//------------------------------// // Case Ten, Chapter Seven: Interrogation // Story: Ponyville Noire: Kriegspiel—Black, White, and Scarlet // by PonyJosiah13 //------------------------------// “What you did was an incredibly brave thing, lad,” Captain Oak declared, staring at Flash from across his desk. “You stuck close to your target, caught up to them after they evaded you, and you managed to capture a highly-wanted criminal.” Flash’s chest puffed up with pride at the praise, but he failed to note Phillip and Trace frowning on either side of him. “Thank you, sir,” he declared. Hewn Oak nodded and adjusted his tie briefly. “All that being said, I do have one question.” He paused briefly, his face a mask of neutrality, then suddenly stood up as though he’d been shocked, slamming his hooves down on the table with a crash like a gunshot. “What in the name of Celestia’s beard were you thinking, boy?!” he roared at the stallion who had already half-jumped out of his own uniform. “You put yourself and your team at risk by breaking cover and confronting a pony that you weren’t even sure was your target!” “I…” Flash stammered. “No, we knew it was her, we—” “Silence!” Oak barked. Flash’s jaw snapped shut and he audibly swallowed, clutching his tail in close. “You didn’t know anything!” Oak continued. “You should’ve just let the target lead you to the end of their trail. Instead, you nearly got yourself and your colleagues killed by openly confronting them in a crowded area filled with civilians! Were it not for the grace of the alicorns, we might be dealing with bodies. Perhaps even yours! Do you think I want to inform your mother that you were killed in the line of duty because you were stupid?!” “N-no, sir,” Flash stammered, one wing twitching as he fought the instinct to bring it to his mouth and start chewing on it. “You will receive a citation for this,” Oak stated as he sat down, staring down at Flash like a stern principal informing a naughty student that they were going to be sent home with a note to their parents. “Along with your commendation for participating in this arrest. Now, go; it is time for you to punch out for the day. And on your way home, I want you to reflect upon your actions and the many, many ways that it could have gone horribly wrong. Understood, officer?” “Yes, sir,” Flash nodded, his eyes lowering to the floor. He trudged out of the office, closing the door behind him. “Harsh, captain,” Trace commented. “The lad needs a firm hoof to guide him,” Hewn Oak sighed, mopping his brow. “If he makes stupid mistakes like this, he won’t make it very far in this department. He’ll either lose his badge or his life.” He looked up at Phillip, shaking one hoof slightly so that the rosary bracelet he had hidden beneath his suit jacket rattled out down towards his hoof. “I understand that you have taken the lad under your metaphorical wing?” “Yes,” Phillip nodded. “I do believe that Faust and Celestia are smiling down on you both now,” Oak nodded, gently touching the beads of the rosary marked with an inkwell and quill and a sun. “I’ve seen the boy’s reports. He’s shown a marked improvement in every aspect in the past few months and has one of the highest arrest rates in the force. Not to mention I have heard that the brilliant lass in the crime laboratory is mentoring him for his detective examination.” “Also true,” Phillip nodded. “If he does well enough, I will be petitioning to Chief Case to have him transferred under me,” Hewn Oak continued. “Major Crimes always needs the best of the best, and the lad is the new shining star of the force. But even stars need to be polished before they rise. Make sure that this lad sticks to the narrow path, and keep him swayed from temptation.” “No worries, captain,” Phillip said. “I have no intention of letting Flash ever be like me.” Both Trace and Oak stared at Phillip for a moment, then nodded in silence. “Right. We have our rat in his cage, and he is not going anywhere for a while. Let us continue to search for his den while we try to run down his tracks. Get out there and find me some evidence, boys.” “Yes, sir,” Trace nodded, standing. The two stallions exited the office, passing beneath the set of charms hanging over the door; the metal discs, each one decorated with the cutie mark of one of the six alicorns, jangled slightly as they passed under and closed the door behind them. “He’s been a cop longer than some of our youngest boys have been alive, but I’ve never gotten used to all those similes,” Trace grumbled, looking back at the frosted glass window marked “Captain—Major Crimes.” “Metaphors,” Phillip corrected, already heading for the stairway. “Whatever you say, Mister Pranceton U