//------------------------------// // Bulletstorm // Story: Starlight Over Detrot: The Detection Chronicles // by Daemon McRae //------------------------------// Chapter 8: Bulletstorm I awoke to the sound of gunfire. Close, rapid, and measured. Somepony was pouring lead into something. My first instinct was to jump up and pull my hoofgun out of my coat. I got as far as the jumping before I realized I wasn’t wearing a coat. Thus, my next course of action was to search for and dive behind the nearest table. There was a loud crashing noise as I knocked chairs out of the way and flipped the thankfully empty metal rolling table on its side. I was halfway through searching the part of the room I had access to for a weapon when I heard behind me, “So you’re awake, are you? Good. Put my stuff back, please.” My ears perked up, but I didn’t move. Part of me was painfully aware that I was at a serious disadvantage, having hid behind the furniture equivalent of aluminum foil, and not being able to see the guy with the gun. “No, seriously, put it back. Her Royal Fluffness won’t like you throwing her shit around. Requisition forms are a pain in the ass here.” The voice was calm and sarcastic, not taunting. It wasn’t until I got a good look at my surroundings that I realized I was still in the lab. More likely than not, in the Ballistics room. I peeked my head over the table, and saw the owner of the voice, a royal blue unicorn stallion, reloading his weapon, and pointing it into a test fire chamber. “Um, really quick, before you fire... aren’t we supposed to be wearing earmuffs? How do I still have my hearing?” He looked at me, and rolled his eyes. Then he tapped his horn. “Oh, right. Magic. Nevermind me, then,” I said meekly, righting the table and putting the chairs back. I was about to ask him another question when he let loose another half dozen rounds into the fire chamber. Then he shuddered in satisfaction, putting the gun on a table next to him, in a row with a bunch of others. Oh great. A gun nut. I gave him a better look while he was switching weapons. Cutie mark of a large caliber round, mane and tail to match his police uniform blue coat, cut short and straight. Large-ish fellow, easily a size or three bigger than me. Looked like a truck with hooves. He let loose a few more rounds, and put the next gun down, then turned to me. I sat in one of the chairs as he walked up. “So, you’re the guy boinking the boss, are you?” he asked. Rather straightforward, this one. “Well, technically yes. But we didn’t... not last night, anyway,” I explained, at the same time wondering why I was telling him any of this. It was probably all the guns. Yeah, that. He laughed, loud and short, like a howl, almost, and pulled up his own chair. “Yeah, she was all kinds of pretty pissed this morning. Going on and on about how her weird Jack and Jill thing was being a cockblock. I’d advise not going anywhere near her for the next hour or so. I heard crashing.” My gaze flattened at nopony in particular as I wondered why all the women in my life were always so violent. “So who are you, exactly?” He puffed up and put a hoof on his chest. “Name’s Big Shot. Detective, in charge of Ballistics. There’s usually more of us here, but they’ve been moving our guys around for awhile, trying to handle the backlog. All that junk you brought in from your two murders ain’t helping none, either.” I smiled darkly. “Right, well, I’ll be sure not to report any more dead guys I find.” He shrugged my attitude off like a cheap coat. “No fur off my backside. Gives me overtime. Which means more money, and more toys. Besides, you haven’t been dropping any bullets or nothing on our doorstep, so I don’t have anything for you, myself.” A sigh escaped my lips, as I was growing weary of continuously running into ponies without answers. “Well, thanks anyway. Hey, one last question?” “Shoot.” He paused, then chuckled. Ha ha. “Why did I wake up in Ballistics?” I looked around the room, trying to remember if I’d come in here the previous night. Big Shot gave me a ‘Bucked if I know’ expression and pointed at the door. “Ask your girlfriend.” “She’s not-” I stopped myself, before I got defensive. I huffed and hopped down, making my way for the door. “Thanks anyway,” I called over my shoulder. Not long after I left, the sound of gunfire followed me down the hallway. I turned my head out of curiosity, looking into the glass rooms they used as labs, and seeing a whole new set of ponies working on whatever it is they did that caught bad guys. I wasn’t about to ask questions of the people with volatile chemicals and weapons that may or may not be evidence. The trek down the hallway to Fluff’s office brought back memories of last night. Lots of talk about chemical compounds and timelines and all kinds of stuff I wish I’d paid enough attention to in High School to understand, and then another discussion as she simplified it all into terms my mortal mind could comprehend. The gist of it was, once again, that Absolutia had been killed very shortly before they’d arrived. Somepony, more likely the suspect, had been calling these deaths in