> Shadowbolts: A Memoir
>  by Jim Hoxworth
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter 1: Arguments / A Thief's Tale
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Green Pastures, Southern Residential Block, Equestria
50 Years after the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
The old pegasus stallion sat on his front porch, sipping his glass of lemonade slowly as he watched the quiet neighborhood go through its daily life. Young colts and fillies played along the streets, neighbors greeted each other as they trimmed their lawns with care, and the sun shined brightly as cotton-white clouds lazily drifted through the sky on the warm spring breeze. The stallion’s lightly wrinkled grey face bore a contented smile as he sighed. It was paradise.
The old stallion frowned, his warm brown eyes narrowing with concern, as the peaceful calm of the neighborhood was broken by the sound of young voices arguing angrily. He turned to look inside the house. His son was working on preparing dinner, his daughter-in-law was still at work, and his sister and her husband were asleep on the porch swing in the back yard. The stallion turned his attention back to the sounds of arguing, which had grown more heated in the time he’d checked inside the house. His eyes widened as the argument cut short and he heard a sound that he’d not heard in years: the sound of fighting.
Moving with seemingly impossible speed, the old stallion flew from his chair toward the sound of the conflict, not even hearing his glass of lemonade spill and clatter to the floor. He found a ring of foals chanting “Fight” as two pegasi colts tussled in the middle. A light grey colt with gold eyes and jet-black mane was repeatedly striking a blue colt with an orange mane and green eyes, who returned each blow with equal fervor. The old stallion’s eyes flashed with anger as he recognized the light grey colt and the blue colt as his grandson and his grandson’s best friend, respectively. The grey stallion’s voice cut through the chanting with overwhelming clarity and authority.
“STOP!” bellowed the old stallion, watching as the spectators froze in fear.
The two colts ignored the command, too engrossed in their struggle to pay it any mind. The old stallion marched forward, the foals parting to allow him to pass, and pulled the two colts apart. They struggled fruitlessly against the old stallions grip, but froze as the old stallion spoke again.
“I may be getting on in years, but I believe these busted old ears heard me tell you to stop,” hissed the stallion, his voice leaving no room for defiance.
“But Grandpa Broadcloth, Kingfisher-” began the grey colt, before being cut off by his grandfather.
“We will discuss this at home, Cold Snap,” Broadcloth interrupted sternly before glaring at Kingfisher as well. “And you’ll be joining us in this discussion, Kingfisher. I can’t imagine your parents will object when they’ve seen this.”
Broadcloth turned to the small crowd in front of him. “I’d advise you all to clear out and head home, before I decide to inform your parents that you were encouraging your peers to sort out their problems with violence,” barked Broadcloth.
This dispersed the crowd instantly, at which Broadcloth’s glare told both combatants one thing: march. They made their way back to the house, where Broadcloth’s daughter-in-law had just returned from work at the post office. Muffin took one look at her son and his best friend and instantly realized the situation.
“I’ll call Blenheim and Willow Wisp and let them know to come over,” assured Muffin, setting her empty mail bag by the front door before going inside.
Broadcloth sat the two colts down in front of his rocking chair. He then sat down slowly, his weary body aching in protest at its sudden and unexpected exertion. He then turned to the two colts, his stern glare returning to his face.
“Now, I know for a fact that you two have been friends since your very first Flight Camp,” stated Broadcloth, “and I know that the either one of you would gladly take a punch for the other in a heartbeat. So, here’s what I can’t seem to figure out: what in the name of Luna’s glowing blue mane would cause you to fight like bitter enemies?”
The two colts remained silent for a moment, shooting glares at each other when they looked up. Eventually, Kingfisher spoke up.
“Cold Snap can’t handle the truth, sir,” answered Kingfisher.
“I can handle it!” yelled Cold Snap, “You’re just telling a bunch of lies!”
“I am not!” argued Kingfisher. “You heard today’s lesson! What else could the Shadowbolts be but a bunch of treasonous, murdering thugs?”
“Ah, now it makes sense,” thought Broadcloth, as the argument continued.
“They saved Equestria and fought for the Princesses!” snapped Cold Snap, as Kingfisher rolled his eyes.
“Those were the Renegades,” countered Kingfisher, “and they were led by ex-Wonderbolts. Besides, the Shadowbolts were a bunch of mercenaries that did countless unspeakable things long before the war even began!”
“Enough,” interjected Broadcloth, halting the argument. “Kingfisher, look at me and tell me honestly: what do you think of me?”
Kingfisher frowned, not expecting this question. He looked at the old stallion in front of him, considering the fading scars that marked the stallion’s body and finding nothing out of the ordinary before answering.
“You were a veteran of the war,” replied Kingfisher, “a brave soldier who put everything on the line for Equestria when we needed it most.”
Broadcloth said nothing. The old stallion reached into one of the side pouches of his chair, searching for something. After a few moments, he tossed the object in front of Kingfisher, the colt’s eyes widening. Both Kingfisher and Cold Snap stared in shock at the object in front of them. A pair of flight goggles now rested in Kingfisher’s hooves. The angular yellow lenses scratched and cracked, the straps frayed and ripped along the edges from years of use, the goggles were unmistakable: They were Shadowbolt goggles.
“How about now, Kingfisher?” asked Broadcloth.
“T-these must be a trophy,” stuttered Kingfisher, “a souvenir from the war.”
At this, two more objects fell to the ground, silencing the colt’s rationalizations. Another pair of flight goggles with rounded red lenses and a worn red headband now sat before the colts. Both looked up in shock at the older stallion, their disbelief slowly waning. These were the mark of the Renegades, a group of ex-Shadowbolts that fought alongside the Wonderbolts during the war. There was only one way that Broadcloth would have Shadowbolt and Renegade equipment.
“I could go upstairs and get the flight suit if you still don’t believe me,” quipped Broadcloth. “I went by the name ‘Cloak’ back in those days, if you want to argue that the names don’t match.”
“Grandpa, how?” asked Cold Snap, “Why?”
“Kids, let me clear up one thing right now that the history books fail to mention,” began Broadcloth, or Cloak. “We don’t live in a perfect world. The Princesses can’t be everywhere at once, so there are things that slip through the cracks. Greed, corruption, hatred and all other manner of nasty things lurk in our society. The Royal Guard and other law enforcement are bound by the law, which is by no means perfect. This allows some groups to lurk in the shadows or hide in plain sight, taking advantage of the ponies that can’t fight back, and all the law can do is watch.”
“Are you saying that mercenaries are good?” asked Kingfisher incredulously.
Cloak laughed bitterly. “Not by a long shot, son,” replied Cloak, “but there are times where they are necessary.”
“When would a band of thieves and killers ever be necessary?” demanded Kingfisher.
“Have you ever heard of the Elysium Corporation?” asked Cloak.
“No,” replied both colts in unison.
“That’s a good thing,” replied Cloak. “Out of all the industrial firms out of Manehattan at the time, they were one of the worst.”
“What happened to them?” asked Cold Snap.
“We did,” interjected an older mare’s voice.
Cloak grinned as his twin sister Dagger walked in with her husband Arclight. The old stallion proceeded to tell a tale of years past.



Elysium Industrial Colony 001, the Old Market District, Saddle Arabian Coast
16 Years before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War

The young pegasus colt raced for his life through the cramped alleyways of the city that had been home and prison for most of his life. Behind him, his fellow “street rats” and rival thieves were hoping to capitalize on his success with little to no effort on their parts. They called him Runt, given his size, as he was much smaller than a colt of ten years should have been, though his ribs were barely visible on his dark grey frame. Strands of his unkempt rust-colored mane got into his eyes as he flew without stopping, his lungs burning and wings aching.
Daring to glance behind him, he could see his pursuers: two pegasi, a unicorn, and three earth ponies. All of them were bigger than him, and were better fed through mutually successful thefts. Death threats, threats of pain and suffering, false promises of mercy, and general insults involving the Goddess’s “Divine Left Flank” and manure all fell on deaf ears as Runt analyzed the situation, as he had every time they’d tried before this.
“The pegasi need to go down first, followed by the unicorn, and then it should just be a simple matter of outpacing the earth ponies,” thought Runt, as he turned into the next alley.
His eyes scanned ahead to see a much wider and longer alley, moving slightly uphill with several clotheslines strung between buildings. Several wine casks were being lifted up on a small dumbwaiter-style lift near the end of the alley, the ropes straining under the weight. Runt checked his belt quickly, finding the lucky “knife” that he’d made years ago from a jagged piece of Guard Armor plate and the last surviving strip of his foal blanket. He smiled.
“Perfect,” he muttered, as he set his plan into motion.
Runt stayed still enough to allow the unicorn to get a fix on his position, folding his wings when the mage fired his spell. The blast proceeded to knock out the closest pegasus pursuer, causing him to crash to the ground and take out one of the earth ponies pursuing him. Runt extended his wings back out, gliding downward and pulling back up sharply towards the highest clothesline. Gripping it in his hooves as he past, Runt snapped the cord back towards the second pegasus, who proceeded to drop like a stone. Runt drew his lucky knife, ready to cut the straining support rope and complete his escape.
Just as he approached, a second spell from the unicorn blasted the knife out of his hoof, sending it spinning upward through the air. Runt froze, eyes widening with fear. At the speed he was going, there would be no way to recover the knife and still have time to cut the rope before he passed it.
“Unless…” thought Runt, rethinking his tactics.
Runt put all of his strength into a final burst of speed, directly at a clothesline in front of him. The cord strained under the force of the impact but held for a full second before snapping back. Runt flew like a javelin, straight towards a glint of light slowly falling back towards the alley. Catching the knife in his hoof, Runt sped past the rope with the blade outstretched, severing both exposed ropes facing away from the building. As he glided past, he indulged in a gesture he’d seen some stallions in the market square use, extending the middle feather of each wing as he passed his attackers at a dizzying speed before angling his wings upward to soar far above the little alley. Had they been given time to comprehend what was happening, they would have realized that staring dumbfounded at your opponent as he flees is not the best idea while dozens of very full, and very heavy, wine casks are falling to meet you.
Of course, time and the sudden cessation of gravity had failed to bless them with their presence.
As the casks rolled toward them, the young rogues indulged in one last shout of fury before they were overwhelmed. Runt sighed with relief as he glided away, not believing his luck. He checked the stolen saddlebag to see that his prize of a Baker’s Dozen of assorted cupcakes and muffins had survived the ordeal without much squishing. While he inspected his loot, Runt failed to notice the large dark grey Pegasus with the blue mane, gold eyes watching the young colt with curiosity.



“That’s what you think will save us from this catastrophe?” asked Starry Skies incredulously, “A scrawny foal?”
Descent merely nodded. He’d kept an eye on the young thief since their arrival, even before the snafu of last night. The colt was impressive in his abilities: a strong flier and a resourceful fighter despite his malnutrition, but more importantly a cunning mind that enabled him to think his way out of situations that left him severely outclassed. With their most recent losses, they needed somepony like that. Starry broke Descent out of his contemplation with a loud sigh and an eye roll.
“Look, big guy,” began Starry. “I get it: lonely kid on the streets, fighting to survive each day because the world doesn’t seem to give a damn? With our background, it’s hard not to sympathize with that.”
“This isn’t about sympathy,” growled Descent. “This is strategy.”
“Strategy?” repeated Starry incredulously. “How is sending a scrawny little cutpurse, whose voice hasn’t even dropped yet, against an army of trained private security guards ‘strategy’? Let me remind you that we’ve only got four available from our original team of ten, and two of those members are rookies! We’ve already got two dead, one of which was the original team leader and strategist, and four more are held by the enemy, slated to be executed! We’ll have to break the others out, and then-”
“If you have a plan to break the others out before their public execution this afternoon, I would be very interested in hearing it,” interrupted Descent, with only his icy tone betraying his frustration.
Descent didn’t look back at Starry, instead continuing to watch the young colt as he ate part of his ill-gotten gains. Starry’s frustration at Descent’s counterargument was amplified by the stallion being right. Starry didn’t have a plan, and wasn’t likely to come up with one in the next few hours that wasn’t completely suicide. There was no way to complete the mission by themselves, not even making it a suicide mission. With an exasperated sigh of acceptance, Starry spoke up again.
“Alright, what’s your plan, since you clearly have one?” asked Starry.
“Food spoils quickly, especially in this climate,” stated Descent. “Coin, on the other hand, doesn’t have an expiration date.”
“And that has to do with the price of chocolate in Canterlot how exactly?” snapped Starry.
“That colt is not the sort of thief to live day by day,” explained Descent. “No doubt he steals bits as well as food.”
“Sure, but how in the name of Discord’s saggy eyelids is that going to lead us to him?” snapped Starry, getting very frustrated at this point.
“Pickpockets work best in crowded areas where most ponies will be distracted,” replied Descent calmly. “Can’t you think of somewhere that fits that description perfectly?”
“What the hell are you talking about? The only crowded place in this backwater hellhole is the marketplace, and they closed that for the-” ranted Starry, pausing as she realized what Descent was suggesting.
“For the executions this afternoon,” finished Descent. “The overseer made it mandatory for all, under penalty of death on sight.”
“Wait, you want the kid to figure out a plan to save our friends from being executed during their execution?!” exclaimed Starry. “That’s cutting it way too close!”
“It’s the only way,” replied Descent. “There will be some time since we know that they will be the last ones executed, but it’s the only time that they’ll be accessible.”
“For Nightshade’s sake, I hope you’re right about this,” said Starry in uneasy frustration.
“That makes two of us,” muttered Descent.



Elysium Industrial Colony 001, the Market Square, Saddle Arabian Coast
16 Years before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War

Runt slipped through the crowd unnoticed, knife at the ready as he cut bit purses free from their ties. He tried to ignore the execution that was taking place in the background, grateful that it wasn’t him standing up there. Elysium did this sort of thing regularly enough that the event wasn’t surprising. However, the number of prisoners was enough to leave the crowd shaken. The first worker revolt failed late last night, and now thirty poor souls were about to meet their deaths.
Runt kept moving through the crowd, his knife making quick work of several more bit purses. He spotted a dark grey stallion with a blue mane and a very hefty bag of bits hanging from his saddlebag. Runt smiled to himself at his luck, moving silently through the crowd toward his new target. Reaching up slowly with his trusty knife, Runt moved to cut the bits free from the saddlebag. He nearly dropped the knife as a voice like polished granite spoke only loud enough for the colt to hear.
“You’d be better off with the saddlebag, son,” the dark grey stallion murmured. “The gemstones and bearer bonds alone would be worth at least ten times more than that paltry sum of bits.”
Runt’s blood turned to ice in his veins as his knife hovered over the cord that held the bits to the stallion’s belt. Every fiber of his being told him that he should run, but the thief knew that the ensuing scene would draw the attention of every single pony, including every guard, nearby. That would mean instant death for him. Fortunately, the grey stallion spoke up again.
“Relax,” commanded the stallion in a tone that left no room for arguments. “I’m not here for your head. It better serves my goals if it remains attached to the rest of you. Step up where you can see everything and don’t make eye contact.”
Runt did as he was told, putting away his knife. His ill-gotten bits jingled lightly as he sat next to the strange stallion. The colt’s heart was pounding in unease, but he tried to keep his expression calm. He could now see the execution platform more clearly, where the overseer stood ranting with his long-winded speeches on loyalty and obedience and the consequences for faltering. Two heavily-armored guard stood with four pegasi prisoners bound in chains. Between them, prisoners were being led in groups of four to the gallows set in the middle, where the executioner and two guards worked in tandem with deadly efficiency. It was hard to watch.
“I have a problem, and I believe you can solve it,” began the stallion without looking at the colt. “Do so, and I will give you this bag of bits and three more. Once you have your bits and my problem is solved, you’ll never have to hear from me ever again. Are you interested?”
The colt nodded quickly, hoping to be rid of this situation as soon as possible.
“Good, now I’m sure you can see the four pegasi bound in chains?” asked the stallion.
Again, the colt nodded. Runt had a feeling that he knew where this was going.
“I need them alive,” continued the stallion, “preferably all of them, and I only have three other pegasi. How would you do it?”
The colt considered the question. He glanced around the area, counting the guards quickly and carefully. In total, there were fifteen unicorns stationed on the rooftops, twenty-five pegasi circling the square, and a staggering forty heavily-armored earth ponies standing guard at various places around the crowd. Ten of the earth ponies were guarding the prison wagons and leading the prisoners up to the platform, leaving thirty to stand watch over the crowd that had to be over two hundred ponies, easily.
“It would be nearly impossible,” replied Runt.
“Why?” asked the stallion. “What would stand in the way?”
“First, a very large distraction like a riot or a building falling would be required to provide enough time to reach the four prisoners in the first place,” began the colt. “In addition, the unicorns and pegasi would need to be disabled, at least temporarily, to prevent them from killing the rescue team before they reach the platform. Additionally, the two earth ponies closest to the targets would also need to be disabled to prevent them from killing the prisoners. An escape route would then need to be cleared to allow the eight to fly to safety before the guards reorganize themselves for pursuit.”
The stallion nodded thoughtfully.
“And what if such a distraction were possible?” asked the stallion.
“Send the strongest to break the prisoners out and the second strongest to clear a path,” replied the colt. “If you can somehow take out the unicorns on the rooftops, you should be mostly clear to escape.”
The stallion nodded again. A purple pegasus mare standing next to him moved away from them. Runt sighed in relief.
“Before you run off, I have another offer, if you’re interested,” began the stallion. “You’re living on the streets of a very dangerous city, and what my associates and I are about to do will increase that risk tenfold. However, I can provide you with another option; another life, in essence. Be aware that it won’t be an easy life, nor is there any guarantee of your survival. However, it does provide stability, and you will never have to go hungry searching for your next meal or freeze as you search for a place to sleep at night. All you have to do is follow me when I give the signal. Are you interested?”
The colt nodded, hesitating only briefly. While the offer was suspicious, it wasn’t a difficult choice, considering that all hell would be breaking loose here. Runt would be lucky if he lasted a week if he stayed under conditions like that. If it turned out that this stallion was lying, he could escape and find a new situation somewhere else. He broke from his thoughts as the stallion spoke.
“Get ready,” commanded the stallion.
Runt readied himself to fly only moments before the ground shook and the sky roared with flames and debris, knocking him to the ground. The three rooftops where the unicorns were stationed exploded in quick succession, sending the guards flying to the ground. The crowd burst into a frenzied panic as burning rubble fell to the square below. A large brown pegasus stallion dropped down behind the prisoners and slapped the two guards’ heads together with a sickening crunch. Runt suddenly found himself face to face with the dark grey stallion as he lifted the thief to his hooves.
“GO!” bellowed the stallion, his gold eyes flashing with bloodlust as he took to the skies.
Runt quickly followed, keeping close behind the stallion as the purple mare from before joined them. He watched as the grey stallion and purple mare plowed through the still-disoriented pegasi guards, causing each of them to drop out of the sky like stones. Runt tried not to think about the fact that these guards were dead upon landing. As they cleared the smoke, six more pegasi joined their formation, but Runt didn’t take time to look at them and risk falling behind. He was barely keeping up as it was, carrying his bag of bits.
Eventually, the group made their way outside the city, slowing their pace and eventually landing on the other side of the adjacent mountain ridge. The grey stallion then spoke up, addressing the purple mare.
“You overdid the explosives, Starry,” stated the stallion calmly.
“Stuff it, big guy!” snapped Starry. “Dagger and I don’t use explosives, and do you honestly expect Tank to know anything besides punching?”
“Merely an observation, not a judgement,” replied the stallion.
“Both of you be quiet!” commanded a sea-green mare with a blue mane. “We need to evaluate our situation.”
“Agreed, Nightshade,” nodded the stallion before turning to a light grey mare with a black mane. “Dagger, did you reach the target?”
Dagger simply nodded. Runt decided not to look too carefully at that exchange. A light grey stallion with a black mane and goofy grin then spoke up.
“And there’s no need to worry about the corporation restarting its activities,” added the stallion with a goofy grin. “The locals seemed like they’d had enough of Elysium’s shit! They were beating the living piss out of those private security douchebags!”
“…Thank you, Cloak,” replied the older stallion with a sigh.
Dagger proceeded to roll her eyes and slap Cloak upside the head. The large brown stallion, who Runt presumed had to be Tank, chuckled softly, jostling the injured stallion on his back. This caused the last stallion, clearly a medic of some type, to glare at the hulking pegasus as the medic’s patient moved up and down rapidly. Finally finding his voice, Runt addressed the dark grey stallion.
“Who are you?” asked Runt, drawing the attention of everypony present.
“Who’s the pipsqueak?” asked the injured stallion.
“That ‘pipsqueak’ is responsible for your continued breathing, Hawk, so it would be prudent for you to show a little respect,” replied the grey stallion before turning to face the colt.
“To answer your question, I am Descent and these are my comrades,” answered the stallion.
“Be ready to fly, kid,” advised the medic. “Our pickup will be here soon.”
“Pickup?” asked Runt, thoroughly confused.
“He means that,” Descent explained, pointing at the horizon.
Runt’s eyes widened as what appeared to be a small fortress with propellers flew toward the group. He felt his knees grow weak as his legs gave out, overwhelmed by this new development. The group took off and flew toward the behemoth, clearly not alarmed by the arrival of a flying city. Runt felt the medic lift him up over his shoulder and take off without another word. As they flew toward the fortress, Runt began to wonder anxiously what he’d managed to get himself into.
 
To be continued…
> Chapter 2: Introductions and Tests
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Green Pastures, Southern Residential Block, Equestria
50 Years after the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
 “Hold on a minute!” interrupted Kingfisher. “What does this have to do with the Shadowbolts being good? Why were they even there in the first place?”
Cloak frowned as he was brought back into the present. The conversation had moved into the sitting room, where they had been joined by Cold Snap’s parents, Muffin and Tradewind, as well as Kingfisher’s parents, Blenheim and Willow Wisp. The story had been interrupted previously for Willow Wisp to scold her son thoroughly for his actions, but it was a brief interruption that led to both families listening to Cloak’s story. Dagger smirked snarkily at her brother, shaking her head gently.
“He’s got a point, brother,” interjected Dagger. “You did do a pretty poor job of setting up our reasons for being there.”
“Oh, hush you,” rebuked Cloak. “I was getting to it. I just thought I’d put them straight to sleep if I immediately started in with a talk of politics and motivations of the time.”
“Grandpa, ‘Fisher and I are among the best students in our class,” interjected Cold Snap. “We wouldn’t have minded. The action was nice, but it didn’t really answer a lot of our questions.”
“I’ll get to it, no worries about that,” reassured Cloak. 
“He probably didn’t start with that mission briefing because he slept through it,” observed Dagger, which brought about a round of laughter and a very pointed glare.
“If we’ve had enough jokes from the peanut gallery, I’ll continue,” growled Cloak in frustration.
As the laughter subsided, Cloak once again found his mind drifting to his early years as a Shadowbolt and the day he met one of the noblest Shadowbolts he’d ever know.


	
The Cirrus, West Corridor leading to the Briefing Room, en route to Equestria
16 Years before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
 Upon arriving on the landing platform, the group moved swiftly down the corridor towards what had to be the infirmary, where they dropped off the one called Hawk for proper treatment. The medic, who Runt learned was named Arclight, went with him to ensure that proper care was taken. With that, the group moved in silence down the corridor, with Runt growing more confused and frustrated with each step. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. 
“WHO ARE YOU LUNATICS?!” bellowed Runt with all his might. “Why is there a city in the sky?! Why were you fighting Elysium?! And why in the name of the Goddess do you look like evil Wonderbolts?!”
 Runt panted as his ranting ended abruptly as it started. The group stared at him in silence, expressions ranging from disinterest to irritation to amusement. Nightshade glanced over at Descent with a wry grin.
“Well, it seems we’ve reached the point of no return,” observed Nightshade enigmatically.
“Indeed,” replied Descent.
“So are you going to tell him now, or do you want to wait to damn him to this life?” asked Nightshade.
 “He’s already chosen by following,” answered Descent. “Therefore, he has a right to know.”
The older stallion then turned to the colt, kneeling down to look him in the eye. 
“We are the Shadowbolts,” replied Descent. “We are mercenaries of the highest caliber, and we always finish our contracts. For now, that knowledge will be sufficient. If you are accepted, you will learn more about what that means, but until then, remain calm and silent.”
The colt nodded, unhappy with the answer but unable to argue. Descent rose to his hooves and proceeded to lead the group to a large steel door. Beyond it was a well-organized and spacious briefing room.  In the center of the room, a middle-aged stallion with a crimson coat and black mane liberally streaked with grey stood staring out the nearest window. He wore a purple and black flight suit that bore signs of repeated repairs, as though it had been punctured and torn countless times only to be restored and sent into the fray again. Two other stallions wearing the full flight suit and angular yellow goggles stood nearby as though they’d just finished meeting with the older stallion. The stallion turned to look at the three pegasi, his initial smile fading slightly as the group entered the room. 
“Descent? Nightshade?” asked the crimson stallion in confusion. “Where are Stratus and Tumbler?”
“Dead, sir,” answered Nightshade. “There were… complications during the mission.”
“I presume that this young colt was among these ‘complications’?” asked the stallion, raising an eyebrow. 
“Yes sir,” replied Nightshade. “Descent will be better suited to explain the complications, as I was incapacitated for most of the ordeal.”
 “I see,” replied the stallion turning toward Descent. “I assume that this colt is here for similar reasons as the ones that brought you before me all those years ago?”
“Different circumstances, but the same purpose, yes,” replied Descent. 
The stallion nodded before facing the colt. There seemed be a sort of aura of importance about the crimson stallion’s stance that clearly marked him as an authority figure. 
“I am Dante, leader of the Shadowbolts,” stated the stallion. “Only a select group know that name. Let us hope that we can count you among them.”
Dante nodded to Descent to begin his report. 
“Our progress was fairly straightforward upon our arrival to the colony,” began Descent. “Stratus began planning on how to best accomplish our objective, determining that the local working population could be used to utterly disrupt Elysium’s activities in the region. After a week, the local workers were ready for their uprising, while we focused on our own objective...”


	
Elysium Industrial Colony 001, Operations and Records Building, Saddle Arabia
3:35 AM Local Time, Twelve hours before the Executions
 “So, why are we here, again?” asked Cloak. 
Dagger could feel her eye sockets ache as she rolled her eyes at her brother for the forty-fifth time that night. Arclight tried to stifle his laughter with very little success, while Hawk actually hung his head in exasperation as he let out a frustrated sigh. If Stratus and Tumbler heard the exchange, they gave no sign of it, as Tumbler continued to pick the lock. Nightshade, however, was more vocal.
“There isn’t a lot going on up there, is there?” cooed Nightshade, lightly stroking the side of Cloak’s face.
“...Uh?” articulated Cloak, turning bright red beneath his flight suit.
“Pity,” replied Nightshade as she moved away. “I prefer my playthings to have a little more mind to break.”
Cloak stood like a statue before shuddering violently. 
“There’s a fine line between kinky and creepy,” observed Cloak. “Nightshade uses it as a jump rope.”
“To answer your question, dear brother, we are here to undermine the Elysium Corporation’s operations here in Saddle Arabia,” answered Dagger curtly, ignoring her brother’s discomfort. 
“To be more specific, we’re here to steal corporate files, sabotage equipment, and eliminate upper management,” clarified Arclight.
“And I suppose when you say ‘eliminate’, you don’t mean giving them a pink slip and a severance check?” replied Cloak flippantly. 
“Enough,” came a deep voice from behind Cloak, causing the young stallion to jump. “We’re through.”
Descent and Starry Skies moved past Cloak toward Stratus, peering into the now open office building. Stratus turned to look at the group, his lined white face wrinkled in concentration.
“Descent, take Starry, Dagger and Tank and wait up on the ridge outside the compound,” ordered Stratus. “If the alarm sounds, you’ll clear a path for our escape. However, if it looks like we’re going to be overwhelmed before you can reach us, get out and complete the rest of the mission.”
“Understood, sir,” nodded Descent, before motioning with his wings for the others to follow. 
“I want the rest of you with Tumbler and I to back us up in case things go sideways,” barked Stratus, addressing the others. “Keep close, and don’t be seen. Let’s move.”
The six pegasi entered the office building, following close behind Stratus. Not a word was spoken as they silently cleared the building floor by floor, eliminating anypony still within the building and hiding the bodies in storage closets and air ducts. Finally, the group reached the top floor of the building. Two night guards stood outside the large executive office. One of them turned his back to the other, leaving Cloak with a very silly grin on his face. The grey stallion broke into a silent run, punctuated only by a single sound.
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYAAAAA!” exclaimed Cloak, kicking the guard in the head with a sickening crunch. 
 The other guard turned to face the source of the commotion, but came face to face with Nightshade. The mare proceeded to kiss the stallion sensuously for several seconds before breaking away, placing a hoof over the stallion’s lips. Nightshade smiled conspiratorially at the guard as she giggled ominously.
“Shhhh…” whispered Nightshade, as she proceeded to silence the guard permanently.
 Before Cloak could protest, Stratus wordlessly ordered Cloak to stand watch with Arclight, signalling Nightshade, Tumbler, and Hawk to follow him. Inside the office was a safe, a desk, and two filing cabinets. Stratus assigned Nightshade and Hawk to the cabinets and Tumbler to the safe, while he set to searching the desk. A minute passed, and then Nightshade spoke up. 
“I don’t like this,” said Nightshade. 
“Hmm?” inquired Hawk.
“This was too easy,” elaborated Nightshade. “I expected at least some sort of competent fight from the security, but we moved without raising a single alarm.”
“So?” inquired Hawk. “Isn’t that in our job description?”
“Perhaps,” conceded Nightshade. “I just can’t shake the feeling that they meant for us to- Stratus? What’s wrong?”
Stratus was frozen as he lifted a piece of paper from the top drawer of the desk with shaking hooves. On it, a crude drawing of a pegasus trying to crack a safe, but the safe exploded in his face. The image was captioned “HA HA HA” in crude red letters. Stratus looked up to see Tumbler opening the safe, having finished with the lock. 
“NO, DON’T-” yelled Stratus, far too late.




Dagger watched in horror as a large explosion shook the top floor of the building, shattering the windows as far as several floors below. The mare readied to fly to her comrade’s aid, but was stopped by a dark grey wing.
“Keep to the plan,” ordered Descent. “If they survived, they’ll get out to where we can help. Charging in now would be suicide. Have faith in their skill.”



Stratus coughed a mix of blood and dust from his lungs as he rose to his hooves, alarm klaxons sounding outside. Hawk was grunting in pain, his right wing at an awkward angle and his left leg bleeding slowly from a long gash. One look at Tumbler’s neck told Stratus that his comrade was dead, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Arclight rushed to Nightshade, checking her pulse. 
“ She’s alive,” reported Arclight. 
“Grab her,” barked Stratus. “Cloak, help Hawk. Move!”
 The three pegasi moved as swiftly as they could carrying their injured comrades, reaching the bottom floor in minutes. Outside, they were met by a full complement of unicorns, earth ponies and pegasi ready to strike them down. A lone unicorn in an expensive business suit sat looking at a watch. Three pegasi moved to bind up the Shadowbolts in chains.
“Six minutes and twenty-seven seconds from entry to exit,” stated the unicorn. “You are obviously professionals. The locals I bribed really didn’t do you justice in their description. It’s a shame I didn’t hire you first.”
“And you are?” asked Stratus.
“Elysium III, of Manehattan,” answered the unicorn. “As you no doubt have guessed, I own the Elysium Corporation and all of its subsidiaries. And you are?”
Stratus did not answer. 
“Strong silent type, I presume?” quipped Elysium. “No matter, one of your friends will be more forthcoming, I’m sure. Why don’t you ask them to join us?”
Stratus still did not answer. Elysium sighed, pulling a gold mechanical pen from his jacket. 
“Must you really be so unreasonable?” asked Elysium, withdrawing a check book. “Very well, how much are you asking?”
“Go to Hell,” spat Stratus. 
“If you insist on going,” replied Elysium calmly, raising the pen.






“Grandpa, why’d you stop?” asked Cold Snap. “What happened next?”
Cloak looked up, a haunted look in his eyes.
“Nothing good,” the old stallion answered.






Two earth ponies dragged the lifeless body of Stratus away. Cloak and Arclight stared in horror at what they just witnessed. Elysium seemed disinterested in the whole affair, wiping his pen clean with a white cloth, the pristine fabric turning red. The unicorn then frowned in irritation, glancing down at his suit, paying no mind to the pegasus security officer approaching the compound.
“Damned fool got blood on my suit,” remarked Elysium in annoyance. 
“Mr. Elysium, the riot in the industrial district has been suppressed,” reported the pegasus guard. 
“Any survivors?” asked Elysium disinterestedly.
“Thirty, sir,” answered the guard. 
“Throw this lot in with them,” ordered Elysium, motioning toward the Shadowbolts. “We’ll be making examples out of all of them tomorrow afternoon.”
“Yes sir,” saluted the guard. 



“From there, we proceeded to rest and regroup until first light,” continued Descent. “It seemed impossible for us to continue the mission without the others, but any rescue attempt would be suicidal, at best.”
“So where does the colt figure into this?” inquired Dante.
“He was a thief I observed the previous day, but thought nothing of,” replied Descent. “As Starry and I worked to retrieve food for the group, we observed the thief performing the same activity, successfully fleeing a group of his peers in the process. He was perceptive, resourceful, and incredibly quick-thinking, to the point of rivaling Stratus in his prime.”
“Oh?” asked Dante, glancing at the colt again. 
“Indeed,” replied Descent. “At the execution square, he was able to pinpoint the enemy strengths and vulnerabilities in minutes, allowing the four of us to mount a successful rescue and simultaneously complete the mission.” 
“So Elysium is dead?” asked Dante.
“Dagger confirmed the kill herself,” replied Descent.
“Excellent,” sighed Dante. “Now all that’s left is the matter of the colt…”
“Sir, I realize he seems weak and defenseless, but I can assure you he is not,” reassured Descent. 
“‘Weak’?” interjected one of stallions. “The kid looks like a damn toothpick! Apply enough pressure, and he’s gonna snap, killing himself and others in the process!” 
“His plan got us out alive, Blade,” countered Descent. “I wouldn’t be standing here otherwise.”
“It does seem pretty far-fetched,” commented the other stallion. “I trust you, Descent, but a scrawny whelp like that taking out several stronger opponents with only his wits and his surroundings? It seems to be pretty far out there.”
“Razor does have a point,” interjected Nightshade. “Perhaps a test is in order?” 
Dante nodded slowly, taking in everything his subordinates had told him. Indeed, this scrawny colt didn’t look like much, but the mercenary leader did respect Descent’s judgement on the matter. Still, Descent was fairly young, and the organization could not afford to lose more veterans if this colt folded under pressure out on the field. A test would be required. He glanced back to Blade and Razor.
“Kill him,” he said calmly.
Runt’s eyes widened in fear as the two Shadowbolts readied to fight. He felt the adrenaline enhance his perception. Time slowed as he analyzed his opponents and his surroundings, trying to find weaknesses to exploit and escape routes.
The one on the right charged forward toward Runt, ready to snap the colt’s neck between his hooves. However, they only found empty air as the young thief slid along the ground beneath the older stallion. An instant later, Razor felt the air being cut off from his lungs as the young colt attempted to choke the older stallion out from behind.
Blade unsheathed his weapon, a single gauntlet with an extendible blade, as Razor stumbled toward the wall to attempt to bash his unwanted passenger. A brief signal with his wings communicated Blade’s intention to end this fight that had gone on longer than it should have. The armed stallion leapt forward with his weapon, intending to shish-kebab his opponent’s head to the wall as Razor turned the colt into position. There was the sound of blade meeting flesh and wall, as expected, but there was an unexpected cry of pain and several strong expletives. Blade looked up in shock to find his weapon had pinned Razor to the wall by his right arm, with the young colt nowhere to be seen. Blade looked up in time to see two small hooves rapidly descending toward him before the world exploded into a dizzying chaotic blend of pain and disorientation.
Runt wasted no time with making sure his opponents were disabled. He knew Descent’s offer had to be too good to be true, and cursed himself for his wishful foolishness. He flew straight to the nearest window, hoping he would be strong enough to break the glass. Nightshade tried to intercept him, but Runt used her forehead as a springboard to gain more momentum. The colt folded his wings, closing his eyes as he braced for the pain of crashing through a window. It never came.
Runt suddenly found himself slapped to the ground by a large form, knocking the wind out of his already burning lungs. The imposing form of Descent loomed over him, one hoof pressed firmly against his chest. The grey warrior’s golden eyes were unreadable as he raised his other hoof, preparing to crush the young colt’s skull beneath it. Runt struggled beneath his opponent’s hoof, willing to fight as hard as he could to escape, with little success. The hoof descended. Runt braced for the impact.
Again, it never came. Runt opened his eyes to see Descent’s hoof a breath away from his head. Silence had fallen over the room, with only the enraged insults and curses from Razor keeping it from absolute quiet. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the silence was fully broken. Dante proceeded to laugh, a deep and rich sound that conveyed honest mirth. The Shadowbolt leader applauded the display as he glided over to the young colt.
“Fantastic,” the older crimson stallion chuckled. “He’s everything you said and more, Descent.”
Descent nodded in acknowledgement, keeping his expression neutral as he lifted his hoof from the now thoroughly confused colt. Dante seemed to notice the young colt’s confusion, as he knelt down to eye level with the young thief as the colt got to his hooves.
“Forgive me, young one,” apologized Dante. “I merely wished to see your ability myself.”
Runt nodded blankly, still stunned by the manner in which he’d been “tested”.
“How old are you?” asked Dante, hoping to coax the colt out his shock.
“Ten, sir,” replied Runt.
“And your parents are dead, I presume?” probed Dante.
“I guess so, sir,” replied Runt.
Dante raised an eyebrow at this. “You ‘guess’?” he repeated.
“Yes, sir,” confirmed Runt. “Like most foals, I was separated from my parents when they were sent to work. They’re probably dead by now.”
“And what is your name?” asked the older stallion, seemingly unfazed by Runt’s explanation.
“Don’t really have one, sir,” replied Runt. “I didn’t have any friends out there, and those that knew me just called me ‘runt’ or ‘thief’ or even ‘street rat’.”
“‘Street rat’, you say?” asked Dante. “Well, we can’t have you running around without a name, now can we? So let’s see: small, agile, quiet, and extremely clever, almost rodent-like in that respect, and they called you a ‘street rat’. How would you feel about the name ‘Rat’?”
“‘Rat’,” repeated the thief, testing the name out. “I like it, sir.”
Dante grinned widely. “Well, Rat, allow me to welcome you to your new home,” said Dante warmly, extending a hoof, which the newly-named Rat took. “Welcome to the Shadowbolts.” 

To be continued…


> Chapter 3: The Cirrus 
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Cirrus, Briefing Room, 1.5 Hours off the Saddle Arabian Coast
16 Years before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“Nightshade, escort Blade and Razor to the Infirmary,” ordered Dante. “After you’ve finished there, send in the twins.” 
“Understood, sir,” nodded Nightshade, before moving to help Razor.
Rat’s stomach churned as he looked up at the older stallion, who was still cursing and attempting to remove Blade’s weapon from his shoulder and the wall behind it. Nightshade began pulling with all her strength, but the blade remained firmly planted. Finally, after several failed attempts and several foul accusations about Nightshade and Blade’s parents, Descent rolled his eyes, walked over calmly, and gave Blade a solid yank. There was a sickening shlick of a blade exiting flesh, a yelp and expletive, and a thump of somepony falling to the floor as Descent pulled Blade free from the wall. As Nightshade helped Razor to his hooves, Descent gave Blade a solid shove. 
“Get up,” barked Descent. “I know you’ve shaken off worse than this before.”
“Not so loud,” hissed Blade, holding his ears. “Give me a minute for this headache to stop.”
“You have fifteen seconds before I call Ruin in to sing you a lullaby,” replied Descent. 
Blade groaned, but didn’t move. Descent leaned down to Blade’s ear. 
“An old Kelpie lullaby with accompanying bagpipes,” added Descent in a whisper.
Blade was gone in an instant, cursing Descent’s name. Dante laughed heartily at the display.
“You are a cruel stallion, Descent,” chuckled Dante, before turning back to Rat. 
“Now, before we turn you loose, there are a few matters of business to discuss,” began Dante. “You haven’t had any sort of formal education or training, so we can’t send you out on missions yet. However, since you don’t have any bits to your name yet, you will need a sponsor for your first few years here while you train. Since Descent is the one who found you, he will be your sponsor. It will be his responsibility to pay your expenses and ensure that you receive the proper training. After you complete your training and begin taking on missions, a portion of your pay will go to repaying him until your debt is payed.”
“Actually, the colt does have some funds to his name,” interjected Descent. “I paid him for his services at the colony, a total of five thousand bits if I remember correctly.”
Dante blinked in surprise. “Very well, it seems that you are fortunate,” continued Dante. “A sum of 5000 bits will be enough, if you live frugally, to cover at least five years of living expenses.”  
The door opened suddenly, and in came the two pegasi siblings that Rat had met earlier. Rat remembered their names to be Cloak and Dagger, and now that he had a good look at the two of them, he could see the family resemblance. That being said, the expressions of the two twins were as different as the Night was to the Day. Cloak walked in with an easygoing pace, grinning the same sort of goofy grin he’d had since Rat had first seen him. Dagger, on the other hoof, moved with purpose and determination, her expression unchanged from its frown of grim concentration. 
“Twins, meet our newest recruit, Rat,” introduced Dante. “Rat, I’m sure you’ve already met the twins, Cloak and Dagger.”
“What’s up, man?” chimed in Cloak, giving a small wave to Rat. 
Dagger bowed her head slightly, opting for a more subtle approach to her twin’s.
“Follow us,” instructed Dagger, her voice soft yet cold. “Try to keep up.” 
Rat hesitated slightly, glancing at Descent. While far from encouraging, Descent nodded in confirmation.
“Follow them,” ordered Descent. “I shall join you after my business here is concluded.” 
With that, Rat was pulled away from the briefing room. They walked in silence through the hall for a few minutes. Eventually, Dagger reached up without warning and slapped her brother upside the head with considerable force. 
“OW! Hey! What the hell?!” exclaimed Cloak.
“That was for almost getting yourself killed out there,” groused Dagger, continuing to not look at her brother. 
“What’s with the concern all of a sudden?” asked Cloak, utterly confused and still slightly annoyed.
“You almost died out there today,” repeated Dagger simply. “Don’t do it again.”
“Jeez, I get it. Although,” replied Cloak, his eyes suddenly taking on a distinct look of mischief, “I would’ve thought that you’d be more worried about a certain combat medic-ARGH!”
There was a flash of movement that even Rat was unable to follow. One moment, Cloak was standing, jokingly teasing his sister. The next moment, Dagger had her brother pinned to the ground with both wings bent at a very painful-looking angle. Rat reacted instinctively and shot straight toward the exposed rafters, hiding behind the beams. Dagger leaned down towards her brother. 
“What did we learn?” asked Dagger.
“...No...dying…” grunted Cloak hoarsely, clearly in great pain.
“And?” asked Dagger, a hint of menace slipping through.
“...No… teasing…” wheezed Cloak.
“And?” Dagger added menacingly, tightening her grip on her brother’s wings.
“...S-sorry…” choked Cloak.
“Good,” replied Dagger, releasing her grip on her brother. 
There was no further trace of anger on Dagger’s face as she continued moving down the hall. Cloak stood up, stretching out his wings in an attempt to shake off the pain. He was about to follow his sister, but stopped when he noticed Rat still hidden in the rafters. 
“Come on,” said Cloak, motioning with a wing. “You haven’t pissed her off yet, so you have no reason to fear her.”
“Is she always like that?” asked Rat as he followed the young stallion. 
“Only if you piss her off,” snorted Cloak in amusement. “Otherwise, she’s pretty much an ice cube with legs. Honestly, the best way to describe her is she’s a cross between Descent and Starry Skies.” 
“Who?” asked Rat. 
“The purple mare,” clarified Cloak. “You met her earlier: grouchy, grumpy, and all other words used to describe a foul mood. Bottle that up in the form of a pegasus mare, swirl in some violence and bloodlust, and you have Starry Skies.” 
Rat shuddered as he nodded in acknowledgement. He’d seen the mare’s violent side up close, the sounds of pegasi with shattered wings falling to their deaths still echoing somewhere in the back of his mind. 
“So what is this place?” asked Rat, eyes filled with wonder. 
“This flying tin can is the Cirrus,” replied Cloak. “As far as I know, she’s the only one of her class, but there’s been some debate on that among the eggheads downstairs.”
“Why?” asked Rat.
“Something about an original set of blueprints and a ‘nimbus’, I think,” frowned Cloak in concentration. “I kinda tuned Gremlin and Clover out after a bit. They’re nice enough, but all that tech mumbo-jumbo is best left to the techies.”
“So how does the Cirrus fly?” asked Rat. “What about food and water? And how do you get electricity?” 
“Not a clue,” quipped Cloak. “Like I said, I leave all that tech stuff to the engineers down below. If you really want to know, ask Dagger. Unlike me, she’s learned how to speak Egghead.” 
A voice then called from ahead of the two of them.
“If you two are quite finished gossiping, get your sorry flanks up here,” barked Dagger in an uncharacteristically hard tone. 
“Sorry!” gasped Rat as he moved as fast as his tired body would let him. 
“You’re new here,” replied Dagger, eyebrow raised. “You don’t know any better. My sorry excuse for a brother, on the other hoof…”
“Up ahead is the Mess Hall,” interjected Cloak, ignoring his sister’s glare. “The poor excuse for food that they serve there will make up the bulk of your meals throughout your career here.” 
“How are they able to cook and prepare food up here?” asked Rat, bewildered by all of the advancements of the fortress. 
“That will be best addressed when we move down to the Engineering section,” answered Dagger. “However, we’ll say for now that we are able to provide natural gas and electrical power for the kitchen equipment.”
“Where does the food come from?” asked Rat. 
“We make regular stops at several hidden support stations,” answered Dagger. “During those stops, we acquire food, fuel, and replacement parts for the Cirrus. Any major refits to critical systems are carried out, and wayward Shadowbolts can regroup with the ship if their mission drew them away from their scheduled pickup.”
The same theme of exposed ductwork and open rafters continued in the dimly lit, bare metal frame. Steel tables and benches were welded to the floor, while items like trays, dishes and utensils were strapped down or held in sealed containers. Rat frowned as he considered something else. 
“How many Shadowbolts are there?” asked Rat. “This room seems pretty small for being the only Mess Hall.”
“We have roughly four hundred Shadowbolt pegasi in the organization, as well as another hundred non-flying members,” replied Dagger. “Most of our pegasi are deployed actively on missions at any given time, so the Mess Hall is sufficient for our needs. In the event we ever had full capacity, a second Mess Hall area could be activated at the rear of the ship. At the moment, that room is better suited to storage.”
"Honestly, not much else to see here, so let’s get moving," quipped Cloak, turning to move down the hallway.
Dagger sighed and moved to follow her brother. Rat kept close to the twins, silently taking in his surroundings. Shadowbolts passed them in the corridor without a word. 
“The next big section we have is the Target Practice and Combat Training rooms,” explained Cloak, gesturing to several rows of doors on his right. “This is where you’ve receive all of your training and education.”
Rat peeked into one of the gyms to once again find a lack of loose objects and fixed structures welded to the floor. The majority of the floor was covered in padded mats, excluding the carpeted running track at the back of the room. A variety of practice dummies were bolted to the floor, where a few Shadowbolts were practicing with a wide array of weapons and hoof-to-hoof combat techniques. 
“So how do you strength-train without weights?” asked Rat. 
“You noticed that, eh?” asked Cloak with a grin. 
“Yes, and I’ve noticed that every piece of furniture here is bolted to the ground,” replied Rat. “I’m sure that’s to prevent accidents in the event of a crash, but it must limit your ability to perform certain tasks.”
“This one’s really sharp, eh sis?” commented Cloak to Dagger before turning back to Rat. “Well, to answer your question about strength-training, our strength-training machines rely on these special bungee cord thingies that simulate actual weights.” 
Rat frowned. “That can’t be as effective as real weights,” the colt mused. 
“It’s better than a dumbbell through the top of your skull,” replied Dagger. “Same goes for beds, chairs, tables, and lockers. If you don’t have any more questions about this section, we’ll continue on to the Medical Bay.” 
They began walking briskly down another hallway toward their next destination. Rat finally decided to speak up again and ask more questions about the logistics of the organization. 
“You mentioned non-flying members earlier,” began Rat, addressing Dagger. “What role do they serve, exactly?” 
“Our non-airborne members fit into two categories: outpost staff and infiltrators,” began Dagger. “The role of the outpost staff is fairly self-explanatory, as they maintain our various resupply outposts and help with repairs and refits when we stop. The infiltrators live down on the ground in all the major cities of Equestria, hidden among the rest of society.”
“What do they do?” asked Rat, slightly alarmed. 
“They are purely a non-combat group, if that’s what you’re asking,” replied Dagger. “It will become clear when your mentor explains the Code.”
“‘Code’?” repeated Rat, very confused. 
“The only rules we live by,” explained Cloak. “But, they’ll have to wait. We’ve reached our next stop.”
The inside of the medical room was better lit than any of the rooms they’d seen so far. Hospital beds and gurneys locked to the floor with clamps. Rat noticed Hawk and Blade resting nearby, but he soon found himself distracted. Surgical tools stuck to steel lined walls as though by magic. Rat stared in fascination at the rows of blades, clamps, and forceps that clung to the wall as though they were glued there. Pushing one with his hoof, Rat was astonished to discover that the tools could still move and, with additional effort, be removed from the wall. Cloak walked up with a grin on his face.
“What up?” he asked. “Have you never seen a magnet before?”
“No,” replied Rat, watching as the scalpel he held sprung to the wall from his hoof by itself. “It’s amazing.”
Before Cloak could reply, a door at the back of the clinic opened. Arclight, the medic from earlier, was walking alongside a familiar steel-colored stallion. Dagger’s expression softened almost imperceptibly at the sight of the young medic, who in turn gave her a brief grin and a nod before returning to watching Razor, ready to catch him if he fell. Rat winced as he saw the veteran’s heavily bandaged shoulder. A small red oval rested in the sea of white cloth that adorned the shoulder of the steel-colored stallion. With each step, Razor winced in pain, as though the blade stabbed fresh every time. The veteran stopped as he passed Rat, only a few steps away from the colt. Razor frowned at the colt’s guilty expression, confused by the reaction. A long moment passed before Razor let out a weary sigh and spoke up.
“Alright kid, I’ll bite,” Razor sighed. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Y-your shoulder-” Rat stammered.
“What, this?” asked Razor, indicating the wound before snorting dismissively. “I’ve had worse, believe me. Still, that doesn’t explain why you’re looking at me like you got caught stealing the last cookie from the cookie jar.”
“But it’s my fault!” blurted Rat, quickly covering his mouth after the outburst.
There was a long and uncomfortable silence as everyone in the infirmary remained frozen where they stood, staring at the veteran and the young thief. The colt turned his head away from the veteran, shutting his eyes tight as he waited to be berated for his foolishness. The sound that broke the silence was one that no one expected, however: the sound of genuine, uproarious laughter.
Rat opened his eyes and looked at Razor, stunned. The older veteran was laughing heartily, impeded only by the pain in his shoulder, which caused his laughter to be punctuated by winces and swear words. For a moment, Rat remained frozen, glancing around the infirmary at the smiles that slowly started appearing as others joined in, most likely in relief that the confrontation had not turned violent. Rat even found himself laughing a bit, although more nervously since he now had no clue which way this conversation was going to go. Eventually, Razor’s laughter died down as he turned to the young thief, eyes streaming from the pain of his outburst.
“Sorry kid,” Razor chuckled, wiping his eyes with his good arm. “I don’t know what I expected you to say, but it certainly wasn’t that.”
Rat nodded slowly, still utterly confused. Razor then got a very serious but not unkind expression on his face, almost as though he were a father lecturing a young colt.
“Kid, let’s make one thing absolutely clear before I go on: This wasn’t your fault,” Razor began, indicating his injured shoulder.
“But we were-” blurted Rat again, stopping before he could continue to make a fool of himself.
“Don’t interrupt, kid: It’s rude to cut off your elders when they’re lecturing your ass,” quipped Razor. “As I was saying, I don’t blame you for this, and neither should you. Hell, if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s that limp-dick moron Blade for leaping in half-assed before I could disorient you.”
“Hey!” Blade exclaimed indignantly, before a roll of bandages bounced off the bruised part of his forehead.
“Weren’t you listening to what I told the kid about interrupting?” Razor flatly asked the now swearing stallion. A few laughs escaped around the infirmary as Razor turned back to face the colt, who looked as though he were desperately trying to suppress his own laughter.
“The point is you were fighting to survive, any way you could,” Razor explained earnestly. “Don’t let anyone, pony or griffon or what have you, make you feel bad about that. And before you jump in with that ‘allies’ talk or some misguided sense of ‘honor among thieves’, let me make another thing absolutely clear: we were trying to kill you. That wasn’t some play-acting test that would have been called at the end of it if you failed. You would be dead right now if you had not acted the way you did.”
Rat’s blood seemed to freeze in his veins as he heard this. Only one thought seemed to pound in his skull as he stared at the steel-colored stallion with red eyes: Why? What was the point of actually killing a potential recruit if he failed? Razor seemed to anticipate the question, as he answered moments later.
“Because we couldn’t afford the chance,” Razor answered simply. “Does that make sense?”
“Not really,” replied Rat.
“Alright,” mused Razor. “Look at it from Dante’s view. You’re the leader of an organization of hundreds of mercenaries who all follow you. A scrawny colt is brought before you, recommended for recruitment to the organization after a few years of training. Still, he looks like he’ll probably die in his first mission, getting veterans injured or killed in the process. Would you honestly let him into your ranks?” 
Rat considered it for a long while before shaking his head. 
“Didn’t think so,” continued Razor. “You probably haven’t been taught our Code yet, have you?”
Again, Rat shook his head. 
“Well, I’ll leave that to your mentors, but one of the key things in there is keeping our Organization secret above all else,” explained Razor. “So, taking that into account, letting the runt go is clearly not an option since he knows too much.”
“So you have your subordinates kill him,” concluded Rat. 
“If he shows promise, you call off your subordinates,” confirmed Razor. “If not…”
Razor let his words trail off. Surprisingly, Rat did not shudder at the implication. In an odd sort of way, it all made sense to Rat. 
“Scaring my charge, Razor?” a deep voice cut in. 
Rat jumped in surprise. Descent now stood behind the group, having approached unnoticed. Cloak’s reaction was much more dramatic.
“Sweet Celestia’s teats!” swore Cloak as he fell over a desk full of medical records, scattering them everywhere. “How the hell did he sneak up on us?!” 
"If you had been paying attention, you would have heard the door open," snapped Dagger. 
“Not intentionally,” replied Razor, ignoring the twins. “Wasn’t successful, either. You were right about the kid being stronger than he looks.”
Descent nodded briefly, before glancing at the young colt. 
“Keep up,” ordered Descent. “There is much more of this ship to see before the day’s end.” 