grad,” Trace rolled his eyes, following him. As they descended the stairwell, they found Flash sitting on the landing, staring at his cap and chewing on his wing. “You all right, mate?” Phillip asked, pausing next to him. “I’m sorry I messed up,” Flash muttered, forcing his wing back down. “I guess…” He sighed. “I thought if they got on the trolley, we’d lose them, and I didn’t want to take that risk. Plus, I wanted...wanted to prove that I…” His voice trailed off and he half-raised his wing towards his mouth again. Phillip gave Trace a meaningful look over his shoulder; Trace nodded and walked around them, taking a sudden intense interest in the imperfections and dents in the wooden steps as he descended. “Flash, nopony thinks you’re a coward, or useless,” Phillip stated quietly. “But you gotta be smarter than that. You’re not going to prove anything to yourself, your ancestors, or anypony by being stupid and getting yourself killed.” “I know,” Flash nodded numbly. Phillip patted Flash on the shoulder. “You’re young, jackaroo. Don’t rush to get experience; it’ll come with time. Just remember you’re not invulnerable.” “Right,” Flash nodded, putting his cap back on. “I’m going to clock out. I’ve got to do some grocery shopping for mom.” “Right. Hoo roo, Flash,” Phillip said, patting the younger stallion on the back. Flash nodded and gave him a brief smile before descending the stairs. Phillip trotted down behind him; Flash stopped at the ground floor landing, while Phillip descended all the way down to the bottom floor. When he reached the crime laboratory, he was greeted with the sound of frustrated growls and muttering mixing in disharmony with the string quartet on the radio. Entering, he spotted Twilight sitting at a table in the back which was currently stacked high with folders, notes, and mugshots. Daring was standing at the opposite end of the table, sorting through files, tossing them aside one after another with a shake of her head. Doctor Suunkii was currently studying a familiar black suit and tie on the examination table, going over the sleeves with a head-mounted magnifier and a fine comb for traces. “What’s going on?” Phillip asked as he entered. He noted a collection of photographs hanging on the bulletin board behind Twilight and paused as he recognized the subject. Zugzwang, nude, standing before a height chart. Full-facing, side, and back pictures were lined up on the top, and there were close-ups of his cutie mark, a white looping v-shaped scar running down his jaw and to his neck, and of several swirling tattoos of runes across his chest and back. “I’m trying to find background information on Zugzwang,” Twilight replied tersely, opening up a large folder stuffed with notes that Phillip immediately noticed were written in Gerwhin. “We're,” Daring corrected beneath her breath. “Yes, sorry, you’ve been very helpful,” Twilight replied, rolling her eyes. “I’ve been trying to find out more about his background for months now.” “And what have you found?” Phillip asked. “Nothing!” Twilight shouted, flinging her forelegs up in frustration and sending papers flying everywhere. “I’ve sent requests to police forces in Gerwhinny, Prance, the Gritish Isles, everywhere! Nothing! No birth certificates, no photographs, no cutie mark registries, not even a flipping signature on a bank check! As far as the official records are concerned, Zugzwang does not exist!” “And yet, the stallion is sitting in a holding cell one floor above us,” Suunkii commented, plucking at a hair on the sleeve. “Exactly,” Twilight let out an annoyed nicker. “These tattoos,” Phillip asked, pointing to the photographs of the runes marked in black and red ink. “What are they?” “I have no idea!” Twilight cried, flinging her forelegs up again in frustration. “I don’t recognize that language or those symbols! I don’t know what they mean!” She buried her head into her hooves and growled in frustration. “Hey, calm down,” Daring said. “Getting mad isn’t gonna solve anything.” Twilight took a slow breath and stood up, returning to her work. “There’s got to be something here. Something about the stallion he was before he came here five years ago.” “And we’ll find it,” Phillip said, diving into the pile of papers. Time ticked passed far too quickly as they hacked away at the pile, file by file, folder by folder. Phillip alternated between helping the two mares study and assisting with Suunkii’s examination of Zugzwang’s clothing. But both searches proved fruitless: the few trace samples on the suit were too small and generic to be very helpful, having been picked up from every corner of Ponyville. There were also no files to be found that named Zugzwang, and the few mentions of a