and cocked her head. “You’re holding all the cards right now. How can I trust any deal you make with me? Why make a deal at all?”
“I keep my word, officer,” Skinner answered with a tone of mock offense. “It is a word I will happily give you, assuming you are cooperative.”
That, to her knowledge, was true; most of the ranking Jewelers valued a certain brand of honesty. It was a currency whose worth was measured in lives.
Candle Stick gently picked up the knife between her hooves, testing the edge.
“And the why?” she asked.
“You very nearly broke my organization,” he said, casually, as though they’d met in a bar and were exchanging pleasantries over drinks rather than through a piece of plexiglass. “You may feel proud that you came the closest of anypony who has ever tried. You injured several of my associates, and your activities will cost me a considerable sum of money, whether or not you managed to prosecute me. To that end, I wish to watch you suffer before you die. You will suffer one way or the other.”
It was a fight to keep the quiver out of her lip. She could just make out a shadow standing behind the mirror, but no details.
She wiggled her hips a little, trying to get a feel for how much strength was in them. Probably enough to kick the door open, assuming she could get a solid stance and uncuff herself. Of course, there were the guards lurking outside the door who needed dealing with, and if Skinner was telling the truth, Fox Glove would be dead before she could get to him.
Register was dead. That made her cringe inside, but it wasn’t the time to mourn. Mourning could wait until she was out and Skinner was in a cell.
‘If I can get this knife out of the building, that’ll be plenty of evidence for a jury,’ she thought.
“What is the deal?” she asked, trying to buy some time to think. “I don’t know the names of any other undercover agents, and you couldn’t afford to believe me if I told you that you had all of my information on your organization.”
“I am not interested in the mundanities of your surveillance, officer,” Skinner answered. “I give you my word, that if you follow my instructions, your partner will live, and I will release him alive and unharmed. We may do a memory wipe of the six months or so that he worked in my warehouse, and that may cause some minor damage, but he will be alive.”
Something in his voice was teasing at her memory. She’d heard a voice like that before, but where?
‘Oh…Right... That’s Daddy.’
Her back knees locked up, and she felt her pulse begin to thump in her ears.
‘No, don’t panic. Panic will kill you.’
“Okay. I’m still listening, not that I have a choice here. What do you need from me?” she asked, quickly pushing her memories as far into the back of her mind as she could.
“Obedience, officer. Your partner’s survival is contingent upon you following every single order I may give you to the letter and in a timely manner. If you fail to obey, I will cut him open and feed you his heart. Then I will begin my work on you. If you obey me, you will suffer...somewhat...less and your partner not at all. Do you accept my word?”
There was no hesitation. Saving Fox Glove, even for a few minutes, was worth whatever sick game Skinner had in mind. It would give her time to come up with a plan, too.
“Yes,” she murmured.
The stallion behind the glass inhaled a happy breath. “You cannot imagine how happy that makes me, Miss Candle Stick. Now, then...come over in front of the glass, here.”
Hobbling over in front of the mirror, she stood with her hooves together, staring at the shadow on the other side.
“We shall begin. Touch your nose with your right hoof.”
If he’d expected her to hesitate, or ask questions, she didn’t. Reaching up, she put her toe on her nose.
“Good, good. Now, touch the glass.”
Trotting forward, she rested her hoof against the mirror. On the opposite side, she could feel a little bit of pressure. He was close, now. If only she could buck through that plexiglass, she could get her hooves around his throat and...but no. No, she had to play along, for now.
For Fox Glove.
“Now, turn around and put your muzzle on the floor. Raise your hips and spread your back legs.”
Shutting her eyes, she did an about face and pressed her nose against the cold concrete, then hiked her backside into the air. The chains binding her front legs together clanked against one another as she did.
A trickle of distress seeped into her mind, but she smothered it. She was beginning to feel his need, now. She’d been doing her best to put her talent’s whispers out of her mind, but it wouldn’t be ignored.
‘Use it. Come on, that’s what it’s there for. If your talent isn’t going to shut up, use it.’
He wanted her shame and pain. He needed it. His black, hollow little heart yearned for her agony to fill it.
‘Play the part. Let him see it get to you. He’ll want to savor this, and that’ll buy time.’
“Now, hike your tail up nice and high, officer,” Skinner ordered, his voice taking on a husky quality. “I want to see the parts I’ll be cutting last. Or maybe first. I haven’t decided. Perhaps, if they’re pretty enough, I’ll let you eat them, too.”
Trying to keep her back stiff, she flipped her tail up over it and allowed a few tears to trickle out of the corners of her eyes. They ran down her cheeks, but she didn’t move to wipe them away.
‘Blush, dammit! Blush and whimper! I know you can still do it! He’s not going to be convinced if you don’t!’
Gradually, she felt her cheeks begin to burn as she allowed old feelings to resurface. He needed to see her ashamed. She let out a weak sob and spread her rear legs as far as the cuffs would allow, letting her hips quiver.
“Very good, my dear. Those are lovely,” Skinner growled. “Now, I see only one thing wrong. You have those hideous marks on your flanks.”
Her breathing stopped as she began to put the pieces together.
“You have my favorite knife there, officer,” he continued. She could hear him all but panting into the speaker, now. Her teeth ground against one another as she fought to think.
‘Plan. Plan. Plan,’ she thought. ‘Come on. You have to have something! He’s got Fox Glove somewhere. Probably nearby. You can’t get out the door without him giving the order to kill him. You can’t get through that glass, even if you could get a full strength buck with both rear legs. You need to get the key in your mane...’
“Cut them off, officer. You have ten seconds before I will order your partner’s death.”
Ten seconds.
Not enough time. No plan.
Nine.
No plan.
Eight.
Not even the key in her mane.
Seven.
Fox Glove was just a rookie.
Six.
He doesn’t deserve to die.
Five.
The glass is too thick.
Four.
Can’t fight that many guards before they kill Fox Glove.
Three.
