Urban Wilds

by Rambling Writer

11 - The Miscalibration of the Highly Competent

Bitterroot had been having a magnificent dream. She’d tracked down the Mearhwolf, who had just so happened to be Nightmare Moon (ex-Princess Luna was quite baffled by this development). They’d had a fight under an eclipse (Princess Twilight did it on purpose to provide atmosphere), Bitterroot had somehow emerged victorious thanks to judicious application of party streamers, and the bounty had been upped to ten million bits — tax-free, just because. She was just about to buy a luxurious mansion on Canterlot’s upper slopes, where the Rich Folk lived, for the sole purpose of destroying it to see the looks on their faces.

Then the door to her bedroom banged open with the force of a small explosion and Bitterroot was jolted awake in a full-body reflexive twitch. Blinking sleep from her eyes, she raised her head enough to see Amanita standing in her doorway, chest heaving, looking like a manic street preacher ready to start proclaiming that the end was nigh. “Am’nita?” Bitterroot mumbled. “Wha’ss goin’-”

“I know what’s up with the murders,” Amanita said breathlessly.

Bitterroot couldn’t’ve woken up faster if she’d been hit by lightning while being fed pure caffeine through an IV drip straight to her aorta. She bolted out of bed, pulling on her bathrobe. “Show me.”

In less than thirty seconds, the two of them were downstairs. Amanita had ripped the map from Bitteroot’s board and laid it out on the dining room table. The murder sites were still clearly marked on there, unchanged from what Bitterroot had seen before. Amanita pulled out a red highlighter. “You ready?” she said. And she traced out two long, swooping arcs, each one right through four deaths. A circle within a circle.

And Bitterroot’s heart sank. She’d seen the pattern at the fourth death, the way they sort of made a circle. A magic circle, maybe? She didn’t know enough about rituals to say, so she’d brought it up with the Guard, only to get shut down immediately. It couldn’t be. See, these two deaths weren’t aligned, this one was too far east, the shape was lopsided. No magic circle here, just a coincidence. She’d even talked with several different ponies, just to be sure. Same responses all around.

“Look at this,” Amanita said, pointing at the map. She either didn’t notice Bitterroot’s mood or didn’t care. “Does that look like a set of ritual circles to you?”

“Well…” Bitterroot frowned at the map. Regardless of what the experts had said, it was a striking image. “Yeah, but the Guard said it wasn’t.”

“They’re right, it’s not,” said Amanita. She was grinning, of all things. She was giddy. “But you thought it was. So what if the Mearhwolf also thinks so?”

“And what, she’s botching this whole thing?”

“Exactly.”

Bitterroot opened her mouth — and froze. You always assumed ponies with Big Plans knew what they were doing. But sometimes, you saw ponies who clearly had more ambition than skill. She herself had once met a bounty hunter who fancied herself the finest tracker this side of the equator, only to not know a thing about keeping a low profile. And if the pony’s ambition outstripped their skill enough, you could miss what they were trying to do entirely, simply because there was no way somepony could be that inept (even though there always was). It was like assuming puzzle pieces were from different puzzles because they didn’t fit together, only to learn that, no, it was just a terrible puzzle. If the Guard had missed that this was a ritual simply because it was obviously too ill-thought-out to be one...

“See, that’s the problem with ponies that are too smart,” Amanita continued, waving a hoof at Bitterroot. “They forget that not everyone’s as smart as they are. It’s called the, uh, uh-” She pawed at the ground for a moment before her eyes lit up. “The Dun-Crowhop Effect! Yeah, that’s it.”

“I thought that was about how stupid ponies don’t know they’re stupid.”

Amanita shook her head vigorously. Bitterroot had seen fires less energetic than she was now. “That’s the first half of it, but everyone forgets the second half. I mean, haven’t you met any smart ponies who say they’re not smart? Wait, never mind, forget it. The point is that the Guard thinks whoever would try a ritual like this would be competent. But, I mean, look, they left the bodies out in the open! I bet they’re trying to, I don’t know, stain the land or something for this, but that’s absolute tripe, the initial death itself is enough. And then there’s the components that got stolen, yeah, they’re all potent, but they all mean different things, it’s like trying to replace black pepper with chili pepper.”