stallion with a black king cutie mark, a taste for expensive clothing and Saddle Arabian tobacco, and black eyes that they could find were unhelpful. “Even those are custom-made, looks like,” Daring commented, studying the black cloth gauntlets that Zugzwang had worn beneath his sleeves. She slipped the sleeve on, turning her limb over to study all angles of it, then tightened her foreleg muscles. With a loud snick, a three-inch blade sprang out from the end of the gauntlet. “Be careful,” Suunkii cautioned her, a wary eye on the blade. “Relax,” Daring replied, relaxing her foreleg and allowing the blade to snap back inside its sheath. “I know not to play with knives.” “Okay,” Phillip finally declared, wiping off his face. “He’s been to Gerwhinny, Mareland, Manehattan, Seaddle...he was even seen in Vanhoover a few moons before Sombra’s Starbomb destroyed it in ‘43. The stallion’s been all around the world.” “So why’d he come to Ponyville?” Daring pondered, one hoof going towards the pocket that contained her pack of cigarettes. Twilight smacked her hoof away with her magic. “No smoking inside the lab,” she scolded. “Maybe there was something here he wanted,” Daring suggested, glaring at Twilight. Yeah. Me, Phillip thought, trying to ignore the fact that his hoof twitched as the thought crossed his mind. “The sightings only go back to about twenty years ago, and he’s at least my age. He didn’t drop out of the bloody sky.” “Perhaps it is time to take a short break,” Doctor Suunkii suggested, rubbing his eyes. “We have all been working very hard; some time to recoup would do us well.” “Agreed,” Daring replied, stretching her wings and back with a low groan. “I need a cig anyway.” “Wait a minute,” Twilight interrupted her. “I’ve been meaning to take another look at your ward.” Daring scowled and opened up her vest to study the ward burned into the interior of the fabric in purple lines. A diamond surrounded by runes and containing a four-pointed star composed the basis of the ward, with crescent moons at every point of the star and the diamond and a circle of runes surrounding the entire construction. “I don’t think it works for me,” she grunted. “You’ve been over to test it a half dozen times: I just can’t get it to activate.” Twilight frowned and shook her head. “I don’t think it’s that: it’s the same as Phillip’s ward, and I know I performed it correctly. It works for him.” Daring gave Phillip a brief scowl, envy glittering in her eyes. “Maybe he’s just got the talent for it and I don’t,” she grumbled. “Everypony can use magic,” Twilight assured her. “You probably just haven’t found the right trigger yet.” “I feel kind of silly shouting ‘wandjina’ when you throw a spell at me,” Daring admitted. “It’s not the word that’s important, it’s the feeling,” Twilight lectured. “Magic is tied to emotions; ‘wandjina’ works for Phillip because he associates it with great power and protection, so it’s enough to activate the ward. You just need to find something that works for you.” Daring scowled and looked down at the ward. “If I were five, maybe I’d be more open to the idea of calling on some mythical guardian spirits for help.” Twilight sighed. “Could we maybe take the time to consider some alternatives?” “I’ve got more important things to worry about,” Daring replied, patting the pocket with the cigarettes. “Coming, Phil?” “Not now,” Phillip shook his head. “I’m going to the cafeteria to get some tucker.” “I believe I will join you,” Suunkii said, rising. “Isn’t Sirba on your case about losing some weight?” Phillip smirked as he exited. “What my wife does not know will not hurt me,” Suunkii said with an evasive glance downward. Chuckling, Phillip led Suunkii up the stairs to the second floor and trotted down the hallway to a cafeteria and break room near the back of the office. The modestly-sized room with white tiled floors was mostly empty, save for the long white tables with attached stools and the vending machines in the back. The long counter along one wall was blocked off by a steel shutter. There were only two officers inside the chow hall. Sergeant MacWillard was sitting at one table, smiling as he watched Officer Wheellock juggle two pistols. Wheellock, who was standing with her back to the door, was holding two revolvers; instead of using the integrated slide-on straps that jutted out from the back, she was spinning them around the trigger guards, her hooves slipping easily into the larger holes. As Phillip and Suunkii watched, Wheellock tossed both guns into the air, clapped her hooves, then caught them behind her back. She holstered one pistol in a shoulder holster whole continuing to spin the other, grinning as she accepted the griffon’s