I’m not strong enough! I don’t know what to do!
Two.
----
Skinner smiled to himself as the mare picked up the blade in her teeth. She stood there, her body shaking as she stared up at the mirror, stared into his eyes. The wound on her forehead stood out in stark contrast to her fur, which was an off yellow now that the dye was finally coming out.
His hoof hovered over the button he’d rigged to a recording of a stallion screaming. Would she need it? He’d bet himself a bottle of delicious ‘31 that she would do it without. Of course, the Rhododendron twins never had, but this ‘Candle Stick’ was something special. She was unique amongst all of his fishies. He’d baited his hook and caught her. Watching her gut herself was so much more personal than simply showing her each of her parts as he cut them off of her.
The intimacy of the moment made him quiver inside. The door was locked, and he could feel his own arousal making him sweat, though he ignored it. The scene playing out just a few meters away was too engrossing for even that to draw his attention away.
Turning her head, she hesitated for just a moment, the blade held between her teeth hovering over her own flank. He held his breath.
Would she do it? Could any pony alive truly do that to themselves? Oh, how he hungered to know! Could this special fish of his really cut away something so precious on her own? Was it even possible she would do that just for him?
Lowering her muzzle, she began to saw, almost mechanically, at her own right flank. Blood spurted from the wound. Her cutie-marks were very lovely...the dove inside the eye. A very strange mark, to be true. He’d no idea what talent it might represent, but then, it didn’t matter.
The angle was poor for her to cut more than a little ways in, but it was enough.
“Keep going, little fish,” he hissed into the microphone. “Destroy them for me…”
The tension in her jaw was visible even from there as she began to hack at her own cutie-mark with a vengeance. She couldn’t slice deeply, but it was enough. Blood flowed down the backs of her legs. She slashed back and forth, with long sweeping strokes, like his blade was a brush painting over the pitiful waste that was her destiny. A bit of her pelt hit the concrete.
He felt a wetness on his stomach but didn’t look down.
So perfect.
She was so perfect, this fish of his, as she sliced herself just for him. He’d never been one to take trophies, but he wanted her for his wall. Maybe he’d mount her front and rear, just so he could savor both ends.
Her right cutie-mark was unrecognizable as she wept. The salt from those tears must have hurt, but she continued.
He wished he could throw her back in the ocean just as she was, so he could catch her again.
“Now...turn the other cheek, little fish,” he whispered to the mic.
Robotically, she turned her other hip towards the mirror.
No hesitation. No pause for breath. She went back to cutting, slicing the mark off of her leg with a quiet determination.
Such a perfect vandal. He needed to taste her more completely. Soon. Very soon.
Somepony knocked on the door of the viewing room, and Skinner jerked back from the mirror.
“What can you possibly want?!” he snarled, stomping over to the door. “Do not disturb means do not disturb!”
He yanked it open to find management’s shill standing there sucking on a cigarette.
“You’ve already started on her?” the younger stallion asked.
“Yes, damn your eyes! What do you want?”
“I want to talk to her. Miss Amber said she’d tell you that.”
In the heat of the moment, Skinner had forgotten the other half of this particular game. Truly, that mare was something magical to get him so completely wrapped up in the moment that he’d lost track. For an instant, he’d even been tempted to see just how far she would go for management’s little pet. Still, it would be so much more delicious to reveal him in this moment when she was looking at the bloody remains of her own marks on the floor around her hooves.
His fury was immediately doused, replaced with a feral glee.
“Ah...yes. Feel free. Head around to the other side and go right in. I doubt she’s in any condition to harm you.”
----
A Jeweler tough sat in the thin, barely lit hallway outside the interrogation room, taking hits from a tiny silver flask as the white pegasus rounded the corner. The guard was a unicorn with an eye-patch and a few gold teeth. As he noticed he was no longer alone, he straightened, or made an attempt to.
“At ease,” the newcomer said. “You mind if I have a nip of that?”
“Eh...sure,” the guard replied, holding out the flask. “Miss Amber mentioned you might be by. Sorry, not usually my policy to be drinkin’ on the job, but the boss...well, boss likes mares best, see. The screamin’ give me nightmares, though.”
“Of course. I feel similarly, but this business necessitates certain evils. Mister Skinner is one of them,” he replied, taking the flask and tipping it back. His wings tingled as the tepid alcohol spread through his system. “Is she awake?”
‘Why do I feel the need to escape from this?’ he wondered as the guard turned to the door, sliding a small panel open to peer through. ‘No matter. Escape is simply a matter of closure. Once she is dead, I will have that.’
“She’s on the floor in there. Still got her hoofcuffs on,” the guard said, patting his jacket for a cigarette which he quickly lit and began smoking with shaky hooves. “Don’t know if her eyes are open. One of the boss’s knives is by her leg, but she’s not touching it. Mother save me, she’s...she’s cut off her own marks! Wonder how the boss got her to do that?”
Shutting his eyes, the pegasus took a deep breath. No sense putting it off.
“Close it behind me, would you? I’m in no danger.”
The guard looked skeptical as he levitated a civilian issue taser into the air beside himself and began unlocking the door. “You sure, bub? She’s crazy. My buddy Torque is going to be back in a few minutes, but I don’t want to go in there without him. Boss will want us to restrain her so he can do the rest of his business with her, but I ain’t going to do it by myself.”
“We’ll be fine. Go get a cup of coffee. I might want one myself when I’m done here, though I imagine Mister Skinner will also want to see me again before I leave.”
The guard touched his brow in a quick salute.
----
Candle Stick cringed as the door opened. She’d been resting, pretending the blood loss was getting the best of her. Or maybe not pretending. She wasn’t sure, though the endorphins were certainly a heady cocktail.
‘My cutie-marks...Oh Daddy, I wish you’d killed me,’ she whispered internally, ‘At...at least Fox Glove is safe...’
