A favor for a patient sounds like easy money, but when ponies start dying, Redheart realizes that she is in over her head. Her only hope for escape might lie in the contents of the mysterious Dominator File.
Redheart agrees to do a favor for a hospital patient. It sounds like easy money, but when more is asked of her the nurse realizes she's stumbled into something much more complicated and dangerous than she could ever imagine. Unable to get away and unsure who to trust, her only hope for escape might lie in the contents of the mysterious Dominator File.
The blood dripping on the waxed tile floor was not a serious problem. It would mop up. The messenger bag that had spilled its contents everywhere was a tripping hazard, but unimportant for the moment. Redheart’s main focus was on the stallion that had just stumbled into the emergency room with a knife protruding from his chest.
She and another nurse helped the injured pony onto a gurney. It was fortunate that he was so calm, yet not fading into shock.
“You’re going to be fine,” said Redheart.
The stallion glanced downward at the knife, looking almost bored. The trauma doctor and his operating room staff appeared and took over. Somepony would need to get the patient’s identification and insurance information. And probably a police report, thought Redheart.
The mare fetched a mop and went back to the entrance. There was no puddle of blood, just small drops everywhere. Working carefully to avoid staining her white coat, the nurse cleaned and sanitized the tile floor.
There was a little blood on the bag that the stallion had dropped. Redheart collected its spilled contents. There were a few art notebooks, a box of stationery, hygiene items, a small mirror, pencils, a penknife, and ink quills. There were also a couple of manila folders labeled with one-word titles written in black: Alien, Moment, Dominator.
Redheart found an identification card with the name Caricature on it. She packed everything back into the bag and set it behind the desk at the nurse station. The stallion would get it back when he was finished with surgery.
After that, it was time for paperwork, the worst part of any nurse’s day. Each trauma required a form to be filled out, signed by the attending doctor, processed, filed, and then usually never seen again until the records cabinet was cleaned out years later. Redheart sighed. Once she got out of her lowly position at the hospital, somepony working beneath her would take care of the paperwork. She wasn’t qualified for a more advanced position, however, and becoming a Doctor of Medicine took a lot of schooling.
Two hours passed uneventfully. The shift was about to change, and Redheart decided to see if a room had been designated for Caricature. She found him already lying in bed, bandaged but awake.
The earth pony was a light olive color with dark grey mane and tail. His face was neutral despite his injury, not seeming to be affected by either pain or pain relievers.
“Here are your things.” Redheart placed his messenger bag on a chair. “I’m just about to leave, but if you need anything other staff members will here all night.”
“Did you look inside?” asked the stallion. He gestured for her to bring the bag to him.
“A few things were spilled on the floor,” explained Redheart. Caricature quickly rifled through the contents, his face giving no indication of what he was thinking.
The nurse turned to leave the room, but Caricature called her back. “I need a favor. I have a friend in Trottingham who should know what happened to me. Could you take him a letter? It needs to get there as soon as possible.”
“That’s not really the hospital’s responsibility.” Redheart’s profession was taking care of ponies, but there was a limit.
“I’ll pay you. How does three hundred bits sound?”
Redheart rolled her eyes. “I’ll put you down for a psychiatric evaluation.”
The stallion took a small money sack from his messenger bag, removing three hundred-bit coins from it. “Just let me write the letter.”
Surprised, Redheart accepted the money. While running errands to Trottingham was not what she had planned to do with her evening, it was worthwhile compensation.
The stationery box in Caricature’s bag contained both paper and envelopes. He spent a few minutes writing, producing a sealed letter that he gave to Redheart. “This is going to a stallion named Rapier, room 207 at the Honest Hotel in Trottingham.”
Redheart nodded and left the room. There was a train going in that direction soon, and she bought round trip tickets, getting change back from one of the coins Caricature had given her.
The trip was not very long, only about an hour. The mare contemplated what the letter might contain. It could be an apology for being late, sort of a sorry I couldn’t make it, I got stabbed kind of missive.
There was something else to think about. Ponies did not just randomly collect knife wounds to the chest. If there was something worth prosecuting, the police would handle it, although Redheart did wonder.
She stepped off the train in Trottingham. It had been a while since she had visited the city, but remembered roughly where the Honest Hotel was located. After a few minutes of walking, the building came into view and Redheart went up to the second floor to find the appropriate room.
A voice replied to her knock. “Who is it?”
“My name is Redheart. I brought a letter from a stallion named Caricature.”
After a moment, the muffled voice from behind the door asked, “Why didn’t he come?”
“He’s in the Ponyville Hospital with a knife wound.”
The door unlocked. The pony that opened it looked muscular for a unicorn. His coat was red, accented by a dark brown mane. He gave Redheart a friendly smile and said, “I’m Rapier.”
She gave him the letter and turned to go. He called, “Hang on, I don’t think we’ve met before.”
“We haven’t. Caricature just asked me to deliver the letter.” Redheart continued down the hallway. She considered spending a little while longer in Trottingham to shop, but decided saving her remaining money was a better idea. She was on the train heading back to Ponyville not long after.
+
Redheart woke up in the morning to her jangling alarm clock. She was never worried about disturbing anypony because she lived alone. The apartment was almost too small for a second resident anyway.
She got out of bed and went through her morning routine. Her pink mane was easier to deal with when put up in a bun. After a quick breakfast, she put on her hospital cap and went to work. When looking at the patient roster, she noticed that Caricature had checked out. She asked another nurse about it.
Nurse Tenderheart shrugged. “The paperwork says he left sometime during the night. That wound should have kept him here a while longer, but apparently he convinced somepony that he was good to go.”
Redheart went down to the room Caricature had occupied. The orderlies had not been around to make the bed yet. The stallion’s identification card lay on the center of the pillow, aligned too well to have landed there accidentally. A quick check of the room revealed that he had left no other belongings behind.
There was only one reason Redheart could think of that somepony would leave an ID card. He didn’t need that name anymore. She suddenly felt panic about delivering the letter. What was the penalty for assisting a criminal?
The hospital had to report a lost ID. Nopony suspected Redheart's involvement in any wrongdoing. That is, if a crime had been committed at all. The pony calling himself Caricature had declined to press charges or identify his knife-wielding attacker. Furthermore, the ID card was real. A police officer examined it, including testing for spells, and pronounced it legitimate.
Confusing as it was, no new developments came to light, and as the week wore on things began to return to normal. That is, until the stallion named Rapier showed up. It wasn’t pure chance that brought the two of them together, either. He came looking for Redheart.
She was just putting her key in the lock of her front door after work when the stallion called to her. Rapier wore a friendly expression as he came walking up.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“I was hoping you could tell me where our mutual friend is.”
Redheart shrugged. “I don’t know. He checked himself out of the hospital a few days ago.”
The stallion’s smile dipped a little. “Do you know what he was working on?”
“No. I delivered the letter to you, and that’s all the involvement I had.” Redheart opened her door.
“I really need to find him,” said Rapier. “He had some valuable information.”
“I don’t know anything that can help you,” she told him. “I told you already, I don’t have anything to do with him.”
Rapier grabbed the mare’s shoulder as she started to go through the door. “Maybe you don’t understand. National security is at risk here, and if you know anything that could help, you need to tell me.”
“Are you some kind of cop?” Redheart demanded, “Show me your badge.”
“No, not police.” Rapier produced a military identification card. “Royal Guard.”
Redheart wondered why an out-of-uniform solider was involved. “Is Caricature also with the Guard?”
Rapier shook his head. “No. Truthfully, I’m not sure who he works for, but it’s above my paygrade. I do know that Caricature isn’t his real name.”
“I figured that much. He left his ID with that name on it when he checked out of the hospital.”
Rapier sighed. “I hate spooks. They go play their little spy games and look down on the rest of us.”
Redheart shook her head in disbelief. “Spies? What does this have to do with Ponyville? How did Caricature or whatever his name is get stabbed?”
“I don’t know. All the letter said was that he would be unavailable for a while.” Rapier’s pleasant look had completely disappeared by now. “In fact, I’m surprised that he bothered to inform me at all.”
“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” asked Redheart. “He was in the hospital for less than a day.”
“Just tell me what you remember,” said Rapier. “Maybe you know something important and don’t realize it.”
Redheart shrugged. “He dropped his bag when he came in. There were a few art supplies and personal items inside. There were also three folders that were labeled.” She told him their names.
