“Damn, Shell, look at this.” Spyglass said.

“What?” replied Shell, rustling towards where Spyglass stood. He hated the noise hoof-covers made, a noise like hooves dragging on the ground. He hated worse having to maintain a light spell mere inches from his eyes. It was that, or work in pitch black. Though he grumbled, he preferred the former.

“The vic's horn.” Spyglass said.

“Photograph it first.” Shell said. The phosphorus illuminated the entire cavern for a brief moment. “Whaddya see?”

Spyglass held it in two gloved hoofs. “Not much. Five inches long, white. Intact from the outside, inside it's a fucking mess. Looks like someone jammed a stick in there.”

“Check for magic trace. Perp's might've used a spell to remove the horn.”

“It was cut with a hunk of crystal from this cavern, look at the uneven base.”

“Do it anyway.” Shell said. Spyglass ceased the illumination spell. An incorporeal wave passed over Shell, making his skin prickle. He hated the feeling of scanning magic.

“Nothin'.” Spyglass said, after a time. “Only getting trace from the horn itself.”

Shell ran his hoof through his mane. “What was the last spell he cast?”

“We didn't have a name for it until five minutes ago.” Spyglass said. “Seems to be a novel spell that superheats the air in a straight line. We're calling it 'hot stuff'.”

“An attack spell?” Shell asked.

“I think so.” Spyglass said. “From what I can tell, it's pretty devastating. Not your everyday spell.”

“Alright, bag the horn. Plastic, not paper.”

Shell rubbed his chin. This crime scene made no sense. The only magic source was from the dead unicorn. It was easier to count the rocks that weren't blood stained than were. Four colours of coat hair: yellow, silver, brown and grey. Someone tracked mud in from the outside field. It was obvious that a fight happened, but the unicorn should have won hands down, since he was the only one that had used magic. Instead, he got his neck broken.

“Whaddya make of it?” Spyglass asked. Shell, hoof still raised to his face, turned to him.

“Makes about as much sense as a deck of tarot cards.” Shell said. He walked to the pony with crystals embedded all over his body. “Only sure thing is that this guy was tortured before he died.”

“Perps wanted information?”

“Probably.”

“Could've been rival gangs or somethin'.”

“No. They'd have sent unicorns.” Shell said.

“Then who?”

“I dunno.” Shell said. “Forget the perps for the time being. For now, we should find out who the vic's are.”

I lived in a flat near the centre of Ponyville. It slumped at a slight angle into the ground like a painting hung lopsided on a wall. It wasn't very large, nor was it in a particularly good state of repair, but it was warm in winter, cool in summer, and most importantly, it absorbed itself into the background of the town.

It was the kind of building you wouldn't glance twice at, if you even bothered to glance once. It was perfect, and here I slouched in the cheap wooden chair that came with the flat behind a writing desk, reading the trite served up by the newspaper.

It had been only two weeks and a few days, three or four, since Zecora died. Few tears, if any, were shed over her passing. Among those attending the event were the elements, myself, and a handful of ponies I didn't recognise and haven't seen since, like they floated into the ether after paying their due respects.

I didn't know if Zecora had a family, or an inner circle of companions that may not have been blood-relatives but counted as family in all other senses. If she did, either they weren't present or I hadn't noticed them.

A lifetime spent keeping physical and emotional distance from the world and all who inhabit it had deprived Equestria of souls that might grieve her passing to the extent of sobbing, but to say it left no lasting effect on anyone would be wrong.

Her memory lingered in the back's of minds, causing a universal sense of unease among the population. It was most noticeable during conversation. Some ponies would avoid eye contact where they wouldn't before, some mumbled a little more than they were known to. To catalogue the near-imperceptible changes to the everyday would be a life's work.

It was like the thought of Zecora's passing wormed its way from the back to the forefront of the everyone's mind, and conscious effort made to make the thought go away. It would explain why everyone looks so distracted.

It seemed a little part of our own lives had withered and died along with Zecora. I hadn't thought about how it had affected me a great deal, I think mostly because I didn't want to. Perhaps solely because I didn't want to.

It took me a little while to realise this fact, and the moment of epiphany came during a job I'd taken from Filthy Rich. The stallion was affluent, to say the least. In recent times, he found himself less able to sustain his excessive lifestyle than he would have liked.

He told me in conversation that he suspected his wife had been exploiting his wealth recently through some unsavoury and expensive hobby. I resisted the temptation to suggest that his wife has always been mooching, and that a secret expensive hobby was usually a synonym for a drug addiction. Instead, I told him I would look into it and keep him posted.

What ensued was hour upon hour of tailing the ostentatious mare. I didn't complain too much, since I too could exploit Mr. Rich's wealth by eating well and travelling in comfort at his expense while following his wife. It occurred to me one night, as I sat behind the beaten-up desk in my flat writing a letter to Mr. Rich about her wife's activities that day, that I'd been distracting myself.

I'd been reading more than usual, I'd taken to the idea of evening walks. Hell, I even changed my damned bedsheets, despite the fact that most men would be fine with sleeping in the same sheets for at least a decade.

I slumped in my chair for a few minutes, chewing on a pen, though I wasn't thinking about Zecora. I was deciding whether it would be a good idea to do some soul-searching. I wouldn't like what I might find, and who knows where it would go from there.

I might even start developing a conscience, or at least acknowledge its existence. Conscience can be a dangerous, even deadly thing in the circles that I tread. That tiny internal policeman makes you hesitate before delivering the finishing blow, or makes you take risky courses of action if it means saving one life.

Deciding I didn't even know how to soul-search, and any attempt to do so would be a waste of time, I filed the thought away and got back to writing. If I'd stored the thought in the filing cabinet in my room, it would be under the label 'Do not read until you're done with this business'.

The business of Zecoras death was unclean, unknown, saturated with the stench of something more, like I'd unearthed a tiny bone belonging to a larger fossil, the rest shrouded by rubble. To be unsure of myself would be a mortal mistake.

Unfortunately, I didn't know where to look for the next piece of fossil.

Shrike, in his final moments, had revealed only the existence of a mare from whom came his and his partner's orders, and in my blood-lust I lost the sense to ask him other important questions. I could do nothing with the information I had obtained except check out Shrike's history, which yielded no details I hadn't predicted. Money troubles, failing business, loans he couldn't ever hope to pay back, though it turns out he was lying about having a family. Just the kind of pony that would agree to take on a hit.

Right now, there was nothing I could do, except wait. Wait for something to happen. Maybe someone will come for Applebloom, or seek revenge for what happened in the crystal caverns. Only when the status quo changes will I be able to kick into gear. I had to discover the necessity behind her killing, if not for myself then for Zecora. I owed her that much, and even more.

I hadn't been back to Sweet Apple Acres since Zecora's death was publicised, though I understood that Applebloom took it hard. A therapist might have called it survivors guilt. I decided that I might serve as a reminder to Applebloom, an echo of what occurred that day, a figure that embodied her guilt. For these reasons, I made effort to stay clear of Applebloom, though I saw her sister often enough.

For better or worse, the time I spent on her farm altered my sleeping patterns so that Applejack and I rose and retired at the same time. I'd often pass her in the centre of town, early in the morning as dawn broke and the sunlight tinted her mane an even more brilliant shade of gold as she set up her market stall. As we talked, our breath would dance together in the cold air before dissipating in the wake of a light breeze.

She didn't much care to talk about my work, and when she did, it was only to suggest I leave it behind and move on to the police or any law enforcement body of my choosing. The idea had merit, I wouldn't make many enemies, but then I wouldn't make too many bits either. So most mornings, I'd stop by her stall, and we'd usually talk about the farm. It was the only thing we had in common, and it was likely to stay that way.

“Shell?” Spyglass called as he walked into the office.

“Good news please.” Shell said.

Crimes devoid of magic were an ECMB agent's worst nightmare. Solving one, though, almost guarantees a promotion. Despite the reward, every other agent in the organisation was happy to let Shell and Spyglass take the case. It was one that had agents from Canterlot to Seaddle scratching their heads and looking clueless.

“Vic's. We know who they are. Shrike and Bouros.” Spyglass said, waving a fat file around with his magic.

“And?” Shell asked.

“And-” Spyglass said. “-I'm pretty sure they didn't know each other until the day they died.”

“That's interesting, if nothing else.” Shell said.

“They didn't name beneficiaries, so everything they had got taken by the state. We got stacks of every letter they ever received, every bill they ever paid, even photo albums. The list goes on.”

Shell took the file and started leafing through. It must have been three inches thick, he thought.

“You read all this?” Shell asked. Spyglass nodded. “Damn. And you're sure?”

“Yeah.”

“What about the guys themselves. Connections to crime rings?”

“Not that I found. Take a look at this though.” Spyglass flicked through the file and pulled out a few sheets of paper. “They were being investigated by the National Monetary Bureau.”

“Unexplained purchases?” Shell asked.

“And then some. Shrike was on less than 10K a year and found the money to buy himself a restaurant.”

“What about Bouros?”

“He didn't even have a job, but somehow he could afford a week-long vacation to Canterlot. I tell ya, if he's clean, state benefits got way, way better.”

“So who's givin' 'em money if not crime rings?”

“I looked at their transaction histories. Some company called 'Das Kuicck' bailed 'em both outta the deep end.”

“Fuck.” Shell said after a brief period of silence. He slammed his hoof into his armrest. Great, he thought, now my arm hurts and the chair's busted.

“What?”

“It'll be a shell company. Someone knew we'd come poking around there.” Shell said, unaware of the irony.

“How'd you know?” Spyglass asked.

“'Das Kuicck'.” Shell laughed. “It's an anagram.”

“For what?”

“Suck a dick.” Shell said. “They're fucking laughing at us.”

The day after our close encounter, that is the one between Applejack and I (for there were many close encounters that day), I woke before her. I expected to wake in a compromising, or at least a suggestive position.

