What followed was something like a game of chutes-and-ladders, not in any other way than it was long, frustrated, and seemingly arbitrated entirely by chance. Every location they checked would be barren, until finally the will to continue had been exhausted, the search given up—and there was another one, a pony huddled against a dumpster, shivering and babbling lewd or ludicrous nonsense to itself. A broken leg, an injured hip. Lots of friction burns. Luckily there were relatively few explosions, at least of the fatal variety. Lyra and Bonbon had both taken to wearing plastic hoof-guards while investigating. Certain sticky stains might not wash off, so to speak.
Everypony they spoke to, whether fully conscious or not, had the same story to tell: mysterious figure. Something that looked like a book. Then a jolt of lightning to their [REDACTED]. Metaphorically speaking. Some ponies used more colorful language than others.
"It felt like I was getting [REDACTED] right in my [REDACTED]," one of them said, an older-looking mare with heavy red lipstick and a heart-throb cutie mark. "To tell you the truth, I got [REDACTED] all over myself... it was like this one stallion, he put me up in the [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED] until I couldn't walk for a week! Haha!"
"That's very useful information," Lyra said, and left before the urge to vomit became overpowering.
Overnight, the moon was a beacon leading their chase. When it vanished, things became a struggle against the sun, the sense of daytime pushing them towards sleep but thrashing and crying every step of the way. Lyra downed a cup of coffee each hour, while Bonbon somehow found the strength to keep her eyes open while sober. Maybe she just didn't envy the crash that came after a tower of caffeine that high.
But eventually, even the emergency reserves of willpower ran out. Lyra and Bonbon settled on the same anonymous bench they'd used before, somehow existing in a place just outside the proximity where anypony seemed to care to notice it.
"Did we find anything useful?" Lyra asked. She wiped a hoof across her forehead and lifted her glasses up, leaving a dent on either side of her nose. With her other hoof, she massaged the bridge of her nose, one side, then the other, and let out little 'aahhs' as the built-up pressure relaxed ever-so-slightly. Searching for anomalous objects was a guaranteed headache waiting to happen.
"Not really," Bonbon said, not even bothering to reference her notes. "Conflicting simultaneous reports of a green monkey with a question-mark mask, but never identified in reference to our investigation. And a blue hair." Bonbon sighed. "A single, blue hair."
"Huh. A blue hair?"
"A blue hair."
"Do you think that confirms my theory?"
"I guess we'll find out when we get back to [REDACTED]."
Lyra shook her head. "Hey," she said. "I feel like I've seen that question-mark thing before." Lyra pondered for a moment. "Did it have a name?"
"Let's just go give our report," Bonbon said, sighing and getting up from the picnic bench. "The Director's not going to be happy either way."
"No, seriously, I feel like he's all over the place, repairing fences and babysitting and stuff, didn't we give him a room that one time when—"
Bonbon walked off without bothering to interrupt her partner. She just sighed, and tried to shield her eyes from the morning sun as it peaked over the mountains.