applause. “Officer Wheellock, I hope that those pistols are not loaded,” Suunkii scolded as they entered. MacWillard looked up at their approach, but Wheellock did not seem to notice them coming until they were within a few feet of her, upon which she jumped with a high-pitched yelp and spun around, sending the revolver flying. “Oh, doctor, Detective Finder,” she sighed, catching the falling sidearm with her magic. “I thought you were the captain.” “Your fear is probably an indication that you should not be doing what you were doing,” Suunkii stated coolly. “Yes, doctor,” Wheellock replied, hanging her head as she holstered the second weapon. “It’s my fault, doc,” MacWillard said, standing. “Wheellock just got her personal pistols approved, and she was showing them off for me with a few tricks her uncle Flintlock taught her.” He glanced at his partner. “And don’t worry, I made sure that they were empty first. Can’t call myself a rangemaster if I don’t preach gun safety.” “Flintlock the circus trick shooter?” Phillip asked as Suunkii nodded and walked off towards the vending machine. “Yes, sir,” Wheellock replied, puffing out her chest a bit. “Did you ever see him?” “No,” Phillip said, studying the pistols. “Steel and Eastson Model 27s, .45 caliber. Good choice. Expect a smart choice from a mare who grew up around guns.” Wheellock blinked. “How did you…?” “Scars on the inside of your hoof from the hammer of a gun striking your flesh, and a few small burns on your cheek from cartridges hitting you in the face,” Phillip explained. “All from different time periods, several years old. You’ve been shooting guns almost since you could hold them. Parent’s trade, I’m guessing, judging by the initials SB on the older gun cleaning kit I can see poking out of your back pocket.” “My father, Silver Bullet,” Wheellock nodded. “My parents owned a gun shop in Manehattan. My father gave me his kit when I became a police officer.” She smiled at Phillip and let out a chuckle. “You know, before now, I thought all those stories about you being able to figure out anything about a pony were all hyperbole. I mean, nopony’s that good.” Phillip frowned at her and Wheellock wilted. “I...I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean…” “You planning on asking out that pony at the shooting range?” Phillip asked. Wheellock’s eyes widened and a blush colored her yellow cheeks. “H-how did…?” “You have a few traces of foam in your ears and some gunpowder traces on your hooves and the side of your face: I can smell it from over here,” Phillip explained. “But there’s also mascara and eyeliner on your face, traces of perfume. Unusual for you. You visited the range for shotgun practice this morning before shift, and prettied yourself up to impress some stallion.” Wheellock blushed even harder and looked down at her hooves, shuffling in place. MacWillard coughed. “Actually, it’s a mare,” he corrected Phillip, frowning at him. “Oh,” Phillip said slowly, sucking on his lower lip briefly. He cleared his throat. “Sorry, Wheellock, I...that was out of line. I’m sorry,” he admitted. Wheellock looked back up, her cheeks slowly returning to their proper color. “It’s okay,” she nodded. “Wheellock, MacWillard,” Cold Case called, entering the cafeteria with a crisp stride and a scowl that could’ve frozen a flaming tequila shot. “What are you two doing?” “Nothing, ma’am!” Wheellock cried, snapping to attention. “Then find something productive to do,” Cold Case ordered them. “You’re not paid to gossip.” “Yes, ma’am!” Wheellock saluted and quickly trotted out of the room. MacWillard followed her with a brief nod. “I’ve been looking for you,” Cold Case stated to Phillip. “Zugzwang wants to talk to you.” Phillip took a slow breath and tried to ignore the icy chill that went down his spine. Zugzwang was sitting alone in the interview room, nude and encased in heavy shackles, a silver magical restraint bracelet clasped to his foreleg. He sat completely still at the table, forelegs resting on the table, staring straight blankly ahead at the one-way mirror. Phillip, Cold, and Red Herring stood on the other side of the one-way mirror, studying the strange tattoos that marred his skin. “Creepy motherfucker,” Red muttered. “Dancer, our officer in booking, told me that he just sat in the holding cell and stared at him. Didn’t move, didn’t say anything. Just sat and stared like that. Didn’t even fucking blink.” “What have you found out about him?” Cold Case asked Phillip, looking at the other stallion, who was silently staring at the pony within the interview room. “Nothing,” Phillip replied, not even turning away from the window. “No names, no records, no anything.” “That isn’t possible,” Cold Case