//------------------------------// // Act 2, Chapter 1: Wake Up, Detective // Story: Starlight Over Detrot: A Noir Tale // by Chessie //------------------------------// Starlight Over Detrot Act 2, Chapter 1: Wake Up, Detective Death. The Great Pasture Beyond. The Grim Wrangler’s Herd. A culture cannot survive without some way of psychologically dealing with the fact that, for all but the most royal of us, life eventually terminates; funerary rites, memorial services... and comforting beliefs about what happens to a pony after he or she has passed on. Throughout recorded civilization, these beliefs most often take the form of unverifiable but nonetheless gripping and hopeful stories that try to not only make sense of death, but of the strange, twisted, and often unfair universe in which death occurs. The cows believe in tiered reincarnation, based on how productive a member of cow society you were. The griffins believe in a “Great Hunt,” where the souls of the brave eternally hunt the souls of the cowardly. The buffalo have what sociologists have termed the “Eternal Grazing Ground,” a field of plentiful food and wide-open stampeding space. The dragons, being exceptionally long-lived, prone to hundred-year naps, and lacking natural predators, once believed that death was merely a transition no more significant than going to sleep; however, due to her role in the Cutie Mark Crusades, many draconic spiritual scholars now believe that Princess Luna herself is the physical incarnation of Death. The Princess has, notably, neither confirmed nor denied this in any public statement. Among ponykind itself, however, recent difficulties over the last 60 years have seen a rise in cult-like behavior and a proliferation of beliefs. Again, Princesses Luna and Celestia play central roles in many of these beliefs, whether or not they want to. The Church of the Lunar Passage, for example, publicly espouses the notion that when the world ends and the sun’s flame finally burns out, the faithful will live on in spirit to serve Princess Luna in her Kingdom of the Night, ruling over the Land of Dreams. --The Scholar “I hate rain. Why do I stick around this city again, Juni?”          “I don’t know. You certainly bitch about it enough. Here. Coffee, two sugars.”          “I like one sugar.”          “You need the extra calories. A stallion can’t live on bagels alone. A cop even less so.”          “Ugh, fine. I wish you’d just get what I order one of these days.”          “If I got you what you ordered, you’d get soft.”          Rain ran down the windshield, distorting the city lights outside. Inside, the car was warm and smelled of burnt coffee beans and wet horse. Not a pleasing combination, but after enough hours sitting on stakeout, I was used to it. Every night, the same thing, for the last week.          “So, where’s the perp?”          “He was with his girl, Hardy. You were there. Fifteen minutes from now, we see him tossing a garbage bag off the back porch of that house with the gardenias out front. I check it and find the body. Two minutes laters, we catch him in the shower covered in her blood.”          “Then I kick him in the head when he goes for that knife. I remember.”          The darkness closed in a bit at the edges of my vision. Out there, I could still see the house. The pillars. I thought they were a bit ridiculous on a little cottage, but the mare who lived there hadn’t believed us when we told her that her boyfriend was a murderer.          “Hardy, focus.”          “What’s there to focus on?” I asked. “Being on stakeout is the very definition of ‘unfocused’.”          Juniper sighed, pulling off his hat and tossing it in the back seat. His titanian green mane fell into his face, covering one dusky eye. “You always were a dumb bunny before you’d had your coffee. Go on, drink.”          Raising the cup to my lips, I slurped at the liquid inside. In spite of the alleged sugars, it was completely flavorless. Typical.          “Juni, you mind if I ask something?”          “No, go on.” My partner smiled, glancing out at the house to make sure the perp hadn’t come out yet. “You’re in as piss poor a situation as anything I’ve ever seen. It’s not like questions will make it any worse. Besides, we’ve been overdue for a conversation.”          I thought for some time. “Is there somepony in the back seat?”          “Oh, yeah.” He nodded, jerking his head towards the rear. “It’s Jingle Jangle’s brother. Don’t worry. He’s dead. He likes you, though.” “I’m going to get creeped out if I have to call him Cosmo. Isn’t there something else I can use?” Juniper cocked his head towards the rear of the old police cruiser, then nodded. “He saw what his brother did with his name. He wants you to give him a new one. A clean name.” I looked out at the wild weather. Water was falling in thick sheets, rattling the hood with a steady drumming sound. Lighting coiled and flashed, followed a second later by peals of thunder that had the entire car vibrating. “Call him... Gale. Good to know we’ll have somepony else to sit stake-out with. I get tired of listening to your old war stories time and again.” “Hey, pup! You watch that ‘old’ crap or I’ll give you a good boxing ‘round the ears.” One ear flitted in the direction of the back seat again then Juniper shrugged. “The kid says he likes it. He likes storms. They drowned out his parents fighting.” “Depressing, but alright. So, are we going in there? We might catch the guy off guard this time and get him before he kills the girl.” “Nahhh.” Juniper raised his coffee and sucked down some of the tasteless garbage. “This already happened. I figured you’d pick a bar somewhere. Was this really a happy memory for you?” “A bit. Anytime you and I weren’t being shot at I was pretty good. I guess I should go ahead and ask... What’s going on?” “It’s past time we had a talk, and I figured you weren’t doing anything particularly important just now. If you want a more specific answer I’m afraid existential questions aren’t really my bag.” My partner rolled the window down an inch, letting a gust of wet spray in and some of the dense, hot air out. “You remember anything from the last couple days?” “I remember getting shot, if that’s what you’re asking.” “How was it?” he asked. “Not so bad. There are worse things that can happen to a pony.” I answered. “Remember when I had to try on trousers for that award ceremony at the Castle and Jade showed up and volunteered to ‘help’ make sure I was in proper uniform? That was worse.” “I thought she was going to actually kill you with a wedgie.” Juniper chuckled. “It would have been a laugh.” “It was a laugh. For you. You giggled until you almost had to be hospitalized.” “Oh... heh... yeah.” He rubbed his thick bush of chin-fur, ruffling it softly to hide his grin. “Well, the truth is that there are things moving. Various motions in the aether are upsetting some very large tea-cups. The cosmic flows need a plumber.” “And that’s supposed to mean...” “No clue. I said you could ask questions. I didn’t say I’d have answers you’d understand.” My partner breathed on the window, then wrote the words ‘Ever Free’ in the mist before wiping them out. “Could be you’re just hallucinating. Might make you feel better if you told yourself that.” I touched the car’s console, then my hat. It all felt real enough, but then it’s easy to convince yourself of that even when you’re not dead of a gunshot wound to the chest. The silence lingered, but it was a pleasant one. The three of us sat there, listening to the storm clattering on the windows, enjoying private thoughts. Juniper Shores tapped out a bit of brandy into his coffee, then