Night Guard
So far, it’s been an unusually boring night. Some have said that the city sleeps at night, but in your experience, that’s not true at all. It slumbers, perhaps, and it’s a fitful slumber at that.
It’s certainly a different place at night. Especially tonight—the rain started around sundown, a spectacular thunderstorm followed by a steady rain. Maybe that’s why it’s calm, maybe the usual suspects have all crawled back into their holes to wait out the night.
It’s not just that you aren’t getting calls, nobody is. You tap the radio, which has largely remained silent during the shift. It crackles once—distant thunder, or a response to the touch? You don’t know.
It’s tempting to pick up the mic and call dispatch to make sure they’re still there. But you don’t; quiet shifts are to be enjoyed. You’ve got a Styrofoam cup of coffee that’s still lukewarm and the crossword puzzle that still needs solving, and if things get too boring you can cruise through some of the usual haunts and watch the seedy underbelly of society hide itself in the shadows.
That’s too much effort, so you take a sip of your coffee and watch out the windshield as the city blurs in raindrops, then comes back into focus as the wiper sweep across.
Calm nights are good nights and should be treasured.
Radio twenty-seven, proceed to Miller’s Tool and Die for 10-76.
Ten-four.
The radio falls silent again. You take another sip of your coffee and shift around on your seat.
Just idling is boring. You empty the coffee cup and toss it out the window, then shift into gear and move out into the street, your ear tuned to the radio.
Traffic is light, and pedestrian traffic is nearly non-existent. A few hardy souls haunt the sidewalks, shift workers hurrying home and the last call stragglers from bars. All too busy avoiding the rain to be causing trouble. You keep an eye out for familiar faces.
Twenty-seven is 10-23. You turn your attention to the radio, picking up a mental map of the city. You know where Miller’s Tool and Die is, and at the next block make the turn, goosing the throttle on your Dodge Diplomat. It doesn't sound like the kind of call where you’ll be needed, but there’s nothing else going on.
The yellow flashing lights of idle traffic signals glimmer in the rain, reflecting on the rain-slicked pavement.
Twenty-seven to radio.
Go ahead.
10-52 to my location, and, uh, you got a sarge that isn’t busy?
You’re already reaching for the mic as your unit number crackles over the airwaves.
“Fifteen, radio—enroute, 10-17 to Miller’s Tool and Die.” You let go of the transmit button long enough for a reply, but none is forthcoming.
Twenty-seven to fifteen, code two please—what’s your 26?
You flip the rotator on and key the mic. “Ten minutes.”
•••
You make it in eight and nose in behind unit 27. Everything looks calm enough. The patrol officer is standing by his car, dragging on a cigarette. He drops it as you open your door and grinds it under his toe.
“What’s the story?” You keep your voice low. This place has been hit before and it should have been a routine call, but then he called for a supervisor.
“Metal thieves, security got one.”
“Got one.” That leaves a lot open to interpretation. “You called for an ambulance.”
“He’s unconscious.”
“Security?”
“She says. Saw him on the cameras, wasn’t moving much. Didn’t want to check without backup.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Nervous?”
“Not of him, I could recognize him on the screen, even if he was moving around I could deal with him.”
“Security’s a she?”
“Yeah.” He reached for his packet of smokes and pulled another one out. “One of them equines, but not like you’ve ever seen. Didn’t get a good look at her.”
“Why not?”
“She . . . you’ll figure it out.” He took a drag on his cigarette and tilted his head towards the storage lot. “Go on, I’ll direct the EMTs when they arrive.”
You frown. The city’s famously a melting pot, now for more than just humans. Ponies don’t tend to be troublemakers, and they mostly go to ground at night. Cute, pastel, the exact opposite of what you’d consider if you wanted to hire an overnight guard.
•••
The guard shack is only illuminated by the faint glow of television screens. Even the wall-mounted luminaire is dark.
The door is open and you step in.