To be continued...

> Chapter 4: The Code and Other Lessons
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Cirrus, Lower Decks, Equestria
16 Years before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Rat kept close to Descent as they moved along the lower corridors of the Cirrus, noting that the lights were dimmer in this section. They’d stopped briefly by the detention block, which was smaller than Rat thought it would be, with only fifty cells and five interrogation rooms. However, when Rat thought about it, it did make sense, since the Shadowbolts didn’t seem likely to take prisoners unless the contract called for it. 
Rat looked back to check up on Cloak and Dagger. Since Descent showed up, the twins had apparently decided to hold back and let the dark grey stallion lead. Rat then looked back at Descent, who had remained silent except brief explanations of various rooms. Rat could see a number of small scars on the stallion’s body as the older stallion stared calmly down the corridor. Finally, Rat couldn’t bear the silence any longer. Besides, there was one thing that had been mentioned a couple of times now, and the pony who was supposed to explain it was walking beside him. 
“Sir, what is the Shadowbolt Code?” asked Rat. 
Descent turned to frown slightly at the colt. “You’ve heard of it already,” stated Descent. “That’s unsurprising, considering your personality and ability. Honestly, I was expecting questions from you far earlier.”
“Sorry, sir,” apologized Rat. 
“First off, call me ‘Descent’ or, if you must use an honorific title, ‘Mentor’,” chided Descent. “You’ll understand why in a short while.”
“Yes s- Mentor,” replied Rat, catching himself before he misspoke again.
“To answer your question, the Code is simple in its wording,” explained Descent, “yet difficult to fully comprehend. ‘The Strongest Leads. A Contract is Completed Without Question Once Taken. The Shadows Must Stay Out of the Light.’”
“So rank is determined by strength?” asked Rat.
“‘Rank’ does not exist outside of Dante’s position,” corrected Descent. “A mission will have a ‘leader’, but any Shadowbolt with experience can take that role. It is up to the rest to trust the judgement and experience of their wingmate to not get them killed.”  
“And contracts are always completed even if it means the entire team dies in the process?” asked Rat.
“Even then,” confirmed Descent. “And without question or hesitation. If a Shadowbolt is led to inaction by wondering about the ‘why’ of a contract, it puts all of the team at risk.” 
“Is that last part about the secrecy Razor mentioned?” asked Rat. 
“Yes, and it is arguably one of our most important tenets,” replied Descent. “No matter how many contracts are completed, no matter how much wealth is earned, it all crumbles to ash if the Shadowbolts are exposed to the public eye.” 
“So how do the Shadowbolts get contracts if no one knows they exist?” asked Rat, utterly confused. 
“Dagger mentioned our non-flying infiltrator members, did she not?” asked Descent. 
“Yes, I remember,” replied Rat. 
“They act as hard links to the criminal underworlds of cities across Equestria and beyond,” explained Descent. “When a contract is posted among the criminal elite, it gets sent to us first for a 1% finder’s fee. If we take it, the contacts are payed by our infiltrators, and the contract never hits the underworld. Dante will then receive the contact information for the client via sealed courier note and will gather the details. Otherwise, the contract goes to whatever lawless scum is willing to take it.” 
“You can’t possibly receive all of your contracts like that,” mused Rat. 
“You are correct,” replied Descent. “There are a select few who know how to contact the Shadowbolts directly. Only Dante knows who they are, and they provide the bulk of our financial resources.” 
“Then why bother with smaller contracts?” asked Rat.
“Because the cost of keeping the Cirrus flying prohibits that,” answered Descent. “And now you will see why.”
With that, Descent opened a door to the Engine Room. The air here was warmer, tinged with the acrid smell of metal, ozone, and fumes. A variety of generators and engines of various types were being used to generate the thrust needed to drive the propellers. Teams of pegasi worked diligently to keep the machines running, keeping the mechanical heartbeat of the Cirrus in full working order. What surprised Rat was the presence of a full workshop where a variety of tools, weapons, and equipment were being fashioned and maintained. Cloak strolled up with a very goofy grin on his face. 
“Greetings, Eggheads!” yelled Cloak. “We mean you no harm! We are merely showing our newest recruit the whole ship! We will be on our way when we’ve concluded here! Do not be alarmed!”
This outburst was met with a mix of scowls and exasperated chuckles. One of the engineers, a lime-green stallion with a dark green mane, lifted his goggles from his face and shouted back at Cloak. 
“Just because you can’t tell a piston from a pressure gauge doesn’t mean we’re a completely alien species, Cloak,” quipped the engineer. 
“And we thank you for being able to do so, Gremlin!” shot back Cloak. “I don’t suppose the Lunatic is around?” 
“Our mentor is back in his lab,” huffed a nearby mare. “And I wish you’d stop calling him that. He’s really quite rational. He’s just… focused.” 
“Betting you wish he was a bit more focused on you, eh Clover?” teased Cloak, to which the green coated mare turned as red as her mane. 
“Enough,” commanded Descent, as Dagger once again smacked her brother in the back of the head. “Rat, meet Gremlin and Clover. They are apprenticed here in the Engineering group, which keeps the Cirrus flying in addition to providing technical support in the field.”
“Good to meet you, Rat,” greeted Gremlin. “Got any questions about our beloved vessel?”
“How are we being kept aloft right now?” asked Rat.
“Our primary propulsion system relies on steam powered turbines that rely on a mix of fuels including coal, wood, and kerosene,” explained Gremlin. “However, we’ve recently been attempting to utilize direct combustion propulsion with engines powered by methane.”
“Methane?” asked Rat. “What’s that?”
“It’s a highly combustible gas released from decomposing organic material,” explained Clover. “Our current source is… well, our sewage system and organic waste disposal. The upside of this is that we never need to take in fuel for them, and we hope to one day be entirely self-sufficient.” 
“How do you get water for the boilers and other things?” asked Rat.
“We’ll pull it in by condensing clouds, which goes to things like the showers and kitchens,” explained Gremlin. “After it’s been used there, we’ll filter it for use in the boilers down here. The resulting steam clouds are then recaptured to be condensed again.” 
“What about electric power for the lights and things?” asked Rat.
“We run a number of generators off of the drive shafts for our main propellers,” explained Clover. 
The two engineers broke off their explanations as they were interrupted by harsh snores. Cloak was lying on his back on a nearby workbench, fast asleep. All the engineers in the compartment were giving the young stallion severe glares that could make a minotaur flinch. Dagger sighed, preparing to march over to her brother and wake him with carefully applied violence. Clover stopped her, instead motioning for her to wait and allow the engineers to handle this. Gremlin picked up on the plan quickly, turning to speak to one of the head engineers. The bright red stallion smirked and lowered an intercom.
“ALL HANDS PREPARE FOR EMERGENCY BRAKING MANEUVERS!” bellowed the engineer. 
Everyone in the compartment braced themselves against something while Cloak snored on, oblivious to his impending disaster. The ship lurched suddenly, rotating a complete half-turn before lurching to a standstill. Cloak seemed to spin on the workbench before being launched airborne into a steel bulkhead. Cloak’s curses were almost completely drowned out by the laughter that filled the compartment. The engineer casually lowered the intercom, smirking silently.
“Emergency braking test complete,” stated the engineer. “All hands may return to stations.”
Cloak stood up and walked back to the group, grumbling. 
“Very funny, guys,” muttered Cloak. “You didn’t have to send me flying, though.”
“Actually, you remained relatively stationary,” explained Gremlin. “It was the ship that was moving underneath you.”
“Are ya trying to make my head burst?” complained Cloak. “If I wanted to hear techno-babble, I’d have gone to see the Lunatic.” 
“I asked you to stop calling him that!” objected Clover.
“Enough,” interrupted Descent. “Let us move on.”
Rat followed the twins and Descent as they left the engineering bay, following them back up the stairs they came from. Suddenly, Descent stopped and turned to address Rat.
“Your tour is complete,” stated Descent. “I’ll escort you to your quarters now. You two are dismissed.”
“Catch ya later, Rat!” exclaimed Cloak, slapping him jovially on the back before flying down the hall.
“I look forward to working with you in the future,” stated Dagger plainly.
Dagger then moved in the opposite direction, heading toward what Rat remembered to be the medical bay. 
“Those two are a bit odd,” observed Rat. 
“Considering what happened to them, it isn’t all that surprising,” replied Descent, moving toward what Rat presumed was the barracks. 
“What do you mean?” asked Rat.
“Almost every Shadowbolt here has a tragic tale in their lives before coming here,” explained Descent. “The twins were unfortunate to live in one of the colonies on the border between Equestria and the Griffon Kingdom.”
“Why was that unfortunate?” asked Rat, confused.
“How much do you know much about the history of the Griffons and the Drakes?” asked Descent.
“Practically nothing,” admitted Rat.
“I feared as much,” replied Descent. “To be brief, the two nations have been fighting essentially since they first met. About six years ago, a Drake raiding party managed to carve a blood-soaked path through the Griffon Kingdom all the way to the Equestrian border. I’m sure you can guess where they met the border.”
Rat paled at the thought, shuddering slightly before Descent continued. 
“Two battle groups of Sky Wings struck the Drakes in the middle of the night. The battle was fierce, but brief. It was at that point that the Drakes made a desperation-fueled last effort by flying toward the colony, threatening to burn it if the Griffons did not back down. The Sky Wings, of course, did not yield.
“The entire colony burned,” continued Descent, unflinchingly. “Trapped beneath the debris next to their parents’ lifeless bodies, the twins waited for hours after the battle ended. When Razor found them hours later, Dagger was as silent and emotionless as you see her now, and Cloak was as flippant and carefree.”
“How did that happen?” asked Rat. “Why did they turn out like that?”
“I’ve never asked,” replied Descent. “Honestly, you eventually stop asking those kinds of questions after a certain point.” 
“Why’s that?” asked Rat.
“Because you come to realize that this is your life now,” explained Descent. “Whatever pony you were before coming here died the moment your hooves touched the deck of the Cirrus. Most don’t realize it immediately, and for some it takes several months to recognize, but eventually it all becomes clear. The Cirrus is your home. Your wingmates are your family. You are a Shadowbolt.” 
As Descent spoke, Rat finally felt that he’d seen genuine emotion from the dark grey stallion. The pride in his mentor’s voice spoke volumes to the young colt. This wasn’t the same sort of grandstanding that Overseer Elysium practiced when making his grand speeches. This was pure and steadfast loyalty to a set of principles that stretched far beyond Descent in this moment. It was one of the most pure expressions of loyalty that Rat had ever seen.
Descent turned suddenly, opening a nearby hatch. Rat blinked in surprise, not noticing that they had arrived at their destination. Inside, eight sets of bunk beds with high guard rails and what appeared to be crash harnesses were welded to the floor in rows of four. The storage lockers were once again welded to the floor, being positioned along the walls of the room. Descent glanced down at his charge.
“Here is where you’ll be staying,” explained Descent. “Your locker and bunk will have your name on them. In your locker, I have placed a selection of books you’ll be reading over the next few months, as well as a reading schedule. Memorize your assignment for tomorrow, and then get plenty of rest. We’ll be having our first training session in Training Room 45 at first light. Around here, that’s about 5:00 AM on the dot. Ten wing-ups for every minute you are late.”
And with that, Descent left without another word. Rat moved over to look out the window. Outside the Cirrus, an uninterrupted sea of clouds flowed as far as the eye could see, the last rays of sunlight turning them orange and gold. Rat couldn’t help but smile. He knew this life would be incredibly difficult from now on. He knew that there would be days where he would feel as though his body and soul couldn’t take any more abuse, and he’d still press forward. All this would come later. For in this moment, in that poorly-lit space with steel walls with only a tiny window, Rat finally felt free.

Green Pastures, Southern Residential District, Equestria
50 Years after the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Cloak sighed as his story drew to a close. Daylight had been absent for a number of hours now, and the hour grew later still as crickets and cicadas sang beneath the glow of the rising moon. The colts had sat with rapt attention through the story, even though they were betrayed by the occasional yawn.
“You’re stopping now?!” protested Kingfisher with an indignant yawn. “You can’t do that! What happens next?! Did Rat finish his training and become a Shadowbolt? What about Dante? What happened to him? And what about Nightshade and the crystals? You can’t just leave it like that!”
“Yeah, Grandpa!” agreed Cold Snap, bleary-eyed exasperation punctuating his protest. “The story can’t be finished there!”
“You’re right, the story isn’t finished,” replied Cloak with a chuckle. “We can return to the rest of it at another time.
“However,” added Cloak, his expression becoming stern, “the story was not the point of this gathering, now was it?”
Both colts glanced sheepishly at their hooves as the adults frowned sternly at the two of them. Kingfisher looked at his bruises and then at Cold Snap’s. In the excitement of the story, both colts had completely forgotten their earlier fight, which seemed utterly ridiculous now. The blue colt spoke up first. 
“I’m sorry, ‘Snap,” apologized Kingfisher. “I was wrong about the Shadowbolts.”
“No, you were right,” protested Cold Snap. “I was just being an idiot-”
“You were both being idiots,” interrupted Dagger. 
Everyone turned to look at the older mare in shock. While she was known for her harsh tongue, the two colts and their parents couldn’t help but stare in shock at her bluntness. 
“Did a hoof to the face solve your argument?” asked Dagger. “Did wrenching wings solve it?”
The colts shook their heads guiltily as Dagger continued.
“No, they didn’t,” confirmed Dagger. “Do you know what did?”
Both colts frowned in confusion. They shook their heads again, unsure of where Dagger was going with this. 
“You listened,” explained Dagger. “You thought. You found answers. And you know how you did that? You used your head, not your hooves. Fighting never gives answers. Trust me, I’ve had years of fighting across several continents to prove that.” 
“Dagger’s right,” interjected Cloak. “You don’t win fights. You only survive them. You’ve already lost the moment you choose to fight, because someone always loses.
“But enough of that,” yawned Cloak. “We’ll leave the judgement to your parents. It’s late, and a school night. I suggest we all turn in.” 
With that, the older stallion stood up and entered the house, followed shortly by his sister and brother-in-law. As they moved, they unconsciously fell into a formation, probably ingrained in their minds after decades of combat. However, what stood out to the two families present was that none of the older pegasi took the lead position in that formation. It remained vacant, as if it never occurred to any of them to take that place. In his mind’s eye, Cold Snap could picture the pony that filled that position so consistently that his colleagues would subconsciously defer it to him. How did that scrawny young thief become that leader, able to inspire such awe and loyalty among his peers?

To be continued…
End of Act 1

> Chapter 5: Initiation/First Mission
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Green Pastures, Cloak’s Front Porch, Equestria
50 Years After the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War (2 Weeks after the First Story Session)
Cloak closed his eyes and sighed as he listened to the trees sway gently in the breeze. After Cloak had concluded his story, Cold Snap and Kingfisher were told that their punishments would be decided in the morning, as even the adults were starting to get bleary-eyed. When the morning came, both colts learned that they would be grounded for two weeks. However, much to the adult’s amusement, the two bemoaned the absence of Shadowbolt stories more than the grounding itself. Unsurprisingly, Cold Snap promised Kingfisher that he’d wait until their punishment was over to hear the rest of the story.
And so the next two weeks for Cloak were back to the same quiet routine of sitting quietly on the porch in his weathered rocking chair with his glass of lemonade. However, Cloak found himself to be no longer at ease with the peaceful neighborhood, as memories of wingmates and battles long past flooded his mind. The memories he recalled were not always unpleasant, with some of them being the happiest of his life, but they still drew him to a time he’d thought long-forgotten. That night was the first time he’d told anyone about those days, and it had been decades since he’d lived them.  
The old stallion found that every glint of metal from barbecue grills and garden shears to be the gleam of armor and weapons in the sun, every spring gathering of friends and family to be revelry after another successful mission, and every shadow cast by the weather team to be another comrade in the sky. The lazy afternoons he spent in his chair relaxing now failed to bring the same tranquil joy that they used to. He was restless, longing to share more of his comrades in arms to a new generation. It seemed that after several decades of keeping silent, the stories of Cloak’s past life could remain silent no more. 
“Grandpa?” a familiar voice asked. 
Cloak opened his eyes, expecting to see Cold Snap and Kingfisher sitting in front of him, awaiting the next part of the story they had waited weeks to hear. To his great surprise, Cloak found that the young colts were not alone. Five other foals, two colts and three fillies, were also present. He noted that two of the foals, one pegasus and one earth pony, had distinct rainbow streaks in their manes, giving a slight hint as to why they were present. The others, another earth pony and two unicorns, were impossible to guess.
“Afternoon, you two,” greeted Cloak, addressing Cold Snap and Kingfisher. “Who are your friends?”
“Well, after you told us the story, we kinda couldn’t stop talking about it,” admitted Cold Snap sheepishly. “A few of our classmates overheard us, and they decided they wanted to tag along.”
“I see,” replied Cloak, amusement glimmering in his eyes. “I assume that you brought them up to speed on the last part of the story?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Kingfisher. 
“Well, I don’t see any logistical reason why they can’t join us,” said Cloak, before turning to address the newcomers. “However, I must warn you all. The story so far has been fairly innocent and mild in comparison to later parts. There will be moments of laughter and joy, but the life of a mercenary is not a pure and honest one, and the story will get darker from this point on. Are you sure you want to hear it?”
“We aren’t little foals, Mr. Broadcloth,” replied the rainbow-maned filly. “Besides, hearing this stuff from someone who was actually there is at least twenty percent cooler than listening to our teacher drone on and on about it.”
The other foals laughed and nodded at this. Cloak couldn’t help but chuckle at the filly’s brash dismissal of his warning. It wasn’t hard to guess who she was related to, given her mane. 
“Alright, if you say so,” replied Cloak. “Still, there will be points where I will skip over details that I feel are unnecessary to telling the story. It’s not that I think you aren’t able to handle them, but more that I feel you shouldn’t have to handle them.”
The foals formed a half-circle around the old stallion’s chair. Cloak took a long draught from his glass of lemonade, before turning back to the group and resuming his tale.
“So, after his arrival on the Cirrus, Rat proceeded to train for a number of years,” began Cloak. “Years of malnutrition and poor living conditions made his progress much slower than it normally would be. However, after five years of hard work and dedication, Rat was finally deemed ready…”
The Cirrus, Training Room 58, Equestria
11 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
The young stallion shook sweat from his brow as he sprung back toward the training dummies, swerving to avoid the weighted bags that soared toward him. The bags filled with steel balls clattered harmlessly to the floor as Rat struck the first target with a clean blow to the face. The rubber head snapped back with an audible crack as the wooden neck support snapped cleanly, signifying a “kill”. Rat then made his way to a second dummy, using it to block three rounds from the launchers and earning another “kill” as the weighted bags collided with Rat’s makeshift shield. Three more “kills” were earned in quick succession as he moved from dummy to dummy, striking quickly and cleanly. He then concluded the exercise with a solid strike to the final target, crushing the “ribcage” and snapping the “neck”. 
Rat clicked the stopwatch around his neck, checking the time. One minute and thirteen seconds, from start to finish. Rat had shaved eight more seconds from his previous run. In his time training, Rat had grown into a healthy young stallion. While malnutrition in his early years had robbed him of the potential for a much larger frame, he’d managed to fill his body with a healthy amount of muscle over the past five years.
Rat remembered that first training run he did the morning after he arrived at the Cirrus. Throughout every lap, every set, and every exercise, Descent had Rat recite what he read the previous night, answering Descent’s questions as he moved through each position. For every incorrect answer, an additional set or lap was added. The physical training probably would have gone faster if Rat was less diligent in his studies. 
Rat wiped the sweat from his brow, exhausted from his routine. He reached for his water bottle, undoing the cap and preparing to take a drink. The soothing sensation of cool water flowing down his throat never came. Rat swore briefly as he set down the empty bottle. 
“You’ve improved,” a deep voice interjected. 
Rat turned around to see Blade standing by the door. Over the past five years, Rat had gotten to know the stallion better. Whenever Descent was away, Blade and a few other Shadowbolts that Descent trusted would work with the young stallion instead. Of course, after two years or so, Descent trusted his pupil to keep on task. A water bottle flew through the air toward the exhausted young stallion.
“I’m guessing your mission went well,” grinned Rat as he caught the water bottle. 
“Fairly,” replied Blade with a grin to match. “Sin has now decided that he hates fishing wharfs.”
“Oh?” asked Rat, realizing there was a story behind this. “Why’s that?”
“The poor bastard got himself caught and tossed into a fishing net by this huge earth pony thug,” laughed Blade. “It took three of us to bring that beast of a stallion down while Sin struggled to gain traction in a pile of day-old fish. I swear, he’s taken three showers since we’ve gotten back, and the smell still hasn’t gone away.”
Rat laughed as he took a long draught from his water bottle. Blade’s expression darkened for a brief moment, but when Rat looked again, it was back to normal. They sat in silence for several minutes. Finally, Blade broke the silence.
“So, you’re reaching the end of your training?” asked Blade.
“Yep,” answered Rat, taking another long swig from the water bottle. 
“I see,” replied Blade. “Has Descent said anything about when you’ll be made a full Shadowbolt?”
“Now that you mention it, he hasn’t,” replied Rat, frowning slightly. 
“Good,” replied Blade, moving to face the other direction. “At least he’s following that part of the plan.”
“Plan?” asked Rat. “What do you mean?”
Rat stood up to move next to Blade, but suddenly found himself unable to do so. His vision was blurring rapidly, and he found his muscles getting weaker. Rat stumbled, struggling to regain his balance and form words. Both efforts were fruitless, as Rat tumbled to the ground. Blade turned to look at Rat, his expression unreadable even without Rat’s impaired vision.
“Sorry, kid,” apologized Blade. “Wasn’t my idea to do it like this. If I’d had my way, I’d have taken you down in an honest fight, but Dante said the casualties would be too high.”
With that, Rat’s vision faded to darkness.


	
“WHAT?!?!” exploded the crowd of foals. 
“Are you serious?!?!” ranted Kingfisher. “We waited two weeks to hear more about Rat, and he ends up dying like a complete wimp?!” 
“Grandpa, I thought you said that Rat was important!” yelled Cold Snap. “You said that he became a Shadowbolt!”
“You better have a good explanation for this!” shouted the rainbow filly, completely ignoring the fact she was yelling at an adult. 
Cloak laughed at the young foal’s reactions. He’d been planning this moment for two weeks. The fact that he had a larger audience only made the moment that much sweeter.
“Remain calm,” said Cloak, still chuckling lightly. “The story isn’t over yet.”
“How?!” asked the rainbow filly. “Rat died!  What else is there to say?!”
“I never said Rat was dead,” grinned Cloak. 
“But Blade poisoned him!” protested Kingfisher.
“Now when did I ever say that it was poison in that bottle?” retorted Cloak.
That got the foal’s attention. With that, Cloak resumed his story. 


	

????, ????, (Most Likely) Equestria
11 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
The next thing that Rat felt was the feeling of a hoof across his face. 
“Wake up,” snapped an unfamiliar voice. 
Rat opened his eyes to find that he could not see. The room was pitch-black, so Rat could only feel the chair to which he was tied to and the metal floor beneath his hooves. 
“How many Shadowbolts are there?” asked the voice.
Rat froze in utter fear. They knew. Whoever these ponies were, they knew. Rat took a deep breath and prepared his response. 
“What the hell are you talking about, man?” lied Rat, using his actual fear to make his voice tremble convincingly. “Who are you?! Where am I?!”
“Very funny, son,” growled the voice. “You’re a regular Grouchy Marx. But let me make myself completely clear here: We know about your little band of psychopaths. We know what you’ve been doing. Hell, we found you dumped on a hillside in full Shadowbolt garb. The Princess herself said that she doesn’t care what it takes to stop you all. No one knows you’re here. Legally speaking, you don’t exist. I’ve lost some really good friends chasing your little group, so I’m not my usual generous self. So can we dispense with the bullshit?”
Rat remained silent. This situation was far worse than he feared. There’d be no talking his way out of this one. Escape didn’t seem likely in this situation either. Rat’s fate was sealed. There was only one course of action left.
“Alright,” replied Rat. “You’ve caught a Shadowbolt. I won’t say a damn thing, though, so it’s a waste of time.”
“Son, I don’t think you were listening to what I was saying just now,” barked the voice. “The Princess doesn’t care what happens to you. You legally do not exist. I can do whatever I want to make you talk, and I have plenty of motivation to do so.”
“Do your worst,” spat Rat. “Whether there’s only one or one hundred Shadowbolts, I’ll carry that knowledge and everything else I know to my grave.”
There was a long silence. The voice sighed in disappointment. The sound of a blade being drawn sent a chill down Rat’s spine.
“Alright, then,” replied the voice.
Rat braced himself for the worst. He breathed deeply as the hoofsteps moved behind him, taking in the smell of fish-
“Wait, fish?” thought Rat, quickly remembering what Blade had told him.
The sound of a knife descending broke through Rat’s thoughts. Rat found he was no longer tied to the chair. Several bursts of flame ignited in the room. Shadowbolts in full uniform stood in two lines around Rat, sustaining the flames between their hooves to provide the only illumination in the room. With the added illumination, Rat could also see that he was wearing a full Shadowbolt flightsuit. At the head of the group stood Dante, standing on a slightly raised podium.  
“Step forward, Rat,” said Dante. 
Rat did as he was told, still in utter shock. He glanced behind him, where he could see Sin gripping the dagger that cut him free. He looked at the faces around him, spotting the twins, Razor, Blade, Clover, Arclight, Gremlin, Moon, and even Starry Skies. Turning forward, Rat finally found the face he was looking for. 
Descent was in full Shadowbolt garb, goggles glinting from the light of the fires around them. His face was impassive and unreadable, but Rat knew better. Rat turned to face Dante.
“The life of a Shadowbolt is one of great joy and great pain,” began Dante. “Our lives are harsh and brief, but never are we alone. We answer not to any master or laws but our own. We hold allegiance to no nation or government. Our loyalty rests with each other and our Code. We devote everything we have to these two things, living and dying by what we believe in most.
“Over the years, you’ve grown stronger and have learned the Code well,” continued Dante. “You know what it means to be a Shadowbolt. Your actions just now have more than shown that. So, with that knowledge, do you swear to uphold the Code to the best of your ability, even in the face of the most agonizing death?”
“I swear it to my last breath,” replied Rat, his voice shaking slightly as his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. Dante smiled.
“Then join our ranks,” replied Dante. “Claim your place among us in this open sky, where we shall stay until the bitter end.” 
Descent moved forward and placed a set of goggles in Rat’s hooves. The dark grey stallion said nothing, staring directly into Rat’s eyes and giving a slow, but deliberate nod. As the dark stallion turned away, Rat couldn’t help but grin. To anyone else, it seemed to be a cold and formal interaction. However, although it had never been said, Rat knew from five years of training what the stallion meant. He was proud of him.
Rat glanced down at the goggles that now rested in his hooves. They were lighter than he expected. The angular yellow lenses glinted in the light of the flames as he stared into them, his own face reflected back at him in the dim light. He moved a hoof over the headband where his name was stamped on a small steel tag. With trembling hooves, Rat put on his first set of goggles for the first time. It was a perfect fit.



“That was a dirty trick,” the rainbow filly grumbled petulantly. 
“Perhaps, but it was important,” replied Cloak. “Just like the Wonderbolts, the Shadowbolts put a strong emphasis on practical tests.”
“Wasn’t talking about them!” snapped the filly. “I was talking about you!” 
“Me?” asked the old stallion in confusion. 
“You could have told us he was going to turn out alright!” scolded the filly. 
“I liked it, Flare,” her brother interjected unnoticed.
"Of course you did, Prism-" snapped Flare, rolling her eyes at her brother. 
“Knock it off, you two!” snapped Kingfisher. “I don’t wanna wait for another two weeks to hear this story!”
Cloak chuckled again before returning to where he had left off. 



The Cirrus, en route to the Briefing Room, Equestria
11 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“So, how do the new duds feel, Rat?” grinned Cloak. 
“They feel great,” replied Rat. “Honestly, they’re much lighter than I expected.” 
“This is just the standard variation,” explained Clover. “You’ll also have a cold-weather variant and a heavy combat variant.” 
“What’s the difference between them?” asked Rat.
“All of our suits utilize a unique polymer weave that’s resistant to magical and physical damage,” explained Clover. “The main difference between the suit you have now and the cold-weather variant is that the cold-weather not only keeps you warm, but masks your heat signature entirely. 
“As for the heavy combat variant,” continued Clover, “that one uses a very expensive graphene polymer armor weave, combined with actual plates over vital areas.”
“Chat later,” interjected Dagger. “We’re here.”
Inside the briefing room, four rows of chairs faced a podium with various chalk boards and maps. The front row held a group of familiar faces, even if they were not the friendliest. Starry Skies tapped a hoof impatiently while Blade sharpened his signature weapon in the front row. Tank was hoof-wrestling with Sin, while Devil pretended to ignore it. Descent stood at the front podium, waiting for the rest to take their seats, which they did so without a word.
“Alright, let us begin,” began Descent. “This contract is relatively simple and straightforward. The clients are a pair of charlatans who have contracted us to raid a private caravan bound for Canterlot. The reason why they need us involved is that the Royal Guard are the ones interested in the cargo.”
“What’s the primary cargo objective?” asked Blade. “I’m assuming it’s heavy, since you’ve called in a lot of muscle on this one.”
“Indeed,” replied Descent. “From what I understand, the cargo we’ll be after is the charlatans’ non-functioning prototype of a crystalline engine.”
“Crystalline engine,” repeated Cloak sagely. “Right, of course.”
“I assume it would be too much to hope that you actually are aware of what that is?” asked Descent. 
“Haven’t a damned clue,” replied Cloak without flinching. 
“A crystalline engine is an engine that is powered by magical energy through the use of specialized crystals,” explained Clover. “A single crystal will last for eons as long as it isn’t damaged from external strain, and it produces no waste when used. It’s honestly an engineer’s dream.”
“So why haven’t I seen more of these crystalline doohickeys around Equestria?” asked Cloak. 
“What do you think the Crystal Empire exported?” snapped Dagger. “When the Mad King Sombra made the Empire vanish, the sole source of engine crystals vanished with them.”
“Precisely,” agreed Descent. “For this reason, Celestia has designated that crystalline engines will only be used in the Royal Guard for their various transport vessels and machinery.” 
“Which would be why the Guard has taken an interest in the prototype,” deduced Rat. 
“Hence the need to cover it up,” replied Descent. “We’ve managed to acquire the route for the caravan, and there is a perfect location up in the mountains from which we can strike. Normally, we could simply smash-and-grab the package and eliminate all the witnesses, but the Guard has set up scheduled check-in stations all along the route at roughly one hour intervals. If the caravan is more that ten minutes late, they will send troops to investigate.” 
“How many guards are in the caravan?” asked Dagger. 
“Roughly three squads of no less than eight,” replied Descent.
“Doubt we’ll be able to fight off a complement of that size and get the cargo out of there within that time window,” observed Blade. 
“Which is where Rat’s group will come in,” replied Descent. “They will silently incapacitate the guards and allow us the opportunity to remove the engine within the specified time window.”
“How the hell are they going to do that?” asked Starry. “From what I can see, they’ve got a fifteen minute window to take out two dozen Royal Guards.”
“Rat, would you care to explain your plan?” asked Descent with a meaningful look.
Rat froze briefly, realizing that he needed to develop a perfect plan in the next thirty seconds. His eyes glanced over the maps and charts, moving with a precision that would make hummingbirds envious. Time slowed as it usually did when Rat utilized his gift. As the countdown reached zero, Rat smiled a brief smile. He moved up to the podium, addressing both teams. 
“Here’s the plan…” began Rat.
Ambush Point, Undisclosed Location, Equestria
11 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
And now they sat on the hillside, watching the armored carriages approach. These self-propelled vehicles were used for high-value cargo that was too sensitive to move by standard air transport and too valuable to move by train. The steel plate that lined the sides of the carriages was treated to deflect magical energy. However, it was still malleable enough for regular tools to break through. This was the crux of the plan Rat developed. 
Each member of the second team would breach the hull of the armored transport in just the right spot so that sleeping gas could flood the front and rear compartments, knocking out anyone inside. In order to prevent accidents, the carriages were designed to stop if the driver loses consciousness. From there, it would be a simple matter of setting up the frame-up, blaming some minor criminal gang for the theft while the real prototype would be forgotten in the ensuing confusion. 
“Ready up,” barked Descent in a hushed tone. “Rat, get your team into position.” 
Rat nodded, making wing motions to his team to mask up. The four armored carriages moved along the trail at the same steady pace. Four Shadowbolts glided silently onto the roof of each carriage, sleeping gas canisters in hoof. Hand drills moved in unison, stealthily cutting through armor plating until each carriage had the same bit-sized hole. Hoses were attached to canisters and threaded over holes. Silent hisses. Three. Two. One.  The carriages crawled to a stop. 
Using the provided keys, each Shadowbolt opened up the armored hatches of their respective trucks. Inside, elite Royal Guards slept like foals, some drooling and some even snoring. Inside the third truck sat a large crate. There was little doubt among the team that this was their target. Rat lifted up his gas mask and gave two sharp whistles, motioning with his right wing. It was all clear. 
The second team glided down, carrying the tools that Clover needed to break down the engine for transport. Devil and Tank worked together to lift the crate in question out onto the open ground while Sin began planting the evidence for the cover story. Cloak gave Rat a wide grin. 
“And you pulled this plan completely out of your a-” began Cloak.
“Don’t start celebrating yet, rookie,” chastised Blade. “We’re not out of this until that hunk of junk is in the Skyhook for pickup.” 
Rat directed his attention to the aforementioned piece of equipment. Descent and Starry were inflating the large balloon that would carry and hold a platform to a set height so that a team of pegasi or a large vehicle could retrieve it. Clover worked quickly to disassemble the engine, loading parts into canvas bags that would be loaded onto the Skyhook. Sin made a brief turn around the corner, planting a few mane hairs and some cigar ash next to a nearby set of hedges. The stallion suddenly froze.
“Oh son of a-” swore Sin.  
A loud metallic clang resounded in the clearing as a large wrench struck Sin in the face. From the hedges, an earth pony security guard, most likely from the private security firm that the Royal Guard employed for this job, bolted toward the nearest armored transport. Blade looked up in alarm.
“RUNNER!” shouted Blade. “WE’VE GOT A RUNNER!” 
Rat watched as the guard knocked Blade’s gauntlet aside, striking the light grey stallion under the chin. Rat felt the familiar feeling of time slowing down, giving him the enhanced perception he needed to assess the situation. There was only one thing that the guard could be going for: the emergency flare. The only thing that the earth pony needed to do to summon the full weight of the Royal Guard upon them and compromise the mission entirely was pull one cord and fire a single signal flare. There was only one option. 
Rat moved with a precision that he’d practiced thousands of times in the Training Rooms, ducking under the security guard and approaching him from behind. With a well-practiced motion and an audible snap of bone, the guard tumbled to the ground. The young stallion, however, remained frozen for several seconds. Rat felt ill. He thought he’d be ready for this moment. He’d practiced this thousands of times until it became a reflex, simple as breathing. He could bring down any opponent from any angle. 
It wasn’t the sound of bone snapping or the lifeless body hitting the floor. It was his opponent’s expression of fear as the stallion realized the inevitable fate he faced. The unspoken plea for mercy in his eyes before they slowly went vacant. Rat could feel his hooves shaking as his stomach churned. Blade patted Rat on the back.
“Nice job, kid,” acknowledged the older stallion, rubbing his jaw. “He probably didn’t even feel himself hit the ground.”
“Fly now, praise later,” snapped Starry. “That sleeping gas should be wearing off any minute now, and we need to be gone before it does!”
“Get Sin onto the Skyhook and launch it,” barked Descent. “Once that’s done, we’re taking off!”
Rat moved normally for the next twenty minutes. To look at him, the young stallion seemed fine. No one suspected that there was anything wrong. Back on the Cirrus, Rat was only slightly aware of the praise his colleagues gave him, and accepted it with a brief nod and a few unconscious words, slowly making his way to the locker room. It wasn’t until he was alone in the bathroom that his emotions overcame him.
To be continued...

> Chapter 6: The Cleaner
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Green Pastures, Cloak’s Front Porch, Equestria
50 Years After the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
The group of young foals was silent for a long time. Cloak sat calmly in his chair, rocking back and forth steadily, waiting for one of them to voice their thoughts. Finally, Kingfisher spoke up.
“Why was Rat so upset?” asked Kingfisher. “Didn’t he train for this?”
“It was his first kill,” replied Cloak simply. 
“But he spent years preparing for it!” exclaimed Flare Glider. 
“Learning the mechanics of killing and actually killing are two very different things,” explained Cloak sternly. “Normal ponies never find it easy to kill. When you choose to take a life, you are removing a unique soul from this world, one that had hopes, dreams, fears, friends, and family. The first kill I ever made was out of desperation in the burnt out ruins of my home, and I had nightmares for weeks after.”
“So what happened next?” asked Cold Snap.
“Well, you can imagine how broken Rat would be after discovering a perceived fault that would put his adopted family at risk,” replied Cloak. “He did the one thing he felt he needed to do: fix it.”

The Cirrus, Training Room 58, Equestria
11 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War (2 Hours After Previous Mission)
Rat moved through the course again, frustration building in his veins. He’d gone here shortly after he’d finished throwing up in the locker room and cleaned himself up. He found that his work was getting sloppy; his “kills” were incomplete, and he was getting hit by the bags. He’d lost count of how many times he’d run this course, but it wasn’t enough. He needed to get it right.
In his mind’s eye, all Rat could see was the face of the guard he killed. The look of fear as Rat’s hoof snapped the neck was etched onto the face of each dummy, making Rat sick to his stomach. Shattering wood turned to snapping bone, and screams of orphaned foals echoed in his ears. His heartbeat raced faster with each strike. He could feel it pulsing behind his eyes, pounding and pounding as his pulse raced faster and faster. Rat fell to the ground as a bag struck him in the wing. He struggled to stand up to run the course again, when through the haze of his mind-
“You alright, kid?” asked a familiar voice. 
Rat looked up and saw the grizzled face of Razor, his expression tinged with concern. Out of all the older Shadowbolts besides Descent, Razor was probably Rat’s favorite to talk to. However, Rat was hardly in the mood to talk, even if the noise in his mind has ceased. The young stallion moved over to one of the hanging punching bags, striking it repeatedly. Razor said nothing, standing and watching Rat calmly. Eventually, the blows of Rat’s hooves slowed as exhaustion took its toll, eventually leading to Rat collapsing in frustration, fighting to keep his tears from showing.
“So, do you wanna tell me what’s bothering you?” asked Razor. 
“...I’m a failure,” mumbled Rat, looking away from Razor.
“What was that?” asked Razor.
“I’m a damn failure, alright!” shouted Rat, tears in his eyes. “I’m not strong enough to kill! I’m putting you all at risk by going out there, so you should snap my neck and end it!”
Razor was silent only a moment before he spoke up again. 
“What happened?” asked the older stallion.
And so Rat explained how his very first mission had gone, trying to keep his voice level. Razor listened in silence, his expression remaining calm throughout the entire story. Eventually, Rat’s tears of frustration managed to break through. As he concluded, Rat tried to regain his composure. The only sounds in the training room were those of choked sobs and the gentle groan of the Cirrus. Finally, Razor spoke up, breaking the agonizing silence.
“I’m not sure I understand,” began Razor. “Where exactly did you fail?”
Rat stared at the older stallion in shock. It made no sense whatsoever. Everything he’d been taught told him that the answer should have been obvious. 
“The kill!” exclaimed Rat. “I got upset by one kill! I couldn’t shake it off! I’m still messed up over it!”
“So?” asked Razor. “Who the hell said killing was easy?”
Rat found that he could not respond to this. The one stallion who had told a ten year old colt that he intended to kill him if he failed a test was now telling him that it was okay to fail the group? Rat’s jaw moved noiselessly as he sat in shock. 
“Look, Rat,” began Razor, “I’ve been a Shadowbolt for a real long time now, and I’ve seen recruits come and go all throughout that time. You know one thing I found that held fairly constant for all of them?”
Rat merely looked on in shock and confusion. Razor continued.
“Almost all of them were deeply troubled by their first kill on the job,” answered Razor. “The only ones who weren't had either killed before or were completely insane. The insane ones usually never lasted long. So you should be glad that you are feeling this way right now.”
 “But how do I move on?” asked Rat in frustration. “How do I keep my brothers and sisters safe if I can’t bring myself to take an innocent pony’s’ life?”
“I can’t speak for every case, since every life taken is different,” replied Razor, “but I can say this: While that guard might have been an honest stallion, he was certainly not an innocent bystander. He chose his job freely, knowing the risks that were involved. Had he needed to, he’d have used lethal force to take you down without a second thought. Was it unfortunate that he died? Yes, absolutely. Was it necessary? Yes.” 
Rat sighed. Everything Razor was saying made sense. On a certain level, he felt as though he already knew all of it. It still didn’t help the guilt he felt. 
“I just wish I knew what happened to that guard’s family,” commented Rat. 
Razor glanced down at Rat with a curious expression. 
“Descent never taught you about our Cleaner, did he?” asked Razor.
“Our what?” replied Rat, utterly confused.
Razor smiled enigmatically.
“Follow me,” replied the old stallion with a smile.