held it out to me, but I waved it away. Boozing didn’t improve my ability to shoot like it did his. A door slammed, just loud enough to be heard over the weather, and the perp backed out onto the porch, dragging the bag along behind him. He was a purple stallion, only a little taller than Juniper. I could make out the blood still on his face and neck. “There he goes.” I said. “Eeyup.” “I... guess we’re going to go take him down?” “Eenope.” Juniper shrugged, running his tongue up the side of his cup quickly to catch a stray drip. “You did that already.” “Ah. Alright.” I hesitated then reached over and poked him in the side. “Ouch! What was that for?” “Nothing. Just checking. Say, This just occurred to me, but what is Gale? I’m kind of embarrassed that wasn’t my first question.” “You’d have to ask somepony with a horn and even then, I doubt they’d be able to tell you. He’s okay with you holding the reins though. He wants to help and he thinks you’re a good pony, for whatever reason.” “Help do what?” I grumbled, pushing at the door handle. “I got shot in the chest and now you’re telling me to sit tight while that guy kills his marefriend.” “I’m just telling you what he says. If you want some more complicated answers, you’ll have to get yourself a psychologist. Should probably do that anyway.” “Ugh, shrinks make me itch.” Giving up on getting out, I slid back and tried to get comfortable again. For some reason the seat was cold and felt a little bit like metal. “Goodness, look at the time.” Juniper held up his battered pocket watch. “You’ve got to go. I’ll be in touch.” “Juni? What do you mean?” He was gone. The water began to seep into the cracked windows. Out the windows I could see four lights at the horizon, gathering speed as they careened towards one another. Overhead, the clouds were lit with a fiery, cruel glare. Buildings gnashed like teeth. The frigid seat clanked against my back as I tried to shake off the tentacles of darkness snaking around my hooves in a halfhearted manner one might use to dislodge crumbs from one's lap. I just wanted to drink my coffee. Coffee is good. Damn. **** “-crazy days in our fair Detrot! Thankfully, with the Monte Cheval under new ownership we’re not seeing so many ponies staggering out of alleyways with their rib cages kicked in because they can’t pay their gambling debts. Whoever this new owner is, they’re turning things around in big ways since the sudden death of the former, equally anonymous, owner. In other news, investigations into the violence at an uptown bar have revealed that it was a fight between visiting griffin clanners and one of the local Cyclone chapters. Now, not all those Cyclones are bad’uns, but this lot decided they were going to throw a hissy having all those ‘meat munchers’ in their favorite dive. Word is they got their flanks kicked so hard they’ll be picking teeth out of the wall down there for a month. No dead, but plenty of injured. Gypsy, your Lady of the Signal, needs to go get some grub and visit the little filly’s room, so here’s something to sooth you through until the morning comes.”          A soft, bouncy jazz started up. Nice stuff. Good for dancing.          I didn’t hurt. Celestia strike me down, right here; Nothing hurt. If I’d been able to point out some specific thing that was in pain, that might have given me something to cling to. Certainly, I should have been in bloody awful pain. I decided my body was probably somewhere down there, under the place my mind seemed to be occupying. Something was cold and a few other things were stinky, but there wasn’t a spatial reference for any of it.  I tried to open my eyelids. Nothing happened. The empty darkness persisted. I tried again, two or three times, before realizing there wasn’t really anything to see. I was laying in the dark. Something clicked against whatever I was laying on as I shifted what I think was my left rear hoof. It was awhile before I could figure out precisely how my back worked. The muscles seemed stiff and sluggish. I thought my heart should be racing, but its beat was as steady as ever. Strange, that. No more strange than seeing Juniper again, I supposed. It’d been a surreal conversation, but most dreams are like that. The only element that didn’t fit was Gale -- Cosmo’s little brother -- sneaking into my dream. I’d had those dreams a hundred times before, but never so vividly. Juniper being there was also a fresh development, but one I could explain easily as my own subconscious deciding to screw with me. 'Focus,’ Juniper had said. I intended to, if only I could shoo away this damn muzziness. I tried to wet my lips, but even my jaw felt tight. Sensation was slowly creeping back in, along with a ferocious tingling in what I assumed were my extremities. They felt pretty extreme.  “Ow, piss, ow!” I croaked, then gathered what willpower was immediately available and tried to throw myself into a sitting position. I've done smarter things. My head cracked the ceiling and a tangle of spots exploded at the corners of my sight. It turns out my vocabulary is a lot larger than Taxi gives me credit for. I managed to cuss continuously for a full minute and a half before I started repeating myself. More cautiously on second attempts, I began feeling out the confines of my little prison. It seemed upsettingly coffin shaped, though no coffin I'd ever run across was quite so uncomfortably appointed and there seemed to be something attached to my right foreleg. I felt along its length. It was a tube of some sort, leading to a patch of tape stuck just above my elbow. The music bubbled along happily somewhere near my rear hooves. I decided that was as good a direction as any. Shifting my weight, I felt around until I brushed against some sort of latch on the right side. Complex thought was beyond me just then, but I could understand ‘latch’. I could also manage ‘kick’, though my first attempt wouldn’t have stumbled a fly. On the third strike, the catch snapped, popping a little door open. A strangely familiar stench of formaldehyde and ice-cream hit me like a wave and my stomach turned. I choked, but there was nothing to come up. I’d been hungry before, but nothing like the ache developing in my belly just then. I also had to pee worse than I had in my whole life. Grabbing the edge of the drawer, I used my leverage to shove myself down, sliding a long, flat rack out with me. The neon lights were harsh and tears started to cloud my vision almost immediately, but not before I could identify my surroundings. I sort of wished I hadn’t. It wasn’t a place a pony ever wants to wake up, and typically doesn’t. I was in the Detrot City Morgue. I’d figured on landing there, one day, but I didn’t expect I’d be able to enjoy the experience. I rather hoped I wouldn’t be alive to do that. Wiping my eyes, I felt around until I found the edge of the table, realizing belatedly that it wasn’t just a table. It was a freezer rack. I’d been in the meat locker. That was disquieting on a whole other level, but the rational part of my mind was operating. My drawer wasn’t on and I wasn’t frozen stiff. That meant, at least in theory, that somepony didn’t think I required preservation. “Juni,” I murmured to... myself, “I do hope you are dicking with me again, because if this isn’t still a dream I am going to have nightmares until the sun goes out.” I listened for a reply, but the only sounds were the tune from the radio sitting on Stitch’s surgical table and my own breathing. Clearing my eyes of a healthy build-up of grit, I peered at the tube in my leg, then followed it to a hanging bag of clear fluids on a t-frame beside the rack. Turning the