Case Nineteen, Chapter Six: The Doctor Will See You Now
Phillip lunged back, gasping as the crescent-shaped blade missed his face by inches. He threw himself into a back hoofspring to avoid a second strike, his front legs instinctively shifting and flexing to take his weight.
The air whistled and something slammed into his right foreleg, knocking him down like a house of cards. He hit the floor with a grunt, his flashlight lens cracking against the stone.
With a snap of his wing, the masked figure whipped the chain at Daring, who had to roll out of the way to avoid the weight that smashed down where she had been a moment ago. At the same moment, Coastline seized the security guard, who was still staring in dazed confusion, and threw himself out of the way, one hoof fumbling for his sidearm.
The weight snapped around again and cracked the officer on the head; Coastline slumped to the ground with a grunt. Pulling the chain back to his hoof, the masked figure lunged at Daring, his blade slashing at her neck again.
“Shit!” she gasped, ducking beneath the blow. She lunged forward with a grunt, ramming her helmeted head into his chest; the blow rattled down her neck and spine, but she felt no crack of bones, heard only a faint grunt from her foe. Her hoof went to the sleeve of her .38 Filly Detective Special, pulling the weapon from her holster.
An iron vise seized her upper foreleg and Daring screamed as the sickle stabbed into her side, scraping against the layer of dragon-scale armor within her vest. “Get off!” she shouted, shoving back against the masked pony as he swung her around to place her in between him and Phillip, who was scrambling back to his hooves.
The red eyes blazed with hatred and he drew the sickle back, slamming it down at her head. Daring grabbed his wrist and they struggled back and forth in a deadlock, hooves stamping the floor in a twisted, deadly dance.
“Phil, help!” Daring shouted, snapping out a kick at the attacker’s leg, her blow slamming ineffectually against his thigh.
Drawing his gun and securing it tight to his foreleg, Phillip ran around to get a clear shot at the masked pony, who continued to maneuver to block him. “Get off her!” Phillip snapped.
The assailant released Daring’s foreleg and reached for his vest, grabbing one of the vials of yellow liquid. With a snap and a hiss, a cloud of yellow fog erupted from the vial. A chemical miasma of musk and sulfur invaded Phillip and Daring’s nostrils and throats and they staggered, coughing, tears stinging at their eyes.
Daring’s breath was struck from her by a hammer blow to her diaphragm and she was forced to let go of her foe’s foreleg, throwing herself back to avoid a slash at her throat. “Fucker!” she snarled, raising her gun to aim at the masked pony.
But the assassin had vanished. “Shit,” Daring gasped as she and Phillip panned their flashlights through the hall, their beams illuminating every cabinet of ancient artwork and artifacts. There was no sign of him.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Daring breathed, her hooves trembling as she gulped down cold air. “That was the Plague Doctor,” she said to Phillip, the reality striking her.
“I know,” Phillip nodded, rubbing his bruised foreleg; the pain retruned as adrenaline faded, leaving a cold tension in his stomach. He swallowed and shook his head, his damaged flashlight flickering.
Hoofsteps stamped up the hall. Both ponies snapped their weapons up.
“Don’t shoot!” Captain Oak shouted, raising his forelegs as he rounded the corner.
Both detectives released their breaths, lowering their guns but continuing to look around, checking every shadow.
“Praise the alicorns that you lived,” Captain Oak said as he rushed up. He bent down to check on the unconscious Coastline; the unicorn’s eyelids flickered and he let out a soft groan as he started to rouse himself, slowly sitting up. The security guard was still staring blankly around at them all, her face a display of polite confusion.
“Sombra’s assassin is no doubt here to aid the thieves in the vault, attempting to take the Rings,” Captain Oak reported, helping the doped security guard to her hooves. “Backup is on the way. You must get to the vault in the basement and stop them. I shall take these two back to safety.”
“You sure?” Phillip protested, the iciness spreading through his chest as he imagined Oak, Coastline, and the guard all laying on the ground, their eyes reduced to ragged holes that leaked black and red slime.
“Fear not for me,” Oak said grimly, drawing his Filly M1912. “I am shielded by my faith and by .45 AFP. Go, stop the thieves!”