Slowly, she wrestled one eye open to see who’d come to continue her torment. She expected Skinner to be standing there, his guards on either side ready for a fight. There wasn’t much fight left in her, but she had to try.
The stallion standing there wasn’t Skinner. He was a familiar pegasus. His silvery white face was set in a calm, completely relaxed mask.
“F-Fox Glove...” she stammered, “Did...did you get fr-free? Or am I d-dead?”
“Fox Glove isn’t my name, Officer,” he murmured, trotting over and sitting down in front of her. Reaching out, he gently brushed her bloodied mane out of her face, leaning down to examine the wound on her head. “My name is...well, I’ve long since put my real name away.”
“What...what do you mean? We have to get out of here!” She started to rise, but her legs were still wobbly and quickly gave out.
“No...no, we really don’t,” he said with a sigh. “Do you know, I watched you for almost two years? A year in the Academy, then on to become your partner. Sad, really. We worked well together. Management was pleased with your efforts against the Cyclones.”
Candle Stick backed away from his hoof slightly, peering up into the eyes of a pony she desperately wanted to believe had come to save her. His expression was still as empty as it had been when he came in, with the exception of a touch of sadness somewhere around the edges of his mouth.
“Worked...worked well? You’re n-not Fox Glove. You’re a hallucination—”
The pegasus shook his head, giving his snowy white wings a flick. “No, Officer...I am your former partner. As I said, however...Fox Glove is not my name. This is the last time we will speak to one another.” Leaning sideways, he peered at her ruined cutie-marks. “Loyalty like yours deserves that, at least. I assume he told you he had me somewhere, gun to my head?”
Candle Stick’s ears pinned back as the realization began to gather at the edges of her muddled thoughts. What had Skinner said? He’d let Fox Glove walk free, unharmed.
“Oh skies...no...please, no.” She tried to clutch at his leg, but he pulled it away and pushed her back with a hoof on her forehead.
“I’m afraid it was inevitable that we would reach this place, Officer. For what it’s worth, I am sorry. You are a pony that I admire, despite your instability.”
“Did...did they blackmail you?” she asked weakly.
“No. I am a well paid servant, but one who is...probably reaching the end of his usefulness. I can either retire, gracefully, vanishing with my payment for this job into distant lands, or I suspect I’ll one day soon find myself coming home to Death waiting in my parlor.”
Her mind raced back to the day she’d been assigned to work with Fox Glove. He’d been a raw recruit, smiling and eager, if a bit older than most and too gung-ho to head out into the field on his first case.
“H-How?”
“How? Oh...you mean how did I insert myself into your life without your...abilities telling you something was wrong?”
She nodded, trying to push herself into a sitting position. The pain in her hips was agonizing, and a fresh wave rushed up her back, making her feel lightheaded.
“Your talent, Officer,” the stallion explained, picking up Skinner’s knife and rolling the handle back and forth as he studied a clump of fur still stuck to the tip. “Sad. So sad. If you had been anything but a police pony...ah, well. Regret is something I don’t have the luxury of in my line of work.”
“B-but my talent tells me what other ponies need!” she protested.
“And I needed a patsy; somepony who would believe in me and follow my subtle nudges towards particular ends. Management needed a pony who could infiltrate the Detrot Police Department’s Narcotics Division and make certain their investigations of Mister Skinner and various other individuals turned up nothing of relevance.”
A swell of nausea began building in her stomach as she forced her thoughts to focus.
“You...you’re the one who gave me to them…”
He lowered his chin until they were at eye level. “Sadly, you turned up too much information on Mister Skinner. You’ll be happy to know your handler is alive...for the moment. You, on the other hoof, are going to die here, tonight.”
Heaving himself up, he gave her a gentle touch on the cheek. She couldn’t muster the energy to brush it away, merely staring at the pony who’d cost her so much. They’d sat together and drunk beers, cried together, watched movies, gone on stakeouts, and shared the glory of a very successful raft of arrests.
The knife might have been kinder.
“I would kill you myself to save you what Mister Skinner has planned, but I have no taste or talent for killing. That, and I imagine he’s watching us right now and would stop me before I could. I must...attend...to the discovery of your body once this is over and then to my retirement from the police force.” Taking a deep breath, he turned to the door. “I wish you to know that this was not personal, Officer. You are dying because you are far, far too good a pony to live in this world. Please, let that knowledge carry you into the next.”
With that, he opened the door and trotted out, shutting it behind himself.
Candle Stick sagged onto the floor.
Sleep. She needed to sleep.
‘No…stay awake...blood loss.’
You need to sleep.
Let me take care of you.
This what you need.
----
The white pegasus sat in Skinner’s office, staring at the ceiling. He sipped his glass of scotch, more for the need to be drunk and less for the quality or pleasure of Mister Skinner’s company.
The office was little more than a particularly large closet with a cheap, flat-pack desk and a few dozen archaic surgical tools laid out in a decorative manner in a rolling display case against the wall, but the alcohol was good.
Skinner leaned across his desk, a coy smile on his face. “So? What will you do now, Mister...what did she call you? Fox Glove?”
“I’ll go where the wind blows, I think. That name served well enough, but I’m tired of it. I have acquaintances in every city between here and Canterlot.” Reaching up, he touched his thin muzzle. “You might think this face looks awfully young, but it’s a few years older than it appears. Cosmetic surgery will only do so much. I imagine it has one more trick, though: making Fox Glove disappear.”
Skinner gave him an appraising look. “You know...I could cross-reference that name with the police records and find her real name, right?”
The pegasus tapped the edge of his scotch glass, then drained it before setting it back on the table. “I imagine you could. It would displease management, however, and you’re a smarter pony than that. Let it simply be said that your problem...such as it was...is solved. Enjoy your spoils, Mister Skinner.”
The mob boss raised his glass. “Oh, I will...Mister Whatever-Your-Name-Actually-Is.”
----
The Shine opened her eyes.
She needed to know how much time had passed since the Other lost consciousness.