The Cirrus, Lower Decks, Equestria
11 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Rat glanced around in confusion. This was a much lower part of the ship than he’d seen previously. The walls had several small openings in the side leading to the outside hull, to which Rat could not discern a purpose to. It appeared as though these holes were hastily added as a retrofit for some purpose, and their shape was even more puzzling, forming three overlapping circles. The largest of these circles was no bigger than a grapefruit, placed between two smaller ones. 
 Suddenly, a flash of silver blurred across Rat’s vision from one of the openings. He yelped, falling backward. Razor chuckled, but said nothing. Floating in front of them was a small metal sphere with two disk-like appendages. Inside the disk-like wings, fan blades whirred almost in complete silence. A single camera lens was centered in the lower hemisphere of the strange device, which floated down the hall to an open hatch. Rat turned to Razor in shock.
“What in the name of Tartarus was that?!” asked Rat. 
“One of the behind the scenes ‘helpers’ I told you about,” chuckled Razor. “You’ll see in a minute.”
The two Shadowbolts moved into the larger room at the center of the ship, following where that… thing, whatever it was, had gone. Rat’s jaw dropped as he looked up and saw hundreds of the strange metal devices flying about, taking off and landing in small leather slings that looked like high-chairs for foals. A large partitioned area, presumably a workshop of some type, sat at the center of the room, where the sounds of machines and the occasional curse from a stallion could be heard. On the other end of the room, a large cork board and several filing cabinets were arranged haphazardly around a desk to create some semblance of a working space. As the two Shadowbolts walked toward the workshop, a voice rang out from inside.
“NOBODY MOVE!” bellowed the voice inside the workshop. “DON’T. EVEN. EFFING. SNEEZE.” 
Rat and Razor did as they were told. Rat noted that Razor was smiling even while rolling his eyes. The only warning that Rat got of what followed was the sound of someone sneezing inside the workshop. Suddenly, a large burst of flame and dust billowed from the workshop door. Several of the small clockwork devices flew into the workshop, carrying mounted fire extinguishers to douse the flames. 
Out of the chaos and smoke, a light grey pegasus stallion emerged covered in soot and slightly smoking. Beneath the ash, the stallion’s jet black mane stuck out in all directions beneath the strange hat he wore, which appeared to be made of foil. The stallion coughed and wheezed as he stumbled forward to the desk outside the workshop, taking a seat and beginning to type at the typewriter. 
“Note to self,” muttered the stallion as he typed. “Use greater care in checking gas lines when testing hybrid drone designs.”
“Blow up another generator, Hoxton?” asked Razor.
“No, it was just a methane tank on one of my newest Hummingbird designs,” replied Hoxton, without looking up. “Working on adapting methane booster engines to give them a bit of added range, and I missed a frayed wire. Who’s the whelp?”
“Hoxton, this is Rat, Descent’s charge,” introduced Razor. “Rat, this is Hoxton.”
“So, you’re the little orphan that the old Stone Wall took a shine to,” said Hoxton, looking up at Rat with a grin. “Heard a bit about you from little Clover, bless her dear sweet heart. You’re not exactly the scrawny little street urchin she described, but I suppose a few years under that hard-ass’s hoof will do that to ya.”
Rat blinked several times, stunned at how calmly everyone was taking the previous explosion. 
“What do you do here?” asked Rat.
“Straight to the point, eh?” noted Hoxton. “Glad to see that. Well, I’d say that I’m the Cleaner of the Shadowbolts.”
“I’m guessing that’s a euphemism for something,” observed Rat. 
“That it is,” confirmed Hoxton. “Basically, my job is tying up ‘loose ends’ after a mission goes sideways and you need to kill.”
“I thought killing all the witnesses handled that aspect of the job,” replied Rat. 
“YES!” yelled Hoxton suddenly before continuing normally, causing Rat to jump. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? And that’s precisely what my predecessor thought, but the truth is far more complex! Sure, it works for common criminals and private security firms that want to play things close to the vest, but what about the honest ponies of Equestria?” 
Rat’s gut flipped slightly at the mention of innocent lives. Hoxton, however, didn’t seem to notice the change in the younger stallion.
“Ponies have friends, families, and coworkers that they come into contact with, which forms a veritable web of connections to society,” continued Hoxton. “Every pony that is suddenly removed from public life breaks these connections. If these broken connections are not dealt with properly, the web is disrupted, leading to all kinds of problematic questions.”
“Questions that could expose us permanently?” guessed Rat, managing to keep his shock and revulsion concealed. .
Hoxton nodded. “Killing everyone that asks too many questions will lead to far too many bodies and more questions. Eventually, the Princess herself is bound to take notice of things,” replied the stallion. “This is a scenario that we wish to avoid at all costs, for obvious reasons.” 
“So how do you tie up loose ends?” asked Rat. 
“There’s the tricky bit,” grinned Hoxton. “In order to do so convincingly, I need to plant evidence that can be used to reasonably explain away a sudden disappearance. This is supposed to be an emergency measure, when you meatheads out in the field really screw something up, since there’s only one of me and countless missions. Usually, I’ll send a camouflaged Hummingbird along to give me a bit of early warning, but the proper procedure is that a mission leader reports to me if a complication arises.”
“Are those the metal spheres flying around?” asked Rat. 
“My pride and joy,” replied Hoxton with smile of unadulterated pride. “Each one capable of flying a hundred miles on a single charge, and smart enough to notify me of any developments in the field. And the best part is they are undetectable by magic.”
“How is that possible?” asked Rat. “Shouldn’t the control enchantments give off residual magical energy?”
“There’s the catch!” replied Hoxton with gusto. “They have absolutely no enchantments or spellwork laced into them whatsoever!” 
“Then how do you control them?” asked Rat, somewhat skeptical. 
“Well, it uses radio waves to-” began Hoxton, before Razor smacked him in the back of the head. “Sorry, went off on a bit of a tangent there. Point is there’s no magic in these. They gather the facts, with which I can work with our auxiliary associates to provide a convincing cover-up!” 
“While I’m sure that every explanation you could give for the next hour would not be wasted on Rat, we had a more specific purpose,” interjected Razor. 
“Right, no worries,” responded Hoxton. “What did you come down to the Pit for?”
“Rat wanted to know what cover story you provided for the kill on his last mission,” explained Razor. “Also, he wanted to know more about the stallion he killed: Family, friends, and all that.” 
“Not a problem,” replied Hoxton. “Must say that was a right easy piece of work to cover up, what with how smooth the rest of the plan went and the cover story you already put in place. Had to say that I wasn’t looking forward to the damage control on this when I first saw the mission roster, what with all the bodies I thought you'd be making."
“And the guard?” asked Rat, hesitant to hear the answer. 
“Easiest cleanup I’ve had all month,” answered Hoxton. “Guy was a loner, so no friends or spouses, and all of his immediate family have passed on already. Also turns out he had an aneurism in his head that was going to burst in at most a day, so he wouldn’t have been able tell anyone even if he got away.”
Rat didn’t know how to feel about that. He slumped over into a nearby chair, utterly drained. Hoxton finally seemed to pick up on the fact that this was not a visit out of idle curiosity. The light grey stallion moved to sit next to the troubled Shadowbolt. 
“Look, I know this life isn’t easy, and I gotta say that I’d never have chosen it if I’d had another option,” began Hoxton. “Hell, I had to leave my best friend behind wondering where I’d gone. He’s the reason that I wear this hat.”
“I thought it was to keep the Princess from reading your mind,” snickered Rat humorlessly. 
“Unsolved certainly thought so, but I mostly wore it to humor him,” admitted Hoxton with a sheepish grin. “There are days where I miss that crazy bastard, but then I remember why my work here is important, and why I stay on in this damned job.”
“Why is that?” asked Rat. 
“So that no pony knows the pain of unanswered questions when friends and family disappear,” replied Hoxton earnestly. “They may all be lies, but they provide closure that the truth never could. And I try my hardest to make them kinder as well.”
“Did you leave anyone else behind?” asked Rat. 
Hoxton’s face darkened at this. “None that would care if I disappeared,” spat the older stallion bitterly. 
Rat considered asking further, but then thought better of it. “Thank you for your time,” replied Rat, getting to his hooves. 
Hoxton grinned again. “I get the feeling that you and I are going to work well with each other,” replied the older stallion. “Let me know if you ever need any custom gear, and I’ll see what I have lying around.” 
Rat nodded with a small smile before turning away with Razor, leaving the one that so many of his peers viewed as insane to return to his work. The two Shadowbolts made their way back to the upper decks. After a time, Razor finally spoke up, turning to the younger stallion.
“Feeling better?” asked Razor. 
“Much,” replied Rat. “I just don’t understand one thing.”
“What would that be?” inquired the older stallion.
“Why didn’t Descent talk to me about any of this?” asked Rat. 
Razor sighed heavily before answering. “No clue, son,” admitted Razor. “Unfortunately, Descent was one of those unique cases that didn’t fit into any of the categories that I mentioned earlier. He killed and fought with the same cold rage back then as he does now. If it were any of the others, I’d say that they didn’t even consider that you’d feel that way after your first kill, but I know that bastard pretty well. He must have had something else in mind.” 
Rat nodded solemnly. “Thanks, Razor,” began Rat. “I’m not sure I’d have sorted through that well on my own.” 
Razor patted the younger stallion on the back. “Take care of yourself, kid,” sighed Razor as he walked away. 

The Cirrus, Top Deck, Equestria
11 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War (6 Hours After Previous Mission)
Rat stared out across the horizon, watching the setting sun turn the sky to flame. Today had given him quite a bit to consider about his new life. He briefly wondered how the Princess would react if she knew what dark deeds happened beneath her sun and moon. Thinking about it further, he realized that would not end well for either side. A slight creaking signaled the approach of a comrade, but Rat did not look back. A familiar voice reached his ears.
“You’ve had a rough day,” stated Descent simply.
“I had a feeling you’d notice,” replied Rat calmly.
“I didn’t,” replied Descent. “Razor told me.”
“I’m guessing you’re disappointed in me,” stated Rat, after a long pause. 
“On the contrary,” answered Descent. “I think you did quite well.”
Rat finally turned to face Descent, shock and confusion evident on his face. “How?” asked Rat. “I don’t have the same killing drive that you all have! How is that a good thing?!” 
“You didn’t allow your inner turmoil to keep you from finishing the mission,” explained Descent. “You recognized your problem, and worked to correct it.”
Rat found that he couldn’t respond to that, so he remained silent. Mentor and student stared out at the field of orange spread across the clouds, watching as they slowly turned to red. Finally, Rat spoke the question that was on his mind ever since he’d parted ways with Razor.
“What was your first kill like?” asked Rat, continuing to stare out at the clouds.
“Nothing like yours, if that’s what you’re asking,” replied Descent wryly. “Make no mistake, I have had doubts about my actions in the past, but I grew up in a much more violent world than you did.” 
“What doubts have you had?” asked Rat. 
“Nothing that concerns you or the Shadowbolts,” replied Descent firmly. 
Silence resumed. The wind was surprisingly calm for this altitude. Rat watched as the now crimson orb slowly sank below the horizon. 
“I’m not a killer, you know,” stated Rat. “I’ll kill to protect my brothers and sisters, but I will not take any more lives than I have to.”
“Perhaps that is a good thing,” replied Descent calmly.
“How is my weakness a good thing?” asked Rat.
“Why do you use a dagger?” asked Descent. “Why not use a sword or an axe?” 
Rat stared at Descent as though the stallion had suggested that Griffons were cute and cuddly creatures. He tried to respond, but found the question to be so absurd that he found himself unable to speak. Taking advantage of the young stallion’s silence, Descent continued.
“A sword has greater reach and strength than a dagger while remaining just as sharp, if not sharper,” elaborated Descent. “So why use a dagger at all?”
“A sword would be absolutely useless to me,” explained Rat. “A sword is far too large to use when picking locks, and it would just get in the way when trying to sneak through a hostile location. Not only that, but how the hell are you going to hide a sword in a crowded marketplace? The brief answer is that you won’t. And extra reach for me means greater room for them to maneuver, meaning there’s a greater risk that I will fail to make a clean kill.”
“So then there are situations when one tool does not solve all problems?” countered Descent. 
Understanding suddenly filled Rat’s eyes as Descent continued. 
“You are one of our most precise assets, if not the most precise,” explained Descent. “You enable us to accomplish tasks that brute force never could, and even leave without a trace. Frankly, if today is any indication of your potential, I’d say it doesn’t matter if that ability is derived from compassion or efficiency. As long as you put your wingmates first and keep to the Code, you are more than worthy of wearing that uniform.” 
Rat said nothing, but had visibly improved from when Descent first approached. Nothing more really needed to be said. Together, mentor and student watched as the moon rose, knowing that the next day would bring another contract to survive and get their brothers and sisters out alive. For now, however, the Cirrus hummed softly beneath the gaze of the Mare in the Moon. 

To be continued...

> Chapter 7: A Night in Seaddle...
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Green Pastures, Cloak’s Front Porch, Equestria
50 Years After the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Cloak sighed and leaned back in his chair a bit, nostalgia creeping up on him once again. The foals were quiet once again, but Cloak knew it wouldn’t be long before one of them spoke up. 

“What happened to Hoxton?” asked Cold Snap. “I don't think I saw anything about him in the history books.” 

“Oh, he turned out alright,” chuckled Cloak. “Last I heard, he made some kind of bunker in the middle of the desert somewhere.” 

“Mr. Broadcloth, did Rat ever get over that first kill?” asked Prism Sprint, the rainbow-maned earth pony colt. “Did he ever kill again?”

“Well, it did take a while, but eventually he did,” replied Cloak. “It wasn’t easy, but he was over it by the time I saw him again.”

“What other jobs did you take?”

“I’m glad you asked,” grinned Cloak. “After our previous dealings with them went so well, the Seaddle Mob saw fit to recruit us on a daring jailbreak assignment-”

“Are you really going to skip over details again, brother?” interrupted Dagger.

The foals all giggled at Cloak’s expense as the old stallion frowned. 

“I was going to explain the rest of it as I went,” huffed Cloak.

“And skip over half of the relevant details in the process,” smirked Dagger. “Honestly, how do you expect to explain the Museum Job we pulled later without that other job we did before the jailbreak?”

“You mean the job you did,” grumbled Cloak. “I wasn’t there for that.”

“So why don’t you go inside and get another glass of lemonade, and I’ll tell them?” suggested Dagger.

“...fine, you win,” grumbled Cloak, getting up from his chair.

 “Now, young ones,” began Dagger, once her brother had gone inside the house, “let me tell you a legend thousands of years in the making…”





The Diamond. 

Over its blood-soaked history, it has gone by many names: The Star of Heaven, La Pietra di Sangue, the Merchant’s Demise, The Eye of Discord, and all others. To the criminal underworld, it is simply referred to as “The” Diamond. 

For centuries, tyrants and fools rose to power through its influence, before being pulled into the abyss, killed in their sleep by rivals or lost to the wrath of Nature itself. It was rumored to be the initial catalyst of the Griffon-Drake conflicts, managing to slip away in the chaos. It changed hooves countless times, driving the owner mad over time if they weren’t killed first. And suddenly, without warning, it vanished. 

Eleven years ago, a young archaeologist and her mentor recovered the gem in Saddle Arabia, to which they sent it to their patrons in the museum with which they worked. But, whether by the Diamond’s Curse or by the greed of ponies, the Diamond became embroiled in the politics of the Criminal Underworld once again. The archaeologists knew it would be disastrous if the gem fell into the wrong hooves. And that, young ones, is where we entered the story...





The Cirrus, Training Room 12, Equestria
11 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War

Rat looked up from the running track to see Dagger waiting by the door. It had been about a week since the armored carriage mission, and Rat had mostly kept to himself. Rather than killing targets on the practice range, the young pegasus had turned to practicing dodging projectiles and remaining undetected. If he could avoid any casualties at all in missions, it kept the Shadowbolts secret better than Hoxton ever could. Rat glided gently to Dagger, who handed a sealed envelope to the young stallion as he landed.

“New assignment from Dante,” murmured Dagger. “He says it’s an escort mission for the Seaddle Mob, and there could be heavy resistance.”

“Alright, I want Moon-”

“Away,”

“Nightshade-

“Away,”

“Descent-”

“Away,”

“Sin-”

“Away,”

“... Cloak?”

“Present-”

“Good, at least we have-”

“-but he has pneumonia,” finished Dagger. 

“Dammit, that’s half the team I wanted!” swore Rat. “Is Razor here at least?”

“Yes,” replied Razor.

Rat leapt a full foot into the air as the old veteran chuckled. 

“You know, you should only discuss mission details with the crew you intend to work with,” chided Razor.

“Well, why do you think you’re here?” grinned Rat. 

“Cheeky bastard,” smirked Razor. “Alright, let’s go somewhere quieter and we’ll sort this out there.”

The three pegasi moved quickly through the halls. Rat used this time to go over the files that Dagger had delivered. Apparently, there was a crate being held by customs that the Seaddle mob had been contracted to “liberate” and deliver to a drop point in the city. However, the mob was being harassed by the local division of Hekate Torch Bearers, who were apparently a group of private military contractors that provided security for large corporations across Equestria. It was mostly for insurance, but a contract was still a contract. 

The three ducked into one of the small target ranges at the edge of the training section. Razor locked the door behind them and took a seat at one of the benches. 

“Alright, just from your first look, what kind of members do you think you’ll need?” asked Razor. 

“I definitely need muscle on this in case things go horribly wrong and this isn’t a simple milk run,” explained Rat.

“For that, I would recommend Tank, who I’m sure you remember,” replied Razor. 

“Yes, he and I haven’t really spoken, so I don’t know much about him,” agreed Rat.

“Good luck learning it by speaking to him,” chuckled Razor. “Big guy’s a mute, mostly. Only sounds he can do are grunt, laugh, or roar.” 

“Well, what do we know about him?” asked Rat.

“As near as we can tell, he’s the last surviving subject of an illegal supersoldier project,” explained Razor. “We suspect HTB or Janus Security Solutions were behind it, but they left no trace. He’s actually a very gentle giant, and loves young foals.”

“Sign him up, I guess,” continued Rat. “I’ll also want a ranged specialist to help out with long distance targets.”

“One of your contemporaries, Phantasm, would be a good pick for that,” advised Razor. “Her aim with a crossbow is unparallelled, and her reloading time is nearly non-existent.” 

“Haven’t met her yet,” mused Rat. “What’s she like?”

“Level-headed, certainly,” answered Razor. “She doesn’t say much, but she’s extremely calm and collected under pressure.”

“OK, and then I’ll want one more experienced veteran besides you,” concluded Rat. 

“Well, I can think of one who would fit the bill, but she isn’t exactly a team player,” sighed Razor. “Her name is Witch, and while she’s friend of Descent’s, she is extremely haughty and arrogant. She won’t be easy to work with.”

“As long as she follows orders when it counts,” replied Rat. 

“Dagger and I will round them up,” nodded Razor. “We’ll meet you at the briefing room in half an hour.”





Rat paced back and forth in the meeting room anxiously. Not long after Razor and Dagger left, his nerves became live wires. This would be his first contract since the incident a week ago, and this time Descent wasn’t there to act as a safety net. Rat wondered if he would be able to kill, if he had to. He shook the thought from his head. Hopefully, it wouldn’t have to come to that.

The door to the briefing room opened, revealing Razor and Dagger, having returned from gathering the rest of the crew. As always, Tank was the most noticeable thing in the room, easily twice as large as anyone he stood by. Beneath his light brown coat, the stallion’s body didn’t seem to have even a trace of fat on it. The large stallion grinned cheerfully when he saw Rat. 

“Good to see you again, Tank,” greeted Rat, extending a hoof in greeting.

“Heh, heh, heh,” chuckled Tank, grabbing Rat in a huge bear hug. 

“Alright big guy, go take a seat,” chuckled Razor. 

Tank grunted good-naturedly and took a seat in the front row. Still slightly shaken from Tank’s enthusiastic greeting, Rat initially failed to notice the dark purple mare standing silently by the door. Her steel-grey eyes scanned Rat’s face from behind a sky-blue mane. Her expression betrayed no emotions as she adjusted the sling for an imposing jet black crossbow. She was on the smaller side from the average mare, but she was in excellent physical condition. 

“You must be Phantasm,” began Rat, clearing his throat. “It’s good to finally meet you.” 

“Likewise,” replied Phantasm, her gentle voice high and cold. She bowed her head once before taking her seat.

“You must be Descent’s prodigy,” sighed another voice. “Hopefully, the rumors I’ve heard about you are at least half-true.”

“I should hope to avoid disappointing you, Witch,” replied Rat. “We’ll begin the briefing once everyone is seated.” 

Witch sniffed slightly before taking a seat. Razor and Dagger sat down without a word, waiting for Rat to begin.

“Alright, thank you for coming,” began Rat. “This job, at first glance, appears to be incredibly simple. The Seaddle Mob has offered a considerable sum in exchange for watching over the delivery of illicit cargo from the harbor to the city. Normally, Dante wouldn’t consider a contract like this, but the details are such that he cannot ignore it.” 

“What could possibly make Dante take interest in a paltry foalsitting job like this?” scoffed Witch. 

“I’m glad you asked,” continued Rat. “The first thing that Dante noted was the payout for the contract. The Mob is splitting the profits from their job evenly with us, and even that is twice our usual Small Job fee.”

“That ain’t chump-change,” whistled Razor. “Clearly there’s some kind of high risk involved.”

“That’s exactly what Dante thought, so he looked through the details of the Mob’s contract, which they shared freely with us,” agreed Rat. “Apparently, the cargo is extremely dangerous, and has been wrongfully held at Customs due to a ‘missing paperwork’.”

“If I’ve learned anything over the years, ‘missing paperwork’ is corporate code for ‘we want this’,” snarled Razor. 

“It gets worse,” explained Rat. “Turns out that the Mob has recently been harassed by the Hekate Torch Bearers.”

At this Tank began to growl fiercely, causing the table to groan beneath his hooves. Dagger placed a hoof on the large stallion’s shoulder to calm him down, which somehow was effective. Even Witch looked troubled by this news. At this point, Phantasm spoke up.

“Who are the Hekate Torch Bearers?” asked the markspony softly. 

“It’s thanks to them that mercenary work has such a bad reputation,” scowled Razor. “They present themselves as a legitimate security company to the rest of the world, but they’re the worst kind of criminal thugs out there. They gained legitimacy during the last Griffon-Drake war, protecting outlying corporate colonies from Sky Wing and Scale Guard attacks, for what they called a “modest fee”, and looting the burned ruins of the colonies they didn’t protect.”

“They work for the highest bidder among the corrupt elite of Equestria,” agreed Rat. “I’m fairly certain that Elysium employed them as well.” 

“So what’s your plan to handle this?” asked Witch. 

“Complete deniability,” replied Rat. “We should use unmarked flight suits with armor plating, just in case. Hopefully, things won’t come to that, and this will be the easiest score we’ll have this month.”

“And if it does go wrong?” asked Razor.

“Then we’ll be ready for it when it does,” replied Rat grimly.  “Go get your gear. We’re moving out immediately.”





Seaddle, Harbor District, Equestria
00:29 Local Time, 11 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War

“Alright, all seems quiet,” whispered Rat. “We’ll keep to the shadows and let the cart make its way to the drop point.” 

The pickup had gone down without a hitch. The crate was now loaded onto the ice delivery cart and moving swiftly down the wharf. The mob wasn’t taking any chances, though, if the twenty armed mobsters said anything about it. The Shadowbolts moved silently from rooftop to rooftop, watching the cart make its way to the end of the pier. 

Rat frowned as the cart turned a corner and became blocked by dock workers. There shouldn’t have been crews working this late, especially without proper lighting. He couldn’t put words to it, but Rat couldn’t help but feel dread at the sight of them.

“Hang on, there might be trouble up ahead,” whispered Rat. 

At that moment, the “dock workers” threw aside their disguises and leveled weapons at the cart. Their armor was covered in dark, non-reflective fabric to prevent gleaming in light, and the looks on the stallions’ faces were those of trained killers. There was only one group they could be.

“Oh, son of a-” cursed Razor. “It’s HTB!”

Rows upon rows of archers, pike infantry, and unicorn mages emerged from their hiding spots. Arrows and crossbow bolts rained down on the mobsters. Spotlights flared upon the scene as the cart swerved and crashed in a vacant lot. Dazed mobsters rolled slowly out of the vehicle, still stunned by the crash. One of them stood up, and addressed his comrades. 

“COVER!” bellowed the lead mobster. “GET TO-”

And with that, the mobster said no more, as a crossbow bolt from an earth pony guard caught him in the throat. Magic bolts and projectiles flew between the two sides as the carriage swerved into the abandoned lot near the docks. Mobsters began falling left and right as they scrambled to find cover. Rat felt the familiar sensation of the world slowing as he analyzed the situation. 

“Phantasm, take down their first wave to give us all some breathing room,” barked Rat. “Tank, once she has done that, I want you to grab that armored door and use it as a shield as you disrupt their lines. If it gets too hot down there, back off and try to lose them in one of the warehouses. Razor, you and Witch provide cover for us while we grab the package, then help the mobsters escape. Dagger and I are going to make a run for the package, after which we’ll hopefully get it to the drop point. Get as many of the mobsters out as you can.” 

“Why bother?” scoffed Witch. “That’s not our contract.” 

“We were being paid to guard them, but they’re being paid to deliver that package,” countered Rat. “If they don’t get paid, we don’t get paid.” 

Witch scowled. “Fine, but I’m not dying over these thugs,” huffed Witch. “If they want to live, they’ll run.”

“I wouldn’t want you to die, either,” replied Rat. “Get ready to open up on my mark, Phantasm.”

“MARK!” barked Rat, leaping into the chaos. 





Seaddle, Dock 25, Equestria
00:39 Local Time, 11 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War

Bravo-07 watched as mobsters fell beneath their onslaught, completely helpless as they usually were. The confrontations were so lopsided, he honestly started to feel bad for them. Still, he had to make his living somehow, and a few low-life thugs seemed to be a fair price to pay. Suddenly, Bravo-07 heard several familiar sounds at an unfamiliar distance and direction: Screams of ponies, close behind him. Bravo-07 turned to look at their archer lines to find most of them dead or burning, sent into complete disarray. Several sharp whistles preceded explosions that sent even more of them flying. There was almost no time between the arrows, meaning it could only be one thing... 

“Marksponies!” shouted Bravo Lead. “Get your heads-”

There was a short series of whistles as Bravo Lead and three others found crossbow bolts between their eyes. Bravo-07 ducked low as he watched three pikes from Charlie get annihilated by an explosive bolt. A brief glance around informed Bravo-07 that all the archers were now completely scattered from the explosive and regular bolts. The only good news that he could observe is that Delta Team had pushed past the counterattack safely. 

“Delta is in pursuit of the runners!” shouted Bravo-07. “Any and all other survivors, regroup on me!”

“What in Tartarus-” swore one unicorn. 

Bravo-07 looked over to see a massive shadow, with an improvised shield made from an armored door, flying toward them fast. It landed in front of the survivors of the first wave, using its shield to block all incoming arrows. Silhouetted by smoke and flame, the massive pegasus looked like a demon out of Tartarus. Bravo-07 hadn’t even seen JSS Heavies as big as this pony before. It turned to look at the survivors, cold fire blazing in its eyes. It roared. They screamed. 





Razor couldn’t help but laugh in sympathy as he watched the HTB teams tossed around like foal toys on a playground. Tank was normally a very gentle and kind pony… Normally, of course, being the key word. However, the large pegasus nursed a hatred for HTB and Janus that put the hatred between Griffons and Drakes to shame. 

He looked back at the mobsters, who were now in full evacuation, removing their injured and dead to a stolen set of boats. Razor had little doubt they’d make it back safely, now that the heat had been taken off of them. The old stallion turned to check where Witch was, only to see a squad of HTB elites moving in the direction that Rat and Dagger had fled. A quick shadow behind them confirmed Razor’s suspicions, and the old veteran took a moment to pray that Witch would grant them a merciful death. He then hefted his rope dart and rejoined the fray, ready to give the order for the rest to fall back to the extraction point once the second wave hit. 





Seaddle, Dock 25, Equestria
00:45 Local Time, 11 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War

HTB Assault Team Delta moved quickly through the dockyard, trying to catch up to the two pegasi runners. Delta-05 could feel his heart pounding as they moved through the empty dockyard. This was his first mission with Hemlock Group, and even though he’d had plenty of training, he couldn’t help but feel uneasy as they chased the runners.  

“Fan out,” barked Delta Lead, lifting his pike. “Keep your eyes open, and head on a swivel.”

The squad moved in unison, each member taking a different corridor of containers. Delta-05 lifted his pike higher, ready to strike if necessary. Sweat flowed down his brow, stinging his eyes. Delta-05 had watched that winged beast tear through the remaining lines. 

No warning came before the first death. There was a brief whistling noise, a choked gurgle, and finally a thud from the nearby corridor. Delta-05 looked over at Delta Lead. Lead motioned for 04 and 07 to check it out. Two more whistles. Two more thuds. A red pool was beginning to make its way around the corner. There could be no doubt now. 

“Pathetic,” sighed a mare’s voice, which seemed to come from every direction at once. “You’re the elites of HTB? I’ve had tin soldiers thrown at me that posed a greater threat than you foals.”

“Over there!” yelled Delta-03, charging ahead. 

“No, wait!” shouted Delta Lead. “It’s a-”

Delta-03 was pinned to the nearest cargo container as he gurgled his last scream. Delta-02 screamed and began to flee. A whistle, and thud. Delta-05 spun around, finding himself alone. 

“Don’t try to run,” chided the voice. “It only embarrasses you more. Oh, and I highly doubt you’ll be able to find me.”

Delta-05 looked over and saw the outline of a pony in the shadows near where he heard the voice. The soldier grinned, hefting his pike. 

“You should have a bit more faith!” snapped Delta-05 with a grin as he plunged the weapon deep into the cloaked pony. 

“Oh dear, you better call a medic,” mocked the voice.

Delta-05 looked again at the pony as they staggered into the light, recognizing them instantly now as Delta Lead. The older stallion fell forward, propped up by Delta-05’s pike protruding from his chest. Delta-05 stepped away in horror, falling to his knees. 

“Found you,” the voice whispered lazily in his ear. 

Delta-05 didn’t even have time to scream.





Seaddle, End of Pier 39, Equestria
01:04 Local Time, 11 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War

Rat’s lungs burned as he ran through the docks, dodging arrows and magical blasts from almost every side. Dagger kept alongside him, trying to use the environment to shake them off. Rat glanced to his right and saw an opportunity. After a few brief wing signals, Dagger understood his plan. The pegasus mare grabbed a nearby lantern and tossed it at a stack of firework crates. The crates exploded just as the two Shadowbolts dived into the warehouse. 

Rat peeked outside to see countless HTB troops from the city pouring into the harbor, reinforcing the first wave. While he and Dagger weren’t followed from the cart, they’d ended up running straight into the HTB reinforcements, cutting them off from the rest of the city. Rat moved away from the window and got Dagger’s attention.

“This is crazy, there’s no way we’ll be able to reach the drop point undetected!” lamented Rat.

“I was hoping you had a plan to get out of this,” sighed Dagger, brushing ash from her uniform. 

“We’re really out of options, unless we decide to abandon the cargo,” mused Rat. “We’re separated from the group, and there are too many of them to fight off before we reach our contact. The area is too open to sneak our way there before the real authorities show up and blow our cover, and-”

“Quiet!” hushed Dagger. “Did you hear that?”

Rat looked around the abandoned warehouse, but other than a dented archaeologist's helmet, he didn’t see anything- Wait, archaeologist’s helmet? thought Rat, before the world exploded.

“Anyone ever tell you it’s not a good idea to talk while sneaking?” The voice of a young mare asked. “And that it’s rude to steal from others?”

Dagger whipped around, drawing her signature weapon and leaping toward the source of the sound. Rat sprung away into the rafters, hiding within the beams. A light gold mare in an archaeologist’s getup stood defiantly on a set of crates nearby. Dagger lunged toward the mare with her weapon, but was easily sidestepped. Rat slipped silently along the rafters, trying to move into the ideal position to strike from. 
 
“I don’t know who you two are,” the mare continued, bucking at Dagger as she passed, “but they really couldn’t have sent more… skilled combatants? I swear, I’ve fought more dangerous foals!”  

Rat’s signature knife was at the mare’s throat before she could throw another blow. “If we wanted you dead, we would have killed you, but I told my friend to distract you until I could get into position,” hissed Rat. “Now, who are you and what the hell are you doing out here?”

“Oh, you know. Just a pretty face out for a walk at night along the pier!” the mare stated tersely before striking at Rat’s family jewels with a free hoof. As the strike connected, she leaned forward suddenly to toss the off-balance stallion over her shoulder.

Rat’s mind spun in surprise as he suddenly found himself tumbling with the mare across the room, sending the cargo flying. The crate popped open on impact, sending a large blue diamond skidding along the ground toward Dagger’s hooves. Dagger moved her hoof toward the diamond slowly, before a very panicked voice caused her to freeze in her tracks.

“Don’t touch that!” the mare yelled out, “the thing is cursed!”

“Cursed?” repeated Rat, slightly muffled from his face being pressed to the floor. “How so?”
“It’s the Eye of Discord,” the mare replied, coolly as she continued to hold Rat to the ground. “It brings the owner wealth and power beyond imagining, but then it enacts its price.” She eyed the gem with a worried, though awe-filled look. “Every owner that has ever held that gem, even for a moment, has died a horrible death.”

“You can’t be serious,” scoffed Dagger. “Are you trying to tell me that this pitiful rock is ‘The’ Diamond? If you think I’m going to listen to some floozy in a cheap cosplay-”

“I just got back from Saddle Arabia after spending a month hunting for that thing!” the mare stated, cutting Dagger off. “Distant and I had to use tongs to get it out of what remained of the last pony who held it.”

“‘Distant’?” interrupted Rat. “As in ‘Distant Horizon’?”

“Yes,” the mare said slowly, “and I’m Daring, her student.”

“...Your mentor was furious when Customs withheld the jewel, right?” asked Rat, feeling he already knew the answer.

“Oh, I bet you could hear the yelling from Canterlot!” Daring sighed, rolling her eyes. “I swear, I’ve never seen ponies dive under tables so fast…”

“Furious enough to hire the mob to steal it from Customs and deliver it to her?” pressed Rat.

Daring opened her mouth, then closed it and looked to Rat, “Oh… so… you two are?” Daring facehoofed and let Rat up.

“Technically, we aren’t, but we’ve been hired by the mob to help,” explained Rat. “Our greatest interest in this is to keep the damned rock out of HTB’s hooves.”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” barked Dagger at Rat. “She’s a civilian, you idiot!”

“She’s an associate of the client,” retorted Rat firmly. “She’s already involved, and if she hadn’t ran into us, HTB would have killed her as a liability.”

“They could have tried.” Daring chuckled with a nervous smirk. “I am better at hiding and blending in than those thugs.” She then frowned. “And I am hardly a ‘civilian’ I am a card-carrying member of the Royal Equestrian Explorer’s League! I am an adventurer, thank you!”

“How dry is the ink on that card?” snapped Dagger. “It can’t be too dry, otherwise you’d know that you’d never stand a chance against a JSS Type-1 Jaeger!”

“We don’t have time for this!” snapped Rat. “Daring, you said that you were able to safely move the Diamond with a set of tongs?”

“Yeah… though I’d rather it be in that box…” Daring replied slowly.

“Not an option,” countered Rat. “HTB is going to be all over that box and whoever’s carrying it. They’d never make it to the first traffic light.”

“What’s in your head, Boss?” asked Dagger. “If you’re thinking what I think you are, I don’t see any tongs around here.”

“Would cloth or fabric work just as well?” Rat asked Daring.

“It should, so long as we’re not touching it.” Daring replied with a growing smile. “Thick cloth, though, just to be safe.”

Rat looked down at his unmarked flight suit, made from the unique graphene weave that the Shadowbolt armorers swore by. Working quickly, he removed the suit and tossed it to Daring.

“Take this,” commanded Rat. “It may look thin, but that stuff can stop a crossbow bolt at close range. Don’t bother trying to cut it, either, since you’d only dull the knife. Once my friend and I have left, wait five minutes, wrap the Diamond in that, and then make a break for the city. Do you understand?” 

“I understand,” Daring said in a serious tone, quickly going to the gem and scooping it up carefully in the flight suit. She then looks to the two and nods. “Good luck  you two… if I ever catch you on the flip side, drinks are on me.” 

“Go ahead and keep the suit,” replied Rat. “Consider it your cut of the payment. Plus, it would be a pity if a nice mare like you got hurt in her adventures.”

“We better move, Boss,”  interjected Dagger. 

Rat nodded and picked up the box. With a short salute, the two Shadowbolts burst from their hiding place and made a break for the extraction point. Six airborne HTB regulars chased after them while two more squads pursued them from below. As the crossbow bolts flew, Rat began to question his decision to abandon his flight suit. Thankfully, he didn’t have to evade them for too long, only long enough for the young Daring to escape with the Diamond

After about ten minutes of carefully staged acrobatic skill, Rat took the box and threw it as hard as he could into Seaddle Bay. The instant that the box left his hooves, every HTB soldier moved to intercept it. Rat and Dagger wasted no time in fleeing the scene. After a few minutes, Dagger spoke up.

“That was reckless,” began Dagger. 

“We didn’t have a lot of options there,” replied Rat. “HTB had us surrounded.”

“Still, are you sure we can trust her?” countered Dagger. “She could have been an HTB plant.”

“Not likely,” replied Rat. “Her reactions were too genuine to have been lying.”

“Are you sure that’s not your infatuation talking?” 

“What?!” stuttered Rat. “I’m not infatuated with her!”

“Why give her your suit, then?” countered Dagger. 

“You’ve heard the legend about the damn thing!” snapped Rat. “Even the slightest touch of that gem, and you’re doomed for all time!”

“Well, I hope you can explain all this to Dante,” replied Dagger. 

“Maybe, but I have a feeling this’ll all turn out alright,” replied Rat. 





The Diamond.

That morning when the Princess raised the sun over Seaddle, the infamous gemstone was in the hands of the local Museum of Natural History. The Hekate Torch Bearers reported that they conducted a narcotics raid at Pier 39 earlier that morning, but they were unsuccessful in capturing the suspects. Officially, the story of the customs mix-up was resolved when the proper paperwork had suddenly been “found” in the harbor official’s office under the wrong stack of paperwork. 

However, these “official” lies are irrelevant. The Diamond was recovered safely, and kept out of the wrong hooves. The young archaeologist, Daring Do, had completed her first foray out in the field with great success, taking her first steps down the path that would lead her to greatness. Eventually, both gem and adventurer would cross paths with Rat and his group of misfit mercenaries. 

But that, dear foals, is a tale for another time…





To be continued...

> Chapter 8: The Jailbreak Job
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Green Pastures, Cloak’s Front Porch, Equestria
50 Years After the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
As Dagger concluded her tale, the foals looked up at her in wonder and amazement. Cloak had returned in the middle of the story, and now sat in his chair with a fresh glass of lemonade. 
“Wait, Rat and Daring Do were sweethearts?!” exclaimed an earth pony filly. “But Nana Hour told me that Great Uncle Leaf was-”
“Easy there, kiddo,” interrupted Dagger with a soft grin. “I never said there was anything there. Honestly, I never bothered to ask Rat how he actually felt about her later on. However, I’m pretty sure that it was a brief one-sided infatuation if there was anything at all.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Sis,” interjected Cloak. “I’m pretty sure there might have been something there.” 
Dagger frowned slightly, realizing that neither sibling could say for certain which one of them was right. Rat had kept such matters close to his chest, only speaking about such things when he couldn’t keep it from his comrades any longer. It bothered Dagger that she never thought to ask the question.
“Grandpa, you mentioned a jailbreak job earlier,” mentioned Cold Snap. “Whatever happened with that?”
“Ah, that job,” chuckled Cloak. “That one always has a fond place in my heart, but it was also pretty important to Rat as well.”
“Why’s that?” asked Kingfisher.
“For Rat, it was his first time leading a group without supervision from a veteran,” replied Cloak with a faint smile. “For me, however, it marked a critical point that would affect my later life completely, shaping my future as only one thing could…”




Mess Hall, The Cirrus, Equestria
11 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Rat looked around the mess hall calmly, not overly concerned with how the last mission turned out. His comrades were decidedly more concerned. Razor had given him an earful all the way back to the Cirrus for leaving the package with an unknown element, especially since it wasn’t part of their contract. Hoxton, likewise, had basically read the riot act to the young stallion for willfully abandoning equipment. Descent, thankfully, had been quiet on the matter, simply asking the young stallion if he was sure he made the right choice. 
“Sounds like that milk run really got out of hoof,” smirked Cloak. “Good thing you were thinking well, Boss.”
“Cloak, this is very serious!” snapped Dagger. “If he messed up the contract, it could be grounds for instant dismissal in this case!”
Tank grunted unhappily, lifting Rat up and holding the young stallion protectively. It was like a colt protecting his foalhood teddy bear, but Rat was finding it hard to see it as “cute”. The lack of oxygen was most likely responsible for that, but Rat found it hard to think with his lungs being crushed. Cloak snickered at the display of affection, while Arclight and Phantasm tried not to grin. 
“Might want to loosen that grip there, Big Guy,” chuckled Cloak. “You’re squeezing the stuffing out of him.”
Tank immediately flinched, his previous expression turning from grumpy defiance to abject horror. The large pegasus slowly and gently set Rat back into his seat on the bench, staring at the smaller stallion with apologetic guilt in his eyes. Rat chuckled gently, despite his burning lungs, reassuring the large stallion that he was fine. Dagger rolled her eyes as her brother collapsed into laughter, while the rest of the table also worked to control their mirth at the situation. Tank gave a sheepish grin before returning to his meal.
“Hey, shrimpy!” barked an unfriendly voice. “You know where I can find a ‘Rat’?”
Rat turned to find one of the older Shadowbolts standing in the doorway, a permanent scowl on his face. Tank growled slightly at the newcomer. The stranger’s ebony coat was marred by a few visible scars, but remained mostly covered by a worn-down overcoat. His greasy dark grey mane and tail displayed a shocking streak of white-gold. The stranger pulled out a hip flask, taking a long draught from it and confirming the reason for the bloodshot appearance of his steel gray eyes.
“Have you tried your locker, my unwashed friend?” snarked Cloak defensively. “I’m sure you’ll find more than your fair share in there if you look hard enough.”
“You got something to say to me, wise-ass?” snarled the older stallion. “You feeling froggy, just jump. We’ll find out whether you are as good as they say!”
“Stand down right now, both of you!” snapped Rat. “If you take each other out of fighting condition, you’re useless to the Shadowbolts!”
“...Alright Boss,” relented Cloak, “but he better not insult you again, or I’ll-”
“-answer to me if you attack him,” interrupted Rat. “Do I make myself clear, Cloak?”
“...Yes, Rat,” muttered Cloak.
“You’re Rat?” asked the stallion incredulously. “Your rep makes you sound more imposing.”
“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, though you sound familiar,” replied Rat.
“Just call me Pitch,” grunted the stallion. “Move your ass. Dante wants to speak with you.”
Rat did as he was told, noting that Pitch’s voice was uncannily familiar. With a brief motion to his comrades that he would return soon, he followed Pitch in silence, calm despite the serious nature of the situation. 
“I’ll admit, I’m surprised by you,” grunted Pitch. “Ya look like a crossbreeze could carry you away, but clearly your little posse sees something worth respecting, and Descent wouldn’t have brought you aboard if he didn’t see something worth his time.”
“Indeed,” commented Rat. “I remember you now. You were the voice that interrogated me at my initiation.”
“Huh, clever kid,” grunted Pitch. 
“Based on that interaction, I’m guessing that you used to be in law enforcement before the Shadowbolts?” probed Rat.
Pitch turned to look at Rat. “Very clever kid,” glared Pitch. “Let me give you a tip: I don’t talk about my past. Those who ask get hurt. See where I’m going with this?”
“Perfectly,” glared Rat.
They walked in silence after that exchange. Rat felt a severe dislike of the older stallion, but felt it was too soon to dismiss him outright. They entered Dante’s office quickly, standing quietly at the back of the room. Dante turned to face them, his expression formal and cold.
“Well done, Pitch, you are dismissed,” ordered Dante. 
Pitch simply gave a lazy salute and walked out. Dante approached Rat quickly and led him by the hoof.
“Thank you for coming quickly, Rat,” greeted Dante, a relieved look on the old veteran’s face. 
“What’s wrong, sir?” asked Rat. “Was the mob unhappy with the last contract?” 
“Far from it,” grinned Dante in spite of his concern. “They actually offered you a bonus for your service, as well as a future favor for your diligence in the matter. In fact, it’s your superior efforts that have brought you here today.”
It was at that point that Rat noticed the pegasus stallion in the corner of the room, pacing anxiously. His tan business suit complemented his storm grey coat, even as it clashed with his greying crimson mane. The bags beneath his hazel eyes, clearly visible from the other side of the room, spoke volumes about the stress the stallion was under.  
“You are the stallion who led the group protecting my associates?” asked the older stallion. “I did not expect you to be so young, but age is of no consequence if you are as skilled as your reputation states.”
“I only do my best to serve my clients, based not only the letter of the contract but also the spirit in which it is written, sir,” bowed Rat. 
“Very well mannered,” observed the stallion to Dante. “I’m afraid we must dispense with pleasantries for now, as time is of the essence in this contract.”
“Of course,” replied Rat. “I assume that’s the reason you didn’t go through regular channels, so please explain the details.”
“The Hekate Torch Bearers did not appreciate your efforts as much as the Seaddle Mob did, Shadowbolt,” explained the stallion. “They struck at us in retaliation, and at me in particular.”
“How?” pressed Rat. 
“They kidnapped my daughter,” replied the stallion hollowly. “An innocent mare who has almost nothing to do with the family business, and they drag her away like a common criminal.”
At this, Rat’s blood began to boil. One thing he always swore by, even as a small-time cutpurse in Saddle Arabia, was to never harm innocent lives, and to keep bystanders out of confrontations. 
“I realize that my organization is somewhat strapped for funds at the moment, but-” began the old stallion before being interrupted. 
“Don’t worry about the payment right now,” interrupted Rat. “We can haggle over the details once your daughter is out of harm’s way, and not a moment before.” 
“Rat, this is highly unusual-” began Dante.
“All due respect, sir, but we don’t have the time to argue,” protested Rat. “The contract is to get her out of there alive and well. If she dies while we’re making agreements, this whole endeavour is pointless.”
Rat turned to face the mob kingpin, who had regained his composure.
“Do you have any information about where she’s being kept?” asked Rat. 
“Currently, they’re holding her at a high security detention facility here in Seaddle while they ‘process’ the paperwork needed to legitimize the arrest,” replied the old stallion, pulling out a set of blueprints and other associated documents. “After that, they’ll be moving her to HTB Headquarters in Canterlot.”
Rat skimmed through the blueprints quickly, his gift leading him to the same grim conclusion. However, he needed to be sure of his assessment.
“Do we know how long before they’re going to be moving her?” asked Rat. 
“My sources say she’ll be moved in three days,” answered the stallion. 
“Then we won’t be assaulting the detention center to get her out,” concluded Rat.
“But this is the best chance we’d have of getting her out!” protested the mob boss. 
“Not without losing far too many lives and putting her life at a significant risk,” countered Rat. “If I had a month to plan this, perhaps we could, but there’s too much at stake to simply wing it.” 
“What other options do we have?” lamented the stallion. “Once they move her to their Headquarters, it will be impossible to break her out of there!” 
“You’re absolutely correct, which is why we are fortunate that there is another way to save her,” grinned Rat. “I don’t suppose you know how they’ll be moving her?”
“Prisoner Air Transport,” replied the stallion. “It’s a standard Janus Security Solutions model.”
“Do you have documents for it?” asked Rat. “Schematics? Floor Plans? Design Specifications?”
“Yes, we can acquire those,” replied the stallion. “You’re not seriously planning on assaulting one of those transports, are you?”
“Not at first,” replied Rat. “First, we’re going to need to break in…”




Meeting Room, The Cirrus, Equestria
11 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“You’re absolutely bonkers,” groaned Cloak. “Clearly, you hit your head on something a few days ago.”  
Rat was not encouraged by the looks that his comrades were giving him. Tank was frowning heavily, while Phantasm and Clover stared at Rat with flat expressions. Dagger was staring intently at her blade as she continued to hone its edge. Hawk sat quietly in the corner, staring disinterestedly at the clock. 
“The plan is sound, Cloak,” sighed Rat. “All we need is the proper equipment to pull it off.”
“Your ‘plan’ is to have a small group sneak aboard the airship in mid-flight, find the prisoner, replace her with a dummy, jettison the rest of the prisoners through the “riot control” protocols, set the airship to crash in the wilderness, and fly out with the prisoner without a scratch?” repeated Phantasm. 
“Basically,” replied Rat. “Once we have the prisoner secured, the second group will begin the decoy jailbreak to occupy the guards from the outside while the primary group escapes out the front.” 
“Well, I can see two problems with that plan already, from a technical standpoint,” interjected Clover. “That armor is very thick, and I’m not sure we’d be able to pull the same sort of stunt we did in your first job.” 
“We won’t have to try and be quiet,” replied Rat. “We’ll cut through the armor into the ventilation duct closest to the engines, so any noise we make will be masked by their own engines. From there, we’ll enter the main cabin through these storage closets.”
“I assume we’ll be searching pre-assigned decks?” asked Dagger. 
“Exactly,” replied Rat. “I’m going to speak to Hoxton about giving us something to synchronize our movements. After we’ve found her, we’ll get her out and trigger the riot protocols, which will be the signal for the decoys to attack and keep the guards busy.”
“Which brings up the second problem,” interjected Clover. “How are you going to crash a vehicle like that?”
Before Rat could reply, Phantasm took the opportunity to speak up.
“If the Mob could get their hands on it, I think I know of something that could help us out with that,” replied Phantasm. “I heard some of the older Shadowbolts mention something called a ‘Dragonlance’ not too long ago.”
“A dragon-what-now?” repeated Cloak. 
“The Dragonlance weapon system was created during the last Griffon-Drake war to combat the Drake’s employing full-sized Dragons to raise Hell on the Equestrian border, hoping to overwhelm us,” explained Clover. “The tip of the weapon carries an explosive payload behind a solid tip that is capable of piercing most varieties of dragonscale. Once embedded in the target, the payload would detonate, often spreading a corrosive or flammable liquid over the wound.”
“Aren’t dragons fireproof?” asked Cloak skeptically.
“Not beneath their scales, they aren’t,” answered Clover. 
“I’ll see about acquiring one,” interrupted Rat. “Are we clear on the rest of the plan?”
Around the room, the rest of the team nodded their silent agreement. 
“Good, then we’ll head out tomorrow to get into position,” continued Rat. “Pack whatever you think you’ll need. We’ll leave at first light.”



Overlook, Five Miles Outside Whinneyapolis, Equestria
13:10 Local Time, 11 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“Contact spotted,” called out Phantasm.
Rat nodded and prepped his ear plugs. Cloak and Dagger did the same, adjusting their utility belts on the standard flight suits they brought along for this mission. As the massive prison ship drifted steadily through the air, belching grey smoke to mar the clear blue sky, the three Shadowbolts drifted down to the designated location between the plates. Rat winced as he waited impatiently for the saw to finish cutting through the armor plates. Even through the earplugs, the noise of the engines was incredibly uncomfortable to be around.Thankfully, the saw made quick work of the armored plates, allowing the three pegasi to, after placing a few small explosive charges at the entrance, make their way through the cramped air shafts.
“Not one of your better plans, but not intolerable,” quipped Cloak. “At least it isn’t a sewer pipe.” 
“Don’t give me ideas,” chuckled Rat lightly. 
“We’ll be splitting up soon,” interjected Dagger. “Better get ready.” 
“Right, you all know the cutie mark we’ll be looking for?” asked Rat. 
“Yep, memorized it last night,” confirmed Cloak. 
“Don’t just use this as an excuse to stare at mares’ flanks,” snapped Dagger. “Remember we have a job to do.”
“I wasn’t gonna do that!” protested Cloak. 
“Cut the chatter, we’re here,” interrupted Rat. 
At this point, the three Shadowbolts parted ways and began their search. Rat dropped down and kept quiet, picturing the gem-like flower that he was looking for. HTB guards in full armor wandered the halls as Rat made his way to the prisoner cells. After several minutes of searching, Rat failed to locate any sign of their target. He began to make his way up to the next floor quietly when at that moment he felt the bulkhead shake beneath his hooves. Rat ran immediately to the second deck, confirming that it was Dagger who detonated the charges early.
“What the hell were you thinking?” snapped Rat. “You’ve just set the ship on high alert!” 
“We’ve got a problem, and we need to move to the ‘Plan B’,” replied Dagger. 
“What’s the problem?” barked Rat.
Dagger simply pointed at the unicorn mare standing next to her. To be more precise, she pointed at the unicorn mare’s flank. Rat suddenly felt his throat go dry. A crystalline flower rested on her flank, plain as day. Rat’s eyes moved upward to finally rest on her horn as he watched his entire plan shatter within his mind’s eye.
“Oh, f-” swore Rat.



Overlook, Five Miles Outside Whinneyapolis, Equestria
13:17 Local Time, 11 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Clover watched the plume of smoke rise from the back of the airship in horror. Tank gave a worried moan and moved to rush in, but was stopped by Phantasm, without a word.
“There have been complications, but we need to wait for an opening,” explained Phantasm.
“How the hell are they supposed to signal that?” snapped Clover.
At that moment, the prison ship instantly went into lockdown, sirens blaring and security shutters closing. Phantasm hefted the DL-07 MK1, the best Dragonlance the mob could offer, and aimed her first shot through the telescopic sight. 
“Tank, be ready to charge in through the breach when this hits,” ordered Phantasm as she loaded the warhead. “Hawk, you follow him and provide backup. Clover, I need you to call out ranges for me with your binoculars.”
The Dragonlance was aimed. Tank grinned in anticipation. Hawk grimaced. Phantasm exhaled. The world exploded.