Phil and Daring glanced at each other, then Daring growled and nodded. “C’mon, let’s get them,” she snapped, proceeding.
Phillip glanced back at the other three, watching as Coastline returned to his hooves and allowed Captain Oak to support his weight as they guided the doped security guard towards safety. Then he followed Daring down the passageway towards the stairs. They trotted side by side, weapons at the ready.
They entered an exhibit on medieval history, with great tapestries of Faust, Celestia, Luna, and the Seven Pillars overhanging displays of chipped pottery and rust-coated tools and weapons. Daring skirted around a statue of a knight in iron armor, halberd tossed over his shoulder and visor obscuring his face. “Okay, we’re almost there,” she announced, licking her dry lips and ordering her hammering heart to slow. “The basement stairs are--”
“Liebling…”
Phillip’s heart leaped into his throat and he spun about, raising his gun to his eyes as he whirled to check every shadow that the bubbling laughter slithered from. “Did you hear that?!” he shouted to Daring, seizing his own foreleg to try to keep his sights from shaking. He turned around: did the statue of the knight move?!
“Hear what?” Daring snapped, glaring at him.
Phillip shook his head and took a deep breath. He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s not here. “Nothing,” he grunted.
“Snap out of it, Phil!” Daring ordered, already pressing on. “C’mon, the stairs are this way!”
Phillip followed her down the hallway, out of the exhibit and down a side hallway, his ears flicking back and forth at every sound, every creak of wind, every rattle and groan of the building around them.
Daring finally reached a door marked Employees Only and nodded, licking her lips. “This way will lead downstairs,” she reported, testing the door and finding it locked. “Dammit. You--”
A vent above their heads suddenly rattled, letting out a sigh of wind. Daring flinched and froze for a moment, her eyes going wide, then she shook her head and refocused. “You kick it in.”
“Right,” Phillip nodded, stepping forward. He turned around and bucked back, smashing the door open with a great crash of thunder to reveal a set of stairs heading down, dimly lit by emergency lights.
“C’mon,” Daring urged, pressing forward down the stairs, her flashlight illuminating the way. Phillip was right on her heels, aiming his weapon up over her helmeted head.
They reached the bottom of the stairs and beheld the basement of the History Museum, a massive room filled with shelves upon shelves of artifacts and documents, stored here for collection, identification, and maintenance. Worktables littered the floor, placed beneath hanging lamps, all of them turned off. Dim red light shone from a door to their left, revealing a cloudless sky overhanging a vast forest of doors standing in their frames…
No. No, that wasn’t true. Phillip blinked and swallowed to force his heart back down his throat and saw that the door instead opened into a vault, the walls loaded with secured boxes that no doubt held the museum’s more valuable or fragile exhibits.
He had just enough time to take in the sight of an open safebox on one table, the large golden rings within glittering in the light of their flashlights, then he spotted the overturned worktable behind it, the boxes and papers upon it scattered across the floor.
Then he saw the shapes rising up behind it, weapons swinging around to face them.
“Down!” he barked to Daring, shoving her forward as he leaped for the cover of a shelf, tucking and rolling as the thunderous cracks of bullets cut through the air where they’d been standing a moment before.
“Mierda, it’s them!” he heard a shrill male voice call. “Get the rings and go!”
“You’re not going anywhere!” Daring shouted as both she and Phillip drew their boomerangs and cocked their arms back.
A screech sounded in Daring’s ear and she ducked just in time to avoid a curved talon lunging at her neck. A raven with a blood-red spot on its breast swooped at Phillip, who had to throw up his right foreleg to shield himself, crying out in pain as the blade cut into his limb. His .38 clattered to the floor, the strap sliced clean through.
“Motherfucker!” Daring shouted, her eyes instinctively tracking the bird as it flew back up into the shadows.
A chain whistled through the air and ensnared Daring’s right foreleg, her gun going off by accident as she was tugged onto her back with a grunt. She looked up to behold a crescent-shaped blade swinging for her exposed throat.