The Guard weren’t the only ones looking for competency. Bitterroot herself had bought the explanation for “not a ritual” immediately. Why hadn’t she thought about this? If she’d suggested it, the Mearhwolf might’ve been caught already. The tendency of ponies to only look for the obvious, she supposed.

“Oh, and there’s more,” Amanita continued. “I think I know what they’re trying to do. They’re trying to kill somepony from afar. I mean, it won’t work, but that’s what they’re trying.”

Bitterroot’s heart thumped. Was somepony really trying to…? In the middle of Canterlot? Well, they’d murdered eight ponies already. She really shouldn’t put it past them. “Okay. How do you know that?”

“Okay, a lot of it’s real obtuse, but- See, see, remember all the things that got stolen in the Roost?” said Amanita. “The bread and juice being in there wasn’t accidental. They’re, they have associations with- Remember Catskill? The ranger I- medically zombified? You know the only things she could eat while in that state? Stuff associated with death.” She leaned closer to Bitterroot, her grin growing manic. “Like rye bread and grape juice. Those foods bring you closer to death- On a, on a symbolic level, not literally! And necromancers eating them before casting death rituals is well-documented, so somepony trying to enact a ritual might latch onto that since it’s easy so they don’t need to worry about the sources of their ingredients.”

That was where Bitterroot had first heard of rye bread and grape juice together. Amanita had mentioned them when they were approaching the Crystal Empire, that the dead could only consume things associated with death. Apparently, it worked the other direction, too. (How had she managed to remember that?)

Amanita was still talking, her mouth running like a river. “And, wait, there’s another thing. Hold on.” She zipped out of the room, then zipped back with a sheet of parchment and a pen. She slapped the parchment on the table and scribbled out a list of dates, names, and numbers. Bitterroot recognized them as the Mearhwolf’s victims. But for some reason, when she got to the end, she added tomorrow’s date — Harvest Moon 1 — circled it, double-underlined it, then did the same for the number 9 right next to it, even though she didn’t have a name yet. “After that, this was the kicker,” she said to Bitterroot, waving the parchment in her face. “You know of the rules of three, right?”

Bitterroot grimaced and stepped away, waving a hoof in front of her face; the parchment was so close it felt like she was being smothered. “Just that three is important in magic somehow.”

“Good enough. Three tribes, right? Now, look at this. Each death, three days apart. Not necessarily ritualistic, maybe the Mearhwolf’s got some other weird pattern she’s following. Then I saw that tomorrow would be the ninth death and it all clicked into place. Nine is three times three. And tomorrow’s date? Harvest Moon 1, the autumnal equinox. Autumn is when things start dying. If you were going to kill something with a ritual, it’d be easiest tomorrow.”

“But… tomorrow’s only the equinox because we say it is.”

Amanita shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. The symbolism in rituals is what we’ve all decided it is. Like, phoenix down. Everypony knows that the phoenix symbolizes rejuvenation and rebirth, so down from a young, just-reborn phoenix has potent healing magic in rituals, right? But if you took some down back in time to before anypony had seen a phoenix, it wouldn’t do anything for them because the phoenix wasn’t a symbol yet. We associate Harvest Moon 1 with the first day of fall so strongly that if the seasons were permanently called off, it would still probably hold necrotic power for a few years.”

Bitterroot felt her feathers buzzing. Amanita had it, she was sure of it. It had that… vibe. She didn’t really know what she was hearing, but she was very sure Amanita knew every word she said.

“Oh, and the mare I resurrected yesterday? She was kidnapped at nine, but taken to another place and killed at around midnight. Why would they do that unless…” Amanita banged a hoof on the map. “…she needed to be killed at the right time and place?”

Honestly, it all fit so well together, Bitterroot was surprised Amanita hadn’t figured it all out already. Except maybe she had. “So do you know where the ninth murder will be?”

Amanita’s expression faltered. “N-no, unfortunately. I mean, each circle’s filled-”

“Remember, we need to be stupid. Not know how rituals really work.” Bitterroot looked down at the map again and immediately got it. She snatched the highlighter from where Amanita had left it and drew a line from each death to the one on the opposite side of its circle. Sure enough, the lines all crossed in the same place. In fact, Bitterroot recognized it. “That’s Viscountess High Gloss’s mansion,” she said.

“Who?”

“Viscountess High Gloss. Unicorn. Retired officer in the Guard and mostly a loudmouth, from what I hear. Outspoken opinions on everything that the papers print when they need to fill up space. Kinda unpleasant, but I didn’t think anypony’d want to kill her.”