almost as soon as they were done. This told me two things about the culprit. One: he was arrogant, conceited, and liked the attention, bragging about each kill and his ability to evade capture by making a narrow window for himself to make his escape. Two: he was good enough to back it up. With the timeline that Fluff drew out, we couldn’t have been more than ten minutes behind him. Thank Luna everypony who showed up knew enough not to touch anything, or they might have slipped on fresh blood. Testing was still being done on the blood to get as accurate a chemical analysis as possible, which, despite what TV and bad novels tell you, takes time. It also made it difficult to establish the actual timeline I was looking for; they likely wouldn’t have that information for days. But they had enough to know the general time frame in which the killer would have been in the building. I didn’t have high hopes for that, though. Barrel’s building had had either video tampering or cut feeds on every camera that would be at all relevant. Easy to determine where he’d been by figuring out which cameras had been altered, but he’d also probably thought about that, too. Most likely half the altered video was just because he could. Many of the forfeiture and foreclosure notices stitched into Absolutia had been almost completely unreadable, save for some irrelevant details. The fact that they got enough out of all of it to make the connection to me and Paperweight seemed like either a miracle, or a message. My bits were on the latter. I looked up to realize I was standing in front of Fluff’s door, not moving, and I wondered offhoof how long I’d been standing there. The playback in my mind of the previous night’s events fast-forwarded through the long conversations, experiments, and other miscellaneous activities we’d used to kill time while we waited for the chance for Fluff to revert to her adult form. Which hadn’t happened. Needless to say, aside from the little progress and deduction we could make on the case, the previous evening had been uneventful. I mean, come on. I’m not that kind of colt. I knocked on the door, listening for the crashing Big Shot had talked about, or any other signs of life, and heard a slightly dejected “Come in.” I made my way into the room slowly, weary of the small and dissatisfied voice that had called me in. I took a quick look around, and saw a hint of blue tail hanging over the side of a rolly chair I could only see the back of. “Fluff?” She wheeled around, and part of me ached for her. She looked for all Equestria like she’d been crying since she woke up, and parts of her looked a bit worse for wear; I could see a few bruises here and there and maybe a scrape. Given the state of the room as I looked about, I figured she’d spent a good few hours getting... something out of her system. “This stupid...” she muttered, the sudden break in the as of yet unacknowledged silence bringing my focus back to her. “I can’t believe this. It’s always like this. Whenever I want, or plan on doing anything.... what am I supposed to accomplish in an eight year old body?” she fluttered her wings weakly. “I can’t even fly right like this. How am I supposed to live like an adult when I can’t even look the part?” I didn’t have much to say. This wasn’t really one of those situations where consoling bullshit like ‘I know what you mean’ or ‘I’ve been there’ hold any weight. If anything, it’d be insulting. “So I guess there really isn’t any kind of control, is there?” She looked up at me, her expression flat and sarcastic. “No. Not at all. I can’t tell you some of the situations I’ve been in when I’ve changed. Literally, can’t. You’d be an accessory after the fact.” I had no idea what to do with that. “So... what do you want to do?” I asked uselessly. She looked around the room, and back at me, the harshness gone out of her face, replaced by a weak sense of resignation and exasperation. “Well, for starters, you can help me clean up.” ------- Longarm awoke to the sound of gunfire. Muffled, static-y, and accompanied by lots of yelling, hooting, and hollering. He looked up lazily from his position on his couch, and waved a hoof at the television with about as much effort as it would take to knock over a piece of paper. That was already lying down. “Mwuh....” he grunted, waiving again. When his as-of-yet unmanifested psychic abilities failed to turn off the TV from across the room, he grunted, and rolled unceremoniously off his couch, onto the floor between it and his coffee table. A few stray cigarette butts fell off the table and onto his stomach, a small and smoky reminder of the drinking and other unhealthy activities he’d decided to partake in last night in an effort to drive Absolutia’s body out of his mind once again. He’d been seeing her, and Barrel, every time he closed his eyes for the last several days. So far alcohol hadn’t done much more than make his dreams worse, and smoking was really just something to do. He fumbled around on the floor until he was able to, at the very least, turn himself over, where he could see the remote. He fiddled with it until the noise