‘Eighteen minutes, fifteen seconds,’ the Talent murmured.
Time enough. They believed her helpless. Blood loss would leave her physically impaired within twenty-nine minutes at the current rate, presuming she was unable to stem the flow from her flanks.
Glancing around the interrogation room, she inhaled the stale, bloody air. She could smell the scent of coffee and cigarette smoke from just outside the door. Skinner wasn’t in his observation room. He was elsewhere in the building.
She needed to get out of the interrogation chamber.
‘There are two options. The window, which has a bit of loose putty around one edge and might pop loose to a well-placed kick in the lower left corner, and the door. The lock is worn and no longer closes.’
Picking up the knife from the table, she considered it for a moment, then wiped the remains of the cutie-marks off on the edge of her toe before carefully cutting the cuff key out of her mane. Quickly unlocking both sets of cuffs, she caught them before they could hit the floor and gently laid them out on the table so as to make as little sound as possible.
‘Leave now.’
Edging to the door, she turned around, taking the knife in her teeth and bracing herself.
‘One pony is waiting outside,’ the Talent warned. ‘He has one eye and his teeth are badly rotted. He is a simpleton, driven to work for Mister Skinner after his last job in a factory went bust. He needs a liver transplant. Attack from above or the right. Strike the abdomen or the neck.’
Her leg snapped back, and the lock exploded, sending the door slamming open directly into the thug’s face. The wet crunch of his shattering muzzle softened the noise significantly, so it didn’t travel much beyond the hallway. He staggered, dropping his scalding hot coffee all over his forelegs.
There was barely time for a whinny of surprise before the Shine was on him, leaping onto his back, striking his neck between his fifth and sixth vertebrae. His rear legs collapsed under him, and he wheezed, pitifully, as his lungs suddenly seized.
The Shine could feel his terror. He needed to die quickly. No sense prolonging it. He was not one of her targets.
Kneeling beside him, she took Skinner’s knife in her teeth and pressed the tip of the blade against his chest. It slid between his ribs and into his heart’s right ventricle, leaving a slice wide enough to divert most of the blood flowing to his brain into his chest cavity. The frightened light in his eyes flickered, and then he slumped against the wall.
He had a gun and a taser, but the Shine had no use for ranged weapons.
She moved on, trotting down the hallway. The stark lights overhead provided no cover, but then, she didn’t need cover. She needed a means of stemming the flow of blood from her hips.
The scent of fresh coffee from somewhere ahead brought her up short. Yes. That was what she needed.
Accelerating, she rounded a corner to find an open door with a small sign that said ‘Employee Break Room’ above it.
‘There are two ponies in the break room along with five chairs, a table, and a coffee pot. One is a young mare, barely out of her teens. Her brother abused her when she was tiny and her mother tossed her into the street the day she reached the age of majority. She joined the gang six months later. She particularly enjoys giving out beatings, though she has a torn rotator cuff on one foreleg. Eliminate her quickly. She is an excellent shot.’
‘The other is a stallion with a minor heart defect. It will kill him in middle age. He abuses steroids. They are exacerbating the issue and leaving him with poor bone density.’
Both were armed, but neither were ready.
The Shine evaluated their capabilities with a cold detachment, then swung through the doorframe at a full gallop.
The mare was beside a small radio, listening to a hoofball game. She looked up with a small, friendly smile, expecting to see Mister Torque back from the shop with her potato chips. The Shine’s flying hoof caught her in the throat as she was halfway to a standing position. Gagging, she stumbled sideways out of her chair, putting one leg on the table. It was the last mistake the filly ever made. The Shine slammed her hoof down on the girl’s crown. She was dead before she hit the linoleum.
Across the room, the stallion started to rise. He’d just been finishing a little puzzle and was about to fit the final piece into place. He saw a filthy, bloody mare with no cutie-marks and a look in her eyes that sent his skin crawling standing over the corpse of his best friend.
He went for his trigger bit.
The Shine snatched the half full pot of coffee off the table and tossed it into his face, then took a running leap off of the nearest chair. Her weight was enough to send him crashing to the ground as she landed squarely on his back. Cocking her leg, she delivered a quick shot to the back of his head, crushing his medulla oblongata.
Standing over the bodies, she allowed herself a moment to breathe. No sense falling into shock. Shock would come soon, but there was something else that needed doing first. Making her way to the employee refrigerator, she opened it and pulled a bottle of rotgut vodka from the bottom shelf.
‘Sterilize, then cauterize.’
Unscrewing the cap, she splashed the alcohol across her flanks, washing away a significant amount of the dye along with much of the blood. The pain was there, but it was not something the Shine needed, so it was ignored. Using an edge of the dead mare’s jacket, she wiped the remains of her cutie-marks as clean as she could, then picked up the hot plate that the pot of coffee was sitting on.
‘There is no pain. Only need.’
Setting the hot plate at an angle on the nearest upright chair, she turned slightly to one side and pressed her flank down on it. A sizzle was followed by the scent of cooking meat and hair as the wounds were cauterized.
‘Shock is thirty-eight minutes away, followed by unconsciousness for a period of not less than seven hours,’ the Talent reminded her. ‘Agony comes and goes. Need remains.’
She set her other flank against the hot plate, letting it seal the cuts.
That done, she pulled the gun-sheath off of the mare’s body, ripping off one of the ammo pouches. Wrapping the strap around her knee, she stuck Skinner’s knife through the bottom. It made a serviceable holster.
At last, the Shine was ready. There were needs yet to be fulfilled.
----
Mister Skinner stood in his office, running a hoof through his thick mane as he considered his options
His griffin wing clipper was magnificent for shattering equine kneecaps and ankles. Watching the mare wriggle about on four broken legs had a certain attraction to it. Then again, he did have the spiral hook. Unwinding her intestines would take quite some time, but it was always worth the look in the eyes of his victims as they watched it happen.