A familiar whistle sounded and the Plague Doctor grunted as Phil’s boomerang struck him in his masked head. Daring hammered his armored chest with a punch as Phillip charged in, catching his boomerang in his teeth as he drew the waddy from its holster on his vest; he pulled the painted wood back to strike, his gray eyes blazing with rage.
Once more, the Plague Doctor’s hoof went to the bandolier on his chest and acrid yellow smoke erupted from his chest. Phillip grunted as he landed, his weapon swinging through the empty, cloudy air where his foe had been standing a moment ago. “You okay?” he asked Daring, coughing and choking on the smoke.
“I’m good!” Daring replied, coughing as she spun about, checking every shadow for their hunter.
Hoofsteps sounded from the vault. Phil checked around the shelving that they’d hidden behind to see that the two thieves--a unicorn and an earth pony, both adorned in balaclavas--were grabbing the Rings of Scorchero from the opened box and tossing them into a bag.
“iOlvidas, vamonos!” one of them was barking, glancing back at them with pale emerald eyes as he tried to herd his partner out of the vault with one hoof, his other hoof throwing the bag with their loot over his shoulder.
“Trato Perfecto!” Phillip barked. The unicorn froze for a moment, his eyes widening in disbelief as his name was called. Then he turned and fired a flurry of golden spheres at Phillip, who was forced back behind cover. Daring popped back around the other side, taking aim with her pistol.
The wind shrieked, a bone-rattling cry that she felt more than heard. A shadow blurred over her head, too fast to catch any details. The stench of rotten flesh suddenly filled her nostrils.
Daring’s heart skipped a beat. No…
It appeared in a blur in front of her, rotten jaw flapping to reveal the jagged teeth, empty sockets staring as the yellowed cranium darted back and forth, sinewy limbs twitching with almost insectoid movements.
Daring froze, her heart accelerating to a jackhammer rhythm within her chest, so fast and hard that she feared that its pounding might give her away. All she could do was stare as the namorodo began to stalk back and forth, searching for its prey. The dead thing threw its head back and howled once more, its scream echoing throughout the entire chamber and making Daring’s breath freeze in her lungs.
Phillip watched as their targets retreated with their prize, turning to see Daring standing frozen, her eyes wide with panic. “Daring, what--?”
He didn’t hear the rustle of wings until it was almost too late. The blade came down and scraped along his back as he threw himself to one side, crying out as the weapon scraped against the layer of armor beneath his vest. He turned and swung at the Plague Doctor, who ducked and retreated to avoid his follow-up attack.
A screech sounded and Phillip looked up, his heart dropping into his stomach as he saw the raven swooping down towards the frozen Daring, blades bared toward her throat.
“Daring!” Phillip screamed, his hoof going to one pocket in an instinctive movement. His boomerang whistled through the air and struck the raven with a satisfying thwack, knocking it out the sky. It lay on its side on the ground, screeching in pain. Daring started slightly, staring at the bird as if trying to figure out where it had come from.
The Plague Doctor snarled and slashed at Phillip again, forcing him to dodge, catching his returning boomerang as he vaulted over a crate. The chain whistled towards his head and Phillip dropped into a backward somersault over the concrete floor, flinging his weapon out again as he popped back to his hooves.
The Plague Doctor sprang into the air with a flap of his wings, snapping the chain with a flick of one wing. Phillip blinked in surprise as the chain struck the boomerang in midair and sent it skittering across the floor.
The chain swung out and wrapped around the support of a unit of shelving next to Phillip. With a twist and a grunt, the masked pegasus spun about, pulling the unit over.
“Ah, shit!” Phillip cried, diving out of the way as boxes tumbled down like cacophonous rain, crashing and smashing against the floor where he’d been standing a moment ago. No sooner had he regained his hooves than he had to throw himself aside once more as his target dive-bombed him, missing by inches.
The red eyes locked onto his, blazing with hatred...then as Phillip watched, the black pupils grew, covering the irides, swallowing up the sclera.
“Liebling…” the muffled voice bubbled out beneath the mask. “Liebling, is that you?”
Phillip’s froze for a moment. His hesitation earned him a stab in the side and he yelped as the blade slid in between the plates of armor and into his skin, drawing blood.