snapped. “Everypony leaves a trace.” “He doesn’t,” Phillip replied, looking back at her. “He hasn’t left anything. Or he’s cleaned up.” “I became a police officer because I cannot abide mysteries, Phillip,” Cold Case replied. “And I know you can’t either. I want to know who that stallion is. And he’ll only talk to you.” Phillip turned back to the window and froze. Zugzwang had turned to face him through the window, black eyes boring into his. And he was smiling, white teeth shining in a mask-like expression. He could feel the magic pinning him down, tingling and warm, like electricity that had somehow come alive. The lips touched his forehead, cool, soft, and disgustingly wet, and he felt like the saliva was burrowing into his skin, permanently marking him; and then he felt the hot breath traveling down his body, every sniff making his flesh crawl as though trying to wriggle off his bones… “Phil? You okay?” Red asked. Phillip shook his head. “Yeah,” he grunted. “I could go in there with you if you wanted,” Red offered. “No, it’s fine,” Phillip replied, walking towards the door to the interview room, trying to ignore that Zugzwang’s eyes followed him the entire time. He opened the door and entered, skin still crawling. “Guten abend, liebling,” Zugzwang purred as he entered. “One thing I can’t figure out,” Phillip declared, electing to stand at the table instead of sitting. “You’re so smart and everything, but we caught you because you’re arrogant enough to go out in the open to collect your bloody cigarettes. Why is that?” Zugzwang let out a soft chuckle. “The risk, liebling. The risk is everything. It’s why I came here, it’s why I turned against Herr Silvertongue, it’s why I let Frau Sparks steal my cigarettes, it's why I let one of Whitestone's brainless arschgeigen see me from the river, and that’s why I am who I am.” He leaned forward, still smirking. “Judging by the marks on your forelegs where you leaned them against the table and the saliva marks on your right hoof—you lick your hoof sometimes when you turn the page, did you know that?—you and your friends are wondering who I am.” “And I’m sure you get a kick out of knowing something that we don’t,” Phillip grunted. “I do,” Zugzwang nodded, settling back in his seat. “We can and we will find out who you are,” Phillip stated. “I am Zugzwang,” Zugzwang answered. “But...I think you’ve earned a taste.” He closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath, as though inhaling a cigarette, then spoke. “I wasn’t born Zugzwang,” he narrated. “Nor did I have this mark upon my flanks, nor were my eyes originally this color. I…” He swallowed and licked his lips, blinking once slowly. “I don’t remember who I was or what I did. Sometimes the memories come back in one shape, sometimes another.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter anymore. What I do remember is this: I craved a challenge.” Phillip remained silent, eyes tracing over the tattoos on Zugzwang’s body and the white scar on his neck. His lips twitched downwards as a thought crossed his mind: that scar looked oddly like somepony had slit his throat. “So many ponies go through existence in a dream,” Zugzwang continued. “Never testing themselves, never knowing the feeling of having the sword caress your neck as you nearly lose everything. But I know that feeling...and I wanted it. More of it. “At some point, I know I made...enemies,” he continued. “Ponies who wanted me dead. They managed to pin me in a corner. I had nowhere to go...but then I found a way out. In the Kyaltratek.” He leaned forward, shackles rattling. “I needed to become a different pony, and I needed power. And I got both. It came at a cost, however.” He gestured at his neck, a small grin crossing his face. The cut, Phillip now realized, was no mere accidental slice: it was deep. Very deep. “The pony that I was died, truly died,” Zugzwang stated. “And I was born in their grave.” “So,” Phillip stated. “You’re claiming that you performed a dark ritual, died, and came back to life as a completely different pony.” “Ja,” Zugzwang shrugged, gesturing to some of the circular swirls on his body. “What do you think these are for?" “Bull dust,” Phillip grunted. Zugzwang chuckled once again, the sound coming out as though forced from a bellows. “Of course you’d say that. But it doesn’t matter what you think; it happened.” He leaned back in the chair again, the plastic groaning beneath his weight. “I found myself wandering, trying out many new things, new places. Crime became my chessboard, all the pieces spread out before me, so many new challenges…” He closed his eyes and drew in another long breath. “It was beautiful. It became my drug, my food and drink. “Five