“Here’s the boat,” Phillip said, noting the sliced rope that hung from the bow on the low white wooden-hulled motorboat that had run aground beneath a creaky, slime-streaked pier in the Dockside district. He wandered around to the stern of the boat, which was peppered with buckshot holes; his every step splashed in the shallow water. His eyes went to some distinct red marks on the seat of the boat and the handle of the motor.
“That should make him easier to track,” Trace commented, sweeping the wet, sandy grounds with his horn. “Tracking spell’s no good: the river water’s washing away any magical traces. Daring?”
“Looking for blood trails, got it,” Daring declared, taking off and starting to circle the air.
“Wait, not around here,” Phillip stated, scanning the propeller of the boat’s motor. “If it was driven up here, the rocks would’ve torn the propeller apart, but it’s fine. Must’ve drifted down the current.” He looked up and down the Maresippi, frowning deep in thought. “Would’ve come from farther up west.”
“But how far?” Daring asked. “We didn’t get a good timeframe on when the attack happened, and I can’t just go up and down the coast looking for bloodstains.”
“There’ll be other clues,” Phillip said placidly, turning back to examine the boat. He plucked a scrap of red-stained gray cloth from the bottom of the boat. “This is from a trenchcoat,” he mused. “He tore strips to make bandages.” He studied the material and sniffed it. “Tobacco...can't tell what brand. Red coat hairs…”
He scanned the boat up and down but found nothing else significant. “Okay. Trace?”
“APB on a red unicorn stallion, about four foot tall, green and brown hair, wearing a gray trench coat and wounded was sent out a couple of hours ago,” Trace recited. He hissed out a breath as he started to head back up the sandy slopes towards the concrete wall that truly separated land and water. “I ought to start thinking about retirement.”
Phillip and Daring followed, Phillip still sweeping his gaze across the beach for any clues. “Why would he steal the gems?” he mused. “What does he gain out of disobeying Zugzwang?”
“I doubt that he understands what they are or what they’re for,” Daring stated. “So that leaves the only other reason why somepony would take a diamond: money. If I were in his shoes, I’d be trying to buy my way out of this city.”
Phillip nodded. “Should’ve thought of that,” he muttered as he hauled himself up onto the street. “So those gems are going to pop up somewhere. Probably somewhere the police don’t know about.”
“Which means we need help from somepony who has their ears to the ground in those circles,” Daring frowned. “Somepony who’s less likely to dick us over.”
Phillip looked up at her. “You can’t be thinking of Night Waltz.”
“He’s a dick, but he knows the right ponies,” Daring said. “And if there’s something in it for him, he’ll pull through. Maybe we can play bad cop-insane cop again.”
Phillip paused, his head turning towards a nearby dock. The Billabong Melody was docked there, bobbing in the water, the sails rolled up. The two could faintly hear music coming from it.
“I should warn them,” Phillip said, striding towards the boat.
“We should,” Daring agreed, following.
As they approached the boat, they could hear the music more clearly coming from the open doorway into the cabin:
“You remind me of a stallion!” Siren was half-singing, half-shouting in a throaty voice that carried over pounding drums.
“What stallion?” the others called back.
“Oh, the stallion with the power!”
“What power?”
“Oh, the power of voodoo!”
“Who do?”
“Yeah, you do, you do!”
“You what?” the entire cast called, cueing a blare of brass and the loud buzzing of a didgeridoo.
Daring carried Phillip up onto the rocking deck and they proceeded down the stairs into the cabin. The wide-open space was decorated with many relics of the groups' history, framed pictures of past iterations and notable performances hanging from the walls. In one corner was a heavily worn punching bag, next to some old boxing trophies and a black and white picture of a younger Bobby standing in a boxing ring, gloved hooves raised in triumph, grinning through the bruises on his face.
The Outbackers were gathered in a makeshift practice stage, all of them swaying in time to the harmonies of their respective instruments.