He flicked his eyes back at his hip, to the leaping fish that was his cutie-mark, then shook his head. No...no, not worth the time to consider something like that. His talent didn’t speak to him any longer, even to beg. Silly fish die screaming. That was the way.
Picking up a meat stripper from the end of his row of tools, he fitted it into a cuff around his hoof that reasonably simulated a griffin claw.
‘Yes...yes, this will do. Let her see her fleshless face in the mirror.’
Setting the tool back on his rolling cart, he turned to the door.
There was a soft squeak, followed by a loud thump just outside.
Reaching over to his desk, he pressed his antechamber intercom button and asked, “Bonsai? Bonsai, what was that?”
He paused, waiting for several seconds, then pressed the ‘listen’ button.
A soft retching noise trickled through the speaker, like somepony attempting to cough something up. They gagged a couple of times, and then there was another thump followed by a wet pop and, finally, silence.
“Bonsai, if you’re watching those Neighponese martial arts films instead of answering the phones again, you will be cleaning up once I am done tonight,” he growled, then trotted to the door and pulled it open.
He found himself eye to eye with a mare.
It was his little fishy; his toy for the evening.
Over the mare’s shoulder, he could just make out the bodies of two of his regular soldiers lying atop one another in the center of the room. Only one had his gun bit between his teeth, but the strap connecting it to his gun was sliced clean through, along with most of his neck. The other looked to have died before he could get to his weapon.
Bonsai—his very pretty secretary who spent most of her time watering or cutting on one of the ridiculous little trees she kept on her desk—lay with her cheek resting against the intercom. The hilt of a letter opener sprouted from her right eye socket. Beside her, Miss Amber sprawled on her back, dead hooves still clutching at what was left of her esophagus. A pooling red stain gathered on her chest and the floor beneath.
His attention was gradually drawn back to the mare standing just inches from him.
She was soaked in blood. It ran from her thin braid down the end of her nose and dripped from her eyelashes in a steady stream, but she seemed not to notice. She was staring intently into his eyes.
“Little Minnow,” she whispered, taking a step forward.
His knees felt suddenly weak. He reached up to put a hoof on her breast or perhaps to simply touch her to see if she was real, but his leg encountered something strange sticking out of his chest. He peered down, trying to figure out what she’d managed to attach to him.
It was one of his knives.
“Little Minnow. Poor Little Minnow,” the mare murmured, taking a step closer. “Father told you the fish were meant to be free, but when you let them go, they all swam away. Even your little sister. You loved her, and when she couldn’t leap or swim anymore, you just didn’t know what to do. She’d have left you, like all the others. That’s why you did it, isn’t it?”
Skinner stumbled back and tried to take a breath. Something in the back of his throat bubbled, but no air flowed in. She’d punctured his lung. A very careful strike. One to be admired.
She advanced on him, and as she did, their gazes met. A gentle light seemed to flicker behind her eyes, like a candle shining in darkness.
His sister’s sweet face appeared in his mind; she lay in her hospital bed, holding his hoof as he watched her go. She was in so much pain, the little fish who wouldn’t jump anymore, wouldn’t play, wouldn’t smile, no matter how he held her or loved her. It was his responsibility to take care of the little fish and make sure they didn’t hurt. They told him it wasn’t his fault, but he knew better.
Death saved the little fish from suffering. Death gave her peace.
He’d given her death, with a pillow, in the night. She’d fought him, but only for a moment. Then it was done.
Strange, that he’d remember these moments and thoughts. They were from so long ago. Now death was coming to save him. When had he started to enjoy watching death save the fishies? He couldn’t remember the exact moment when it first happened.
His throat contracted as he tried to inhale again, but all he could taste was molten copper boiling up out of his lungs.
The knife. He scrambled for the knife, but it wouldn’t come free. All he could feel was the slowly burgeoning terror growing inside him. He couldn’t breathe. He was suffocating like a fish out of water.
“Minnow,” the mare said, softly. “You should have let her go in her own time. That was your destiny. You should have taken care of the fishes and freed them when the time was right so there would always be more fish in the sea. It was never your right to decide when they would die.”
His front knees gave out, and he started to gasp, his muzzle working open and shut as he fought for a breath that wouldn’t come. A punctured lung. She’d punctured his lung, and now he was drowning in his own blood. That’d been one of his favorites. His victims always looked so thankful when the moment arrived and they weren’t afraid anymore, when they finally passed on.
He’d made them thankful for death. Now, as his heart began to hammer in his chest and his muscles burned for oxygen, he began to understand why.
----
The Shine watched the stallion as he flailed about on the carpet. It was several minutes before he was well and truly gone. They were very long minutes, but his fear was inconsequential. He needed to die, for too many reasons. At last, he lay still, a pool of bright red blood drooling from his lips and nose.
Placing a hoof on his neck, she pulled the knife out of his chest. Taking the kerchief from his inner pocket, she wiped the weapon, then slipped it back into the holster on her leg.
‘Move on. There is still one who needs. He is above you. Two floors up, take the stairwell at the end of the hallway. There is a single remaining Jeweler. He’s just found the body of the interrogation room guard. Kill him before he can reach the phone in his office. It’s on the way.’
----
The white pegasus stood on the rooftop of the building, looking out over the bay. The first few drops of a coming storm darkened the gravel at his hooves. Overhead, grey clouds gathered, and distant thunderheads rumbled as the cloud factories kicked their output into high gear for the spring months. He spread his wings, not to take off but just to feel the wind in his feathers.
Freedom. That wind was freedom from yet another in a long string of responsibilities he’d rather not have taken on, but the money was good and the jobs were usually far more pleasant than the one he’d just seen ended.
‘Do you really feel sympathy for her?’ he asked himself.
It was an odd emotion and one that hadn’t really bothered him in many years. Why should he then be feeling it now? Still, there it was; guilt. He was feeling guilt. So very curious.