Surprising, then, that Applejack leaned against my left side, her arms crossed across her waist. Her chest was rising and falling in time with her quiet breaths. Before rising from the couch,dainty as I could manage (which would have made a bare-knuckle boxing match look like a damned pirouette), I noticed how pretty she was.

Even asleep, she maintained a perpetual state of beauty, as though the air safeguarded her appearance. Every lock of her mane fall in exactly the right way. Even her coat, though individual strands were disorganised, they matted over one another giving her a coat that stallions should fight over. Why they didn't is beyond me.

I heard noises from the kitchen, the unmistakable sound of someone doing something loud, trying to be quiet about it and making it even louder, like trying to quietly eat a bag of crisps. Clattering plates and cutlery, the opening and shutting of cupboards. I took another glance at Applejack, who was now lying on her side, occupying the part of the couch I had been sleeping on until recently.

A large, red stallion dominated the kitchen. So ridiculous was the size disparity that he looked like a normal sized pony fiddling with pretend pots and pans designed for foals to play with. From the door, I could smell apples, though the faint smell of pastry floated through the room alongside it.

“Apple pie, is it?” I asked.

Big Mac spared me a quick glance over his shoulder. He must have seen Applejack and I slumped on each other when he woke up this morning, so to appear as one being from a distance.

Gauging his reaction to me, he didn't look particularly bothered, or even surprised. Maybe he fooled me with his stoic nature, but I suspected that if there was a problem, I'd be face down in the dirt with a handful of his hoof marks on the back of my skull.

“Eeyup. Afternoon Anon.” he replied.

“Afternoon?” I asked, and Big Mac nodded. I then realised how many hours I'd been awake the day before, and decided it wasn't all that surprising.

“Eeyup. It was pretty funny, y'know. Big scary Anon, all curled up real sweet like on the couch.”

“Nothing happened last night, in case you were wondering.”. It was important I made that clear.

“I believe you.” he said while nodding, in a manner so matter-of-factually that I wasn't sure how to react. “I gotta ask though, are you, y'know, gay or somethin'?”

“What?”

“Y'know.” he said. He gave off no verbal or physical ticks that might reveal this as a roundabout way of confessing his own sexuality, or as a bad joke. “I heard there ain't exactly slim pickings for yer in terms a' mares, but y'all keep turnin' 'em down, n' then there's the ear stud. I figures there's gotta be a reason.”

“What, so, because I turn down a hoof-full of mares, I'm gay?” I asked. I could hardly believe I was hearing this from Big Mac. From someone like Rarity, I could understand, but him? “If this is some kind of joke then it just isn't funny.”

“Are ya though?”

I couldn't speak for a second or two. “No! And even if I was, what's it got to do with you?”

Big Mac sighed and fell into a nearby chair. It creaked under his immense weight.

“I'm sorry, Anon.” he said. His face slid into his hooves and he stared at the table for a few seconds. He appeared to have meant it. “Y'know why I had to ask though, right? Seemed like the only explanation.”

There were three chairs around the kitchen table, one occupied by Big Mac. I took the one opposite him. Sat like this, anyone that was opposite me could see the scarring on my chest. Three taught pale dots outlined in dark-red, no larger than a cufflink, arranged in a triangular pattern. I received those particular gifts from a soldering iron wielded by an angry stallion. Big Mac saw the white and red specks on my chest.

“You know how I got these?” I asked, gesturing at the three burn marks, but also to the handful of little nicks and bruises I've collected over the months.

“Do I wanna?” he asked.

“What I do...” I began, but I wasn't sure of how to continue. “With my life, I just can't. Do you know how easy it is to make enemies, doing what I do? Any mare in my life would always be in danger, and then my work takes me far away sometimes, we might hardly see each other.”

It was now my turn to sigh, and Big Mac was impossible to read, as par. What I told him was true, but it wasn't the whole truth.

In this world, a prerequisite for a functional, loving relationship is an attraction to these ponies that at least crosses the boundary from platonic love, for a brother perhaps, into the realm of sexual desire. Looking down at the imaginary line separating the two in my mind, I found myself stood in the former section. I guessed that made me somewhat of an asexual, if only to ponies.

“Well why'd you keep doin' it?” asked Big Mac. “Seems to me like yer work is keepin' y'all from bein' happy.”

“Who said I'm not happy?”

“Only a certain kinda folk can do what y'all do and be happy.” he replied. I moved my mouth, but no words formed. He got me there. “And, well, that just ain't you.”

Instead of replying, I let his observation hang in the air. It seemed the more I let it hang, the more astute it became. I drummed on the table with one hoof, though I was imagining doing it with my fingers. I thought that as long as I had to keep up my disguise, I'd never be contented. Perhaps giving up this life and settling down into comfortable blandness would be the first step.

But I couldn't do that. Not yet.

A small timer on the counter-top let out a shrill ding, and Big Mac rose to silence it. As he did so, the weighty atmosphere that had been permeating the room lifted. With the change in mood, I realised I had been tensing my shoulders.

“Apple pie is done, if you're wantin' some.” said Big Mac.

“No, thanks, I need to get going.” I said. I didn't need to get going. In fact, after yesterday, I thought I deserved at least one day off, but I thought it would be a good idea to leave before Applejack woke. “I'll take a piece for the road, though.”

“Anon.” said Big Mac. I was heading for the kitchen door to see if Applejack was still sleeping, which she was, and turned to face him. “Thank you. Fer getting' our sis' back to us. Ah know yer gonna say how ah shouldn't mention it or somethin', but you know ah gotta. Ah just wish I could do more than just give yer a slice a' damn pie fer yer troubles.”

“Yeah? I got a suggestion.” I said. “Come and save my dumb flank when I get in over my head.”

I thanked Big Mac for listening to my drivel, and then he extended me a permanent invitation to Sweet Apple Acres and said I could come by any time. As I trotted down the road, I knew I had no plans to. Applebloom, and the rest of the Apples, needed psychiatric therapy, not a nosey PI that drags up bad memories.

When I reached the end of the dirt path leading up to the farm, I turned back to look at it. I saw the farm, and beyond that lay the boundary of the Everfree forest. Even further still stood Zecora's hut. I thought about her, and about Twilight, and Rainbow Dash, and Applejack. Everyone involved in this unsavoury business crept into the front of my mind. I thought about the list that Shrike and his partner recovered. Finally, I wondered how deep was the water I'd just plunged head-first into.

I suspected I was in over my head already.

“Hey.” Spyglass said. “We got trace back from the eggheads.”

“About fucking time. Somethin' good I hope?” Shell said.

“Well, that's the thing. I dunno what to make of this.” Spyglass said, presenting the file to Shell. Inside were several images of the crime scene and of the crystals found buried in Shrike. Close-ups.

“Sweat. That's what they found? Sweat? Maybe they want to tell me they found fucking crystals in the crystal caverns. Of course there's sweat, they did have a fucking fight.”

“Nonono, overleaf there's an olfactory report. Smelt nothing like pony sweat. It's chemically closer to chimp sweat. It's also arranged on the crystal like a chimp's palm.”

Shell shook his head. “I don't know whether to laugh or have a stroke. Trace evidence says a monkey did this?”

Spyglass shrugged. “Evidence doesn't lie. Maybe it was just an animal attack after all.”

“No, nononono. Fuck that. Animals don't torture. They fight, sure, but they don't torture.” Shell said. “You said whatever touched the crystal had a palm. Could it've been a minotaur? Or even a dragon?”

“Dragons don't sweat.”

“Fuck you, I knew that.” Shell said. “Alright resident zoologist. Could it have been a minotaur then?”

“No, there were only pony hairs at the scene. Since the perps didn't have the sense to clean their sweat off anything, I doubt they would have swept up hairs.” Spyglass said. There was a brief period of silence. “Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains-”

“-is fucking insane. I'm pretty sure that's how the quote goes. Chimps don't wander into the crystal caverns. They don't even come this far north. There weren't even any chimp hairs at the scene.”

Spyglass shrugged. “Maybe it's something we haven't come across yet.”

“What, like, a new species? An intelligent, hairless chimp?” Shell asked. He could hardly believe the words were coming from his own mouth.

“Best guess we have so far.” Spyglass said. “The perp knew unicorns are dangerous, and was cautious enough to kill him first. Caution is a strong indicator of intelligence.”

“So not only do we have no idea what the MO is, we're not even sure of the perp's species?”

Spyglass shrugged. He was tired of always running into dead ends same as Shell, though Spyglass was less vocal about his displeasure.

“Should we look into the vic's financial history again?” Spyglass asked. Shell nodded. He felt defeated.

“I fucking hate this case already.”

I turned a page in the newspaper, and I felt a short surge of adrenaline and a bout of stomach butterflies. Shrike and his partner's body had been found.

I read each word of the column carefully, three times in all. An enterprising stallion had the idea of leading potholing expeditions through the crystal caverns, discovering the bodies as he mapped out a route on which he could take his clients.

When interviewed he said only that he “smelled them way before he saw them”, a statement that correlated with the coroner's opinion that the bodies had been there not much longer than two weeks but had started to decompose. An ECMB representative commented that it was likely an animal attack, but could not explain why they had been there in the first place.

I knew that law enforcement types often held back information to make the perpetrator think they were safe, but I knew there was no chance of them finding anything that would place me in the caverns. I could buy any number of alibi's from Mad Star, and then the Apples would stick their necks out for me, if my innocence was ever called to question.

What this also meant was that whoever hired Shrike, if they didn't already know of his departure from this world, now knew. They would also know it wasn't an animal attack, and that whoever killed them also saved Applebloom.

Shrike's head may have been filled with sawdust, but his employer's, known only as She, wasn't. She would know that the mystery filly came from the only town near Zecora's hut, and if She knew what Applebloom looked like, it wouldn't be difficult to find her in a town as small as Ponyville.

Though I knew that Applebloom would be of secondary concern to her. She's a filly, who was asleep for most of what happened that day, of no threat. No, She would be wondering who it was that killed her amateurs, and what they told them before they met their ends.