“Get back!” he shouted, swinging his waddy with more desperation than any actual skill.
The thing laughed beneath the mask, the horrid noise trickling into Phillip’s ears as he slapped aside the strike, the impact shuddering through Phillip’s bone.
“You didn’t think I’d be back, liebling?” he cooed, slashing at him again, every strike precise and controlled, the blade kissing Phillip’s cheeks and forelegs as he desperately dodged and ducked, backpedaling as fast as he could. “Did you think you could ever truly escape me?”
“Get away!” Phillip shouted, swinging the waddy at the monster with reckless abandon as he panted, his every attack missing by miles. He stepped back to avoid another slash and his blood ran cold as he felt the unforgiving brick of the wall strike him. Panting, he stared up at death with its empty black eyes behind the mask of the Plague Doctor, listened to it laughing throatily as it drew back the sickle for the final cut...
And then a golden angel swooped out of the darkness to save him, snatching him away just as the blade came down to crack against the brick wall.
Daring dropped Phillip within the vault itself and whirled around, throwing out her boomerang at their target with a wild swing of her foreleg; the weapon tumbled awkwardly through the air and missed the Plague Doctor by almost a yard.
The chain snapped through the air and the weighted end cracked Daring on the head, sending her spinning to the floor. Gasping for air, Phillip looked at her, then looked up at the blur of wings and hate that was racing towards him, blade ready for the final strike.
Panic gave him a burst of speed; lunging forward, he seized the door of the vault and shoved it with a desperate grunt. The door shut with a great boom, leaving him in darkness save for his flashlight. Phillip seized the handle and locked the door with a great clunking of locks, wincing at the scrape of the Plague Doctor’s sickle against the door.
He was left gasping and panting, holding onto the door handle with every ounce of strength, knowing that death waited for him outside. For many long seconds that stretched out into eternity, he stood there, all silent save for his heavy breaths. He turned around to check on Daring, who remained motionless on the floor, groaning faintly.
Hoofsteps outside. Phillip’s heart jumped into his throat and he tried to remember how to breathe.
“Phil? Daring?”
He froze at the familiar voice. It could be her, but...what if…
“Phil, I know you’re in there,” Cold Case called from outside. “It’s okay, the Plague Doctor’s gone. They’re all gone. We’ve got backup here. Are you okay?”
No relief seeped into Phillip’s bones, merely deep exhaustion. He unlatched the door and opened it up as Cold Case entered with Captain Oak and other officers. Captain Oak made his way to Daring, who sat up with a groan as she held her head.
“Are you okay?” Cold asked Phillip, looking him up and down with shock and concern in her blue eyes.
Phillip merely sank down onto the floor, gasping for air as he buried his face into his shaking hooves.
The flames spread across the laboratory, devouring everything that they could reach, burning the tables and their contents; the bottles of chemicals bubbled and boiled, exploding into multicolored clouds that swirled into the black smoke. They licked at the scarlet and purple shields that Twilight and Matchstick had conjured, splashing across the domes. The five creatures huddled behind the shields, backed into a corner.
Twilight grimaced, sweat running down her brow as she struggled to keep the shield up. “I can’t hold this for long!” she cried. “Fire is almost impossible to contain!”
Matchstick coughed, then turned and fired a beam of magic at the shield blocking the door. Her scarlet beam bounced off harmlessly. “Somepony think of something fast!” she cried. “We’re gonna run out of air soon!”
Flash gasped for air, crouching low to the ground as he and Red used their wings to push the smoke away. “One of those wards is making that shield, right?!” he shouted. “Which one?!”
Twilight squinted through the flames and smoke that stung at her eyes and scratched at her throat. She studied the wards on the walls, examining the glowing shapes burned into the stone.
“That one!” she cried, pointing at a ward shaped like a square with two hexagons within it.
“We have to destroy it somehow!” Flash cried.
Red pulled out his sidearm and opened fire on the ward. Each bullet struck a hole into the concrete wall, but many of them missed the ward. “And me without my sledgehammer!” he choked, reaching for another magazine. He fumbled as he tried to reload his weapon, blinking tears from his eyes.