“Phil! Daring!” Bobby called, stopping practice and dropping his trumpet to give them both a warm hug. “You drop by for practice?”
“Sorry, dad, we’ve got work,” Phillip said, reluctantly pulling himself out of the hug.
Bobby’s face instantly fell, as did everypony else’s in the room. “Oh. I see,” he nodded.
“We came by to warn you,” Phillip said. “It might be best...if you mates stay here. Cancel the show tonight.”
“But—!” Rock and Roll both protested in one voice.
“Just trust me,” Phillip interrupted. “The wanker we’re dealing with right now...dangerous. And he’s more than willing to use my friends against me.”
The Outbackers all looked at each other. “I see,” Rain said slowly. “Should we...should we leave?”
“No!” Phillip cried. “No, no. It…” He took a breath. “We’ll handle this. Just...stay here. Stay safe. You still got that shotgun?”
“It’s locked in the main cabin,” Bobby replied.
“Keep it close by, just in case,” Phillip said. “We’ll let you know if anything changes.”
“Okay,” Bobby nodded.
An awkward silence solidified in the air. Phillip looked at his shuffling hooves, biting his lip.
“I wish…” he started to say, then stopped himself, unable to meet his parents’ gaze. He sighed and turned to head towards the stairs. “Love you, mom and dad,” he said.
“We love you too, son,” Bobby called softly.
"Be careful, ampa," Rain called. Phillip paused and glanced back; there was still something in his eyes, something he wanted to say, but all he did was nod quietly before leaving.
Daring left with Phillip, eager to escape the heavy silence. As she passed out of the room, she felt like she was climbing out of a hole, a hole that had always been there but had become a normal part of the room, solely because no one knew how to fill it.
She emerged onto the deck to find Phillip standing there, wiping his face. “Dammit,” he muttered, tilting his trilby down so that the brim hid his eyes.
“You okay?” Daring asked, laying a hoof on his shoulder.
“Fine,” he grunted, still refusing to look up. “Let’s just go talk to Night Waltz. Actually, wait,” he caught himself as a sudden thought crossed his mind. “Let’s drop by Twilight’s place first. Her book on artifacts might be a help, it has the statues and the key in it.”
“Good idea.” Scooping him up beneath his forelegs, Daring took off and headed northwest. "Um...what's ampa?" she asked, hating her own curiosity for its ill-conceived timing.
"Child," Phillip translated, voice still flat. "A mother's child."
Daring nodded in understanding. As she flew away, she heard the music beneath her start up again, again heard Siren’s voice singing with what she instinctually knew was forced enthusiasm:
“Oh, hokum-pokum, alakazan, save us from that evil stallion,
“Save us from his evil curse...it’s gonna get bad, yeah, it’s gonna get worse!”
She gritted her teeth. Yeah, that’s not an omen or anything.
Daring landed in front of 1010 Golden Oaks, looking up and down the street for any sign of pursuers. The street was empty and the skies mostly clear, but she didn’t relax.
Retrieving the spare key from the lockbox underneath the steps, Phillip entered Twilight’s home, heading into the living room. A few seconds of scanning the bookshelves identified his target: the battered black book with Ancient Artifacts and Totems scrawled along the spine. He tucked this into a Bag of Holding that he retrieved from a pocket.
As he exited and locked the door behind him, Phillip glanced up to see a trio of weather ponies in their yellow vests flying past, pushing a set of clouds aside. “Dash’d be at therapy, right?” he asked Daring.
“Leave her out of this,” Daring snapped. “She’ll only be putting herself in danger. Let’s get to Night Waltz.”
“Hang on, there’s something else we should do,” Phillip said, looking north up the road.
A short jog brought them to 1273 Golden Oaks. Daring hung back while Phillip trotted up to the door and knocked.
The door opened within moments and he just barely had enough time to brace himself before a small car rammed into his chest. “Uncle Phil! Aunt Daring!” Muziqaa cried, hugging him tightly.