“…Unless she’s the Mearhwolf.”

Bitterroot looked up, one ear down.

“So what if,” Amanita said, “she’s trying to… focus all this energy-” She made little crushing motions with her hooves. “-and the ninth death will release it to kill whomever. I mean, there’s no way that’ll work, she didn’t do the necessary sub-rituals at any of the murders, but it’s what somepony might try. Circe needed a lot of deaths to repair her phylactery.” She shuddered. “A lot.”

“Yeah.” Bitterroot nodded slowly. Plus, she’d be rich. Carry-around-twenty-thousand-in-cash rich. “Yeah, that might do it. And if she thinks she’s focusing that energy, forget the deaths themselves. Think about gathering the fear of an entire city. You said the Mearhwolf might be leaving the bodies to stain the land-”

“Trying to.”

“-but what if she’s getting Canterlot riled up? Everyone’s so tense after eight murders, it’s the kind of thing you could easily think would charge up some dark magic ritual.”

Amanita’s eyes lit up. “Ooo. Yeah.” Then she realized what she was doing and flattened her ears. “Um. That, that seems like something someone would try,” she said, much more quietly. “It’s, it’s theoretically possible, Cadance herself has shown how powerful pure love can be on its own, but you’d need a lot more precision than this ritual has. There’s more than just fear in Canterlot, even right now, and if it’s all mixed together…” Her voice trailed off.

“But,” continued Bitterroot, “we don’t know yet, so don’t go assuming either one. We just know that the murders are centered around her mansion.”

“Huh. That’s… awfully reasonable of you.”

“I’m a bounty hunter. Taking in an innocent, bountyless pony is a bad look on me. Hasn’t happened yet, and I don’t want this to be the first time.”

But now her path was clear. Scope out the mansion and see if she saw anything suspicious in it. “Suspicious” was an awfully vague category, but she’d know it when she saw it. It was just a shame she’d be staking out a mansion; even within Canterlot city limits, they were so big and hard to get good sightlines inside. Still, she had to start somewhere.

“Alright,” she said to Amanita. “I’m going to check this out today.” She tapped the mansion’s location on the map. “If I’m not back this evening and I haven’t left a note, assume they got me.”

Amanita almost looked like she was going to laugh, but then she saw the look in Bitterroot’s eyes. “I’m serious,” Bitterroot said. “If we’re right, somepony there — maybe Gloss, maybe somepony else — could be a serial killer. I’m not saying this because I’m trying to be a tough gal, they really could try to kill me.”

“Right, right, sorry,” Amanita said quickly. “It’s just- I dunno, I just forgot.” Pause. “I’m familiar with death.”

“Well, now you’ve been reminded,” said Bitterroot.

Silence. Bitterroot stared at the map, already coming up with a plan of action. She didn’t know that part of town well; maybe she could pass herself off as a tourist. It’d definitely be easier than in the Roost, where the average pony got eaten ali-

Amanita coughed. “S-so, uh, what’s for breakfast?”

---

It’d been a long time since Amanita had felt this invigorated. She’d cracked a case, figured out something nopony else had, deciphered meaning in data so disparate it was hard to tell it held any meaning at all. Yet she’d done it. The desire to tell somepony wanted to burst out of her. No wonder villains monologued; what was the point of being clever if you couldn’t tell anypony?

She blazed through her breakfast, nearly sprinted to Canterlot Castle, told the receptionist what she wanted… and then she had to wait, sun blast it. This was important. Why did she have to wait? She paced back and forth and back and forth. Ponies gave her strange looks, but she barely noticed. Her mind was consumed with thoughts of stopping the Mearhwolf.

Finally, Code arrived, carrying a set of saddlebags. “Amanita,” she said, inclining her head slightly. “How are-”

“I know what the Mearhwolf’s doing,” Amanita said quickly, jumping from hoof to hoof.

“Do you?” Code didn’t raise her eyebrow, but Amanita suspected it was a close thing. “Do tell.” Somehow, her voice didn’t sound sarcastic.

“It’s a ritual for remote death,” Amanita said. “A ritual done by ponies who don’t know rituals.”

Code raised a hoof, froze, then planted her face right in the middle of that hoof. “Son of a dog,” she muttered, “of course it is. That’s what I was missing.”