As it stands, there were earthworms that knew more about this than I did, but the important thing was that She didn't know that. In a way, She finds herself in much the same position as myself. Neither one of us knows the other's agenda or location. Hell, we don't even know each others names.

We were formless, nameless ghosts, staring each other down across a chessboard, and I had removed the first pawn.

Now, it was her turn. I predicted she would move against Applebloom and the rest of the Apples, as it was likely to be the only lead she had to me. Part of me wanted to just sit back in a recliner, cocktail in hand, and watch them come. It would lift the fog or war for a brief moment, allowing me a valuable peek at my enemies before they came for me.

Unfortunately, it was out of the question. I cared too much about the Apples, and damned if someone was going to hurt them to get to me. The next best thing was to convince them to leave town for a while, at least a week, until I could figure out who I was fighting, and bury them in an unmarked grave.

Next to Zecora's, perhaps.

I wore a watch. A thin, plastic, frail thing that I won from a stallion in a bar bet. It was the least valuable object in my possession; the kind of thing a builder would leave behind, but I didn't need to look at it to tell the time of day. I knew from the progress that Applejack had made setting up her stall for the day that it was around quarter past seven.

The day after I put to rest Big Mac's doubts about my sexuality, I forced the issue with Applejack. Even from a distance, and against the background of her orange coat, the reddening of her cheeks was such that it could have been mistaken for a bee sting. I told her that I meant what I said that night, every word of it. She had to know that I didn't reject her because I thought she was ugly, or to give me some weird form of moral high ground. She apologised for being forceful, and by the end of the conversation we were both laughing again. We'd laugh about it for the rest of our lives.

Since that day, there was an unspoken agreement that neither of us mention the time we almost had sex; and so when I strolled up to her stall, she expected me to make small talk, buy an apple or two, and be about my business.

“Could set mah watch by you ah reckon.” Applejack said, tapping her wrist to exaggerate the point as I came within talking distance.

“That right? I was thinking about the same.” I said. “How's life been treating you then?”

Applejack moved behind her half-assembled stall and rested an elbow on the wood, supporting her head with the hoof under her chin.

“Better, recently.” she said, as though she had just then recalled the recent days and been pleasantly surprised. “Applebloom's doin' good, in school that is. Doctors say she's respondin' well to treatment, but, y'know, it's hard to tell with these things right?”

“How about you? You doing okay?”

“Well, I'd be lyin' if I said I weren't a little spooked, but I figures that only means I'm still sane.”

We chuckled a little. Dammit, laughing now will only make what I have to say sound worse, I thought. Applejack heard me laugh, but something must have changed in my face as she looked at me. She knew something was wrong.

“Anon?” she asked. “What's that look fer?”

“What look?”

“That one.”

“I'm not making a look.”

“Yeah, you ain't now that ah brought it up.”

I rapped my hooves on her stall and looked at my watch. Though I searched for it, there wasn't a way to soften the blow with the news about this new development. I felt like a shit postman, the kind that only delivered bills and junk mail.

“I know you hate hearing about what I get up to AJ, but you have to listen this time.” I said, and awaited a slow nod of reluctant approval. “It's about Applebloom, and the rest of your family I suppose.”

“Just say it Anon.” she said. In a couple of seconds her eyes had turned from bright and attentive, to weary. She wasn't scared, or if she was, she hid it well. Mostly she sounded tired of life's unrelenting tragedy.

“Those ponies that took Applebloom.” I said, producing the newspaper from my coat pocket and handing it to Applejack. “Their bodies were found.”.

She took the paper and skimmed through it. There was an illustration of the crystal caverns above the column, with the headline 'Two found dead in crystal caverns' in bold type.

“Animal attack?” she asked, but I didn't comment. She handed the clipping back to me, shaking her head. “So, what does this mean? For us, ah mean.”

“Those ponies, they were hired by someone. Whoever hired them will be wondering who did it, and they'll track the only lead they have to find them.” I said. She seemed to understand what I was saying. “None of you are safe here. They know what Applebloom looks like, and that she's probably from Ponyville. That's enough for them to find where you live.”

I expected Applejack to sock me a fat one in the jaw or stomach perhaps. Instead, she was backing up to one of the supporting posts of the stall. She leaned against it, before sliding down its length to the ground. I sat near her, propped up against the other supporting post.

“How long do we have?” she said after a while.

“If they do come, a day, at most.” I replied. “You need to get out of town.”

Applejack turned to me and our eyes met. For the first time ever, I think, I saw true, quiet fury churning behind her iris'.

“And what? Spend the rest of our lives runnin'?” she asked. I felt her fire burn in my own body for a moment, white hot and volatile, subsiding only when she broke eye contact. “I can't do that ter Applebloom. Not ter mention that Granny Smith ain't exactly suited to runnin' around.”

“They don't want you, AJ, or your family. They want me, and they'll be willing to hurt you to find me.” I said. “There must be somewhere you can go?”

“I got relatives up in Appleloosa.' she said, after a moment of thought.

“You'd only need to stay there for a week, at most.”

“And what am ah meant to tell everyone? For once in your life Anon, can't yer just leave this to the police? We could get protection, professional help.”

I shook my head.

“I know these kind of ponies, and believe me, local police don't know how to deal with them.” I said, not to mention that it would also implicate me if the whole truth came out.

“And you do?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

She stared down at the path for a while, lost in thought. The town square had become busier, and I was nervous to finish the sensitive conversation.

The glaze upon her eyes lifted, like she'd been staring out of a train window before realising she'd missed her stop. Both of us rose to our hooves. The sun was now beginning its ascent in earnest.

“I guess ya got a plan then.” she said, as she began disassembling her stall. I let go an internal sigh of relief.

“Yeah.” I said. It was a somewhat reckless plan, but at the very least it would keep the Apples safe, whatever the outcome, so I was satisfied with it.

Shell laughed as he trotted into the office. He'd been awake for sixteen hours, but the cobwebs were obliterated under the swelling of his pride.

“What're you so happy about?” Spyglass asked. He was sitting as his desk, chewing a pen. So long had he been sitting, thinking and chewing that he'd bitten through the plastic, and ink was staining his chin.

“Guess what I dug up in the archives?”

Spyglass shrugged. “Newspaper clippings?”

“Nuh-uh. You better sit down 'cause I'm about to blow your mind.” Shell said.

“I am sitting.” Spyglass said. Shell took the seat at his desk. The armrest was still broken.

“It's an old-ass ECMB report, from the days when Ashen Smoke had just resigned.” Shell said.

Ashen Smoke, Spyglass recalled, headed the department for five years, until last summer when she resigned. Widely regarded as the greatest director the organisation ever had.

“That's not that long ago.” Spyglass said.

“Anyway, get this right? It's the report following the capture of Irfit Flame. Cop killer, remember? Roasted four of us before they got him. When he was in custody, he agreed to show the spell he used to kill four of our guys without so much as breaking a sweat.” Shell said, and grinned. “Guess the spell.”

Spyglass tapped the pen against the desk. Flecks of ink flew and spattered his coat, but he didn't notice.

“Hot stuff?” he finally asked. Shell nodded.

“They called it 'jetstream' in the report, but yeah, turns out its the same spell Bouros used in the caverns.” Shell said.

“Hot stuff is a better name than jetstream.” Spyglass said.

“That's just for starters though. You know who Irfit said taught him the spell?” Shell said.

“Of course not, you're the one who read the report.”

“Python.” Shell said.

“Python?”

“I hadn't heard of it either. Some elusive organisation, allegedly.” Shell said. “It's mentioned by name in Irfit's case file and a couple of other reports. According to Irfit, they're a real careful bunch. They never met in the same place twice, their contacts were always cloaked. There was even talk of memory wiping.”

“So Bouros was connected with Python?” Spyglass asked.

“Seems that way.”

“And Shrike?”

“Probably.”

Spyglass sighed. “Is it too much to ask for something concrete now and then? I'm sick of things 'seeming' one way or another.”

“You want concrete? Go to the industrial estate. We've gotta make do with what we got.” Shell said.

“Where else was Python mentioned?” Spyglass said. “You said there were other reports.”

“Yeah, two others, both equicide cases where the perp was caught. In both interviews with the killers, they said only that they worked for Python. Nothin' else.” Shell said.

“What about the vic's?”

“No patterns. Can't find any links between the vic's in any of the cases, besides the Irfit killings where the vic's were all cops. They seem to kill without regard for race or creed.”

“So we've got a grand total of four cases where Python is involved – that we know of. What's their agenda?” Spyglass said.

“Who knows.” Shell said, shrugging his shoulders. “I'm gonna pull financial records on the perps in each case, see if they got any payments from 'Suck a dick' enterprises. If they did, that's as concrete a link you're ever gonna get.”

It was around 6pm when the Apples boarded their train. I stood at the station barriers and saw them off until they disappeared from sight. An impromptu family holiday, not the most original excuse, but it served its purpose. I didn't know how much Applejack had told her family, but I imagined that she would at least let Big Mac know of the situation, even if only so she had company in her misery.

The familiar barking of Winona was absent as I walked past the Apple place. It was beginning to get dark, perhaps only an hour of daylight remained by the time I found a suitable vantage point that overlooked the house, orchard, and the dirt path leading up to the property.

I positioned myself beside a tree upon a rise. Covering myself with an old blanket painted with matte greens and browns, I lay in wait, binoculars in hoof, for the unknown.

I would have made for a pretty bad scout-sniper back on Earth. Before long, I was damp, cold, both my legs had gone to sleep, and I was hating every second of it. I imagined that scout-snipers could resist even the most maddening itch, so as not to be distracted at the most crucial moment, but I could hardly deal with a small tree root poking my thigh. Most of the time, however, I could keep both my eyes trained on the house.

It must have been an hour past sunset when the unknown arrived.

I saw two coming up the main path first. I had set oil lamps at regular intervals on the fence, casting yellow glows over the two earth ponies. Neither looked particularly intimidating, but neither did I recognise them.