Nothing for it, though. Sweet Shine was likely dead, or in a condition in which she would not wish to be saved, even if he’d had the inclination to try. Her death served a purpose, and his purpose was satisfied.
Giving himself a rough shake, he folded his wings against his sides.
‘I must ask the memory extractors if they can do away with this ridiculous sentiment when I see them,’ he thought. ‘I’d rather not carry these feelings into my retirement.’
He turned to leave.
His only warning was a flash of yellow out of the corner of one eye. Then she was on top of him.
Her first strike cracked his dorsal wing bone and the second shattered it, whilst the third sent him crashing onto his belly. A pegasus, when attacked, will first attempt to take flight. The agony as he tried to lift the broken wing was enough to drive him to his knees again.
Twisting to one side, he tried to roll out of the way. He felt certain another blow was coming, but all he found was her standing there looking down at him from a meter or so away. Behind her, the door down into the building was open, and a trail of blood led right up to her rear hooves. She was a horror, drenched in bodily fluids, though not many of them seemed to be her own.
“S-Sweet Shine…” he stammered, trying to pull his hooves under himself. For some reason the back ones didn’t seem to be working. Very unusual. He tried to turn his head to see what might be wrong with them only for a spike of pain to lance through his neck.
Ah. Now it made sense. She’d broken his spine with that last kick. It was broken in several places, no less. He could smell his own urine but couldn’t feel it running down his legs.
“The Other is...absent, Pony-With-No-Name,” the Shine replied. Sitting down, she watched him struggle in the dirt of the rooftop. The rain began to fall harder, pounding down on his chest. It felt good. Cool. Calm.
He stopped trying to right himself and merely lay there, looking up at her out of one eye.
His heart was fluttering. Fluttering and weak. Why? Had that last strike done something besides break his back? His lungs still seemed to be working.
The Shine eased down until he could see her from both eyes. “You are going to die soon, Pony-With-No-Name. The knife between your shoulder blades has severed the anterior spinal artery, and blood is pouring into your chest cavity. It will be painless, so long as you don’t move much.”
He shut his eyes for a moment. Inevitability was something he was used to. So many of his former targets inevitably died. He’d long ago accepted the inevitability that he would one day join them. Still, he was afraid.
“Not...not so soon,” he mumbled. Already, he could feel the weight growing in his limbs. Sleep was coming, a long, empty, restful sleep without dreams or nightmares. “P-please…”
A warm leg slid underneath his upper body. He glanced up to find her cradling him against her chest. Tears were dripping onto his cheeks as she held him close, tenderly running a hoof through his mane. A tiny smile spread across his pale face.
He’d always hoped somepony would cry for him, at the end.
It was what he needed.
----
After a long time, the Shine got to her hooves, leaving the corpse where it’d fallen. The rain was coming in a steady drumming that washed the blood from her fur and mane.
Soon, the Other would be returning. She needed to get somewhere safe and tend to her wounds before that happened, else the Other might let them fester. The Other was likely to be unstable, and dying of hypothermia or infection wouldn’t do.
‘There’s a first aid kit in the basement,’ the Talent whispered. ‘It is time to leave.’
----
The cafe smelled terrible, but the thin mare wasn’t much bothered.
Her coffee was cold and her suit was as close to rumpled as it’d ever been, but the investigation was complete and the dead were sanitized.
She levitated her pen over the final report, tapping the end against her teeth as she thought about what might need adding. As always, her work was meticulous, but many of the particulars of the matter were impossible to verify.
Complete body disposal had proven impossible. An unknown faction arrived halfway through the sanitation process, left the cleaning team unconscious in a nearby alley with their memories wiped, and finished the job. It had all the hallmarks of a government agency or one of management’s ‘deep cover’ teams, but that wasn’t her problem. The job was done and Mister Skinner’s business liquidated. The books were balanced on a razor’s edge, but they were balanced.
That left the question of what to do with Detective Shine.
She’d been found by several of their agents two days days later, drunk and half asleep in a bar. None of the agents were inclined to attempt an extraction at that time, particularly considering Mister Torque’s drunken rant at the Randy Squirrel the night before.
Ten dead. Skinner’s business destroyed. Management’s agent dead. The sole survivor hadn’t actually been there during the massacre, and none of the other guards on the adjoining streets had seen anything.
All signs pointed to a single mare, working alone. Management wanted the entire business swept under the rug. Detective Shine looked entirely likely to leave the police department. A pony without cutie-marks was useless as an undercover agent.
The thin mare let the nib of her pen rest on the form’s ‘expunge’ box. Miss Shine’s death would tie up most of the loose ends, considering she was the final link in the design. Of course...ordering an assassination carried certain risks, and against an opponent who could destroy eight street soldiers after slicing off her own cutie-marks, then gut a mob boss and her own partner, there was the possibility that they might lose yet more material assets in the effort.
No sense in that. For the moment, the books were balanced. Let the streets eat Detective Sweet Shine. She was of no consequence.
Paying her tab, the thin mare folded up her papers and set them to one side, allowing herself a smile for a job well done.
Stats
Page generated in 0.055 seconds
Total duration
862 users online
776,144 hits today, 2,571,732 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
Quite a harrowing flashback, but it does explain what is necessary.I like the introduction (Or perhaps reintroduction? If the hints were that subtle) of The Shine, another personality that seems to work on a more primal level to what Sweet Shine needs, not what other ponies need.
Oh everything I've read, I think this might be the one that makes me step away and accept this story is too much for me. It's a beautiful work, but this is my limit. Thanks for the laughter and tears and enjoy the upvote. I'll keep recommending this to others, but this is where I step off the ride.
Damn dude, frickin intense!
Ow.
Brutal, and without mercy. I get now why this was a thing that was such an issue to write.
This however, well, to use the adage, shines in the dark so well this chapter. It is a heck of a chapter, and this is just an amazing one for it. It really is brutally stark, but it doesn't feel out of place in the least. Bravo!