JSS Prison Ship, Five Miles Outside Whinneyapolis, Equestria
13:21 Local Time, 11 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“This is some rescue,” quipped Crystal Rose with a hint of mischief dancing in her striking emerald eyes. 
“Forgive us, but your father went a little bit light on the details,” snapped Dagger. 
“Daddy sent you?” asked Rose in shock. “Well no wonder you didn’t know! Daddy and I have never met physically! I’ve only known him through the letters that his couriers carried for us.” 
“Not the time!” barked Rat as he push the two mares through the security bulkhead before it sealed. 
Rat looked back at the prison riot that they caused, frowning slightly. Hopefully, the prisoners would be alright. Rat turned to find Cloak approaching, out of breath. 
“What the hell happened back there, Boss?” wheezed Cloak. “Did we find the target?”
“That’s no way to speak to a lady, flyboy,” quipped Rose, winking slightly at Cloak. 
“Guh?” articulated Cloak as he got his first look at Crystal Rose. 
Despite the situation, Rat had to chuckle slightly at Cloak’s stunned expression. Admittedly, Crystal Rose was a stunning mare in her own right. Her milk-white coat helped to draw attention to her fiery crimson mane and her sparkling emerald eyes. However, what made these features stand out the most was the mischievous grin that she sported, her eyes dancing in the light like fireflies. To look at Cloak’s face, however, one would think that he was staring at the Virtue of Love reincarnated. 
“Seriously, brother?” sighed Dagger. “Now?”
“What?” snapped Cloak. “I can’t help it if she’s beautiful!”
“You can if her father could have you buried without a funeral,” groaned Dagger. 
“As entertaining as it is to watch you and your charming brother spar verbally, we should probably have an escape plan from this doomed vessel,” commented Rose with a chuckle. 
“What’s our next move, Boss?” sighed Cloak.
Rat’s mind went into overdrive. Carrying Crystal out was out of the question for the three of them, especially if they were going to be under fire. Tank could do it, but it was unlikely that the three of them would be able to hold off the guards without casualties. If only there was a way for Crystal to fly-
Rat’s mind suddenly leapt back to his first mission, and the piece of equipment that was critical to their rapid escape. A new plan formed in his mind. 
“Cloak, I need you to go to the back of the ship and find the others,” barked Rat. “Tell them to fall back when they see the signal. After that, fly to Phantasm and tell her to target the bridge with the last Dragonlance on the signal.”
“Great plan, Boss,” nodded Cloak. “One question: What the hell is the signal?”
“Trust me, they’ll know it when they see it,” grinned Rat. “Dagger, Rose, follow me.”
“I hope this scheme of yours works,” chuckled Rose as they ran up the ladder to the top deck. “I’d hate for us to die in the process.”
“Well, as long as you aren’t afraid of heights and trust my rope-tying skills, I think you’ll like this plan just fine.”



Overlook, Five Miles Outside Whinneyapolis, Equestria
13:34 Local Time, 11 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Phantasm looked up from her sights as Cloak haphazardly landed next to her. 
“New plan!” coughed Cloak. “Aim for the helm with the last Dragonlance and be ready to fly on Rat’s signal.”
“Did he say what the signal could be?” asked Clover.
“No, but he did say it’d be impossible to miss,” explained Cloak. 
“And how the bloody hell are we going to pick out what that is in all this mess?!” snapped Clover. 
Cloak’s eyes suddenly widened in complete shock as he stared, open-mouthed, behind Clover. Clover turned to see what Cloak was looking at, but quickly found herself completely unprepared for what she saw. A hastily-stitched approximation of a Skyhook balloon was rising swiftly from the airship, carrying what appeared to be a screaming unicorn mare in an improvised seat. A bright green flash from the unicorn’s horn caused a small explosion on the upper deck, scattering JSS guards everywhere as they fell to their demise. There was a clicking sound as Phantasm locked the last Dragonlance into the launcher.
“Good enough for me,” quipped Phantasm. 



JSS Prison Ship, Five Miles Outside Whinneyapolis, Equestria
13:30 Local Time, 11 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“Are you sure this is safe?” asked Crystal Rose hesitantly as Rat secured her to the chair.
“Not entirely, but we’re out of options,” admitted Rat as he disconnected the gas hose to their makeshift balloon. “Dagger and I wouldn’t be able to carry you out of the blast zone, moving on foot would be dangerous, and Tank will be busy covering our escape.”
“If the issue was your handsome friend getting too hoovesy with me, I’d rather you work to save my life first before you worry about ‘preserving my honor’,” quipped Rose nervously.
“‘Handsome’?” snorted Dagger. “Thank Celestia that my idiot brother didn’t hear that.”
“He was a bit inarticulate at first, but I hardly think that counts,” smirked Crystal Rose.
“Are you afraid of heights?” asked Dagger.
“A little,” admitted Rose hesitantly. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m going to enjoy this next part,” muttered Dagger.
“Alright, stand down, Dagger,” barked Rat. “Be ready to cut the ropes on my signal, and then help me guide the balloon so we can avoid crossbow volleys. We’ll go on three. One-”
“Three!” shouted Dagger as several JSS guards broke through to the upper deck.
Rat suddenly felt himself hoisted into the air by his back leg as the balloon swiftly rose into the sky. He was vaguely aware of somepony screaming and a volley of crossbow fire. A grey hoof struck Rat in the face.
“FLY LIKE HELL, ASSHOLE!” bellowed Dagger as she cut Rat free.
Rat recovered quickly and grabbed a line to guide the balloon on its swift ascent. However, the crossbow volleys were becoming overwhelming. Dagger grunted briefly as a stray bolt struck her in the shoulder, opening a thin, red line across her flightsuit.
“Turn me around to face them!” yelled Rose. 
“Are you crazy?!” asked Rat. “You’ll end up a pincushion!”
“JUST DO IT!” barked the mare.
Rat flinched, going with the mare’s suggestion just as two JSS Jaegers joined the dozen soldiers on the deck. Rose’s horn glowed bright green as a burst of magic combusted at the center of the guard formation. JSS soldiers screamed as they fell from the deck to their deaths far below. Rat ignored the spectacle, gritting his teeth and guiding the balloon to the overlook. Out of the corner of his eye, Rat could see Hawk and Tank falling into formation behind the balloon, looking no worse for wear for their experience. 
There was a brief roar of flame as the Dragonlance accelerated toward its final destination. There was a earsplitting screech as it punched through the airship’s armored hull, which quickly died to a moment of false tranquility. This lull in combat was broken by the entire front of the airship bursting into flames, which quickly spread to the canvas balloon. The burning hulk descended to the forest below, collapsing against the base of the mountain like a wounded animal, becoming consumed by the resulting fireball.
Rat glanced at the rest of his crew. Hawk was rolling his eyes at Tank, who was sticking his tongue out at the fallen transport as it burned. Cloak was whooping and hollering in victory at their success, performing loops and other fancy maneuvers in celebration while Rose watched with great interest. Clover was grinning with childish glee at the prospect of something to ridicule Cloak with if he ever became too teasing. Dagger rolled her eyes at the display, attempting to ignore it as she pulled the balloon. Rat grinned at his crew as he turned his eyes skyward. They had made it through. 



The Cirrus, Landing Platform, Equestria
14:01 Local Time, 11 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Rat swooped down to the landing platform, taking care to set the Skyhook down gently. Razor was there to greet them, with Arclight and a number of other medics in tow. The old Shadowbolt was merely shaking his head slightly, laughing as he approached. 
“You break the rules, and somehow still come out on top,” chuckled Razor. 
“I don’t like limits, Razor,” grinned Rat. “You should know better than anyone how different I am.”
“That I do,” laughed Razor. “We’ll have to swap stories in the mess hall later. Right now, my priorities are a shower and a nap.”
“Don’t break a hip, old timer,” smirked Rat. 
“If I do, it’ll be yours, whelp,” countered Razor with a grin and a middle feather. 
Rat shook his head and laughed as he watched the older veteran leave. Perhaps it was the fact that he’d pulled a team through another contract all on his own, but Rat couldn’t help but feel as though he was getting the hang of his new life. His doubts were beginning to subside as he found jobs that he was comfortable with, and his “crew” were starting to trust his leadership. He’d found the place where he belonged, and that brought a new sense of comfort to him.
“You look pleased, Rat,” a familiar voice intoned behind him. “I assume your last contract was productive?”
Rat turned to face his old mentor, grinning slightly. Descent was standing on the platform, goggles around his neck. What caught Rat’s interest more was the young pegasus stallion standing behind him. He looked a little younger than Rat, but not by a whole lot if he was. He was certainly from a more stable economic background than Rat had been, considering how his cobalt blue coat shined with a healthy glow. He looked to be a fairly normal pegasus colt with an untrimmed indigo mane that got in the way of his striking orange eyes. However, for some reason that Rat couldn’t place, this colt set him on edge, as though he were Rat’s polar opposite. Rat shook this feeling off, instead deciding to take a more relaxed approach.
“Fairly. Who’s the rookie?” asked Rat. 
“A prospect that I observed while on my mission in Baltimare,” replied Descent. “He knows what he’s getting into, and thanks to your success, I don’t think I’ll run into any problems getting Dante’s approval.”
“Glad to have been of help,” smirked Rat. “I’ll make sure Razor doesn’t bother you this time.”
“Indeed,” nodded Descent, before addressing the prospect. “Let’s move. We don’t want to keep Dante waiting.”
“Yes sir,” replied the cobalt stallion, before addressing Rat. “It was an honor to meet you, sir.”
“Just call me Rat,” replied Rat. “You’ll learn why soon enough.”
“Swimming Skies,” replied the stallion, bowing his head.
“Hopefully, that won’t be the case for much longer,” grinned Rat enigmatically. “Better catch up to Descent. Take it from his former apprentice: he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Rat laughed as he watched the young stallion rush after Descent. He’d have to ask Razor more about the rookie at dinner. Suddenly, Rat heard a sharp grunt of pain from behind him, causing him to turn immediately. Dagger was on the deck, clutching her shoulder as blood slowly trickled from her wound. A small trail of blood led to where she had landed on the flight deck, a small pool having formed where she’d stopped. Her suit was soaked with blood as it bubbled through the cut in the fabric where the arrow struck her. Rat felt his frustration build as he prepared to reprimand Dagger severely, but found himself beaten to the punch. Arclight stormed past him and began helping Dagger to her hooves.
“You are coming to the medical bay,” stated Arclight calmly, despite the steely glint in his eyes. “Now.”
“I’m fine,” growled Dagger, grunting in pain and proceeding to glare at the traitorous trickle of blood running down from her shoulder. 
“You look like you’ve been thrown through a building, and have left a trail of blood that a geriatric hound with a broken nose could follow,” argued Arclight. “You are not going anywhere besides the medical bay.”
“I said I’m fine, dammit!” snapped Dagger, attempting to limp past Arclight and swearing as she lost her balance. 
Arclight caught her before she hit the ground, receiving a glare that could boil an egg at twenty paces before it was even laid. To his credit, Arclight didn’t flinch. He met the glare head on.
“Dagger, I’m going to be perfectly frank with you right now, so shut the hell up and listen,” stated Arclight calmly while applying pressure to the wound in an attempt to stem the tide. “Your body is going to give out from blood loss if you don’t get medical attention. You need help. I know it, and you know it. What I don’t know right now is whether you’ll cooperate and let me take you to the medical bay or whether I’m going to have to use my medical knowledge to safely incapacitate you and drag you there to get treatment. Do you have an answer?”
Dagger held her glare for another minute before grudgingly relenting.
“Fine,” snarled Dagger. “Just know that I’m going to kick your ass for this later.”
“I think I can live with that,” replied Arclight, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “As long as it’s after you’re no longer at risk of reopening this wound.”  
Cloak and Rat just watched in silence as Arclight applied a field dressing to stem the flow of blood from the wound and helped Dagger limp her way toward the medical bay. Rat glanced over at Cloak, taking in the stallion’s expression. To say pure shock radiated from every pore of the pegasus’s body would have been an understatement. His jaw moved silently, opening and closing like a fish struggling to breathe. After about a minute of this, the stallion burst out laughing. 
“Holy shit,” swore Cloak after composing himself. “I teased the hell out of her a few years ago, but now it looks like it might actually happen.”
“Aren’t older brothers supposed to threaten the life of any stallion that looks at their little sister like that?” asked Rat.
“Now why the hell would I need to do that?” asked Cloak with a laugh. “First of all, it’s far too early to say anything for certain yet. And even if it weren’t, Arc and I know perfectly well that I wouldn’t get the chance to do anything if he’s dumb enough to break her heart. She’d break his legs before I could even blink, and his ribs before I’d take the first step toward him.”
“Interesting viewpoint,” commented Rose. “Still, I’m sure my father is working himself into a frenzy over my safe return, so if we could find him-”
“I think he found us, ma’am,” interrupted Cloak. 
Crystal Rose turned to glance in the direction that Cloak indicated and suddenly found herself unable to move. A middle-aged pegasus stallion in a fine suit was staring at her, completely frozen, tears beginning to form in his world-weary hazel eyes. The lines in his face could be clearly seen through his shocked expression. Rose focused on the only feature that she could recognize in this strange stallion: the deep crimson mane and tail that matched her own, though straighter and with streaks of grey. Finally, after an eternity, the older stallion spoke, clearing his throat.
“You look just like your mother,” choked the older stallion. 
“She described you perfectly,” whispered Rose. 
“A greaseball, good-for-nothing gangster?” the older stallion laughed bitterly, glancing away. 
“A kind, loyal, hard-working stallion who would do everything he could to keep his family safe,” protested Rose, her voice carrying an unwavering edge of complete faith in her words. 
There was a prolonged silence as father and daughter were too overwhelmed for any other action. Finally, the old stallion broke from his internal struggle and embraced his daughter for the first time, weeping. Crystal Rose returned the embrace, half-laughing and half-weeping, having finally found the elusive stallion who had guided her through the best and worst moments of her life through his letters.
Rat found his vision blurring as his eyes stung with tears at the display of affection. Cloak was struggling to keep a straight face, even as tears traced their way down his face. Clover and Phantasm were both moved by the happy reunion as well, but were struggling to keep a straight face at the scene next to them. Tank was silently sobbing, even as his grin threatened to split his face in half. A disgruntled Hawk rolled his eyes even as the large pegasus continued to weep, a small pool of tears forming on the flight deck.
“I was so worried, Rosie,” whispered the stallion. “I thought I’d lost you before I’d even gotten a chance to see you. If they’d taken you away, I’d have never forgiven myself.”
“They didn’t, Daddy,” reassured Rose, her eyes glistening with tears that flowed over her radiant smile. “And I wasn’t scared for a moment, because I knew you’d do everything you could to keep me safe.” 
“I just wish that I could have saved your mother, too,” lamented the stallion softly. 
“Stop it,” chided Rose gently. “You know there was nothing you could have done, and Mom knew it too. She wanted to keep me safe so I could meet you, and that’s what she did. Besides, you know how Mom was when she made up her mind about something.”
“That I do,” chuckled the old stallion as he dried his eyes. “She’d have never married a sleazy gangster like me if she wasn’t like that.”
“Actually, Mom always described you as a ‘lovable, dashing rogue’,” replied Rose with a grin. “She’d never hear a word otherwise from anyone, and neither will I. To me, you’ll always be my ‘caring and loving father, loyal to his final breath’.”
At this point, the two were broken from their tearful reverie by what sounded like a foghorn at the bottom of a well. Rat turned, startled by the noise, to find Tank holding a very shell-shocked Hawk like a handkerchief, having used the smaller stallion to blow his nose. Tank continued to dry his eyes for a few moments before realizing that every set of eyes was now focused on him. With a sheepish grin, Tank placed the Hawk onto his hooves as he shuddered and dripped on the flight deck. The entire flight deck burst into laughter as Tank sheepishly chuckled and patted Hawk on the head, even as the smaller stallion glared daggers at him.
“Shadowbolt, I could spend the rest of my life repaying you for what you and your comrades have done, but I wouldn’t even come close,” began the stallion. “For that, I thank you with every fiber of my being.”
“It was our pleasure, sir,” bowed Rat. 
“Please, no need for formalities,” protested the stallion. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re all family now. Just call me Fine Print.”
“Alright, Fine Print, as long as you call me Rat,” replied Rat with a grin. “Now I’m sure that you’re worried about what the cost of this job is going to mean for your organization, despite every protestation to the contrary. Just pay us what you can afford, and we’ll call it fair enough. ” 
“But you need to cover your end of expenses as well!” argued Fine Print. 
“You’ve already paid enough for three contracts already,” countered Rat. “If you insist on repaying us that much, your support in any future endeavours we might have would be much more useful in the long run.”
“I’ll swear it until my dying day, Rat,” grinned Fine Print. “Whatever you need, we’ll provide it if we can. It’s been a pleasure.”
“Likewise,” grinned Rat. 
The older stallion looked as though he wanted to say more, but stopped as if he noticed something, before chuckling and moving to the hot air balloon that he and his associates would be using to return to the ground. Confused, Rat turned to glance where Fine Print had been looking. Off to the side, Rat noticed that Cloak was shifting uncomfortably next to Crystal Rose. The young mare barely contained her amusement as she watched him clear his throat repeatedly. However, every time it seemed as though the young stallion would say something, his ears turned bright red and he’d look away, awkwardly. Rat was tempted to lead Cloak away before the poor sap embarrassed himself further, but apparently their guest had other ideas.
“So do you tell all the mares you meet that they’re beautiful, or is that reserved only for life-or-death situations?” asked Crystal Rose innocently, giving Cloak a very convincing pout.   
At this, Cloak found his attention completely locked on the young unicorn mare, his eyes wide with utter shock as his entire face turned crimson. The stallion’s jaw had dropped enough to accommodate a whole apple, and he’d failed to notice that his wings had sprung open. Behind them, Clover looked as though she was about to fall over laughing while Tank grinned at the scene that continued to unfold in front of them. Finally, Cloak managed to find his voice again, jumping as though he’d hit a stray lightning bolt.
“Uh yes, I mean no!” stuttered Cloak, speaking faster and faster each moment. “I mean, you are beautiful- wait no! I didn’t mean to say that! Well, I DID mean to, but- GAH! WHAT THE HELL AM I SAYING?!?!”
Before Cloak could take any drastic action, Crystal Rose burst out laughing, completely losing her composure. Her laughter was completely involuntary, carrying only genuine mirth at the situation without any malicious intent. The surrounding observers also joined in with the laughter, with Clover rolling on the landing deck as she cackled at Cloak finally rendered speechless. Eventually, even Cloak began to laugh as well, as he realized he’d been messed with. Finally, Rose managed to regain her composure enough to speak again, wiping her eyes and slightly chuckling.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have teased you like that,” apologized Rose sincerely. “You just looked so flustered, and I couldn’t resist the opportunity.”
“Don’t worry about it, ma’am,” replied Cloak, grinning sheepishly. “I’d have done the same thing if I could, but you’d probably laugh if you saw me pouting like that.”
“I would not!” protested Rose, before looking away slightly. “Well, not at first…”
When she looked back at Cloak, the stallion had gone from a sincere sheepish grin to a ridiculously exaggerated pout, complete with a quivering lower lip. To her credit, Rose was able to keep from laughing the longest out of all the observers, but it wasn’t long before her composure was gone completely. Cloak began laughing in earnest, unable to keep up the ridiculousness once it had affected its intended target. The two were forced to lean on each other to keep from falling completely as laughter turned to undignified cackles. Eventually revelry died down into a comfortable silence, but neither Cloak nor Rose made any attempt to move. 
“I guess you’ll be going home now, ma’am,” observed Cloak. 
“In a way, I suppose,” sighed Rose. “Dad will most likely relocate me to Seaddle, now that there’s no point in hiding me anymore. I’m guessing you’ll be off on another adventure soon?”
“Eventually,” sighed Cloak. “We’ll probably have a few days off before we get another contract, but you’re pretty spot-on as far as that goes.”
“I suppose you’ll be running into all kinds of ponies on these adventures of yours, right?” asked Rose.
“Probably, yeah,” mused Cloak obliviously, watching as clouds drifted by. 
“In that case, since you’re going to be running into all kinds of beautiful mares, I should leave you with something to remember me by,” smirked Rose, despite the light blush forming on her cheeks.
The mare leaned over and kissed Cloak gently on the cheek. Without another word, the young mare smiled warmly and walked toward the balloon that her father waited in, which took off into the clear sky. Rat approached Cloak quietly, sitting next to his wingmate as he stared at the spot where the pretty young mare had left from. Rat cleared his throat.
“Considering that you didn’t get splattered by his thugs immediately, I’m guessing that you have her father’s approval,” observed Rat.
“Don’t be ridiculous!” snorted Cloak as he laughed dismissively. “There’s nothing there for him to approve of! And besides, the odds of us running into her again are absolutely minimal, so there’s no point in wondering about it!”
“If you say so, Cloak,” laughed Rat, walking away towards the Mess Hall. 



Green Pastures, Cloak’s Front Porch, Equestria
50 Years After the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
As Cloak finished his story, he found his eyes slightly damp from the memories brought up again. Even now, after all these years, he could still hear the chime of her laughter in his ears and the warmth of that first kiss on his cheek. He chuckled slightly to himself. If only he had known then what he did now…
“Well, I think we should stop for today,” announced Dagger.
A collective groan of disappointment rose from the crowd of foals, only to be shushed by the old pegasus mare.
“You’ll be back tomorrow, I’m sure,” chided Dagger. “And besides, aren’t you all forgetting something? Like dinner? Chores? Homework?”
At this, every foal but Cold Snap looked around in horror. Brief goodbyes were shared, and the young audience quickly fled, hoping to avoid the wrath of their parents for arriving to dinner late. Cold Snap laughed slightly, moving to head inside to dinner, when he noticed that his grandfather had not moved since finishing his story. The old stallion’s eyes seemed to stare off into the past, a hint of tears beginning to form.
“Everything alright, Grandpa?” asked Cold Snap. 
The old stallion didn’t move, seemingly still lost in thought. When he did look at Cold Snap again, it was as though nothing were out of the ordinary. Cloak smiled and gently tousled the young colt’s mane.
“I’m fine, Cold Snap,” reassured Cloak. “Best get inside to dinner before your mother gives us an earful for missing it.”
Still uncertain, Cold Snap made his way up the front steps into the house. After a minute, Dagger took a seat next to her brother, watching the sun hang low in the sky.
“You almost had me convinced, brother,” remarked Dagger. “Unfortunately, I know you better than that.”
“I wasn’t just thinking about that,” corrected Cloak. “I was just thinking of how that was the start of a Golden Age for our merry little band.”
“It really was, wasn’t it?”smirked Dagger. 
The two siblings sat in silence, before Cloak cleared his throat.
“Dagger, I-” choked Cloak.
“Take your time, brother,” reassured Dagger, standing up. “I’ll let them know you’ll be in shortly.”
With that, the older mare left. Cloak sat alone with his thoughts for a long time, watching as the world went by around him. Eventually, the old stallion reached into the side pouch of his rocking chair, hefting a battered, leather-bound book from within. He then flipped through the pages covered in faded photographs, looking for the one he needed right now. Eventually, he found it, a picture of a young stallion and mare laughing as they ran through the park, young and full of life.
“If only we’d known then, my darling,” sighed the old stallion with a gentle smile. “If only we’d known then.”
Upon the crinkled page, two new teardrops fell, joining countless others that had made their mark on this page before...

To be continued… 
End of Act 2

> Chapter 9: A Night at the Museum
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Green Pastures, Cloak’s Front Porch, Equestria
50 Years After the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
The next day passed without incident for Cloak. He’d spent many hours out on the porch the night before, flipping through his album, remembering good times and bad. The faces he saw in the faded photographs were ones that he had not seen in decades, some of them not since the end of the war and some for even longer. There were many names and faces that Cloak didn’t know what ended up becoming of them, but there were more than a few that Cloak did know the final fate of, much to his regret. Strangely enough, it was the happy memories that made Cloak cry more than the tragic ones.
Cloak sighed, taking a deep draught of his glass of lemonade. The young ones would be showing up any moment now. He needed to regain his composure, otherwise there would be no way to hide the eventual fates of the Rat Pack and their allies. As he tucked the album away, Cloak could hear the distinctive sound of young hooves on the porch step, signalling the arrival of Cold Snap and his friends.
“Hey kids,” greeted Cloak, not looking up as he tried to summon up enough composure to begin his story again. “You’re all here early. I hope you aren’t cutting class.” 
“Don’t worry about that, Gramps,” snarked a voice Cloak had not heard in decades. “Being a school board member and the mother of the teacher in question gives me quite a bit of influence, and how could I back down after I heard you’ve been talking smack about me?”
At this, Cloak froze in shock as he looked up, almost not believing what his ears heard. On his front porch stood a living legend in Equestrian history, a world-renowned author, and friend to the Rat Pack. Daring Do had somehow managed to age with grace and dignity. Despite bearing very distinct lines, her face still conveyed the same strength and confidence that Cloak had seen when he first met her. Her mane, now liberally streaked with silver, was pulled into a neat bun. While Daring was wearing her distinctive vest, now worn down and liberally patched up, her signature pith helmet was nowhere in sight. Dagger walked out onto the porch, grinning at the sight of the old mare.
“Well, look who finally crawled her way out of her tomb,” snarked Dagger. “I’ll bet the ink on your adventurer card is probably dried by now.”
“Dried and faded from use, more like,” quipped Daring. “I’m surprised at you. I expected harsher verbal abuse than that from your sharp tongue. Have the past few decades dulled your edge, Dagger?”
“Not a chance, but we don’t want to upset the little foals, now do we?” retorted Dagger, her grin widening.
The two mares stood still for a moment, grinning at each other, before embracing in a brief, friendly hug. Cloak couldn’t help but laugh in shock at what he was seeing.
“Good to see you, ya old nag,” chortled Dagger. “I see you finally lost the soup bowl you called a hat.”
“You can blame Leaf for that one,” muttered Daring petulantly. “It’s currently behind a glass case in my office with a glass-break alarm on it.”
“My brother and I could probably lift that without leaving a smudge back in the old days, but those days are behind us, I’m afraid,” sighed Dagger.
“Sorry for falling out of touch these past few years,” apologized Daring.
“Don’t be,” sighed Dagger with a smile. “You of all ponies should know that couldn’t have been helped, what with the aftershock of the War, especially Canterlot.”
“Still, what happened to you all wasn’t fair,” murmured Daring. “You gave just as much as the rest of us, and they had the nerve to-”
“Oi!” yelped Cloak in irritation. “Don’t be spoiling my story here, Professor Crypt Keeper!”
“Relax, Old Timer,” laughed Daring. “As an author, I know just how important it is to set the stage properly for your audience.”
“So what happened to Rat and his crew after the Jailbreak Job?” asked Kingfisher. 
“Well, after that job, we entered what I like to call the ‘Golden Age’,” replied Cloak, reminiscing. “We were ‘The Rat Pack’: we moved in the shadows without a single civilian casualty with a flawless success rate.”
“Well, almost flawless,” added Dagger. 
“What are you-” began Cloak, before realization flashed in his eyes. “Oh! I forgot about that part of the job!”
“What do you mean, sir?” asked one of the other foals. “What part of what job?”
“Well, I’m sure those of you here when I told my story remember when I said that the rest of the Diamond’s history was a tale for another time?” asked Dagger. 
The foals all nodded, remembering the story of the cursed gem from Equus.
“Well, it’s another time now,” grinned Dagger.

The Cirrus, Mess Hall, Equestria
7 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“So how’s the new favorite son doing?” asked Cloak, balancing a butter knife on his nose. 
Rat glanced over to where Death Drop was sitting with Descent, talking about the latest contract kill he’d made while Devil, Trance, Blade and Sin laughed heartily. “Swimming Skies” had been renamed “Death Drop”, and had quickly established himself as a highly skilled assassin in the past four years. 
“He’s doing quite well for himself,” began Rat calmly. “Descent was very pleased with his progress early on, and he really did work hard to finish training in two years.”
“You’re not jealous of the pipsqueak?” asked Hawk.
“Why would I be jealous of him?” replied Rat in confusion.
“Well, he’s just like Descent, isn’t he?” mused Hawk. “He’s a killer, and a damn good one at that. You don’t think that Descent’s gonna pick him as his favorite over you?”
“Hawk, that’s absolutely ridiculous,” scoffed Rat. “He and I may be different, but we’re all Shadowbolts, and we do our job damn well. There’s no shame in that.”
“You might want to rethink that statement, Runt,” sneered an unpleasant voice.
Rat turned to find Pitch swaying drunkenly behind him, flask in hoof.
“Dante wants to see you, and he looks pretty pissed,” slurred Pitch.
“I’ll go see him now,” nodded Rat. “I suggest you sit down. I know the way, and you look as though you have drunk enough to pickle a griffin twice over.”
Pitch glared at Rat even as Cloak struggled to disguise his laughter as a series of coughs. Dagger smirked slightly before going back to sharpening her blade. Pitch made a noise of irritation before stalking off without a word. Rat glanced over at his crew uneasily, concern reflected back in their eyes.
“Get your gear all packed together,” ordered Rat quietly. “We may be going on a rough mission, or we might need to fight our way out.”
The group all nodded subtly. They knew the escape plan well enough if things went south. Silently, Rat made his way to Dante’s office. Rat had to give Pitch credit. Dante did not look even remotely happy. The glare that he fixed Rat with could have scorched the scales off a dragon, but Dante seemed to be fighting very hard to keep his anger under control. While not ideal, this was a very good situation. The fact that Rat was still breathing right now meant that Dante still saw Rat as more of an asset than a liability. That meant Rat would be able to fix this. 
“Sit,” barked Dante curtly.
“Is something wrong, sir?” asked Rat. 
“You have been contacted from an outside entity,” explained Dante tersely. 
“That’s… unusual,” replied Rat. “How?”
“They asked for the Mob to pass this along to ‘the group that you employed four years ago at the docks’, rather than contracting the Mob itself,” answered Dante. “It’s only the fact that they had to use the mob to pass the message that’s keeping you alive.” 
“...And the message?” asked Rat, already knowing who it was.
“Other than a location and time?” replied Dante. “Only that ‘The stone of blood is not safe’.”
Rat’s blood went cold. The Stone of Blood. “La Pietra di Sangue”, in the old Griffon Tongue. One of the most dangerous objects in Equestrian history was at risk once again. Dante continued to glare sternly at Rat, waiting for an explanation. 
“Sir, I’m going to need a full crew and the best assets that Hoxton can spare,” began Rat. “If this is about what I think it is, everyone is in grave danger. Not just us Shadowbolts, but all ponies, griffons, drakes, and whatever else lives under the sun.”
“Explain first, then we’ll talk about ‘actions’,” glared Dante.
“Have you heard of ‘The Diamond’?” asked Rat.
“That old legend?” scoffed Dante.
“Not a legend,” corrected Rat. “I’ve seen it, and the last ponies interested in stealing it were HTB and JSS.”
“And the leak?” pressed Dante.
“She was the adventurer who found the damn thing in the first place,” explained Rat. “It’s thanks to her Dagger and I made it out alive. She’s a client, not a leak. She can be trusted.”
“...You can take your team out to figure out what’s going on,” relented Dante. “If it is the Diamond causing problems, you may take whatever action the client deems appropriate. Whatever you do, don’t bring that damned thing back here. Tell the client not to worry about payment. It’s better for all of us to get that gem out of play at all costs. Meanwhile, I’ll see about getting one of our agents in the field to keep an eye on her from now on. Perhaps we can convince her to publish her exploits as fiction...”

Seaddle, Cafe, Equestria
7 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Rat glided toward the cafe, scanning the crowd for Daring Do. He managed to spot the young mare at a table with a cup of coffee and a journal. 
“Alright, I’m here now,” coughed Rat as he took a deep breath. “What the hell is wrong with the Dia-”
“Nothing is wrong with the diapers, dear,” Daring said quickly, and loud enough to be heard by everyone as she subtly indicates he should take a seat. She waited a few moments, then looked Rat in the eyes, “Not so loudly, a lot of open ears around here.”
“Alright, so we’re a newlywed couple now?” whispered Rat with a smirk. “Whatever you say, dear. Now could you explain what the hell is going on and why you went to the mob to go get me?”
“Well, a certain gem we both had our eyes on a few years back?” Daring started, her voice low, and her ears perked to hear anypony coming close. “It’s become… shall we say a lot more desirable to those who have it in their keeping. I am to understand a certain Janus is also involved.”
“Alright, so we need to move it to a new location, then,” replied Rat. “Get the owner to move it to a new museum or something. Take it on a tour.”
Shaking her head, Daring sighed. “At this point, I think it’s better nopony has their hooves on it. We thought it would be safe behind glass with nopony touching it, but we were wrong. It’s still affecting its caretakers.”
“I assume by ‘affecting’, you don’t mean ‘wanting to leave it right where it is’,” guessed Rat. “I don’t suppose you have any relevant details for the layout of the museum with you right now?”
“By ‘affected’ I mean they’re getting into fights over who gets to guard it,” Daring sighed again. She then looked around and reached into a vest pocket and produced a floor plan of the museum in question, handing it to Rat. “I went ahead and borrowed the floorplan from the records in city hall. They won’t miss them, the room was quite dusty.”
Rat slipped the floorplans into his satchel quickly, vowing to look at them back at the hotel. “Any other details I should know about, such as recent changes involving Janus?”
“Only that I visited the museum to see what things looked like in there,” Daring started, frowning slightly. “Figured my training as a Wonderbolt Reserve would come in handy, perhaps I could go with you and help recover this thing… but the ponies in there? They looked like veterans, scars and all.”
“Hey, I’m not without a few scars myself,” smirked Rat. “It’s been a rough few years without the suit I gave you.”
“Hey, I’m not complaining,” Daring chuckled and winked. “I like my stallions with a few battle scars.” She then clears her throat and rubs the back of her head. “But, seriously, be careful. They might not be the heavy hitters, but something tells me they’re not pushovers. It’s why I contacted you guys in the first place… You helped me and Distant out last time, and I couldn’t think of anypony else that I could trust with this.” 
“I’ve always been careful,” winked Rat. “Haven’t lost a single member yet or failed a job. Also, don’t worry too much about the payment. I’ve informed my boss about the severity of this job, and he’s willing to do this one pro bono.”
“Well, your track record does speak for itself,” Daring smiles. “And, honestly, I really should repay you in some way.” She chuckled. “But, such is a conversation for later, as you are right; the situation is serious. If we don’t remove the gem from play, there is no telling what it might do. And, honestly, I’d rather not be explaining to Celestia about how I allowed this artifact to cause Seaddle to erupt into riots.”
“That rock can do that?” asked Rat, slightly concerned. 
“It’s caused wars to erupt,” Daring stated sadly. “Basically, it works like a want-it-need-it spell. Anypony who touches it falls under its influence, wanting it beyond anything else in the world. It also seems to work that way for ponies who are just around it for long periods of time, thus the problem with the staff.”
“I guess that ensures that the curse will always perpetuate itself while the damn thing is around other ponies,” mused Rat. “Why haven’t you or your mentor been affected?”
“We weren’t around it for long enough,” Daring shrugged. “And we put it in a special box when we realized what it was. Kept it contained.”
“Gotcha,” nodded Rat. “Will you be joining my crew on this endeavour, or will we simply report back to you at a remote location?”
“As much as I’d love to fight by your side,” Daring sighed, shaking her head. “I can’t. I’m barely out the door as a Wonderbolts’ Reservist, and while I bet I can handle my own, I don’t think it’d be a good idea for me to be tossed into the mix of your team with so much on the line.” She reached into her vest pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “This is the location I’ll be at, when you secure the gem, meet me there.”
“Alright, we’ll get right on this,” replied Rat, folding the paper and placing it in his satchel. “I already have my team waiting nearby. Is there anything else you want to tell me?”
“Just be careful?” Daring sighed. “Can’t stress it enough, I want to see you, and your whole team, in one piece at that meeting place.”
“It’s a date, then,” grinned Rat, winking slightly. “I’ll try not to stand you up.”
“Better keep that promise,” Daring chuckled, sticking her tongue out. “I’d hate to have to mar that pretty face of yours with a black eye.” She then sighed, “But, best to not keep you here any longer. You likely have to plan, and I should go prepare for later.”
“Understood,” nodded Rat. “Until later, then.”
Rat got up from the table, taking flight and making his way back to the hotel. He looked back at Daring and gave a cheeky mock-salute and a wink, grinning as he did so. As he looked back, he then noticed a familiar metallic sphere was hovering nearby. Rat’s mood instantly dropped. The crew would have a field day with this.
Shit.

Seaddle, Hotel, Equestria
7 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Rat glided down to the hotel room balcony, a feeling of dread filling his gut. Tank was hunched over the minibar, which had been turned on its side to resemble something like a food dish. Phantasm was cleaning her crossbow, ensuring that each component moved properly. Cloak was jumping on the bed, a foalish grin wide on his face. Hawk rolled his eyes as he sat in the corner, drinking a hard cider he’d retrieved from the minibar before Tank turned it into a bowl. Upon seeing Rat, Cloak’s grin widened.
“Well, look who got back from his date, everyone,” grinned Cloak. 
“Not a date,” sighed Rat.
“Oh, really?” teased Cloak. “Meeting a beautiful mare at an open-air cafe setting isn’t a date? I suppose you set the date up for afterwards, then. ‘Business before pleasure’ and all that.”
“Cloak…” warned Rat.
“Don’t deny it, Casanova!” grinned Cloak. “We heard the ‘It’s a date, then’ and ‘I like my stallions with a few battle scars’! Want me to play it back-” 
“Cloak, if you don’t stop right now, I’m going to tell Trance you called him Pint-Size and tell Ruin that you need a lullaby to sleep at night,” threatened Rat. 
“Alright, alright, say no more, Boss,” whistled Cloak. “All I’m saying is you’ve got some damn good taste in mares. A flank like that is hard to find outside of a magazine-”
“Careful, Cloak, your mare wouldn’t be happy to hear you talk like that,” commented Dagger. 
“First, she was never ‘my mare’, no matter how much I wish she was,” retorted Cloak. “Second, it’s been four years since I saw her last, and she’s probably got some rich, greasy, mobster coltfriend that she drinks champagne with in the harbor on his private yacht. She’s moved on, and so should I.” 
“If you say so, brother,” smirked Dagger.
“As interesting as this conversation is,” piped up Hoxton, transmitting to a nearby Hummingbird from his workshop, “we should probably get back to the matter at hoof?” 
“Agreed,” nodded Rat. “Hoxton, did you look up the security specs for the museum?”
“I did, and you’re really not going to like it,” sighed Hoxton. “JSS has made some really big strides in the security industry in the past few years, and they’ve given the museum a special touch.”
“Details, Hox,” pressed Rat.
“Laserwire alarms on all the doors leading into the back room where the Roan Exhibition is being held, a CCTV camera system all around the museum monitored by a security guard ‘round the clock, iron bars on all the windows, and at least fifteen JSS veterans roaming around with a pager system,” explained Hoxton. “Plus, in the room for the Diamond itself, they’ve got this big “Floor Puzzle” thing that I swear I saw in the last adventure novel I read.”
“Alright,” sighed Rat. “Let’s go over the plan…”

Seaddle, Museum of Natural History, Equestria
7 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Rat motioned for the others to move quietly behind him. The plan was fairly simple: Rat, Cloak, Hawk, and Dagger would be sneaking into the museum and retrieving the package, while Tank and Phantasm would wait outside. The first step would be to breach the interior of the museum without being detected by the cameras or the sentries roaming the halls. Rat moved swiftly across the courtyard, hefting his can of thermite paste. It would be a simple matter of cutting through the iron grate and picking the lock on the basement window, as long as none of the guards noticed the smell of burning steel.
Four shadows moved quickly across the grounds, passing beneath the sightline of the guard. Working quickly, Rat and Hawk applied their cans of thermite paste to each bar of the grate and ignited the fuse. A ring of flame appeared around the grate as the thermite melted through the steel bars, which fell to the ground with a muted clatter. The two swiftly picked the locks on the two windows, and the team of four pegasi slipped into the building undetected.
Rat peered down the hallways to check for guards and cameras before signalling for the group to split up. The laserwire alarms operated off of a separate circuit that tapped from a number of circuit boxes around the museum. If enough of those boxes were rewired to divert power from the that circuit, the laserwire alarm would be inoperable, allowing the group to pass into the Equus Empire exhibition hall. Each member was in charge of a different circuit box, and they would regroup by the back hall when finished. 
Rat moved to the his circuit box, carefully clipping the wires as shown in the diagram. He closed the panel, moving back down the hall across from the Ancient Wyvern exhibition.  There was a brief sound of metal on glass, a small popping sound, and a clink of glass touching the floor. Rat didn’t even have to look to know what had happened.
“Put it back, Cloak,” sighed Rat. 
“Come on, Boss!” protested Cloak as he held an ancient Wyvern Imperium rank badge. “We might as well make whatever money we can off of this job! Bane told me about this great black market fence in Marerakech-”
“I told you to put it back,” repeated Rat. “We’re here for the Diamond. Nothing more.”
“Fine,” sighed Cloak petulantly. “Don’t want to piss off your marefriend, I guess.”
“Not my marefriend,” hissed Rat.
“Yet,” quipped Cloak, grinning. 
“Don’t make me hurt you, Cloak…” hissed Rat. 
“Last box is rewired,” reported Dagger, passing by the two of them. “Lasers should be disabled now.”
Rat turned away from Cloak, now ready to begin the next part of the plan as the four pegasi slipped into the Roan Exhibition. The next phase of the plan involved the large “floor puzzle” that Hox had mentioned. In the Diamond Room, JSS had wired the floor tiles with a pressure sensitive alarm system that would sound a general alarm and deploy all sorts of nasty traps. Even flying wasn’t an option with how sensitive the tiles were, as the pressure waves of wingbeats would still be enough to trigger the sensors. However, it was possible to temporarily rewire the box to create a path to the other side, but only for a brief time window. 
Hawk began the rewiring process, working quickly from the diagram shown. The tiles disarmed one by one, but something was wrong. The tiles were not deactivating in a straight path, but instead were shutting down in a wandering line. After a minute, the tiles reactivated as though Hawk had done nothing. Hawk attempted the rewiring again, and a different set of tiles deactivated. Rat frowned and leaned over Hawk’s shoulder.
“What the hell is going on?” hissed Rat.
“I don’t know!” whispered Hawk. “I redid the wiring just like Clover showed me! I don’t understand what’s going wrong!”
“JSS must have some form of countermeasure in place,” mused Dagger. 
“Damn!” cursed Cloak. “What now, Boss?”
“We keep to the plan,” replied Rat, preparing the specialized bag they’d brought to carry the Diamond. “Hawk, rewire the box when I tell you to, and signal off which direction I need to move, assuming that I face the back wall the entire time.” 
“Are you nuts?!” exclaimed Cloak in a tense whisper. “Even if you cross as soon as you see his motions, you’ll have mere seconds to pick the lock and grab the rock before hauling your ass back here!”
“Then I better be quick about the lock,” replied Rat, before nodding to Hawk. 
The next sixty seconds were the longest sixty seconds in the lives of all present. Hawk motioned out the sequence in which Rat was supposed to move, and Rat moved swiftly and flawlessly through the sequence. In total, it took thirty-five seconds to cross, leaving Rat twenty-five seconds to pick the lock and return over the same path. Rat moved swiftly with picking the lock, opening the case and bagging the Diamond in fifteen seconds. Rat rushed over the deactivated tiles as time slowly ran out. Just as the alarms reactivated, Rat dove toward the stone slab, rolling across the floor to his hooves as he did so. 
“Bucking Tartarus in tartar sauce, Boss, that was really close!” swore Cloak. 
“What counts is that I made it,” replied Rat. “Let’s get this rock out of here and out of Janus’ hooves.”
The four pegasi slipped back into the previous room, but were unprepared for what they saw. A team of four HTB mercenaries stood in the doorway, armed with crossbows and short blades. The HTB soldiers stared in shock at the Shadowbolts, clearly having been sent to retrieve the Diamond and make it look like a robbery. Thankfully, Dagger had kept her wits about her, smashing the nearest glass case. The alarms instantly blared, dropping the security barrier at the entrance to the hall. 
In that moment, the two teams of thieves broke into hoof-to-hoof combat. Rat caught one mercenary in a headlock and struck him where his jaw and neck met, knocking him unconscious instantly. The young stallion looked up in time to see Cloak drop-kick another mercenary into an open sarcophagus, trapping the unfortunate soul inside. Hawk had not been nearly as lucky, having been caught off guard in the initial conflict. The Shadowbolt was on the ground as a mercenary bent his left wing more and more out of place. This merc soon found himself tag-teamed by Cloak and Dagger, getting his horn shattered against the marble tile floor from repeated blows. 
“I hope you had a plan, Dagger!” grunted Hawk as he tried to pull his wing back in place. “Local authorities will be here in forty five seconds, and I don’t see us getting through that barrier in even forty five hours!”
“Wait for it,” replied Dagger as she pulled Hawk’s wing into place with a sickening snap.
There was a brief crash as a window shattered in the distance, and soon they could hear the heavy hoofsteps of Tank as he charged at the steel barrier. Grinding metal filled the ears of all present as Tank slammed into the barrier repeatedly until it snapped off of its hinges and hit the back wall. Tank grabbed Hawk unceremoniously and slung the injured pegasus over his shoulder. The three other Shadowbolts took wing in an instant, flying through the hallways into the courtyard, where they made their escape into the night sky.

Undisclosed Location, Meeting Point Coordinates, Istallion Peninsula
7 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Rat glided gently toward the location where Daring and her mentor were waiting. The air was heavier and filled with the sense of death as they approached the overlook, watching the dark clouds over the dead city beyond. Tank took care to land as gently as he could, trying not to jostle his companion. Daring marched up to Rat, an eyebrow raised.
“Look who finally showed up,” Daring’s voice is full of sarcasm, matching her smile. “I’d ask if you got what we asked for, but you’ve yet to fail me yet.” She looks over the group and sighs. “Were there complications?”
“HTB showed up, unfortunately, just as we were walking out with the Diamond,” replied Rat, glancing sheepishly at Hawk.
“Hey, don’t mind me,” smirked Hawk. “Just don’t get too steamy down there, because a wing-boner really hurts with a dislocated wing.”
Rat glared at Hawk while the injured stallion glanced away innocently. 
Rolling her eyes, Daring can’t help but smile. “No promises. After all, your boss is a thief; he might just steal something more precious than that diamond.” She then clears her throat and looks to Rat, “So, where is it? Longer we wait to toss that thing beyond anypony’s reach, the more time it has to work its magic.”
Rat glanced at Dagger, who had last held the cursed bag. The Shadowbolt mare stepped forward and presented the Diamond as though presenting a sword.
“Your Royal Adventurer-ness,” snarked Dagger. “Ink dry yet?”
“Just about, I think,” Daring quipped back with a wink as she takes the bag before turning to Distant who is setting up what looks to be a miniature ballista.
“Daring, your ego is showing again,” Distant chuckles without looking up.
“Damn, you didn’t say there’d be two of them, Boss,” quipped Cloak. 
“And that’s why you should stay awake during the briefings,” countered Rat with a smirk. “So why exactly are we disposing of the Diamond here, Daring?”
Putting the bag down next to the ballista, Daring pointed towards the treeline. “That, my mercenary friends, is Roan. It is one of the only known Equus Empire era cities in existence.” Sighing, she looks towards the group with a deadly serious gaze. “It’s also cursed, anypony who enters dies a horrible, gruesome death. As such, no one goes inside, so it’s the perfect place to hide this little monstrosity far, far away from the hooves of those who would use it, and thus be used by it.”
“Hence why you told us not to fly over it, despite Cloak’s suggestion to save time?” deduced Dagger, glancing at Rat while Cloak turned pale.
“Exactly,” confirmed Rat. “So basically, anyone trying to get to the Diamond will die a horrible death long before they reach it?”
“Pretty much, kid,” nodded Distant. “So who wants to do the honors?”
“I’d suggest Mister Wing-Boner,” Daring chuckles, looking at Hawk.
“You heard the mare, Hawk,” grinned Rat. “Go on and pull the lever.”
“Shut up and go make out with your marefriend in the bushes,” grumbled Hawk as he moved off of Tank’s back and pulled the lever on the ballista.
The bag flew straight and true, directly toward the main spire of the castle. There was a distant sound of crashing glass as the bag reached its target. At this, the Rat Pack breathed a collective sigh of relief. Rat glanced over at Daring, giving a small grin. 
“Well, thank Celestia that’s over,” observed Rat. 
“Indeed,” grinned Cloak, before stumbling slightly over a large satchel that Rat had not noticed previously. 
Rat was livid. Cloak had disobeyed a direct order to not touch anything. And in spite of that, there sat a large brown leather satchel filled with stolen antiquities. Before Rat could say a word, Distant Horizon beat him to it. 
“What do we have here?” Distant asks slowly as she walks over and nudges the satchel open. “Well well, it looks like you saved some artifacts from the corrupt cops who’ll decide to pad their paychecks.” She looks at Cloak with a smile and winks. “I mean, you obviously weren’t stealing them, were you, dear? That’d be bad, and you look like a fine, upstanding stallion. I’m sure you were going to go put them somewhere the proper authorities can find it, weren’t you?”
“Uh… Yes! Yes, of course!” chuckled Cloak nervously. “Actually, I was going to hand them over to you! Yes! Absolutely!”
Rat could feel his pulse quicken as he stepped forward to call Cloak on his bullshit, but a glance from Distant placated him. Cloak handed the satchel over to Distant and shuffled back to the group where Hawk was shaking in silent laughter.
Looking into the satchel, Distant whistles. “You know, with what some of the things in here are worth, you could retire someplace quiet for the rest of your lives.” She chuckles. “Like Saddle Arabia, I’ve always wanted to live there.” 
“No way in Tartarus,” grunted Rat. “Lived there most of my life, and I can assure you that it isn’t quiet unless you have money.”
“Son, I’m a noble, and when you’ve lived with Canterlot nobility all your life, Saddle Arabia is just as quiet as I’d like, with or without money.” Distant quipped, shrugging. “Now, if that’s everything, I think we’d best go. Your friend looks like he could use a doctor, and I’m sure if your sticky-hooved friend gets any more red, you’ll be able to mistake him for a tomato.” 
“Understood,” Rat nodded. “I suppose we’ll see each other again soon enough.”
Rat signaled the group, and the Shadowbolts took to the sky, flying back the way that they came. 
“Cloak, you are an absolute dumbass,” sighed Rat. “You’re lucky that the client was so good-humored.”
“And you’re just sore that Cloak embarrassed you in front of your marefriend!” taunted Hawk.
“...Hawk, do you want a second dislocated wing?” asked Rat.

