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// Prologue [Part 1]: Last Train Home (Union Jack) 
// Story: The Campus Is Burning 
// by Union Jake 
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	It is 3 AM, and the stallion named Union Jack is sleeping soundly. He makes the occasional toss or turn, covers ensnaring him. The thick green quilt wraps over his body, curled over his withers, and his wild crimson mane gains a new tangle of sharp edges with each toss of his head. It’s not often that he dreams, but when he does it’s vivid.

The crackly, warm sound of a vinyl playing in the jukebox. The clickety-clack of billiards balls and a few choice expletives muttered by a slate-grey pegasus with scar-covered forelegs. “Damn it, another scratch!” Warm, thick, humid air buzzes with cicadas and dragonflies and the low rumble of a bass guitar playing along with the record, the low notes interweaving with the track’s rhythm guitar. A few voices singing along, some quiet, some loud, one beautiful and a couple horridly out of key. A wheat-coated unicorn with a fiery red mane sets down his instrument and joins his friends at the pool table, laughing at some old in jokes, sharing old stories, kissing a dark brown mare with stunning blue eyes, and hugging his best friends in the world. The summer evening is cheerful, but an undertone of melancholy fills the air as the unicorn steps on the pool hall’s stage to speak.

“This past year, you guys, the Outcasts, have been my only and best friends. We've grown so tight, we're a family now. We may be parting tonight, but we will never truly be separate. We are birds of a feather, no matter if we are magpies, ravens, or jays, and we have always been that way, and we always will be. This may be our last night as a group, but that doesn't mean the end of the Outcasts. Throughout life, it’s known that everyone makes new friends, and it’s through those new friends that the Outcasts will live on. We will never truly be alone, no matter how much like it it may seem.”

The room thunders with hoof-stomping and commendations of “Well spoken, Jack!” Several ponies surge forth to wrap him in a huge group hug, embracing the young stallion in their last night as a-

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

"Ugh... Five already?" Wiping the sleep from his eyes with the back of a hoof, the young stallion rose out of bed, shaking his head to clear it. In the dim pre-sunrise light from the single window in the second-floor apartment's bedroom, he could scarcely make out the shape of his roommate, Turntable, rousing from his sleep under his thick down comforter. The young DJ's messy, spiky black-and-red mane peeked out from the edge of the wad of fabric as the elder pony literally rolled out of bed with a muffled thud onto a pile of spare blankets kept there to cushion his falls (a frequent happening considering Turntable's previous records of getting out of bed in rather unorthodox ways). From under the blanket, a muffled "Five more minutes, Jack." could be heard, and an irritated groan followed.

"Last day, Turn. You know what tomorrow is." the wheat-colored stallion answered, nudging his roommate again, sighing softly. "You're not a bucking vampire, bro." he joked, and Turntable slowly staggered to his hooves, greeting his friend with a friendly, though melancholy smile as his forelegs wrapped around Union Jack's withers.

"Good luck out there in the big city, mate. Don't forget to write." he muttered, a few warm, wet tears soaking into the younger stallion's coat. "Seaddle's a tough place, but you're a tough colt." Returning the hug, Union Jack gave a similar smile to Turntable, then levitated his saddlebags out of the closet, giving a quick nod to the Mockingbird bass on his wall with the "450 bits SOLD" tag around its neck.

"Make sure Scootaloo takes care of the Mock, and make sure she keeps up on her lessons." he said, giving a slightly weak bro-hoof to Turntable. "And keep up on the rent. This place is yours now, pal." Giving his best friend a final, tight hug, the fiery-maned stallion reluctantly left the small bedroom, giving a final look around the sparsely furnished living room before entering the complex's hallway. Letting out a slightly shaky sigh, the doorknob was enveloped in a greenish-white glow as his magic pulled it shut behind him. Reaching into his saddlebag, the stallion's teeth gingerly closed around the edge of an envelope labeled "Dad", setting it at the apartment across the hall from his own, and he trudged onward, down the stairs and  into the mostly-empty lobby. For a moment, Union Jack simply stood there, taking in the sight of the open, spacious area, with its black-and-white tiled floor, its cushioned benches, the line of vending machines that softly whirred as their cooling fans kicked in.

"Morning, son. Came to say goodbye." The voice of the young stallion's father echoed behind him, and he turned to meet his gaze. Before Vigilante could register what was going on, the departing teenager had wrapped his forelegs around his father, knowing this may well be the last time they saw one another. "You know, you didn't have to hug me quite so hard." the coal-hued elder laughed as his son loosened his grip. "I'm not as sturdy as I used to be." He paused for a moment, then pulled a small package wrapped in simple brown paper from his bathrobe. It was no bigger than a hoof, and looked to be carefully wrapped, as well as quite dusty. "I believe your mother would have liked you to have this."

Union Jack nodded, the package becoming immersed in the glow of his magic once more as the strips of masking tape came undone, and the contents of the parcel were taken from within it. Inside, a small, immaculately kept silver pocket watch and chain, engraved with the same flag pattern as his (long since returned to Clockwork) gas mask. The corners of his lips turned up in a grin, the watch placed in a saddlebag as he gave his father one last embrace. "I know you've been planning this move since the end of last year, son, and we'll miss you here in Ponyville, but I wish you the best. Good luck out there, it's a harsh world." Union Jack gave another acknowledgement, turning and taking a deep breath in before stepping outside of the doors, possibly never to return.


Hours In The Future (but not many)


The pocket watch dangled in front of the (slightly bored) stallion, opening and closing with the press of a tiny button. Occasionally jostled by the train's rattling, the small bauble bounced back and forth, up and down, in an almost hypnotic manner. The colorful interior of the train car did nothing to alleviate his generally melancholy mood, nor did the half-finished vanilla eclair on the booth's table. It was true, he'd planned the move to the rainy industrial city for quite a while, but that didn't help the guilt of leaving his friends behind to pursue a career in music. He looked down at his left forehoof, the edge callused and rough from plucking at roundwounds, and sighed, knowing that his friends, too, would find something empty in their lives without him. Light rain pattered against the windows, almost in perfect time with the ticking of his watch. Perfect 4/4 time.

'This is going to be a long year.'