“Dominator sounds familiar for some reason,” mused the stallion.
“I can’t tell you anything I don’t know.” Redheart thought of something else. “We reported a lost ID card because he left it on his pillow. The police said that it was real. I thought you said Caricature wasn’t his name.”
“Of course it’s a real card. He works for the government. They can make his ID as real as if he was born with it.” Rapier sighed and pulled out a business card. “Please, if you think of anything else, let me know. I also ask that you keep all of this to yourself.”
Redheart nodded, taking the card. “Of course.”
She closed the apartment door, hoping it would be the last time she had to think about the situation. Spies? Really?
+
The hope lasted until the next morning when there was a knock on the apartment door. Redheart got out of bed irritably, noticing that it was half an hour before her alarm. Answering the door, she found herself looking at Caricature.
The stallion wore a vest to cover his bandaged chest. His mane was styled differently, and he had on a pair of thick-rimmed glasses.
“What in Celestia’s name are you doing here?” grumbled Redheart.
“A few of my stitches pulled loose.”
She glared at him. “And why should I help you?”
Caricature seemed unperturbed. He showed her some gold. Redheart’s eyes widened at the sight of a few more hundred-bit coins. It felt very mercenary of her, but… “I don’t have suture material here, but if you’re willing to let me use a sewing needle and thread, I can fix your stitching.”
Caricature nodded his consent and she led him into the apartment. Redheart put a pot of water on to boil and retrieved her sewing kit. After sterilizing the needle in hot water, she started with the procedure.
The vest had to come off. Redheart saw that stallion’s wound was serious, and found it hard to believe that it wasn’t hindering him much. She asked, “Just how did this happen?”
“You don’t need to know,” he replied, wincing only slightly as the needle made its first pass through his skin. Earth ponies naturally had good hoof-eye coordination, but Redheart was better than most, having long practice with small, sharp objects.
“Your friend Rapier stopped by yesterday,” said Redheart. “He was looking for you.”
“What did he tell you?” asked Caricature.
“You’re some kind of government agent.” The nurse carefully watched for a reaction to her words. Caricature looked annoyed. She tightened the thread and began another round.
“Are you on some kind of pain medication?” asked Redheart.
“No. I’ve learned to live with pain.”
The mare’s eyebrows went up, but she continued stitching. “If you're working with Rapier, wouldn't it be a good idea to communicate better?”
“He doesn't need to know what I do, and neither do you,” replied the patient. “What Rapier doesn't understand is that that there are some things more important than trust and friendship.”
“Like those files you were carrying around?" suggested Redheart. “Rapier said something about Dominator.”
“What did he tell you?" The stallion was insistent.
“He said he'd heard of it, but wasn't sure. Why, what is it?”
“Why do you keep asking questions?” There was an edge in Caricature’s voice.
“Natural curiosity, I suppose.” Redheart shrugged, beginning the final knot.
“Curiosity isn’t a good business to be in.”
“You’re the one that came back and caused me to start asking questions again. It's not my fault that you came to me for help.”
Caricature watched her cut the thread and pack a few small pieces of gauze from her private first aid kit around the wound. He asked, “Would you be willing to do this again?”
“Are you planning to get hurt again?” asked Redheart.
“We’ve been looking to set up a few contacts in Ponyville. Could you use some extra money?”
She considered the offer for perhaps three seconds, although it felt longer with Caricature staring at her. “What would I need to do?”
“Just stay available.” The stallion put his vest back on and stepped towards the door.
“This isn’t illegal, is it?” called Redheart.
Caricature turned. “You won’t get prosecuted for it if you’re working with us.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Caricature gave her a look and put another gold coin on the table beside the door. "Keep your ears open and your mouth shut." He left.
Redheart lounged on a sidewalk bench in Neighton with a newspaper in front of her. Across the street was a small post office. The postboxes with their locking doors were mounted to the outside of the wall so customers could come by to collect their mail at any time of the day. While pretending to read the newspaper, Redheart was surreptitiously keeping an eye on box number 53.
Caricature had contacted her after a few days. The message slipped under the door of her apartment during the night was simple. Observe who collects the mail from box 53 at the Neighton 15th street post office on Friday afternoon. She had Friday afternoon off, and it worried Redheart that he knew her work schedule. Still, more money had been promised, and collecting a description of the pony who showed up to get the mail shouldn’t be too hard.
It was nearly autumn, and the trees were beginning to change color. The Ponyville Running of the Leaves would be held soon. Redheart was glad she had brought a hooded sweatshirt. It used to be red, but years of use had faded it to a rose color.
She wore her mane down and had left her usual uniform hat at home. On the bench, she carefully brushed a few strands of her tail with a hoof, covering her cutie mark. Perhaps she was being paranoid. Then again, Redheart didn’t know what she might be getting herself into, and it paid to be prepared.
The local paper held the same news as the Ponyville Gazette, although being a different kind of printing than Redheart was used to kept her attention for a while. As the afternoon wore on, she was began to grow tired of rereading it.
She wished that she’d brought her craft supplies. Another reason that she was good at stitching was because she did a lot of it on her personal time. Nurse Tenderheart’s birthday was coming up, and Redheart was thinking about making her a scarf or a decorative cross stitch.
A pale blue mare with a streaky purple mane stopped by the mail boxes. Redheart had gotten her hopes up a few times already, but this time it was the right pony. She watched the mare open the box. Her cutie mark appeared to be some kind of fruit.
Well, that was all Redheart needed. Finished with her obligation, she folded the newspaper and got up. There was a market just down the street, and she wanted to have a look. She held herself back, though. She’d been on a budget ever since making up her mind to start a savings fund for medical school. Redheart did not want to be a nurse forever.
The extra money she was now earning would let her spend a little more freely, or it could be used to get her M.D. faster. Redheart knew which choice she preferred.
Still, the restaurant just down the street had been driving her nose crazy since she’d been waiting on the bench. Perhaps a late lunch was worth a few bits. Redheart went inside.
A few minutes later she had almost decided on what to eat. The mare with the mail came in. Redheart lowered her head a little behind the menu. The pony she had been watching was led to a nearby table by the waiter. He addressed her as Ms. Blueberry. After seating her, the waiter stopped to take Redheart’s order.
Blueberry did not seem to recognize Redheart, which boosted the nurse’s confidence a little. She took a moment to think about her extracurricular employment.
Caricature had indicated that medical issues would not be her primary task. Watching somepony pick up mail was about as far from healthcare as it could be. She couldn’t imagine why he couldn’t do these small tasks himself, but decided that if he was willing to pay, she was willing to toil.
Her food came, and Redheart dug in. It was good enough that she was glad that she had decided to spend a little money. After eating, she headed for the train station.
When she returned to Ponyville later in the day, Caricature was inside her apartment. He’d even relocked the door so she didn’t realize his presence until she met him face-to-face in the hallway.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“I’ve come to get your report.”
Redheart gave him a description of the mare, including her name. The extra information seemed to impress Caricature. He paid her. “Give us a few days and we’ll have something else for you.”
She nodded and the stallion let himself out. Redheart took off her sweatshirt and sat down at the kitchen table. Maybe this extra work wouldn’t be so bad after all. Caricature was frightening, but he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her, would he? He seemed to know everything about her, so he probably understood her limits and wouldn't assign her something she couldn't handle.
+
Two days passed before Caricature dropped another message under Redheart’s door. The envelope contained a key and an address. The instructions were short. Visit the scene and observe as much as possible. Hope you have a strong stomach.
That last sentence had Redheart worried all day. As she waited for her shift at the hospital to end, she wondered what it could possibly mean.
At least there was a little bit of entertainment to take her mind away for a while. A dull-looking brown stallion with a guitar sat in the waiting room for a while. Redheart didn’t know who he was there for, but he wasn’t a bad player. The music helped her calm down a little.
She was still humming a little snatch of music as she boarded the train for Neighton. As the trip progressed, she began to wonder again about what she would find in the city.
Having no idea where to find the address she had been given, Redheart stopped to ask at the post office where she had been before. The house in question was a few blocks down the street.
Redheart made a slow pass by the place, not seeing anypony. The key she carried in the pocket of her sweatshirt was labeled back door, which was good. No point in attracting too much attention. Once again, she wondered why Caricature didn’t just do the job himself, especially if he had such easy access.
