//------------------------------// // Chapter 1 // Story: Return the Night, or no Deposit // by totallynotabrony //------------------------------// The report landed on Fit’s desk just like the others before it. He sighed deeply and lowered his head to his hooves as the clerk walked away to distribute the other files she carried. “Another one?” Haven asked, sliding across the aisle in her rolling chair. “Yeah,” Fit muttered. He picked up the file with his magic and opened it. It was addressed to Detectives Cross Fit and Safe Haven, and contained the sparest details of the latest incident in a series of graffiti appearing all over Manehattan. Delinquents will be delinquents, but it was cause for concern when a series of vaguely threatening political messages were being spray painted everywhere. Worse, the culprits were slipperier than greased griffons. “Whatcha got there?” asked a voice. Fit slapped the folder closed. Haven threw up a wing to cover it. Both of them looked up to the stallion standing on the other side of the desk. Nosey News was perhaps the most well-named pony in all of Manehattan. Either that or it was a penname he picked himself. He wrote a crime column for the newspaper and had a habit of walking the edge of the law himself in pursuit of a story. “It wouldn’t happen to be anything more on these mysterious anti-Luna activists, would it?” Nosey asked. “No comment,” said Fit. The messages being sprayed around town took several different formats, but were generally disdainful of Princess Luna. It was a notable story, and only getting bigger the longer the police failed to apprehend those responsible. Nosey grinned as if he were delighted. He should be, his column was practically writing itself these days. “Well, let me know if you’d like to issue a statement. I’ll make sure to give you the credit.” “What are you even doing here?” Haven asked. “Who let you in the building?” “Ah, got to protect my sources.” “Well, your sources know they’re breaking the rules,” said Haven. “And so are you. Out.” Nosey nodded, seemingly unperturbed. He turned around and left the office. “What are we going to do?” Haven asked quietly, when Nosey was gone. “There haven’t been any new leads for weeks.” That was true. There had been precious little in the way of clues, and they hadn’t been lucky enough to catch anypony in the act. Fit had taken on the unsolvable case to prove himself, but so far, he hadn’t proved much of anything. He thought his drive, the experience from his time as a Lunar Guard, and talent could carry him. It hadn’t. He could feel his career plateauing. It had made him a little desperate. After a moment, Fit said, “Last week, I sent a letter to my old commander. She had a mind for convoluted plots and I thought she might be able to help.” “You can’t discuss case details with an outsider,” Haven protested. “I don’t know how you did it when you were in the Guard, but you know Manhattan PD has rules against that.” “I know,” said Fit. “But I trust her to be discreet, and we could always says she was a consultant or something.” He was aware that he was justifying it to himself as much as Haven. She grumbled, but asked, “So what did your old boss say?” “She hasn’t yet. It’s only been a few days, so she’s probably just gotten my letter. We could get a reply back any time.” “Where does she live?” “Wash Margin.” Seeing Haven’s confused look, Fit added, “It’s a small island off the coast of Horseshoe Bay. At least I think she still lives there. That’s where her PO box is. That one address is the only information I have about her anymore. She’s always been hard to find.” Fit sighed and got up from his chair. It was only early afternoon, and he was wishing he was somewhere else. The gym, maybe. He stretched, drawing a look from one of the female detectives sitting across the room. She blushed and pretended not to stare. He hadn’t even been flexing. “I started off thinking this case could make us superstars if we solved it,” said Haven. “Now I’m wondering if it’s going to get us fired. Why couldn’t they have given it to somepony else?” Fit had wanted it, asked for it. He felt mildly guilty that Haven seemed to have picked up some of his disquiet. She ran a hoof through her short mane. It wasn’t cut that way because she was butch - though she was - it was because long manes could get caught in things, and Safe Haven was all about mitigating risk. She was even colored like a traffic cone. “What are you two still doing here?” demanded a voice. Fit and Haven turned to find themselves staring at the pudgy, red face of Tracy Sketchy, Chief of Police. He didn’t really have another attitude besides constant disgruntlement. He also possessed a near-supernatural ability to know what his officers were up to, which seemed to include what files had landed on their desks only minutes earlier. “We were just about to go have a look at the scene, boss,” said Fit. “Turn your collar down,” the Chief ordered. Fit adjusted his polo shirt. For whatever reason, his collar had a tendency to pop itself. He would simply go without