“Hey, ankle-biter,” Phillip smiled briefly, patting his nephew on the head. “Your mom home?”
“I am indeed, what did you need?” Sirba said as she entered the hallway. She smiled at Phillip, but the expression didn’t quite reach her eyes: he could see the confusion and worry behind the thin mask.
“Come see my new trick!” Muziqaa cried, trying to pull Phillip inside. “Mama and her troupe were helping me with it last night, and I was going to do it at the concert, but we weren’t quite ready—”
“Not now, Muzi,” Phillip replied, gently pushing Muziqaa off.
Muziqaa pouted up at him. “But—”
“We’re only here for a few minutes: we need to talk to your mom real quick,” Phillip stated. “You can show us your trick later.”
Muziqaa started to protest, but Sirba placed a hoof on his back. “Fine,” he mumbled, retreating. “I guess I could use more practice.”
Sirba waited until her son was out of earshot, then turned to Phillip, dropping the tranquil mask. “My husband called and told us to stay home. What’s happening, Phillip? What evil is out to roam?”
“Somepony very powerful,” Phillip replied. “You still have that Neighringer?”
Sirba frowned. “I don’t like having that weapon displayed. It’s unsettling and makes Muziqaa afraid.”
“You might need it,” Phillip stated. “Just...stay home and keep Muziqaa safe, all right? We’re working on solving this.”
Sirba nodded grimly, then pulled Phillip close and pressed her forehead against his, shaking her head so that the beads in her mane let out a slow, soft jingle like gentle rain on a tin rooftop. She prayed briefly in her native tongue, a soothing musical chant almost like a lullaby. Releasing Phillip, Sirba beckoned Daring over.
Daring hesitated, then mentally shrugged. Can’t hurt. She trotted over and allowed Sirba to press her forehead against hers in a warm embrace, instinctively closing her eyes. Sirba’s mane smelled of fresh grass and jasmine. The sound of the softly rattling beads was like sinking into a warm bath; the soft syllables of her prayer wrapped around her like a blanket. For a moment, time stopped around her, and when the prayer ended, Daring pulled away with a strange sense of reluctance.
“May the spirits keep watch and bless, so that we all can get out of this mess,” she blessed him in a quiet tone.
“We’ll all go home at the end of this, Sirba,” Phillip said, hating himself as he made a promise that he knew he couldn’t keep. “We’ll let you know what’s happening soon.”
So saying, Daring and Phillip turned and headed away, hearing the door close and lock behind them. Taking Phillip beneath the forelegs, Daring took off and headed west for the Financial District.
“So what’s the game plan for dealing with Night Waltz?” she asked, already focusing on the distant glass and steel spire that was the Apex building.
“Start with logic: he listens to that,” Phillip stated. “Bring up the reward: thirty thousand bits for Zugzwang should get his attention. If that doesn’t work—”
He was cut off by a siren. Looking down, both ponies noticed a fleet of ambulances and fire trucks speeding past beneath them. They looked at each other, then chased after the line of vehicles.
The small cottage on the western outskirts of Ponyville had been a picturesque home, a small blue single-story house that sat a little distance off from its neighbors.
Now it looked like a battleground. Most of the cottage had been burned down, smoke still rising from the cinders. The door had been yanked off the hinges and lay in the middle of the lawn; bullet holes pockmarked the threshold.
The scene was surrounded by a fleet of fire trucks and cruisers, which formed a wall that blocked the regular crowd of pedestrians, all craning to get a better view of the carnage with blended horror and interest.
Daring spotted an ashen-faced Officer Wheellock manning the boundary and landed in front of her. “What happened?” she asked.
“Somepony attacked the house,” Wheellock explained. “They retreated by the time that we arrived; there’s only one survivor.” She nodded towards a nearby ambulance, where a single unicorn sat, shivering despite the magically warmed blanket that he had wrapped around him.
“Guards?” Daring asked. “Who lives here?”
“You don’t know?” Wheellock asked. “This is Scarlet Letter’s house. She’d been living here incognito for months.”