So Sweets' got a little 2nd personality in her head called "The Shine" that gives her precognitive and mind reading abilities. Suppose they should be thankful she wasn't running around using her bloody hooves to paint 'REDRUM' on all the walls!
Thanks for the action-packed chapter after all that heavy plot exposition. All work and no play makes Hardy a dull boy.
Perhaps I've seen too much anime for my own good, but what happened there sort of reminds me of Elfen Lied. I love it. This chapter has been quite the experience.
7405038 You know, now you mention it...it does bear a striking resemblance.
7404990 Heh, I wondered how many people would catch THAT reference. Yeah, one of my favorite Stanley Kubrick films.
7404868 Awww, come on, this is one of the nastier chapters. Stick it out! I mean...it's not as bad as the...or...or that...or...
Um...
Yeah, maybe off the boat is best.
-Chessie
And this was the biggest mistake that has been made. That Sweets was of no consequence.
This... provides alot of eye opening insight to Sweet's habits, and why she felt so strongly about her actions and such. She sacrificed alot, and then was betrayed by the one she meant to save? that's twisted. But then again Detrot is a twisted place. Im curious to see Hardy's reaction to this.
Sweet, merciful Christ. I feel like I'm gonna lose myself in this story if I begin reading. Oh well.
7405120 I do wanna hear think as you read! I read every comment.
-Chessie
Well, that was intense, but in an awesome way. "The Shine" personality is pretty much a "Vulcan" in the art of death dealing... pure logic, no emotions, and machine-like in its efficiency. A very well done chapter.
Also nice use of the DOOM reboot's opening line for the title. Given that the rest of the quote goes "Rip and tear, until it is done,", your choice of titles is very fitting.
That was pretty dark, I like it. Not because it was dark but because it was so left field, yet par for the course at the same time. Really glad she got that rat, or should I say Fox, at the end wraps it up nicely. Also how you were able to explain Skinner's level of crazy in a few paragraphs was pretty cool.
7405154 He was one of the hardest characters to keep believable without going other-worldly with him. One of my editors wanted to take him miles into deep orbit in terms of grossness, but I vetoed it for a little more realistic character with some understandable motivations.
The most difficult bit was making all the characters feel a little sympathetic before they died.
-Chessie
So, Sweet Shine has, not one, but two extra personalities in her head. Is it any wonder she is unstable. Poor thing, I just want to hug her.
... wow.
This was worth the wait. Can't wait for Hard Boiled to meet the Shine.
7404868
Sorry to see you leave. This is a great story in bits.
7405302 Just in bits? Sheesh...I do my best to get it more often than 'in bits'.
-Chessie
So they turned what hsould have been, in a way, abeautiful empathic gift into a cruel weapon.
I am starting to guess the reason why detrot is so horrific a place is because of it being some kind of chaos net....... And in a sense its horrors are mostly unique to itself compared to the rest of equestria because of it.
Albeit you would think that there would be more than one thing pointing at this place to begin with. Discord sensing an inordinately high concentration of evil over the years. Definitely not at first, and maybe not enough that he is certain something is afooot, but he would be suspicious.
And the tree of being warfed for the plot.... i mean harmony.... yes i am thinking bout that little issue still, but mostly because it creates a plot hole in the story, both it being somehow moved or harmed, and that it somehow survives wars without its elements, but nearly died in one war despite being at its penultimate power. got all the elements back, gots its castle tree thing, gots its element bearers. somehow a war almsot kills it.
also the everfree not swallowing equestria.
7405324 Finishing a chapter, you just want more. It's so tempting to come back, and see an update. It build up so well, in escalation and in tone, but the heroes never feel larger, (not lager that I kept wanting to type) than life, but folks doing the best they can when the world has gone round the deep end.
Having archive binged, reading it as one thing, it never lets up on each chapter, and every chapter, (bit) just keeps you there on the edge of your seat.
I believe detroit was the perfect choice for a Noir fanfiction. So much going on there
THIS is what's been going around with Hardy all this time? Wow
7405324
Reading a chapter or 5 is good, after that it starts to get a little too heavy. That does not mean that I can't wait for the next Chapter.
7405410 Ah, yes...you're not the first person to say the intensity level for this can be a bit much to take in all in one go. I try to vary it, but...I mean, it's Noir. Noir is HEAVY.
-Chessie
You weren't kidding about this chapter being intense. Poor, poor Sweet Shine.
Very dark and well written. Was definitely warned when the usual chapter preface by the scholar was missing. Did not expect that her CMFIS would turn her pretty much into a character similar to Tooru Mutsuki from Tokyo Ghoul:Re . Odd how cutie marks work though. Why did it not regrow? Or is it assumed that there is never a time when ponies need an operation on their flank?
Really curious to see how Hardy and The Shine would interact, or if all of the problems Hardy has to deal with would make The Shine run away in terror.
It took me long enough to realize, but Animus, Armature, & Umbra is inspired by Wolfram & Hart, yes?
This chapter is so heavy...Ugh, have this to feel less heavy.
Now back to the dark with ya!
That was dark, but not out of line with the rest of the fic. As you say, noir is heavy. Given her upbringing and the power of her talent I'm not at all surprised she's got a schizoid personality, especially one that's, um, extremely pragmatic.
And I thought my Cerise was over the top (chuckle).
Good chapter, and may I say this entire story is marvelous. I look forward to its completion, although I suspect you realize what a tall order you've given yourself.
Well done. VERY well done.
Wow so Daddy's little killer training did take root. It's a good thing Hardy is around to ground Sweet Shine or she actually might be worse or dead at this point. Having someone who needs who to be, well herself is most likely the only reason she's still remotely sane. Oddly this isn't as bad as I though it could have been, or maybe sense I can see after she pulled herself back together I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Still this feels like an inversion of the party pony trait. Instead of knowing how to spreed joy, it does the exact opposite.
That was quite the ride.
When it was revealed that Fox was a spy I literally got out of my chair repeating 'no' and 'you bastards', so you're doing something right.