You’ve seen a lot of stuff on the job, but you still take a step back at the shadow-shape silhouetted in the phosphor glow. Pony-sized, from what you can see. Tufted ears, dark grey fur, and you catch a glimpse of wings and a claw as she turns to face you.
There’s a glint of light off her teeth and you can clearly see the glint of fangs. She’s an anti-pony if ever there was one.
Her eyes glow in the darklight, and the rotating beacons from your car and car 27 paint her in an ever-changing red light, fooling you for a moment into believing she’s covered in blood.
You reach around for the light switch and then you find it. With a satisfying click, everything comes into focus, all the dark shadows vanish—and she covers her eyes with a foreleg. “TURN IT OFF,” she shouts.
Without even thinking, you snap the switch back down.
“Stupid light-lovers,” she mutters.
You’ve lost all your night vision, but the televisions are bright enough to see her as she slides out of her chair and moves in your direction. Unbidden, your hand slides down to your holster, unsnaps the strap above your revolver. “Stay where you are,” you caution.
“Or what.” She reaches out a hoof and you watch in wonder as she snags a Del Monte can off the counter, brings it up to her mouth, and pierces the lid with a fang. “I already told your buddy what happened.”
You cross your arms. “And now you’ll tell me. First off, what’s your name?”
“Darknight Moonwing,” she says. “I’m a batpony, and nighttime security.”
“So what happened, Miss Moonwing?”
She tips the can back and drinks some of the nectar. “I was watching the monitors like I always do, and I saw somebody park alongside the back fence, near where the aluminum’s stored. Figured he might try and steal some, he was kind of twitchy.
“I stayed at my post until I saw him climbing the fence, and then I left the guard shed and watched him. As soon as he picked up an ingot, I dove at him.”
“Dove at him?”
“Yeah, from the top of one of the buildings.’
“So, how come he’s knocked out?”
Darknight Moonwing lifts up a hoof and wags it. “‘Cause I hit him.”
“Hey, Chief?” The patrol officer sticks his head around the corner of the building. “Can I have a word real quick?”
“Yeah,” you say. “Stay there,” you instruct the security guard.
The two of you quickly get each other up to speed on what she said, and how much it comported with what the patrol officer had seen. Then you lean back into the office.
Darknight has peeled back the lid of the can and is spearing mango slices with a folding knife.
“So here’s what’s gonna happen,” you begin.
[CHOICE]
>“We can’t have you just KOing anybody in the lot, so you’re going to be charged with aggravated assault.” (Villain)
>”That scumbag has a rap sheet a mile long and outstanding warrants. Keep up the good work.” (Chaos)
[CHOICE A: Villain]
“Did he attack you or threaten you in any way before you knocked him out?”
“No, he was stealing ingots.”
“Why wasn’t there one next to him? Or in his truck?”
“I put them back where they belong,” she said.
You sigh, already knowing you’re going to have to do a lot of paperwork. “You can’t just go around KOing anybody,” you explain. “Maybe that’s how it’s done back in Ponyland, I don’t know, but over here we have a process. Dive-bombing trespassers isn’t in that process. I’m taking you in for aggravated assault.”
[CHOICE: Chaos]
“Have you seen that guy before?”
She shook her head. “Seen plenty like him, though. I was going to drag him back to his truck but he was too heavy to carry over the fence, that’s why I called you.”
“He’s got a long rap sheet . . . Mr. Durkin is well-known to us.” You eye her up and down; she doesn’t look like much of an opponent, but she’d clearly cold-cocked the suspect. One massive lump in the back of his skull and it was lights out.
You’re not sure about whether or not she’s supposed to be confronting small-time thieves; most night watchmen just call for the cops and a unit shows up when there are no other pressing matters.
“What would you have done if he had a weapon?”
“He never even knew I was there,” she says. “And he did.” She points to the knife she was using to eat her mangos. “I took it from him.”
You nod. “Keep up the good work.” You pull the door to the guard shed shut and get back in your patrol car.