bag, I read the label; nutrient saline. This all presented me with a series of extremely uncomfortable and contradictory facts. Firstly, I remembered being shot with the clarity that can only be delivered by the sensation of feeling a bullet pass through your chest trailing what must have been a considerable quantity of your internal fluids. Secondly, I remembered my heart stopping. That is the sort of thing that sticks with you. Thirdly, I was alive. I had to pee. I wasn’t in any pain to speak of. Grabbing the edge of my ‘bed’, I heaved myself over the side. For some inexplicable reason, I thought my legs were working at full capacity. Instead, my chin hit the tile at speed and then I had two bumps to teach me the value of caution and care. And I had to pee. I tried a more measured approach. My right knee seemed a bit stronger than my left, so I put more weight on that one, managing a sort of tripod stance before easing up onto all fours. Peeling the tape off my knee, I saw the needle stuck in a vein and gingerly tugged the I.V. out, leaning up to hook it over the t-frame. Where the needle had been, a drop of blood formed, hardened, and flaked off in a matter of seconds. I watched it, with a detached sort of curiosity. There wasn’t even a pink spot. At that, my brain decided: ‘Too weird, equine shutdown, ten second time out.’ Dizziness overcame me. I sank onto my haunches, taking shuddering breaths of the foul basement air. The morgue cooler wasn’t warm, but nor was I shivering. Being naked in a public place felt weird to me, despite how inclined many ponies are to do so, like my driver. I needed my badge. My gun. Even my coat would have improved things a bit. First, however, I needed to pee. There was an empty janitor’s bucket beside the swinging double doors out into the rest of the old ice-cream factory. Limping over to it, I put one hoof on the wall, raised myself up, and shut my eyes. Blessed relief. I don’t think I’ve had a piss that good since the last time I got really good and hammered with Juniper. Juniper. There was a thought. Speaking of hammered, hadn’t I been shot in the chest? Finishing off, I pushed the sloshing bucket to one side and stepped back, finding myself in front of a small mirror set above Slip Stitch's surgical wash-up sink. The pony looking back at me was not the dashing specimen of masculine devastation I've come to expect when I look in a mirror. The pony I saw might have been dragged off a four day bender, partying with a pack of timberwolves. His face was drawn and haggard, eyes hollowed out. A wide, circular patch of flesh on the left side of my body seemed to have been shaved clean, but was growing back nicely. There seemed to be a bit of reddened flesh that was quickly returning to a normal color. I touched the spot and felt something underneath that definitely wasn’t there before, something far too big to be the bullet that sent me here. A clipboard was dangling from the back of the medical frame holding my I.V. fluids. Trotting over, I turned the frame so I could read the attached paper. It seemed to be a report, transcribed in Thalassemia’s tight, easy to read script: Name: Hard Boiled, Jr Occupation: Police Equicide Detective, DPD Species: Earth Pony Cutie Mark: Golden scales, balanced Mane: Black, unkempt Hide: Grey Eyes: Brown Cause of Death: Cardiac failure caused by gunshot wound to the heart. Penetration of standard-issue DPD bullet-resistant vest suggests unusually high-powered rifle, though no corroborating ballistics were recovered from scene. I’m not even sure what the ‘scene’ was. Next of Kin/Power of Attorney: That wacky cab driver. She’s such a hoot! I would have done more significant alterations to his physiology if she’d let me, though what purpose the modifications serve, I am uncertain. Where she got her information regarding alchemical magics and surgical procedure is also a question I would dearly love answered. The procedure was more complex than any I’ve ever seen, but simplified such that a colt with a pair of safety scissors could perform it! As an aside, those two gentlecolts with the interesting facial scarring she brought with her were very knowledgeable and seemed to have no qualms about allowing me to perform surgeries upon their person, but I fear I had to put off such joys whilst we attended to the Detective. Organ Donor Status: Affirmative. Liver is probably shot, but might offer to donate kidneys to local orphanage. [Recommend donation delivery not be done via party cannon this time? Please? I'm not sure they got the message of goodwill when we anonymously donated all that blood at their second-story windows. -Thal] Post-mortem Appearance: Good. Body mostly intact. Some minor bruising to ribs, sternum, and neck. Signs of repeated repair work, both magical and analogue. Holes pretty easily covered with coat and tie. Why that silly-filly insists I keep him hooked up to I.V. fluid is beyond me, but who knows? Mayhap it is a principle of one of her religions, or simply part of her mourning process. Regardless, I will remember to send her a basket of chocolate and strong alcohol. Best Probable Use: Animatronic Taxidermy. Spring mechanically animated corpse on Chief Jade when she comes around next. Expression on her face calculated 97.6% likely to be worth subsequent spirited attempt to destroy me. Notes: I knew I was going to see this someday. I think we all did. The cops had a pool going. The big favorite was, of course, Death by Chief Jade, though alcohol poisoning was a close second. I took a longshot on "Tragic Bagel Buttering Accident,” which was slightly above "Shot by a Sniper in a Mob Kingpin's Office.” Pity. Sgt. Cobalt will be going home with a nice chunk of change if Miss Sweet Shine ever lets me report this. I'm going to miss the ornery bastard more than I'll miss my 20 bits. At worst, once I’m finally allowed to make final preparations, I can get a decent internal examination of the device and perhaps do more than write up notes. It seems somewhat sad that we’re installing something so magnificent in a corpse. -Signing Coroner, Slip Maledictus Efribus Consumarcio Obsessi Stitch, PhD, MD, ADHD. ADDENDUM: Noticed something odd. I came down to the morgue today and found the I.V. bag I’d left attached to the Detective empty. I catheterized him and found he’d quite needed to go. How strange. Have added a fresh I.V. bag with nutrient solution and will continue to observe. May put off sawing off knees for use as table legs. ADDENDUM ADDENDUM: It has been nine days since the surgery and the Detective is... I’m unsure. He is most certainly still dead. There was no brain activity I could detect; however, the installation would appear to be operating. By all rights, without preservation, he should be primed to possess a pungent post-mortem perfume. I find myself most curious, though I have been, again, forbidden from heavy exploratory surgery. Disappointing. Will have Miss Thalassemia continue daily catheterization and intravenous feeding. This is getting interesting! Since very few ponies ever have the joy or pleasure of reading their own autopsy, I felt the need to have a sit-down again and some of those refreshing deep breaths. Whether it was the fumes or possibly the precursors of manic psychosis, I started to feel a bit better. After all, what pony can say they’ve been ‘most certainly dead?’ As with any death investigation, including one’s own, it’s best to start with what you know. A bullet killed me. Taxi brought me to Stitch and did something which remedied that situation.          Cosmo. Cosmo was dead.          