The Royal Persecution Service 01

>chapter 1 i gues

>Rarity found herself waking in the darkness.
>She could barely make out the lines of furniture in her state, only made visible by a tiny steam of light coming from some distance.
>Her vision started to focus on that tiny stream; which seemed like her only hope in this dark room.
>As Rarity slowly regained her sense of sight, her mind was already beginning to set itself in motion.
>What is this place?
>Rarity immediately attempted to survey the scene, only to realize her inability to stand- or any activity for that matter.
>It was not that she was physically bound, but her body refused to follow her will.
>In short, she was completely paralyzed.
>But this was eerily different from someone’s limb falling asleep or even being chemically disabled, Rarity could find no energy to even react.
>Drained, if you will.
>Realizing her struggles will do no good, the hapless pony opted to remain still.
>Her muscles felt like empty husks, lacking the usual weight and substance it had.
>Rarity at least could smile to the thought; perhaps those new diet plans were working out.
>While these results are rather… Unorthodox, she could at least joke herself to see the silver lining of this new feeling of her body.
>Digging out last nuggets of her strength, Rarity could let out a short chuckle.
>It was more like a wheeze a horse makes when it dies, but nevertheless, a chuckle.
>Still curious on what was going on, Rarity tried to call for help.
>Perhaps she was still in her bedroom, sprawled by her bed looking like a deranged pony.
>She could call for her sister, no matter what stares of judgment she could receive from this moment.
>Her call was less than effective; it was more like a wisp of breath or a whisper.
>Rarity had to cut herself off at the first syllable, but it was all she had to work with.
>Taking in a deep breath, Rarity tried once more.
>The similar results emerged, albeit this one was at least audible.
>As if learning her very first words, Rarity slowly pronounced her sisters name, painstakingly taking her time.
>Not expecting much of a response, Rarity finished the name, trying her best to remain a cautious optimist.
>Suddenly, she heard a slight groan from her far left.
>Slowly dragging her neck aside, Rarity tried to make out the source of the voice.
>The ray of light was directly on the pony, acting like a blinding spotlight.
>Her eyes adjusted over time, and she was able to make out silhouettes that resembled a pile of assembled twigs.
>If one simply looked over it without much thought, the figure could have been mistaken for a broken statuette, or some deranged artwork.
>Other assumptions regarding the figure in question were quickly exterminated as Rarity scoped out small movements on what she assumed was some broken toy.
>Rarity first believed the movement was a product of the light intruding her vision, or even her over-active imagination (that was more than happy to get her into troubles), but not matter how hard she cleared her mind, it was still there.
>Adjusting her eyelids up and down, Rarity did her best to get a clearer look on the unknown, moving object.
>To her surprise- and her newly wide open eyes- the shape quickly skidded across a short distance, pulled to one side by another unknown force.
>The sudden jerk was enough to set off Rarity’s heartbeats, her small pump beating wildly against her chest walls.
>Rarity wasn’t even sure why she was so set off- her agitated state wasn’t anything like she had to deal before.
>Her reaction was unlike her general reflexes, this was more… Primal.
>Rarity’s eyes began darting around its field of vision, desperately searching for the source of the movement.
>Her breathing slowly became audible, gulping away ragged puffs of air to seek out more oxygen.
>And within the darkness, Rarity saw a slight shift in the shadows.
>The figure seemed stationary at first, but the shifting outlines suggested that it was turning.
>Once it had stopped, Rarity felt a rather different feeling in her vision.
>A weight was placed on where her pupils held its stare, as if something of her doing was briefly acknowledged.
>And as the white outline of a grin began to materialize, Rarity could finally realize…

>Something else was staring back.

>Blue lights color the surrounding shadows.
>Your hands begin to shake again, and you naturally reach for your coat’s pocket.
>You feel the small wooden pipe inside, and pull it out without hesitation.
>You bite the scarred edge of the blasted instrument, and fish your pockets once more to find the next ingredient.
>A tiny vial materializes from the depths of your clothing, and you give its silver contents a good shake.
>The contents dance around, and then slowly sink to the bottom.
>You open the cork and drop a small dash of it into the pipe.
>Harkseed extract ash. Crushed once, dried thrice, and burned twice.
>Good for easing nerves, focusing, and keeping balance.
>Side effects include disorientation, temporal loss of gustatory perception, and mild chance for rust lungs.
>You always hated these blue lights.
>Always meant trouble- the kind of trouble that required your help.
>You fish out a matchbox from your pocket and prepare a match.
>Striking it alight, you dip the tip to where the extract was left.
>A familiar stinging deep inside of your nose signals the pipe’s readiness.
>You take a deep breath in, letting the gas puncture through your lungs.
>Your eyes water and your throat desperately attempts to eject its occupant, but you manage to hold back your cough.
 >After letting the mixture swim in your chest for a few seconds, you finally allow it to leave.
>You let out a long breath, expelling the smoke.
>The smoke quickly disperses in open air, and vanishes as quickly as they were created.
>Allowing your body to cough a few times, you wipe your mouth and place the items back inside your pockets again.
>”Still on that pollutant?” You hear your partner from behind you, and you give a big nod.
>”Could you not do that near me?” She adds to her remark.
“I wish I couldn’t do that at all, to be honest.” You reply immediately. “Blame your-“
>”I know, I know. ‘Blame my boss’, right?”
>You nod.
“You know how she likes to-“
>”I know, I KNOW. We have this conversation every day.” She goes, looking frustrated.
“Then I don’t know why you keep bringing it up.”
>Your partner turns to face you.
>”I’m pretty sure we have this exact following talk as well, every damn time.”
>You smile.
>You enjoy these talks.
>More blue lights.
>”Excuse me, are you the… Specialists?” A guard comes over asking.
>You answer yes.
>”Then, do you want to see the scene right now?” He asks, clearly uncomfortable.
>Your partner now answers yes, and the two of you are led into the two-story house.
>You notice a lot of stares coming from spectators beyond the police line.
>However, you doubt it is because of your racial rarity, many would consider that just being rude.
>They would be more focused on the coat of arms you bear with you.
>A truly rare sight, something that exists more as a bad omen rather than a unique experience.
>The sight of the Royal Persecution Service.
>You are Anonymous, and that pink cunt has you by the balls to play by her whims.