She circled around and approached the back of the house that faced a narrow alley. After a quick check to make sure nopony was looking, Redheart slipped up to the door. The key fit perfectly, and she went inside.
The house was still. Redheart realized that she was trespassing, amazed that the thought hadn’t occurred to her sooner. Perhaps being told to do it made the act easier to rationalize. Heart thudding in her chest, she slowly advanced.
There was a dead pony on the living room floor. His face was blue, eyes wide with terror. The marks on his neck indicated strangulation. It was probably done with some kind of thin wire, cutting into the skin and leaving a little blood.
Well, it wasn’t a pleasant sight, but Redheart had seen worse. She sighed with relief and headed for another room…
…where there were four more ponies. In pieces. There was blood everywhere. Some arterial spray had even gotten on the ceiling. Redheart stared openmouthed. “Sweet Celestia…”
She blinked after a moment and collected herself. There was still a job to do. She examined the wounds. It was hard to say exactly what had caused them. The slices and torn flesh were an odd mix. Perhaps some kind of serrated blade? Redheart didn’t know what else it might be. To cleave limbs like that, it must have been a very nasty weapon.
Who had access to such things or training to use them? Redheart’s first thought was the Royal Guard, but they didn’t do things like this, especially inside Equestria. Right? Despite seeing many new things in the carnage, she was left with more questions than answers.
With so much blood covering everything, it would be hard to identify the victims by sight. Redheart narrowed her eyes as she spotted something familiar and gingerly stepped forward to confirm it.
One of the ponies, a mare, had a blueberry cutie mark. Looking carefully, Redheart discovered that she had merely been stabbed with a small, smooth blade. The knife lay beside her, and the body seemed to be positioned carefully in the center of a rug. It was much different than the violent end the others had met.
Redheart walked through the rest of the house. There were a few suitcases in the process of being packed. She found a set of keys with the number 53 on them. Beside the keyring was a small stack of mail that had already been opened. Rifling through the letters, she found a rather short one that made her gasp in surprise. Leave now, or else – Dominator!
After one more careful look at the house, Redheart left. She locked the door and hastily made for the train station as the late afternoon sun was begining to set. Her mind was moving quickly, trying to figure out what had happened. She tried to put everything in order.
Blueberry appeared to be the victim of premeditated murder. Her death had been quick and careful, and the old noir cliché of rolling the body up in the carpet appeared to fit.
The other three ponies had been killed some time later. Their blood was on Blueberry’s body. Whoever had killed them had used a much different method than whoever killed the mare, making Redheart think it wasn’t the same pony.
There was also the problem of the strangled stallion. Redheart was not a mortician, and unable to precisely determine time of death, but she doubted there was more than a day between all five murders.
Lastly, how did Dominator fit in? The letter had been a warning. Had Dominator caused all that? Was it the name of some elite group of killers? Something else?
Judging by the suitcases, the ponies had been trying to heed the letter’s guidance, but hadn’t been fast enough. That opened a new can of spaghetti. Who had warned them? Why? Were the dead ponies bad criminals or good ponies? What about Dominator?
Redheart boarded the train, mind still working. The next time Caricature showed himself, she was going to ask him some tough questions.
Caricature seemed to sense Redheart’s questioning attitude, and avoided her. A note was waiting for her when she got home with instructions to write out her observations from the scene and leave them in an envelope.
It took a while to pen down every single detail. Redheart had to admit that putting it on paper helped her remember, though. She decided not to include her speculations, only the facts. She wondered if the warning letter would draw Caricature’s interest. If Dominator was something secret for the government, perhaps they had a leak? Or was Dominator an enemy?
By the time Redheart went to work the next day she had mostly calmed down, although a lingering curiosity remained. She noticed the guitar player from the day before was back. She gave him a smile that he almost returned. He looked depressed.
The shift passed uneventfully, which was fine with Redheart. On her lunch break, she went to sit near the musician. He had continued to play all morning, slow soft tunes.
“You’re very good,” she said.
He nodded in thanks.
“Are you waiting for somepony?” Redheart asked, getting another nod in return. She paused for a moment. “I hope they’re all right.”
The stallion spoke in a whisper, his hooves never leaving the strings. “She’ll probably die.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
The guitar player did not look up, only nodding in response. Even if Redheart was a foal she would have felt the awkwardness she’d just touched off. She finished her lunch and got up.
The music went on, however. Redheart occasionally caught snatches of it as she made her rounds. Now that she knew he was playing for a death, it somehow sounded different.
+
After work, Rapier was waiting in the lounge on the ground floor of her apartment building. It was much better than if he’d entered her apartment without her knowledge. She invited him upstairs. He may not know as much as Caricature, but Redheart intended to ask anyway.
Once they were seated in the living room, Rapier said, “I understand you were in Neighton the other day.”
“That’s right.”
“Do you mind talking about that?” he asked.
“I take it Caricature didn’t tell you.”
Rapier rolled his eyes. “He told us what he wanted us to know.”
Redheart mulled that over for a moment. She’d heard that government agencies sometimes competed with each other. The national budget had only so much money, and the most successful would get a larger cut. Not only that, but pride and glory were at stake.
Caricature had never told her not to work with the Royal Guard, and maybe Rapier could do things he couldn’t. Redheart told him what secrets the house contained, everything from the contents of the suitcases to the position of the corpses. Rapier frowned as she listed off the bodies. “I never heard about the strangled one.”
“Where do you get your information?” asked Redheart.
“We let the local police do most of the investigation, and send somepony to supervise and make sure we get what we want.”
“So if that body was there, you should know?”
Rapier nodded. “It sounds like it was taken away before the police got there. I can’t imagine why.”
“Do you know any kind of motivation for any of the murders?” asked Redheart.
“From what I hear, they were not good ponies. Maybe they had some enemies.” Rapier thought for a moment. “But you say they were warned about Dominator?”
“That’s right. We talked about that when you came to my apartment a few days ago. Did anything come to you since then?
“I have no idea what it might be.” He shrugged. “Sounds like some kind of codename.”
“Do you think Dominator killed those ponies?”
“Something secret like that could be a group of assassins. I guess I’ll look into it. I’m kind of interested, myself.”
“There’s also the question of who warned them about it.”
Rapier’s face darkened. “We take the possibility of intelligence leaks very seriously. The chance that something like that might have happened needs to be brought to the attention of higher-ups.”
“Your Captain?” guessed Redheart. Shining Armor, the stallion in charge of the Royal Guard, had become a bit of a celebrity after marrying Princess Cadance.
Rapier nodded in confirmation. There was a knock on the door just then. Redheart excused herself, going down the hallway to answer it. She opened the door, surprised to see the guitar player from the hospital standing there.
“Sorry to bother you,” he said in that quiet voice of his. “I wanted to talk to you for just a moment. May I come in?”
Redheart stepped back from the door. The stallion came in and set his instrument case down.
“What would you like to talk about?” she asked.
The musician opened the case and took out the guitar. “I want to apologize for not being very good conversation earlier. Nerves, I suppose.”
“We all feel that way sometimes,” she reassured him.
“I suppose. It happens a lot to me.” The pony began twisting one of the tuning pegs on the head of the guitar.
“Is there anything I can do?”
“You being here is enough.” He smiled sadly. The string came off the guitar. He’d been loosening it, not tightening. The musician picked up the string and started towards her. Redheart had a sudden flash of realization. The pony in Neighton had been strangled with something thin…
She jumped backwards with a scream. The stallion wrestled her to the floor, trying to wrap the guitar string around her neck. She kicked and struggled, fighting for her life.
It was perhaps the best possible time to have a soldier in her apartment. Rapier was there in seconds, pulling the musician off and incapacitating him. He thumped the other stallion’s head on the floor repeatedly until he stopped resisting.
Redheart sat up, breathing hard. Rapier raised his eyebrows, giving her a questioning look. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just a little shaken up.”
“This certainly puts a new spin on things,” said Rapier, looking down at the unconscious pony. He gave her some bits. “Why don’t you stay at a hotel tonight? I’ll get things taken care of here.”
He must have had some way of communicating, because by the time Redheart had finished packing a bag, another tough-looking stallion had shown up and was talking quietly with Rapier. They let her out of the apartment and she went down the street to the Ponyville Inn.
A sudden thought occurred to Redheart. If the guitar-playing killer had found out where she lived, who was to say she would be safe in a hotel?