I started going up and down the length of the freezers until I found the only one ‘John Pony, Male, Gunshot, unclaimed.’ Opening the drawer, I slid the sheet covered body out. It was the right size.          Peeling back the shroud, I stared down into the face of my enemy; my dead opponent, laying there with all the secrets he might have revealed, locked away forever in that destroyed cranium. I touched the brown fur on his cheek and felt the oddest rush of affection that seemed to well up from somewhere under my breastbone, before realizing what I was doing and jerking my hoof back. Odd and unfamiliar emotions seemed to be plucking at the edges of my awareness. None were so strong as to feel invasive, but they were certainly there. I decided to take the clinical approach to my examinations. Only minimal effort had been made to clean up Cosmo’s appearance; his bloodied fur might have been dabbed at a bit, but his cause of death was cut and dry, no autopsy required. His skull was a little misshapen from the force of the bullet passing through. Snatching a rubber sock from a pack on the nearby table, I slipped it on and tilted his head towards me.          The bullet hole was enormous and clean around the edges, like only the highest of high powered rifles can produce. His skull hadn’t even had time to shatter until the projectile was slowed by passage through his occipital orb. I let his head drop and peeled off the sock, dropping it in the biohazard box. “I wonder where they dumped you,” I said to myself.          I needed a minute, one not surrounded by corpses, so I reached for the door, only for the other side to slam wide and for Miss Thalassemia to sweep through like a fuzzy ball of fury. “That silly stallion!” She snarled, scuttling past me without looking up. “...turning the pressure chamber all the way down just to see what would happen to a week-old dead goat... it explodes! What’d he expect? Silly, silly — Oh, hello, Detective — ridiculous and now I’ve got to go clean it up and-”          The hamster stopped short, her broad ears stiffening. One single whisker ticked a couple of times as she slowly turned to face me. “Hi, Thal. What’s shakin’?” I guess, confronted by a similar situation, my response might not have been all that different. My voice just doesn’t reach to octaves that high. “ZOOOMBIIIE PONY!” the hamster shrieked, so shrill every piece of glass-work in the room cracked. She scrabbled at the tiled floor with her clawed toes, backing away so fast she tripped over my piss bucket, slopping it’s contents into the drain. Her nose wrinkled, tamping down her panic slightly. “Yuck, d-did you p-p-pee in that?!” “I was about to pop,” I explained, striving for nonchalance. Her whiskers wiggled as a succession of confused emotions ran round and round behind her eyes. Pulling her labcoat a bit tighter around herself, she rose, righting the bucket with one toe, carefully avoiding the puddle. Those prehensile digits must’ve come in spectacularly handy. Getting her wits about her, she faced me, studying my face with a combination of scientist’s interest and the reasonably justified terror of having her brains eaten. “M-mister... D-Detective H-hardy... w-what h-happened? Y-you were d-dead!” she finally squeaked. “I’m aware. I woke up about five minutes ago, so I imagine I have fewer answers than you do. Where is Stitch?” “H-he’s off on a p-pick-up for the c-city. How did this h-happen?” Her gaze dropped to my chest and she stammered, “Y-your lady friend, Miss Taxi, brought you to us and m-m-made...” before trailing off. “Made what?” I took a step forward and Thalassemia shrank away. “What did she make you do?” “S-she brought us a box...w-with a-an organ in it!.” The rodent whispered, faintly. “It was a-alive Detective! It was beating and whenever we put it n-near you it w-went crazy!” I touched the spot on my chest, feeling the lump underneath the skin. The flesh felt oddly loose around that spot. “You... cut me open?” “Y-your heart h-had a hole in it!” Tears were starting to come, but the hamster girl plowed on, “Th-these two b-big unicorns with your friend. They h-had terrible scars a-all over them! T-the Doctor t-told me to p-prep him for s-surgery, th-then h-he made me leave!” Dragging a short hoof-stool from under the prep sink, I sat, stroking my chin as I started to prioritize my questions. My heart. They’d taken out my heart and put the brother’s inside me. Little Cosmo’s heart... no... Gale’s heart. A shiver, centered on my tailbone, danced there for a long second then shot to the back of my neck. While I was thinking, Thalassemia looked to have remembered something and darted over to the short filing cabinet in one corner. Yanking it open, she pulled out a sheaf of paper and scurried back to me, holding it out. “What’s this?” “I-I s-saw the Doctor writing it. M-Miss Taxi t-told him to l-leave no documentation a-about what th-they d-did to you, b-but the Doctor g-gets bored...” “—and he has the most selective memory of anypony alive.” I took the papers from her, laid them on the table and sorted through them for about three seconds before realizing they were all in Stitch’s ridiculously illegible hoof-writing. I pushed them away. “Summary?” She stacked them and shuffled them, flipping one page after another. I realized after a moment that she really was reading just that quickly. No wonder Stitch kept her on, despite her... condition. As she came to the last page, she shook her head. “It’s... a sort of instruction m-manual. The Doctor doesn’t al-always write in... um... st-straight lines. It me-meanders a-a little.” “I’m listening.” “I-If I’m re-reading this r-right, t-the two big ponies... h-had somepony named Zeta t-translate the r-runes using some kind of key th-they got from somewhere. Then they ch-changed them. I-it says th-that your h-h-heart... used to run on l-love. It’s a changeling’s heart!” My lips peeled back from my teeth in a grimace. “Come again?” She hurried on, excitedly checking back through some of the pages to make sure she had certain parts right, “The r-runes make it li-live. It’s alive. Miss Taxi ma-made them change the runes, so it runs on regular mag-magic po-power. Th-those big ponies w-wrote new r-runes on it and the Doctor made... oh g-goodness...” I thought there was little she could have said at that point that would make the tight knot of nerves in my stomach any worse. I was wrong. “You better follow up that ‘oh goodness’ right quick, darling.” “Detective...I don’t know how to tell you this but... y-you... y-you h-have b-b-batteries.” I must have looked very scary just then because Thalassemia cringed, shielding herself with the papers. “I’m just r-reading what it says!” “Clarify, please?” I hissed. Pulling the manual open she leafed to one particular page. “The D-doctor was writing this down so he c-could write a paper about the procedure, I think. Your heart r-runs on rechargeable p-power stones. Y-you have to p-plug yourself i-into s-something o-or have a unicorn charge th-them.” “Great...” I shut my eyes, grinding my cheek against my foreknee. “Where are my weapons and clothes?” Stitch’s assistant brightened a little at having something else to do, scampering to the drawers beside the freezer. She ran down the labels until she found the right one, pulling it open. I slid off my stool and moved up beside her. Inside was my hat atop my gun, harness, and bit, and underneath it all my familiar old trenchcoat. Leaning in, I picked up my fedora and flipped it onto my head, then set my revolver and accoutrements aside. Lifting my coat by the collar, I held it up to the light. Someone particularly skilled with a needle and thread had sewn up the hole. “T-the