Daring blinked and stared at the house in shock. “Is...is she dead?” she asked.
Wheellock glanced around, then lowered her voice. “We...don’t know,” she admitted. “Because we can’t find her. Or any of the others.”
“What?” Daring asked.
“I can’t explain it, but…” Wheellock ran a hoof through her rosary necklace, rubbing all six different markings in turn. “All of the other guards are gone. Just...gone.”
Phillip and Daring exchanged looks, then started to head towards the ambulance. The pony in the back looked up at their approach; the triple paws tattoo on his neck identified him as a Cerberus mercenary.
“I’m not crazy,” he mumbled. “I’m not crazy.”
“What’s your name?” Phillip greeted him.
The guard took a moment to react. “Key Ring,” he mumbled.
“What did you see?” Phillip asked.
Key blinked heavily, his shaking becoming more pronounced by the moment. “It was a normal day…Ms. Letter was writing in her bedroom, I was doing my rounds outside...and then I heard gunshots coming from inside. I ran to get the front door, but it didn’t open...I couldn’t open it...wasn’t my fault...” He shuddered and clung to the blanket like a child that had had a nightmare.
“All of a sudden, there was an explosion. The door was blasted off the hinges and it hit me, sent me flying. When I woke up...the house was on fire, magic fire, orange fire...I saw Yellow and Iron...they were staring at me, just staring. And they...they…” He shivered and slammed his eyes shut.
“Key?” Phillip asked, stepping forward.
“They were dead!” Key Ring managed to cry in a strangled voice, his eyes wide and glowing with desperation as he fixed them upon Phillip. “Their throats were slit! I looked into their eyes! They were standing up and walking, but they were dead!” His face fell as the energy left him and his head wilted like a dead flower. “I know it sounds crazy…”
Phillip patted his shoulder. “We believe you,” he said calmly. “What happened then?”
“I thought I was dead,” Key Ring admitted. “But they turned around and headed back inside. I caught a glimpse of somepony inside: a tan unicorn in an expensive suit. He unlocked a closet door: I saw a lot of red light and they all disappeared inside.” He paused a moment and sniffled again. “It’s just me left...I looked and looked, but there were no bodies, I don’t know what happened to the others, or to Ms. Letter…”
“It’s not your fault,” Phillip said, patting his shoulder. “See a doctor and get some help. The police will handle this.”
“Damn right we will,” Daring said, already heading for the cottage.
“No,” Phillip cut her off, grabbing her tail. “There’s nothing we can gain here that’ll be useful.”
“You don't know that!” Daring snapped.
“I know you hate her, but this is a waste of time,” Phillip hissed. “Zugzwang attacked her because he’s trying to get rid of his rival. We need to focus on finding our survivor and the statues. That’s the only way we can stop this.”
Daring glared at him and glared at the house. “This could be our one chance for finding whatever illegal shit she’s got in there. Our one chance to nail her to the wall!”
“If you want to waste your bloody time here chasing yowies, fine,” Phillip snapped back. “I’m going to head for Night Waltz’s office.”
“Fine!” Daring spat back. Phillip stalked off, hailing a cab. Daring glared at him walking off, then sighed and turned towards the house; the anger hissed out of her like air leaving a balloon.
“Jeez,” Wheellock commented. “And I thought Jessie and I had rough arguments.”
Daring shot her a dark look. Wheellock swallowed and took a sudden interest in a low-hanging cloud.
Daring proceeded into the house, ducking beneath the crime scene tape. The inner hallway was scorched to ruins, stinking of soot and gunpowder. The scorch patterns showed her that the explosion had started in here at about head height, with flames radiating outwards from the impact point.
Her hoof brushed against something hard and she just barely managed to stop herself from stepping on the scorched remnants of a pony’s skeleton that lay in a pile on the floor. A few rags were all that remained of its bulletproof vest, and the exploded remnants of a pistol lay on the ground next to it. Daring’s eyes went to a cluster of bullet holes in the opposite wall. “Fire was so hot, it cooked the ammunition in the gun,” she mused to herself.
