Detective Pingles kicked back into his chair, smiling grimly at the pony in the metal mask across the table. “Stop a murderer in his tracks, you feel safe for a day. Provide the evidence to land him a death sentence…” –he paused to light a cigarette- “and you feel safe for a lifetime. What can I help you with, Mister…?”

“My name isn’t important. Here are the files you need,” the masked pony said, sliding a folder across the table and getting up to leave. “I represent… powerful ponies. If you get this right, there will be a very handsome reward.” The room shook as the door slammed shut.

Pingles shrugged. He had met with stranger folk. He muttered to himself as he gazed over the contents of the folder. “Missing ponies… convenient suicides… Order of the Purple Flamingo? Not the most interesting name… Ah, here we are.” He fished out a list of contacts. “Donut Joe’s at six P.M. with the mare in the green hat. Code word: tarantula.”

Pingles glanced at his watch, grabbed his hat off the rack, and opened the door. “Alright then, looks like I have a dinner date.”  

When Pingles entered Donut Joe’s, he was shocked to find every single pony in the room wearing a green hat. “What is this?” he muttered angrily, going over to the counter.

“Evenin’, Pingles. What can I get you?” Donut Joe asked, wiping the counter with a white rag.

“What’s with the hats?” Pingles asked flatly.

“Well, tonight’s the annual banquet of the Arachnophobia Support Group. The green hats are their uniform,” Donut Joe said.

Pingles sighed. “Alright… is there anypony in here that’s not in the Support Group?” Donut Joe looked around, pointing at a mare in the corner.

“I think she came in about an hour before the group meeting started, though they all look the same to me,” he said, shrugging. Pingles gave him a nod of thanks and headed towards the green-hatted mare, who was sipping on a soda.

“Excuse me, ma’am, but I was wondering… do you know anything about a… tarantula?” Pingles asked. The mare’s eyes grew wide with panic as she spat the soda into the wall in front of her, splashing it in all directions.

“Tarantula?!” she shrieked, getting up from the table and running out the door. The room fell silent for a good three seconds.

“TARANTULA!” a little filly screamed, dashing out the door. Pingles found himself caught in a mad rush of terrified ponies and green headgear. In moments, the restaurant was empty, save for a mare in a green hat calmly munching on a donut.

“Oh right… THAT was the mare who came in an hour early. The other one was definitely a member of the support group. My mistake, haha,” Donut Joe said sheepishly.

“You don’t say…” Pingles snapped, picking his hat off the floor and dusting himself off. He walked over to the counter where the mare regarded him amusedly.

“I’d ask you for the codeword, but judging from the club’s reaction, you’ve already let it slip,” she said, smirking.

“Green hat… with tarantula as the code word… in a room full of green-hatted arachnophobes. Your information better be good,” Pingles grumbled.

“Well, look who decided to get all serious,” the mare said, sliding a folder over to Pingles. “These photos were recovered from the Order’s last illegal cheese dealing. You’ll find everything you need to incriminate them inside.”

“Cheese… dealing?” Pingles asked angrily, raising an eyebrow. “Do you take me for a fool? This case is over. I’m not doing this.”

“Shut up and listen,” the mare snapped. “This isn’t any ordinary cheese. This is a special derivative of cheese from the flying cows of Cloudsdale, enchanted beyond the gates of Tartarus and infused with the magical energy of a spring of purest magic deep within the Everfree. Not only is this very illegal, but it gives the cheese the ability to turn anything it comes in direct contact with into cheese.” Pingles scoffed.

“You expect me to believe that long-winded tale of a…” he stopped as the mare extracted a small box from her coat pocket. It appeared to be made entirely of a hard, yellow cheese. She opened the box, dumping a thin sliver of glowing material onto the table. Pingles’ jaw dropped as what once was a wooden table became a magnificent structure of solid gouda. “My god…” he whispered.

“And that’s just a thin slice. Imagine what they could do with an entire wheel,” the mare said. “We’d normally let the police handle them, but we don’t have enough evidence yet. That’s where you come in. My number’s on the envelope. Stay in touch.” The mare got up from her seat and left.

“Damn…” Pingles said, staring at the table. “Wait… did she leave me with her bill?”

Pingles woke up with a headache. “Ugh… what happened?” he asked. He remembered leaving the shop (after paying a rather large donut bill). He remembered getting as far as the streetlight before a bunch of hooded weirdos mugged him. His folder was gone, his hat was gone, and it was dark outside.

“They got us,” a familiar voice muttered beside him.

“Who’s ‘they’?” Pingles asked. “Wait, it’s you! The pony in the mask!”

“Yes, it’s me. They tied me up too, but…” the voice trailed off.

“But? Do you have a way out of here?” Pingles asked. “And are they the Order of the Purple Flamingo? Why do they want to turn everything into cheese?”

“I might. They tied up my hooves, but… they didn’t tie up my eyebrows,” the pony replied.

Pingles sputtered in rage. “What’s that have to do with anything?! Of course they didn’t tie up your eyebrows! What kind of a pony ties up eyebrows?!”

“Shush. I suppose it’s about time I introduced myself. My name is Max. Other ponies may know me as Maximus, the Forehead of God. I have the strongest forehead in the world,” the pony said.

Pingles took a deep breath. “Alright. I’ve been willing to tolerate the green hats, the arachnophobes, the magical cheese, and even leaving me with the bill. I’m a chill pony. Not much will really rub me the wrong way. But now you’re telling me that you plan on breaking us out using only your EYEBROW MUSCLES?!” He fell silent as the lights went on, revealing two hooded ponies.