I glanced around the other points of entry. From behind the house, emerging from the undergrowth, came one more pony, a unicorn this time. It seemed like their plan was to hit all sides of the house to cut off every possible escape route.

I heard the gentle shuffling of long grass not ten meters to my left, and I froze. I didn't even dare breathe. After a few seconds of terror, I saw two more ponies appear in my peripheral vision, a pegasus and another earth pony. I thought they must have come from behind me, and if not for my camouflage, they'd have spotted me.

After they were a comfortable distance from me, I resumed breathing. Three earth, one pegasus, one unicorn, five in all. I watched them convene at their appointed places around the house before they breached it. Only the pegasus remained outside, probably to watch for would-be runaways and ponies like me.

Hardly a minute later, all the ponies that had entered the house, left by the front door. They stood around talking for a moment, exchanging angry words if the shouting was anything to go by. I smirked.

Disappointed?

I got a small ego-boost from outsmarting my enemy and, better still, I knew that I was one step ahead. I was only one man, though. I would need to maintain this lead to stand any chance against whatever came next.

Deciding that they'd fucked up enough for one night, the five hurt ego's began to leave the farm. Several of my joints creaked and muscles pulled as they spluttered into life, having lain dormant for a few hours. I left my camouflage by the tree and began following, leaving about two minutes between them and myself.

I kept to the fields, walking roughly fifty meters parallel to them. The wind was fierce without the cover of the tree or blanket. Confident the wind would mask my sounds, I moved closer to the group, who were now approaching the edge of town.

No sooner did their hooves fall upon stone that they began moving in different directions. One headed towards the station, others disappearing into side-alleys. I had predicted they would leave the same way they arrived at the farm, in separate directions, and picked out the smallest of the earth ponies to follow should the group disperse.

I kept a time delay of one minute now that I was following a single pony rather than five. The one I was stalking had a grey coat and a brown mane, though from this distance I couldn't discern the cutie mark.

Before long, we had left the more touristy parts and were encroaching on the suburbs. We weren't too far from my flat now. I closed the time gap to thirty seconds, feeling more confident in familiar territory. Soon the time gap would be zero, but by the time my target realised he I was following him, it would be too late, and he'd wake up in a daze the next morning to find his limbs bound and mouth taped.

These were my final thoughts for the day, though I might have had time to mentally process the shards of glass littered around my hooves and the wet feeling on the back of my head before consciousness left me, and the voices visited me.

“Not a good start Anon, you had to stay one step ahead.”

“Your actions were foolish.”

“Yes, you were a fool. We concur.”

“What will happen now?”

“The Apple family is safe, you know this.”

“He doesn't care what happens to us.”

“His death is our death.”

“Yes.”

“Survive, Anon. Whatever it takes.”

“Avenge her.”

Gravel underfoot. It scraped at my hooves and back as I was dragged. There was no light, the air was stale and hot. The black bag threatened to suffocate me at any moment. My legs were bound together. What was yet to come, I imagined, would be worse.

I heard their indistinct voices, four or five of them. Probably the ones I was following. They seemed to be talking about me, but I couldn't be sure.

My eyes began adjusting to the darkness. The sack over my head was thin, allowing spots of daylight to permeate the threads. It was night, last I remembered. I wondered how long I'd been unconscious.

We stopped for a moment. The light had disappeared, and I thought we were in the shadow of a building. I heard the dull clanging of metal on metal, followed by more voices. Now some semblance of comprehension had returned to me, I could hear them.

“Who's the guest?” someone asked, their voice muffled.

“Some guy. He was following us last night, thought we should bring him in.” one said. His voice was soothing, like a smooth jazz DJ.

A door opened, a heavy door if the sound was anything to go by. I felt myself being dragged again, and the rough gravel gave way to smooth floorboards. The door shut behind us as we moved. We took several turns, but I was too disorientated to determine exactly how many or in which direction. Navigating a maze blindfolded.

I felt the metal edges of stairs on my back. I started counting them in my head.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, turn two corners, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, turn two corners again.

We ascended four flights of stairs, two floors. We walked a long corridor before entering a room on the left. Their hoofsteps echoed all around me, it must have been an empty room, I thought. I was hoisted up and dropped on a chair.

“Alright, take it off.” someone said.

I heard approaching hoofsteps before I became blinded. I tasted cool air, the sensation was like stepping out of a sauna. I took many deep breaths and waited for my sight to return.

When it did, the five stallions I saw last night were standing a few meters in front of me. I surveyed the room. It was bland. No windows, a few chairs stacked in the corner by the single door. A filing cabinet to my left, probably put there to give the room purpose.

“What were you doing stalking us last night.” the unicorn said. It was more of a demand than a question. His voice was elegant, refined. If Rarity had a brother, I wouldn't be surprised if this was him.

“Oh, last night. I was wondering how long I'd been asleep.” I said. “Hard to tell with a bag over your head.”

He walked to me, with deliberate steps. He brought his face right up against mine, so close I could feel him breathing. He recoiled one arm and punched me in the chest. It was so hard I thought I might cough up my lungs. I wondered if this is how Azure Bolt felt when I hit him with the wrench.

“I don't think you understand how much trouble you're in. We're all very tired, and I'd like to go home, so tell me:” he said. “Why were you following us?”

I took a few painful seconds to recover before speaking. “Can't a guy take a walk at night without getting jumped?”

He sighed and rubbed his face with his right hoof, the same one he punched me with. He did look tired, like everyone else in the room.

“You're not making this any easier for yourself.” he said, and he kicked me in the side. His horseshoe connected with one of my ribs. He must have felt the cracking of bone as I did, but I've had broken ribs before. He'd have to do a lot worse.

“Once more, lets get it right this time: why were you following us?”

I noticed his demanding tone had disappeared, the question inflection taking its place. The power had started to shift in my favour, but not by much. I flicked my head, gesturing for him to come closer. He knelt in front of me, like he was praying, and cocked his head to the side. I leaned in to his ear.

“Go fuck yourself.” I said.

“Wrong answer. Ferrite?” he motioned to the biggest stallion in the room, an earth pony.

Ferrite paced to me as the unicorn stepped back. He briefly regarding my dishevelled state. Brick red coat. Short, crew cut violet mane. I wondered if he was a relative of Maddie's.

Christ, Maddie, I could really use you right now.

He pushed me out of the chair, and without my hooves to control my fall, my head collided with the floor. He stood over me, the giant of a pony, and knelt into my stomach, pinning me down. The pain was so terrible that I thought he'd crush my pelvis.

Then, again and again, he sunk his hooves into my face. Good interrogators always leave beating the head until last, or their subject might pass out, or the concussions dull the pain. Either they were bad interrogators and lost their patience, or they were good interrogators and were delivering some final beatings before they left me for the day.

I wasn't thinking about any of this at the time. All that existed was the next heavy punch, and like counting sheep, I counted each one, praying that soon I'd be unconscious.

“That's enough.” a female voice called. I didn't turn to look at my saviour, I could just manage the strength to keep my eyes open. “Do you want to kill him? Learn some restraint Ferrite.”

The pressure on my stomach relented, and I could breathe easy again. “Apologies boss, it's just we'd been awake all night and, well, tempers were run-”

“-Yes, I know. You're meant to be professionals. I should cut you loose for this.”

I didn't know her voice, but I couldn't be sure I was perceiving anything correctly in my state. I tasted the blood and snot that was trickling from my nose, and I felt something hard in my mouth.

The mare sighed. “Alright, get out. All of you. Go home. I don't want to see you for the rest of the day. And Ferrite?”

“Yes boss?”

“Don't forget to clean all that blood off before you leave. You look like a fucking psychopath.”

Coarse laughter filled the room. “Didn't I tell you all to leave? Go on, fuck off.”

The laughing ceased immediately. After some awkward sounding shuffling, the door closed and I could hear several hoofsteps receding in the corridor.

“Sorry about Ferrite.” she said. “He's got a short fuse. Just gotta make sure he goes off in the right place.”

I tried to speak, but all I could do was cough. I lay on my side and spat. Among a mixture of blood and saliva was a tooth that bounced along the floor like a skimmed stone on a lake.

Motherfucker. I'll remember this Ferrite.

When I finished voiding the contents of my mouth, I slid, with great effort, up to the nearest wall and rested my back against it. There was a lot of blood on the floor, and probably on me if I bothered to look. Instead, my gaze wondered to the door, where the voice of reason stood.

She was slight, almost dainty, standing out against the plainly decorated room stained with body fluids and redolent with the stench of blood. A lone rose in a field of thistles. Her mane matched the colour of the liquid sanguine I had been clearing my mouth of. Her coat was a touch lighter than changeling grey, pristine in condition, semi-covered by a jet-black jacket. I almost felt embarrassed knowing that I'd spat in the presence of a mare of her calibre.

On her flank, the likeness of a set of weighing scales, like those held by Lady Justice upon the Old Bailey in London. A vengeful unicorn if I ever saw one.

“Why?” I said.

“What use is a dead pony, except to keep secrets.” she said. True, I thought. The fact that I was alive must mean they had a plan for me.

“I'm gonna take those restraints off now. You gonna play nice?” she asked.

“Why-” I coughed. “Why would you do a thing like that?”

“Clearly, you're not going anywhere.” she tapped her horn. “Unicorn, remember?”

A slight humming sound, and my restraints fell off. I rubbed my wrists. The tape had left an adhesive deposit that itched like a mosquito bite. Like gum in hair, it would take days to come out. I touched my face, very carefully. Areas around my left eye and cheeks had puffed up.

“My face hurts.” I said, through a swollen mouth. “Got painkillers?”

She gave a solitary laugh. “Doctors and their pills. What a joke.”

A maroon aura enveloped me, touching every part of me, even inside. I could feel the swelling reduce, the pain numbed. Incorporeal morphine. Even after the spell stopped, I could feel it warming me.

“I guess magic has its uses after all.”