>The three of you enter the building, and your partner immediately begins to debrief you on the victims.
>Name, Rarity. Occupation, Tailor. Family, single sister.
>Found drained this afternoon after a Pegasus friend attempted to enter her home via an open second floor window.
>Her condition has been stabilized, but it will take days for her to recover.
>You partner also mentions that there is no information regarding the sister’s whereabouts, and she’s very unlikely to have gone anywhere.
>She’s just a child, your partner adds.
>You don’t like the sound of this.
>While cold and outwardly prickly, your partner really gets obsessed over anything that involves children.
>You don’t really blame her for it; any case involving children seems to heighten the issue for a lot of people.
>Maternal instincts and whatnot- additionally you’re not a fan of seeing any drained children.
>Or worse, child vamp-
>You quickly shake that thought away.
>You press your temple, and try to inspect the surroundings like a good investigator would do.
>Your partner is still talking about something, but you lost interest a while back.
>Like clockwork, your hand begins to tremble once more.
>”Could you not do that inside?” Your partner’s annoyed voice cuts through the silence.
>You pause and stare in confusion; legitimately not sure what would provoke her like that.
>She returns the gesture for a good second, before pointing at your hand.
>Ah.
>You remove the pipe from your lips and shake the match to turn it off.
“Sorry.” You apologize. “It has become a really bad habit.”
>You quickly pocket the pipe and mentally note it is rude to smoke indoors.
>Your partner lets out a puff of air and turns away, satisfied with the results.
>Maybe if she keeps it up you’ll get back at her by gassing the waiting room.
>You excuse yourself with the guard and head out, but not before looking around the room one more time.
>The first floor seems completely clear, there are no signs of forced entry, no signs of struggle, and no signs of blood anywhere.
>It just seems like a simple clothing business that just wrapped up its day and was prepared for tomorrow.
>Honestly, you don’t even know why you’re checking the first floor; the second floor bedroom is where the victim was found.
>Blame it on your partner; she always wanted everything to be done in detail.
>Ah, you guess it is somewhat rude to address your partner as just ‘your partner’, even if mentally.
>She does have a name you know.
>Inkwell. A white, dark brown maned unicorn named Inkwell.
>The picture on her thigh seems to indicate she’s good at writing things, but she came with high magical recommendations.
>Apparently, this obsessive detail fetishist belongs in the field rather than the office.
>You do admit she can take care of herself better than you, but her exemplary prowess with paperwork still leaves you second guessing.
>You inhale the smoke deeply, and let it fill you to the brim.
>Wait.
>You look down to your traitorous hand, who already had fed you a breath of the infernal chemical.
>… Maybe you really need to break the habit.
>You’re pretty sure you don’t even need to smoke this often; the actual need to have the drug comes much later.
>You are very much capable of functioning for a good three hours or so.
>You’re becoming too addicted to this nasty dust.
>Speaking of which, you check your vial and notice it is almost gone.
>You take out your matchbox, and pull out a specially colored one.
>Instead of the usual brown tip, this one has an obnoxious green coloring to it.
>Not really fond of this activity, you sigh deeply and strike the match alight.
>The match emits a blinding glow as it lights, but quickly weakens to a more stable shine.
>”… Yes, hello?” You hear a silvery voice from the other side.
>It’s her.
“Boss.” You reply. “It’s me.”
>”Anonymous? Isn’t it a little too late for love calls? I’m a married woman too, you know~”
>She’s doing that thing again.
“Sorry, but I’m in some dire need of your- ehrm- love, boss.” You answer without much emotion. “Might die from lack of it.” You add.
>”Oh no, we can’t have that now; can’t we?” She replies with a slightly deeper voice.
>You remain silent; you’ll humor her for a little longer.
>”What will I do if my favorite human was to waste away? How will I stave off my loneliness?”
>Maybe not.
“Ask your husband.”
>”But he is too busy all the time, and a mare can get –so- patient, you know?”
>”Would be a real help if a certain human was to-“
>”-com-“
>”-fort-“
>”-me?”
“Right.” You toss back a bored reply.
>”… This used to get a lot more reaction from you, you know?”
“Sorry.”
>”Aah, I do miss my old Anonymous; he was such a pure, kind hearted soul back then.”
“I could act flustered and confused if that is what you want.”
>”Don’t, it’s not worth it if it’s not a genuine response from you, Anonymous.”
>You hear a tiny sigh.
>”No wonder your partner is always so frustrated, you’re always doing this stoic lone wolf act.”
>”And not only just frustrated, she’s also sexu-“
>You blow the matchstick off.
>You believe you got your message through.
>And you swear you can hear her shrill laughter ringing somewhere.
>”Done with your smoke break?” Inkwell chastises you with a head poked out of a window.
“Miss me?” You tease.
>”With every shot so far.” She says, rolling her eyes.
>Inkwell retreats inside.
>”If you’re done powdering your nose, come upstairs.” She commands.
>You nod, and prepare to return to work.