“Scarlet’s room’s down here, detective,” Doctor Mortis called from further down the hallway, beckoning her through a doorway. “But there’s not much left.”
“You running this scene?” Daring asked as she proceeded forward.
“Suunkii and Twilight are still busy with the waterfront house, and since there’s technically a body, I was called in,” Mortis replied cheerfully. “Don’t let the Ph.D. fool you, Daring. I started on the ground with the Cuore PD in the Crystal Empire. CSI by day, college student by night.”
Daring entered the room and took a long look around. To her complete lack of surprise, the bedroom was ostentatiously decorated. The centerpiece was a massive bed covered with the burnt remnants of silk sheets. A large dresser made of golden oakwood stood against one wall: a once-ornate jewelry box sat on the top, overturned with the top open and the box empty. A small desk was set against a wall with an intact window, with a partially-melted typewriter and some papers laying atop it. A glance told Daring that they had once been half-formed chapter drafts for Scarlet’s novel.
“There’s very little left,” Mortis reported. “Notice that the window’s closed and locked, and there’s no trace of any teleportation magic. The fire made finding magical traces difficult, but I didn’t find any hoofprints in here. None at all. So either Scarlet Letter is the world’s greatest hide and seek champion, or she got out of here some other way and someone wiped her hoofprints after.”
But Daring’s eyes went to one piece of furniture. An overturned standing mirror lay facedown on the floor in the corner. Glass shards lay everywhere.
An idea sparked in her mind. Daring strode forward and carefully lifted the frame up. The mirror was broken, but the gilded frame was still intact. And there were several gems set into it: blue, green, and red.
She grinned. “Chasing yowies, eh, Phil?”
The taxi dropped Phillip off right in front of the Apex Building. Phillip trotted quickly up to the door, glancing around for anything that caught his attention. His gaze swept over the griffon manning a hot dog cart on the corner, the skinny earth pony raising a left hoof to call the cab he’d just vacated, the pony exiting the building squeezing a purple exercise ball imprinted with a logo from the physical therapy clinic on the sixth floor. None seemed to be paying any attention to him.
He proceeded to the doors and pushed through, making his way directly to the elevator in the back. The doors opened as soon as he hit the button, and he proceeded up to the twelfth floor. A short walk later and he was standing in front of Night Waltz’s office door.
Even before he tried the knob, he knew something was wrong: the coppery scent of blood was stinging his nostrils and he heard a strange, constant noise from inside. He drew his baton with a snap of his wrist as he entered.
The office was still an audacious display of waste and wealth, but the centerpiece of the room was the dead stallion that lay facedown on the desk in a crimson pool that encircled the bottom of a small potted plant. The wall behind him had a conical spray of cast-off blood, going to Phillip’s left. A quick scan of the room revealed a pair of bloody hoofprints on the carpeted floor: more faint bloodstains led to the door. The phone on the desk was dangling off the hook; the dial tone was the strange noise Phillip had identified from outside.
“Shit,” Phillip grumbled.
He heard hoofsteps behind him and looked up to see a cleaning stallion approaching with a cart. The stallion paused in front of the door and gasped as he looked inside.
“Call the police. Now,” Phillip snapped at him, sending the stallion scampering away.
Phillip proceeded inside, carefully sweeping over everything with his eyes. He paused to study the bloody hoofprints. The imprints were faint and only partial, but there was still enough to recognize a Blue Crescent brand horseshoe. Relatively new, judging by the tread.
He looked over Night Waltz’s body; Night had died with his eyes open, blood sprayed across his ridiculously expensive yellow suit and his jaw slack. Even with his head down, Phillip could see that the fatal blow was an efficient slice across the throat. Blood spray says the attacker was left-hooved, he noted. A single hair lay atop the still wet and warm pool of blood on the desk: long and black. It was then that Phillip also noticed short drag marks in the pool, streaking across the desk.