stopped, and the room got darker. He took that to mean the TV was off. Poking his head out from behind the table, he could see he was right. Lacking really any motivation to do much of anything, but still driven by a sense of duty, Longarm pulled himself to his hooves, and slowly made his way to a far wall, where his calendar hung, outlining basic appointments and schedule. He grimaced as he saw what his afternoon had in store for him, and rolled his eyes at the thought of his new “partner’s” reaction. Partners. Just the word was enough to make him want to reach for another bottle. Part of him hoped he’d run out of them, so he could make an excuse to not buy more, and maybe give his liver a rest. The other part of him, the one that dwelled on the past, and the rather unpleasant present, wanted nothing more than to drown in a sea of intoxication and fall back asleep. But he had things to do. Ponies to save, and other ponies to stop. He’d find a way to make it through another day without booze. Foregoing the fridge undoubtedly stocked well with liquid unconsciousness in favor of the bathroom, he took the time to shower, relieve himself the last night’s many, many drinks, and brush his teeth. He thought about making something for breakfast, but realized he had little to no appetite. Not a rare thing nowadays. Throwing on a denim jacket and ballcap, he exited his apartment, not really stopping to lock the door. If there was somepony around desperate enough to rob him, they obviously needed it more than he did. He trotted the familiar path down the stairs and out to the street, taking one last look at the shoddy building somepony with a sadistic streak had deemed an apartment complex, and returned his attention to the street, hailing a cab. Three missed taxis and a flash of badge later, Longarm was sitting in the back of a rather generic cab, with little decoration save for the lingering odor of previous occupants. “Hospital,” he grumbled, and saw the cabbie nod, pulling back into traffic. He left himself sleep just a little more on the way. A nap that didn’t last, unfortunately, as the cabbie jostled him awake with a sharp stomp on the brakes as they reached their destination. Longarm looked around, staring out the window as if hoping the building would somehow disappear and give him an excuse to not go inside. He felt like he was looking for excuses everywhere, lately. Tossing the driver his fare and a small gratuity, he helped himself onto the sidewalk and approached the front door with all the fervor of a man who by any other standards should probably already be in the hospital. The receptionist looked up as the door opened for him, pinning him with her customary, well-practiced, and all but painted-on smile, her eyes moving with him as he approached the desk. She’d seen him before, knew why he was there. She simply handed him a sheet to sign, Visitor Sign-In, and he chicken-scratched his name and other relevant information, before making his way down the hall. He didn’t need to ask what room to look for. He knew. The door to the room itself wasn’t anything special. Just another numbered wooden door in a row of numbered wooden doors in a building with floor after floor of numbered, wooden doors. The fact that this was room number 209 wasn’t anything significant. Just a number to remember. The only thing even remotely relevant or special about the room was, like in most cases in a hospital, its occupant. Longarm looked solemnly at the uniform and badge sitting, neatly folded, on the end table. As if it were on display. There were flowers about the room, some of them dead, or dying. Some fresh. Some fake, so as not to bother anypony with the smell when those so generous as to leave them behind didn’t bother to replace them with new ones, had they been real. The detective registered all of this, and ignored it. He’d seen it before. Knew what it meant. Just condolences and bad memories. His attention turned, finally, regretfully, to the pony in the bed. The heart monitor beeped steadily as the patient’s chest rose and fell in steady rhythm. Not so in sync with the beating of his heart as to be harmonious, just distracting. “Where are you, buddy?” Longarm asked the pony in the bed. Pale, not quite ghostly, with what should have been a black coat and green mane, now looking more like grey and whatever color it is that strained peas pass off as. Laying a hoof on the unconscious pony’s chest, he continued, “I kind of need you. Really need you. This new guy... he’s not a cop. He’s smart, he’s helping, he’s involved... but there’s no instinct. He’s all snoop and no troop, as you would say. Just a facts guy. He looks at a scene and just knows stuff. So far he’s been useful, and done his bit to stay out of the way, but it still feels like he’s just pushing his nose where it doesn’t belong.” The weary detective took a seat in the chair next to the bed, and leaned on the hoofrest as he spoke. “He’s got this assistant. Feisty little unicorn. Keeps him in check, I think. They have this... symbiosis. But I can’t bring myself to actually like either of them. They’re good, trying