The Cirrus, Mess Hall, Equestria
7 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“Glad that all turned out OK,” chuckled Razor. 
“Yeah, there were a few rough spots there, but we pulled through alright,” sighed Rat. 
“So who exactly is this mare you’re seeing?” asked Razor with a grin.
“For the last damn time, she-” began Rat.
“RAT, YOU SON OF A BITCH, GET YOUR MALNOURISHED ASS OVER HERE!!!” howled Hoxton.
Rat flinched, turning to where the older pegasus stood with a file folder in hoof, veins pulsing in his head. This did not bode well for Rat. Even when he’d “lost” his flight suit, he’d never seen Hoxton this angry. The grey stallion was attempting to take deep breaths in order to calm his rising blood pressure. Dante being angry with him meant instant death if he’d not been careful, and somehow this was more terrifying.
“Rat, you told me four years ago that you lost your flight suit to unforeseen circumstances during that escort mission for the Seaddle Mob, right?” asked Hoxton through gritted teeth.
“...Yes, I did, why do you ask?” replied Rat hesitantly. 
“Then perhaps you can explain why that flight suit is being worn by some floozy pegasus whose running around on rooftops with a sign that says ‘Come see me sometime, Rat’ ALL OVER THE DAMN TOWN?!?!?!” bellowed Hoxton.
At this, Hoxton threw his file folder down and a series of surveillance photos spilled out. Every single one of them was of Daring wearing the Shadowbolt suit that Rat had given her, posing flirtily on the rooftops of downtown Seaddle. Rat could feel his face begin to burn as he stared at how the suit clung well to Daring’s form, leaving little to the imagination. Razor grinned impishly at Rat, as if he were a cat with a canary in its mouth.
“So what was that about ‘she’s not my mare’?” asked Razor with false innocence.
“...Shit,” swore Rat.
“I will say this, Rat,” chuckled Razor. “You have excellent taste.”
“Oh shut your mouth, ya old windbag,” snapped Rat, face still burning as Razor laughed his ass off. 
To Be Continued...

> Chapter 10: Deals with Devils
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Green Pastures, Cloak’s Front Porch, Equestria
50 Years After the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Cloak sighed and took a sip from his glass of lemonade. Dagger stared at her brother indignantly.
“You never told me about that file folder!” snapped Dagger indignantly. 
“You never asked,” smirked Cloak. 
“But this was before you and I made that stupid bet!” howled Dagger.
“Great Auntie Daring, you told Great Uncle Leaf-” complained a little earth pony filly.
“Relax, little Evening,” interrupted Daring. “I’m here to set the record straight on this once and for all. And I’ll explain it as soon as it becomes directly relevant to Cloak’s story.”
“Aw, come on, DD,” whined Cloak. “I’ve got thirty bits riding on this fifty-seven year old bet!”
“Sorry, flyboy,” teased Daring. “I ain’t one to kiss and tell before it’s time. Besides, as a fellow storyteller, you should know the importance of pacing.”
“Fine,” huffed Cloak. “I guess I can wait another hour or two.”
“We’re getting off the topic,” reminded Kingfisher.
“That we are, Kingfisher,” replied Cloak with a smile. “That we are.”
“So, what did you do after that?” asked Cold Snap. 
“Well, immediately following that little incident, we went through a bit of a dry spell,”  explained Cloak. “Contracts were thin on the ground, and we didn’t have very many options.”
“So, what changed?” asked Flare Glider impatiently. 
Cloak looked up darkly. “We made a deal with a devil,” sighed Cloak. “A deal that we would never make again.”

The Cirrus, Mess Hall, Equestria
7 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“And so, I’ve determined that the crystalline engine prototype you found could potentially work with synthetically-developed crystals!” concluded Hoxton proudly. 
The reaction at the table was mixed, understandably based solely on those present. Clover stared with rapt attention, listening to every word. Cloak was snoring face-first in his plate of mashed potatoes while Arclight piled peas on the sleeping stallion’s head, at which Dagger gave a small smirk. Hawk was placing his utensils on Cloak’s head like antennae of an insect, to which Tank chuckled. Rat was listening carefully, but he was also surveying the room, keeping an eye out for trouble. 
“And this is significant?” asked Razor politely.
“Absolutely,” confirmed Hoxton. “This could revolutionize heavier-than-air travel and re-expand crystalline engines back into common usage again!” 
“Nopony cares, Looney,” snored Cloak. 
Hawk snickered as Clover dumped her cranberry juice over Cloak’s unsuspecting head. Rat chuckled lightly at his crew’s antics. Admittedly, the past week had been incredibly slow, considering that Dante had put them all under “temporary leave” for a few days as a group for the exposure risk Rat had presented. While Rat did feel poorly for getting the others punished for his “mistake”, they all had assured him that there was no ill will felt. Afterwards, contracts had been fairly light that week, meaning that the group had even more downtime on their hooves. 
“Good work, Hoxton,” acknowledged Rat. “I just wish we were as productive as you’ve been this past week.”
“Looks like productivity might be going up,” smirked Cloak, wiping his face clean with his napkin.
Rat turned to look at where Cloak had indicated to find a very agitated Pitch moving toward their table. The older stallion was clearly frustrated, grimacing heavily and carrying a number of papers under one arm. The Rat Pack said nothing as he approached, merely watching as the stallion marched up to face Rat. There was a brief moment of silence before Rat cleared his throat. 
“Can we help you with something, Pitch?” asked Rat politely. 
“Alright look, I ain’t happy about this either, so let’s drop pretenses here,” snapped Pitch. “I’ve got a line on a really sweet job, but there’s no way in hell I can plan it out. For some reason, Dante thinks highly enough of you to overlook your major screw-up, so there has to be something to the stories I’ve heard about your planning ability. You have a crew that’s currently in need of work, but jobs are thin on the ground at the moment. So here’s my offer: You help me pull this job off, and I give you an equal share of the profit.” 
“I think this might be a good time for me to leave,” commented Razor, rising from the table. 
The older stallion walked calmly from the mess hall, allowing Pitch to take the now vacant seat. Tank grumbled slightly, but Rat merely raised a wing to reassure him. Pitch opened his mouth to speak, but Rat interrupted him.
“Alright, listen up,” began Rat. “You’ve probably heard the stories, but we operate differently than any other crew you’ve been a part of. We don’t kill. At all. We will uphold the code, but no civilian casualties. Do I make myself clear?” 
“Guess Descent has mentioned stories about how I play?” smirked Pitch. “Alright, sure. Not like I have many options, otherwise.”
Pitch took a long draught from his flask, wiping his mouth and belching lightly. 
“Alright, so have you ever heard of the Sunbeam Hotel?” began Pitch.
“In Canterlot?” confirmed Rat. “Yes, it’s one of the largest upscale hotels in the city. It has hundreds of suites as well as the largest conference center outside of Manehattan.”
“Well, your old friends at Janus Security are putting on a demonstration of their latest developments in vaults and safes, and to put their money where their mouth is, they’ve stored the entire payroll for the next three months inside those vaults,” explained Pitch, pulling out a stack of blueprints and design documents. “Now, thanks to a buddy of mine in Janus, I’ve gotten the specs for the safes and vaults ahead of time, but there’s no way to crack the locks that I can see. To complicate matters, the Sunbeam has thousands of guests each day, making virtually all breaching methods impossible.” 
“Have you looked at the schedule for other events?” asked Rat, glancing over the documents. 
“No, why should I?” asked Pitch, wrinkling his nose in contempt. “‘Keep your eyes on the prize’ is the Shadowbolt way.”
“‘Completing the mission’ is the Shadowbolt way,” corrected Rat. “If there’s an opportunity that can help complete the objective, go with it. Do you at least have the full schedule?”
“Yeah, sure, but I don’t see what good it’ll do,” groused Pitch as he passed the schedule to Rat. “The hotel is booked full of events while the JSS payroll is there, so there’s no way to get in when it isn’t swarming with ponies.” 
Rat glanced over the papers briefly, letting his gift take over. Numerous scenarios were born and discarded within Rat’s mind as he explored options. As Pitch had said, the hotel was extremely busy during the time that JSS Exhibition was going on, and there seemed to be little opportunity to break in without hundreds of innocent ponies around. Suddenly, Rat had the solution, quickly checking to make sure all the elements were in place to implement it. 
“Well, then we’ll have to go in when it’s busiest,” grinned Rat. 
“And how the hell will that help us?” growled Pitch. “We’re supposed to ‘stay in the shadows’ or some shit, right?”
“And we will,” reassured Rat. “We’ll just hide in plain sight. You noted that there were a bunch of pyrotechnicians scheduled to come in, right?” 
“Of course I did!” snapped Pitch. “There better be some point to this, Runt.”
“There is a point, and one that I can’t fault you for missing, given that it goes far off from our usual strategies for this kind of job,” explained Rat. “We generally don’t pay attention to why certain ponies are present, because that’s usually irrelevant to the job we wish to accomplish. However, in this case, we do have the perfect diversion on one night, and nopony will know what’s happening until it’s all over and we’re long gone.”
“Will you just cut to the frigging chase already?!” barked Pitch, taking a long swig from his flask. 
“We’ll work under the cover of the Vinyl Scratch Concert,” replied Rat.
“Who the fuck is Vinyl Scratch, and why the hell do we care?” growled Pitch.
“Vinyl Scratch is an up-and-coming DJ and recording artist, known for a very signature style of pounding tracks with electronic rhythms,” explained Cloak without warning.
At this, every head turned to stare at Cloak in shock as the stallion continued to eat his cranberry juice-soaked mashed potatoes. Upon glancing up and seeing the looks he was being given, the Shadowbolt swallowed his food and gave an indignant huff.
“What?” sniffed Cloak. “Just because I’m usually oblivious to what’s going on, I can’t have some knowledge to myself?”
“Ok, so who had ‘Pop Music’ in the betting pool?” asked Hawk, pulling out a notepad. “Because they just won seven hundred bits.” 

The Cirrus, Hoxton’s Workshop, Equestria
7 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“You do realize that if I can pull this off, the tech that you’re asking for could change our Equestrian way of life forever?” clarified Hoxton, staring stunned at Rat.
They had quickly made their way down to Hoxton’s workshop after their meeting with Pitch. This had been an idea that Rat had thought of years ago, but Hoxton had always been busy with other projects until now. The group waited patiently in Hoxton’s lab as Rat presented his idea to Hoxton properly. 
“That’s not what I asked,” retorted Rat. “Can you do it?” 
“Well, I’ve already developed some things for the Hummingbirds, but you’re asking me to miniaturize my speaker apparatus to a headset of some type in addition to the miniature microphone?” asked Hoxton.
“Yes, and the ability to receive and transmit to multiple headsets at once,” repeated Rat.
“All without the use of magic,” finished Hoxton. “Well, I-”
There was suddenly a very loud clatter as a very irate voice split through the sound of machines and engines. 
"DAMMIT ALL HOX! WHERE BY ALL THAT'S DARK AND UNHOLY DID YOU PUT MY HALF OF THE SHIPMENT?!" howled the voice of a mare that Rat didn’t recognize.
“Oh for the love of-” muttered Hoxton, before bellowing back. "I DIDN'T EVEN TOUCH THE SHIPMENT YET, YA WITCH!"
“Who is-” began Rat, before Hawk explained.
“Patch, the new armorer,” stated Hawk. “She replaced Cross last year, and we’ve been able to hear the fights between her and Hox all the way from Third Deck.”
“Much to a certain engineer’s dismay…” teased Cloak, before Clover kicked him in the flank.
“Who brought her on?” asked Rat. “I don’t remember hearing anything about a new arrival.”
“Razor did,” explained Dagger. “Same year that he found me and Cloak.”
"I AM NOT CROSS! I WILL NOT PUT UP WITH YOUR BULLSHIT, YOU OLD GOAT!!!" shouted Patch.
"I AM ONLY FIVE YEARS OLDER THAN YOU, AND YOU KNOW IT, YA FRICKING NAG!" bellowed Hoxton.
“Geez, will you two get a room and hide the sausage already?” exclaimed Hawk, just as a wrench hit him in the face from the doorway.  A voice called from just beyond the doorway outside of Rat’s field of view. 
"I want as LITTLE to do with that waste of skin and air as possible!” hissed Patch from the doorway at Hawk before bellowing at Hoxton. “AND IF I EVER FIND MY GRAPHENE SUPPLY, YOU'RE NOT GETTING ONE OUNCE OF IT! YOU HEAR ME HOX?! NOT. ONE. OUNCE!"
"I DON'T EVEN CARE ABOUT YOUR BOBBINS AND RIBBONS, NAG!” bellowed Hoxton. “JUST LEAVE MY SPRINGS AND COGS ALONE!"
“Bet a certain engineer would love to get her hooves on Hox’s spring and cogs-” muttered Cloak, before Dagger spared him from another hoof to the stallionhood by interrupting him
“Quiet!” barked Dagger. “Something’s not right…”
There was only the sounds of the Cirrus around them, clanking and whirring and hissing, but somehow Rat found it more unnerving. Suddenly, the sounds of hooves heralded the arrival of a newcomer. A bright yellow pegasus mare, slightly smaller than Rat but not by much, burst through the doorway, hefting a crafting hammer in one hoof. Her brilliant emerald eyes blazed green fire behind her nonstandard goggles, and her fiery-red mane threatened to whip free from its braid by how violently the mare skidded into the room. In an instant, Hummingbirds deployed from their nests to swarm behind their maker.
“Oh fu-TAKE COVER!” shouted Cloak, covering his flank with a large steel bucket and his head with his front hooves.
  "RIBBONS!? I'LL SHOW YOU RIBBONS! RIBBONS OF YOUR FLESH!!!" screeched the enraged armorer as she charged forward towards Hoxton.
“COME AT ME!” Hoxton snarled as he grabbed an oversized pipe wrench. “MY HUMMINGBIRDS WANT YOUR BLOOD!”
“For pity’s sake, will both of you calm down!” shouted Rat to no avail. 

Art by Penny
The fight commenced in a brutal fashion. Hummingbird after Hummingbird flew down in a rapid sequence at Patch, each one brandishing all sorts of nasty attachments. Patch battered each one to the ground with a single swift stroke of her hammer, slowly advancing toward the resident tinkerer. Hoxton moved swiftly to meet her, hefting his oversized wrench in bloody rage, ready to beat down the resident armorer in a single swing. Just as hammer and wrench prepared to clash in fiery steel, the hatch to Hoxton’s workshop swung open again.
"WHAT IN THE NAME OF CELESTIA'S SAGGY LEFT EYELID IS GOING ON DOWN HERE?!?!" bellowed an all-too familiar voice.
Everyone froze at the sight of Razor entering the room, meteor hammer at his hip. The stallion took one look at the carnage around him before letting his head fall into his hooves with a exasperated sigh.
"Missing shipment, Patches?" groaned Razor.
"HE HAS IT! I KNOW IT!!!" bellowed Patch, swinging her hammer wildly at Hoxton. 
"No, he doesn't, because I helped unload the shipment and personally unpacked it in your workshop!" barked Razor harshly, making Patch freeze mid-swing. 
The silence in the room was painfully awkward as Patch shifted slightly, a guilty look on her face as she hesitantly lowered her hammer. Hoxton shuffled slightly closer, lifting his wrench slowly and subtly with one hoof, but Razor placed a hoof on the end of the wrench.
"Put the pipe wrench down, Hox" sighed Razor.
Grumbling and still obviously irate, Patch grabbed Razor’s arm and started to pull him out of Hoxton’s workshop and across the hall to her own. “Ngh… Show me where you put it please… Nnnnnngh sorry I fought with Hox… Nnngh again…” she mumbled, clearly unhappy and less sorry that she’d been fighting and more sorry that she’d been caught.
“You’re only sorry you got caught, girl,” chided Razor, not unkindly. “Still, I’m proud that you’ve been practicing since I’ve been away.”
The Rat Pack watched the two pegasi depart, completely stunned by Patch’s sudden shift from violent rage to cheerful chatter at Razor’s praise. Hoxton seemed to snap out of his stupor quickly. 
“So, how many of these are you going to need?” asked Hoxton. “Because I think I can get about seven out to you right away, and another four within the next twenty-four hours.” 
“What the hell was that?!” exclaimed Rat, finding his voice.
“What do you-” began Hoxton, before Rat interrupted.
“That!” shouted Rat, pointing at where Patch had just left. “You actually came to blows! She was out for blood! And you just shrug it off?!”
“Nothing too unusual for what I deal with every few weeks,” shrugged Hoxton. “So, how many?” 
“Seven will be fine,” replied Rat reluctantly, wishing that Hoxton would give him a more definite answer. “We’ll also want some remote support from a couple of Hummingbirds, just in case things go south.”
“Of course,” replied Hoxton. “If you manage to pull off this job, a whole new range of contracts will now be considered.”
Rat nodded briefly. “Let us know when the gear is ready,” requested Rat, signalling to the rest of the Pack to move.
They left Hoxton to his work, careful to not step on the fallen Hummingbirds that lay twitching on the workshop floor. Cloak hurried to catch up to Rat.
“You know, the new supply shipment comes in every few weeks,” observed Cloak.
“I’m sure it’s just your imagination, Cloak,” replied Rat sarcastically. 
“So, you gonna get in on the betting pool?” asked Hawk. “Winner takes all, and the current grand prize is over two thousand bits.”
“Betting pool?” inquired Rat. 
“Yep, on what’s going to happen first,” explained Hawk. “Are they going to go at it like rabbits, rip each other’s guts out, or tie the knot and burn the wedding bed to the ground?”
Rat glared at Hawk as the stallion shrugged.
“You do realize that they’ll will gut you if they find out about this?” observed Rat. 
“Which is why we have kept our bets hidden,” countered Razor as he stepped out of Patch’s workshop with a grin. “Come on, Rat. I’ve already got a bet on the two of them getting hitched in the next ten years.” 
“Don’t you start!” warned Rat. “I’m already annoyed that you didn’t see fit to mention her back when you introduced me to Hox.”
“Well, you saw how mercurial her temperament is,” replied Razor with a grin. “I didn’t want you losing an eye when you tried to say ‘hello’.”
“Fine then,” conceded Rat. “Pack, get your gear together. We leave as soon as Hox is finished.”
“Rat, hold on a minute,” interrupted Razor. “You’re going on a mission with Pitch, right?”
“Yes, he’s the one who has the contract,” replied Rat. “Why do you ask?”
“Fair warning about Pitch,” began Razor. “He’s not exactly the paragon of virtue when it comes to following orders, and his alcoholism affects his judgement more than he’s willing to admit. Just be careful, and be prepared to deal with collateral damage.”
“We’ll keep that in mind,” replied Rat. 

Canterlot, The Sunbeam Hotel and Moonglow Conference Center, Equestria
7 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“Comm check, Rat,” whispered Rat into his new communication unit.
“Comm check, Cloak.” 
“Comm check, Dagger.”
“Comm check, Clover.”
“...Phantasm...”
“Hello, what have we here? You in heat, baby? ‘Cause I- er... Comm check, Hawk.”
“Hawk, the field binoculars are for recon only, not for harassing mares,” sighed Hoxton over the line. 
“Hey! This could be recon!” argued Hawk. 
“Oh, please! The day you bed a mare will be the day that I tell foal stories!” jeered Cloak.
“You around foals is a scary thought,” muttered Dagger. “I’d sooner trust Tank with foals, and I’ve seen him rip limbs off of ponies.”
“Cut the chatter,” ordered Rat. “Pitch, sound off. ….Pitch!”
“Yeah, yeah, not so loud,” snarled the older stallion. “I’m here, and wearing this ridiculous contraption. I honestly don’t see what the point of it is, but I’ve got it.”
“Real-time status updates,” explained Rat. “Hox, did your infiltrator contact come through?”
“Prose is one of the best,” replied Hoxton. “However, you’ll have to hunt around for the supply closets where he’s left everything. There should be three of them.”
“Right,” acknowledged Rat. “We’ll split up into teams and-”
“I’ll clear the basement and make sure everything’s set,” interrupted Pitch. “I work better alone.”
Rat frowned slightly at the interruption, but didn’t say anything. He switched his comm unit to a private channel to Hox. 
“Keep an eye on him, would you?” asked Rat. “I don’t like the fact that he’s sneaking off already.”
“One Hummingbird Mini on Pitch like the stench of alcohol and vomit, coming up!” quipped Hoxton. 
Satisfied, Rat switched back to the group channel. “Go ahead, Pitch, but remember the order I gave you,” replied Rat. “Uphold the code without collateral damage.” 
“Yeah, whatever,” sniffed Pitch, and the distinct gurgle of Pitch’s flask could be heard over his mic. 
“Phantasm, stay on overwatch, just in case JSS gets tricky on us,” ordered Rat. “Cloak, you search the main floor for one of the closets. Dagger, you search the second floor. Clover, see about getting into the control booth.”
“What?!” jumped Clover. “How am I supposed to do that?!”
“You’re a pretty engineer,” quipped Hawk. “Talk nerdy to them, and they’ll practically set out the welcome mat for you.”
“Hawk, thank you for volunteering to lug the loot through the sewer to the street,” interrupted Rat. “Clover, I’ll have Cloak help you in once he’s finished retrieving the supplies.”
“Right, acknowledged,” replied Clover, ignoring Hawk’s quiet and colorful curses.
The Pack moved like a clockwork machine, dispersing amongst the crowd and into the shadowy corridors. The added advantage of the comm unit was beginning to show itself well. Rat moved through the corridors of the third floor with ease, making his way behind the concession stands, slipping past guards with ease. Finally, Rat located a supply closet marked with a small red “X”. 
“Located the first supply drop,” whispered Rat. “Status check.” 
“Cloak, staring at the next supply drop and waiting for the security guard to go take a dump.”
“Dagger, en route to the basement with the third supply drop.” 
“...Phantasm… All’s quiet out here…”
“Clover, at the sound booth, trying to avoid the eyes of the sound technicians.”
“Hawk, knee-deep in sh-”
“Language,” chided Hoxton as he shut off Hawk’s feed remotely. 
“Pitch, check in,” ordered Rat as he broke through the closet’s lock with ease. “Pitch!”
“Fucking hell, I’m here, dammit!” cursed Pitch, sounding slightly winded. “Basement’s clear.”
 “Any problems?” enquired Rat. 
“Ran into a few JSS goons that didn’t buy my drunk act or my cop act, so I had to ice them,” replied Pitch dismissively. “They’re properly bagged and tagged in the dumpster.” 
“How many?” asked Rat.
“Celestia’s teat, only two!” exclaimed Razor. “Don’t get your suit in a wad! I’ll mark out where the vaults are on the ceiling.”
And with that, Pitch cut his line. Rat sighed and switched to the private channel.
“Hox, get the others in here,” ordered Rat. 
“Will do,” acknowledged Hoxton. 
“Can I just point out that Pitch’s curses can make a sailor blush, and yet I’m the one that’s being chided for ‘language’?” grumbled Hawk. 
“Oh but Hawk, everyone knows that having a potty mouth is much worse than sailor talk!” snickered Cloak. 
“...Cloak, first thing I’m doing when I get out of here is hugging you…”
“Cut the chatter,” barked Rat. “Hox, does Pitch’s story check out?”
“Well…” wavered Hoxton. “Technically, yes, but he left out a number of things.”
“What ‘things’?” pressed Rat.
“...Five hotel staff members.” 
A dead silence fell over the channel. No one dared to speak. 
“...Who?” choked Rat.
“Two maids, a waiter, a bellhop, and a mailmare,” murmured Hoxton. “The mailmare had a wedding band and appeared to be expecting, and the bellhop had just proposed to one of the maids.”
“Was it bad luck?”
“No, the drunkard blundered through like a Minotaur,” explained Hoxton. “He just didn’t give a damn.”
Another silence fell. Rat could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, but he remained silent. Finally, Hawk spoke up. 
“Alright, let’s gut him,” suggested Hawk simply.
“No, that’s too obvious,” interjected Cloak. “We need him to die from an accident ‘with extreme prejudice’.”
“I could reshape one of the explosive charges,” added Clover. “Or have one of the cutters malfunction.”
“Let’s allow Rat to make the call,” countered Dagger.
“Well, what’s the play, Boss?” asked Cloak.
“...We carry out the mission…” sighed Rat. 
“Excellent choice, Boss,” chuckled Cloak darkly. “One evisceration comi-wait, what?”
“We carry out the mission,” repeated Rat. “Stand down.”
“But he’s fucking scum!” snarled Hawk. “We should-”
“-Keep to the Code!” snapped Rat. “We have a contract, and we cannot jeopardize that with infighting! Do I make myself clear?”
“...Yes, Rat…” sighed Cloak.
“...Fine…” grumbled Hawk. “Friggin’ asshole needs a new asshole, but fine...”
“Understood, Rat,” acknowledged Dagger
“I’ll stay up in the booth, then,” explained Clover. “Not sure I could resist the temptation.”
“...Acknowledged…” replied Phantasm.
Rat sighed as he lifted the explosives and steel cutter from the box and placed them in his satchel. As much as he hated it, he had to live by the Code. The only thing that kept Rat from joining his Pack in ripping Pitch limb from limb was the Code. To some, they were just words. To Rat, they were his guiding principles. Equipment in hoof, Rat made his way down to the basement where Pitch was waiting. Cloak and Dagger were already there, duffel bags in their hooves. Cloak was glowering at Pitch slightly, but Dagger seemed to be able to keep her emotions in check. 
“I’m going to help Clover infiltrate the booth,” stated Dagger. 
Rat merely nodded as the mare dropped off her duffel bag and left, leaving Rat with Pitch and Cloak. Cloak was already planting the charges in the locations marked by Pitch. Each charge carried a small radio receiver that would activate once a transmitter in the booth sent the signal. If all was going to plan, Clover should have been wiring the transmitter up to the pyrotechnics control board. 
“Status update on the transmitter?” asked Rat. 
“Clover is in the booth, working her magic,” reported Dagger. 
“I’ve had some problems here, since the wiring here is older than we expected,” explained Clover. “I’m trying to jerry-rig the system now, but it’s going to take some time.”
“...Clover, that may be time you don’t have,” interjected Dagger. “I’ve got eyes on the lead technician. He’s heading back to the booth.”
“Clover, get out of there,” ordered Rat. “We’ll have to find another way.”
“Almost… got it…” muttered Clover, not listening. 
“Clover, get out of there!” barked Dagger. “He’s right on you!”
“Hey!” a stallion’s voice barked suddenly. “What the hell are you doing in here?!”
“Did you know that your latency is as high as over four hundred milliseconds?” asked Clover without hesitation. 
“...I’m sorry?” asked the stallion.
“Your latency between the beats in the songs and the pyrotechnics,” explained Clover. “There are delays of an entire half second during the show. I’m guessing that some of the cables you’re using to trigger the effects are starting to show their age. Either that, or the control board itself is going.”
“...Holy shit, she might just pull this off,” murmured Cloak.
“Quiet,” muttered Rat.
“...Shit,” swore the stallion. “Just my frigging luck that this would happen when the Princess herself is here to see the show! Dammit to Tartarus-”
“It’s not an unsolvable problem,” reassured Clover. “All you need to do is set the signals forward about four hundred milliseconds and you should be able to get a much closer match. After the show, I’d recommend doing a full diagnostic on all the electronics to find the source of the problem.”
“Oh thank the Goddess herself,” sighed the technician with relief. “It’s bad enough that we had to swap out some of our effects halfway through this run, but now this-”
“Actually, that might be the issue right there,” interjected Clover. “Let me guess: budget cuts caused you to switch to a lower grade of fireworks and pyrotechnic effects?”
“Yeah, this pencil-pusher, Sven Wallop or Gallop or whatever, said that we needed to cut our expenses back, so we had to buy these cheap Kirin-made mortars and shit after the third show,” explained the stallion bitterly. 
“There you go,” agreed Clover. “Kirin fireworks have a lower sulfur content, and so burn slower than Equestrian ones, so that would account for the delays if you didn’t adjust the timing sequence after the switch.” 
“Jeez, you really know your stuff,” chuckled the stallion. “Did Corporate send you?”
“No, I’m just a fan of Miss Scratch’s work,” giggled Clover. “Plus I know a lot of this from my job, and I find it hard to leave a problem alone.”
“Well, either way, you’re a lifesaver, Miss…?”
“Pastures,” replied Clover without missing a beat. “Green Pastures.”
“She’s a natural at this,” observed Dagger approvingly. 
“Told you,” smirked Hawk. 
“Shush you,” quipped Cloak. 
“Short Circuit,” replied the stallion. “Don’t suppose you’d be interested in a job in show business, Miss Pastures?”
“Sorry, but I’m not sure my current schedule would allow something permanent, and I don’t want to abandon my crew,” smiled Clover. “I’m sure you understand.”
“Absolutely,” replied Short Circuit. “Well if there’s any change, you’ll always have a job waiting here.”
“Thanks for that,” nodded Clover. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. In the meantime, I’d be more than happy to do consulting work if you ever really get into a bind.”
“Definitely,” grinned Circuit. “You’re welcome up in the booth anytime. I’ll get you approved by security after the show, so feel free to stop by whenever you’re not busy.”
“Hey, Circuit!” barked a crackling voice, as though it were through an intercom. “Put down the groupie and get your ass over to the intercom!”
“This ‘groupie’ just saved the show, Haywire, so show a little respect!” snapped Circuit.
“Oh?” Haywire shot back. “What, did she fix our wiring?”
“Actually, I solved your pyrotechnic latency issues, which were most likely caused by the use of low sulfur fireworks instead of the ones that the show was designed for,” replied Clover sweetly. “You should now have a maximum delay of one hundred fifty microseconds or less, give or take fifty microseconds.”
“...Circuit, you gotta be screwing with me,” replied Haywire. “She figured that all out?”
“Swear to Celestia she did,” affirmed Circuit. “Hell, I’m tempted to let her run the show from up here.” 
“...Don’t let Gallop know,” murmured Haywire conspiratorially. “Miss, I don’t suppose you’re busy after the show-”
“I appreciate the thought, but my marefriend doesn’t like sharing,” quipped Clover. 
“Oh…”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” grinned Clover. “Now, don’t we have a show to run?” 
“Damn, she is good!” laughed Cloak. “Came up with a perfect cover story right on the spot!”
“Great work, Clover,” grinned Rat. “We’ll send Cloak to-”
“Better make that me, Boss,” interjected Dagger. “She said ‘marefriend’, remember?”
“...Hawk, I can hear your wings stiffening from here,” quipped Cloak.
“Shaddup,” groused Hawk. 
“You’re clear, Dagger,” acknowledged Rat. “Just make sure you’re convincing.”
“Showtime, everypony,” interjected Hoxton. “Get to your places.”
“Acknowledged,” replied Rat, closing his eyes and mentally preparing himself for the job ahead.
The music pounded fast and hard. Rat had to admit that, as a musical artist, Vinyl Scratch had a lot of potential. Her rhythms, while daring, were still accessible to the average listener, and her melodies seemed to have some mild classical influences as well. Even from down in the basement of the convention center, Rat could clearly hear each song as the rhythms pounded steadily far above them. 
“No way this mare will make it in the business,” snorted Pitch. “Hundred bits says she washes out within a year.” 
“I’ll take that bet,” interjected Cloak. “Hell, let’s make it a thousand.” 
“Deal, asshole,” sneered Pitch. “Easiest bits I’ll make next year.”
Cloak gritted his teeth, but Rat stopped him in his tracks with a single glare. Fortunately, Pitch didn’t notice, too busy taking a long draught from his flask. Cloak turned his back, sulking in the corner. 
“First set of mortars in fifteen,” stated Hoxton. “Be ready with those cutters.”
“Acknowledged,” replied Rat. “Cloak, Pitch, stand by.”
The first set of charges detonated smoothly, exposing the underside of the first vault. Cloak and Pitch flew up with the steel cutters, mounting the devices beneath the vault and activating them. The circular blades whirred to life, slowly cutting sizeable holes into the steel of the vault. Upon completion, the cutter dropped the center section of steel, allowing bags of bits to drop to the floor below. Rat began moving these bags to the sewer entrance, where Hawk would hide them so that a team of Infiltrators would be able to retrieve them later. 
There was another explosion as the second set of charges detonated, causing a fine powder to spread through the air.  Cloak and Pitch moved with swift efficiency, restarting the process. Pitch seemed pleased by their progress, grinning as he took a long draught from his flask.
“Gotta say, seeing you guys first-hoof, the stories don’t do you justice,” smirked Pitch. “Probably the smoothest job I’ve ever pulled.”
Rat merely nodded, instead focusing on the work while white-hot rage seethed inside him. He took a moment to imagine pouring the contents of Pitch’s flask over him and igniting it, watching the stallion writhe and burn in his mind’s eye. While he intended to keep to the Code, Pitch’s actions would not go unanswered for. The mission came first, but the Rat Pack’s morals would not be abandoned.
The last set of charges detonated, allowing Pitch and Cloak to place the cutters for the last time. The music kept thumping above them as they moved the bags of bits to the sewer. Each thump of the bass mirrored the pounding of Rat’s pulse in his head. The sooner this job was done, the better. 
“Last bag,” reported Cloak as he tossed a bag to Hawk. 
“Alright, let’s get out of here,” ordered Rat. “Separate routes.”
“You got it, Boss,” acknowledged Cloak. 
Rat slipped out of the basement and into the lobby, waiting until the crowd made their way to the exit. Rat joined them, walking calmly toward the exit. He watched as Pitch and Cloak made their way through the crowd as well, pushing toward the exit. A familiar voice broke over the comm.
“Come on, dear,” sighed Dagger in exasperation. “Once again, I’m so terribly sorry about my marefriend, Mr. Circuit. I swear she has no self-control.”
“Don’t worry about it, Miss Blade,” grinned Short Circuit. “Honestly, your marefriend really saved our flanks up here.”
“Oh, come on, Sharp,” cooed Clover. “You know how much I love tech! I promise I’ll make it up to you…”
There was the distinct sound of a pegasus’ wings unfolding rapidly, followed by a drawn-out sigh.
“...dammit,” swore Hawk. 
“Enjoying yourself there, Hawk?” chuckled Hoxton. 
“Shaddup, Looney,” snarled Hawk.
Eventually, they made their way to the street. Tank was waiting for them patiently, bending a parking meter to one side and watching as it bounced back into place while chuckling quietly. He looked up and saw the group, grinning as he followed them into the alley. Rat looked around at the group. They were all present, and they’d made it out without a scratch. Another job complete. Only one last piece of business remained unfinished.
“Are we in the clear, Cloak?” asked Rat plainly.
“Should be, Boss,” replied Cloak.
“Good,” affirmed Rat before decking Pitch with a blow right below his jaw. 
The rest of the Rat Pack watched in pure shock as Rat continued to pummel the older stallion into submission, raining repeated strikes upon wherever he could reach. Rat used his talent in a way that he’d never considered prior to this day, identifying points to strike that would cause the greatest, longest-lasting pain with the least amount of physical damage. The older stallion wasn’t even able to fight back due to the sudden nature of the attack and the ferocity of Rat’s blows. After about a minute of pure violence, Rat stopped and caught his breath. 
“Are you out of your goddamn-” began Pitch, but was cut off by Rat stepping on his windpipe.
“No talking,” hissed Rat. “Just listening. I gave you one order, and one order only. ‘No collateral damage’. That was all I required from you. I know you’re capable of it. We all are as Shadowbolts. You willfully disobeyed my order, several times. If it were anyone else, I’d kill them right here, right now, but you’re a friend to Descent, so I’ll spare you for now. But let’s get one thing straight: you no longer work with us. You get in our way, and I won’t show the same restraint. I will bring you down. Do you understand?”
“You fu-” choked Pitch, but Rat pressed his hoof in further.
“I said. No. Talking. Do you understand?” repeated Rat. 
The older stallion was starting to turn blue in the face as he nodded frantically. Rat held his hoof steadily in place, applying just enough pressure to give Pitch the sensation of being choked out without actually letting him pass out. He counted down from ten slowly, taking his time. The rest of the Pack watched, slightly concerned for their boss’s mental well-being. After he reached the end of his counting, Rat released Pitch’s throat while simultaneously smashing the stallion’s head against the pavement. 
“Let’s go,” said Rat. “Tank, toss this trash in the dumpster. We don’t want to litter, now do we?”

The Cirrus, Upper Deck, Equestria
7 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Rat stared out at the rising moon, feeling the wind in his mane as the Cirrus hummed gently beneath his hooves. They had turned the contract in to Dante a few hours ago, much to the older stallion’s surprise. Hoxton had been reasonably pleased with the success of his latest invention, but this victory was marred by the five ponies that he had to erase. Razor looked at Rat once and could instantly tell how the mission turned out, giving Rat the space he needed. 
“Long day?” a familiar voice asked suddenly. 
“I thought you were in Manehattan with Death Drop,” replied Rat. 
“The mission concluded sooner than we expected,” explained Descent. “Death Drop is truly gifted in the art of elimination.”
“I’m glad to hear that your latest apprentice is meeting your standards,” sighed Rat. 
“I heard your latest contract did not go the way that you wished it to,” probed Descent. 
“What was your first clue?” snapped Rat. “The fact that I beat the ever-loving shit out of another Shadowbolt?”
“So that was you who did that?” asked Descent. “Pitch didn’t want to say. He slammed Sin into a wall for asking why he smelled even worse than usual.” 
“You’re… very calm about this…” observed Rat.
“Honestly, I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever come across this aspect of the Shadowbolts,” admitted Descent. 
“What ‘aspect’?” pressed Rat.
“Rat, I’ve described the Shadowbolts as a family to you, but there are other perspectives on the matter,” explained Descent. “There are a number of internal feuds and disputes that have created smaller ‘clans’ within our ranks. Groups of Shadowbolts that will refuse to work with any others. There were many who assumed that your little clan would be completely exclusive when it formed.”
“We are all Shadowbolts, united under one Code,” retorted Rat. “I cannot see it any other way. However, I know that if I ever see Pitch attempt the same thing he tried today, I’ll kill him myself.”
“And that is your choice,” nodded Descent. “Fortunately for you, Pitch is not well-liked among the Shadowbolts. I tolerate him because of his skill in combat and his ferocity, but he is a drunken slob and a disgrace.”
“Honestly, I spared him for your sake,” admitted Rat. “Had I known your actual opinion, I’d have ended him right then and there.”
“That doesn’t sound like the same colt that fretted over his first kill all those years ago,” mused Descent. 
“That was murder,” protested Rat. “This would have been vengeance. There’s one thing that I’ve always held to: never harm the innocent.”
Descent said nothing. The older stallion simply stood with his former apprentice as they watched the clouds shine in the moonlight, taking in the cool night air. Even in such tranquility, Rat found no peace that night.  He doubted that he would ever again...

To Be Continued...
> Chapter 11: The Sireberian Job
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Green Pastures, Cloak’s Front Porch, Equestria
50 Years After the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Cloak glanced away as he finished his tale. He knew that this would be a troubling tale to share, but the shame he felt as he confessed wormed its way into his chest.
“So who won the bets?” asked Evening Star, the youngest of the group.
Cloak merely stared in shock. He had just told a story of how his group had been involved with the deaths of five innocent ponies, and the foals all seemed to shrug it off. 
“...I’m not sure you really understood what happened,” replied Cloak uneasily. “We-”
“-beat up a bad stallion that hurt five innocent ponies,” finished Evening. “Did you do something else?”
“She isn’t wrong,” smirked Daring. 
Cloak frowned slightly, uncertain of how to respond. Clearly, none of the foals saw any blame for the Rat Pack in the last story. Not even the brutal beating that Rat gave to Pitch was objectionable to them. Cold Snap shifted slightly before speaking up.
“Grandpa, you and Great Aunt Dagger have mentioned Jaegers several times without explanation,” observed Cold Snap. “What’s a Jaeger?”
Cloak’s blood ran cold as memories of the brutal JSS enforcers flashed before his eyes. Screams of terror and fear from injured and dying ponies filled his head. He felt his voice catch in his throat as his pulse quickened. He could see that Daring, Dagger, and Arclight were having similar reactions.
“Snap, Janus Security Solutions was a horrible, horrible organization,” began Cloak slowly. “There are times where I’m grateful that ponies don’t realize how terrible they were. The Jaeger Project is an excellent example of that.”
“Why?” asked Kingfisher. “What did they do?”
“The Jaeger was designed to be an unbeatable soldier, capable of withstanding impossible odds for long periods of time,” explained Cloak. “To design such a soldier, Janus had no ethical lines that they weren’t willing to cross, including growing foals from stolen donor material, and putting said foals through brutal live-fire exercises.” 
“Why didn’t you stop them?!” exclaimed Kingfisher angrily.
“We did, once,” replied Cloak. “It actually wasn’t too long after the concert heist, now that I think about it…”

The Cirrus, Mess Hall, Equestria
7 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“You sure you’re alright, Rat?” asked Dagger for the fifth time.
“Yes, Dagger, I’m fine,” sighed Rat, taking a long sip from his mug of tea. “We did the job. It’s over now. We’re all fine.”
 It had been three weeks since their groundbreaking concert heist, and the Rat Pack had finished a number of jobs in that time. The group was taking a small break at the moment, relaxing in the mess hall and enjoying some downtime. Cloak and Hawk were engaged in a smoked salmon eating contest as Arclight refereed and Clover and Phantasm watched. Tank was looking on with interest, but his right ear kept turning toward another table as another group was deep in private discussion.
“Rat, I’m calling bullshit,” frowned Dagger. “You’ve been sulking ever since we got back from Canterlot, and don’t you deny it.”
“Under what authority?” grunted Rat. “You know that none of us have any sort of rank. We aren’t the Wonderbolts, Dagger. No chain of command here.”
“I’ll show you a ‘chain of command’ if you don’t-” began Dagger. 
“What the fu-aaAAUGH!” screamed a stallion as he tumbled past Rat and Dagger.
An all-too familiar bellow filled the mess hall, accompanied by the screams and yelps of Shadowbolts. Tank was howling and snorting in rage, bellowing as he ripped tables and benches up from the mess hall floor, breaking through solid welds as he tossed them around like a foal’s building blocks. Hawk was up in an instant, at Tank’s side with a hoof on his shoulder. 
“Easy, Big Guy! Easy!” yelled Hawk. “Take it easy! We’re safe, remember? We’re home, Big Guy. We’re home. Just breathe… Easy… That’s it…”
With heart in his throat, Rat watched in shock as Hawk stopped Tank mid-rampage. Between Tank’s sudden outburst and its sudden resolution, the entire mess hall had been shocked into silence. Hawk waited until Tank’s breathing had returned to normal before moving away. As he did so, Rat could feel his heart freeze in dread at the cold fire in Hawk’s eyes. He’d worked with the stallion for a few years now, but never had Rat seen Hawk this livid before. Hawk strode with deadly purpose toward the group of stallions that had been chatting before, now gathered around their fallen comrade. 
“What did you say?” demanded Hawk, pushing past the others toward the injured one. 
“Wha-” began the stallion before yelping as he was lifted by his flightsuit off of the deck.
“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU SAY, DICKWEED?!” howled Hawk. 
“Nothing, I swear!” blubbered the stallion. “We respect you-”
“DON’T GIVE ME THAT SHIT, ASSCLOWN!” snarled Hawk. “TANK HEARD YOU SAY SOMETHING, SO WHAT WAS IT?”
“Hawk! Stand down!” barked Rat. 
“Suck a-” began Hawk, but was interrupted.
Tank had walked over to Hawk unnoticed amid the second incident and placed a hoof on the stallion’s back. An unspoken message seemed to pass between them, and Hawk’s anger seemed to subside. Without a word, Hawk lowered the stallion to the deck and walked out the door with Tank. Rat approached the unfamiliar stallion, clearing his throat. 
“Are you alright?” asked Rat. 
“Huh? Oh yeah, yeah, fine,” replied the stallion unsteadily. “What the hell was that about?”
“I was hoping you could tell me,” probed Rat. “Of the two of them, Hawk is the more unstable one, but I’ve never seen either of them go off like that for any reason.”
“No, believe me, I know the rep,” reassured the stallion. “You guys are probably the friendliest group on the Cirrus as long as a stallion keeps to the Code. So forgive me when I say that I have no fucking clue why a bunch of recon reports would cause all this.”
“Recon reports?” clarified Rat. “Where from?”
“Sireberia, of all places,” replied the stallion. “Just outside of Moscolt. We’ve been noticing some weird Cossack activity for almost two or three years now.”
“What kind of weird activity?” pressed Rat. “Anything tangible?”
“Just a fair amount of construction and deliveries, but no signs of any sort of expansion of the base on the surface,” reported the stallion. “The weirdest thing was the arrival of a bunch of scientists and what appeared to be small animal crates.” 
At this, a faint memory stirred in the back of Rat’s mind. He suddenly had a feeling that he knew what set Tank off, and was amazed that he had not thought of it before. One quick question would confirm his suspicions. 
“Those supplies wouldn’t happen to have been from Janus Security Solutions, would they?” asked Rat.
“Yeah, how’d you know?” replied the stallion. 
“And how big were the boxes?” asked Rat. “Big enough for a pony, maybe?”
“They’d have to be a really small pony to be transported safely like that,” whistled the stallion. “Again, why do you ask?”
“Because there are only two things that make Tank go savage like that,” explained Rat. “One of them is the Hekate Torch Bearers. The other is Janus Security Solutions.”
“Hot damn, you’re serious?” swore the stallion, before an odd look crossed his face as the full impact of Rat’s questions hit home. “Shit, you don’t think Janus set up some sort of base over there?”
“Hawk and Tank do, and I’m guessing they’re storming Dante’s Quarters right now,” replied Rat grimly. “Thanks for the info, and sorry about my crew.”
“No permanent damage on my end,” chuckled the stallion. “Name’s Matchstick, Recon Specialist. If you ever need another set of hooves, let me know.” 
“I’ll keep that in mind,” grinned Rat. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a few crew members to wrangle back into shape.”
Rat motioned once with his wing, and the remaining members of the Rat Pack rose and followed him. They quickly made their way to Dante’s office, hoping they could stop their comrades before they did something rash. Rat could already hear Hawk’s voice from inside the room. 
“...respect, I don’t buy it,” argued Hawk. “There has to be some sort of contract out there!”
“And for the last time, Hawk, there are no active contracts in Sireberia, much less Moscolt,” replied Dante. “Especially none against Janus Security. Now, if anything changes, I will be sure to inform you and Tank, since you two seem so eager to-”
Just as Rat entered the room, a Hummingbird with a scroll arrived in the window, dropping its payload onto the desk between Hawk and Tank before buzzing down to the Pit. Dante raised an eyebrow at the scroll, opening it and reading its contents. The old stallion’s frown deepened as he neared the end of the message, proceeding to reread it several times. Without looking up, Dante then spoke. 
“You may enter, Rat,” commanded Dante.
Rat approached the desk, giving Hawk a severe glare as he did so.
“Now, I have no idea how your comrades did so, but they have guessed every single detail of this contract long before it landed on my desk,” stated Dante firmly. “Thanks to their sudden clairvoyance, I’m afraid I have no other option than to pass this contract to your team, Rat. I’d advise you to dress warm. Moscolt is colder than a Windigo’s teat, and its inhabitants are even more so.”
Rat nodded once, not even speaking, before dragging Hawk out of the office by his ear. 
“What the hell was that back there?” hissed Rat. “Why was that such a big deal for you? I know why Tank hates JSS, but what gave you the inclination to go batshit insane on a fellow Shadowbolt?!”
“Look, I just needed answers out of him, alright?” retorted Hawk. “It was nothing personal-”
“The hell it wasn’t!” swore Rat. “You better give me a damn good explanation right now, Hawk.”
“Who the hell do you think brought Tank here?” countered Hawk. “I’m the one who helped him evade JSS to get here! He’s my responsibility!”
Rat was silent at this revelation. He’d known that Tank and Hawk were close, but he’d never known why.
“This clearly isn’t the time for this story, but I expect to hear it in detail at some point,” conceded Rat. “For now, grab your supplies, but don’t bother grabbing suits. I think I may need to take Razor up on a piece of advice he gave me.”


The Cirrus, Patch’s Workshop, Equestria
7 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Rat glanced around the room, uncertain of what he might find.  The room itself was a mirror image of Hoxton’s workshop, but the layout and equipment were vastly different. The back half of the room was mostly taken up by shelves piled high with boxes, and the rest was hidden from view by screens with pieces of fabric draped over the top. The front half was dominated by a work area that could kindly be called an organized mess, but more accurately described as chaotic disarray. Large air brush rigs rested in another area where the Heavy Combat suits were made. Graphene polymers were secured in racks with clamps to prevent them from scattering in the event of turbulence or, Celestia forbid, a crash. Metal shears and tailor equipment was tossed haphazardly onto the magnetic racks sitting by her workbench. Opposite the haphazard workspace, discarded flight suits and ponyquins with half-finished suits litter the last corner, filing cabinets with labeled drawers placed against the outer wall.
“Hello?” called out Rat. “Patch? My name is Rat. I was told you could help me with a custom order?”
“Gimme a sec!” came the reply from somewhere in the back. Far longer than a second, and a string of inventive curses in almost singsong Vietmanese that made Rat chuckle, later, Patch appeared from behind the screens blocking off the back-right corner, her yellow-tinted safety glasses perched atop her head and a drafting pencil tucked behind her ear. “Sorry about that… Special order? What for?”
“New variety of suit,” explained Rat. “Also, forgive me, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone call an inanimate object a ‘cow-sucking, dog-fucking child of a drooling whore and a monkey’ in such a pleasant voice before.”
“When a sewing machine chews up everything you put through it, you’d say the same thing,” Patch retorted shortly before grabbing a pad of paper from a desk in the work area. “What’s the suit need?” she asked, pulling the pencil from behind her ear and perching on the edge of the desk.
“You’ll probably stab me with that pencil for this, but I need it to have the properties of the Cold Weather variant with the bolt-stopping capabilities of the Heavy Combat variant,” continued Rat. 
Patch’s eyes widened at the description even as she took down the notes muttering more colorful curses. “And I don’t stab ponies with pencils… Waste of a perfectly good pencil.”
“Well, that’s good to know,” smiled Rat. “And I hope I’m not the one that’s supposed to suck the nether regions of an aquatic bird?”
“No. It’s what I might have to do in order to get this to work,” she quipped, sighing heavily and shaking her head. “I’ll have to start with the cold weather, and maybe if I…” Patch trailed off, scanning the chaotic work area briefly before going to the various canisters and looking through them. After a long string of variations on “no”, she holds one for a long moment before setting it beside her on the worktop, scribbling furiously on her pad before giving a firm nod. “Yeah…” She turned her attention back to her visitor, seeming to finally remember that Rat was still there. “Might take me a bit to get the mix right, but I’ll add in some light plates to cover vital areas for just in cases…”
“You’ve come up with a solution?” inquired Rat. “That was very quick. Razor didn’t do your gift justice.”
She shrugged, but there was a little upturn at one corner of her mouth at the mention of Razor that gave away the mare’s pleasure at the second-hoof praise. “I know my materiel. It’ll still be a nightmare to get the mixture right so the graphene will tolerate the cold, though. When do you need these and who for?”
“As soon as you can make them, since there’s no point in leaving before you’ve got them finished,” replied Rat. “We’ll need them for myself, Cloak, Dagger, Hawk, Tank, Clover, Arclight, and Phantasm.” 
Leaving her notepad on the worktop, Patch flitted across the workshop to the fitting area, going straight to a filing cabinet. Opening one drawer and rifling through it, she pulled one file out and paged through it. “None of you’ve grown wider since Cross last took your measurements, right?”
“Not to my knowledge, no,” replied Rat. “One could make an argument for Hawk or Cloak, given how the Eating Contest went last night, but nothing permanent, no.”
With a smirk and a slightly malicious glint in her eye, Patch chuckled. “Send Hawk down anyways… Have to be sure, don’t we?”
“Please try to avoid anything permanent,” grinned Rat. “As much of a shit as he can be at times, I really do need him.”
Patch waved a hoof dismissively at him, though her mirth remained undimmed. “Oh, a few pricks with a needle never hurt anypony… I would know. Now you should go send him down so I can get to work.”
“Absolutely,” replied Rat, walking toward the door but stopping before leaving. “You know, you’re actually a lot of fun to be around. The Pack’s having a Poker Night in a few weeks. You should join us. Razor usually cleans out half of us and then calls it a night. You might actually be able to stop that rampage.”
However, Rat’s words were completely lost as Patch vanished in a flurry of cloth, shears, pins, and measuring tapes. Rat simply smiled and walked out of the workshop. If only she realized how similar she was to her next-door neighbor, perhaps the Basement Wars could end peacefully. However, Rat knew that was about as likely as Hawk actually falling in love...