Doctor t-thought you should h-have something nice to w-wear to your p-party. He’s v-very good, isn’t he? I-I can’t sew to s-save my life, and h-he makes s-sure all my labcoats f-fit.” “Wait. My ‘party’?” She hesitated, then replied in a slightly subdued voice, “Y-your funeral.” “Ah.” I grunted, pulling my coat around my neck and shoving my forelegs through the sleeves. Its weight sinking around my hips was as comforting as a blanket in childhood. Waking in the morgue, naked, cold and alone, is not an ideal way of starting a morning. Come to think of it, I didn’t know what morning it was. Or if it was morning. “How long have I been... Let’s leave the existential questions aside and call it ‘asleep?’” I asked. Thalassemia flipped open the calendar on the wall. “Errr... l-let me see. It’s been three weeks, two days, and—” She glanced up at the wall clock, whose hands said ‘midnight’. “—n-nine hours since the D-Doctor operated on you. T-the n-new heart started beating then.” “I guess somebody has been keeping my batteries changed?” She nodded. “T-the Doctor trusts me, but he made me l-leave when he d-did it. I think he’s t-trying to protect me. If the medical board f-found out about them doing an experimental alchemical procedure i-in the morgue...” “He made sure you have plausible deniability,” I murmured, adjusting the brim of my hat so I could see the spot where the bullet in the theater had torn a hole. It, too, was neatly sealed and patched. I exhaled, trying to keep myself from having too many deep thoughts. . It wasn’t so much that the time-frame wasn’t disturbing as that my shocked brain was yet to begin the unkind process of regurgitating all those little emotions that build up when a big chunk of your life is ripped away. Stitch was probably lucky that he was out just then. The idea that he’d performed un-tested surgery on my corpse as a laugh struck me as a greater violation than the enormous span of weeks I’d missed. Though if I were being completely honest with myself, I’d note that I’d missed more of my life during sinking depressions and hangovers. “T-there should have been s-something e-else in that d-drawer.” Thalassemia held up the last page; on it was a technical diagram on the page of something that might have been a plug of some sort. I stuck my head over the open cabinet again and saw, down in the bottom, my badge and a long, thin coil of strange black wiring. My badge came first; I slipped the chain over my head, then picked up the wire. One end of it looked like a regular wall plug. The other was distinctly ‘heart’ shaped. “What am I supposed to do with this?” I held up the length of cable, turning it this way and that. “I... I th-think that goes into your ch-chest...” How is a pony expected to have a ready response to something like that? Being Slip Stitch’s assistant, and incidentally a hamster, Thal had always been possessed of an incredibly durable psychology. I admired that just then; my own psyche was mostly slogging forward on inertia and denial. Catatonia or going back in the coma were both looking real good. I sighed and sat, holding the plug out. “Show me.” Taking a cautious step forward, she took the wire and began gently feeling around the shaved area of my chest. After a short search, I experienced the strangest sensation I’ve ever had the pleasure or horror of having inflicted upon my person, up to and including being shot: Thalassemia unzipped me. I winced, then tilted my head to look down at a flap of what I thought was my skin hanging back from a bare spot of flesh. On either side, a zipper of some type seemed to have been melded into the skin, creating a little pouch. Beneath it, a metallic socket shaped like the heart end of the plug stuck out a millimeter or two from my breastbone. “O-oh The Doctor is so good! H-he or so-somepony smart has written an ench-chantment i-into the skin to keep it from growing over your z-zipper or s-suffering tissue rejection!” Thalassemia enthused, toying with the flap so she could read the runes written on the inside. “I wish I c-could w-write these d-down!” I pushed her paws back gently. “Hey! No futzing with my internal organs. I’ve had enough of that for a week. How can I tell how charged I am?” Reaching up she used a clawtip to press on my chest socket. A soft light emanated from the hole for a half second, then faded. “If the l-light comes on... i-it means you’ve g-got m-more than twenty p-percent. I-if it starts fl-flashing, y-you n-need to get to a unicorn or a p-power supply.” Brushing my foreleg with the other, I considered whether my next question was a good idea or not. Granted, it couldn’t really have made my day any stranger. “I pulled my I.V. out about ten minutes ago. It... bled, then stopped... now there’s nothing.” She tilted her head, then lifted my knee so she could examine the spot. “I-it was in for weeks! There’s... there should be a spot there!” “I’m telling you, ten minutes ago, I watched it bleed for a second then close itself.” Thalassemia turned to the pack of papers, reading one section then another. “C-come to think of it... Y-you essentially r-recovered from heart surgery i-in three weeks, instead of six. That... I... I-I’ve g-got... well...th-the Doctor le-left a note here in the m-margin. It s-says that s-somepony m-might have un-unforeseen c-consequences a-and benefits fr-from the procedure.” “What sort of ‘benefits’?” “H-how should I know?” she murmured, pushing the manual into my hooves. I folded it and it into my coat pocket. “D-don’t get shot in the h-heart again and y-you might get the ch-chance to find out.” “I’ll do my best. I... damn. I don’t guess you’ve seen Taxi or my partner since they dropped me here, have you?” “Miss Taxi s-seemed s-sure you w-would wake up. She left a n-note for you. Y-your partner w-wasn’t with h-her when they left y-you here.” “Swift wasn’t here?... never mind. Note. Where is it?” Thalassemia pulled a corner store postcard from her pocket and held it out. “I k-kept it f-for you. The D-doctor tends to u-use whatever is n-nearby to write on s-so I had to keep it s-safe.” “Thanks, Thal. You’re a peach.” I waited as she zipped closed my chest, then gave her a quick kiss on the forehead before stuffing away my charging wire and taking the note. It was in my driver’s slightly erratic and rarely used mouth-writing: Hardy, you stupid bastard. Please get up. Please. This isn’t how we’re supposed to go out. You’re going to bury me, dammit! I don’t want to go first. I don’t know what I’m saying. Look, you kept me from losing it when my partner (She’d crossed out a few words here into illegibility) died. You can’t kick it now and I’m going to make sure you don’t! I couldn’t let you go out like that. If you ever read this, I know you’ll probably be pretty pissed. I did something that you’re going to be really mad at me for, but I’m fine with that if you’re alive. I had to make a deal with somepony. I guess the first thing you should probably know is that now, I owe him a favor.  I told him what I could of what we’ve been doing. I’m sorry. If you live, you owe him too. He gave me the procedure for your heart and said he had a feeling you’d... come calling, whatever that means. You’re dead. Sweet Merciful Princesses, I must be an idiot. This is just me rambling. I miss you so much. I wish I could say these things to you, but I have to go hide for awhile. Some... thing... is looking for us, I think. Maybe looking for you. I don’t know. The best thing I can do is be moving around, trying to keep ahead of whatever it is. I haven’t seen Swift since she leapt through the window and chased after whoever shot you. Nopony found her body and she hasn’t been to the Vivarium. I’ve been monitoring the police bands. I don’t know where she’d be. If you’re reading this, Telly knows where I am.          