Hardy, when you guys reach uptown, just leave Taxi at the front door of the Jewelers. Leave none of those monsters standing.
7405052 For what it may be worth, the decision kinda broke me heart a little. I adore this story and can't even begin to say how far back I started following it. The idea of leaving everyone is an incredibly hard decision. But the reinforcement of having had some nightmares from reading kinda helps make my decision firm. >.< I'm just too squeamish I guess.
7405887 Ooog...you're not wrong, but it's chapters like this that keep me going. There's never a dull moment in Detrot. Even for the writer.
7405922 You know, the scenes with Taxi losing it actually were harder to write than the cutie-mark removal scene. Fox Glove being the spy was hard to frame, too. I needed him to be 'distant' from the name Fox Glove whenever we're talking from his perspective. He never explicitly mentions himself as Fox Glove in his own thoughts. There are quite a few shifts of perspective, too.
7405756 I actually considered it, but Sweet Shine has BIG repression issues. She buried any and every feeling she was actually having.
-Chessie
7405629
A good story with tragedy leaves you thinking: Would being sliced to pieces and sadistically, sexually abused have been worse than going a special kind of mad?
Neither leaves the stomach unfluttered, but justice is a horrible thing to behold in a story like this. At least we know there's some good afterwards, right?
Very interesting new chapter. My own suspicions had been that Sweets has been ordered to kill her partner to prove that she wasn't a cop, did it because she needed to get the case solved, and then cut off her cutie marks because she no longer could stand her own talent, hoping to remove it that way - it did not work and she found back to herself among the zebras
Also, I got your reference, and now see the parallels between the parents
The style was something new, and the sense of detachment through the multiple views which is probably how The Shine perceives the world made this chapter much less horrific to read than the ones about Sweet's foalhood.
7406332 I find it interesting how some people found this much more horrible than usual and others found it much less.
-Chessie
7406231
Indeed, I actually really enjoy noir stories. They appeal to my inner pessimist. :P But they usually tend to have a bittersweet ending and some good happen so that I don't feel completely drained by them.
7406353
I'm not sure I'd say it was the worst moment in the story, so much as it felt like there was just so much more of the depressing stuff than is usual in a single chapter. There wasn't any fluff or humor to off set it like usually either. Maybe it was just me, I dunno.
If I had to pick the darkest part of the whole series, it would probably be the origin of Hardy's heart. The fact that the changeling heart drained his parents of their love for each other... that's dark. Though Ruby's history and Taxi's are right up there with it.
Holy carp!
I... uhmn... I don't think I have anything to say about this, except that this chapter, more than anything else, has convinced me that I'll need to do a marathon re-read once the story is finished.
7406353 It was brutal, but, in a way, just.
I assume that the first group is because it's a character we identify with. The second because she won.
Perhaps I've just become a jaded individual, but I guess I expected something...darker? Different? I dunno. I was more affected by Juniper's end than by this, but this was still pretty dark. At least she got justice in the end.
Also, Sweet's talent OP.
Yeeaahhhh, good luck with that.
Sweet Shine "no consequence"? Big mistake, lady.
Well, this was... not as bad as I thought it was going to be. Oh don't get me wrong, it was very dark, but my previous thoughts were that Sweets cut her marks off during a bought of depression for what she did and not while trying to save someone. So overall, I found this to be a dark but very just chapter. Though speaking of dark, I think you might want to talk to someone about where your mind is going Chessie. Or at least make sure you watch some pointlessly cute videos on YouTube after this.
And just for fun, I could not get this scene out of my head after reading the chapter. Thought you might get a chuckle out of it.
Sorry for the roughness of the transcript, but I don't really have the time to polish it up. The Shine does kind of strike me as OP as a fully analytical Hulk. The ultimate weapon once it's directed at a target.
May the Sisters have mercy on UU&A once Taxi realizes they are the ones who tagged her with Fox Glove, because the Shine will surely have none.
This kind of ended up a case of 'the emotion was written but not felt' for me. Not sure how I can actually explain that though...
I guess what I can say is that I felt Hardy's internal struggle during his tragic back story but I just can't seem to feel Taxie's... but maybe it was the whole two personalities plus a tiny inside voice flipping back and forth that kind of threw me off... just felt a little muted... still made me cry a bit though...
Nun-the-less! A long ass chapter but also an exciting one!
Also, I take it someone has been playing DOOM.
7407858 I actually wrote it a bit muted on purpose. This comes from a place of deep, stubborn repression. I could have written it more emotional, but I think it would have conveyed the trauma less effectively if Taxi was feeling everything as it happened. She did something worse. She buried it.
7407702 Taxi will Shine again.
7406865 Yeah, I think part of why Juniper's end stung so much worse is that Hardy never really got justice there. That was just a tragedy. This was more about why Taxi is the way she is. She's more stable than Hardy is in some ways, though her instability, when it manifests, is much more dangerous.
-Chessie
for some reason I expected...worse
I mean the scenes with skinner were really interesting, and I liked seeing the cold efficiency of the shine, and damn that doubke cross from foxglove, but besides that I thought the "fudged up" ness of this chapter was going to be something to write home about
eh, you can probably just blame sectoids
Wow, beautiful work. It's been so long since a story made me shake as I read it. Crying at the end. I love your writing so much!
All I can say is that if you think that was gory. I have seen, read and witnessed worse.
7408259 I wasn't so much worried about the 'gore' factor as keeping my teen rating. Teen rating = more readers. So long as I can avoid active sex and gore, I can pretty much keep the teen thing.
-Chessie
7408301 good point
7408301 it's still a very good story. I put it off for the longest time until I finally decided to give it a try. Now I get all excited when you upload a new chapter.
That was horrifying in all the little ways. She sacrificed so much, for what turned out to be no reason.
I wasn't going to read any more before I was done with my reading through again, but... I couldn't resist. I had to know.
And how demented it was.