Moscolt, South Quarter, Sireberia
7 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“Frigging nag,” swore Hawk for the fifth time. “I swear she cut this suit wrong on purpose. Blood flow is restricted so much that I can barely feel my-”
“Good,” interrupted Dagger. “Keeps the blood in your brain where it belongs.” 
Hawk glared at Dagger as Cloak doubled over in silent laughter. 
“Very funny, Dagger, but what if it shrivels up and dies down there?” asked Hawk.
“More than it has already?” quipped Clover.
Hawk sighed in exasperation as the rest of the Shadowbolts broke down and laughed quietly. Rat couldn’t help but chuckle as well at Hawk’s misfortune. 
“Alright, let’s cut the chatter down,” chuckled Rat, still slightly irritated by Hawk’s earlier behavior. “We know why we’re here, so let’s get to the task. Phantasm, see about finding an overlook to set up crossbow support. Clover, go with her to see where the best places to plant the breaching charges are. The rest of you follow me. We’ll check the alleyways and sidestreets for good escape routes if we need to lose followers without being spotted.”
The two groups split off to their tasks, moving without a sound. As he saw more of the streets and buildings, Rat was reminded strongly of his youth in Saddle Arabia. Trade the numbing cold for blistering heat and add a few more street urchins, and this could have easily been the downtown marketplace. Merchants argued with peasants over the price of stale bread while drunkards stumbled into and out from the alleyways, while cutpurses looted the rich and naive without rest. 
Hell, even the brutes were the same. Down a nearby alleyway, a group of street thugs were beating a pair of stallions in an alleyway, a scene Rat had watched play out countless times in his youth. One stallion, a bright green pegasus with a striking blue mane, was being used as a sort of punching bag, suspended from a hanging set of clotheslines. The other stallion, a tan earth pony with a jet black mane, was being kicked by a group of thugs gathered in a circle around him. Rat felt the anger of the injustice rise and flow through him without effect as he concentrated on the task at hoof.
 Tank frowned deeply as he watched the two stallions get beaten. The scene made Rat’s blood boil as well, but they didn’t have time to waste on solving street quarrels. Hawk placed a hoof on Tank’s shoulder and shook his head. Tank huffed in frustration and looked away, allowing Rat to think that was the end of it. The sound of Tank taking off and Hawk’s choked gasp corrected Rat of that illusion. 
Tank descended on the nearest group of thugs, bashing them aside by using Hawk as a flail. The thugs hit the nearest wall and slumped over, unconscious. The other group of thugs took one look at the mountain of a pegasus growling at them and ran for their lives. Tank snorted once before setting Hawk back down, pleased with the outcome. Rat sighed in exasperation, but couldn’t honestly fault Tank for his actions. 
“Cloak, Dagger, keep watch,” ordered Rat. “ Arclight, check on the victims.” 
Cloak and Dagger nodded once, taking up position. Arclight turned his attention to the green pegasus stallion suspended in the clotheslines.
“Are you alright?” asked Arclight, yelping as the green stallion shifted.
“IIIIIII’VE GOT NO STRINGS! TO HOLD ME DOWN! TO MAKE ME SAD! OR MAKE ME FROWN!” the stallion sang obnoxiously offkey. “I ONCE HAD STRINGS! BUT NOW I’M FREE! THERE ARE NO STRINGS ON MEEEEEEEEE!”
“I think those thugs didn’t just knock a few teeth loose,” muttered Cloak, yelping as the stallion was now sitting with an arm resting conspiratorially around him. 
“Good thing I’ve got a few spare sets of those, eh?” snickered the stallion, holding up a bag of wind-up chattering teeth. 
Dagger grabbed the stallion and pressed him to the wall, glaring. 
“Who are you?” demanded Dagger. “What did those thugs want?”
“Names are for friends, so I don’t need one,” the stallion countered in a gruff voice, his unsettling smirk now absent. “And perhaps they were looking for THIS!”
The stallion drew an impossibly long knife from what seemed to be thin air. Faster than anyone could blink, Dagger had drawn her signature weapon to meet the stallion’s weapon. However, Dagger’s blade sliced cleanly through the stallion’s, causing the severed “blade” to flop onto the frozen street.
“GRANDPA BOWIE KNIFE!” the stallion exclaimed suddenly, diving to cradle the rubber blade. “NOOOOOO!”
“Dammit, no one told me this shit was gonna have nuts in it,” grumbled Hawk. 
Cloak leaned down with a very serious face and looked Hawk straight in the eye. 
“Hey, Hawk,” grinned Cloak. “This shit’s gonna have nuts in it!”
“Cloak… Go f-”
“Both of you be quiet,” interrupted Rat, turning to Arclight and the other stallion. “How is he?”
“Banged up, to be sure,” replied Arclight. “He’s unconscious, but he won’t be for very long, and- oh… this is a problem.”
“What?” asked Rat. “What could-”
Rat glanced down at the stallion’s heavy jacket, which was now open to reveal a Equestrian Royal Navy uniform. The tan earth pony opened one eye, slightly dazed. His eyes locked on the Rat Pack, widening as he saw the matching uniforms.
“...Shit,” swore Rat under his breath. 
“Oh, thank Celestia, Special Forces!” breathed the stallion, grinning. “We’ll be home at last!”
“...Um, what?” asked Rat.
“Aren’t you Special Forces from Canterlot?” asked the stallion, confused. “We’ve been sending spell messages for the last three years, requesting aid.”
“What’s your rank and posting?” asked Rat guardedly. 
“Ensign White Knight of the HMS Voyager,” replied the stallion. 
Rat reeled in shock. Fairly recently, just over three years ago, the HMS Voyager vanished without a trace and was presumed to be lost and destroyed. Hell, it had been all over the news when the youngest son of legendary Admiral Gold Star had vanished with the vessel. According to this stallion, Voyager had not only survived, but was here in Moscolt, and had been trying to make her way home ever since. However, as confusing as this situation was, the fact that they were assumed to be allies was fortunate.
“No messages of any kind have been received,” explained Rat, simply rolling with the “special operations” cover story. “Officially, we’re not even ‘here’ at all.”
“Oh…” replied Knight. “So, what brought you here, or is that classified?”
Before Rat could answer, the comm unit clicked on.
“Rat, we’ve got a problem,” hissed Clover.
“What kind and how bad?” asked Rat. 
“We just watched the Cossacks take two prisoners into the camp,” explained Clover. “A pegasus and a unicorn, to be exact. Wait… Shite, it looks like they’re Equestrian Royal Navy… What the hell are they doing out this far?”
“Knight, were you with anypony?” asked Rat.
“Yes, Lieutenant Proton Star and Lieutenant Commander Ice Burn,” replied Knight. “Why?”
“What’s Voyager’s comm frequency?” demanded Rat.
“Seventy four by six hundred fifty six,” replied Knight. “Why? What’s going on?”
Rat didn’t answer, instead setting a new channel on his comm unit to the designated frequency. 
“HMS Voyager?” asked Rat. 
“This is Chief Lightning Torrent, who are you and how the hell did you get this frequency?” an irate voice crackled over the comms.
“Listen and listen carefully, Chief,” barked Rat. “We don’t have much time. Proton Star and Ice Burn have been captured by hostile forces-”
“WHAT?!” exclaimed Knight and Torrent in near-perfect unison. 
“Yes, I’m here with Ensign Knight right now,” explained Rat. “We are a secret task force that was assigned to take out the hostile forces that have your crew-”
“Knight will bring you back to the ship,” snapped Torrent. “Captain Noire will be in her Ready Room. Be there.”
The line went dead. White Knight was looking around in confusion, trying to process all that he overheard. The green stallion had reappeared next to Knight, grinning a very silly grin. 
“Having trouble keeping up?” snickered the stallion. “Don’t you worry, kid! Uncle Twister managed to swipe ol’ Hoxy’s outline! Shame I’m going to miss the Poker Night next chapter, ooh and then the funeral in Chapter-”
A giant hammer with the word “Spoilers” in bright red letters appeared from thin air and flattened Twister in a single swing with an inflatable squeaking sound, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. Rat stared at the bizarre stallion with a deadpan expression. 
“Don’t suppose we could leave you here?” mused Rat. 
“Nope!” grinned Twister. “Dead or alive, I’m coming with you!”

HMS Voyager, Captain Noire’s Quarters, Sireberia
7 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“So let me get this straight,” repeated Captain Cafée Noire. “Janus Security Solutions is, in fact, engaged in illicit experimentation, from which they created the Jaeger Project, whose three known subjects died holding back an impossible number of Sky Wings during the last war, and they now have set up a similar lab beyond Equestria’s borders to continue their illicit work?”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied Rat calmly. “And my task force was assigned to raise hell with said lab, but now my mission has become fairly complicated.”
“I’m sorry that my officers’ peril has inconvenienced you so much,” retorted Noire. “We’re just trying to get back to Equestria without starting another war.”
“Not an inconvenience, but a complication still,” clarified Rat. “We’ll need to get your officers out of there before we carry out our mission. Honestly, everything right now is a mess. We weren’t supposed to make contact with anypony.” 
“And your… friend?” asked Noire, glancing at Twister. 
Rat glanced at Twister and watched as he ran around the bridge, laughing madly as Torrent chased him around the bridge. In his hooves, the green stallion carried what was without a doubt Voyager’s engine crystal. Torrent swung her claws wildly at Twister, swearing fluently and creatively in Griffonese. The rest of the crew watched in apprehension, ducking as the pair drew near. 
“...No, we found that one with your crew member, actually,” replied Rat. “You know just as much as I do when it comes to him.” 
Noire sighed in exasperation. “Are you capable of rescuing my officers without aid?” asked Noire. “Knight claims that you’re special forces from Canterlot, but I’m not as convinced. However, given the circumstances, I don’t give a damn if you’re a travelling pantomime group as long as you get them out.” 
“The trick will be to lure excess security away,” explained Rat. “Now that they’ve found Equestrian Military, the Cossacks and JSS will be on high alert, making it nearly impossible to slip in at all, much less unnoticed.” 
“I assume that creating a distraction of some kind is out of the question?” asked Noire. 
“Not without risking the lives of your officers,” replied Rat. “JSS would slit their throats the moment they thought a military operation was in progress.”
“Making all conventional distractions nonviable,” concluded Noire. “So we’ll need something impossible to predict…”
“Exactly,” replied Rat. “Something that is impossible to miss, and has no ties to the Equestrian Military whatsoever.”
Rat stopped, glancing behind him. Lighting Torrent now had a hold of Twister, and was attempting to beat the crystal out of him with a large wrench with little success. Rat moved silently behind her, catching the wrench in one hoof. He then kicked Twister hard in the gut, causing the stallion to cough up the stolen crystal, which he caught in his free hoof.
“We’re going to need him in one piece…” explained Rat as he shook the saliva off of the crystal.

Moscolt, Moscolt Cossack’s Garrison, Sireberia
7 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“I still say he’d be able to function in more than one piece…” grumbled Torrent over the comms.
“Not taking that chance, but I wouldn’t be surprised,” replied Rat.
“Sir, are you sure this will work?” asked Knight, glancing uncertainly at the Cossack guards.
“First, don’t call me ‘sir’,” replied Rat. “Second, we don’t have any other options, so it has to.”
“What’d ya do to convince that screwball to work with us?” frowned Hawk. 
“Nothing, oddly enough,” remarked Rat. “He said some nonsense about an ‘outline’ and ‘sticking to it in spirit’. Ignored it, mostly.”
“He’s approaching the-” began Dagger, before stopping abruptly. 
“What, what’s he doing?” asked Rat.
“Boss, what did you tell him to do?” asked Dagger.
“I didn’t tell him to do anything,” replied Rat. “He said that he’d ‘improvise’. Why?”
“You need to see this…” sighed Dagger, passing Rat her field binoculars.
Rat scanned the street below, and had to suppress a sigh of exasperation. Twister was dressed in a full Sireberian military officer’s uniform, marching toward the front gate in a pompous manner. Strangely, no one seemed to be questioning Twister’s disguise, with all Cossacks saluting and standing at attention. Twister returned these salutes in a ridiculously exaggerated manner, nearly knocking his hat off several times. Upon reaching the gate, the stallion marched right up to the nearest guard and stood barely inches away from his face.
"Oleg, you haven't been moving my military medals, have you?" asked Twister in a ridiculously thick Moscolt accent. 
“...Nyet?” replied the guard. “My name is not Oleg-”
"Well, they're gone and I have an event I need to speak at today,” huffed Twister pompously. “Where are they?"
“My name is not Oleg!” protested the guard. “I don’t know where your medals are!”
"Dammit Oleg, medals and awards don't sprout legs and walk away!" growled Twister as he paced agitatedly. 
“But I’m not-” began the guard.
"OLEG, THIS IS A MATTER OF GLORY OR IMPRISONMENT! WHERE ARE THE MEDALS?!" bellowed Twister, grabbing hold of the Cossack’s face, slapping him with each word. 
At this, a rhythmic squeaking could be heard as a set of medals marched by with pairs of what appeared to be military dress shoes. There was complete silence as everyone watching was captivated by the flawless movements of the shoes as they marched around the corner and out of sight. The green stallion then hopped on the guard’s back and pointed at where the medals had gone.
"After them, Oleg!” cried Twister. “They're wearing my good shoes!"
With that, he proceeded to move in mid-air as though riding on the guard’s back, but the guard did not follow, instead continuing to stare thunderstruck at the spectacle that this green stranger presented. After another moment, he yelled out something in Sireberian and chased after the bizarre intruder. Every guard at the gate followed his lead, quickly charging after the intruder. 
“...Not bad,” commented Hawk. “We should hire him.”
“No way in Tartarus,” countered Rat. “Dagger would string us all up in a week.”
“Three days,” corrected Dagger.
“I would have said four,” chuckled Arclight.
“You should kiss him…” whispered Cloak loudly to his sister.
Dagger responded with a single hoof to Cloak’s jaw, sending the stallion sprawling in the snow. The group chuckled briefly as Cloak picked himself back up. 
“Alright, into the belly of the beast,” sighed Rat.
The rest of the team nodded, taking up a flanking position behind Rat. Rat moved swiftly and silently through the gate, moving from cover to cover. Phantasm tracked their progress through her scope as they made their way into the central complex. Clover silently rewired the door lock, causing the door to open with a hissing clunk. 
 Rat glanced around at the pristine walls of the base, frowning slightly. The air had a distinctive taste of sterility, like the air of a hospital. The group moved among the shadows, doing their best to hide in the corridors. Tank whimpered uncomfortably, causing Hawk to pat his shoulder reassuringly. Clearly, the complex was bringing back memories that Tank wished he’d forgotten.  
The hallway opened up into a large loading area, filled with various crates and cargo containers of various sizes, including the pony-sized ones that Matchstick had noted in his report. There was a stench of desperation and confinement that the air filters could not completely erase, leaving little doubt as to what those containers held. The group remained silent at this, clearly disturbed by the revelation. Rat signaled for the group to move on, as time ran short for the captive officers. 
“Dagger, Arc, go search for the captive officers on this floor,” ordered Rat. “We’ll continue exploring the complex and setting charges. Rejoin us when you’ve searched the entire floor.”
“Understood,” acknowledged Dagger. 
There were no jokes, no teasing, and no smirks. The atmosphere of the surrounding complex killed any chance of that. Rat kept a close watch on Tank and Hawk as they descended to the next level. Tank was starting to visibly show signs of discomfort, gritting his teeth and groaning slightly. Rat could barely hear what Hawk was whispering, but it seemed to be some form of reassurance. Rat caught up with the pair and spoke quietly. 
“Tank, if you need to bug out and wait until we need you, no one would think less of you,” reminded Rat.
Tank snorted once, a look of determination on his face. Rat seemed to have his answer. Tank would not abandon his team, especially not in this hellhole, no matter what he felt. Rat patted Tank’s shoulder comfortingly and returned to the front of the group. 
The second floor was much smaller, and seemed to be composed of only two rooms. Rat motioned for Cloak to check out the room on the right. Inside, a clean and organized weapons lab sat undisturbed with all manner of unmentionable devices. Clover quickly set charges on all the support, while Tank grabbed what looked to be a weaponized pneumatic nail driver. A sudden gasp caused the pack to rush out into the hall, ready for combat. White Knight was by the only other door on this level, scooting away across the floor as he stuttered and gasped.
“Wha- Ho- What the fu- why- wha-” stuttered Knight as he tried to return to his hooves. 
Rat took one whiff, and instantly knew what JSS had been doing without looking. Sticking his head through the door, he confirmed his suspicions. Countless weapon testing lanes held the corpses of pony “test subjects”, in various states of decay and dismemberment, most likely local civilians if the clothes were anything to go by. Rat turned his head away and shut the door, shaking his head to his comrades. He then placed a hoof on the Ensign’s shoulder, looking him in the eyes.
“You alright?” asked Rat. 
Knight nodded numbly. The poor earth pony had paled significantly, sweating slightly.
“If you can’t handle this, please speak up,” advised Rat. “There would be no shame in it. I’ve offered every one of my team the same offer. No judgements. It’s not pretty down here.”
Knight shook his head, returning back to his original position in the formation. Rat sighed, motioning for the rest of the group to head down the stairs to the next level. While the young officer seemed slightly shaken, Knight seemed determined to do his job, no matter what. 
The next floor was much taller than the previous floor, once again with a right half and a left half. However, what appeared to be some form of overseer’s office sat at the end of the hall. Rat motioned for Hawk and Tank to check the room on the right with him while Clover, Cloak, and Knight checked the room on the left. Rat braced himself, gripping his knife in one hoof as he pushed through the door. 
Around the room, strange rack-like devices lined the walls and formed rows throughout the room. On each of the racks rested a pony, either earth pony or pegasus, hanging limply from the supports. Each one had what appeared to be some sort of ocular implant on the left side of their head, as though replacing the eye on that side for some bizarre reason. Strange horn-like protrusions emerged from the tops of their skulls, looking as though they’d been punched in like a nail of some type. 
From there, specifics differred by the race of the pony in question. For the earth ponies, it appeared as though someone had drilled holes in their backs and attached a mechanical wing apparatus to their spines, in some attempt to give them flight. For the pegasi, it was far more horrifying. Wings had been stripped down to bone before being recast in polymers with artificial components. Various other armored plates and mechanical devices were implanted in each subject, giving them a cobbled-together appearance. 
As he leaned in to one of the racks for a closer look, Hawk suddenly jumped in surprise. 
“WHAT THE FU-” howled Hawk as he was tackled to the ground. 
Tank bellowed in rage, prepared to come to Hawk’s aid and rip this attacker apart. Rat lifted his knife, but Hawk extended a wing quickly even as the strange mare leveled her artificial horn at him.
“HOLD IT, BIG GUY!” barked Hawk. “EASY! ...Take it easy… Nice… and easy…”
Rat put away his knife slowly, trying to avoid startling the mare as he observed her. Beneath her headpiece, traces of a close-cropped blonde mane poked out. Her dove grey body was mostly concealed by armored plating. Based on the wing apparatus attached to her, she was originally an earth pony. Her ocular implant whirred and clicked as it focused on Hawk. 
“State your name and intention,” demanded the mare coldly, her expression unchanging. 
“Easy… My name is Hawk…” replied Hawk slowly. “We’re here to shut this place down… I promise you that you’re safe now… I swear to you…”
“Can you prove this?” countered the mare in a clipped tone.
“I rescued him from Janus when he escaped years ago,” explained Hawk, pointing at Tank. 
The mare scanned Tank with her implant briefly before her natural eye betrayed a glimmer of recognition. 
“Prototype soldier,” stated the mare briefly as she rose from Hawk and helped him to his hooves. “Project Codename: Achilles. Project Nickname: ‘Jaeger Initiative Batch 1’. Subject Alpha-38. Class Designation: Null. Directive: Termination. Status: Unknown.”
“Well, he doesn’t go by that anymore, sweetheart,” explained Hawk as Tank growled at each mention. “His name is Tank, and I suggest you call him that from now on if you want to keep your body in one piece. Speaking of which, what do we call you?” 
“Subject Delta-07/009,” stated the mare impassively. “Project Codename: Ascension. Class Designation: Null.”
“...Well, that’s a bit of a mouthful, Miss,” replied Hawk with a sheepish grin. “Why don’t I just call you ‘Dee-Seven’ or even ‘Dee’ for short?”
“This designation is imprecise,” countered the mare. “I am Unit Zero-Zero-Nine of Group Zero-Seven, Iteration Delta. Delta-07/009 is efficient and accurate-”
“Are there any others that I might get you confused with?” countered Hawk. 
“...No, there are not…”
“Then it would be more efficient to call you something that doesn’t have eight syllables in it,” replied Hawk kindly. “Unless you wish to remember your colleagues-”
“Emotions are irrelevant,” interrupted the newly-dubbed Dee-Seven. “They serve no purpose or function.”
“... Alright,” replied Hawk gently. 
At that moment, Cloak, Knight, and Clover entered the room, having watched the whole ordeal from the hallway. Dee-Seven tensed slightly, ready to strike, but Hawk quietly reassured her. 
“Holy shit…” swore Knight as he walked into the lab. “This is what they were doing in the other room? Trying to make their own alicorns?”
“I’m guessing you found where they made the modifications?” observed Rat. 
“Yes, and it wasn’t too pretty,” whispered Clover. “I checked the medication cabinets, but I didn’t find any trace of anesthesia, even though I found disinfectant and blood clotting agents.”
“Sweet Celestia,” breathed Rat.  
“What is your allegiance?” demanded Dee-Seven.
“Our friend here is with the Royal Equestrian Navy, and the rest of us, well, we aren’t with Janus, if that’s what you’re asking,” replied Hawk. 
“Clearly,” countered Dee-Seven. “You harbor a rogue JSS subject. In any case, I formally request political asylum in Equestria.” 
“Rat-” began Cloak, clearly concerned. 
“We’ll get you out of here first, and then we’ll hash out details,” replied Rat, turning on his comm unit. “Dagger, status report.”
“Not the best time, Rat,” grunted Dagger. 
“Did you locate the captured officers?” asked Rat. 
“Yes, but we have a problem,” whispered Dagger. “We’re right outside the barracks, and the base is now on high alert. Something about a ‘surviving prototype’ or something like that.” 
“They must mean Dee,” observed Cloak.
“No, clearly they meant that nailer Tank picked up,” snapped Hawk
“Can it!” barked Rat. “Tank, I want you up front with that nailer to clear a path. You don’t have to hit them, just get them to dive out of the way. Everypony else, follow close behind. Let’s move!”
Tank grunted, letting loose a bellow of fury and determination. Rat followed close behind the stallion as they galloped up the staircase to the top floor. Rat’s eyes widened when rows of archers and mages awaited them.
“COVER!” bellowed Rat, diving for cover. 
The JSS archers opened fire, sending a volley of projectiles toward the group. For a moment, there seemed to be no salvation, but a brief flash of green filled Rat’s vision. When his sight returned, the JSS archers were bleeding on the ground. Dee’s horn stub glowed a faint green as she nodded at Tank. The large stallion grinned wickedly, hefting the nailer.
“Heh, heh, heh,” chuckled Tank, right before charging the enemy lines. 
The JSS soldiers screamed and scattered to find salvation as the group charged past them, with Tank bellowing the whole way. They bolted into the loading bay, sealing the door behind them. Dagger and Arclight emerged from a nearby hallway, each carrying an injured officer. The injured pegasus looked up and smirked at the group.
“What took you so long, Knight?” chuckled the stallion.
“Had to help these guys, plus I figured you’d escape on your own, Pro,” grinned Knight. 
“Speaking of which, who the hell are these guys?” asked Pro, glancing around at the Rat Pack. 
“Spec Ops,” barked Rat
“You sure about that?” asked Pro skeptically. “Cause I-”
“Clearly, they must be Special Operations, Lieutenant Star,” interjected the unicorn, who must have been Ice Burn. “It is unlikely that anyone else could successfully execute an operation like this.” 
Rat glanced at Ice Burn, who gave a knowing look in return. There would be time to deal with this later. Right now, they needed to escape the base before-
“Why don’t you pick on somepony your own size!” challenged an unfamiliar voice.
Rat turned, freezing in fear as he watched two Jaegers approach. They towered over them all, easily as tall if not taller than Tank. The thick armor that covered their hulking forms was capable of stopping blades and shockwaves. Their domed helmets bore thick faceplates of solid steel, covering a pressure-sealed crystal visor. Three of these units were able to hold off a dozen waves of Sky Wing elites for hours during the last war. With two standing in their way, there seemed to be little hope for their escape. Additional soldiers rushed in, armed to the teeth. 
Tank roared, pummeling the closest Jaeger with his hooves. The hulking soldier blocked each strike with ease, knocking Tank to the ground. The Jaeger took a step forward, but a faint whistling sound caught Rat’s attention. It was the only warning as a mortar shell tore through the room and detonated against the offending Jaeger, sending it flying into the back wall with a sickening snap. Clearly, Voyager had decided to intervene.
“MOVE!” bellowed Rat, bolting for the exit past the stunned soldiers. 
Rat glided his way across the yard to the gate, counting each team member as they ran past him. Clover said that the charges had a forty five second countdown, and they’d need to run quickly if they wanted to get clear. Cloak suddenly stopped and glanced around in worry.
“Wait!” exclaimed Cloak. “Where’s the Looneybucket?!”
Before Rat could answer, Twister appeared from around the corner in traditional Sireberian garb. The Cossacks continued to pursue him, but somehow didn’t seem to be getting any closer.
“MOSCOLT, MOSCOLT,” sang Twister, dancing a native Sireberian folk dance in midair as the Cossacks continued to chase him. “PLEASE RESPECT THE CAVIAR! RANGERS END UP PISSED IN TAR!  OHOHOHOHO! HEY!”
At this, the green stallion kicked the lead Cossack in the face, causing the entire line to fall down the staircase leading to the marketplace.
“MOSCOLT, MOSCOLT,” continued Twister, still dancing his way through the market. “COME AND DANCE AND RUB THE FISH! MISTER DISCO SUMMONED IT! AHAHAHAHAH!”
Twister pulled a large salmon out of thin air, tossing it at the Cossacks. The fish began to tick rapidly, swelling as it did so. The Cossacks all dove for cover, unsure what to expect from this insane green stallion. With a light “ding” of an egg timer, the salmon exploded in a cloud of green smoke. When the smoke cleared, a large platter of salmon sushi sat in its place. A large sign with bright red letters said “With love, Mister Disco”. No trace of the insane stallion remained. 
“He’s fine, Cloak!” barked Rat. “Now MOVE!”
Rat shoved the stallion across the street, glancing around to make sure he had not missed anypony. His heart sank when he saw Arclight limping away from the second Jaeger. It seemed as though the doctor had wrenched his wing and was unable to fly to the escape. Rat glanced back to see Dagger barely restrained by Tank, thrashing and screaming as she fought to get free. Rat looked back at Arclight for what would probably be the last time, holding his gaze. 
A blur of motion caught Rat off-guard as he felt a rush of wind by his head.  Dee-Seven crossed the gap in mere moments, helping Arclight to his hooves as she carried him back, her flight pack straining slightly under the weight. A dull thud filled the air just before the JSS lab fragmented from the explosion, sending shards of debris everywhere and setting the last Jaeger ablaze. A small chunk of wood tore through the left side of Dee’s headgear, causing her flight pack to sputter and spin out of control. In a single smooth movement, Dee wrapped her wings around Arclight as the two crashed in the street. Bits of armor and steel scattered with each bounce, leaving Dee’s armor in patches as she skidded to a halt at Dagger’s hooves. 
“RAT TO VOYAGER! MEDICAL EMERGENCY! HAVE YOUR DOCTOR READY TO MEET US WHEN WE REACH THE SHIP!” 

HMS Voyager, Medical Bay, Sireberia
7 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“How are they, Doctor?” asked Rat anxiously. 
“Better than I expected, to be sure,” replied the strange construct as he worked to remove the damaged headgear from Dee. “Of course, when the expected is ‘smear on a flat surface’, anything better than that could be called ‘better than expected’.”
“I see your bedside manner is as transparent as you are,” quipped Cloak, poking the construct’s side with a hoof. 
“Please desist with that,” sighed the medic. 
“Also never seen an alicorn with a receding mane before,” chuckled Cloak as he continued to try and pass his hoof through the medic’s head. 
“Sir, if you do not desist immediately, I will call security to remove you,” snapped the medic impatiently. 
“Cloak, leave him be,” ordered Rat. “Doctor, I don’t like incomplete answers.”
“Your friend will be fine,” huffed the medic. “Dislocated wing, minor concussion, and a few scrapes and bruises. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to attend to the more critically injured patient.” 
At this, the construct turned away, continuing to remove damaged components and plates from her. Rat glanced over at the bed where Arclight rested. Dagger, Tank, Hawk, Clover and Phantasm watched in anticipation, waiting for the stallion to open his eyes. Tank bent forward, leaned directly into Arclight’s face and roared as loud as he could. Arclight jolted awake in an instant. 
“WHOA!” exclaimed Arclight. “Holy hell! That’s actually kind of terrifying, Tank. I can see why you do that to…” 
Arclight trailed off as he finally saw the look that Dagger was giving him. Dagger seemed to become pure wrath incarnate, glaring at the stallion with an intensity that could rival the fires of Tartarus itself. The mare said nothing for several moments as she slowly approached Arclight, causing the rest of the group to move away. Faster than anyone could blink, Dagger had moved forward and pressed her lips firmly against Arclight’s. After nearly a minute, Dagger withdrew and stared directly into the stallion’s eyes. 
“Never do that again,” growled Dagger. “If you die before I do, I’m going to drag your ass back here and Celestia help whatever gets in my way.”
“Understood, ma’am,” grinned Arclight. 
“I told you that you should kiss him…” teased Cloak.
Dagger’s reply of another swift hoof to her twin’s jaw was met with light laughter by those nearby. Captain Noire had just entered the medical bay, moving to speak quietly with her medical officer. Rat noted that Hawk seemed unusually quiet at the moment, which was quite strange. Recently, the Pack had started a betting pool on when Dagger and Arclight would finally get together, but there was no sign of Hawk’s little black notebook anywhere. The stallion kept glancing over at the bed where the medical officer worked to remove the damaged armor and prosthetics. 
“Medic says that she should make a full recovery, despite some of the horrifying things they did,” explained Noire, having moved next to Rat unnoticed. 
“Good to hear,” replied Rat. “I only wish we could have saved more of her kin.”
“I’m sure,” smirked Noire. “It’s one of the reasons why I’m comfortable with upholding your little ‘spec ops’ lie in my official report.”
Rat turned to stare at the captain in shock, his blood running cold.
“Relax,” reassured Noire. “I suspected it from the moment you stepped aboard the ship, but as I said before, I honestly don’t give a damn as long as you help us. You certainly did that when you risked your lives to save my officers down there, even though it complicated your own objective, and you saved the life of an innocent young mare as well. You could be the agents of Discord himself, and I wouldn’t care.” 
“I’m guessing Lieutenant Commander Burn outed us to you,” sighed Rat.
“In private, recommending that I have you thrown in the brig only if I feared malicious intent toward the crew,” explained Noire. 
“So I guess you know that we can’t officially bring you back to Equestria, then?” observed Rat.
“At least without breaking several peace treaties in the process?” sighed Noire. “Yes, I know. Could I ask one small favor from you?”
“Of course,” replied Rat.
“Could you let the Princess know that we’re still alive and trying to find our way home?” asked Noire. “It could be as simple as an anonymous letter on her nightstand, if you have to, but I’d like our return to not be a complete surprise.”
“Of course,” promised Rat. “In return, please take care of Miss Dee-Seven? She needs a family right now, and as much as my group would like to, we can’t be that for her right now.” 
“Absolutely,” agreed Noire. “You have my word that I’ll do everything in my power to ensure that she reaches Equestria safely.”
“Well, let me say from one leader to another, it’s been an honor,” grinned Rat. 
“Likewise,” smirked Noire. 

The Cirrus, Patch’s Workshop, Equestria
7 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN'T SEND YOUR DAMNED TOYS AFTER THEM!?" bellowed Patch from Hoxton’s workshop.
"RADIO SIGNALS DON'T WORK IN A SNOWSTORM, AND I THINK YOU'D KNOW WHAT SIREBERIA IS LIKE CONSIDERING THE ORDER YOU MADE FOR THIS VERY MISSION!" howled Hoxton. 
"YOU KNOW WHAT THE COLD DOES TO GRAPHENE!!! THEY WERE PROTOTYPES, YOU USELESS FUCKWIT!!!" screeched Patch before the sound of doors slamming followed.
"Patches!” exclaimed Razor. “Calm down! They're professionals! They'll be fine! Besides, your work is the best I've seen in years!"
"But what if I messed up the formula?! What if it doesn't hold up in the cold?!? What if one of the ceramic plates cracked and some asshole got a lucky shot?! Oh I'll never live it down..." 
Rat sighed and chuckled. Apparently, Patch was eager to hear how her work stood up to the test of actual combat. 
“No worries about us, Patch,” quipped Rat. “We’re the best of the best.”
“I’ll argue that point,” smirked Razor. 
Ignoring Razor’s jibe, Patch practically teleported from her desk to right in front of Rat. “How’d they do? Was anypony hurt?” asked Patch with a desperate edge to her voice.
“Well, considering I survived an exploding building, I’d say they worked out alright,” smirked Arclight. “Same weakness as the standard Heavy Combat suit, I’d say, considering my injuries were from blunt force trauma. Internal fabric is a little abrasive, making rough landings a little rougher, but that’s a minor issue, at best.”
Patch seemed to visibly melt from relief as her knees gave way and she sank to the floor with a sigh. Dagger lightly punched the stallion in the shoulder, her mood betrayed only by the cheeky glint in her eyes as she stared down Arclight.
“No melting other mares, asshat,” chided Dagger. “You’re still in hot water for scaring me back there.”
“Forgive me, darling,” quipped Arclight with good-natured sarcasm. “I just don’t know how to reign in the sheer animal magnetism- oh, who am I kidding, I’m as awkward as they come.”
“You’re an idiot, Arc,” smirked Dagger.
“And I can live with that,” grinned Arclight. “As long as I’m your idiot.”
“And don’t you forget that,” replied Dagger. 
“But what about the suits?!” demanded Patch. “How long were you actually in the cold for? What was the peak minimum temperature that you faced out there? When can you turn in one of the suits for post-action evaluation?”
“Well, I think Hawk is looking to ditch his fairly soon,” smirked Rat.  
"Oh really?” grinned Patch evilly. “That's a shame... I worked so hard... On his especially..."
“Yep,  he whined about it the whole way out, right Hawk?” asked Rat. 
Hawk wasn’t listening, instead staring vacantly out of the window. 
“Hmm?” asked Hawk suddenly. “You say something?”
“Your suit, Hawk,” prompted Rat. 
“Oh, yeah,” remarked Hawk, tossing the suit to Patch. “It sucks.”
And with that, the stallion continued to stare out the window, even as Patch put him through the verbal equivalent of a Black Dragon attack. Rat suspected that he wasn’t seeing the endless field of clouds, but the Sireberian tundra and those left behind in that wasteland.

To Be Continued...
	
	
	
	


> Chapter 12: R&R or "How I Met Your Grandmother..."
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Green Pastures, Cloak’s Front Porch, Equestria
50 Years After the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Cloak sighed as he finished his tale. The foals stared up at him in confusion and disbelief as the setting sun turned the sky to gold. Finally, Kingfisher spoke up.
“So, you’re telling me that you encountered Twister?” asked Kingfisher.
“Yes,” replied Cloak with a deadpan expression.
“...How? That makes absolutely no sense whatsoever! Considering that-” asked Starlight Harmony.
“Kid, it’s Twister,” chuckled Daring. “Don’t question it. I only met him once, and he gave me the worst headache of my life trying to figure him out.” 
“But-” protested Starlight. 
“Stars, give it a rest,” sighed Flare. “There’s no figuring out Twister. Nana Dash always said that whenever I asked about him.”
Cloak chuckled and sighed. “Well, it’s getting fairly late,” interjected Cloak. “I’m sure your parents are all wondering where you are, and you all do have dinner to get to. We can pick up the stories tomorrow.”
With a number of reluctant groans, the group of foals eventually broke off. Daring hung back for a few moments, staring into the sunset, as though remembering a distant memory. Muffin stepped out onto the porch, smiling warmly at Daring before addressing her family. 
“Dinner is ready,” announced Muffin. “Daring, you are more than welcome to join us, if you want.”
“I think I’ll take you up on that,” replied Daring with a smile. “Leaf is at a conference out of town, and apparently I’ve got a decades-old bet to settle.”
“I’d almost forgotten,” smirked Cloak. “So Daring, who has to pay up?”
“Depends,” chuckled Daring. “Who bet that nothing happened between me and Rat?”
“HA!” yelled Cloak triumphantly. “I KNEW IT!”
“Oh for pity’s sake, brother, act your age,” snapped Dagger, in spite of the rueful smile on her face. “So when exactly did that finally start?”
“Well, it was the night that you all took shore leave together for the first time in Seaddle,” smirked Daring. 
At the mention of Seaddle, Cloak flinched as though he were punched in the gut. His breath hitched slightly, and tears began to form in his eyes. Daring stopped and winced, as though realizing some sort of mistake. Cloak was still smiling though, despite the tears tracing their way down his face. Cold Snap cleared his throat. 
“Grandpa, are you alright?” asked Cold Snap. 
“I’ll be fine, ‘Snap,” sighed Cloak. “I’m just… That night has a lot of memories for me…”
“It had a lot of memories for all of us,” smiled Arclight, resting a hoof on his wife’s shoulder. 
“Why?” asked Cold Snap. “What happened that was so important that night?”
“Hmm…” mused Cloak. “I suppose you’re old enough to hear the story.”
“What story?” asked Cold Snap, patience wearing thin. “What are you talking about, Grandpa?”
“That was the night that most of us found what we wanted from life,” replied Cloak simply. “We found something worth living for, beyond the fighting, and beyond the missions…”

Ponyville, Prose Residence, Equestria
7 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Rat sighed as he lead his group down the street toward their destination. They’d fought hard for nearly four years without actual shore leave, choosing instead to rest and train on the Cirrus, ready to respond at a moment’s notice. Of course, when Dante had learned that’s what they’d been doing for the past four years, he naturally took exception to the issue. After a half-hour shouting match that could be heard from the Pit, Rat had compromised by taking the crew on a weekend vacation to Seaddle. Their current problem was that since Rat had never been on shore leave, he’d never had to get an alias. Hoxton’s solution to the issue was located in a quiet village southwest of Canterlot known as Ponyville. As he looked around at the various ponies waving at the group and giving friendly nods, he couldn’t help but feel that this would be where he’d want to retire to, if he ever got the opportunity. 
“Quaint little village,” remarked Cloak. 
“I’d call this a bit more than a village, Cloak,” chuckled Arclight. “It’s no Canterlot or Manehattan, but there’s plenty of ponies and businesses here.”
“Arc, they’ve got straw roof huts,” snarked Hawk. “It’s a village.”
“They aren’t actually straw,” a small voice called out. “They only look like it.”
Rat looked around in confusion to try and locate where the voice came from, finally looking down. A small grey pegasus filly with a blonde mane waved cheerfully at Rat, lopsided gold eyes shining happily. Tank looked as though he were about to burst, flopping onto his stomach and grinning. Rat couldn’t help but smile as the filly stared up at him welcomingly, without hesitation or fear. 
“Hi!” squeaked the filly. “I’m Derpy! Are you new in town?” 
“Yes, we’re passing through, actually,” replied Rat, crouching down to Derpy’s height. “You know, you shouldn’t talk to strangers.”
“Oh…” frowned Derpy, almost immediately perking up. “You seem nice, though. I can tell! You’re all good ponies!”
“Still, you should be more cautious,” chided Rat gently. “Perhaps you can help us, though. We’re looking for 312 Lunar Avenue. Could you tell us how to get there?”  
“You mean Mr. Prose’s place?” clarified the filly. “Sure! I help out at the post office all the time! Follow me!”
The filly took off down the street, narrowly missing whatever came across her path as she went. Rat chuckled lightly, motioning for the group to follow. Tank crawled along the ground like a lizard, easily keeping pace with the rest of the group. It wasn’t long before they arrived at Lunar Avenue, stopping in front of an ordinary looking two-story house almost completely indistinguishable from all the others in the town. The only thing that set it apart were some random metal scraps in the front lawn, and a shed-like building set into the side of the yard.
“Here we are!” chirped Derpy. “312 Lunar Avenue!”
“Thank you so much for your help, Derpy,” smiled Rat. “Perhaps we’ll meet again someday.”
“That’d be fun!” smiled Derpy. “I better get going, though. My friend Rainbow Dash is practicing over at Sweet Apple Acres again! Bye!”
Rat watched as the young filly flew off into the sky, crashing through several clouds on her way. She seemed like a decent pony, to say the least. Honestly, this town was beginning to look more and more like paradise in Rat’s eyes. Rat walked up to the front door and knocked three times. A dark grey pegasus stallion with a messy brown mane answered it.
“Well now, I see there is a Rat on my doorstep,” the pegasus smirked as he leaned over and looked behind Rat to the others. “In fact, it’s a whole pack of them.” He leaned closer to Rat and spoke quietly. “Has something come up? Did Dante send you?”
“Not exactly,” replied Rat, slightly unnerved at how the stallion knew who he was immediately. “You’re Epic Prose?”
“I am,” Prose replied with a warm smile. “Why, need me for something?” 
“In fact, we do,” replied Rat. “Hox mentioned that you would be the one to see about aliases and false identification?”
“I would be indeed,” Prose replied with a nod as he looked around before stepping aside. “Please, come in and we can talk about it in my study upstairs,” he paused and smiled slightly. “Also, if I could ask you to keep it down, my wife is taking a nap after being up most of the night as the foals bucked her kidneys.”
Rat motioned for the group to follow as he stepped through the doorway. Tank attempted to follow, but the front step let out a shrill groan of protest. Tank flinched, whimpering anxiously as he tried to ease his way onto the step. The gentle giant soon found himself stuck in the doorway, huffing in panic as he tried to free himself. With the distinct sound of splintering wood, Tank freed himself from the door, landing with all of his weight onto the front step. The giant let out a dismayed moan as he sat in a pile of splinters that used to be the front step.
“Easy, Big Guy,” reassured Hawk. “You did nothing wrong. You’ll just have to wait out here for us, okay? We’ll be back soon.”
Frowning slightly, Prose sighed, “Sorry, but my house wasn’t built with Jaegers in mind.” He then turned and started down the hallway towards the stairs. “More so for a first generation one. They just didn’t know how to think small, did they…” 
Hawk immediately seized Prose and slammed him against the wall silently, placing his machete at his throat. “What do you know about it?!” hissed Hawk. “Did you put him through that hell? Did you?”
“Hawk! Stand down!” barked Rat. 
“No, no, it’s alright,” Prose stated calmly. “Hawk, I’m a Shadowbolt, same as you, and I have been for a lot longer than they’ve had ponies like your friend outside.” 
“...Sorry…” apologized Hawk, releasing Prose and putting away his machete. “He’s… he’s just a little foal, really. He didn’t deserve that.”
“None of them did, Hawk,” Prose said softly, rubbing his throat before gently reaching out and patting Hawk’s shoulder. “So, keep him safe. That’s the best revenge you can ever take for what they did to him.” He lowered his hoof and nods towards the stairs. “Shall we continue?”
Rat nodded in agreement, motioning for the others to follow. The group made their way to Prose’s study, stepping carefully to make sure that the stairs did not squeak beneath their hooves.
Settling into the chair behind his desk, Prose looked at the group and smiled slightly. “So, you need identities? Anything in particular you’re looking for, or do you just want the names and legal papers so you can come up with your own stories?”
“Just the names and papers should be fine,” replied Rat.
“Alright,” smirked Prose as he opened a desk drawer and rummaged through it. “Takes all the fun out of it, though.”  
The stallion passed a packet of sealed envelopes to Rat, which he in turn distributed to the crew. Inside each envelope was a passport, an ID, and various other false legal documents, even including birth certificates.
“I’d spoken to Hox at length earlier,” Prose said calmly, his smirk remaining, “so you can blame him for some of the information on there, but otherwise I am sure everything should be to your liking.” 
“Aw, c’mon!” groused Hawk. “‘Early Bird’? Seriously?”
“Better than ‘Wormface’,” quipped Cloak. “Honestly, don’t really get my cover name… What the hell is ‘Broadcloth’, anyhow?” 
“I think it’s a kind of cheap fabric,” smirked Dagger. 
“Oh…hey, wait a minute...” 
“I see Hox has been spreading stories about my escapades at the concert,” sighed Clover. “‘Green Meadows’ is really close to the alias I used back then.”
“So Prose, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around the Cirrus,” commented Rat. “What exactly is your specialty?”
“Infiltration, recovery, and sabotage,” replied Prose with a shrug. “I’ve actually just returned from a rather long assignment from Dante.” He paused and his smirk slipped. “It involved JSS, actually…”
“Hence why you knew so much about Tank…” mused Rat. 
“Exactly,” sighed Prose. “I don’t come around the Cirrus too often, though. Last time I was there I was debriefing after basically burning my alias.” He looked to Rat, a frown forming. “But it’s in the past now, I’m sure you’ll see me around the Cirrus a lot more often now.”
Rat nodded. “Well, we’d love to stay, but we’ve got a train to catch,” replied Rat. “Heading up to Seaddle for the weekend, at Dante’s insistence. The Mob is actually putting us up in one of their finer establishments, plus I hear the Wonderbolts are in Seaddle that weekend.”
“Really? Well, I’m jealous,” chuckled Prose. “I’ve always wanted to go to a Wonderbolts show.” He sighed and waved a hoof. “But I won’t keep you any longer, I think. I’d hate to delay you when you’re on orders from Dante to go to Seaddle.” His smirk returns and he leans back. “And have fun. We don’t get many luxuries in this life, best enjoy them while you can.”
Rat nodded in agreement, signalling the group to move without a word. As he left the study, Rat noticed a hardcover book with a very familiar face on it. The author’s name was drastically different, but Rat would know Daring’s face anywhere. He felt a slight warmth rise in his face as he thought of the last time he’d seen that face… 
“Didn’t know that you published books,” commented Rat.
“Well, you have your orders from Dante, and I have mine,” stated Prose cryptically as he looked to the book Rat was looking at. “Miss Yearling is the subject of mine, currently.” 
“Is she doing well?” asked Rat suddenly. “...Miss Yearling, I mean.”
“She’s doing quite well, actually,” admitted Prose with a warm, perhaps even proud, smile. “Her first book has hit the best seller’s list. But she still wanders off on her adventures, and then she tells me about them.” He chuckled. “Dante wanted me to keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn’t spill the beans on the Shadowbolts, but honestly hearing about what she gets up to and what she hasn’t told the world? I think we’re safe.”
Rat nodded and left the room. It had been a while since he’d seen Daring last. Perhaps he could look her up while in Seaddle. It would be nice to talk to her when he wasn’t on an active mission, after all. As he joined the group outside, he wondered what sorts of things they’d be up to during their stay.