You promised, remember? You promised you’d never leave. I’m holding you to that! Get up and come get me! Sweets         I finished the note and lowered my head to my hoof. Thalassemia was waiting patiently, examining the manual more closely as she sat on the stool I’d recently occupied. Sweets, what did you get into?          A favor means a lot of things in Detrot, but nowhere more so than in the underworld. No legitimate institution would have had anything to do with putting the corpse of a cop under the knife. Necromancy was flatly illegal under Celestia’s law, and while my resurrection might have loosely skirted that insofar as there are no laws against heart transplants, I’m pretty sure a zealous prosecutor wouldn’t have seen any difference if he’d known how long my own heart had been stopped before I got the replacement.          That meant my friend had sold the both of us to some concern of extremely questionable legality.          But, I was too fried to dig into that. I needed to get home and sleep, then call Chief Jade and tell her I was back, then probably try to find some way of keeping my job... No. Before I called the Chief I needed to hunt down the kid and find out what happened to her. Then, I needed to solve my own assassination.          My plate was full, for one of the recently deceased.          “Hey, you mind if I ask who else knows I’m here?”          “J-just The Doctor, myself, your driver, and t-those t-two big unicorns. I-I think y-your friend told the D-Doctor to hide y-your...body.”          I nodded, then checked my pockets, making sure everything was still in place. “Can I use your phone, Thal?”          She waved towards the hall.          “O-out and t-to the left. D-dial n-nine for an outside l-line.”          **** “Dispatch. What can I do for you?”          “Telly?”          “Dispatch. I’m on the clock. What’s up?”          “Telly, it’s Hardy.”          “...Screw you. The ‘call from Hardy’ joke was old last week. Look, we know he’s probably dead in some alley, and just because I had a little breakdown in the coffee room doesn’t mean you assholes get to keep calling me. If I get one more, I’m logging all of you as having rung up sex lines on department time.”          “Telly, it’s me. No fooling.”          “Yeah, yeah, I’m hanging up now. Go eat dragon shi—”          “Dammit! Behind Chief Jade’s desk, under the floorboards.”          There was a long pause. “Go on?” “There’s only one other pony who knows where you buried Sergeant Sack Note’s accordion. One pony who helped you make sure that prick would never ruin another office party. Who was it?” Another pause, punctuated with an indrawn breath. “Hardy?” “Damn right. Now, I need—”          “Hardy!? You! Where have you been?! What’ve you been doing, you idiot!? Why didn’t you call?! What’s been going on?! Why aren’t you dead?!”          “I’m fine. I promise. I’ll be overjoyed to explain what happened at some point over many drinks, but right now I need to know where Taxi is.”          “Oh, Celestia’s ass, the Chief is going to blow a fuse when she finds out you’re alive. The last thing anypony saw was you, your driver, and the rookie tromping into the Monte Cheval without a warrant and your guns drawn! You have any idea what sort of trouble that made for the department?! Then a week later all our contacts are saying the Jewelers have suddenly disappeared from a five block radius of that place like somepony set a fire under their tails and-”          “Telly!”          “What? Jeez, let a girl finish when she’s on a relieved rant. After your driver dropped off the map and your partner didn’t report in, we all seriously thought you died.”          “I need to know where Taxi is. She left me a note that said I should call you.”          “A note? Where’ve you been?”          “Just tell me where she is. I don’t have time to go into what would be a very lengthy explanation.”          “Uh, she changed her call numbers. I don’t have whatever the Night Trotter is currently running on. The last thing she said to me was that that if I heard from you, you could find her on a love boat.”          “A love boat?”          “That’s what she said. Mean anything to you?”          “...As a matter of fact, it does. Thanks, Telly.”          “No problem. You know, Jade put filed the papers to have you fired, right?”          “Not surprising. I guess you managed to ‘lose’ them, then?”          “Of course! What do you take me for? She’ll do it again the second she finds out you’re not six feet under, though. Hey, did you hear about your—”          “Sorry, Telly, I’ve got things to handle right now. Could you keep Jade in the dark for a bit longer? We’ll talk later.”          “I’ll see what I can do. but your—”          “Bye, Telly.”          ****          Setting the phone back on the cradle, I thought about where I might go. The most obvious first stop was Sweet Heart’s High Seas Hotel. Pawing through my pocket, I found a twenty-bit coin near the bottom of one. It was laying underneath Ruby’s diary. Ruby. Damn me, for a feckless idiot. Why did I think I had all the pieces? There could only be one answer and it wasn’t pleasing to my ego; arrogance. I’d let pass too many years believing the answers were simple. Of course, in large part, they had been. Murderers aren’t usually complicated. Still, who would order the assassination of a cop? That’s insanity, even if said cop happens to be doing something extremely dumb at the time he’s shot. The bullet did more than punch through my chest. It blew a hole right through my entire matrix of reasoning for the death of Ruby Blue. Either way, I needed my driver. More than that, I needed my friend. Picking up the phone again, I dialed the local cab company. **** It’d been too long since I’d gotten in a car that wasn’t the Night Trotter, and particularly a taxi. I’d forgotten how much of her pension Taxi threw at reconstructing the junker she’d bought off a scrap yard into the speed demon whose back seat I’d become accustomed to. The cab company, after midnight, sent me a jalopy that might have been built sometime around the dawn of Discord. The seats smelled like rotten bubblegum and hobo vomit. It crept along at a snail’s pace which would have given me more time than I wanted to think, if the driver hadn’t been a loud-mouthed unicorn with a bad haircut, who insisted on laying her life story on me. I paid no attention. I hadn’t had a real meal in three weeks and my empty belly was telling me, in no uncertain terms, it was time to eat. I pulled the cab off to a side-street pizza diner and got myself a slice, only managing about a third of it before my stomach declared itself filled. Three weeks without solid food had left me with a tummy convinced it was never going to eat again. The rest went in a doggie bag, then we were off once more. Some distant part of me was marveling at just how well I was taking everything that’d happened. The more I thought about it, the odder it seemed, but then a pony’s mind is very resilient. Maybe Gale was taking up some of the slack, keeping me calm when I might otherwise have been inclined to have a little breakdown. Maybe the breakdown was still coming. I wasn’t in any condition to make those sorts of introspective determinations, and asking myself just why I was willing to accept the literal presence of a... a 'ghost in my biological machine' was a path down which madness surely lay. **** We pulled up to the High Seas and I passed the twenty bit piece to the