“The deaths have been three days apart,” Amanita said. “And if the pattern continues-”

“-the third third one will be on the autumnal equinox,” Code said. She was looking off into the distance and her ears were twitching like nothing Amanita had seen. “Yes, of course… That’s why they didn’t kill Cobalt immediately, it needed to be the next day… Why didn’t I…?”

“And look at this.” Amanita pulled a smaller version of the map and circles she’d shown to Bitterroot from her saddlebags and held it out to Code, who immediately snatched it up and began taking it in. “I know it’s wrong, but it looks like it could be right, right?”

“That’s not three threes, that’s two fours and a one…” muttered Code. “Their cardinal axes don’t even make arithmantic angles to each other! Celestia, that is such a gross misunderstanding of iggulim theory…” From the contempt in her voice, a bad ritual personally offended her on a spiritual level.

“But does it make sense to you?” asked Amanita. “On an absolutely amateur level, I mean?”

Code hesitated, chewing her lip. Then she said, “It might. I’ve understood ritualism for so long I’m having trouble wrapping my head around something made this poorly.” She clicked her tongue a few times. “But I’d be very surprised if you’re not onto something. I’ll see if I can get my hooves on the full reports to get better info.”

Amanita’s heart skipped a beat. “You don’t have it already?” she asked, her voice an octave higher. “But-”

“Amanita, I’m not officially involved in the investigation,” said Code, shaking her head slightly. “I was only brought in because a necromancer offered her services and I was the best-equipped to deal with necromancy. But if this pans out, I can be brought up to speed quickly. You’re still planning on offering quick-and-dirty séances, yes?”

“Yeah…”

“By the time you’re done, maybe even before noon, I’ll have those papers in hoof and will be caught up.”

“In this bureaucracy?”

“Yes. Princess Twilight’s reforms have been substantial.”

That was something, at least. Amanita swallowed. “W-well, um. Good.” Pause. “I, I can still do the whole… spirit thing.”

“Excellent. I’ve provided you…” Code slapped her saddlebags. “…with more than enough materials to perform the ritual ten times, just in case. I’ve also provided extra materials and instructions for an alternative ritual, still just in case.”

“You’ve already made an alternate ritual?” Amanita asked, gawking. “It took me a moon to learn that one!”

“I was working from an already-verified ritual,” Code replied as she fished a scroll from the bags. “Much of the structure was already known.” She passed the scroll over to Amanita. “Furthermore, I am quite good at my job.”

That’s putting it lightly, Amanita thought as she looked the secondary ritual over. It wasn’t quite as effective as hers, but it’d be easier to perform and used cheaper materials. For this, it’d be just fine. “So, um, I, I assume I’ll be working with Phalanx again?”

“Indeed. He should be along any moment…”

But, apparently, getting incredibly focused on something and not being able to stop thinking of it was part of Amanita’s thing, because even as Phalanx arrived, even as Code laid out the protocol for spirit-summoning, Amanita kept thinking of the ritual, going over and over and over the few bits of information she had. Who were they trying to kill? Assuming she was even right.

“-and if they can- Amanita?”

Amanita blinked her way back to reality. “Yeah?”

“Are you paying attention?” asked Code.

“Yes. Give the families as much free rein over the summoning as I can, allow them to turn it down if they want, give them your contact information either way.”

Code flicked an ear. “Indeed. And if they’re willing, ask the dead if they remember anything about their deaths. I can’t say what the afterlife is like for the dead, so if they don’t want to talk about it, do not force it.”

Don’t force it. Right. That she could do. “Got it.”

“Contact me when you get back. With luck, I’ll be caught up on the case by then.”

As Phalanx led Amanita into Canterlot, her head was still swimming. It was that constant stress of almost figuring something out, and if you knew that one little bit of information, you could figure out the whole thing, but you didn’t, so you couldn’t, and you kept trying to find out what-

“Are you okay?”

Amanita blinked. Phalanx was looking over his shoulder at her. “Y-yeah,” she said. “Just- thinking.”

“Are you sure?” His face held more concern than she would’ve expected from a soldier just doing his job. “You seemed pretty out of it.”

“Thinking very deeply.”