Seaddle, Downtown District, Equestria
7 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“C’mon, Big Guy!” barked Hawk. “Tickets are selling out like hotcakes! Wonderbolts only do so many hoofball games a year!” 
Hawk bolted as fast as he could though the park, ducking and weaving through the crowd. Tank ambled along at an easygoing pace, watching the various ponies in the crowd with a cheerful grin on his face, even as ponies gave him wary glances and plenty of distance. Only thirty feet from the ticket booth, Hawk felt a distinctive tremor through the ground, signalling that his companion had suddenly stopped. Tank sat in the middle of the path, staring cross-eyed at a butterfly on his nose in amazement and wonder.
“Oh for fu- Really?” sighed Hawk as he watched his comrade. 
Tank payed no attention to his irate companion, instead continuing to stare at the butterfly on his nose. The insect flapped its bright wings a few times before fluttering away. Tank stood up, watching the insect rise into the sky. Hawk attempted to seize his chance. 
“Alright, bug’s gone, so let’s-” began Hawk before being knocked to the ground. 
A large toy ball bounced painfully off of Hawk’s head and landed in front of Tank. A young pegasus colt chased after it, freezing upon seeing the hulking pegasus before him. The colt cringed, covering his head in fear. He felt a tap on his shoulder and looked up to find the large stallion crouching down to his level, nudging the ball gently with his hoof to the colt. The foal looked up in confusion for a second before tapping the ball just as gently. It was returned to him again, the stallion tilting his head to the side. The game soon commenced, the young colt laughing happily while Tank chuckled gently. 
“Just my frigging luck!” muttered Hawk. “The one time I have shore leave during a Wonderbolts hoofball game...”
“Sunstreak! You shouldn’t run off like that!” a young mare called out from the crowd, rushing forward to the colt. “You nearly gave me a- ...oh my…”
The young pegasus mare stared at Tank in alarm, her piercing blue eyes widening in shock. Tank, to his credit, attempted to make himself appear as harmless as possible, remaining in the same crouched position. Sunstreak looked down at his hooves guiltily.
“Sorry, Starbolt,” apologized Sunstreak softly. “... Would it be alright if I played with my new friend for a while?”
A wave of emotions seemed to pass over Starbolt’s face in that moment, ranging from trepidation to sadness. She cleared her throat gently. “... That’s fine, Sunstreak…” replied Starbolt gently, a hint of tears brimming in her eyes. “Just stay where I can keep an eye on you, okay?”
The young colt brightened up, a jubilant grin on his face. “Okay!” chirped Sunstreak. “Thanks, Starry!”
The colt grabbed Tank by the hoof, leading him over to an open grassy area where they could toss the ball more easily. Starbolt turned to Hawk sheepishly, clearing her throat.
“I’m so very sorry about this, sir,” apologized Starbolt. “I’m sure you have better things to be doing right now, and now you have to wait for your friend.”
“Eh, don’t worry about it, kid,” replied Hawk. “If it wasn’t your younger brother, it’d be a tree branch, or an ice cream cone, or what have you…” 
“Cousin, actually, but honestly he’s basically been my younger brother his whole life,” replied Starbolt. “Still, thank you so much for humoring him. Normally, I’d tell him ‘no’, but… well, I think this is the first time I’ve seen him smile in a long time…” 
“Rough life?” asked Hawk as he sat down on a nearby bench. “Name’s Early Bird, by the way. My friend’s name is Gentle Guardian, but I usually just call him ‘Big Guy’.”
“I’m Starbolt,” replied the mare, taking a seat next to Hawk. “And honestly, yes, it’s been rough for us, especially in recent months. I don’t know if you’ve heard about what’s happening in Sirejevo?”
Hawk nodded, frowning because he knew all too well. Sirejevo was a part of an imperialistic state not unlike the Elysium colony in Saddle Arabia. The nation had long been under the rule of a harsh dictator, which the Princess had tried and failed to negotiate with in previous years in order to improve the lives of its citizens. A few months ago, a group of revolutionaries decided that they’d had enough of the tyrant, and a bloody civil war erupted within the city. Recently, the Rat Pack had taken a contract from the revolutionaries to clear a path for refugee airships to flee the chaos. Hawk wondered briefly if this young mare had fled to Equestria on one of the airships that the Rat Pack had defended so well, but was interrupted as the mare continued her explanation.
“My father, my uncles, and a few of my aunts all joined up with the Resistance, sending the rest of my family here with everything we had,” continued Starbolt. “It’s been months, but we still haven’t heard anything about what’s going on over there. Most of the rest of us have handled the change well enough, but Sunstreak has been withdrawn since we arrived, barely saying more than a few words a day to any of us. This is the first time I’ve heard him say more than a few words, and certainly the first time that it’s been anything besides ‘When are Mommy and Daddy coming here?’… Honestly, I’ve been running out of answers to give him.”
“... Hell in a hoofbasket, poor kid…” murmured Hawk. “A colt his age should be more concerned with kites and caterpillars, not whether his mother and father will see him again… That’s no way to grow up at all. Foals should never have to worry about war…” 
Whatever Starbolt said next was lost as Hawk’s mind drifted back through the years...



Vanhoover, Northern Woods, Equestria
20 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Hawk sighed as he checked his equipment for the third time. The JSS transports rumbled as it plowed through the woodland, carrying mercenaries, bounty hunters, and four squads of JSS elite tactical units. If the flyer was worth anything, this contract would be the largest bounty he’d ever brought in. From the description, it seemed as though it would be pretty easy money. However, as he watched Janus Security Solutions’ finest don heavy armor and prepare nasty-looking weapons, Hawk couldn’t help but feel as though they were on some kind of suicide mission. He turned to glance at the nearest elite, tapping him on the shoulder.
“So, is this target really this dangerous?” asked Hawk. “I mean, better safe than sorry, but with all the gear and shit, you’d think we’re going to bag a dragon or something.”
“What do you care, hunter?” sniffed the JSS elite. “You’re getting paid to do a job, not to think, so do your job and shut your trap.”
“Whatever you say, sunshine,” snorted Hawk. 
The transports grumbled forward, finally stopping in a large clearing. The ramp lowered, and mercenary and soldier alike disembarked from the transport. Traps were set in the tall grass, and groups began organizing. The other transports continued onward, moving deeper into the woods. Hawk drew his machete, checking the sharpness of the blade. The only warning of what was about to unfold was a metallic clang and a dull thud in the direction the transports went.
Smoke began to rise above the horizon as screams broke through the air. Every head turned to face the hellish sounds coming from just beyond the treeline. A stallion hopped his way back through the treeline, missing a limb and sobbing through a shattered jaw, finally hopping onto a bear trap and killing himself instantly. Hawk flew up to a nearby tree and took cover in the branches. Whatever was beyond the treeline would take more than brute force to stop. 
“Hold steady, gents!” barked a JSS officer. “We just need to lead the subject to the perimeter, and then-” 
“INCOMING!” screamed a mercenary, just as half of a transport flew beyond the treeline and flattened him. 
The ground trembled beneath their hooves as they gripped their weapons tighter. After several long moments, the trembling stopped. From the treeline, half of an earth stallion landed in the middle of the clearing. To the mercenaries’ horror, he was still alive, even as blood poured from an empty eye socket. The stallion coughed several times and looked as though he was about to say something, but the light left his eyes before he could. And that was the moment their target emerged.
It was a pegasus, as near as Hawk could tell, but it was larger than any he’d ever seen in his life. Its light brown coat was marred by nasty looking scars, visible even with a coat of grime and dirt over it. A jet black mane hung in a tangled mess over gleaming gold eyes, which focused in a glare of pure rage. The stallion gave a mighty roar, more akin to that of a large bear, and  charged the JSS soldiers. 
“HE’S CLOSED THE GAP! STRIKER TEAM, REGROU-” barked the lead commander, before being sent flying through the air with a sickening snap of bone as his neck broke. 
The mercenaries screamed, lifting whatever weapons they had in defense. Spells that could knock a full-grown minotaur on his ass bounced off of the monster like raindrops. The remaining JSS elites attempted an organized defense, but were scattered like bowling pins in an instant. Hawk watched as each mercenary attempted to attack the stallion, and watched the stallion rip each one limb from limb every time. Nothing seemed to slow it down, even as its body bristled with darts, spears, and crossbow bolts. Hawk watched with stunned horror. 
“Come get me, you dumb brute!” bellowed a surviving JSS soldier. 
The stallion turned, eyes blazing as he charged toward the lone soldier. Hawk couldn’t begin to imagine why the JSS elite would deliberately call attention to himself like that, unless… A sudden snap of metal on bone and a roar of anguish confirmed Hawk’s suspicions. The stallion looked down as his right leg was caught in a bear trap, which he attempted to free with no success. The JSS soldier laughed cruelly, slowly approaching the wounded stallion. 
“You always were a dumb brute, weren’t you, Alpha-38?” sneered the soldier as he lifted a device that crackled with electricity tauntingly. “Always so headstrong that you smashed through whatever obstacles that stood in your way, but never at the expense of your batchmates. Shame that caution all went to waste!”
The soldier stabbed the metal chain of the bear trap with the device, causing electricity to arc through it. The stallion roared in pain, thrashing about in the bear trap. Hawk felt bile rise in his throat. This wasn’t a fair fight! This was an execution!
“You shouldn’t have run away, 38,” taunted the soldier, jabbing the chain in short spurts to punctuate his statements. “Your termination was going to be painless, just like Alpha-41. I suppose that if I let you go back to the lab, it still could be. But honestly, I think this is more fitting for a beast like you. Dying cold and alone in the woods, in agony at the hooves of your hunter…”
The stallion growled in defiance, but howled in pain as the soldier increased the power on the device. The pegasus dropped to his knees, writhing in the trap as the soldier chuckled. The soldier lifted the device again, halting the flow of the lightning. The stallion whimpered, clearly terrified. There was a distinct tinge of urine as the pegasus soiled himself, curling into a ball. 
“It’s strange, in a way,” laughed the stallion. “Your other batchmates were hailed as heroes in the last war. How could a mutt so pathetic as you come from the same stock? I guess there must be runts in every litter, so it falls to us to clear up the wastes of space!”
The device lifted again. The stallion flinched, shutting his eyes. He looked so much like a foal- 
Big bro? ...I’m scared...
Hawk flinched as memories he thought long-dead flashed before him. He looked at the stallion, and all he could see was a scared colt-
I’m here, Redwing. No matter what happens, little buddy, I will always protect you. 
“Say goodnight, beast,” sneered the soldier, raising the device.
There was no warning. A flash of steel was all it took. A fountain of red sprayed through the air. The shocked expression of the JSS soldier rolled away into the bushes. The body crumpled to the ground, dropping the device safely to the forest floor. Hawk shook his machete clean. No amount of bits was worth this. 
The stallion groaned, shifting on the ground before lifting his head. A look of confusion passed over his face as he looked around to investigate why the pain had stopped. He looked over at Hawk, scanning him briefly with suspicion before wincing in pain. The stallion glared down at the bear trap, snarling as he turned his attention to removing it. Hawk watched as the stallion struggled with the trap for several minutes, attempting to remove it with little success, whimpering and growling at each failed attempt. Hawk sighed, setting his machete down as he approached the stallion against his better judgement. As Hawk got closer, the stallion turned and snarled at him, roaring directly in his face. 
“Easy, big guy!” snapped Hawk, before relaxing his tone. “Easy… You’re just going to make it worse… I’m going to help you, but I can’t do that if you smash my head in, alright? Just hold still… This is probably going to hurt.”
Hawk approached the stallion’s injured hoof, taking a few moments to locate the release lever on the trap. Gritting his teeth and wondering what had possessed him to do so, Hawk pulled the lever quickly, causing the trap to fall open as the spring disengaged with a metallic snap. The stallion bellowed in pain briefly, but trailed off as he found his hoof released. After a few flexes to test his hoof, the stallion turned to look at Hawk, who merely nodded. 
“Alright, you’re free now, so now we should go our sep-”
“Heh, heh, heh…” 
Hawk suddenly found himself lifted off of the ground and enveloped into a bone-crushing hug by the humongous stallion. The stallion now wore a big dopey grin on his face, hugging Hawk like a foal embraces a teddy bear. Hawk squirmed in the stallion’s grip, more out of indignation than fear of being crushed.
“Alright, alright, Big Guy, put me down...” protested Hawk. “No need to get all cuddly. I just flipped a lever here. Not like I’m some kind of hero or anything, jeez…”
The stallion grunted, setting Hawk back on the ground, still grinning at the smaller pegasus. Hawk brushed his vest off, grunting as he retrieved his machete and sheathed it. The stallion leaned back and sat on his haunches, working to remove the last remaining projectiles from his body. Hawk glanced at the setting sun. Without transportation, it was too far to make it back to the city before nightfall, and now JSS would be hunting him down for betraying his contract. He walked over to the wrecked transport, retrieving two bags of emergency supplies from the storage locker, tossing one to the large stallion. 
“Alright, so listen up,” began Hawk. “It’s going to be dark pretty soon, and the temperature is going to drop pretty fast, so I recommend finding some sort of shelter as soon as you can. As soon as it’s light out, try to make your way to Canterlot while keeping away from large cities. The Princess should be able to help you from there-”
For the second time that evening, Hawk found himself lifted off of the ground. The stallion had grabbed onto Hawk’s vest with his teeth, and now was carrying him deeper into the forest. Hawk sighed in exasperation. While it seemed clear that this stallion meant him no harm, he clearly did not want to part ways with Hawk. 
“Alright, we’ll do it your way,” grumbled Hawk petulantly. “This better not become a habit, though!”
“Heh, heh, heh…”
“DON’T LAUGH! YOU’RE CARRYING ME WITH YOUR MOUTH, YA BIG LUG!”



Seaddle, Downtown District, Equestria
7 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“Mr. Bird? Is everything alright?”
Hawk was jolted out of his memories by Starbolt’s hoof on his shoulder. The sounds of jubilant foals’ voices filled the air, accompanied by Tank’s distinctive chuckle. Hawk glanced over to the source of the sounds and saw that more foals had joined Tank and Sunstreak, and now they were using the large stallion as a jungle gym while he remained completely still, shaking only when he chuckled.
“Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry ‘bout that, just remembering some sh- some stuff,” replied Hawk, catching himself before he used strong language. 
“It’s alright,” smiled Starbolt. “I think there are times where we need to be in our own heads. Especially in times of stress…”
 “Yeah, no kidding,” chuckled Hawk, smiling as he watched a foal slide down Tank’s head with a jubilant yell. 
“Well, I’m sure you’re anxious to get going, so I’ll just go and tell Sunstreak-” began Starbolt. 
“Let him be,” interrupted Hawk gently. 
“What? Are you sure?” asked Starbolt in confusion. “You seemed anxious to be on your way before.”
“Life is too short and far too cruel,” replied Hawk. “Moments like this are often few and far between. They should be cherished and embraced, and not rushed along for material things. He’s honestly and truly happy right now, so let him hold onto that feeling. After what he’s been through, little brother deserves it.”
“Cousin.”
“Hmm?”
“He’s my cousin.”
“Oh… Yeah… Him too…”

Seaddle, Downtown District, Equestria
7 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Rat could barely breathe through the artificial haze wafting from the dancefloor of the club. Synthetic drumbeats threatened to pound a hole through his brain as he attempted to drink his overpriced cider. He’d seen less haze and flashes of light during the intense fight at Pier 39 all those years before, and honestly that was preferable to what he faced now. Mares and stallions moved in time with the synthetic beat below on the dance floor, where Cloak was trying and failing to chat up mares. Phantasm was at the bar, watching over Clover as she proceeded to weep over a pile of ale mugs taller than she was. 
Rat sighed, picking up his drink and moving over to where Clover was weeping obnoxiously in the corner. Something told him that if he ignored it any longer, there would be a bigger mess to clean up later. 
“I just don’t get it, Phanny!” slurred Clover. “What does he see in that green-eyed, red-maned tart? What does she have that I don’t?”
“I think all he sees is an aggravation, Meadows,” replied Phantasm, before leaning in and whispering. “First off, use the fake identities or I’m taking you back to the room. Second, you don’t call me ‘Phanny’. Ever.”
“Sorry, Ph- Wispy…” hiccupped Clover. “It’s just… It’s so hard, y’know? I was there first, and this Vietmanese bitch swoops in and steals his attention like nothing! I mean, am I not pretty enough? Does he think I’m ugly or something? Am I ugly or something?”
“You’re fine, Meadows,” sighed Phantasm. “You’re not ugly.”
“You’re- you’re just sayin’ that!” slurred Clover as she slammed down another cider. “You’re not even into mares! You’re just saying that to make me feel better! BOSS! Am I pretty, Boss?”
Rat groaned internally as Clover turned her drunken attentions onto him, knocking several mugs off of the bar in the process. Honestly, Rat had never seen anyone so far gone in his life. Her eyes were bloodshot from tears and alcohol as she wobbled in place. Her makeup was smeared all down her cheeks, honestly giving her the appearance of a giant green raccoon. 
“You’re fine, Meadows,” sighed Rat. “You’re not ugly.”
“But am I pretty enough for you to- y’know…” slurred Clover, making motions with her hooves. 
“Meadows, you are a beautiful young mare with plenty of life ahead of her,” replied Rat placatingly. “Plus, there’s a reason why Willow has been hovering over you all evening. She’s had to chase away stallions with a stick because of you.”
“R-really?” asked Clover. 
“Absolutely,” grinned Rat. “So keep your chin up. It’s not over yet.” 
“Thankss, Boss,” smiled Clover. “Y’know, you’re kinda cute yourself. You should find a nice mare tonight. Show her a good time.”
“Well, uh-” began Rat.
“Unless you’re into stallions,” slurred Clover. “Nothing wrong with that. Stallions are cute. Ask any of us mares! Well, maybe not fillyfoolers, but y’know what I mean...”
“No, it’s not that, it’s-” stuttered Rat, trying to come up with an explanation. 
“Oh, you’ve got a special somepony in mind, don’cha Boss?” giggled Clover. 
“No, it’s-”
“Shush shush shush, no worries, Boss,” reassured Clover. “Your secret’s safe with me. You’re lucky ‘cause I already don’ remember this…”
“I-” 
“Oh, Hoxy,” slurred Clover. “I knew you had a massive transmitter down there… C’mere an’ interface me, ya hunk...”
And with a loud belch and a sigh, Clover collapsed into her pile of mugs, snoring soundly.
“...What the damn hell…” groaned Rat.
“Orders?” asked Phantasm. 
“Get her back to the hotel,” replied Rat with a sigh. “I’ll cover her tab. Just make sure she doesn’t die tonight, and that Hox never hears of this.”
“Hox never hears about it anyway,” smirked Phantasm. “You could slap him with Clover right now, and he’d go back to fiddling with his motors and cogs.”
“No one is that oblivious,” snorted Rat before frowning slightly. “...You’ve had something to drink tonight, haven’t you?”
“Only a few ciders,” replied Phantasm with a grin. “How’d you know?”
“I don’t think I’ve heard you say more than thirty words before this,” smirked Rat. 
“Perhaps I don’t usually have much to say, Boss,” chuckled Phantasm. “Much easier shooting things when you’re not having to worry about small talk.”
“Maybe so, but it wouldn’t hurt to speak up every once in a while when we aren’t on the job,” replied Rat. 
“I’ll keep that in mind,” replied Phantasm as she hoisted Clover over her shoulder. “Hope you find your mare tonight, Boss.”
“She’s not my-” protested Rat. 
“Shush,” interrupted Phantasm, before vanishing.
Rat sat in silence for a moment, sighing as he turned back to his cider. As much as he hated to admit it, perhaps his team was right about Daring. It might not be a long-lasting relationship, but there were definitely some sparks the last time he saw her. And then those photos…
Rat sighed as he ordered another cider. It was a moot point, considering that she was probably off in some distant corner of the world, crawling through cramped dungeons or swinging across snake-filled chasms. Besides, she probably wasn’t even looking to have any sort of fling, much less with him. He glanced over to see Cloak approaching, a convincing fake grin on his face. 
“I guess Clover went a bit too hard tonight, eh Boss?” chuckled Cloak. “I will admit that she can put away more alcohol than any of the rest of us, excluding Tank.”
“Civilian names, Broadcloth,” chided Rat. “I’m guessing you didn’t have any luck on the dance floor?”
“Well, yes and no…” admitted Cloak, glancing away sheepishly. 
“‘Yes and no?’” repeated Rat. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh what’s the frigging use?” sighed Cloak as he slumped into Clover’s abandoned pile of mugs. “Bartender, keep ‘em coming. I’m going to be drowning my sorrows tonight!”
“Bit for your thoughts?” smirked Rat. 
“It’s all pointless, this little game we play out on the dance floor, hoping to find love, but only finding cheap booze and even cheaper whoopie…” groaned Cloak. 
“Get shot down?” asked Rat sympathetically. 
“No, worse than that,” sighed Cloak. “I shot them down…”
“Hmm? Why would you do that?” asked Rat in confusion. 
“...You’d laugh at me…” muttered Cloak.
“...You’re still on about her, aren’t you?” asked Rat. 
“It’s been four years, Rat,” sighed Cloak. “And we only knew each other for a few hours… How was she able to get under my skin like that, Boss?”
“Mares really have a knack for that, don’t they?” sighed Rat. 
Cloak groaned, burying his head underneath the mugs. Rat sighed sympathetically, patting the stallion’s shoulder. Crystal Rose has really made an impact on Cloak, as much as he’d denied it at first. It had not distracted him yet during a job, and he denied it vocally for years, but in quiet moments like this, it was as plain as day. Out of the corner of his eye, Rat noticed a mare approach the bar. 
“Go away, miss,” mumbled Cloak. “There’s only one mare worth heartache in my life.”
“Still don’t know how to speak to a lady, do you?” quipped a familiar voice. “And not even so much as a letter in four years! What am I going to do with you, fly boy?”
Cloak sat upright immediately, whipping around to look at the mare. Crystal Rose had certainly grown up a fair bit since the last time they’d seen her. Her crimson mane flowed in a loose and gentle style down to her shoulders, and her eyes still sparkled with mischief even as they glimmered with joy. Cloak’s jaw seemed to be permanently locked open as he stared in shock. Rat cleared his throat, attempting to break the ice.
“Good to see you again, Miss Rose,” greeted Rat. “How’s your father doing?” 
“Fairly well,” smiled Rose. “He sends his best to you and your crew. I must admit that I’m a little cross with him for not mentioning that you’d all be in town this evening.”
“It was a rather short-notice plan,” chuckled Rat. 
“Indeed,” smirked Rose, glancing at Cloak. “I don’t suppose you’re busy this evening?”
“Hah?” articulated Cloak. 
“Well, I was hoping to go for a walk through Hoofmeyer Park, and Daddy would kill me if I went this late at night all by myself,” teased Rose. “Maybe you’d be able to escort me?”
“Uh... Yeah… Yeah, of course!” replied Cloak. 
“Wonderful!” replied Rose as she took Cloak by the arm. “You’ll have to regale me with all the adventures you had that kept you from writing a letter all these years…”
Rat chuckled as the mare led Cloak to the door, the poor stallion still in a somewhat stupefied condition. Despite being alone in this hellhole of light, sound, and smoke, Rat was happy that Cloak was able to reunite with the mare that he’d been thinking about for so long. Hopefully, everything went well for the two of them tonight. If only something like that could happen for him…
“Hey there, soldier,” a familiar voice chuckled. “Buy a mare a drink?” 
Rat turned to find Daring Do approaching the bar in a white silk cocktail dress, her trademark smirk firmly in place. Rat grinned as he motioned the bartender to pour a drink for Daring. 
“You know, normally I don’t accept drinks from strange stallions, but I’ll make an exception for you if you tell me your name,” smirked Daring. 
“Call me Eagle Eye,” replied Rat with a grin. “At least for now.”
“Daring Do,” smiled Daring, her eyes dancing with mischief as she played off of Rat’s banter. “Yes, that Daring Do.”
“Daring Do, huh?” chuckled Rat. “I might have heard a few things…”
“If they’re naughty, they’re right…” grinned Daring, before chuckling lightly. “Alright, enough banter. Any more and I think I’d gag.”
“Indeed,” smiled Rat.  “You look good,”
“Thanks for noticing,” smirked Daring. “It’s not as form-fitting as that flight suit you gave me, but I think it’s more socially acceptable.”
“Yeah, probably for the best,” blushed Rat, remembering the photos of Daring in said flightsuit. 
“Aw, did you not like the pictures I sent?” teased Daring. 
“Well… yes, I did…” stuttered Rat. “Problem is, a few others noticed as well, and I got into a bit of hot water for that…” 
“Don’t tell me you were passing those photos around…” smirked Daring. 
“More accurate to say that I wasn’t the first to see them…” 
This caught Daring off-guard as she choked on her drink, blushing slightly. 
“So what have you been up to?” asked Rat, taking a swig of his drink. “Raid any dark crypts recently?”
“Writing, actually, if you can believe it,” sighed Daring. “Met a publisher in Ponyville that encouraged me to write about my adventures and a few months and far too many cups of tea later, ‘A.K. Yearling’ is a well-established author.”
“Really?” asked Rat, thinking back to Prose’s cover story in Ponyville. “Any chance of getting a signed copy?”
“Play your cards right, and I might sign the original manuscripts for you,” winked Daring.
The two drank in relative silence. If Rat wanted to take a chance, now would probably be the only time. It seemed all of his comrades had chosen to be happy, so why couldn’t he? There was no rule forbidding it. Hell, the fact that she was a Wonderbolt Reservist didn’t even matter. Rat cleared his throat. 
“So…” began Rat hesitantly, heart pounding in his ears. “I don’t suppose you’ve run into any handsome adventurers in your travels, then?”
“Actually, I have,” grinned Daring. 
Rat choked on his drink, coughing as he tried to clear his throat. Even from what he knew of Daring, that was shockingly blunt, and while he appreciated her candor in the matter, it still hurt like a knife in the back. Attempting to put on a brave face in spite of the sinking feeling in his gut, Rat cleared his throat.
“Oh… I see,” replied Rat. “That’s… good to hear. Any of them stand out from the rest?”
“Actually, it’s only really been one so far,” smirked Daring. “He’s definitely good-looking, very smart, charming, and he’s got a damn fine flank.”
“I… see…”
“Heck, it’s been a while since I’ve seen him, and hot damn he looks good! Oh the things I’d do with him if I ever got him in the sack…” chuckled Daring. 
“Oh, so you haven’t-” 
“No, unfortunately,” sighed Daring wistfully. “But damn, do I want to… You know what the sexiest thing about him is?”
“No…”
“He’s humble.”
Rat said nothing, instead staring at Daring in shock. 
“Even after everything I just told you about, he’s humble,” explained Daring, smiling wistfully. “He’s not putting on an act or anything. He’s genuinely kind and caring, and he’s fiercely loyal to those he cares about, even as the world crumbles around him.”
“He sounds… perfect…” choked Rat. “Honestly, a mare like you deserves nothing less.”
“Thanks...” beamed Daring. “That’s very sweet of you to say.”
“It’s true,” replied Rat. “You’re a wonderful mare, Daring. You deserve to be happy, and I hope you enjoy that happiness tonight.”
“Oh, believe me I intend to…” grinned Daring as she finished her drink. “So, your hotel room, or are we heading back to my place?”
Rat stared in shock at Daring for the second time that evening. All emotion seemed to drain from him as his mind went completely blank. 
“...what?” croaked Rat. 
“What do you mean ‘what’?” laughed Daring. “I’m asking if we’re doing it in your hotel room or if you’d be willing to endure the cluttered mess and squeaky bed at my place for the sake of privacy. What’s to be confused about?” 
“No, I know that, but- me?” spluttered Rat.
“Of course you!” laughed Daring. “Who’d ya think I was talking about before? Some hunky Istallion pegasus with a long mane and muscles the size of my head?”
“...Oh,” articulated Rat. “Wow...”
“I mean, are you actually interested?” asked Daring, a hint of uncertainty slipping into her voice. “I was just going off of before, but if you’re not-”
“Oh no, believe me, I am!” interrupted Rat. “I just- wow…”
“Guess we’re going to my place, then,” snickered Daring. “Seems like you’d end up wandering around the bay trying to find your hotel right now.”
“With eyes like those, can you blame me for getting lost?” grinned Rat. 
“Pffft! You’re awful!” laughed Daring, smacking Rat with her wing. “Alright, let’s get out of here before you start serenading me in the moonlight, Casanova.”
“Sounds good to me,” grinned Rat. 
“One last thing, though,” smirked Daring. “I’m going to be on top.”
Rat smirked, discarding a verbal reply for a passionate and enthusiastic kiss. Daring jumped in surprise before diving right into the kiss, matching Rat with equal passion and a hint of ferocity. After a minute and several prolonged stares, some shocked, some disgusted, and some approving, the two broke apart, gasping for breath as their hearts raced. Rat grinned as he tossed a bag of bits onto the bar to pay the tab, taking Daring by the hoof. 
“I’m sure we can negotiate that point,” whispered Rat. 
“Less talking,” growled Daring playfully. “More leaving.”
And with that, Rat took flight after Daring, gliding through the night sky as the two of them laughed breathlessly. Looking up at the moon, Rat briefly wondered how Cloak was doing with the mare that had haunted him for so long. He shook the thought away with a smile, because while he couldn’t say for sure how he did, Rat knew that those two were doing just fine...

Seaddle, Hoofmeyer Park, Equestria
7 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Cloak felt the night air deep in his lungs as he chased after the mare who had haunted his dreams for the past few years. Rose’s laughter echoed in his ears, the beautiful unicorn mare giving a smile filled with joy and mischief. Cloak found himself unable to tell whether this was real or if it was a dream, as the laughter was indistinguishable from the sound that served as the backdrop for countless blissful dreams over the years. If this was a dream, Cloak never wanted to wake up again.
“Come on, slowpoke!” teased Rose as she rounded the corner through the gate. “I thought you’d be more fit, thanks to your line of work!”
“It’s hard to move when you’re trying to figure out whether you’re dreaming or not,” countered Cloak with a grin. 
As he rounded the corner, Cloak suddenly found himself face to face with Rose as she kissed him passionately. Any witty lines or snappy retorts or clever jokes came crashing down in an instant as Cloak became lost in the kiss. Her lips were impossibly soft, and the faint floral scent of her perfume made his head spin. Cloak drank in the kiss eagerly, but soon found naught but empty air. Confused, Cloak looked up at Rose, sitting a dozen feet away on a nearby fountain. 
“Still need to catch me first,” teased Rose, taking off in a brisk run. 
Cloak grinned, immediately taking flight. Gliding fast and low, Cloak quickly caught up to Rose, catching her in his arms as she gave a delighted squeal and laughed. They tumbled to the ground, both laughing as they landed in the grass. Cloak kissed Rose gently on the nose, eliciting another giggle from the mare as she bopped Cloak lightly on his nose.
“You cheated,” huffed Rose playfully, her eyes dancing with mischief.
“I am a mercenary, ma’am,” grinned Cloak. “We do like to play dirty.”
“One can only hope…” smirked Rose, leaning forward and playfully biting Cloak’s ear gently. 
Cloak felt his knees go wobbly as the beautiful mare nibbled behind his ear. She stopped moments before his knees gave way, and Cloak found himself falling blissfully. At least, until he hit the ground. A ringing laugh from a nearby tree branch signaled where Rose had teleported to, where she waved flirtily from a low-hanging branch. 
“Now who’s cheating?” grinned Cloak.
“I am the daughter of a mob boss,” teased Rose. “We also know a few things about playing dirty.”
“Then I guess we’re even, eh?” chuckled Cloak. 
“Hmmm…” mused Rose playfully. “Nah, you still need to catch me.”
With that, Rose teleported back to the ground and bolted deeper into the park, laughing as she did so. Cloak grinned and quickly followed, gliding after the mare that had haunted his dreams for so long.



Seaddle, Pacific Palisades, Equestria
7 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“So, this is nice…” observed Arclight as he glanced around the restaurant. 
Dagger merely nodded. It was one of the nicer establishments in Seaddle, recommended by Fine Print when they’d arrived earlier in the day. The decor of the room was elegant without being overly formal, allowing for a relaxed and civilized dining atmosphere. However, Dagger could only feel her pulse pounding in her ears.
“You know, Dagger, if you keep staring at the table like that, you’re going to burn a hole in it,” teased Arclight gently.
“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” hissed Dagger. “This was foolish-”
“Then let’s be foolish together,” replied Arclight. “Tell me what’s wrong, Dagger. Talk to me.”
“I swore I’d never let myself be vulnerable like this again!” growled Dagger. 
“Then let me help you, Dagger,” replied Arclight. “I’m here now, and I’m sure as hell not leaving without you.”
Dagger sighed as Arclight watched her with concern. 
“You’ve heard the story about my parents, right?” asked Dagger resignedly. 
“Not from you, but yes, I have,” replied Arclight. “I know that your village was on the border of the Griffin Kingdom.”
“We watched wave after wave of Sky Wings descend upon the village, hunting the Scale Guard without discrimination,” explained Dagger, a haunted look in her eyes even as her expression remained resolute…



Rockport, Upper Steppes, Equestria
20 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Silver Bolt opened her eyes, and felt nothing but pain as she coughed ash from her lungs. 
“Silvy!” Bright cheered as he embraced his twin. “You’re alright! Thank the Princess, you’re alright!” 
“Bright?” asked Silver. “What happened? Where’s Mom? What about Dad? Where are we?”
“We’re under the stairs…” began Bright hesitantly. “I managed to reach Dad’s knife in time… The griffin is outside… Rest of the house was collapsing, so I pulled you in here and hoped that the stone steps would hold…”
Silver sighed in relief. “Thanks, Bobo,” smiled Silver. “So where are Mom and Dad?”
“...Silv, I think we should get some rest,” replied Bright uncomfortably, moving to block the closet door.
“...Bobo? Where’s Mom and Dad?” asked Silver hesitantly
“Silvy please, you hit your head hard on that beam, you should rest right no-” began Bright quickly. 
“Bright Side, where are Mom and Dad?” repeated Silver frantically, her heart racing. “Are they hurt?”
“Silvy, please re-” urged Bright. 
“MOM! DAD!” Silver called out desperately, bolting toward the broken closet door. 
“SILVER, WAIT!” cried Bright. “DON’T LOOK-”
Silver froze as her brother’s warning reached her too late. They were there. Seven feet from the door lay her parents. They could easily have been sleeping. They looked peaceful in each other’s arms. For a moment, Silver believed that everything was alright. For a moment, she believed that she could call out to them, and they’d get up and pull away the fallen rafter, and they’d embrace as a family again.
But there was something wrong. Silver’s gut could instantly tell there was something very wrong. Something seemed off about the way Mom rested her head on Dad’s chest. Dad wasn’t snoring, the silent afternoon air only disturbed by the sound of creaking ruins around them. Why wasn’t Bright doing anything to move the debris? Why were Mom and Dad not moving? And why was Dad’s face turned away from Mom?
“M-mom?” asked Silver hesitantly. “D-dad? Wake up… P-please, you gotta wake up…”
“...Silv…” choked Bright. “...Please get away from the door…”
“Come on, Mom!” begged Silver. “You gotta get up! Wake Dad up!”
“...Silv…”
“Come on! Wake up! You gotta wake-”
And that’s when it happened. That terrible moment of fate. The floorboards beneath their father shifted, causing his head to swing back toward their mother. The horrible truth was revealed. Daddy’s head... Where was the rest of Daddy’s head?
“D-daddy?” asked Silver, desperately not wanting to believe. “Daddy?!”
“...Sil, please,” begged Bright.
“DADDY!” screamed Silver, her anguish piercing the night like a white-hot brand as her world shattered irreparably around her. “DADDY! MOMMY! NO! PLEASE! DADDY! PLEASE! MOMMY!”
“I’m sorry, Silv!” blubbered Bright as he held his sister close, weeping. “I’m so sorry, Silv! I’m sorry! It’s my fault, Silv! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”
There were no words. No thoughts. Nothing. Nothing but anguish. Grief. Pain. Sorrow. Silver screamed and wept as she held her brother, only his words of “I’m sorry” echoing in her ears. 



Seaddle, Pacific Palisades, Equestria
7 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“Gods above, Dagger…” breathed Arclight. “I… I had no idea…”
“...I’m fine, Arc,” protested Dagger, even as tears flowed freely down her face. “It was years ago. I’ve mourned over them plenty of nights. I survived. I found a family again. I found you. It’s just-”
“-you’re afraid of losing someone that close again,” mused Arclight. 
Dagger looked up at Arclight. She found herself unable to speak, but it didn’t matter. No words were needed. The two sat in silence, Arclight holding onto Dagger’s hoof gently. A weight had lifted from Dagger’s heart, leaving only an empty space behind. Dagger held onto Arclight’s hoof for dear life, as though letting go would set her adrift in the abyss. 
“I know what it’s like to lose someone close,” began Arclight. “Watched my dad get himself killed about a week before I was found.”
“I… I didn’t know, Arc…” replied Dagger. 
“No, don’t worry about it,” protested Arclight. “It was his own fault for trying to open a medical clinic in Coltenhagen.”
Dagger’s eyes widened at the mention of the corrupt city. The Princess herself had declared the city to be “lawless beyond hope”, and so left it to fester into a cesspool of greed and avarice. The city was filled with violence and malice for as long as anyone could remember, but no one alive knew why. 
“Ironically, the gangs wanted him alive,” snorted Arclight. “He provided a vital service to all sides, and his only rule was that his clinic was a neutral ground. But the crime wars broke out, and the whole city went to hell… That’s where I was found, actually. In the aftermath of my father’s clinic burning down.”



Coltenhagen, South Slums, Denmare
19 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Fires still burned as spells rang out through the night air. The usual screams of the helpless were accompanied by the dying and dismembered, but Coltenhagen cared little for the gang wars that raged within it. Murder, rape, and robbery still occurred as though nothing was going wrong in the city. No one seemed to care that enforcers from every criminal empire in Coltenhagen were slaughtering each other by the score. It was simply another layer of sin on the orchestra of discord and corruption that was the city’s lifeblood. 
For Arclight, it meant even less in the face of what he’d witnessed the previous week. He could still hear his father’s words echoing in his ears as he pulled his makeshift blanket around him closer to drive the chill from his bones. Given how his father had died, those words seemed a slap in the face now.
Help others. Bring light to darkness.
Even when dying, his father had still clung to that foolhardy belief that brought them here to the deepest hive of scum and villainy on the entire planet. Probably one of the best qualities about his father was his idealism, even in the face of utter depravity and corruption. It didn’t matter that nothing changed in spite of all he did each day, just as long as he made a difference in at least one life. 
Arclight sighed as he stirred the pan of soup that looked less appetizing than the water in the long-since clogged rain gutters. It was all he had at the moment, and he’d be using it on a complete stranger. Still, a promise to a father carried a lot of weight, even a dead one. Even if this stallion could potentially-
“I’LL KILL YOU, FIEND!” bellowed the strange stallion as he rose to his hooves, glancing around wildly. 
Arc nearly dropped the bowl of soup as the stallion turned his gaze on him, eyes narrowing sharply. The azure stallion surveyed his surroundings carefully, taking careful note of his bandages.
“You’ve bandaged my wounds,” stated the stallion impassively. “Why?”
“Well, I didn’t see much way around it, since I couldn’t have you bleeding all over the nice carpet,” quipped Arclight instinctively.
“Amusing,” grumbled the stallion, rolling his eyes. “But I won’t ask twice: Why help me? What do you hope to gain?” 
“Keeping a promise for a damn fool who brought his only son to the scummiest place on this damn planet just so he could ‘bring light to darkness’,” sighed Arclight. 
“Your father?” guessed the stallion.
“If you can call him that now,” replied Arclight.
“And what do I call you?” asked the stallion.
“Arclight,” replied Arclight briskly. “And you?”
“You may call me Moon,” replied the stallion. “You are quite skilled in healing for someone your age, Arclight.”
“Learned from dear old Dad,” sighed Arclight as he gave Moon the soup. 
“Hmm…” mused Moon. “So you’re a medic, then?”
“I guess I am,” chuckled Arclight.
“Are you afraid of heights?”asked Moon cryptically.
“Um, no?”
“Good. Breathe deeply.”
“What?” asked Arclight before descending into darkness with a cloud of green.
**************************************************************
“He’s a medic, sir,” explained Moon as Arclight regained consciousness. “One of the best I’ve seen in years. I’d have bled out if it wasn’t for him.” 
“And since Saw retired, you feel as though recruiting an experienced field medic should be a priority?” countered an unfamiliar stallion. 
“Absolutely,” replied Moon. “Stratus agrees with me on that, and he is one of our best tacticians.” 
“I don’t disagree with either of you, but you’re sure this colt can handle this life?”
“He was surviving alone on the streets of Coltenhagen, sir,” countered Moon. “He’s got the right stuff.” 
“It was for a week, and there was a gang war going on as well,” piped up Arclight. 
Both of the other stallions jumped in surprise and alarm. Arclight couldn’t be sure, but he swore that he saw a glimmer of approval in Moon’s eyes. The other stallion seemed a bit more wary, carefully regarding Arclight. 
“Well, I figured as long as my fate was being discussed, I should probably speak up on my own behalf,” quipped Arclight. “I mean, this is probably one of those, ‘join or die” things, right? So, I figure it’d be in my best interest to convince you to take me aboard.”
“You’re very clever for your age,” mused the stallion. “What is your name?”
“Arclight, sir, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep it,” replied Arclight. 
“Oh? And why would that be?” asked the stallion.
“Just something to remember my father by,” replied Arclight. “He always told me ‘keep moving forward, but remember where you came from, lest you wander in circles’.”
“Wise words,” chuckled the stallion. “Very well, I’ll allow it. You may call me Dante, Arclight. Welcome to the Shadowbolts.”
“Thank you, sir,” replied Arclight, glancing out into the hallway where a beautiful grey pegasus mare watched in silence. “I think I’m going to like it here…”



Seaddle, Pacific Palisades, Equestria
7 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“Even back then, Arc?” asked Dagger as soon as she found her voice. “Even after all you saw and all the pain you felt, you still-”
“Yeah,” replied Arclight. “...Yeah, I guess I did. Even after being in the deepest pit of corruption and avarice, I still managed to get a crush on a beautiful young mare with stunning eyes.”
“But why?” asked Dagger. “Why open yourself up to such pain?”
“Because I couldn’t consider myself alive if I did,” replied Arclight. “Sure, my heart would keep on beating, and I’d still be breathing, but I wouldn’t be truly living. Life is full of great pain and great joy, but it is also all too brief. There isn’t enough of it to sit as a passive observer.” 
There were no words as Dagger lifted Arclight out of his seat to kiss him desperately. Tears streamed down her face as she gripped Arclight for dear life. Arclight returned the kiss with a reassuring touch that conveyed the gentlest strength. After only a moment, Dagger broke away, her expression having returned to a semblance of normalcy. 
“Pay the bill and get the food to go,” sighed Dagger with the ghost of a smile as she reached for her coat. 
“But our drinks haven’t even-” began Arclight, but froze.
The look that Dagger gave Arclight invited no arguments, but promised so much more. Arclight sat transfixed for a few moments, before clearing his throat. 
“Uh, check please?” asked Arclight. 

Seaddle, Hoofmeyer Park, Equestria
7 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Cloak sighed as he stared up at the stars, the Mare in the Moon watching from on high. Rose lay next to him on the grassy knoll, smiling gently as she held Cloak’s hoof. They had ran through the park until they collapsed into the grass, where the sounds of the city were far from their minds as they gazed upon the night sky. 
“So who won?” chuckled Cloak, glancing over at the beautiful mare beside him. 
“I did,” smirked Rose, rolling into Cloak’s arms and snuggling closer to his chest. “Rawr. I caught you.”
“Oh, no, whatever shall I do?” laughed Cloak. 
“Be mine,” countered Rose, burying her face into Cloak’s chest. 
Cloak laughed gently, nuzzling the top of Rose’s head. He could feel her heartbeat against his chest as he wrapped his wing protectively around her, attempting to keep the chill of the night air at bay. Every breath was filled with the sweet scent of her mane, making Cloak’s head spin as his mind became wrapped in sweet intoxication. Even now, as he held the mare that had haunted him for so long in his arms, Cloak wondered if this was all a dream, and that he’d wake up the next day at the hotel, hung over from a night of drinking to oblivion. Looking up at the Mare in the Moon, Cloak made a silent prayer to never wake up from this dream.
“Y’know, I’ve looked up at the night sky so many times back home, and I don’t think I’ve ever really noticed how beautiful it was until now,” sighed Cloak. 
“... It really is…” whispered Rose quietly. 
“So many stars,” smiled Cloak. “Like a tapestry of lights…”
“... It is…” choked Rose, burying her face into Cloak’s shoulder.
“Rose? What’s wrong?” asked Cloak, immediately concerned.
“Sorry, no, it’s fine,” protested Rose, even as tears streamed down her face. “Please don’t let me ruin the moment. Oh gods, I’ve waited years for this moment and now-”
Cloak didn’t say a word, instead wrapping his wings around Rose in a reassuring embrace. Rose’s resolve to not cry broke in an instant, and the unicorn mare wept into Cloak’s shoulder without restraint. Rose gripped Cloak as though she might shatter the moment that she let go, sobbing freely. Cloak hummed a soft melody into Rose’s ear, gently rocking her back and forth as her muffled sobs continued. Eventually, Rose’s sobs died down, but Cloak continued to hold her in his arms, wings wrapped around her securely. 
“... I’m sorry, Cloak,” choked Rose. sniffling slightly. “I didn’t mean to-”
“Shh…” whispered Cloak. “It’s alright. Don’t apologize. Everyone cries. I’m sorry for making you cry-”
“No, it wasn’t you,” protested Rose firmly, even as her voice broke from her prior sobbing. “I… I was just remembering… My mother and I used to watch the stars all the time, ever since I was a filly. She was an astronomer for the Princess, but she’d retired shortly after having me. We’d go up to a small cabin in the woods every few months and watch the night sky, and she’d teach me about every star and constellation we saw… But now…”
“Shh…” whispered Cloak reassuringly. “It’s okay to cry, Rosie. You don’t have to put on a brave face for me.”
“I’ve never really talked about this with anypony,” whispered Rose, burying her face into Cloak’s chest. “Not even the nightmares… for a while, all I could see is the day that she died to protect me…”
“Oh, sweet Celestia…” breathed Cloak. “I had no idea… Rose, I-”
“No, it’s okay,” replied Rose. “It’s been years. Honestly, I should be fine by now, but-”
“No, Rosie,” interrupted Cloak. “There’s no ‘should be fine by now’ about it. It was a trauma for you. And it’s one that’s not easy to dismiss or forget, believe me.”
“What do you mean?” asked Rose. 
“... I lost my parents, too…” replied Cloak. “Griffin-Drake War. We lived in one of the colonies on the border, just outside the city… Mom and Dad were killed by a falling support beam trying to reach me and Dagger. It’s been over a decade, and there are days where it still hurts like the day after it happened...”
“Cloak…” breathed Rose. “I’m so sorry…”
“It’s alright, Rosie,” sighed Cloak, pulling her closer. “I get by.”
“How?” asked Rose. “I only lost one parent, and I can barely get up every morning. How?”
“Well, it honestly goes back to that awful night, trapped under the stairs,” began Cloak. 



Rockport, Upper Steppes, Equestria
20 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Bright Side held his sister close as she continued to sob. It had been hours since she had learned of their parents’ fate, but she still continued to weep. Bright was at a loss. Between the deaths of his parents and Silver Bolt’s descent into grief, he had no clue what to do now. 
“Hey, Silv,” began Bright. “Remember what Mom always sang to us when we were little?”
Silver Bolt didn’t move. Her sobs had subsided to a grim silence, but she remained hunched over. 
“Smile,” sang Bright softly, his voice breaking slightly, “though your heart is aching...”
Silver turned her head away, whimpering slightly. Fresh tears streamed down her face, but she was able to keep from sobbing. Bright cleared his throat, struggling to remember the words that he’d heard countless times after nightmares or foalhood injuries.
“Smile,” continued Bright haltingly, his sobs making the phrases uneven despite the notes somehow ringing true, “even though it’s breaking…”
Silver made no move to silence him. Creaking beams and distant fires were the only other sounds that broke what would be deathly silence. Bright continued to sing softly, even as tears streamed down his face.
“When there are clouds in the sky,”  choked Bright, “you’ll get by… if you smile through your fear and sorrow…Smile, and maybe tomorrow… You’ll see the sun come shining through…”
 Fond memories of foalhood returned with every note, and Bright found his voice failing him as happy moments replayed in his mind. Silver’s first flight. Races through the clouds with their father. Lessons and stories with their mother. Fishing trips. Birthdays. Ghosts of the past seemed to grip Bright’s throat as he realized that countless more happy moments had been stolen from him and Silver. He swallowed hard, attempting to push past the newfound lump in his throat. He had to continue. 
“...for you…” sobbed Bright. 
Silver squirmed out of Bright’s grip, moving to the back corner. Bright continued to sing, his voice growing stronger even as sobs shook his body. 
“Light up your face with gladness...” gulped Bright. “Hide every trace of sadness... Although a tear may be ever so near…”
Silver didn’t move. Bright moved closer, determined to lift his sister’s spirits. 
“That’s the time you must keep on trying…” continued Bright.
Silver shut her eyes tighter, turning away from Bright again. 
“Smile, what’s the use of crying? 
“You’ll find that life is still worthwhile…”
In spite of all that had happened that day, Bright began to grin, even as tears streamed down his face. What was the use in crying, anyhow? All it did was waste time and energy, pulling you down as despair sinks into the cracks of your heart. It would be enough to drive anypony to madness. So then why did so many ponies go down that line of thought, only to end it all too soon? Why not choose happiness instead, and cling to whatever light you could find? The only one capable of taking a smile away is the pony himself, so why not just keep it around? If only Silver could see that as well… 
“...If you’ll just-” began Bright.  
“-think I heard something in here,” murmured a voice outside before calling out. “Hello? Is anyone still alive in here?”
Salvation. Another living soul. There was someone outside. Someone who could help them. Bright grinned jubilantly, opening his mouth. 
“WE’RE H-mmmph!” began Bright, before being tackled to the ground. 
“Are you stupid?!” hissed Silver. “How do you know that they aren’t going to kill us?!”
“They would have killed us already!” protested Bright. “IN HERE!”
“Tartarus, there’s somepony still alive,” swore the voice. “Rookie! Get your big friend in here!”
“Got it!” replied another voice. “Alright Big Guy, do your thing!” 
There was a grunt, a blood-chilling roar, and the sudden protesting squeaks of wood against wood. A pegasus stallion in a black and purple flightsuit stepped into view, peering through the haze. 
“Keep talking!” barked the stallion. “Where are you, kid?”
“Under the stairs!” called out Bright, tears of relief streaming down his face as he felt himself begin to laugh. “Thank Celestia! There’s a beam blocking the door!”
“I see it!” exclaimed the stallion. “Are you hurt?” 
“No, we’re fine!” replied Bright. “My sister is a bit shaken up, but we’re not bleeding!”
“...son of a bitch…” muttered the stallion, having found the bodies of Bright and Silver’s parents. He cleared his throat and called out. “Hey, kid? What’s your name?”
“Bright Side!” replied Bright. “I’m here with my sister, Silver Bolt!”
“Ok, Bright?” continued the stallion. “We’re gonna get you out of there, just give us a second to make sure the building doesn’t collapse-”
“Don’t bother,” spat Silver. “We’ve already seen their bodies. Don’t waste your damn time.”
“...Alright, kid… Just keep yourself and your brother away from the door...” murmured the stallion. “Tank? Break it down.”
A humongous hoof smashed through the middle of the door, gripping the knob before pulling the whole door off of its hinges. A younger pegasus stallion walked through the breach, helping Bright and Silver to their hooves. Silver pushed the stallion away, her eyes flashing in anger. 
“I can walk without your hooves!” snarled Silver. “Touch me again, and we’ll find out if you can do the same!”
The older stallion chuckled. “Watch yourself, Hawk,” warned the older stallion. “She’s sharp as a knife.” 
“Oh stuff it, Razor,” groused Hawk. “We’re not even getting paid for this shit!”
Bright began to laugh. It didn’t matter what storms lay ahead of him. He’d keep on smiling. No one could take that away from him, no matter what they did. Even if it went away for a short while, he’d find a way to smile even through the deepest pits of Tartarus. He’d smile all the way to the grave if he had to. All he had to do now was find a way for his sister to do the same...
“...Smile…” 



Seaddle, Hoofmeyer Park, Equestria
7 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Rose stared up at Cloak, tears brimming in her eyes. It seemed as though she wanted to speak, but her voice had abandoned her. Cloak cleared his throat as he wiped away a few tears from the corner of his eye.
“Since then, I’ve always tried to look at the bright side of life,” concluded Cloak. “I took the words of that song to heart, because sometimes all you’ll have is the smile on your face, but you gotta push through.”
There wasn’t a single word spoken. Rose tilted her head upwards suddenly to catch Cloak in a passionate, heartfelt kiss, tears streaming silently down her face. No words needed to be spoken. Through the pain and the sorrow, the two of them found a faint glimmering light within the darkness. After a moment that ended all too soon, they broke apart, Cloak smiling and beginning to hum as he held the mare to his chest, feeling her heartbeat against his. The notes of the song rang true as he hummed gently in his beloved’s ear. Rose sighed, smiling as she held Cloak. The moment felt right, in every possible way. If only it could last forever…
“We’re probably moving way too fast,” whispered Rose.
“Probably,” agreed Cloak. “Want to slow down?”
“Are you crazy?” smirked Rose. “You’re a mercenary out in the field, and I’m the daughter of a crime boss, next in line to take control once my father retires: we don’t exactly have a guarantee of a future, fly boy.”
“So that’s a ‘no’ to slowing down…” grinned Cloak. 
“You bet your ass it’s a ‘no’, fly boy,” winked Rose, leaning in to whisper in Cloak’s ear. “Besides, after you kept me waiting for four years, you and I have a lot of lost nights to make up for, mister…”
Cloak immediately turned bright red at the implications. Just to be sure that it wasn’t wishful thinking, Cloak glanced down to look at Rose and confirm what she said. From the look that she gave him, there was little doubt. Cloak cleared his throat.
“Are you sure about that, ma’am?” replied Cloak. “I mean, what would your father say?”
“‘About time, young Shadowbolt! I’m most disappointed that you kept my daughter waiting this long! That being said, don’t break her heart or I break your wings!’” replied Rose, mimicking her father’s accent. 
The two of them burst out laughing, as they had little doubt that the older stallion would say exactly that. Once again, the two fell into a comfortable silence as the night breeze gently brushed over them. 
“...So…” began Cloak. “...do we want to make up for lost time now, or…”
“In a minute,” whispered Rose. “Let’s enjoy this moment for a little while longer…”

?????, ?????, ???????
???? Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“Darling, they’re coming!”
“Why? We’ve done nothing wrong!”
“It doesn’t matter now! We need to get out of here!”
“Mom? Dad? What’s going on?”
“Falcon, we’re going to need to run. Some bad ponies are coming-”
“We’re out of time! They’re here!”
“Falcon! Remember what we taught you! You’re going to have to run without us!”
“OPEN THE DOOR! YOU ARE UNDER ARREST!”
“MOM! DAD!”
“RUN, FALCON!”