She did not sleep well.
+
Redheart didn’t know how long she was supposed to stay away from her apartment, but when she returned the next afternoon there was no sign that anything was amiss. She found two letters. Rapier’s was in her mailbox. Caricature had slipped his under her door.
She opened the one from Rapier first.
We found out that our musician friend was the same pony who strangled the victim in Neighton. He had nothing to do with the other killings, but was told to take out the first pony who came to investigate. Then he was told to kill the second, you.
The first strangulation was likely a pony doing the exact same job you were – investigating the scene. I don’t want to alarm you, but since an attempt was made on your life, I feel that you should know all my speculation.
It’s hard to say what the motivation was. The killer claims that whoever hired him refused to provide a name or show their face. The fact that whoever it was knows the movements of ponies like yourself points strongly to a leak.
The first body was removed before the police arrived, I’m guessing by Caricature’s associates after they found out he had been murdered while trying to investigate. The next time I see him, he’s going to be answering some tough questions.
Speaking of Caricature’s associates, I asked the Captain about Dominator. He basically told me to shut up and mind my own business. The fact that he knows but was so curt in telling me off says that this is probably a big deal, and very secret. Since I was ordered to shut up and mind my own business, I’m afraid I can’t help you any further with finding out what Dominator is.
Good luck.
The letter from Caricature was much shorter and less pleasant.
There is a house on the road to Trottingham. The mailbox says “Glass.” Report the condition of the body in the woods beyond.
Redheart thought she remembered where the house was, having walked by it a few times in the past. She put on her hooded sweatshirt, dropping a hoof into the pocket to check for the scalpel she’d appropriated from the hospital.
Taking it was on the same level as stealing office supplies. She felt a little bad, but honestly did have a need to protect herself. The sharp blade was shielded by a disposable paper sheath that stopped the scalpel from doing any damage to her pocket as long as she didn’t put any pressure on it.
There were a few travelers on the road. Any of them could be dangerous, and Redheart was careful to restrict her paranoia. She was alert and searching for possible danger, which made her at least a little less vulnerable.
Upon reaching the designated house, Redheart circled around behind it. The dead pony was surprisingly easy to locate, lying just inside the treeline.
Redheart stopped, staring in shock. There was a hoof-sized hole punched straight through the stallion’s body. He hadn’t been impaled on a tree limb or anything, so the weapon must have been taken with the killer.
Examining the wound, Redheart decided that whatever the weapon had been wasn’t very sharp. Stabbing a fairly blunt instrument through a pony would have taken a lot of force. Magic, maybe?
She straightened up, giving the scene one last look. There wasn’t anything to suggest that this was the work of Dominator, but it didn’t matter. Anything capable of this kind of violence was to be handled carefully.
She headed back to the road and other ponies. Redheart didn’t want to be alone with something so dangerous lurking around.
Redheart was actually looking forward to the next time she saw Caricature, which surprised her. While she didn’t like him, there was a lot she wanted to ask.
Her chance came about a week after finding the pony named Glass with a hole in him. One week of silence from the mysterious Caricature was surprisingly relaxing. Redheart decided that she didn’t even miss the money.
Her period of rest was shattered one afternoon upon finding the stallion in her apartment again. Redheart was glad that it was only him, not somepony who would try to hurt her, but realized how ill-prepared she was had it been an actual attack. Her first impulse had not been to grab for a weapon, or even to flee. She had slowly been building such instincts, especially after the guitar garrote incident, but this was a wakeup call.
Being careful and always watchful helped. Still, between government intelligence agents, random musical assassins, and the mystifying Dominator, Redheart was pretty low on the food chain. If somepony got it in their head to take her out, there might be nothing she could do about it.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” asked Redheart, eyeing her visitor.
“I want to talk to you about your next assignment,” he said.
She replied, “I want to talk to you about my previous assignments. I think it’s a little confusing why you have me inspect bodies like that. If somepony has a giant hole cut out of their torso like the center of a donut, it’s pretty obvious that they’re dead and don’t need confirmation.”
“I’m paying you to do it,” said Caricature. “Why are you complaining?”
“I want answers.” Redheart’s eyes narrowed. “What am I doing? Who are all these dead ponies? Is my job just cleaning up after Dominator?”
Caricature didn’t even blink. “You don’t need to know.”
“Then I quit.”
This time she got a reaction. The stallion rolled his eyes. “You already know too much. What makes you think we’ll let you?”
“Is that a threat?” she demanded.
“Yes.”
“What would you do to me?” asked Redheart. “I’m a law abiding citizen. I pay taxes.”
“You’ve also visited the scenes of two murders, nearly been murdered yourself, and didn’t report any of it to the police.” Caricature shrugged. “If that doesn’t stick, we’ll just plant some evidence on you.”
The mare’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t do that.”
“And who’s going to stop me?”
Redheart fumbled for a moment. “I don’t believe you. Nopony can just override the Princesses’ laws.”
“Nopony except them.” Caricature’s tone was neutral, but Redheart thought she might have detected a hint of haughty pride in his voice. Did he work directly for the Princesses? Surely the two sisters were not so cruel as to let him do this?
Caricature put a piece of paper and a key down on the kitchen table. “Get this done.”
He walked out without checking to see if Redheart would comply. The fact that he didn’t need to said something about his attitude, but more about his control over her. Had she really gotten so tangled in this that it was impossible to get out?
Reluctantly, Redheart read the note. The address and key matched an apartment in Canterlot. Curiously, it had an exact time listed, two in the afternoon. The date was the next day, when Redheart wouldn’t be at the hospital.
She sighed. I think I’ll go to bed early.
+
Redheart spent the next morning browsing the library for books of needlepoint patterns. She’d decided to go with something decorative for Tenderheart’s birthday.
Twilight Sparkle, the librarian, smiled as Redheart brought a book to the front of the library to check it out. “I didn’t expect to see you here so early in the day.”
“It’s my day off,” Redheart explained.
“Oh, do you have anything planned?” Twilight made a note for her records and pushed the book across the desk.
“I was going to go to Canterlot later.”
“What a coincidence, so was I.” Twilight nodded. “I can give you a ride. My new propulsion spell has made hot air balloon travel very reliable. It’s also cheaper than taking the train.”
Redheart had no reason to say no. The two of them departed for Canterlot later. The nurse had never ridden in a balloon before, but found the trip to be gentle and scenic. Twilight had planned conservatively, and they arrived with plenty of time to spare. The two of them parted ways after landing. Redheart thanked Twilight and told her that she would take the train back.
It was about half an hour before the two o’clock appointment. Redheart spent several minutes finding the apartment building. She didn’t know if being a little early would make a difference.
On the eighth floor, Redheart checked to make sure she was alone and slipped the key into the lock on the door. She entered the apartment, bracing herself. What kind of mutilation would this body have suffered?
To her great surprise, she found a living stallion hurriedly packing his things in the bedroom. Unsure how he would react, she carefully placed a hoof on the scalpel in her pocket and cleared her throat.
The pony jumped, flaring his wings defensively. The two of them stared at each other for a long moment. The stallion quietly asked, “Dominator?”
Redheart let out a breath. “No, not me. Did you get a warning?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I did. So…you aren’t here to kill me?”
“No, I’m not. What is Dominator? Why are you so scared?”
Stepping forward, he asked, “Just who are you? What are you doing here?”
He hadn’t answered her question, so Redheart ignored his. “Tell me about Dominator!”
The pegasus tried to grab her. Deciding on a less lethal option, Redheart smacked him in the face with a hoof and bolted for the door. To her relief, he didn’t pursue her into the hallway.
Calming down, Redheart descended back to the ground floor. The clock over the door read three minutes before two o’clock. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. This would certainly make for an interesting report to Caricature.
There was the sound of breaking glass and the pony she’d met upstairs thudded to the sidewalk. The violence of the impact probably meant that he’d fallen all the way from the eighth floor. Redheart stared in horror, tempered slightly by curiosity. Wait, how does a pegasus fall…?
A moment later, his wings landed on the sidewalk. Redheart stepped closer. They’d been forcefully ripped from his body. Even without the massive blood loss that would have caused, the pony was already dead. It didn’t take a nurse to see that. Redheart looked skyward at the broken window. If she’d been up there for a minute longer…
Ponies were beginning to gather around. Blood was spreading across the pavement, and Redheart took a step back, fading into the crowd. She turned for the train station.