“How you earth ponies survive without magic is a mystery.” she said. She walked to the stack of chairs in the corner and removed the topmost one, setting it down a few meters from the chair I had once occupied. She sat in it. “But then, you're not an earth pony, are you Anon? Can I call you Anon? Anonymous is kind of a mouthful.”

I felt like I was back in the Settle Inn with Applejack. The way my heart beat when she asked me who I really was. How my pupils shrank to pinpricks. How I felt smothered by her perceptiveness. The reaction was the exactly the same. For the first time, in a long time, I felt true, unadulterated fear.

I needed more time to compose myself, a distraction.

I righted myself on four legs and walked to the chair opposite hers. She watched me all the way, looking for the slightest tell. An unsteady hoof, a single twitch of the eye or ear. I gave away nothing, not to her.

“You sure seem to know a lot about me.” I said, taking a seat. I made sure to look her in the eyes. “How'd you know my name?”

She took something out of her jacket pocket. It was my wallet, containing various forms of identity. Library card, train card. Both with my real name on.

“They took it off you when they knocked you out. You can have it back.” she said, throwing it over to me. I caught it and put it back in my own jacket. “The ECMB badge is a nice touch. Bet that gets you out of all kinds of trouble, 'Special Agent Arch Sylis'.”

“Good pseudonym right?”

She chuckled. “Choosing an anagram of Chrysalis, the most infamous of changelings, to reflect your alternate identity. That's pretty funny.”

“Nobody ever picked up on that.” I said. “Made me a little sad.”

“You're wrong though.”

“About what.”

“That we know a lot about you. No. Quite the opposite.”

She got out of her seat and walked towards the filing cabinet. When she opened it, to my surprise, there were actually documents inside. She leafed through a handful before pulling out one of the jackets.

“Y'know what this is?” she asked, waving the jacket. “This is you, everything we know about you is contained in here, and a lot of it is conjecture. Notice how thin it is. Look, even the tag at the top, where the name usually goes, we had to write 'unsub 001' because we didn't even know your name. Your elusiveness is almost legendary here.”

Unsub is a police term meaning unknown subject. I figured I was the first.

“I'm flattered.” I said. I was.

She slotted the file back in the cabinet and closed it before returning to the chair.

“The weird thing is, you seemed to turn up everywhere, and yet, we knew nothing about you. Everywhere I looked, you were there, throwing a spanner in the works.” she said. “We'd been trying to find you for weeks. Getting nowhere, you hide your tracks pretty well. What luck that you came to us.”

“You were looking for me?”

“That's right. Ever since Reed's apartment. What was that, a month and a half ago? Something like that?”

“Reed.” I said. “That was your doing?” At least I had some closure for Lyra if I ever got out of here, I thought.

“Correct. We had someone track you from the apartment, but he lost you in the city. We thought we'd never find you again.” she said. “Let me tell you another story. Two ponies owed me favours, so I called them in to do a nice, simple job. I think you're familiar with them. Very familiar.”

“Shrike.” I said.

“-And Bouros.” she said. “Yes, I thought you might be. It was the simplest job in the world and they still managed to fuck it up. Amateurs, right?”

“They killed Zecora.” I said. I was already rising from my chair, my actions guided by rage rather than reason. “You! It was you! You killed her! You put them up to it!”

I lunged for her throat, and instantly she threw me to the floor. A dainty mare she wasn't, and she held me there, letting me stew in my anger beneath her maroon aura.

“No, I didn't.” she said. “I only told them to acquire something she had. When they killed her, they were acting of their own accord.”

“How do I know you're not lying?”

“If I wanted her dead, I would've sent professionals, not those two.”

Her logic permeated the membrane of wrath I had surrounded myself with. As I stopped struggling, she relented her restricting spell, and let me take my seat again before speaking.

“So, they procured what I wanted and came back here. See, I wasn't here at the time, Ferrite was running things in my stead. He said those two came back with a damned filly. They said she was at the hut when they came and didn't know what to do with her. Y'know what Ferrite told 'em?”

“Kill her.”

Ferrite, you fucking monster. I get my way with you the last thing you'll hear are your own screams.

“Precisely. Had I been calling the shots that night, I would've told 'em to take her back to wherever they found her.”

“You'd have let her go?” I laughed. “Good joke.”

“What possible danger could one lone filly pose to us? Ferrite made a bad call, pure and simple. I still haven't forgiven him.” she said, leaning back in her chair. “Enough about him though. Enter a mysterious stranger. Sometime after they left, this stranger killed Shrike and Bouros, quite slowly I might add. Didn't find out about it until the papers reported it. I noticed there wasn't a filly among the bodies.”

“Animal attack.” she laughed. “That's how it was reported. Do wild animals take lumps of crystal and stab them in eye sockets? I think not. No, this mysterious stranger saved that filly. Who would do such a thing?”

“Well, we knew she came from Ponyville, couldn't have come from anywhere else, and Ferrite knew what she looked like. Didn't take long to identify the family. We made plans to talk to them, find out who got her home. Imagine our surprise when we find they're not there!”

“And now we find you, following that crack team of morons. You should be ashamed they managed to catch you.” she said. “Let me extend my respect, however. Somehow you knew we'd come a-knockin', so you told them to leave town for a while. I dunno how you knew, but well done.”

“Why are you telling me all this? Eh? What's the great psychological theory, that I'll share a little pearl of wisdom with you if you do?” I asked.

She laughed that single, solitary laugh again.

“I'm not telling you anything you don't already know.” she said. She was right. “Now, you deflected my statement quite well, you didn't so much as twitch when I said it, but I didn't forget.”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“Sure you do.” she said. “What's your secondary form? I know you've got one. So, we can do this the easy way, where you do it voluntarily, or the hard way, where I pin you down and force it.”

“I think you've probably got the wrong pony.”

She gave an absent nod. “The hard way then.”

Such a delicate looking mare doesn't look like she could produce spells that could hogtie an elephant, but seeing – and feeling – is believing. I felt it surely as I felt Ferrite's hooves on my face. I was immobile, I thought the blood in my veins would cease to move as well. I struggled hard against my magical restraints. It felt like my bones would snap as I pressed against the aura, but she gave me no ground. I'd never felt so helpless in my life.

She stood over me for a while, silently observing, scanning every part of my body. Like a lab rat, I could do nothing to divert the gaze of the scientist.

“You know, you don't much strike me as a pony that would wear an ear stud.” she said. “Or do you swing that way?”

I wanted to snap that horn off and rebury it in her head, pointy end first, but she was powerful. This situation could only end one way – her way.

“You're angry, right? Don't be. Everything will be fine in a moment.” she said, reaching for the transformation relic. “Like most stubborn things, all it takes is a little twist to set them free.”

She grinned. I felt a second aura around my ear, tugging and pulling at the stud.

“This is no good.”

“No good at all.”

“You've been discovered.”

“What now?”

“You're at her mercy.”

“She knew. How?”

“How indeed.”

“Ask her.”

“Yes, you must know.”

“Ask her.”

“Shell!” Spyglass said, running into the office, carrying a small file. Shell was sat legs up on the desk when Spyglass walked in, eyeing spreadsheets but not reading them. His eyes glazed over the numbers as though they weren't there at all. A solitary cup of coffee stood on the desk. “There's been a development.”

“That's very nonspecific.” Shell said.

“It's a stroke of fucking luck is what it is. I was walking past the front desk. Wulf was readin' some kinda report while he scanned me in, so we were makin' small talk right?” Spyglass said.

“This had better be good Spyglass. I hear one more time how perfect Octavia's ass is, I'll put you in the ground.” Shell said, taking a sip of coffee.

“I asked him what he was readin', it was a police report from Ponyville.” Spyglass said. “So I asked him why he was readin' that trash. He said only because Princess fucking Twilight was first on scene.”

“Princesses know how to process a scene?” Shell asked. Powerful magicians, sure, he thought. Forensic scientists? Hahaha.

“Apparently.” Spyglass said. “What's great is the physical evidence.”

“How is this related to our case?” Shell asked.

“I'm getting there. They had magnified pictures of the hairs found at the scene and I thought, 'Y'know, they look awful familiar.'.”

“No fucking way.” Shell said.

“Yes way. Compared 'em with our hairs at the caverns. Guess what? They're the same. Even shed in the same 24 hour period.”

“So Shrike, Bouros and our two unsubs were at the Ponyville scene and the caverns?”

“Yep.” Spyglass said. “Except now it's one unsub, not two.”

“I don't follow.”

“Unsub 2, was that the one with yellow hairs? Her name's Applebloom, a filly, lives on a farm with her sister, granny and brother.”

“What's her story?”

“Lessee.” Spyglass said, going through the file. “Here we go. She went missing the night before, the sister filed a missing pony report with Ponyville PD. They called in extra policepower from the neighbouring towns and started a search. They never found anything, but Princess Twilight alerted them to a murder.”

“A murder?”

“Yeah, vic was Zecora, a zebra. Lived out in the Everfree in a hut. That's where the hairs were found. Forensic's opinion was that Applebloom got lost in the forest and stayed the night at the Zecora place. Then Shrike, Bouros and unsub 1 turned up there at some point.”

“And then our little quartet turn up in the caverns the next day.” Shell said. “This case makes even less sense now.”

Spyglass squinted at the file, as though it might crack under the pressure and reveal its secrets. Shell looked like he might have an aneurysm if so much as one more loose thread wound its way into the case. Both thought it was too early to be thinking hard.

“Wait a minute.” Spyglass said. “Opinion was that Applebloom got foalnapped since they couldn't find her body at the scene.”

“Foalnapped by unsub 1, Shrike and Bouros?” Shell asked.

“Just Shrike and Bouros apparently. Station commander at Ponyville said ponies matching their descriptions boarded a train to Canterlot.”

“Who asked the station commander?”

“Princess Twilight and-” Spyglass turned a page. “-an unknown ECMB special agent?”

“What? What were our department doin' there? They fuckin' clairvoyant?” Shell asked. “Nevermind, what happened afterwards?”