“Ah.” Rustling his wings, Phalanx slowed his pace until he and Amanita were side-by-side. “I know you’re probably worried about the ethics of-”

“No,” Amanita said quickly. “Well, yes, but not right now. I got all of that worrying done yesterday. I know that this is… Well, it’s not immoral.” As long as you do right. “I’m thinking about… something else entirely.”

“Oh.” No red came to his face, but Amanita got the impression that Phalanx was embarrassed. “About what?”

“About the possibility of the Mearhwolf trying and failing to make this all some big ritual.”

“Oh.” Definitely embarrassed. “I’m not associated with the investigation beyond this.”

“Technically, me, neither. Although I live with a bounty hunter who’s on the prowl.”

“Huh. Which one?”

“Bitterroot.”

“…Can’t say I know her. …I should probably shut up, shouldn’t I?”

Amanita chuckled. “I don’t mind. Really.”

“Alright.” It only took a little while longer before Phalanx said, “So what was that about rituals?”

Amanita laid out her theory for Phalanx as they walked. He knew practically nothing about the Mearhwolf beyond what was in the papers or rituals in general (both of which he was upfront about), but he was an attentive listener. The questions he asked were basic, but he asked them. You could do with worse bodyguards.

When they reached their destination, Amanita briefly faltered. The house seemed to loom over her and what she was about to do inside it. But she swallowed her fear and walked forward. With every step, it loomed less and less until, by the time she was on the porch, it was a regular house. She glanced at Phalanx, who nodded. Gulping, Amanita rapped on the door.

It was soon opened by an earth mare (Harpsichord, Code’s papers said she was named). Her mane hung like it was being taken care of in only the most basic of ways and her pace dragged a little. She glanced at Phalanx for a moment before turning her attention to Amanita. “Yes? Can I help you?”

Amanita stepped forward. “We’re with the Court, Ms. Harpsichord,” she said, nudging her badge forward, “and I work with experimental magic.” Code had given her some not-quite-lies to say to minimize misunderstandings. Or panic. “I understand your husband Westphal was one of the Mearhwolf’s victims.”

Harpsichord’s breath hitched. “Y-yes. He was… the first one.” She blinked and rubbed at her eyes.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” said Amanita. “While I can’t bring him back, thanks to some recently finalized spells, I can at least let you say your goodbyes. We can call his spirit from Elysium for a brief time so you and he can talk.”

Harpsichord was expressionless, her face as blank as a sheet of paper. But soon, she coughed out, “Y-you’re joking.”

It was an easy reaction for Amanita to remember. It was how she’d responded to Circe. Swallowing, she kept all the slime she could from her voice as she gave something resembling Circe’s answer. “We’re not. I promise you, I’m not trying to deceive you in any way. This won’t cost you a bit. And if you want some time to think it over…” She pulled a business card from her saddlebags and held it out. “You can contact us later.”

Harpsichord took the card with shaking hooves, stared at it. “I- Please,” she gasped. “L-let me… Please.” She stepped aside.

Amanita entered, her guts only swimming a little. No questions about necromancy. Nothing beyond the expected questions. If it came up… No, she couldn’t think of that. Bitterroot was right; she shouldn’t focus on what might be until it was. And as for now… “Do you have anything emotionally close to Westphal? Something as simple as a photograph would do. I don’t need it, but it will make the spell easier.” When Harpsichord bit her lip, Amanita added, “The spell won’t harm it at all.”

“Then there is- this.” Harpsichord darted away and returned with a lapel pin from the Equestrian Astronomical Society. “He- He always loved- the stars,” she said quietly.

The pin glinted dully on Amanita’s hoof. It wasn’t particularly expensive, but it was weathered. It’d been taken off and put back on countless times, worn in all sorts of conditions, left in places and found again. It wasn’t something that’d been left on a stand to show off, but something valued and worn often with great fondness. It’d make a perfect emotional connection.

It reminded her of Zinnia’s locket. Her throat grew small.

“Th-thank you. This is perfect,” she choked out. She blinked and forced her feelings down. She had a job to do. “Now, do you have an open space where I can work?”

---

Bitterroot had her ditzy tourist look down pat. The bright shirts, the stupid hats, the flank packs, the cheap cameras, everything. She’d certainly seen it enough over the years to emulate it, and she’d managed to polish it down to a shine. One of the best ways to avoid detection was to be part of a group that was so obnoxious it made ponies want to ignore you. (Of course, it also needed to be plausible for that group to be around in the first place; trying to be a tourist in the Roost would probably get her head beaten in.)