A shoulder bumped her. Redheart glanced to the side, surprised once again by a sudden appearance from Caricature.
“Come on,” he said. “I’m going to a meeting, and after that we need to have a talk.”
She nodded silently and followed him towards a hotel. Caricature seemed to know where he was going. When he found the right room, he set his ever-present messenger bag down and knocked on the door.
A mare answered. Her unpleasant expression overshadowed her bright golden coat, although it was hard to tell who her irritation was directed at. Caricature said to her, “This is who I was telling you about.”
The mare stared contemplatively at Redheart for several seconds before turning back to Caricature. “Come in.”
The two of them entered the room and closed the door. Redheart shifted her hooves a little and looked around at the empty hallway. Her eye fell on the bag Caricature had left. She paused for just a moment before opening it.
Conveniently, the folder marked Dominator was on top. Redheart opened it without a second thought. She gasped and began flipping through the pages inside. They were all blank.
There was a sudden spark of magic and the file snapped closed, simultaneously giving Redheart a shock. She stumbled back in surprise.
Caricature snapped his head down to look at the Dominator file lying on top his open messenger bag. He looked at Redheart, glaring. “What did you do?”
She stepped back as he advanced angrily into the hallway. Caricature hissed, “Did you think you could just put your hooves on something like that?”
“You don’t tell me anything.” Redheart was able to keep a tremble out of her voice, but couldn’t manage to portray confidence. “I just wanted to know what it is I’m working for.”
The stallion opened his mouth, but a female voice interupted. “It’s your fault for leaving it with her. Good thing it was enchanted to be unreadable to anypony without clearance.”
The rage on Caricature’s face didn’t drop, but he held his tongue. The yellow mare in the hotel room stepped out. While her words had hurt him, she gave the nurse a look that was almost as unpleasant as his. “Redheart, is it? I was just hearing how you were good at your job. Shame.”
Caricature glanced between the two mares. Each of them had made him look bad to the other and he knew it. He gathered up the file from the floor and slipped the strap of the bag into its usual place around his neck.
The pony went back into her room and shut the door. Caricature turned to Redheart. “Just when I was thinking of trusting you with more information…”
She looked away. His words hurt, but so did the feeling of her own stupidity. Caricature wouldn’t leave something so valuable just lying around. It had been too easy to be true, and her eagerness to learn about Dominator had gotten her in hot water.
“I just want out,” she muttered.
“Too late for that. You know too much. On top of that, it’s pretty obvious you don’t care for procedures. We couldn’t depend on you to keep your mouth shut.”
“That’s a little unfair,” she shot back. “Sure, I screwed up right in front of whoever that was, but it’s not like I have a history of it. I made one mistake. You even said I’m usually good at the job.”
Caricature gritted his teeth. “You aren’t just entitled to second chances. All those dead ponies? They didn’t get one.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do?” Redheart demanded. “I don’t want to work for you. You don’t want me to either, but you’re afraid of letting me go with what I might know.
“There’s always the option of federal prison,” he said acidly. “Go home while we decide what to do with you. Don’t make any stupid, hasty decisions, though. We’ll be watching.”
Redheart turned and walked away. She could almost feel Caricature’s eyes boring holes in the back of her head.
She almost went out the front entrance, but stopped. Caricature hadn’t been so domineering of the mare in the hotel room. Perhaps if there was some way to talk to her directly.
Going over Caricature’s head would only infuriate him further, but what if it got results? What if Redheart was able to find somepony who was more willing to accommodate her?
She thought that the clerk at the front desk would be unwilling to give out the information of customers, but decided that it was worth a shot. After taking a moment to compose a story, she approached. “Pardon me, I met a pony earlier. We talked for a while at the café, and I found out that we both like crafting. She asked me to stop by her room, but she isn’t there. I wanted to give her some of my favorite yarn. Do you think I could have her home address so I could send it to her?”
Happily, the clerk was sympathetic. Redheart gave him the room number and he matched it to the mare in question. He wrote out her name and address on a slip of paper.
The nurse left for the train station. She would have to track down this pony later. At the moment, following Caricature’s advice and returning to Ponyville sounded like a good idea.
+
Redheart thought about sleeping. She wasn’t usually able to doze off while the train cars clattered over the rails, but with dozens of ponies with her she felt confident that an attempt wouldn’t be made on her life. There was a sad thought. She felt safer in public than she did in her own bed.
A stallion in a dapper hat and coat came into the car from another. He had a finance magazine and settled into a seat across from Redheart to read it. She realized it was Rapier, and by the look of it, he was in disguise.
He looked at her, holding Redheart’s gaze long enough to let her know that he recognized her, too. He then pointedly looked away, going back to reading the magazine.
She sat still for a moment. Why didn’t he say hello? What was with his outfit? Was he trying to stay covert to give somepony watching him the slip? Was somepony watching her?
Rapier remained stoic all the way to Ponyville, a silence that Redheart returned in kind. At the station, she got up slowly, watching out of the corner of her eye and waiting to see what he what he would do. As she stepped into the aisle, he shoved forward, brushing against Redheart and the pony in front of her.
“Sorry,” he grunted, in the manner of somepony who was not really apologetic at all. Rapier disappeared into the crowd, hurrying away from the train. Redheart waited her turn to disembark. After stepping down on the platform, she turned towards home. She thought for a moment about stopping by the market, but decided that it could wait.
In her apartment, she made a careful walkthrough to guarantee that she was alone. Then, she took out the envelope Rapier had slipped into her pocket.
I was sent to keep an eye on you. I don’t know what you did, but the order comes from somepony who sounds important. I wasn’t told what threats we’re dealing with, but I do have a way to make it a little easier to protect you.
The enclosed necklace is a tracking device. It doesn’t do anything else, I promise. Try not to lose it – it’s secret Guard stuff.
A thin pewter chain was at the bottom of the envelope. It was rather plain, but Redheart didn’t mind. She put it on.
This new development left her with even more questions than before. It seemed unlikely that Caricature would assign her a protection detail, and even if he had, she doubted it would be somepony from the Royal Guard. That reminded her, what government agency did Caricature work for?
She sat down, idly toying with her needlepoint work. She wanted to speak with Rapier. Perhaps he knew something, or maybe she could tell him something that he could follow up on and bring her more information. It was frustrating to have a friendly ear, but it didn’t belong to the group she wanted to know about.
The problem was, Rapier might be watching her without Caricature’s knowledge. In fact, given the disguise, that was probably the case. She couldn’t risk contacting him.
Redheart sighed. Maybe she could send a letter to the address she had gotten from the hotel and get results. No, she wanted information quicker than that. She might have to visit the mare.
The nurse touched her new necklace. She wouldn’t be able to wear it at work, instead having to leave it in a locker while on duty. The hospital prohibited loose jewelry, which for some reason didn’t include doctors wearing stethoscopes around their necks. One more thing to relish about finally saving up enough money to go to medical school.
Just focus on that. Make a goal, and figure out how to get there. Planning ahead would help, but with the way things kept changing and getting more complicated, it might be a useless act. Redheart desperately wished for something stable to cling to.
Redheart stood in front of her apartment door. She carefully checked the hallway and then put her key in the lock. Opening the door, her eyes went left and right. She wasn’t going to be surprised. This time, Caricature did not seem so scary as when Redheart discovered him in the apartment.
“What’s this?” he asked, holding up the slip of paper she’d gotten from the hotel clerk. While Redheart knew how easily he got past the locks on her door, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t already suspected him of going through her belongings.
“It’s a name and an address,” she said. “Look familiar?”
“How did you get this?” Caricature demanded. His tone didn’t impress her like it used to. The dressing down that his boss—if that’s who the mare at the hotel was—had given him in front of Redheart had changed the nurse’s opinion.
“I think you should be more concerned with what I could do with it,” she said. Caricature considered that. There was nothing that would disturb the status quo faster than looking bad in front of subordinates. Redheart having the ear of a superior above his head could easily cause that.
“You don’t know if that address is even real,” he said.
“I doubt anypony in this crazy business would use their real place of residence,” agreed Redheart. “Or even their real name. That doesn’t mean a letter sent there won’t find her eventually.”
Caricature looked like he was fighting to control all-out rage. Several seconds passed, and he appeared to calm down. “What do you want from me? As you’ve so irritatingly laid bare, I’m not in charge here. Whatever you expect to get from me, I can’t just do.”