to be proper about everything, but it’s just too many hooves in the pie. Even with us being shortstaffed, with Hardy being gone, and you... wherever you are, I really feel like there’s just so much going on and I’m alone in the middle of it. I can’t even say I feel like part of this case. I’m doing all the gruntwork, yeah. Spy.. that’s his name, by the way, Eye Spy... he stays out of a lot of things where I think he should, and it’s making things easier. But at the same time it’s not. I’m the one interviewing witnesses, taking statements, filling out paperwork. Cause he can’t. Even with this whole conscription thing, which, by the way, I’m convinced Jade made up just to buck with us, there’s only so much he can do. Well, aside from sleeping with the forensic staff.” Longarm stopped and laughed, thinking about his partner’s possible reaction. “Oh yeah,” he said, as if he’d gotten a response. “He’s sleeping with Fluff ‘n’ Stuff. Boy doesn’t know what he’s getting into. Of course, neither do I. Not with this case, not really. I mean, yeah, we’ve caught killers before. Even had a few ritual killings, like those religious wackjobs a few years back, out in the Straights. You remember? Yeah. But it’s nothing like that. This guy. He’s smart. Fast. Brutal. Does everything just right and we can’t figure out shit about him. Every clue we get pushes him farther away and points the hoof at ourselves. He’s got to have somepony on the inside, somewhere. Maybe not in the department, but he’s getting his information somehow. The uniform, the stuff about Spy, all the information he had on the vics.... I just don’t know where he’s getting it.” “Because I’m certainly not. Getting it, I mean. I... look, I’d stay longer, but I have work to do. The guy’s still out there, and me sitting here wishing things were different isn’t going to change that. And besides...” he hopped down from the chair, and trotted toward the door. He spared a last look over his shoulder as he finished his thought. “We get to visit Slip Stitch today. Can’t wait to see the look on Spy’s face when I tell him.” ---------- Paperweight awoke to the sound of gunfire. Awoke, and almost passed out. It was loud, ringing, violent. Close. Her ears throbbed and sang out in protest, even as her head pounded aggressively at itself in a malicious migraine. She made to get up. Couldn’t. Tried again. Nothing. Finally, once her head had cleared enough to see, well, anything, she looked down. And saw herself tied to a chair. Panic was the first thing to set in. Her body shook violently as she struggled against her ropes, to no avail. The chair didn’t even shake. She could see enough of it to notice it was a solid piece of metal, unforgiving, welded to the floor. A floor her eyes followed until she reached a wall, then a ceiling, and finally, the lone light hanging above her head. All she could make out was concrete and shadows. Then, as her ears slowly stopped ringing, she became aware of a voice. “Oh, good. I was worried I’d started too early. But, like everything else I do, it has worked out perfectly.” Her anger boiled over as the gravity of her situation took full hold. “What am I doing here?!” she screeched. Paperweight heard a “Tsk tsk tsk” behind her. “Not the best of questions, but really, I can only expect so much.” She expected him, it was obviously a him, to start walking around and revealing himself. But no. He stayed where he was, simply content with keeping out of her sight. She realized he had no intention of showing his face. It gave her a slight glimmer of hope. It meant he was planning on her seeing somepony else after this. At least, that was the thought she clung to. “Well, the least I can do is answer your question. You’re here to send a message. To your boss. Now, I won’t be so cliche as to tell him to stop looking. He can do that all he likes. In fact, I’m counting on it. I can’t wait to meet him, finally. Him and all the other players. No, I just want you to be the one to tell him it doesn’t matter what any of them do. They’re not going to catch me. They’ll see me, oh yes. I will make my claim and shine in the spotlight once my work is done. Fear you not. But it won’t matter. By that time there will be nopony left in power to stop me.” She heard the familiar metallic sounds of a gun being reloaded. Alive or not, she wasn’t getting out of this unscathed. She braced herself for whatever part of her he was going to shoot out, hoping it would do any bit of good. “I’d ask you to be a dear and tell me what he says, but I’m afraid that won’t be possible. After all,” he added, and she heard the click of the gun next to her left ear, “you won’t be able to hear it.” Realization crossed her features in an expression of stark terror an instant before the gun fired. Millimeters from her ear. Pain like she had never known or even seen described resonated through her as her eardrum exploded within her skull, the powerful and relentless blast of sound from the barrel smashing it into pieces. The couldn’t even hear her own scream over the shot, and the ringing in her head. Then she heard the click in her right ear.