“Well well well, look at who we have here… who do we have here again?” one of them asked the other.

“They’re agents sent to spy on us or something, I think. I dunno, dude! I just carry the hammer and tie ponies up, they never tell me-“ he choked as a metal object collided with him at an enormous velocity, pinning him to the back wall by his hood. A closer inspection revealed the object to be Maximus’ mask.

“Sorry,” Maximus said from the ground. “Didn’t mean to blink.” He grunted as he shifted his weight forward, doing a perfect headstand and bounding across the room on his forehead with incredible dexterity, headbutting the remaining hooded pony and sending him flying through the closed door. He made his way over to his mask, cutting the ropes that bound him on its sharp edges.

“I don’t even know what’s going on anymore,” Pingles said as Max cut him loose.

“We’re in the middle of the Order of the Purple Flamingo’s hideout. Here’s where they take their enemies for… dairification,” Max said. “No time for gathering evidence, we need to act now and shut down this sick operation.”

“How in the hay are we going to do that?” Pingles asked. “We’re two ponies against an entire order!”

“Well the Order only consists of five ponies, and I just took out two. And their plan has a fatal flaw: since their cheese turns everything it touches into cheese, it can only be stored and used in containers made of cheese,” Max said. “And rats love cheese.”

“But won’t they turn into cheese too?” Pingles asked.

“Funny you should mention that… we’ve seen it happen once, having been around cheese all of their life, it appears they’ve built up an immunity, or at least a resistance, to this magical morphic cheese. They should easily be able to consume both the morphic cheese and the container,” Max said, heading out the door. “The entire complex conveniently lies on top of Canterlot’s sewer system. All we need to do is create an entrance.”

“How do you intend to do that?” Pingles asked, following.

“I don’t. Rats eat cheese,” Max replied, fastening his mask back onto his head. “I’ll need you to run distraction for me while I dump that bubbling vat of morphic nacho cheese onto the floor. The rats will eat their way up and destroy their entire supply.”

“Alright, distractions I can do,” Pingles replied.

“Good, we’re good to go. And Pingles?” Max asked, pausing to look at him.

“You’re not going to say something cheesy like ‘good luck’ or ‘don’t die’, are you?” Pingles said, glaring at him.

“No. You just dropped your hat,” Max said, handing Pingles his beloved hat.

Squinting in the dim light, Pingles could see two abnormally short guards standing watch at the storeroom. “Alright, I must be crazy for doing this, but… here goes nothing.” Pingles said.

“HEY! YOU! You’re short and ugly!” he shouted at the guards.

“Heh, he got you there, Crunch,” the left guard said to the right one.

“Nah, he was talking about you, Munch,” the right guard said to the left one.

“No, you’re the shorter one, Crunch,” Munch said.

“You’re the uglier one, Munch,” Crunch said.

“Umm, you’re supposed to be chasing ME, you bunch of dimwitted imbeciles!” Pingles said. The guards blinked.

“Hey! Nopony calls us a bunch of dull-wheeled bicycles!” Crunch shouted as the two guards galloped towards Pingles, who disappeared down the hallway.

Ten minutes later of dodging and hiding, Pingles was certain he had outwitted the guards. Well, really after ten seconds (he was fairly certain he had lost them by hiding behind a mirror and having them shout at each other), but he waited nine minutes and fifty seconds just to be safe. It was time to double back and check on his friend.

The cheese room door was open. Pingles poked his head inside and gasped. There were at least fifty different ponies inside, all made of solid cheese. “Those monsters,” he growled.

“Monsters, are we?” a voice range out from the darkest corner of the room. A thin, gangly hooded pony with a scraggly beard stepped out into the light. Max lay on the floor behind him.

“It’s… all up to you, Pingles… you must spill the cheese…” he grunted. “Beware… the beard.” He struggled and went silent.

“You fiend! I won’t let you do this!” Pingles screamed, lunging towards the hooded pony, who smiled evilly and raised his chin. A lasso of beard hair flew out, grasping onto Pingles' hind leg, tripping him.

“You’re going to have a much harder time fighting me than Munch or Crunch,” he cackled.

“Who are you?” Pingles asked in bewilderment as another strand of hair shot out towards his front hooves.

“My name is… Harry,” the pony said, firing yet another strand of beard hair towards Pingles’ neck.

“Well then, Harry… how do you feel about flash photography?” Pingles asked. The old pony looked confused for a moment. “Because it’s time to say cheese!” Pingles grunted and rolled onto his back flinging Harry into the tower of cheese behind him.

“NOOO!” Harry shouted as the tower collapsed, spilling morphic cheese everywhere.

Pingles screamed a wave of morphic cheese crashed down onto his head. It felt… oddly warm, and slightly terrifying. He teetered for a bit and blacked out.

“What? Where am I? What flavor did I turn into?” Pingles shouted, kicking off his sheets and rolling onto the floor. “Oh… haha… it was all a dream. I’m not… cheese.” He headed to the kitchen to get himself some breakfast and screamed as he opened the fridge. “No… NO NO NO NO NO NO” he shouted, slamming the fridge door and running away. Discord fished the packet of sliced cheese out from the fridge.

“Huh, he could have just told me he didn’t like Purple Flamingo cheese and I would have bought a different brand,” he said, smiling.

Next Chapter: Children's Hospital Estimated time remaining: 8 Minutes