Still, before she left for High Gloss’s, she took a good look at herself in the mirror, twisting around and posing in the right ways. Yes, her disguise looked good. She gave her mane a bit of a fluff to make it look more careless; the wind would take care of the rest as she flew. It wouldn’t do to get spotted because her disguise was wrong. Unfortunately, that also meant she had to wait a few hours until the time tourists were out.

As she begrudged Twilight the usual sunrise schedule, Bitterroot examined her ceiling and thought. How close were they to tracking down the Mearhwolf? Pretty close, maybe. Nothing had fit before quite like Amanita’s brainwave.

Speaking of Amanita… her resurrection hadn’t made it into the evening paper, but it could be in today’s morning paper. Bitterroot found herself grinning. It’d be great to be next to the Mearhwolf when she learned that a necromancer had waltzed into Canterlot, seemingly out of nowhere, and resurrected one of her victims just ’cause. Of course, maybe the Guard was still trying to figure out the best way to break the news. The public at large, maybe even the Mearhwolf herself, might not know of Amanita for another day or so, even if the Guard knew.

Although, High Gloss had been a guard… If she was the Mearhwolf and still had friends in the Guard, she might’ve heard about Amanita’s arrival…

Bitterroot shook her head. Nothing to do about it now. Amanita was gone. What could Gloss do in broad daylight, anyway?

She glanced out the window and grinned. The sky was sufficiently blue. Time to get to work.

Comments

[hehelover]

Although, High Gloss had been a guard… If she was the Mearhwolf and still had friends in the Guard, she might’ve heard about Amanita’s arrival…

Bitterroot shook her head. Nothing to do about it now. Amanita was gone. What could Gloss do in broad daylight, anyway?

Do not tempt fate, Bitterroot, for she's even bitchier than Circe was.

[N4rwh41]

Incompetence. The great equalizer. I love it!

[TCC56]

Bitterroot shook her head. Nothing to do about it now. Amanita was gone. What could Gloss do in broad daylight, anyway?

Oh come on. You're a veteran! You've done this for years! You know better than to even think that!

[Shachza]

Has... Amanita learned the lichdom ritual itself? Like, I don't think Circe got to that point, which makes me wonder if Amanita has that as a blind spot. This might be a ritual that she just doesn't quite get, but is almost recognizable.

Plus, a lich seems kind of not alive-not dead, so some of the death aspectation could apply.

What if Viscount High Gloss is the next to rise...

11107322

And Amanita is wandering around with a guard... Man, I hope Phalanx really isn't in on things!

[Reclusive]

Amanita laid out her theory for Phalanx as they walked. He knew practically nothing about the Mearhwolf beyond what was in the papers or rituals in general (both of which he was upfront about), but he was an attentive listener. The questions he asked were basic, but he asked them. You could do with worse bodyguards.

Although, High Gloss had been a guard… If she was the Mearhwolf and still had friends in the Guard, she might’ve heard about Amanita’s arrival…

They're screwed.

[Fermats Last Pony]

Bitterroot opened her mouth — and froze. You always assumed ponies with Big Plans knew what they were doing. But sometimes, you saw ponies who clearly had more ambition than skill.

Brilliant, just brilliant right here.

[Frustration in Excelsis]

Bitterroot opened her mouth — and froze. You always assumed ponies with Big Plans knew what they were doing. But sometimes, you saw ponies who clearly had more ambition than skill.

You know, I had actually just been wondering about that when I was working through the last chapter. Fiction always tends to assume that people working with complex plans and sorcery and suchlike things are at least reasonably expert in their fields, but. I mean. How many people in real life actually know what they're doing? For every expert you've got two dozen amateurs.

[NorrisThePony]

11109276
There's a pretty famous murder case known as the Leopold and Loeb Murder in which two self professed geniuses tried to get away with the perfect crime, just to prove to themselves they could do it. They planned their murder for months, executed it as carefully and as precisely as they could...

But they were found out after a week, and convicted with a boatload of evidence that any 'genius' never would have left behind.

I had that case on my mind as I was reading Amanita's deduction. We assume serial killers to be far more intelligent than they are simply due to their status as outsiders. Fiction tends to perpetuate this. This story deliberately addressing that notion is really cool to see.