The attacker grabbed something off the desk, Phillip concluded.
An out-of-place shadow in the potted rhododendron caught Phillip’s attention. Carefully parting the leaves, he spotted a small microphone embedded into the dirt. A quick examination revealed a wire running through a hole in the pot into one of the drawers in Night Waltz’s desk. Opening it, Phillip discovered a tape recorder that was still running. He paused the recorder, then rewound the tape and hit play.
“—heard from you in some time, Clover,” Night Waltz’s voice scratched out of the speaker. “So now you’re calling me up because you’re in trouble? What kind of shit is big enough to make you remember me?”
“Shit bigger than you can imagine,” a shaky Mareish voice replied in a tinny tone: Phillip realized that it must have been coming from the speakerphone. “You got the gem I sent you?”
“I did; gotta say, that’s one of the finest looking gems I’ve ever laid eyes on,” Waltz purred in answer. “It’s a wonder that your messenger didn’t steal it for himself.”
“I’ve got three more just like it,” the mysterious Clover answered. “And I need to get out of this city; Zugzwang’s going to be after me.”
There was a long pause. “You say Zugzwang?” Waltz asked quietly.
“Did I fucking stutter? I said Zugzwang!” Clover snapped back. “I’m willing to bet that you can get me out of here. And I’m willing to bet that those jewels can help pay the fees.”
Waltz made a low sound of contemplation: Phillip could hear something being rolled around on the desk, presumably the proffered jewel. “It’s a tempting offer...but I might need some time to think about it. Where are you?”
“In the Under; I've got a base down here. I’ll call again later tonight. If you—”
He was cut off by the faint sound of the door opening and padded hoofsteps. “What are you doing back here? I thought Clover paid you,” Waltz said.
The intruder didn’t answer. “Wait, what the fuck are—?”
The unmistakable sound of a knife piercing flesh. A gurgling cry of surprise, then choking gasps and shouts accompanied by liquid dribbling down onto the desk. There was a click as the phone hung up, followed by the dial tone. It seemed to take forever for the horrible noises of death to fade away, punctuated by the slump of a body striking the desk. There was a brief sound of something dragging on the table, then retreating hoofsteps.
There was at most a couple of minutes left on the tape. “Bugger,” Phillip muttered, scowling in thought. The killer couldn’t have gotten far. He quickly began to review his mental playback of his entry to the Apex building, reviewing every detail of the crime scene that he had seen, recalling every face that he had passed.
Only one possibility came to mind: the skinny earth pony that had hailed the taxi that Phillip had arrived in, with the long black hair and out of place hoodie, who had called the cab with his left hoof.
Sprinting out of the room, Phillip shoved past a responding security guard, ignoring the guard’s calls for him to stop and explain. Charging down the stairs, Phillip reached the sixth floor just as the door of Mountainview Therapy Clinic opened and a pegasus mare exited, slowly flexing both wings. The left one whirred faintly with every movement of the tiny motors, the metal construction catching the light as it slowly flapped.
“Dash!” he called to the exiting mare, who turned around at the mention of her name. Rainbow grinned happily at his approach.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Need you to carry me out,” Phillip said, opening one of the large windows on the floor. “We’re chasing a killer.”
“Sweet!” Rainbow declared, and in a rainbow blur, snatched Phillip beneath the forelegs and carried him out the window into the warm, wet air.
“Phonebooth, there,” Phillip said, pointing. Rainbow dove towards the ground at a speed that seemed to crush Phillip’s heart into his chest, the sudden deceleration as she neared the ground making his stomach plummet. Shaking off the nausea, he snatched the phone off the cradle and inserted a bit, dialing a number at full speed. The phone rang twice before answering.
“Cloud Nine taxi,” a bored dispatcher mumbled into his ear.
“I need to know the location of cab number 275,” Phillip reported.