a shirt, but his frosted mane and tanned coat needed a splash of color. Veering back on topic, Chief Sketchy said, “Go see what it’s about this time. Bring me a drawing.” In his office, there were already a dozen or more drawings of the graffiti appearing around Manehattan. Not to mention dozens more related to other crimes. Not to mention drawings Tracy Sketchy had made himself. “Got it, boss,” said Fit, picking up his notepad and pencil. He and Haven headed for the door before the Chief could insert any more pains into their life. The Manehattan Police Headquarters building was a piece of brutalist architecture, and what it lacked in charm it made up for it in cold government chic. Fit and Haven came out the front door and turned down the sidewalk. Fit put on a pair of white-framed sunglasses. It would be a long walk to the address listed in the file, but not so long as to require a ride. Either way, they had to go. The file on this incident only contained what information had been reported by the pony who had called it in. Fit and Haven would be the first police to actually investigate. “What do you bet it’s going to be this time?” Haven asked. “A picture of the sun? A meandering history lesson? Gibberish?” “What are we betting? Lunch?” “If you’re game.” Fit nodded. “All right. I’ll say indecipherable gibberish. That’s been the most common.” “I’ll say it’ll be another splash of Princess Celestia’s cutie mark. It’s been awhile since we’ve seen one of those.” Fit frowned. Safe Haven was not known for risky bets. The two of them showed up at the address. It was a vertical apartment building. Near the back, out of sight of the sidewalk, a stylized sun had been spray painted on the bricks. Haven had the good graces not to gloat. She flew up to take a closer look. Fit was taller, and could rear as high as the painting. The two of them began processing the available evidence. There wasn’t any. That was fast. Fit groaned inwardly. He desperately wanted to be rid of this case. The feeling of helplessness was getting to him. They already knew it was useless to try and match the paint to anything. The graffiti was always painted in common spray paint sold in every hardware store in Equestria. The only thing left to do would be to interview any nearby ponies to see if they knew anything. None of them ever knew anything, so Fit and Haven would likely soon be back to square one with nothing to show. Still, procedure was procedure. There was a slim, nonzero, chance that one of these days somepony might say something useful. That day was not today, however. All of the ponies who answered their doors in the building hadn’t seen who had painted the graffiti, nor had any idea who it might be. The feeling from earlier returned. Fit had taken the case to show the department he was a rising star. He didn’t enjoy feeling as if he was treading water. The case that hung around him like an unpleasant, unwanted smell. He was concerned that it was starting to rub off on him. Fit and Haven stopped at a café on the way back to the office. Haven may have won lunch, but she wasn’t picky. They sat at the counter on the tall stools. While waiting for their food, Fit remembered to make a quick sketch of the latest graffiti. “Can I borrow a pen?” he said. “Sure, take my spare.” Haven had a spare everything, it seemed. She was all about being prepared. “So how much longer do you think we have before the case - or we - get reassigned?” Haven asked, looking morosely at the sandwich the waitress put in front of her. Fit’s mouth was already full, but he decided the question was probably rhetorical. Even if it wasn’t, he didn’t want to think about the answer. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw somepony slide onto the stool beside him. “How’s it going?” asked a voice. Fit dropped his sandwich and managed to gasp through a full mouth. “Ma’am! What are you doing here?” The mare who had sat down beside him wore the appearance of a Lunar Guard, the batlike image generated by an enchanted tail band issued to guardsponies. She had on a hooded sweatshirt that read I Las Pegasus on the front in faded letters and a pair of sunglasses riding high on her forehead. There was no purple-enameled armor or anything else besides her bat pony look to suggest she was a guard. She grinned, all fang. “Cross Fit, my boy, I can’t express how glad I am to have received your letter and become involved in a case so interesting.” Haven leaned around Fit. “Who’s this?” “This is Cracked Mirror, my old Lieutenant,” Fit introduced. Haven cast an appraising look at her hip, where sure enough there resided the image of a cracked mirror. “Fit said he consulted you, but I don’t think either of us were expecting you to come all this way.” “How could I not?” said Mirror, still beaming with enthusiasm. “This is clearly the work of a cult.” Several ponies within earshot turned to look. Haven gave Fit a skeptical glance. “I think she can help,” Fit said, though he wasn’t sure exactly who he was trying to convince. Mirror grinned. “And it might even be you I help.”