“Get ready, 'cause this is hilarious.” Spyglass said. “The filly turns up on the door to her home, the same night. Totally unharmed. No sign of the foalnappers.”

Shell bumped his head against the desk a few times before burying his face in his hooves.

“What the fuck is going on.” Shell said through his hooves.

“I think we should ask her.” Spyglass said. “She's the only living pony that we know had contact with unsub 1 and the perp. Could be we're missing something big.” Spyglass said.

“Didn't local police already ask how she got, y'know, un-foalnapped?” Shell asked.

“Yeah. Applebloom claimed not to remember anything. Sister didn't have a clue either, according to the report.” Spyglass said.

“That's fucking bullshit. They're hiding something, or someone.” Shell said.

“Unsub 1? Yeah, that was my first thought as well.”

“Hmm.” Shell said, rapping on the solitary armrest. “You think unsub 1 took the filly back?”

Spyglass nodded. “It's possible.”

“Right, enough of this fucking speculation. We need some answers.” Shell said, while standing up and throwing on a coat. “I think it's time we talked to that filly and her sister. You up for a field trip?”

“Anything to get out of this office.”

The room was spinning. Everything blended into a nauseating kaleidoscope of colour and sound. I flung my arms out, trying to anchor myself in a violent sea of disorientation. I felt my palms against the floorboards. Beads of sweat precipitated from every pore. Bile rose in my throat, but I kept it down.

“What in the...” she said. “And here I thought I'd seen everything.”

I kept still on my hands and knees, rigid and tense. I knew the gentlest of breezes could topple me in this state. I watched my hands, motionless on the floor, waiting until the double vision ceased.

As my sight returned to normal, I looked up. The mare was pacing back and forth, looking at me from every angle, just as Zecora had done all those months ago. Whenever I transformed, I was always fully clothed, the same ones I came to Equestria in; but as she examined me, I had never felt so naked.

She stopped pacing and gave me one more look from head to toe.

“What is this? What are you?” she said, as much to herself as to me.

“Meet Equestria's one and only human.” I said. There was little point in holding information back now. “Regret it yet?”

“Human?” she asked. “Explain what you are.”

I laughed. “What's to explain? Couldn't exactly go around looking like this, could I?”

She narrowed her eyes. For the first time since we met, she looked uncertain.

“Do you mean to say this is your primary form?” she asked.

“If you're asking whether I'm human or pony first, I'm human.”

“So you were using that trinket to blend into Equestrian society.”

“Pretty much.” I said. “How did you know? Nobody ever came close. Ever.”

She curved her mouth into an almost sadistic smile. Cold, calculating, manipulative. Everything about her screamed danger.

“I figure that Shrike was plenty talkative in the cavern?” she asked. I nodded. “So you know what we wanted from Zecora?”

“A list of names.” I said.

She took a small plastic wallet from out of her jacket. Inside was a piece of paper, an old one at that. She levitated it so I could read the writing. There were nine names.

“There's one thing that links these ponies Anon. Can you guess what it is?” she said. I shrugged. “I'll give you a hint. Your name is on it.”

I scrolled through the names. I didn't recognise any, but I noticed the ink at the top of the list was more washed out, more cracked, older than the ink at the bottom.

And there, second bottom of the list, was my name.

“Individuals like me.” I said, near whispered.

“That's right.” she said, placing the list back in her pocket. “When I learned your name, I swore I had read it somewhere else. I cross-referenced it with the list, and there you were. I knew before I even stepped in this room that you were a chameleon.”

“I didn't know there were others.” I said. “Chameleon. Is that what you call others like me?”

She nodded. Others like me, I thought. Did they really exist? I wondered why Zecora would keep such a list, knowing that in the wrong hands, it would ruin me, and everyone else on that list.

“Which leads us nicely to our purpose.”

“What purpose?”

“Hunting chameleons. Killing them. Reclaiming the relics.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Think about how much damage you could do if you wanted. Think of how many lives you could ruin with your power, how you could assume another identity should someone get too close to finding you and then just slip into the shadows.” she said. I considered for a moment the truth in her words. “Chameleons do all of these things. They're immoral. Insufferable. Intangible. They're motivated by the most selfish of goals. Worst of all, they're near impossible to find.”

“They don't sound too pleasant.”

“Remember Reed? He was a chameleon. Took us months to determine if he was. We have to be sure about these things. Can't go around killing innocent civvies, that wouldn't do.”

“Why am I still alive then?”

She laughed again. I wondered if it was what I said, or if I just looked funny to ponies.

“Normally, you wouldn't be, but this all harks back to why we were looking for you in the first place.” she said. “You're still an investigator right? We have a job for you.”

I didn't know where she was going with this, but I knew no good would come of it.

“Right.” I said.

“The job is tracking down chameleons.” she said. “We'll pay ten times your standard rates for every chameleon you get for us. If you accept, you'll be mailed the name of your target two mornings from now. Following completion of a job, we'll mail you another name, and so on and so forth. You don't have to fight them if you don't want to, just tell us where they are and we'll do the wetwork if need be. Take as much time as you like too, we're not in a hurry. If you need to speak to us, hang a dreamcatcher in your window. Other than that, you won't ever have to see me again if you like. It'll be like we never met.”

I was still on my hands and knees when I realised how stiff my joints were. I stood, the mare raising an eyebrow as my head touched the ceiling, and retook the comically small chair.

“And-” she continued. “-That's not even the best part. We'll even keep your, er, human, was it? We'll keep all that under wraps. That filly's family? Consider them untouchable too.”

“What if I refuse?”

“Well.” she said. “I can just take that relic off you and set you loose, see how far you get before being turned into a lab rat, or I could pay that family you love so much a violent visit, or I could just kill you and be done with it. I thought my offer was very reasonable, you'd be wise to take it.”

I sat and thought about her offer. Considering my position, it was indeed reasonable. I didn't need to strike back immediately; given time, I could find a way to beat her.

After all, revenge is a dish best served cold.

“What if I need resources. Would you provide them?” I said.

“Like I said, if you need to speak to us or ask for something, hang a dreamcatcher in your window. We'll make contact.” she said. “Any more questions?”

“I'll do it, but, one more question.” I said, she cocked her head. “What do I call you?”

She formed a wry smile. Her hoof came to her chin as her gaze meandered around the room.

“Call me the Grey Arbitress.”

Beep, beep, beep.

Motionless.

Beep, beep, beep.

I reached my right hoof out, flailing for the snooze button. An instinctive reaction. Normally I would get up, but my body decided I needed more sleep.

I sat bolt upright, my chest pounding, breaths short and shallow. To my left, my alarm clock was silent. 6am. Across the room, the sun teased daylight through the laddered blinds.

I fell back into the mattress. Despite having just woken, I was exhausted and sweating, trying to get my breathing back under control.

“Night night Anon. We'll be in touch.”

Her final words echoed in my head. I shivered, though my room was warm in the summer months. I trotted to the window and pulled back the blinds. Derpy was navigating the alleyway, making her morning rounds. She saw me stood at the window and waved. I waved back. It was as though nothing changed.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

I threw on my coat and descended the stairs to the street below. I walked for a while, in no particular direction or with any goal in mind. I passed through the main square. On a normal day, Applejack would be setting up her stall now, and I'd buy an apple or two. I came up to an empty playpark, with a bench where parents would sit while their foals ran around. I sat there, listening to the wind, the birds, the creaking of a rusty merry-go-round.

I forgot how long I was sitting for until I glanced at my watch. Seven exactly. If Applejack was around, I would have gone and talked to her. I would tell her everything would be fine, that I straightened everything out. She might not believe me, but I needed to say it, as much for her sake as for mine. I wanted to believe everything was fine. I wanted someone to talk to.

Twilight's castle loomed in the distance.

I strolled the path to the castle. The doors, from a distance, reminded me of those to the crystal caverns. The memory of what occurred in there had soured. I regretted ending their lives as quickly as I did. Some killers see the faces of their victims everywhere. In dreams, in other ponies, in clouds.

I didn't.

I rapped on the enormous doors, the noise echoing through the great hall beyond. After a time, the doors creaked open a fraction, and Spike appeared.

“Oh, er, Anon?” he said. “I guess you wanna speak to Twilight right?”

“If it's not too much trouble.” I said.

“Just hold on while I get her.” he said. The doors shut, and I heard his footsteps receding in the hall. Why did I want to talk to Twilight? I didn't know. Perhaps it was because I felt so alone since Applejack left.

The doors opened, wider this time, and Spike reappeared. “Twilight says come in.”

“Thanks Spike.” I said, entering the hall. He led the way up a series of steps and through superfluous looking rooms, my hoofsteps reverberating, filling the awkward silence along the way. I don't remember a time when our conversations had been longer than that. I wondered if we'd even spoken before then.

We came up on a decorated door. Each symbol of the elements of harmony depicted in a pentagon, with the element of magic in the centre. I could have used some of that power yesterday, I thought. Spike knocked, and Twilight invited us in.

She was sitting among stacks of books and documents reminiscent of the Tower of Pisa. The mass of paper warped the desk a little. It was a nightmarish sight to behold, but there she was, in the centre of the mess, looking content, until she saw me.

“Thanks Spike, you can go now.” she said.

“Don't you want some tea or something-”

“-no. Bye now.”

Spike looked to his feet and shuffled out the door. Poor kid, I thought. Bossy mentor and smitten with a mare he would probably never be with. Tough existence, even for a dragon.

“You've got some nerve.” she said, without looking up from the table. There was a single seat opposite hers, which I took. The stacks of documents threatened to bury me alive.

“You're annoyed with me, princess?” I said.

“An understatement if I ever heard one. Before you ask. No. I don't care that you impersonated an ECMB agent. Not much, anyway.” she stopped writing and looked up. “But telling AJ to skip town?”

“She told me she was on a family holiday.” I said. “Said she'd be back in a week or so.”