years ago, I wandered into Ponyville, and felt…” He frowned. “I don’t know how to describe it. This sense of...belonging. Like I’d found someplace that held something I didn’t even know I lacked. And so I stayed here and waited. I allied with Herr Silvertongue, and that provided a challenge for a time; but once he consolidated Ponyville under his rule, it became extremely boring. And yet, I couldn’t make myself leave like I had so many times before. “So I stayed, and I waited. At first, I thought the rebellion was what I needed, but then…” He licked his lips slowly, a strange glimmer entering his eyes. “Then you appeared,” he cooed. “You, the first pony in years who could challenge me. The first pony in years who could put the sword to my neck, who made me feel...alive.” His breath came in and out slowly, shivering with excitement. Phillip stayed silent for a few moments, maintaining the mask he wore over the crawling repulsion, silently ordering his nerves to stop trying to wriggle out of his skin, then spoke. “Why are you giving me this fable?” “To tell you what I am,” Zugzwang declared, his grin growing slightly larger. “And to distract you.” Phillip felt cold claws grip his heart. “Distract me from what?” “I made several plans on how best to abduct you and your friends long ago, and took the habit of keeping them on my person at all times,” Zugzwang stated smugly. “When you captured me, I sent one of those plans out to Herr Star Cluster.” His smile broadened even more, teeth suddenly gleaming like a shark’s. “It regards the little orange flachwichser that follows you around like a lapdog.” Phillip’s heart dropped into his stomach, snow and ice spreading across his limbs. Denial rushed to his side: He’s lying, he’s bluffing, it’s just a trick… “I considered Frau Sparks or Captain Whitestone,” Zugzwang added, a lilting giggle behind his voice. “But no, they’d just kill him: droll of them, really. Oh, but Star Cluster, he’ll make the boy suffer. I wonder what he’s doing to him now?” He was lying. He had to be. And yet, as Phillip bolted from the room, slamming and locking the door behind him, his heart began to pound frantically in his ears. Ignoring Cold and Red calling after him, he made a beeline for the phone on the wall and frantically entered Joyful Sound’s number. Each ring seemed to make his heart beat faster. Finally, the line clicked midway through the fifth ring. “Hello?” Joyful’s voice asked. “Joy, is Flash there?” Phillip asked, dread burning a hole in his chest. “No, I was just about to call you,” Joyful replied, concern at the edges of her voice. “He was going to pick up groceries on the way home, but he should’ve been here hours ago. Is he with Twilight?” No, Phillip screamed silently to the rhythm of his heart. No. No. No. No. No. And somewhere inside him came a clap of thunder. He hung up and stormed back over to interview room, pushing past Cold, not even hearing the words she was shouting, and threw open the door. “Believe me now?” Zugzwang smirked, still sitting at the table as Phillip slammed the door shut. Seizing the chair, Phillip dragged it over to the door and jammed it against the doorknob, then advanced on Zugzwang. Seizing the unicorn by the throat, he lifted him up and slammed him against the wall. “Where is he?!” he bellowed. Zugzwang just smiled at him, black eyes glittering with delight. “Now, that would hardly be fair,” he scolded. Phillip drove his hoof into Zugzwang’s gut, his strike crushing into yielding flesh. “Where is he?!” he repeated, ignoring the rattling of the door and the voices behind it. Zugzwang just laughed once: a horrid sound, like bones rattling in the wind. “You just need this, don’t you?” he purred. “You like the way this feels; it’s why you do this, isn’t it?” The thunder inside Phillip roared, and he punched him again, and again, and again, every strike cracking ribs and smashing into organs. “Where! Is! He?!” Zugzwang’s laughter tumbled into his ears, loud and cold and sharp like icicles. “You! Have! Nothing!” he crowed. “Nothing you can threaten me with! Nothing you can use against me! And it kills you, doesn’t it?!” Growling, the storm inside him ripping and tearing at his innards, Phillip drew his hoof back again, but then a blast of cold wind struck him and he stumbled, dropping Zugzwang and crying out in surprise. He turned around to see that Cold Case had managed to force open the door and was now firing a spell at his back. “Step away from him,” she ordered. “Now.” Phillip growled at her, the two momentarily frozen in a standoff. “Finder, we have an officer to save,” Cold stated. Phillip grunted and retreated out of the room, the storms cooled but still raging inside of him.