“Cab 275, what’s your location?” the dispatcher asked into his radio set. There was a garbled reply, then the dispatcher reported, “It’s headed up Rich Street. Just passed Doubletree.”
“Thanks,” Phillip said, hanging up. “You sure you’re up for a long flight?” he asked Daring.
“Course I am!” Rainbow said, spreading both of her wings. The prosthetic responded nearly as quickly as her organic muscles, moving in almost perfect sync with its partner.
“Good. Head northwest, up Rich Street,” Phillip ordered, allowing her to pick him up again.
She accelerated into the air so fast that Phillip thought that he had left his stomach behind on the sidewalk for a moment. She sped north at nausea-inducing speed, the colors around him becoming indistinguishable blurs, but Rainbow soon had to slow down. Phillip could hear her forcing herself to take steady breaths, flapping her wings with great, broad strokes that he knew were forced to be in tandem with one another. Frustration emanated from her like heat from a furnace.
But they had already reached Rich and Doubletree. Phillip directed her to keep flying north, scanning the cars beneath for any yellow-domed taxicabs.
“There,” he declared a minute later, pointing. A taxi had just pulled over at a clubhouse and a gray earth pony in a hoodie had exited, darting into the club.
Rainbow tucked her wings back and dove towards the sidewalk at an accelerating speed: Phillip jammed his trilby onto his head and tried not to think about if and how much it would hurt if he hit the concrete facefirst at terminal velocity. Thankfully, Rainbow expertly pulled up into a smooth landing well before they hit the ground.
I suddenly miss Daring. Shaking off the dizziness, Phillip studied the front of the small clubhouse. The curtains in the window were drawn and the room beyond the glass doors was dark: a sign in the doorway revealed that the clubhouse was not scheduled for any events today.
Phillip checked the weight of his baton in his vest and the pistol in his shoulder holster. “Dash, you—”
“We’ve caught you now, you crook!” Rainbow Dash declared, barging through the glass doors like a wrecking ball. “Surrender now and we’ll go easy on you!”
Phillip sighed and shook his head as he entered. Note to self: have Daring teach her the importance of surprise.
They entered a dim lobby with photographs on the wall of previous club members and events, silent eyes watching their progress. A couple of doors led into small dining rooms, both of which were completely empty. The two proceeded through a set of double doors.
On the other side was a larger room with round tables, the tablecloths atop them rustling faintly in the breeze of their entry. A raised stage stood at the end of the room, vacant except for a lone microphone. The only lights came in through the partially curtained window. Phillip snapped his flashlight onto his vest and switched it on, sweeping the room with it.
“You think maybe he got into a secret passageway or something?” Rainbow asked, looking around for any sign of hidden levers or trapdoors.
Phillip knelt down and studied a thin layer of dust on the ground. Tracks here: their quarry had passed by—
Wait. There were more of them. Several thin trails imprinted into the dust.
“Dash, get out of here,” he ordered, standing up and reaching for his pistol. “Now.”
Too late. The door slammed shut behind them and both ponies watched as black ooze slithered across the locks.
Kill the mare. Bring Finder to us.
They emerged from the darkness, the hooded earth pony and six others, swarming them like a single body with a single mind. Three had silenced guns. All of them were aiming at Rainbow.
“Rainbow, move!” Phillip shouted, grabbing a small sphere from a pocket and tossing it onto the floor. Smoke billowed from the bomb, obscuring them from sight momentarily.
Phillip charged at the closest pony, seizing the pistol and smashing it against the unicorn’s face. Blood gushed from the broken nostrils, but the pony didn’t react in the slightest. Yanking the weapon off his foe’s foreleg, Phillip bounded onto a table, then threw himself into a sideways flip, rolling as he landed several feet behind the crowd; as he tumbled across the floor, he placed his foreleg through the pistol's holding sleeve, curling his hoof around the trigger. A glance upwards told him that Rainbow had already flown up out of reach and had tackled one of the gunponies to the ground, yanking the weapon free and throwing it aside.