Seeing him stripped of his pretend power felt strange. Redheart realized that while he’d never truly been the all-knowing figure she’d thought of him as, that weakness was now plainly visible.
“Can you at least be a little more civil?” she asked. “I can honestly say that I’ve never met anypony as unlikeable as you.”
Caricature’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He dug in his bag and took out a small bottle. It looked like a normal container of pills. The way it rattled, there were only a couple inside. “Does this look familiar?”
Redheart glanced at the label. “It’s a high-grade anticoagulant used for treating heart patients. Without help, a victim of a heart attack could quickly have another one.”
“That’s right.” Caricature set the bottle on the table. “Substituting that medication for this useless placebo would likely kill a patient.”
Redheart thought she saw where he was going with this, but let the stallion go on.
“We need you to make that substitution,” he said. “There’s a pony in the Neighton hospital right now that we don’t need to go on living.”
“I can’t kill somepony!”
“You wouldn’t be directly. Just swap the pills and leave.” Caricature shrugged. “I already told you, not all of us get to pick what we want to do.”
“Can’t you get Dominator to do it?” asked Redheart.
“For merely taking care of a heart patient lying in a hospital bed?”
The mare looked at the floor. “This is wrong.”
“Breaking into houses isn’t? What about sneaking around amid dead bodies and collecting information that could be used to create more?”
Redheart looked up. “Why can’t you do it?”
“What makes you think I’m not already doing something worse?” Caricature glared at her. He pulled a piece of paper from his bag and tucked it under the bottle of fake pills. With a last look, he went out the door.
The note was brief, as usual. It contained simple instructions for finding the pony in question. It used the cold, unsettling word “target.” There were further directions for afterwards, arranging a meeting at a “safe house” located near the hospital in Neighton. Perhaps, the note said, she’d be interested in taking a position at the clandestine clinic located inside. Apparently, secret government operatives sometimes needed surreptitious medical attention.
Redheart snorted. Stitching Caricature had been bad enough. She didn’t relish the idea of practicing medicine on the sly, even if it did get her closer to being a doctor and able to do it for real.
She could think about that later. There was a job to take care of first.
+
Redheart managed to get to Neighton in time to position herself for the job. She still had doubts, a lot of them, but she hadn’t backed down yet. Not even after making her way into the hospital, avoiding the nurses who actually worked there, and finally getting a look at her target.
He was an older stallion named Gold Bullion. Judging by the fine coat and monocle carefully positioned next to his bed, he had some affluence, or thought he did. Redheart pushed the medication cart into his room. The bottle of false pills sat on top. A scalpel was positioned beneath a towel and within easy reach, just in case.
“Good evening, Mr. Bullion.”
He frowned. “I prefer just ‘Bull.’ Didn’t the others tell you?”
“My apologies. It’s my first day in this wing.” Redheart prepared the dose of pills and picked up his chart to mark it down. When the actual nurse came with the real medication, she would see the modified chart, and the stallion would confirm that he had taken pills. Then he would have a fatal heart attack.
That may have been the plan, but it quickly went off the rails. Bull said, “I want another nurse.”
“I’m afraid one isn’t available.” Redheart pushed a small cup towards him with the dose of pills in it.
Bull just stared at it. “I don’t believe you.”
“Why not?”
“Lady, ponies have tried to kill me before.”
Redheart’s face twitched involuntarily. Bull started, as if surprised to be right. “Who sent you? Was it Caricature?”
Her hoof crept towards the hidden scalpel. “How do you know about him?”
“If you’re who I think you are, we both work for him.”
“What does that mean?” Redheart relaxed, just enough so that Bull wouldn’t think she was about to attack.
“Exactly what it sounds like," said Bull. "He asked me for a favor and offered to pay. Pretty soon I was sneaking around doing all kinds of things. Sound familiar?”
“Why-why do you think he wants you dead?”
Bull’s eyes went hard. “I figured a few things out. I was running to tell somepony—literally running—when my heart gave out. It was a bad situation, and frankly I’m surprised I wasn’t killed then.”
“What do you know?” Redheart had gone nearly breathless with anticipation.
“Did you know Tincan?” asked Bull. “He was killed by a psycho guitar player.”
Redheart nodded. The stallion went on. “He was just like us. Tincan and I had been sharing notes. Some things weren’t adding up. For instance, who had been passing out warnings about Dominator? We didn’t want to just throw out accusations willy-nilly, but who besides Caricature knew enough to be able to do that?”
That seemed like a big jump to make, but Redheart couldn’t help but feel that it made some sense. She certainly didn’t know enough to be able to leak anything.
“What do you know about Dominator?” she asked.
Bull shook his head. “I’ve seen what Dominator does. That’s all.”
The two of them were silent for a moment. “What are we going to do now?” asked Redheart.
“I’ve been trying to figure that out,” admitted Bull. “I don’t know who to go to.”
“I think I know somepony.” Redheart thought back to the information she still had for the mysterious mare.
“Well, I wouldn’t mind if you took care of that sooner rather than later.”
Redheart nodded and went out door, thoughts of insubordination on her mind. She returned the cart to where she’d found it and tossed the fake pills in the trash. The scalpel she kept.
Rapier was in the lobby, probably having followed her from Ponyville. He was talking to the receptionist, but seemed to be finishing his conversation as Redheart went out the front door.
She paused on the street. The so-called “safe house” seemed like a dangerous place to go at the moment. Perhaps if she could get Rapier’s attention, she could pass along word of what Caricature might be up to.
Redheart headed down the street in the right direction. She didn’t want to be obvious about watching the place, as Caricature was expecting her to actually go inside. She needed a convenient place to observe from.
A dumpster behind a building presented itself. She waited there, hoping Rapier would come by.
It was difficult to be aware of everything at once. The nurse's attention was focused mainly on the safe house. The brick to the back of her head took Redheart by surprise.
Author note: I didn't embed this picture because it's grimdark.
It was hard to say what woke Redheart. Possibly the pain in her head, possibly a sound nearby. Her eyes opened, but she couldn’t see. Based on the touch of fabric on her muzzle and ears, there was some kind of bag over her head.
She tried to move. Her hooves were bound, rear legs straight out and together, forelegs crossed and flat on her stomach. She didn’t seem to be secured to whatever was below. It felt like metal. Redheart felt it wiggle a little as she moved. A table, probably.
A door opened and hooves clacked on the floor. Based on the sound, the door was heavy and metal, and the floor was something hard like tile. Redheart twisted, trying to face the source of the noise. “Who’s there?”
The ropes on her hooves suddenly tightened, hauling Redheart aloft to an upside down position. She yelped in surprise and a little pain as the rough bindings dug into her legs.
“This is where being a pain in my flank gets you,” said Caricature’s voice. Redheart struggled to curl up her upper body, but he smacked her in the face through the hood. She slumped back, her body swaying as her head hung downwards like the pendulum in a clock.
“You always wanted to ask questions. I should have done this a while ago.” Redheart heard his voice coming from a little further away. There were a few soft sounds, as if he was working on something.
“Why were you trying to get me to kill Gold Bullion?” she asked.
Caricature barked a short laugh. “If you had, I might have let you live. He told you what he found out, though, didn’t he? Don’t worry, he’s next.”
“Why are you doing this?” asked Redheart, unable to keep rising panic out of her voice. “I thought you were one of the good guys!”
“I realized there’s not actually much difference,” he said. “So why limit myself?”
“Are you some kind of turncoat?” Caricature didn’t answer. Redheart tried again. “What did you do, just warn ponies that Dominator was coming for them?”
“All I could do,” he said. “They wanted more.”
Was that a little panic in his voice? Were the criminals he had allied himself with demanding something else?
“What could you possibly do?” asked Redheart. It sounded a little more condescending than she intended, but it had the desired effect.
“They wanted to control Dominator. They wanted me to designate targets of their choosing.” Caricature laughed again. “Even if I wanted to, that wasn’t going to happen. The first time I tried that—on another local asset just like you, Redheart—Ms. Fromage asked if I’d made a mistake. It’s good that I was able to talk my way out of that. She’s the only one who personally handles Dominator.”
Redheart was confused. “If your boss does that, then what is that file you carry around? Just a hit list? Are you saying that you’ve never actually talked directly with Dominator?”