“Strange that she should tell you that, and not me, or anyone else for that matter.” Twilight said. She sighed and leaned back into her chair. “Whatever. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you had a good reason for telling her to leave. You know why I'm annoyed? Because you cut me out of the loop. Completely. I could have helped.”

“I was acting with Applebloom's best interests in mind.” I said. “I know you're annoyed I acted on my own, but I had to. Do you know how close Applebloom came to dying? Seconds, Princess. Seconds.”

“Is that the truth?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“And, er, what became of her foalnappers?”

“You want the truth again?”

She paused and twirled her quill. “Forget I asked. You're lucky everything turned out okay. Anything less and I would have let the police tear you to shreds.”

“They never took my statement in the end.” I said. “Your doing?”

“I told them you're more trouble than you're worth, convinced them to let it slide. Think of it as my way of thanking you.” she said. “Anyway, you didn't come here just so I could vent at you. Let's hear it then.”

I thought about telling her all that happened yesterday. The Grey Arbitress and her deal. What's with that name, I wondered.

“With AJ gone and Zecora dead, I realised I don't have anyone to talk to. You can shout at me if you like, I don't mind.”

For a moment, Twilight looked sympathetic. It disappeared quickly. “I'm a princess, not a shrink. Celestia knows you probably have the money to buy a lifetime consultation.”

“I hate shrinks.” I said. I hated the way the acted, like they were always treading on eggshells, afraid of contention. It made me feel inferior, almost infantile.

Twilight threw her quill at me. I was so surprised I almost fell out of the chair.

“Y'know, for the pony that tracked Applebloom and got her home in a single day, you really are fucking stupid sometimes. Look around you.” she said.

I surveyed the room. Aside from me, her, and the stacks of papers, there wasn't much to look at, unless you were an architect or a stonemason.

“What am I looking for?” I asked.

“Books, you idiot. Everywhere, even built into the walls. I don't buy for a second that you're lonely. Y'know what I think? I think that now AJ and Zecora aren't around to distract you, you've realised how horrible your own thoughts are, and you'll do anything, even talk to me, in order to get away from them. So, if you want some time away from your own thoughts: read. A fucking. Book.” she said, taking her quill and going back to her work.

Books, I thought. Not a bad suggestion. Some light fiction would take my mind off Ferrite and his boss. Hell, I'd even read a map or a restaurant menu if it meant I could escape this world for a little while.

Books, books. Hang on, books!

“Princess?” I asked. She sighed.

“What.” she said, continuing to write.

“Does 'Grey Arbitress' mean anything to you?”

She stopped writing for a few seconds. “What of it?”

I shifted in my seat. “Just curious.”

She chewed the feather end of her quill for a bit, gazing at nothing in particular.

“Can't say it does. Again, why-” she said, her mouth hung open for a moment before she shook her head and went back to writing. “-forget it.”

“One last thing, then I'll be out of your mane.” I said. “Will Spike help me find some documents?”

“As long as they're public ones.” she said. “Spike!”

A few moments later, the door opened and Spike came in, dragging a trolley of teacups and plates with him.

“Refreshments?” he asked.

“No thanks.” Twilight said. “Guide Anonymous around the library. Do what he tells you until he leaves.”

“Sure thing. Leave the trolley?” he said.

“Please.” she said.

Spike waved me over, inviting me to follow. He held the door open.

“Anonymous?” Twilight said. I turned to her. “Try to stay out of trouble.”

I nodded once, offering a slight smile before leaving Twilight to her government work. The door closed behind us. Too late princess, I thought.

“Grey Arbitress.” Twilight mused.

Spyglass and Shell shuffled back down the dirt path from Sweet Apple Acres. A long, boring train ride, with only a disappointing sandwich from the food trolley on board to break up the monotony. All to find that the family wasn't in. Shell, if his moaning was anything to go by, was ready to resign. Spyglass would have been fine if it weren't for Shell's unrelenting complaints.

Just shut up, shut up, shut up. If you don't shut up, it'll be your body the ME will be picking shards of crystal out of, he thought.

“So what now? We can't just sit around and wait for them to come back.” Shell said.

“While we're here, we should talk to the Princess. Ask her to look at the report. Maybe she can fill in those mountain-sized gaps in our knowledge.”

Shell rubbed his temples. He'd finally vented all his frustration. “Since we're here, might as well.”

They walked to the castle in no particular hurry. Spyglass wondered how weird it would be if the princess was absent as well, but kept that thought to himself. No need to aggravate Shell, especially since he was stuck with him until the case died or got solved. The way things were going, Spyglass suspected the former was more likely.

Shell rapped on the door. Big hooves to produce loud knocks.

“Is this how you request an audience with a princess?” Shell asked.

“How else?” Spyglass said.

“I thought there might be some kinda protocol.” Shell said. “Shit, what do we call her? Miss? Princess? Just Twilight Sparkle?”

“I think Princess is probably fine.” Spyglass said.

The door opened a smidge. Both agents were confused, as nobody appeared at head height, until a voice from below them spoke.

“Can I help you there?” it said.

Spyglass and Shell looked down.

“You aren't er-” Spyglass said. “-do you know the princess? Princess Twilight, that is.”

“I'm her assistant, are you wanting to speak with her?” it said.

“Uh.” Spyglass said. “Yeah. We're from the ECMB.” Shell and Spyglass flashed their badges. They both liked doing that, a little flick and a piece of metal that gave them permission to do almost whatever they liked.

“I'll tell her you're here. You can wait inside if you like.” it said.

“Please.” Spyglass said.

The dragon waddled up some stairs and out of sight. The agents watched him all the way, abstaining from conversation until it was out of earshot.

“This princess has a baby dragon as an assistant?”

“Celestia moves the fucking sun, and you're awestruck that a dragon answered the door?” Shell said. “Get your head on straight. We're meeting a princess.”

“Just saying its weird is all.”

The dragon came back down the stairs. Both agents thought the way he walked was a little funny.

“The princess will see you now. Follow me.”

The princess will see us now, Shell thought. Well thank you very fucking much.

They passed through various rooms with seemingly no purpose other than to contain a carpet and a stained glass window. They passed one room, and saw a grey earth pony sitting at a desk, lost in the words of the large number of books he was reading. A librarian? Spyglass wondered.

“You get many visitors here?” Spyglass asked, gesturing at the room they just passed.

“Not many. Just the elements, usually.” he said.

Oh yeah, -just- the elements of harmony, no big deal, Spyglass thought.

“Was that one of them?” Spyglass said.

The dragon laughed. “Oh, no, that's just Anon. No, he's not an element.”

Both agents let the statement pass without comment. Soon, they came up on a door given more decorative attention than the others in the castle.

“The princess is just through here.” he said.

“How should we address her?” Shell asked.

“Princess is fine.” he said.

“Told you.” Spyglass said.

The dragon knocked on the door. The princess invited them to enter. Inside was a room, lined with bookshelves. Near the centre, the princess sat between veritable behemoths of book piles, and a quill she manipulated with magic.

“Thank you Spike, you may leave us.” she said.

“Do you want some refreshments?” Spike asked.

“Agents?” she said.

“Water is fine.” Shell said.

“Water please.” Spyglass said. Neither enjoyed formal functions, and this was their way of letting others know.

The dragon nodded and left. Once the door had shut, the agents introduced themselves, offering a head bow.

“What can I do for you?” the princess asked. Shell looked at Spyglass.

“We're here in connection with multiple crimes.” Spyglass said. “The first is regarding a killing in the crystal caverns, in Canterlot. The second is regarding a foalnapping, in Ponyville. The third is about another killing, also in Ponyville.”

“Go on.” the princess said.

“We understand that the filly who was foalnapped, Applebloom, returned home safely, with seemingly no explanation. We came to Ponyville today hoping we could clarify some details, but it appears the family aren't home. We hoped you might answer some of our questions in the meantime, as you were, er, involved in the process, we understand.” Spyglass said.

“Ask away.” she said. “I will do my utmost to assist.”

Spyglass cleared his throat and produced a few files from his saddlebag. The dragon came through the door again, followed by a clattering trolley, upon which lay two glasses of water. He left the trolley and exited as quickly as he came.

“The information is contained in these files, but I'll give you the concise version.” he said, laying the file, very tenderly, on the groaning table. “We had four ponies at our crime scene in the crystal caverns. Shrike, Bouros, they're the victims, Applebloom, and one unsub, that's unknown subject. We also have reason to believe our unsub was at the crime scene of the killing and the foalnapping. We're trying to determine the identity of our unsub, we think he has information about Shrike's and Bouros's killer. Is there anything you might add to our report to complete the picture?”

The princess sat for a moment. Upright, not slouching. Purpose was the word that came to Shell's mind. She had purpose.

“Forgive me agents, it may take some time to read the entire report and identify gaps in your knowledge that I can fill.” she said. “Please come by tomorrow afternoon. I should have had time to read it by then.”

“Of course, princess.” Spyglass said. “Is there somewhere we can stay overnight?”

“This castle has plenty of rooms that never see use. I'll have Spike prepare some for you.”

“Spike?” Spyglass said.

“My assistant.” she said. “Did you have more questions?”

“Erm, yes, as it happens.” Spyglass said. “Would you happen to know when Applebloom's family are coming back?”

The princess shifted, for the first time since either agent had met her.

“A week or so. I can't be any more precise than that.” she said. “Was there anything else, agents?”

“Nothing that can't wait until tomorrow, princess.”

She nodded. “Then I bid you farewell. Please enjoy your stay.”

They left the room. Shell waited until the door had shut and Spike was out of earshot, when he released an enormous breath.

“She is fuckin' scary.” Shell said. “I felt like I couldn't breathe or I'd be breakin' royal protocol.”

“Christ, who are you...” I mused.

It took the greater part of an hour to search the library, even with Spike's help. Twice we circuited the endless pulp valley, taking note of the categories and titles of each document and book. It might have been a faster process had I known exactly what I was looking for, but the single sliver of information that I had been graced with was nearly useless.