>The first room the two of you investigate is the child’s room.
>Its door was swung open, with dots of blood splattered to either side.
>A long stain dragging downward was also on the outer side of the door, marking it rather nastily.
>You grimace and mentally note the pattern.
>You peek inside the room, while your partner marches straight in.
>Very girlish, very fluffy.
>Not much to say to it, you suppose.
>Single bed, a lone window on the wall.
>Cupboard, a closet, a table with various drawings and written assignments.
>A tiny bag hangs from the back of a chair.
>You could also mention the various decorations that were littered around the room, but your partner takes the lead.
>”Signs of struggle?” She suggests.
“Could be. But with whom?” You answer immediately, while leaning forward to check the bed.
>Torn sheets, mangled bed ends, splatter of blood on the mattress.
>”Could be the perpetrator, or-“ She pauses or a while.
>You trace your fingers on the bed ends, feeling the grooves left by the incident.
>Teeth marks.
>You then turn to look at your partner, realizing she was frozen in place.
>You know that look on her face.
>And you do admit the same thought was swimming in your head.
>While there was no solid backing to your idea, but your gut told you what could have happened.
>Toys and dolls were ripped apart, and you could make out bite marks on harder surfaces.
>”Don’t tell me you’re thinking the same.” She says with a worried expression.
>You pocket your hands and shrug.
>Your fingers instinctively reach for the pipe.
>An eerie moment of silence passes through the two of you, and it takes a monumental amount of self-control for you NOT take out your pipe.
>You honestly don’t want to upset her even more.
>”Wh-what’s wrong, officers?” Your local guard escort finally breaks the pause and speaks up.
>While your partner begins to mumble to herself on other possibilities, you turn to your escort.
>With a bored expression, you explain the situation.
“By the order of the Royal Persecution Service, the town of Ponyville is now under quarantine due to suspect activity of vampirism.”
>You produce a scroll from your inner pockets.
>You hold it up, letting the heavier side roll down.
>The guard’s face begins to turn pale.
>His eyes races along the font of the parchment, attempting to absorb the content as soon as possible.
>However, before he could even make out the words on the scroll, you toss the scroll to the air.
>It quickly burns up in a bright pink spark, and dissipates into the air.
“Duration. Two weeks.” You continue.
>You turn to gain approval from your partner, and she nods with determination.
“We certainly hope you would cooperate with us in this incident.”
>Your escort begins backing away in panic, and finally runs out of the room.
>You hear trotting down the stairs, and hear a very loud and pronounced ‘Captain!’
>You certainly do hope it won’t cause so much panic, but they always do.
>They always do.
>You feel the air tingle with magic, and decide to look out the window for the full view of the show.
>A single wisp of pink light ignites midair, and then begins to stretch over the town.
>The glow solidifies into a translucent, magical wall; and begins to swallow the area whole.
>The spell was finished in an instant, a sealing magic to prevent anything or anyone from getting out of this immediate area.
>If the target was already out of the zone, too bad.
>But if they are still among the citizens-
>You reckon both you and your partner are going to get really busy soon enough.

>You hear a deflating sigh from behind you.
>”Do you enjoy doing that creepy guy act?” She chides you, not looking amused.
“Maybe. Perks of an edgy job, I suppose.”
>You pull out your pipe and bite it down.
>As you reach for your vial, a doll is thrown at your head.
>You recoil in surprise and look to the perpetrator, Inkwell.
>”OUTSIDE.” She scolds.
>You begrudgingly start making your way out, mumbling to yourself how on earth this tiny horse command so much over you.
>To this thought, you also hear another of boss’ laughter ringing in your head.
>Well, you’d be glad she’s with you later on, anyway.
>To that thought, you can help but to crack a smile.