“If Dominator has ears to listen,” he muttered. “After some of the insane pieces of work I’ve seen, I wonder.”
“Wait, you don’t know what Dominator is?” demanded Redheart.
“You know how I was always reprimanding you for asking questions?” said Caricature. “I was in that position once. Unlike you, however, I learned that there are some things you just don’t need to know. That’s how I got where I am.”
“By backstabbing everypony around you?”
That remark got Redheart slapped again, but it didn’t change her mind. She realized that questioning orders was not an easy decision to make. On the one hoof, it caused mistrust and ineffectiveness in job performance. On the other, sometimes the order was just wrong. She was now glad that she’d backed out of the command to kill Bull, considering it had come from a traitor.
Caricature grabbed her head to stop Redheart from swaying too much. He leaned in close. “Well, as much as I dislike you, I have to say that you’ve been useful. What I was saying the other day about you being good at your job was true. Now you’re going to help me with something else.”
He tapped the side of her neck and seemed to be looking for something. Redheart’s stomach felt like it was tying itself in knots. She recognized the movement as basic phlebotomy. Caricature was looking for a vein.
The pinch of the needle was simultaneously more and less painful than she expected. The rushing adrenalin in her system dulled Redheart’s pain, but the catheter Caricature had stabbed into her blood vessel was a very large diameter. He taped it in place, and let go of Redheart, allowing her to return to her head-down position.
“It’s a lot easier to dismember a body and make it disappear if you get rid of the blood first,” said Caricature. His tone suggested that he knew from experience.
There was no way to know how much time she had before bleeding to death. Very severe injuries, like a severed femoral artery, could render a pony unconscious in perhaps thirty seconds. Depending on the size of the needle and tubing in the catheter, Redheart guessed she had more than three but less than ten minutes.
It was not easy, but instead of struggling she tried to calm herself. Caricature would stop any move she made to get free. The only option open was to slow her heartbeat and try to tense the muscles in her neck to restrict flow as much as possible.
Redheart couldn’t feel the necklace Rapier had given her. She must have been stripped of all her possessions after being cracked in the head. An injury like that seemed relatively minor, now.
There was a pattering sound coming from above Redheart’s head, which of course meant close to the floor. She realized it was the sound of her blood dripping away. Her stomach, already under stress from her fear and unusual position, felt like it might be about to reject its contents. Being upside down with a bag on her head, that would only make a bad situation worse.
Caricature tapped a hoof while he waited. Redheart could feel her limbs starting to go numb and cold. She wouldn’t get lightheaded, as the blood was being pulled down by gravity. She would be conscious until the end.
There was a muffled smashing sound. Caricature started. He ran to the door and opened it. There was a moment’s pause.
“Dominator.” He spat it like a curse. Redheart heard his hooves take off at a dead gallop. She began to struggle.
The bones in a pony’s fetlocks were somewhat like a hinge, allowing movement in only one direction. Redheart knew what the structure of the bones looked like, and could picture it in her mind. Just a little pressure here…
She gritted her teeth in pain as she forced a dislocation in her right front fetlock. She bent the leg past the point where it should have stopped naturally and managed to slip it out of the ropes.
Her left front leg was easy to unbind after that. Her first priority was the catheter. The tape removed some hair with it, but that couldn’t be helped. The vein would likely continue to bleed, but not as badly as if a steel needle was holding it open.
Redheart tried to bend in order to reach the other ropes that still held her dangling upside down, but couldn’t make it. She took a deep breath and tried again. The blood loss made her too feeble.
The door slammed open, knocking over something that clattered across the floor. Redheart didn’t stop what she was doing. She would only lose more blood and get weaker.
A hoof pressed into the center of her back. She jumped at the touch, but it wasn’t hostile. With gradual pressure, she was pushed upwards until reaching the rope that bound her back legs. Redheart felt something like a pipe that the rope was tied to. She managed to wrap her dislocated hoof around it well enough to hold herself while working on the knot with the other.
The helping hoof suddenly disappeared. Redheart continued to fuss with the rope unaided. Not being able to see what she was doing didn’t help. It came as a surprise when the knot finally came untied and she fell hard onto the floor, splashing in the pool of blood.
Redheart pulled at the hood, managing to get it off. The room was some kind of cross between torture chamber and hospital, with equipment for both saving and ending lives. In the middle of it all, she lay all alone. Her mysterious beneficiary was already gone, and her neck continued to bleed.
Author note: Here is a link to more art. This one is kind of a sequel to the picture from last chapter.
Even if the flow was less than before, blood still dribbled from Redheart’s neck. A pony could lose about ten percent of their blood with few effects. That was the amount usually donated at blood drives. The spleen held some in reserve, but anypony who lost about twenty percent would feel weak. As more and more bled out, the pony would eventually lose consciousness. Death occurred after a loss of about forty percent.
Redheart managed to raise her head from the floor and look around. It was hard to say how much of her blood had ended up everywhere. Even a cupful looked like a lot when it was spread all over. However, there was also the drain in the center of the floor that the crimson puddle was slowly disappearing into. Figuring out exactly how much she'd lost would be difficult, but it was clear that needed help.
Operating on the same plan as before—deep breaths, slow heartbeat—Redheart carefully pulled herself up. Her legs were wobbly, and it was hard to move without falling. The painful dislocated fetlock did not help.
The room was full of equipment, some familiar, some not. Redheart opened an icebox and somehow the sight of what was inside forced a smile onto her face. It was blood.
She located her correct type and found an intravenous needle in a nearby sterile package. Her hooves were begining to shake as she connected the blood bag’s tubing to the needle and carefully tried to find the vein in her right foreleg. The involuntary tremble made her miss the first few times. While it was nothing compared to the mess on her neck, the red stain blooming on her coat from the errant needle looked horrid.
The IV finally found the correct placement. Without bothering to properly use tape, Redheart put the bag’s hanger in her mouth and stretched her leg low to let gravity do the work.
She lay back against the wall, feeling drained. Redheart rolled her eyes at the terrible pun. Despite her fatigue, she raised her other hoof and gently put pressure on the bag to help the flow. With no restriction on the tubing, the transfusion was complete in minutes.
Redheart’s neck was still bleeding, and she went looking for another unit of blood. When removing it from the icebox, she also took a piece of ice from the freezer section and held it against her wound. It would help constrict the area and stop some of the blood flow.
By the time another unit of blood had disappeared into her leg, Redheart was beginning to feel better. She was still weak, anypony would have been after trauma like that, but was confident that her life wasn’t in danger from blood loss.
She found gauze, fluffy cotton, and a sterile rag to tie around her neck to staunch the residual leak. The makeshift bandage would have to do. There was a sink attached to the wall where she cleaned her white coat as well as she could. Redheart examined her blue eyes in the mirror, wondering if blood loss cut down on the bloodshot look.
The mess on the floor would take a while to clean up, and Redheart decided that it wasn’t her problem. She wanted to leave as soon as possible. Her sweatshirt was nearby, having been dropped in an unceremonious pile. The necklace Rapier had given her was with it.
Redheart put both of them on. Before leaving the room, she picked up a new scalpel to carry with her, as the one that had been in her pocket seemed to have gone missing.
She limped down the hallway, locating the building’s front door. There were a few splintered pieces of the door frame on the floor, as if it had been knocked open violently. Had Dominator done that?
Redheart went out the door, finding herself on the street outside the safe house. It had not been very safe at all. Rapier came dashing up. “Where have you been? Why couldn’t I sense the necklace?”
She gestured to the building. “I was in there.”
The stallion frowned. “Maybe there was some kind of magic-canceling going on. The device we gave you wasn’t one of the more sophisticated pieces.”
Redheart felt somehow slighted that she hadn’t received the best, but Rapier didn’t owe it to her in the first place. He looked at her. “Is everything all right?”
“No. There are so many things wrong right now that it might take a while to explain them all.”
+
The train ride seemed rougher than it normally was. Redheart attributed it to being more sensitive than usual. She’d managed to correct her fetlock, although it would be swollen and painful for a while. Her head still carried a residual ache from when she’d been hit outside the safe house, and again when she’d fallen to the floor after untying herself.
She wore the hood of her sweatshirt up. It helped hide the improvised bandage around her neck. It limited her vision to the sides a little, but at the moment that was less of an issue.