Grey Arbitress. A name, or title, that could be a reference to anything, or nothing at all. Was grey a reference to the colour of her coat, or to the moral ambiguity of her work? What about arbitress? A female arbiter. One with ultimate authority. I didn't doubt for a moment that she had anything less than ultimate authority.

With these thoughts in mind, I perused the leviathan of a library. She seemed to know instantly that my ECMB badge was fake. I thought that perhaps she had a history in law enforcement, an expert in identity fraud. Maybe she was herself an ECMB agent, or an ex-agent.

I doubted she was a civilian. The way she spoke to her underlings reminded me of my brief stint in the Officer Training Corps. Her tone, her confidence, her word choice. It was like a Warrant Officer ordering around their new recruits. Something that she'd done hundreds, if not thousands of times.

Now, with the clarity of a night's rest and nobody beating my skull to a bloody mess, I realised that everything she said was a diversionary tactic. An advertisement to focus my attention on what she told me through words. The fact is, what is unsaid can be as revealing as what is. Not all communication is through words. Body language. Tone. Unanswered questions. One can sum all these to give 100% of what is conveyed in conversation. I had pieced together my first real pieces of information about her.

She was used to giving orders. She had an intelligence-based background, most likely in an investigative body, almost certainly governmental. High-ranked.

The clock was now ticking. I could feel it, counting down the seconds, the minutes, the hours. A finite quantity of time remained until the timer sounded the death knell for the Grey Arbitress.

Quietly I sat, and constructed her profile. My shell of being never betraying the hurricane inside my head.

Voices from the corridor shattered my brooding. I slammed on the table once. When the length of one's abstractions get so long, the smallest distraction can demolish the whole chain of reasoning you've worked so hard to construct. It was important that I followed every single one of my thoughts to their conclusions, as one single detail might shift the scales in my favour. It was, after all, single piece of duct tape that exposed the Watergate scandal.

Spike walked past the door, followed by two more ponies whom I didn't recognise. Their conversation wasn't loud, but the halls of Twilight's castle served to amplify any noise louder than a pin-drop. I waited until their echoing hoofsteps had receded until going back to my work.

Half and hour later, and having made no progress on determining my employer's identity, Twilight walked into the room. I was so absorbed in documentation and subscript that I didn't notice her until she came right up to the desk.

“Come with me.” she said. That's the kind of wording a disappointed or angry parent uses with their children, I thought.

I followed her back to the room in which we had been talking a few hours ago. She sat behind her heaving desk as I took the seat opposite.

“I promise I only took public documents, princess.” I said. “Spike can attest.”

She drummed on the table, and the pulpy columns shook like leaves in the wind. “I don't know what's possessing me to show you this. I could go to prison, y'know, for what I'm about to show you.”

“Well, not to question a princess's judgement, but why are you gonna show me then?” I asked.

“Because I want answers. No, more than that, I want the truth.” she said.

“Don't we all?” I said.

Twilight shook her head. “Living the lie is easier sometimes. I thought long and hard about whether or not to ask you about this.”

Twilight levitated the document on the desk, drawing my attention to it. I recognised the typeface on the front of the file; it was only used by government organisations.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It's an ECMB report. Did you see those two ponies earlier? They're ECMB. SAC Shell and SA Spyglass. They left this with me.” she said, waving the file. “They figured out that Zecora's death, Applebloom's foalnapping and whatever you did in the crystal caverns are linked.”

“That's surprising.” I said. “I thought it would take them at least two more weeks to make that connection.”

“That's not the disturbing part. I read about how Shrike and Bouros died. I wanted to vomit, but I willed myself to keep reading. They placed four ponies there that day. Applebloom, Shrike, Bouros, and unsub 1, a pony with grey coat hairs. I guess unsub 1 is you.”

“Probably.” I said. “Are you gonna turn me in?”

“No.” Twilight said, after a time. “On balance, I think it's beneficial to keep you around, but you're walking a fine line.”

“Then what's the problem?” I asked.

“There was something else in that cavern, wasn't there?” she said.

Not again, I thought. I wanted, more than anything else, a single day off. A life of bland mediocrity had never looked so appealing. I wouldn't have to deal with the stress, the pain, both physical and emotional. I wouldn't have to lie, too much, at least. I could talk to Applejack every day. I could absent-mindedly wander through life, never having to strain my brain in every spare moment. Such a peaceful existence.

Was I not deserving of it?

“What did you read, princess?” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “What's in that file?”

“There's an olfactory report inside.” she said. “They found something akin to chimp sweat all over the crystals they found in Shrike's body.”

You're so fucking stupid. Learnt your lesson, Anon? This is what happens when you lose control. You get sloppy. You get caught.

“I can't explain that one. Sorry, princess.” I said.

Twilight got up, slamming her hooves down on my end of the table. She leant in to me, as far as she could manage.

“Can't? Can't?! How about 'won't'?” she said. She took one heavy breath in through her nostrils before sitting down. “I'm tired, Anon. Tired of half-truths. Trying to place you anywhere, or link you to anything is like trying to pin down a ghost. It's maddening.”

“Ponies only know what you tell 'em, princess.” I said.

She exhaled. “The ECMB think their perpetrator is a hairless, intelligent chimp, believe it or not. They think you know something about it. I know you know something about it. I can understand that you won't reveal yourself as unsub 1 to the police, but why are you keeping secrets from me? What's the point?”

“I know what you do! Your heart's in the right place, but I know you've killed ponies! What could you possibly be hiding that's so bad that you can't tell me?” she said.

I could think of only one thing to say that might close the topic.

“If there's one thing I've learned in the last six months, princess, it's this:” I said. “Living the lie is easier. Not just sometimes. Always. I get tired too, princess. Tired of my life, tired of what I see every day, tired of dark thoughts ringing in my head. If I have to lie to myself and others in order to gain some respite, I'll do it in a heartbeat.”

“The only reason, the only reason you feel like that is because you try to do everything on your own.” she said. “The only way you'll gain lasting peace of mind is by letting someone past that carapace you've covered your soul in. That burden you're dragging around inside your head? It's too much for one pony to carry. You need help. You've always needed help, and lying to yourself is not helping.”

“How can I possibly share my troubles with anyone else? It's not fair for them to know what I know.” I said. “It has to be this way, princess. I'm sorry.”

Twilight relented. She scribbled absently in the top corner of a scrap piece of paper. Swirls and jagged lines.

“Clearly you've given this some consideration.” she said after a time. “Alright Anon, keep your damned secrets. Make no mistake, though. Those thoughts of yours? They'll eat at you. They'll rot your mind like a cancer, until there's nothing left. I hope you'll realise this before it's too late.”

“I-”

“-No. I don't wanna hear it.” she said, holding one hoof up. “I'll say this before I dismiss you: please, Anon. Please see things my way. I guess you don't much care for your own wellbeing, but others do. Think about the lives you'll ruin if you continue down this path.”

“It's a job, princess. I don't think about who my clients send me after. I just do what I'm told.”

She sighed. “It's not just your client's enemies that are victims of your work. That's as much as I'll say on the matter. You're dismissed.”

“But-”

“-Go, Anon. And take a long, hard look at your life, if you can bear the sight of it.”

I left Twilight to her work without another word. It had been a long time since I'd received a dose of truth of that magnitude. It was refreshing to know someone besides Applejack that takes zero shit from me, or anyone else, excluding Celestia and Luna I imagined.

I wandered through the halls, ignoring the décor, thinking about Twilight's last words. According to her, they were astute enough to warrant telling me to shut up while she spoke. Perhaps she was just sick of my voice.

On my left was a room. The same room that I was using as an extension of my mind before Twilight asked for me. The books and documents lay on the table, waiting for me to read them. It was an inviting sight, as though they encouraged me to read a little further, because what I was looking for may reside on the next page.

There was now the added concern that the ECMB were close to finding me. What were their names? Spyglass and Shell. They were an uncharacteristically smart pair if they'd got this far. If they could find me, they could probably find my Grey Arbitress if they tried. I thought that perhaps I could strike a deal with them: a confession, in return for their assistance in the hunt for my employer.

Their assistance.

Wait a minute. I don't need to make a deal with them. All I need to do is make them want the same thing I want, and they might find her for me. How would I do that?

The distinct sound of claws on marble echoed around me, and Spike came into view. He was carrying a bundle of bedsheets.

“Oh, hey Anon. Get anywhere with your research?” he asked.

“Sort of. I think I need some professional help with it though.” I said. “Mind leaving all the books I was reading where they are? I'll probably come back to them at some point.”

“Sure thing.” he said. “Oh, by the way, we have guests now, so keep the noise down past eleven in the evening.”

“Guests?” I said.

“Yeah, some ECMB hotshots. They're staying until tomorrow, I think.” he said, no longer facing me and now walking down the hall. “Bye!”

I went back to my thoughts.

Lessee, I want to find my employer. How can I make them want to do the same? What if I told them I'd give myself up if they found her? That's incentive enough, surely. But then they might not believe me, and they'd be right to.

If I can somehow make them want what I want, they would then seek to acquire it, if only because I want it. That's right, I need to show them. I need to show them beyond a shadow of a doubt that if the get the Grey Arbitress, they'll get me too, or at least make them think that.

I left the castle and took the next train to Canterlot. In the carriage, I imagined Spyglass and Shell engaged in some hilarious wild-goose chase over a hairless intelligent chimp, like Catch Me If You Can (without the ponies at least). The notion brought a smile to my face. I lay down, and let sleep come to me. I needed strength in the coming days.

It was time to scatter breadcrumbs.

Author's Notes:

I'm having a lot of fun writing Spyglass & Shell dialogue.

I'm also looking for a proof-reader. Until now I've been using hemingwayapp (which has been great but not as good as, y'know, an actual person). With a PR, I could publish chapters a little faster, and they'll be of higher quality (one would hope at least).

Mini-update since it doesn't warrant a blog post: I can get back to my normal writing habits this monday (i.e. tomorrow). Chapter three is coming along nicely.