Phillip fired the Filly Commander twice, one right after the other: the remaining gunpony and the one that he’d stolen the weapon from both dropped, holes in their heads. He snapped the sights to the earth pony, but a golden aura briefly flickered around the gun and the weapon clicked.
Hex, he concluded, tossing the weapon aside. He went to draw his own pistol, but it too only clicked uselessly as the earth pony reached him. Sidestepping a grab at his throat, Phillip countered with a roundhouse to the gut. He felt organs being crushed beneath his hoof, but the dead pony did not exhale, did not wince, and Phillip had to throw himself into a dive roll to avoid another attacker’s grab.
“Back off, dammit!” Rainbow snarled, grunting with every blow that she rained down on the pony she was retreating from. Every punch and elbow strike that she landed against the mare’s chest and torso was powerful enough to shatter bones, but the mare might’ve been made of stone for all she reacted, advancing like an oncoming tide.
A knife lunged at Rainbow’s face, a mere glimmer of light; she twisted aside and seized the limb. Her foreleg smashed like a hammer, snapping the elbow like a dead tree branch. She chopped at her foe’s chest in the same motion; the sternum split with a crack, but the mare just tossed the knife to her other hoof and slashed across Rainbow’s face, drawing blood.
Phillip tossed his boomerang and knocked the blade out of the mare’s hoof. He sprinted forward, catching the returning projectile in his teeth as he ran, drawing his baton. He stood next to Rainbow, glaring as the remaining five ponies regrouped to attack again, surrounding them.
“Got any ideas?” Rainbow asked through gritted teeth.
“Running low on ‘em,” Phillip responded, trying to decide which of the five was the biggest target...but how could you hurt something that didn’t feel pain?
As if to drive home his point, the mare that Rainbow had disarmed, who was now staring at Phillip, placed her knife in her teeth and reached up to her broken foreleg, massaging the distended joint. With a snap, she forced the bones back into place. Not once did she take her empty blue eyes off of Phillip.
“I've dreamed about zombie invasions before,” Rainbow muttered. "It's never been like this."
The ceiling suddenly exploded in a shower of splinters and blue energy: Phillip instinctively threw his foreleg around Rainbow and forced her head down, shielding her with his own body. The five ponies around them were suddenly frozen in place, each held by an indigo aura.
Something rushed in from above in a torrent of wind that tore Phillip’s trilby from his head. A streak of color circled them, then formed into a dark blue and silver shape in front of them that they stared up at in awe.
Princess Luna was adorned in silver armor that covered nearly all of her body, her mane tied into a ponytail that spilled out of the back of her visored helmet. She bore a silver broadsword in one hoof; with a flick, she shook off a little blood that stained the blade, then ceremoniously sheathed the weapon next to a tightly strapped assault rifle.
As soon as the sword was sheathed, the paralysis spell faded and all five zombies crumbled like puppets that had had their strings cut. Their heads tumbled off their shoulders and onto the ground.
“Whoa,” Rainbow gasped, staring up at the Princess with stars in her eyes as two Royal Guards in full armor descended from the hole in the ceiling, mechanical wings folding back into their backplates as they landed.
“Greetings, Detective Finder, Rainbow Dash,” Princess Luna nodded to Phillip, her armor folding back into her cuirass as she spoke. “Twilight informed us of what is happening: my sister is not far behind with further reinforcements, while I decided to fly ahead and find you.”
“Good thing you did,” Phillip nodded, retrieving his hat. He trotted over to the now-headless body of the gray earth pony. He noted the cutie mark of the two crossed bronze keys and a tattoo of a green and gold phoenix on the neck, partially obscured by the hood, then patted down the hoodie. From the pocket he retrieved a ruby that glinted bright red even in the shadowy room.
“Let us be off to the precinct,” Princess Luna declared, spreading her wings and kneeling slightly to invite him to climb onto her back. “You can inform us of what you have found on the way.”