“OUT OF YAK’S WAY!” Yona bellowed. She lowered her horns and scraped her front hoof against the ground, snorting and coughing.
“Move!” Matchstick warned the others, jumping back. Yona charged forward, racing through the smoke and fire, crashing through a table. She impacted against the wall horns-first with a great crash, sending debris flying. Vivid red lightning crackled across her body and she was thrown back with a scream, crashing into the opposite wall.
The ward flickered like an old neon sign, then faded away. The shield blocking the door broke and dissipated.
“Everypony out!” Red ordered, grabbing Matchstick beneath the forelegs and rushing out the trapdoor.
Flash grabbed Twilight and started to take off, coughing on the smoke that scalded his throat and chest. “You got Yona?” he called.
“I got her!” Twilight replied, straining as her horn lit up with a purple aura, pushing back the smoke that threatened to swarm around them both. The dazed yak began to float up after them, shaking her head as she regained her senses.
“Matchstick, give me a hoof!” Twilight called as Flash exited the trapdoor, setting the unicorn down on the floor.
Matchstick lit up her horn and helped heave Yona out of the trapdoor, grunting with strain. Yona pulled herself to her hooves, coughing on the smoke that had chased them out of the lair. Flames were already leaping out of the hole, starting to consume the floor.
“This way out!” Matchstick yelled, using her horn to illuminate the way out. The group hurried out of the warehouse, crashing through the wrecked doorway and through the gate as the fire began to consume more and more of the building, devouring the dry tinder like a dragon swallowing gems. They stopped in the street, panting and coughing, wincing as the pain of scalds and burns began to register.
“Is everyone okay?” Flash asked, checking on Twilight.
“I’m all right,” Twilight confirmed, giving him a sooty smile.
“Me too,” Red confirmed, grimacing as he studied the burns on his forelegs.
“Yak fine,” Yona grunted, smoke rising from the scorch marks in her coat. “Yak tough.”
“I need a cig,” Matchstick grumbled, pulling a packet out of her coat and lighting it with a spark from her horn.
“Where’s my car?” Red muttered, looking around. Spotting his vehicle, he hurried over and leaned into the driver’s side window to snatch the radio’s hoofset. He took a breath and began to speak into the hoofset. “Control, Bishop Six. Ten-fifty-two, ten-fifty-four at corner of Wheel and Cog. Send alarm out to all units: BOLO on Plague Doctor. Repeat: the motherfucking Plague Doctor is in Ponyville!”
“Bishop Six, roger on ambulance and fire,” the dispatcher replied. “We are already aware of the Plague Doctor; sighting at Ponyville History Museum. All available units to respond.”
“Shit!” Red breathed, opening up the door and climbing inside. “Bishop Six responding! Flash, let’s go!”
“Fuck me,” Flash breathed as Matchstick raced to her convertible and vaulted into the driver’s seat, turning over the engine. He briefly embraced Twilight and kissed her on the forehead. “You and Yona stay here, okay? Fire department’s on their way.”
“But--” Twilight started to protest.
“It’s my job, Twilight,” Flash replied calmly, his face hard with determination even as fear danced in his blue eyes. “I’ll be okay.”
Before Twilight could try to stop him, Flash ran over to the car and climbed into the passenger seat. He barely had time to close the car before the Diplomat screeched down the road with the Convertible right behind it, both of their lights spinning and sirens wailing. Twilight watched them disappear around the corner, her face alight with fear.
Yona strode forward and clapped Twilight on the shoulder, knocking all the breath from her lungs. “Friends will be okay,” the yak declared calmly. “Friends are smart.”
“No, no, they won’t be!” Twilight said, frantically pacing and rubbing her mane as hairs began to spontaneously spring out of place.
“Why everypony scared of Plague Doctor?” Yona asked, her brow creased with confusion. “Just seem like pony in silly Nightmare Night costume. Nightmare Night last moon, yes?”
“The Plague Doctor isn’t just a pony in a costume, Yona,” Twilight said, sitting down and staring up at him with wide eyes. “He...he’s an assassin. Who worked for Sombra.”