Rapier sat next to her. He’d contacted somepony else from the Royal Guard and gotten clearance to escort her back to Ponyville. The Guard—and probably quite a few others—were busy looking for Caricature.
“You’re probably in less danger now,” explained Rapier. “If Caricature is on the run, he’ll have bigger problems to worry about than you. If we’re lucky, he’ll think you’re dead. Maybe we can set you up with witness protection.”
“I guess I would be okay with that, but he always seemed to be able to find what he was looking for. How do we know I’m actually safe?”
The stallion thought for a moment. “My guess is that his network of ponies like you were all set up to spy on each other. I don’t want to say that for certainty, but now that Caricature is gone he won’t have that help anymore. Still, we’ll keep you under wraps for a while.
Redheart thought about her job at the hospital. “I have some sick time saved up, but that won’t work if I’m supposed to play dead.”
Rapier nodded. “Speaking of, tell me again how you aren’t dead.”
The nurse recounted the story once more. It was the front door bursting open that scared away Caricature. Apparently, he was afraid that it was Dominator.
“But if that’s true, then why isn’t he dead?” she asked. “I thought Dominator was the ultimate weapon.”
“You needed help,” said Rapier. “Those few seconds are probably why he got away.”
“Are you saying Dominator is compassionate?” she asked.
Rapier shrugged. “I still don’t know what it is, and even if I did, I probably couldn’t tell you. Didn’t you say that not even Caricature knew? What about his boss?”
Redheart nodded. “I think I need to talk to her, if nothing else, to formally end my employment.”
“Are you sure? Aside from what happened earlier today, you are pretty good at this.”
She almost smiled. “I’ll think about it. No promises.”
It took a while to track down the mysterious mare who seemed to be Caricature’s boss. Rapier took her name—or at least the name Redheart had gotten from the hotel clerk—to his Captain. In a couple of days, he came back with news.
Redheart had been staying in her apartment, not turning the lights on, not making any noise. By now, the ponies at the hospital were probably going nuts about her disappearance.
Rapier tapped on the door, using the prearranged knock they’d discussed. A couple of others had come by looking for her, and she’d ignored them.
“Good news,” said the stallion as he came in. He had a few groceries that Redheart hadn’t been able to go and buy for herself. “She wants to meet with you.”
“Really? Where?”
“To make things easy, just use the address you got from the hotel.” Rapier shrugged. “I have to say, I’m a little surprised this came together so quickly. I don’t know who this mare is, but Captain Armor seemed to think she was somepony important.”
“You’re coming with me, right?” asked Redheart.
“That’s right, but I’m supposed to stay outside.” He laughed. “Oh well, I meet plenty of VIPs already. I probably wouldn’t recognize somepony famous who works in the sneaky business anyway.”
Rapier showed her train tickets that had been provided. The meeting would be the next evening.
“So what have you been doing to kill time?” he asked.
Redheart showed him her needlepoint work. “It’s a gift for a friend’s birthday. If it’s not too much trouble, do I have to stay dead? I’d hate to miss it.”
“Well, maybe after this meeting, we’ll see. I doubt you’ll have to keep hiding forever.”
+
Redheart approached the house’s front door. The sun was almost down, and she could see the glow of the moon on the horizon, patiently waiting its turn to rise. She knocked.
The door opened, revealing the yellow mare named Ms. Fromage she had seen before. The pony nodded and stepped back to let Redheart in. She indicated the coffee table in the living room and the two of them sat.
There were few personal touches in the room. No photographs and no evidence of hobbies. Redheart suspected that the house wasn’t actually lived in, and only used for meetings such as this.
“Are you armed?” asked the pony.
The question had come out of the blue, but Redheart answered it truthfully. “I have a medical scalpel in my pocket.”
“Not the best weapon for self defense.” That was true. A scalpel did not make a great weapon. The blade was relatively small and easy to damage. It was not good for stabbing, only carefully performed slices.
“It was all I could lay a hoof to.” Redheart grinned suddenly. “It’s not razor-sharp; it’s sharper. The obsidian ones cleave down to just a couple of molecules thick, but I prefer a good stainless steel blade. They’re less brittle and easier to replace.”
The yellow pony looked amused. “Very well. It’s a shame that a civilian such as yourself feels vulnerable, but that is unfortunately what this situation has come to. I have to offer you my apologies for letting things come to this.”
Redheart wasn’t sure if she should offer consolation, a sort of, “Oh, it can’t be your fault,” type of statement. Perhaps it had been her fault, however, so the nurse said nothing.
“With Caricature gone, we’re going to need a new head of the section he ran,” said the other mare. She sighed. “Actually, we’re going to need a whole new section. It looks like you are about the only pony under him who isn’t dead or injured.”
Redheart pulled down the bandage on the side of her neck. “He came within a few cups of killing me, too.”
She got a distasteful look in return. “I heard about that.”
“From Dominator?” asked Redheart.
The pony appeared to consider a question for a moment and then nodded. “I know you’ve been very curious about that.”
“It’s something that just kept coming up.” Redheart shrugged.
“I suppose we should talk about what we’re going to do with you now.” Ms. Fromage crossed her hooves. “We can use your skills.”
“As a nurse? Or did you mean something else?”
The other mare laid a manila folder on the table. It was labeled Dominator and was much thicker than the one Caricature had carried. “This is what you want to know. It’s everything about Dominator. I’m willing to let you in on it. I’d like to work with somepony like you.”
Redheart considered the folder. Saying that having a look at the contents was tempting was like saying Baked Bads caused food poisoning. She knew that once she opened the cover, there was no going back. She would know everything about Dominator—how all those ponies had been killed and who had helped her when she was struggling to free herself.
Several long seconds passed. Redheart reached out towards the folder and slowly pushed it back across the table. “I’m sorry. There are things that are more important to me than knowing that."
Ms. Fromage appeared to be somewhat disappointed, but looked at Redheart as if seeing her a different way than before. “I understand.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered at the offer, it’s just that I had my taste of this secret agent stuff, and it’s just not me. I want to do something else with my life. In fact, I think I owe my life to Dominator. Just...say thank you for me.”
The other mare raised her eyebrows. “I can do that."
The two of them were silent for a moment. Redheart made a move to get up. “I suppose I should go figure out what I should be doing with the rest of my life.”
Ms. Fromage stopped her. “Perhaps medical school?”
+
Redheart returned to her place late that night. She paused for a moment outside the building. A casual observer would have noticed her idly touching the thin necklace she wore. The nurse tucked it back inside the neck of her sweatshirt and went into the building.
She got out her key and unlocked the apartment door. After stepping inside, she turned on the lights. Caricature stood in the center of the room.
Redheart backed up against the door. “What are you doing here?”
“I needed a place to lay low for a while. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that somepony was still living here.”
“Don’t come any closer,” she warned.
As if mocking her, Caricature took a step forward. “Didn’t I teach you anything about the business? All those times I showed up unannounced—didn’t you learn not to blunder into places?” He chuckled.
Redheart stared at him. “You just did.”
Realization washed over the stallion in a long moment. Caricature’s face hardened with rage and he charged. Redheart met his attack with one of her own. She slammed a hoof into his chest, right over the bandage that covered the wound that she’d stitched. The stallion gasped in pain, the cry turning to fear as he saw Redheart draw a weapon. The burnished steel blade of her scalpel slit his throat as easily as a sheet of paper.
She stepped aside as Caricature fell. Blood had already begun to spread across the floor. Redheart put a hoof on the back of his neck and leaned close to the stallion’s ear. “It’s a powerful thing, holding somepony’s life in your hooves. How does it feel to be on the other side of that?”
Caricature could only gurgle in response. Redheart went on. “As much as you probably don’t deserve it, my special talent is saving lives. I’ll make sure that you live to see punishment for what you’ve done.”
She began to damp the blood flowing from Caricature’s deep, but not quite fatal, wound with her sweatshirt. She needed a new one anyway. The door opened and Rapier came in. His eyes swept over the scene. “You got him. Everything worked out like it was supposed to.”
Redheart shrugged. “Well, maybe he got a little more hurt than I intended.”
Rapier nodded in agreement. “If I ever end up in the hospital, remind me never to piss off my nurse.”
Author note: I had a lot of fun in the creation of this story. I should point out that if you read my other stuff, you might have a theory about Dominator. It's whatever you want it to be, okay? Don't think too hard about it. Thanks for reading.