driver. “Keep the change.” I muttered, stepping onto the curb. She sniffed, bit the coin, then burned as much rubber as the smelly rust bucket probably could, leaving me standing there facing the shadowed hulk across the enormous parking lot. Most of the lights had been shut off for guest comfort, it being well past the witching hour when we finally arrived. I pulled my coat tight at the neck and started a slow walk to the hotel’s office. **** The pony behind the front desk was a supercilious prig who gave one look to my fresh-from-the-grave appearance and threatened to call security. I had to flash my badge at him to get service and, even then, he made me go back outside and clean my hooves on the mat before he’d let me in. I asked for a yellow mare driving a taxi and got a blank stare. I then inquired if the pony in the marital suite was demanding, kept strange hours, and was possibly out of her mind. He grinned and reached under the desk, passing me a key. “If you want to get her out of here, I’d appreciate it. She’s a criminal of some kind, right?” “Something like that,” I replied then took the key and started out of the office. He called after me. “One of my porters touched her butt and she put him in a coma for an hour! You be careful apprehending her and don’t make too much noise. We have guests sleeping!” **** I circled the ship towards the captain’s quarters, moving up the metal staircase to the door with the heart shaped knocker. I paused outside, trying to comb my mane back from my face, then rapped sharply on the ultra-pink door. There was no response for several seconds, then the peephole was covered. An instant later the door was thrown wide and a cerulean blue demon launched itself at my throat. I yelped and tumbled onto my back as a feminine form tried to strangle me. The mare deftly avoided my defensive hoof-strikes, which might have looked to the untrained eye like helpless flailing. She hugged me to her chest, crying piteously into my mane. I pulled her leg from my throat long enough to croak, “Lady! I’ve got no idea who you are, but could you let go?!” “It’s me, you silly mule!” I recognized that voice. Now I got a better look, the attacking mare was victim of a truly awful dye-job that’d left splotches around the outsides of her ears and the edges of her mane. To anypony looking from a distance, she might have seemed just a terminally unfashionable face in the crowd. Up close, the canary roots showed through. “Taxi? Holy Sun, what’d you do to yourself?” I asked, gently pulling myself from under her. Her hoofslap caught me across the cheek and I fell onto my rear. “You’ve been in a drawer in the morgue for three weeks and the first thing you want to know is why I dyed my pelt?!” Then she was hugging me again, right there on the cold catwalk outside her hotel room. I put my legs around her and groaned. There was no getting out of it. Taxi might not have a cuddly soul, but when she wanted to express affection I’d long ago learned to just accept it with as much grace as possible. With my ribs cracking from the pressure, it wasn’t much grace. Finally, she let go and cupped my face in her hooves, turning it one way, then the other. “Hardy... Oh wow. Sorry, I’ve just been having nightmares lately where this happened and it turned out you were a ghost. It’s really you!” Tears crept into the corners of her eyes. “It really is!” “Yeah, yeah it is me.” I stood, facing the open doorway. “Can we go inside and maybe you can tell me what’s been going on? Possibly get me a cup of coffee, too?” Taxi nodded, raising herself and backing into the hotel room. I followed her in. It was obvious the maid hadn’t been through in a number of days. Maybe they were trying to hint that my driver should get out. Whatever the reason, the room was a mess. Rich red bedsheets spilled across the floor and one of the chairs, creating a sort of fort underneath the hanging dinghy/bed. The garbage can was full to the top with old food wrappers, containers, and pizza boxes. The mini fridge stood open, empty, and unplugged. It was a level of destruction most often seen only in rooms occupied by rock stars and political figures. It reminded me of home more than a little. “Sweets, you’ve been staying in this?” I asked, a bit shocked. My driver self-consciously picked up one of the chairs, setting it upright and dusting crumbs from some meal off of it. “M-miss Stella picked up my tab. I...oh...Hardy, it’s been awful!” “I can imagine.” I swirled my chin in a circle, encompassing the state of the room in the gesture. “Why don’t you pick a point in the story I haven’t been around for and tell me what’s been going on?” Sliding onto the chair, my driver indicated I should grab the other seat. I sniffed at the box of rice on it, and decided it was probably past salvaging. I set it on the carpet, crawled onto the cushion and got comfortable. My driver opened her mouth, but no words came out. She closed it again, then scratched at her ear and tried again. “I... I’m really glad to see you.” “I gathered that from the full nelson in the doorway,“ I replied, trying a smile. She returned it, tentatively. “Maybe start with the most obvious thing. Why are you blue?” “That’s the most obvious? Not ‘Why am I alive?’ or ‘What did you do to me?’.” I shrugged, holding up both hooves. “What can I say? I like to start simple. I’m a simple pony and I get the feeling the answer to those questions is going to be complicated.” Her lip quivered, then she sucked in a breath. “I dyed myself blue because I think somepony might be looking for you.”          I squinted at her, then asked, “What makes you think that?”          Taxi seemed to suddenly fill with a nervous energy. She leapt off the chair, pacing back and forth in front of it staring at her own toes as she said, “After you... after you were shot, Swift vanished. She went out the window of Cosmo’s office and that was the last time I saw her. When I couldn’t wake you, I panicked and signaled the Vivarium to pick us up. After that... I... I made a trade with somepony for what we needed to save your life. You got my note, I guess.”          “Who’d you give a favor to?”          “It’s... not important right now, is it?”          Shaking my head, I tapped my toes together. “Pretty damn important, if you ask me.”          “I’ll answer that in a minute, then,” she replied, then continued pacing. “Anyway, I tried to get Queenie to tell me where Swift had gone, but it said that she had taken her ladybug off. Stella offered to let me stay at the Vivarium, but I just... couldn’t. He’s paying for this room, like I said.”          “Very kind of him. Go on?” I prompted.          “Well, I slept here a few days. Just laid around.” Her voice faltered, then stopped. “One morning, I woke up and the ladybugs were gone. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Nothing duller than watching a pony meditate, sleep, and cry for a week straight.”          “Okay, but none of that explains the blue-ness.”          “I’m getting to it!” she snapped, then quieted, lowering her head and sinking to the filthy carpet. “A few days ago, I tried to get in touch with a few of my old contacts for help to see if I could find the rookie. She hadn’t been by the Vivarium and nopony had seen her. Some of my contacts were... I don’t know if ‘reluctant’ is the word, but several weren’t even answering. These are very reliable ponies, you know?”          “I know the kind, yeah,” I affirmed.          “Then... about a week ago, I finally quit moping and thought I’d try to do something useful. I decided to swing by your place to see if I could find anything in your old case-files about murdered prostitutes or gangsters having miracles happen to them. I know it’s a long shot, but I was pretty wrung out.” Her face filled with trepidation. “H-Hardy...y-your apartment’s gone.” I almost sprained my neck yanking my head up. “What?!” “They burned it, Hardy! Somepony gutted your building!” She rushed ahead, her eyes frantic with the need to have the story told. “The fire department’s public statement is that it was an accident, but I found one of the neighbors and he said as he was running out he saw the smoke coming from your apartment! Before that, he’d heard somepony crashing around in there like they were having a dance party with a bunch of minotaurs!” “Tossing my place. Probably looking for the diary. Still need to figure out why that’s so important,” I muttered to myself as my ego hid under the bed. Queenie and Telly. I’d been so wrapped up in the investigation of Cosmo that I’d brushed both of them off right as they were trying to tell me something. The ladybug network had certainly been ‘intent’ on that smoke and fire I saw the last time I was tapped in. No wonder. Knowing the extremely literal minded character of the Essy collective, they probably took brushing it aside as a signal that it was unimportant. They were still, fundamentally and by nature, tools, and as such often did only what their users asked and nothing more. I needed to get Telly a fruit basket by way of apology.          “You think it was Cosmo who did it?” I asked, tugging at my upper lip with my teeth.          Taxi scratched at the rug. “It might have been, but your neighbor said the smoke from your place was purple. Now, it could be your old toaster finally decided it was tired of life, but that sounds like magic fire to me.”          “Unicorn trying to cover his or her tracks, then.” I mused. “Whoever shot us did it from up good and high, too. Probably a cloud. I know of some cloud-walking magics, but considering pegasus vision, it’d be simpler to assume a flier was our shooter.”          My driver nibbled at her lips for a long moment, then pushed herself to a sitting position. “Cosmo doesn’t... I mean didn’t... make regular uses of species besides earth ponies except when he absolutely had to. We didn’t fight a single non-earth pony in the theater and I’m pretty sure all of his guards were earth ponies too.”          “Aye. He might have tossed my apartment, but he’s got no reason to burn it.” I shook myself, sliding off the chair and climbing up on the dinghy. It was much more comfortable, despite the slight swaying, and I was feeling sleepy. No time to rest, though. “The only reason to torch the place is to make sure nopony could possibly know who was there. Forensics off a magically torched building are useless and enchanted fire turns into the regular old vanilla variety as soon as somepony stops casting the spell.”          Going over to the mini fridge, Taxi shuffled through the empty bottles until she found a half full one, yanking the cork out with her teeth and taking a short sip before she continued her story, “Anyway...a week ago, I decided to go home for a few hours and get some stuff. I got a tail. I never saw them, but they were there.”          “A ‘feeling’?”          She nodded. “Yeah. I ran and whoever they were, I think they almost cornered me over on Brighton. Me!” That, by itself, wasn’t an uplifting notion. Taxi, in her car and on her roads, can be a speed fiend or a ghost. That someone was able to keep up with her such that she was required to hide rather than run meant a savvy hunter, at home in the streets of Detrot. “Anyway, there’s an alley there with one of those big storm drains that I wedged her and threw a tarp from the trunk over. Then I...well, I didn’t know what to do. There was one of those spray on dye shops across the street and I gave them twenty bits to let me stand in the run off sluice for a minute.” She looked down at her chest fur. “It came out blue.” I held my breath and counted ten, making certain there were no chuckles about to burst out and get me killed. Again. “A-and you just left it like that?” Taxi rolled her eyes and cracked the first smile I’d seen since my resurrection. “I’ll dye it back. Just give me a few hours and let me sober up.” Her expression fell. “I managed to get my cab here and put her in the underground parking. The valet lent me some tools so I could change my call numbers and disable the radio.“ “That’s sweet of him,” I commented, rolling onto my back and crossing my forelegs behind my head. My driver seemed to think for a brief time, then moved forward and lightly touched my chest over the socket. “D-does this hurt?” “The plug?” I shook my head, negative. “No. Funny thing, you’d think it would. Whatever magic you paid for, it did its job.” “Are you charged?” she inquired. “I’m good for a few hours, I think. You going to tell me where you got the information to fix me?” Biting her lip, Taxi glanced to the side, doing her best not to look straight at me. “It was...I had... I went to see... Don Tome.” “The head of the Archivists?” I asked, tilting my head. “I remembered that you said he knew about magical artifacts, and he was--“ “--trustworthy, for somepony who’d be locked up in any sort of just world.” I sagged a bit. “Damn. I guess there are worse beings I could owe my life to. Zebras have funny ways of thinking where ‘owing’ someone something is concerned. I don’t guess he hinted at what this favor he wanted is.” “No... he didn’t. You’re not mad?” I tugged my hat from my head and dropped it on a clean spot on one of the chairs. “Sweets, if I was going to be mad, I can think of a much longer list of things to be pissed off at you about than selling favors to a criminal antiques enthusiast to save me from the charnel house. Besides...” I pulled Ruby’s locked diary from my coat and set it beside the fedora. “...I was going to go see him myself. We’ve got to find the kid first. Once that’s done... then we’ll see what the Archivists want.” **** Apartment gone. Job probably gone. Partner vanished. Mystery unsolved. Possessed bug heart running on batteries. Why did I not feel worse? Sure, I was a bit unhappy to have my back-up ties destroyed, but they weren’t really all that valuable to me. I still had my gun. My father’s badge was in a bank box along with mom’s wedding ring. All those case files represented years of red tape keeping me leashed to the bureaucracy. My fondness for Chief Jade’s regular sessions of physical abuse aside, my job was paperwork fifty days out of a hundred. Her attempt to desk me was just an effort to bring that number up a bit. I became aware of the heft of my badge resting on my breast-bone. It was everything I’d been for fifteen years, but underlying it was the sad truth; I’d stopped serving our blind mare Justice, and just as it looked like I might be getting back on the path my cutie-mark has driven me along since it appeared, a bullet ended my chase. Our trail was three weeks cold. Still, I couldn’t fight a crooked smile breaking out on my muzzle. They’d killed me. They’d taken my job. They’d taken my home. They’d taken the entire life I’d scrimped and clawed and wept to construct, that I might fulfill my purpose within the corrupted, befouled system of bought influence and criminality running my city. The faceless sons of bitches had burned it to the ground. There it was. The truth. I’d seen truth so rarely the last few years that it’d taken me hours to recognize it, but when I did, it presented me with one glorious conclusion. Whoever killed that girl, killed me, and killed Cosmo had better watch out. I’m free, you bastards. I’m free and I’m coming.