Yona’s pale green eyes widened. “Oh. Oh, that bad.”
“Really bad!” Twilight nodded.
“But what assassin doing in Ponyville?” Yona asked.
“I don’t know!” Twilight cried, throwing her hooves up. “I don’t--”
She gasped in horror, realization sparking in her violet irides. “The Rings!”
“They knew you!” the jefe said, shoving Trato against the wall. “They knew you!”
“I...I don’t know how!” Trato protested, his heart pounding against his chest with the speed of a jackhammer. “I thought I covered everything, I--!”
“You clearly didn’t, cabrón!” the jefe snapped. He started to pace the room, muttering to himself, running a hoof through his graying mane. His face reflected against the many cases spread across the room like museum displays.
“Amigo, please,” Trato protested, lifting up the two golden rings, grunting at their surprising weight. “We got what we needed; two more of the Rings. That should make--”
The mirror at the back of the room rippled and a shape rushed out, his head bowed and a tiny bundle clutched to his chest.
The two stallions watched as the Plague Doctor hurried over to a table and placed the raven upon it. He stared at the tiny, broken body in silence, his hooves trembling. The bird did not move or make a sound; the red mark on her chest did not move.
“Is…” The gray-maned earth pony stepped forward hesitatingly, clearly wishing that their guest had at least taken his gas mask off. “Did they…?”
The pegasus’ entire body shook for a moment, then in a blur of motion, he lunged at Trato Perfecto, shoving the unicorn up against the wall. He seized the unicorn around the neck with both hooves and began to squeeze, hatred blazing in his red eyes. Trato struggled, gasping and choking as he desperately tried to push his attacker off. He looked to the jefe, who simply stood frozen, eyes darting back and forth in terror.
“Stop.”
The voice carried such a weight of authority that the air seemed to get heavier at the word. The Plague Doctor immediately released Trato and dropped to kneel, as did the earth pony, trembling down to his tail.
Trato slid to the ground, massaging his throat and coughing. He squinted up at the newcomer that was now striding through the room, his cloak dragging across the cloud-brick floor. His hood cast his entire face in shadow, revealing no details.
Ignoring the stallions, the cloaked figure strode over to the table and laid a hoof atop the still body of the raven. A pale red glow shone from beneath the hood for a moment, and there came the sound of bones cracking and popping.
A moment later, the raven stirred slightly and pushed its head up, letting out a soft croak.
“There you are, Lenore,” the hooded figure whispered, gently picking up the little raven, who chirped up at him appreciatively. The visitor carried her over to the Plague Doctor, who happily took her into his arms, petting her as she cooed softly. The Plague Doctor nodded his thanks to the visitor.
“The detectives did that, didn’t they?” the hooded pony asked. “Did you kill them?”
The doctor shook his head, lowering his face in shame.
“Do not blame yourself,” the hooded pony replied. “I had hoped that you could kill them, yes, but I’m not disappointed that you couldn’t.”
The shadowed face turned to face Trato. The unicorn swallowed and shifted; even though he couldn’t see the visitor’s eyes, he could feel the cold gaze drilling into him like two daggers.
“They know who he is,” the hooded pony said. “Which means that they won’t stop looking until they find him.”
“Master, por favor,” the jefe whispered. “He made a mistake; we all knew he shouldn’t have killed the shopkeeper, but he threatened to go to the police unless we paid him more--”
The hooded pony slowly turned towards him, faceless gaze staring silently. The earth pony gulped and fell silent, lowering his head.
“Perhaps it would be best,” the faceless pony said to the doctor. “If they found him.”
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grabs a shotgun and points it into the depths of Hell.
NO. NO. NO. YOU STAY DOWN THERE OR I'LL CALL THE DOOM SLAYER, I SWEAR.
“Perhaps it would be best,” the faceless pony said to the doctor. “If they found him
We all know how he'll be found.
10999968
You might be surprised...
11000149
Yeah, alive and injected with an overdose of fear toxin that he will go crazy by seeing phantoms and hearing noises that goes bump in the night. Alive but utterly useless
Something tells me that yellow gas might be some kind of fear toxin. Also, is that Sombra?