Seaddle, Whinney Ridge, Equestria
7 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Rat gasped as he awoke in a cold sweat, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Daring stirred slightly, but didn’t seem to wake. He sighed heavily, wiping sweat from his eyes. Celestia had not raised the sun yet, but the sky had already begun to brighten. Rat stood up and walked out onto the balcony. The early morning air bit into his face as he wrapped his wings around himself. Not even memories of the night before could drive away the chill from his bones.
This wasn’t the first time he’d had the dream, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. He hadn’t thought of his real name in years, not since giving Dante the false name on that fateful day. It had made sense at the time, as it gave him an alias that he could step into at a moment’s notice if things went sour with the Shadowbolts. He honestly didn’t remember much about his former life before his street rat phase, so his lie back then was only a small fib. However, in recent years, details had resurfaced in his mind and manifested in nightmares. If only- 
“Rat? What’s wrong?”
Rat glanced back in surprise. Daring stared, bleary-eyed and half asleep, her mane a beautiful mess. Memories of the previous night flowed through his mind, despite being slightly soured by the nightmare that followed. Rat walked back over to the bed with a rueful smile on his face. Daring’s confused exhaustion turned to honest concern in a moment. 
“Only thing wrong is that I wake up with a beautiful mare after a wonderful night, and I can’t enjoy it because of a foalish nightmare…” sighed Rat. 
“Seriously? A nightmare?” asked Daring in honest disbelief. “Must have been one hell of a nightmare to frighten you of all ponies.”
“You’d be surprised, actually,” grinned Rat. “My fears can literally be boiled down to one common thread: the loss of family.”
Daring didn’t say a word. Instead, she pulled Rat close to her, resting his head on her lap, stroking his mane gently. 
“Talk to me,” she pleaded gently. 
“Not a whole lot to say,” sighed Rat, closing his eyes as he felt Daring’s hoof through his mane. “Just remembering the last day of my foalhood before becoming a thief. Hell, I don’t even remember it that well… and honestly, I think that’s what’s bothering me.” 
“How so?” asked Daring gently, softly twirling a strand of Rat’s mane.
“It’s just…” began Rat. “I thought I’d never forget my parents or that gods-damned night… And yet, here I am… Happy, and living a life that my parents would never have approved of…” 
“Stop that,” chided Daring. “Your parents would have wanted you to be happy. That’s what any decent sort of parent should want for their child.”
“Even if it goes against everything they stood for?” asked Rat.
“Pfft, I hardly think they’d argue with their son catching the eye of a mare like me,” Daring remarked as she put a hoof against her chest. “I am, after-all, a noble mare of fine birth and upbringing!”
“Wait, you’re a noble?” asked Rat in surprise. 
“Yep, unfortunately,” smirked Daring. “Most ponies would call you pretty damn lucky. Not only did you get a piece of this fine noble flank, but you turned in your V-card to her as well!”
“I sure as hell won’t argue about luck, since you’re a lot more than just ‘fine noble flank’,” grinned Rat. 
“You trying to flatter your way to a second helping there, soldier?” 
“...Perhaps…”
“Well, keep it up, cause it’s working...”
Just as their lips met again, a distinctive beeping made Rat groan in exasperation. Daring sighed, gave Rat a rueful smirk, and walked off toward the bathroom to fire up the shower. Rat watched her leave for a few moments before slamming his comm unit onto his head. 
“What?” snapped Rat. 
“Yeesh, somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed… or in the wrong bed…” winced Hoxton. 
“Hox, this had better be important…”
“Yeah, I know, you want to get back to your marefriend, but shit has really gone sideways, and I need you as hooves on the ground.”
“What’s gone wrong?” demanded Rat. “And why me? Why not one of your Infiltrator friends?”
“Well, as to ‘why you’ and all that, you’re the only one close enough to respond in time,” explained Hoxton. “And as to what’s gone wrong, well…”

Seaddle, The Smoking Snakes, Equestria
7 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Rat walked up to the shattered front entrance to the bar, sighing as he did so. Hawk was being bandaged by a surly-looking older pony in an Equestrian Navy uniform. Tank was tying a street sign into knots and giggling at the creaking metal. Groups of law enforcement and riot squad officers were removing griffons and ponies from the building with frightening efficiency. Rat groaned as he examined the damage closer.
The wooden sign for the bar was hanging by a single frayed rope, with several splintered chunks missing. Every single window was smashed, as well as virtually every piece of furniture splintered and piled into loose barricades. There were small alcohol fires and scorch marks from larger fires everywhere. Unconscious riot squad members were being removed and placed on the sidewalk to awaken. If Rat were to have his guess, he would probably not be able to meet Daring for breakfast like he’d hoped. He walked up to Hawk, his blood pressure rising with every step.
“Alright, what the hell happened here, Hawk?” asked Rat, facehoofing as he surveyed the destruction. 
“You look like you woke up on the wrong side of the bed, Boss,” smirked Hawk. 
“Tank, I think Hawk needs a really big hug, don’t you?” asked Rat innocently.
“Alright fine!” snapped Hawk. “Jeez, no sense of humor!” 
“Hard to have a sense of humor when there’s a wrecked bar behind the two of you!” snapped Rat. 
“I know, I know!” snapped Hawk. “I know this shit’s bad! I’m not an idiot, despite what you may think-”
“Just... “ interrupted Rat, taking a deep breath. “Just tell me what happened. From the beginning.”
“Alright, so after we missed the Wonderbolts show, I decided to get a drink or two to cap off the night,” explained Hawk.
“And then you trashed the bar?” asked Rat.
“You honestly think I started this shit?!” asked Hawk indignantly. “All I wanted was a nice quiet drink…”



“I hope you’re happy, Big Guy,” grumbled Hawk as he sipped his ale. “Four months of waiting to go to that show, and what do I do? I let you play in the park like some oversized foal.”
Tank rested his head on the table next to Hawk and looked up at him like a wounded puppy. The effect was somewhat diminished by Tank nearly tipping the table over entirely. Thankfully,  Hawk managed to stop the punchbowl of ale for Tank from overturning onto the stallion’s face. Finally, the pout became too much for Hawk to bear. 
“Look, don’t worry about it, alright?” sighed Hawk, causing Tank to instantly perk up. “We’ll just go to the next one. Wonderbolts won’t be going anywhere anytime soon…”
Tank bobbed his head in agreement and resumed drinking his ale from the punchbowl. Hawk sighed and turned back to his glass. There’d be other opportunities to meet Squad Three, but meeting the legendary “Silver Streak” had been his plan to forget about… her… Honestly, it made no sense why he’d be attracted to that mare in Sireberia. They barely knew each other for fifteen minutes. Hell, he didn’t even know her real name! Why-
“-the Enterprise should be hauling garbage!” slurred a very drunk griffin from the other side of the room.
“...Ya want to rephrase that, laddie?” a stallion in a Royal Equestrian Navy uniform murmured ominously. 
“Oh, I’m sorry,” taunted the griffin. “I didn’t mean to say it should be hauling garbage… I meant to say it should be hauled away AS garbage-”
The griffin didn’t even get a chance to laugh before a large bottle smacked him across the face with a distinct cracking of bone. Hawk winced as the griffin’s jaw fractured beneath a full bottle of scotch, brandished by the bright red stallion. The rest of the griffins nearby stared in shock as the stallion climbed on top of the table, removed the cork from the bottle with his teeth, and took a sizable swig from it. He sighed, smacked his lips, and then looked around at the griffins. 
“Are ya just gonna take that lying down, then?” asked the stallion indignantly. “Sky Wings must be bigger pansies than I thou-”
At this, a tankard whipped by the stallion’s left ear, and the griffins let out an enraged roar before charging at the REN officers. The stallion grinned, drank more from the bottle, and promptly used it to send the first griffin sprawling. Tank looked up with excitement as he watched REN officers engage the griffins in a full barroom brawl. The stallion instantly gave Hawk a desperately pleading look.
“No, we are not getting involved!” barked Hawk. 
Tank whimpered pleadingly, watching as a large griffin tumbled past him. 
“No!” argued Hawk “I swear, I just want to have a quiet dr-”
The table suddenly was upended, and a flaming cocktail spilled all over Hawk’s head. The stallion sighed heavily. This was supposed to be a quiet night. 
“Nothing permanent, and nothing that will get us arrested outright,” sighed Hawk as he used Tank’s punchbowl to extinguish the flames on his head.
Tank grinned at his compatriot, tossing another bottle of ale to him before roaring and joining the fight. A young griffin looked up in time for an oversized hoof to smash the side of his face with blinding speed, causing the surrounding bar to explode into stars. Hawk watched benignly as griffin after griffin toppled to the ground in a daze. One younger griffin landed hindquarters-first into Tank’s ale, showering Hawk in alcohol. The griffin groaned in dismay, too dazed to move, as Hawk turned to look at him.
“Why me?” asked Hawk. “Why does this shit only happen to me?”
No answer came. Instead, Hawk sipped his drink with as much dignity as he could muster before a table crashed upon his skull with frightening accuracy, causing the world to snap to black.



“And that’s all that you remember?” pressed Rat. 
“Yes!” snapped Hawk. “For the love of the Princess, yes! Next thing I know, I’m being pulled out of the bar by the EMTs.”
“So how the devil did this get so out of hoof?!” snarled Rat. 
“Mayhaps I can elaborate for ya, lad…” a gruff voice interjected. 
Rat looked up in surprise. An older tabby-colored griffin with a distinctive scar on his right leg limped forward toward Rat. There were a number of fresh cuts and bruises
“And you are?” asked Rat.
“Name’s Gungnir,” replied the griffin with grin. “Your friend fights well for a pony.”
“I see…” replied Rat. “So what exactly happened?”
“Well, twas clear that the younger whelps couldn’t handle your large friend there in any sort of fight, so I decided to try me claw at it, and well…” sighed Gungnir. 



Gungnir crashed hard into table behind him, causing the legs to crack and groan in protest. He spat blood from his beak and gave his opponent a wicked grin. The Equestrian Navy officers cheered while the Sky Wings roared in frustration. The overly large pegasus gave a single chuckle. Gungnir cracked his neck and stood up, ready to fight again. The two locked in a grapple.
“You’re good, bucko,” smirked Gungnir. “But ya won’t be finding me such easy prey…”
“Heh, heh, heh,” chuckled the stallion. 
What had started as a barroom brawl had quickly become an illicit fighting match, complete with betting, jeering crowds, and even a set of honorable combatants. The large stallion suddenly lifted Gungnir off of the ground and tossed him again, smashing the table entirely. Gungnir smirked, picked up two legs from the table, and tossed one to his opponent. The stallion grinned. 
“Ya think ya can keep up?”
“Heh, heh, heh…”
The sound of oak against oak filled the bar, rising above the cheers. Gungnir found that he had the upper claw here, his years of training in the Sky Wings giving him an edge when fighting with a weapon. Even still, his opponent seemed able to shrug off the strikes without so much as a wince. Eventually, Gungnir was going to wear down, and then-
“THIS IS SEADDLE POLICE! DROP YOUR WEAPONS!” 
Gungnir turned to the door. Seaddle’s finest, as well as a dozen squads of Royal Riot Control waited outside. The crowd roared in protest to the sudden lack of entertainment, beginning to lift bottles and broken furniture pieces. Gungnir looked at his opponent, smirking slightly. 
“Whoever beats down the most coppers afore the riot foam hits wins?”
“Heh… heh… heh…”



“...You’re kidding…” sighed Rat. 
“Swear on me grave,” replied Gungnir earnestly. 
“How is my friend not dead or restrained?” asked Rat incredulously. 
“He didn’t really hurt anyone,” chuckled Gungnir. “Mostly just picked them up and dropped them in a dumpster and sat on it until they stayed. Kind of like a foal, really.”
“Gungnir!” A stern, yet female, voice sounded. Gungnir quickly turned towards it, his ears lowering just in time to see a griffiness glaring at him. “You were told by your doctor to not get into a fight! And what have I seen?”
“Er, well.” Gungnir started, before the griffiness grabbed his ear and started to drag him away.
“Come on mister,” she growled as she dragged him away. 
“So… We’re fucked, aren’t we?” asked Hawk. 
“Oh yeah…” replied Rat. “And as Cloak would say ‘Not in the fun way’...”
“...Shit…”
“Heh, heh, heh...” 
“I blame you for this, ya big lug…”

Cirrus, Recreation Room, Equestria
7 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“So nice of you to provide us with all this high-quality cider, Hawk,” grinned Cloak.
Rat smirked as Hawk glowered at Cloak. As punishment for allowing things to get so out of hoof, Rat had made Hawk pay for not only a portion of the damages to the bar, but also provide the cider and snacks for the next three poker nights. 
“Fuck you,” snarled Hawk. 
“Odd way of saying ‘you’re welcome’, but that works,” shrugged Cloak. “Oh and you didn’t skimp out either! Apple Family Reserve! I swear, they only make about a hundred casks of this stuff, and you bought three!” 
“...Cloak, I’m going to tell Ruin that you need help serenading your mare…” 
“Alright, break it up, you two,” barked Dagger, smacking Cloak on her way around the table.
“Hmph, you’re just salty that you didn’t get any last night,” pouted Cloak. 
At this statement, Dagger simply smirks and sits next to Arclight, giving her stallion a uncharacteristically warm smile. Cloak stared at the display for a full minute in confusion, unsure of why his sister was not jumping all over him. Clover looked fit to burst with laughter, vibrating with anticipation while Phantasm simply observed. Finally, a spark of realization gleamed in Cloak’s eyes, the stallion’s jaw dropping to the floor.
“NO WAY!” exclaimed Cloak. 
“What do you think?” grinned Dagger. 
“YOU SHEBOINKED MY SISTER?!” bellowed Cloak at Arclight in shock. 
“Well…” chuckled Arclight. “It was kind of a mutual thing… Y’know, I didn’t mean to on the first-”
“HOW ARE YOUR HIPS INTACT?!” yelled Cloak. 
Dagger’s glare could have melted through the side of the Cirrus, even as Clover, Phantasm, and Hawk howled with laughter. Arclight turned bright red, but appeared to be struggling to stifle his own laughter at Cloak’s outburst. Dagger looked as though she were about to reply, but soon found herself cut off.
“-but I don’t even play poker!” exclaimed a familiar voice from the hall. “Razor, I have my work-”
“You were just fooling around with new materials in the forge,” Razor sighed. “All of your actual contracts were completed over an hour ago. So, until tomorrow, hush and take a load off. Relax and let your mane down for once, hmm? For my sake?”
“... Fine…” grumbled Patch. "Now gimme back the tie for my braid! You know I hate having my mane loo-" 
"YOU!" Patch’s voice was joined by Hoxton’s, venom clear even to those listening to the hallway exchange. However, as they entered the room, Razor had himself squarely between them, holding them apart even as they gave each other death glares.
“Listen up, you two,” barked Razor. “Tonight, you have a truce. No fighting. At all. First one that tries to throw a punch is going to see me angry. So far, the worst either of you has seen has been annoyed. Get the picture?”
“You know me, Razor,” replied Hoxton. "I won't start anything if that nag doesn't."
"I don't start fights, you old goat,” snapped Patch. “I finish them."
"If Hox is an old goat, what does that make me?” quipped Razor. “I'm nearly old enough to be his father..." 
"But you’re not a goat..." protested Patch.
"And neither is he,” chided Razor “So behave yourself, young filly."
“You’re right… Calling him a goat’s an insult to the goats,” muttered Patch in Vietmanese as her hooves nimbly worked to replait her mane. Razor frowned, smacking Patch with his wing gently as he moved to sit down. Patch scowled as her braid fell apart in her hooves, returning to an unruly and fly-away mess around her head, but said nothing as she sulkily sat next to Razor.
"What are you, her father?" smirked Hawk.
"Better than, pigeon-humper,” snarled Patch, slipping back into Vietmanese. “He's the father who volunteered." 
"He probably prefers earth ponies," chuckled Rat in Vietmanese, which made Patch smirk and chuckle as well. 
Razor scowled at Rat, choosing to reply in Vietmanese. “Bìzuí yòu fāhuí hún hào, yào bùrán wò wéi ní de shèzàng gěi ní...” growled Razor. 
At this, Patch burst out laughing while Rat stared at the older stallion in confusion. “I’m sorry, but did you just say ‘Shut up again, send back dishonor bright, if not so fertile soft leather mare's underwear arranged storehouse for intimacy’?” asked Rat.
Razor blinked, bemused for a second before clearing his throat. “So that’s not how you say ‘Shut up and play nice, or else I feed your kidneys to you’?” asked Razor as the entire table burst into howls of laughter. Razor snorted, smiling in spite of himself. 
 “Alright, alright, let’s settle down and get this game going,” groused Razor good-naturedly.
“What, looking at an early night, old-timer?” jeered Hawk. “Clean only half of us out and go to bed? Also, I don’t appreciate the deliberate tampering of wagers, ‘Daddy’...”
“What wager?” asked Hoxton in confusion. 
“Don’t worry about it,” dismissed Hawk.
“What wager, you little toad-humping, duck dick-sucking lump of shit!” hissed Patch before being restrained by Razor. 
“Behave,” barked Razor. “One more outburst like that, and we’ll run ten more sets through the training course tonight.”
Patch flinched, despite shooting a withering glare at Hawk. “Yes, sir…” 
“Alrighty then, Badlands Hold’em, standard rules. Buy-in is five thousand bits each, with small and big blinds of fifty and one hundred bits respectively. No limits, mares and gentlecolts.” quipped Hawk, as he rapidly dealt out the cards.
The first round of betting went quite normally. No one raised from the initial bet, so Hawk proceeded to deal the Flop. An Ace, a Jack, and another Ace graced the field. Hox instantly grinned. 
“Five hundred!” smirked Hoxton.
“Not worth it,” replied Dagger. 
“Yeah, not doing anything with these cards…” sighed Arclight.
“I’m out!” yelped Cloak. 
“...Dammit… Dealer folds,” swore Hawk. 
“...Fold…” murmured Phantasm
“I’m out as well,” smiled Rat.
“Fuck me sideways, I’m out, fillies and colts,” hiccupped Clover. 
“Have fun, youngsters,” chuckled Razor.
“Call,” snapped Patch. “Let’s see what you’ve got, limp dick…”
“Alright, we’ve got two who’ve bitten,” announced Hawk. “You going for it, Big Guy?”
“Heh, heh, heh,” chuckled Tank as he tossed in his chips. 
“Well, that’s going to be a problem…” chuckled Razor to Rat. 
“I doubt this will end well for anyone here,” smirked Rat. 
“Oh, please,” scoffed Razor. “I didn’t survive the Battle of Chisankyou just to die at a poker table from a temper tantrum of my student.” 
“Wait, you were at Chisankyou?” asked Rat, stunned. 
“More than that, kid,” smirked Razor. “I was younger than you were when you first showed up here back when I first ran away from my parents at Saigo Harbor to join the Kirin Resistance. Actually stayed with them for a few years. Learned their ways. Became one of their own.”
 The Kirin nation had a very troubled history, to say the least. Living in near-complete isolation from the outside world for nearly two thousand years, the Kirin had created a feudalistic society of educated nobility, faithful peasants, and the honor-bound warriors known as the Yoruba. When the Wyvern Imperium broke the isolation, a brand new political power known as the Modernist Party had risen up from the ranks of educated peasants, swiftly executing the nobility. The Yoruba did not go quietly into this new regime. In response, they lead a bloody revolt that lasted for years, culminating in the Battle of Chisankyou. 
“But none of the five hundred Yoruba survived that battle against the Modernist Defense Force…” murmured Rat in confusion. 
“You’re right, none of them did,” muttered Razor. “I was Equestrian, so the Modernist Party had to turn me over to the Embassy, where my parents took me back in.”
“Is that where-” began Rat. 
“Where I learned how to use all the weapons that I’ve got in my locker?” chuckled Razor. “Yeah, and then some. It’s what I’m teaching Patch, to an extent.”
“Wow…” breathed Rat. “Where do you go from an opening like that?”
“Took on several odd jobs, bouncing from mercenary company to mercenary company,” began Razor. “Eventually joined the Shadowbolts after a job in Zàijiāng went-”
“ALL IN!” howled Hoxton suddenly. 
“BRING IT ON, CHICKEN-HUMPING NEEDLE-DICK!” bellowed Patch in Vietmanese, shoving her chips into the middle of the table to join Hoxton’s. .
“Oh for the love of-” groaned Razor.
Hawk glanced over at the only remaining player, flinching slightly. It was the last round of betting before the Reveal, and two Aces, a Jack, a Six, and a Five were showing. Tank’s grin had not changed since the Flop. 
“Gonna get in on this crazy, Big Guy?” groaned Hawk.
“Heh, heh, heh…”
“Alright then,” sighed Hawk. “Players reveal your cards.”
“TWO PAIR! ACES AND JACKS WITH A SEVEN KICKER!” shouted Hoxton and Patch simultaneously, before staring in shock at each other. 
“Well, if Tank has nothing, you’ll be splitting the pot,” chuckled Hawk. “So what have you got, Big Guy?”
“...Heh… Heh… Heh…” chuckled Tank, as he lowered a Six and an Ace to the table.
Patch and Hoxton stared blankly as Tank slowly pulled the pile of chips toward his end of the table. There was only silence for a moment as Patch shook in silence. 
“YOU-” bellowed Patch, before being pulled from her chair. 
“I warned you,” sighed Razor, restraining the screaming and flailing armorer as she kept trying to throw herself at Hoxton. “Hawk, add my earnings to the current wager I have. I don’t anticipate being back until long after you’ve finished.”
They watched as Razor carried Patch from the room as she howled Vietmanese curses at Hoxton. As the voices trailed off, Cloak cleared his throat.
“Well… That was a thing…” chuckled Cloak. 
“So, next round?” asked Hawk. 
“Deal ‘em, Hawk,” smiled Rat. “No place I’d rather be than here…”

Green Pastures, Dining Room, Equestria
50 Years After the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Cloak sighed as he rested his eyes for a moment as the story drew to a close. 
“That was really your first date with Grandma?” asked Cold Snap. 
“In all honesty?” sighed Cloak. “That was when I started counting the days. We had our ups and downs over the years, but that was the starting point, in my eyes.”
“I wish I could have met her…” 
It was silent for only a moment before Cloak cleared his throat. 
“Well, you best be getting some shut-eye there, ‘Snap,” nodded Cloak. “You’ve got a long day ahead of you.”
“Alright,” yawned Cold Snap, embracing his grandfather. “Hey, Grandpa?”
“Yes, ‘Snap?”
“Do you think Grandma would be proud of me?” asked Cold Snap. “Do you think she’d like me?”
“...Yes, ‘Snap, I think so…” replied Cloak quietly. “She would have loved you very much…”
Cold Snap smiled. “Thanks, Grandpa,” replied Cold Snap. “Good night! Night Mrs. Do!” 
Cloak sat back as he watched his grandson bolt up the stairs with youthful energy. Tears began to form in his eyes, even as a faint smile graced his face. Dagger stood up and moved behind her brother, embracing him gently
“I’m sorry, brother,” sighed Dagger. “I know it must be hard, bringing up all these old memories-”
“No, don’t worry about it, sis,” interrupted Cloak, wiping a tear from his eye. “It’s good… Remembering…”
They sat in silence for a while. Tensions rose. No one wanted to say what was on everyone’s minds at that moment. They lived through that time. They knew what was yet to come… Finally, Dagger broke the ice.
“He’s looking forward to the stories more and more,” mused Dagger. 
“I know,” sighed Cloak. “They all are.”
“That worries me a bit, Old Timer,” interjected Daring. “I may not know a lot about you crazy mercs, but I do know enough about what happens next to know that something somewhere goes screwy.”
“We’re getting pretty close to that point, Cloak,” agreed Arclight. “Sooner or later, you’re going to have to address-”
“Her, I know,” interrupted Cloak. “Nightshade…”

To Be Continued…
End of Arc 3
> Chapter 13: Casino Royale or "Vive Las Pegasus!"
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Green Pastures, Cloak’s Front Porch, Equestria
50 Years After the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Cloak sighed, lifting his glass for the fifteenth time without taking a drink. In truth, he was anxious about today. Many wonderful stories had been told on this front step, and Cloak had felt wonderful telling them to a new generation. Even through some of the darker stories, Cloak was able to draw some semblance of strength, remembering how the crew had pulled through tight scrapes. But… Nightshade... 
How did you explain how a pony like Nightshade seized control in so short a time? How did you even explain Nightshade? Even to this day, many psychiatrists had tried and failed to explain what exactly made her into what she was during the War. Only one pony had successfully broken through, and that had been the legendary Iron Horse himself, during his final stand against her. Admittedly, analyzing her after the War wasn’t an option, so any who hoped to explain the war criminal had their work cut out for them. What hope did he, a simple mercenary on the outside of Nightshade’s inner circle, have when ponies who studied for years in that field had failed?
Cloak shook the thoughts from his mind as a large group of foals approached. It didn’t matter. He had to try. He was one of the few left who could possibly begin to do so. Most of her commanders were dead or in hiding. Shadowbolt and Renegade veterans kept their pasts hidden for the most part, given the aftermath of the war. So who else would tell the story? 
“Afternoon, kids,” grinned Cloak. “I see that my stories have continued to be popular?”
“That they have, Cloak,” smirked Daring. “Your grandson has actually been writing down what you’ve shared so far just to help newcomers catch up.”
“Oh really now?” chuckled Cloak. “I wondered how these sessions kept getting larger and larger.”
“So, Mr Broadcloth-” asked one of the newer foals. 
“Please, call me Cloak,” smiled Cloak gently.
“When does Nightshade show up in all of this?” asked the foal.
And with that, Cloak’s heart sank into his gut. Hearing the question out loud didn’t make it any easier. Memories of that horrible day drifted in his head, filling his mind like smoke. The flashes of fear before eyes went glassy was the most haunting part of those memories. Honestly, there weren’t that many screams to remember. At least, not from enemies…
“Nightshade…” sighed Cloak. “She was always around, to be sure… We’d hear stories about her and what she was up to, but we never directly interacted with her much.”
“Why?” asked Kingfisher. “She seems like a pretty big part of Shadowbolt history. Heck, one of her closest associates trained your leader!”
“I wish I could tell you,” replied Cloak. “Honestly, we never really understood why she seemed to avoid us before she took power.”
“How did she take power?” asked Cold Snap. “Why would the Shadowbolts let someone like her take control?”
“Because of one bad day, ‘Snap,” grimaced Cloak. “One horrible, horrible day where everything went wrong, even though that week started so well...

Las Pegasus, Shiro’s Palace, Equestria
6 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Rat sighed in contentment. The past year had been pretty damn near perfect. Contracts came in smoothly and steadily, making a name for the “Rat Pack”, as the rest of the Shadowbolts called them. The work was good, and the pay was even better. Rat was happy. Hell, the crew made sure that he took breaks. Granted, it wasn’t too difficult to convince him, as of late…
“Hey, look who’s awake,” a familiar voice cooed softly. 
Rat turned to smile at his companion next to him in the bed. Lining up schedules with a renowned archaeologist and author was certainly not easy, but somehow he and Daring made it work. From Esponya to Saigo Harbor, the two had found quiet moments in the chaos of their lives. Somehow, they managed to keep these rendezvous secret from their comrades, even though there were suspicions. Still, it was worth it. 
“Morning, your Ladyship,” chuckled Rat, leaning in to kiss the mare. “I think a good breakfast is in order, no?”
“After last night?” smirked Daring. “I’d be pissed if you weren’t hungry. Let me grab a shower first, and I’ll join you in the kitchen.”
Rat smiled and moved to the kitchen area of the suite while Daring left for the bathroom. Rat moved in a well-practiced routine, developed over several such mornings. Eggs sizzled in the pan. The coffee pot boiled steadily. Toast popped out of the toaster. The table was set carefully. Rat leaned back in his chair just as he heard the shower turn off. Life seemed perfect. 
“Looks good, as always,” chuckled Daring as she dried her mane with a towel. “I swear, if I ever settle down, one of my requirements for my spouse is being able to make a damn good breakfast.”
“So the way to your heart is through your stomach?” smirked Rat. “Good to know I’m on the right track.” 
“Shush, or you’ll end up with egg on your face…” threatened Daring playfully. 
“Yes, ma’am!” saluted Rat, forcing a laugh out of Daring. 
The two ate quietly, enjoying each other’s company. It was exhilarating, honestly. Rat felt as though nothing could ruin this moment.
“Sir, I just wanted to-AUGH!” piped up a familiar voice. 
Rat groaned inwardly, smiling in spite of himself. Well, that didn’t take long.
“I’m sorry, sir!” apologized the young stallion. “I didn’t see anything, sir!” 
“Wasp, relax,” chided Rat. “I was just discussing today’s mission with our informant, Daring Do.”
“Nice to meet ya, kid,” grinned Daring. 
“Oh… So you weren’t-” began Wasp. 
“I assure you, Wasp, the only things that you interrupted were eggs on toast and an intel briefing,” smiled Rat. “Now, what did you need?”
“Hoxton wanted me to tell you that the crew is waiting in the briefing room,” explained Wasp.
“Understood,” replied Rat. “Wait for me down in the lobby. I’ll be with you shortly.”
“Yes sir,” chirped Wasp stiffly before nodding briefly at Daring. “Ma’am.”
Rat sighed and chuckled as his apprentice moved with purpose down the hall. Daring smirked.
“Nice save,” chuckled Daring. “Hate for the rookie to let our secret slip.”
“You mean the worst-kept secret in my organization?” smirked Rat. “No, Wasp will keep his mouth shut. He’s loyal like that.”
“He’s certainly cute, in that skittish way,” teased Daring. “He must’ve picked that up from his mentor.” 
“Oh?” laughed Rat. “Are you implying that I lack confidence? Have you forgotten last night already, or are you simply goading me into ‘reminding’ you?”
“As much as I would love for a reminder,” Daring whispered in Rat’s ear, “it will have to wait.”
“As you wish,” teased Rat, kissing the pegasus mare gently before leaving the room.
Rat smoothed out his mane, placing his earpiece in. The Pack was ready. It was time to get to work.

The Cirrus, Briefing Room, Equestria
6 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War 
“Nice of you to join us, Boss,” chuckled Cloak. “Have a fun time last night with Miss Adventure herself?”
Rat rolled his eyes as the crew chuckled briefly. Wasp took his seat near the front, giving his mentor an apologetic look. Rat stepped up to the podium and cleared his throat, as he’d done countless times before. 
“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” sniffed Rat dismissively. “I was simply speaking with our good friend and informant over breakfast about an important aspect of today’s mission.”
“Unless ‘breakfast’ is suddenly code for ‘scrambling her eggs’ and ‘hiding the sausage’, I highly doubt that’s all that was going on, Boss,” smirked Hawk. 
“They actually were having breakfast, sir,” murmured Wasp. 
“Oh, really?” laughed Hawk. 
“Yes sir,” replied Wasp. “Eggs over easy on toast.”
“Alright, let’s get to the mission, shall we?” interjected Rat. 
“Sure, Boss,” smirked Cloak. “Sooner we get done with this, the better.”
“Got a hot date, brother?” asked Dagger, leaning against Arclight with a smirk. “Perhaps with a sweet little mobster?”
“You mean the mare I’m going to propose to?” grinned Cloak, lifting a ring box from his flight suit. “Oh yeah, definitely not going to miss that.”
“Congrats, Cloak,” congratulated Rat. “Still, save it for after the mission.”
“Right, sorry,” murmured Cloak, putting the ring away. 
“So, anonymous contractor for this one,” began Rat. “The Lone Digger Casino is holding, besides the literal mountains of bits, a very valuable object. The contractor was mum as to what was being held there, but they provided us with very detailed intel on the Digger’s security measures.”
“Alright, so we slip in through the back and breach the vault-” began Hawk. 
“Nope, can’t do that,” smirked Rat. “There’s a complication.”
“What, seriously?” snarled Hawk. “What are we talking? HTB? JSS?”
“Four full squads of Wonderbolts with recruit squads,” replied Rat, grinning. 
At this, the room grew quiet. Janus Security and Hekate were one thing, but dancing hoof to hoof with the Wonderbolts was just asking for trouble. To the group’s knowledge, no team had ever attempted it before, and for good reason. Dante said that the death of the Shadowbolts would be either at the hooves of the Princess herself or the Wonderbolts. Finally, Cloak spoke up. 
“I’m guessing your little birdy on the inside shared that with you, didn’t she?” replied Cloak. 
“That she did, Cloak,” replied Rat. “That she did.”
“So how are we going to do this, sir?” asked Wasp. “Clearly you have some sort of plan, since we took the contract.”
“Yeah, how are we evading the Blunderdolts?” asked Hawk. “Sewer pipes? Air ducts? Skylight?”
“None of the above,” smirked Rat. “We’ll be walking in the front door…”

Las Pegasus, The Lone Digger, Equestria
6 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Rat straightened the tie on his suit, stepping out of the carriage and sweeping the crowd. So many ponies tonight. Little did they know that something of incalculable value and danger waited beneath their hooves. 
“Comm che-” began Rat.
“Yeah, yeah, we can hear you,” snarked Hawk. “You took your time spacing out your arrival.”
“You’re just mad you lost five thousand bits,” quipped Cloak. 
“Shaddup.”
Rat sighed. It honestly was a pretty clever plan, but there were still obstacles to work around. Staggering their entrances to the casino by walking through the front door in civilian clothing had been clever, but it meant that some members would be sitting idle for a time. Of course, this wasn’t a problem for some members of the crew...
“Damn, check out the Wonderbolt mares in Squad Three!” whistled Hawk. “I can see why the Boss likes his little Reservist so much. Wonderbolt mares are toned!”
“Hawk, ease up there,” chuckled Rat. “We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves by you getting landed with a sexual harassment charge.”
“Oh, like Security is going to single me out amongst all the other stallions drooling over The Silver Streak?” countered Hawk, rolling his eyes. 
“Knowing your luck?” quipped Cloak.
“Alright, lay off of him,” chided Rat. “Let’s stick to the plan.”
“Right, moving to get the Pit Boss’s Key,” murmured Cloak. 
“Retrieving blueprints from the archives,” chimed in Wasp. 
“Checking the Locker Room for the Security Chief’s Key,” reported Dagger. 
“Breaking into the Manager’s Office,” reported Clover. 
“Acknowledged,” replied Rat. “Everyone else standby.”
The plan was fairly simple. According to the contractor, the security room of the Lone Digger shared an air vent with one of the guest rooms. Coincidentally, access to the vault was contained within the security room itself, locked behind an electronic lock with a three-digit code. The code was changed daily, and the digits were divided amongst three ponies: the manager, the Pit Boss, and the Security Chief. So, all the crew needed was to get today’s vault code, pump sleeping gas into the security room, open the vault, and then clean out the joint. So simple, even-
“Heeeeeey, pretty birdie,” slurred a very drunken voice. “Don’t suppose you know tall, ripped, and dreamy over there, do ya?”
Rat turned, his heart sinking into his gut. He looked over, and sure enough, Lieutenant Fleetfoot of Squad Three was wobbling next to him with a flushed face, making intense bedroom eyes at a highly oblivious Tank. Of course, there were complications to being in civilian clothes. Such as pretending to be civilians, just to name an example… 
“You won’t have a whole lot of luck there, ma’am,” sighed Rat. “He’s not looking for anything like that.”
“Awww,” pouted Fleetfoot. “That’s no fun. And he was a real cutie, too!”
“It’s unfortunate, to be sure,” shifted Rat uncomfortably. 
 “Guess I’ll have to pick up the broken pieces of my heart and mend them up in my room,” slurred Fleetfoot with a saucy grin.  “Mind lending a hoof with that?”
“Sorry, ma’am, but I’m afraid I’m busy this evening,” replied Rat. “I’ll make sure you get to your room safely, though.”
“Aw, you’re just a sweetheart, aren’t ya?” cooed Fleetfoot. “Bet’cha have one hell of a honey back home waiting for ya.”
“W-what?” stuttered Rat. 
“Well, ya don’t seem to be into stallions, but you’re pretty damn well immune to me,” smirked Fleetfoot. “Just don’t stay out too late. She’ll put you on the couch if you aren’t careful.” 
Rat swore he could hear Daring laughing in his mind as he helped Fleet into the arms of a white mare with a blue-streaked grey mane. 
“Help her back to her room and make sure she stays there,” pleaded Rat. 
“Yes sir,” replied the mare. “What Squad are you again?”
“Well…” murmured Rat. “Not a part of a squad, actually.”
“Oh, you must be a Reservist like Sergeant Yearling,” replied the mare. 
“Something like that,” muttered Rat.
“Gotcha,” replied the mare. “Starbolt, of Recruit Squad Alpha.”
“Call me Charger,” replied Rat easily. “Carry on.”
Rat walked away from the mare, confident that the inebriated lieutenant would receive the care she needed. 
“So, I guess this means you have a thing for Miss Yearling, Boss?” chuckled Hawk. “I mean, you turned down the Silver Streak.”
“You know that doesn’t mean anything, Hawk,” smirked Rat. “I could just be saving myself for you…”
“Uh… what?” asked Hawk in confusion. 
“Exactly, get back to work,” snapped Rat good-naturedly. “Hox, you got the ID on that guest yet?” 
“According to my intel and the blueprints, we’re looking for room 271, held by a Miss Merryweather and a Miss Bright Spark,” replied Hoxton. 
“Descriptions?” asked Rat briskly. 
“Well, don’t bother finding Miss Merryweather since she’s across town at Shiro’s Palace,” chuckled Hoxton. “As for Miss Spark, you’ll be looking for a yellow pegasus with a blue and white mane. See if you can find Rapidfire from Squad Three. She’s a huge fan-filly.”
“I see her,” murmured Rat. “No need for Plan A. I’ve got this. Hawk, go retrieve the gas and meet me at the room.”
It had been years since Rat had picked a pocket of a live pony, but he’d kept up with his techniques as best as he could on the Cirrus. Moving through the crowd smoothly, Rat pretended to stumble into the mare, nearly knocking over a waiter in the process.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, ma’am!” apologized Rat, swiftly lifting the mare’s keycard out of her purse and subtly tucking it up his sleeve. “I didn’t spill your drink, did I?” 
“Oh, no, you’re fine-” began the mare, before being cut off.
“Hey, watch where you’re going, shrimp-dick!” snarled Rapidfire. “And don’t be so hoovesy with my mare!” 
“Sir, I just turned down your squadmate for a very good reason, and I assure you it wasn’t to interfere with you,” replied Rat, deadpan. 
“Seriously?!” growled Rapidfire, raising a hoof to throw a punch. “I oughta-”
“-tell me more about how you’re able to shape those trails like you do in the show!” chimed in Bright, stepping between the two stallions with a nervous grin. “And maybe somewhere quieter as well… It is a bit noisy down here…”
“Alright, babe…” smirked Rapidfire, instantly forgetting Rat with the promise of getting the beautiful mare alone. “Let’s head upstairs.”
“Great! My roommate is out for the evening, so we can head to my room…” chirped Bright eagerly. 
As they left, the orange pegasus shoulder-checked Rat. 
“Have fun with your hoof tonight, dick-breath,” hissed Rapidfire. 
Rat merely rolled his eyes and turned away from the two, mind drifting back to the task at hoof. 
“You get all of that, Hawk?” murmured Rat. 
“Yeah, I copy,” muttered Hawk. “I’ll be careful. ‘Kids these days’, right?”
“Right,” chuckled Rat. “Status check?” 
“Cloak, with the others in the Manager’s Office, waiting on Clover to crack the safe,” quipped Cloak. 
“Wait, seriously?” asked Rat in confusion. 
“Yep,” chuckled Dagger. “You’d think we’re professionals or something.” 
“Alright, knock it off you two,” grinned Rat, making his way up the stairs. 
As he reached the top, Rat barely had time to duck into an alcove before Bright Spark and Rapidfire entered the staircase, on their way to the next floor. 
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t find my key!” apologized Bright emphatically. “I swear it was in my purse, but I must have locked it in the room or something. Gods, this is so embarrassing-”
“Hey, hey, relax babe, it’s all cool,” crooned Rapidfire. “It’s probably for the best anyhow. My suite is much more comfortable than the regular rooms below. Plus, there’s a hot tub on the balcony with a fantastic view of the city…” 
Rat rolled his eyes as Bright giggled excitedly. Rapidfire was the worst kind of celebrity, shallow and self-serving, but there was an edge to him that sickened him. It was almost like he was a younger version of Pitch. Moving quickly, Rat made his way to Room 271, where Hawk was waiting with the sleeping gas canister. 
“Took the scenic route?” quipped Hawk. 
“Had to dodge the happy couple,” grunted Rat, unlocking the door. 
“I get the feeling that with a couple decades of booze and cheap mares that RapidDouche would turn out just like Pitch the Bitch,” snorted Hawk, attaching the canister to the air vent. “I’ll keep an eye on things here. You go handle the vault with the others.” 
Rat nodded and strolled through the casino to the back room. He smirked as he walked past the crowd of patrons being legally robbed blind by the rigged games. They’d never know the small revenge that they’d be reaping tonight as the Rat Pack looted the Lone Digger dry of their ill-gotten gains. The crew gathered outside of the security room, waiting as the gas took its toll. Gas masks were put on, and the crew breached the security room. 
“Check them,” barked Rat. “We don’t want them waking up anytime soon. Cloak, Dagger, Clover? Go open up the vault. Let’s get what we came for and head home. Tank, we’ll need a hoof with the bags.” 
“On it, Boss,” replied Cloak. 
Tank grunted softly. Cloak moved down to the vault keypad, tapping in the combination rapidly.
“Four… two… SIX!” exclaimed Cloak quietly as the vault door rotated open. 
Rat almost felt his jaw unhinge at the sight, the sounds of a victorious orchestral finale in his ears. The vault was opulently plated in gold from floor to ceiling, while large bags of bits were stacked high behind security cages. A large locked door immediately drew Clover’s attention.  Rat bolted toward the back of the vault, ascending the stairs to what had to be the counting room. Large stacks of bits covered the counting tables while bags of counted bits rested by the counting machines. Staring in shock, Rat swore that he could hear the triumphant orchestra playing louder and louder-
“Turn it off, Cloak…” sighed Rat as he facehoofed with a smile.
“What?” protested Cloak. “The ‘812 Overture’ is perfect for this moment!”
“Yes, but we’re short on time,” smirked Rat. “Get the cages open and these bags out to the carriage. I’ll handle the target with Clover.”
“Already open, Boss, but there’s a problem,” quipped Clover.
“What?” asked Rat, before sighing. 
The room was fairly small, with a stand within an alcove. However, there was a thaumatic energy grid between them and the supposed target. A single touch would trigger all kinds of alarms. Rat rolled his eyes before diving through the gaps in the grid. A small black and red amulet depicting an alicorn rested on a raised pedestal in the alcove. Rat raised an eyebrow as he lifted the target and tumbled back through the gaps.  
“Alright, who bet ‘ancient and dangerous artifact’?” asked Rat. 
Everyone looked over at Wasp, who was shouldering a humongous bag of bits. Wasp looked around in shock. 
“Wait, I won?!” exclaimed the young stallion, prompting a chuckle from those present.
“Congrats, kid,” chuckled Cloak. “First time out, too. That’ll be a nice bonus for your first cut.”
“Alright, enough chatter. Let’s get going,” began Rat. “Hawk, make your way to the loading dock. Tank, the bags, if you please?”
“Heh, heh, heh…” chuckled Tank as the crew strapped numerous bags to the giant’s body before he took off and glided up the stairway to the back. Cloak lifted his bag and quickly followed, joined by Clover and Dagger. Rat grinned at his apprentice before walking up the stairs. This heist might go off without a hitch. 
They reached the loading dock with haste, piling the bags of bits into the back of the cart. Rat allowed himself to relax  An earth pony stallion walked out of the bathroom in the hall and stared in shock at the Pack. For a long moment, no one dared to move, as though time had stopped. The guard suddenly flinched, running to the alarm box. He was inches away before stumbling. 
Wasp sprang forward, striking with his hooves outstretched. The guard stopped the clumsy attack with ease, slamming the young stallion into the ground. Wasp gasped as the air was forced violently from his lungs. The stallion sneered as he prepared to raise the alarm and crush the young Shadowbolt’s neck. There would be no way for Rat to reach him in time. 
There was a sickening crunch as Hawk, appearing from the hall, crushed the guard’s vocal chords and snapping his neck in a single smooth motion. The body fell to the floor with a dull thud. Wasp stared in shock at the stallion that nearly took him down before his eyes filled with shame. An opponent like this should have been foal’s play for even the lowest novice.
“S-sir…” stammered Wasp. “I’m-”
“We’ll deal with it later, Wasp,” sighed Rat, tossing his bag of bits into the cart. “Hawk, bag the body. Dagger, see about cleanup. Everypony else get on the cart. We’re out in five.”

The Cirrus, The Pit, Equestria
6 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War 
“Gods dammit, that was too close!” swore Rat, kicking a nearby workbench. 
“Watch it!!!” squeaked Patch frantically as she dove past him to keep a precariously perched canister from tipping its contents across the countertop.
“...Sorry,” sighed Rat, collapsing onto a storage crate. “I’m just… That should not have gotten out of hoof as much as it did.”
Checking the container’s lid and giving it another twist to ensure its secure closure, Patch returned to her current project before she responded to Rat. “Well… No harm done, right? In either case, right?” 
“Wasp managed to get away without a scratch, and thankfully Hox had a cleaner nearby, but I’m really worried now, Patch,” replied Rat, raking a hoof through his mane. “Wasp has been going on missions with the Pack for a few months now, and if he’s failed to pick up what I’ve taught him about combat, he’s going to get himself or somepony else killed!”
“Not everypony is skilled in the field you know,” stated Patch, arching an eyebrow at him over her poniquin.
“I know, I know,” sighed Rat, massaging his temples. “But this is different, Patch. I’ve seen him in the training room, and he’s fine. This- Gods, I don’t even know what this was! He just froze when that guard came at him! If Hawk hadn’t been there…”
“Again, not all of us have sterling field records, Rat,” commented Patch dryly. “Hell’s bells, I bolted my first time out… Razor was decidedly less than pleased since it nearly made the whole job go tits up, and I think we were all glad when Cross insisted I stay with him onboard.”
Rat sighed again. “Is this what it’s like to be a parent, you think?” asked Rat, leaning forward. “Trying to guide them as best as you can while having no clue what you’re doing yourself?”
Patch could only shrug as she fussed with attaching a piece of armor to a flight suit on the poniquin, and suggested, “Teach them what you know? Hope it helps them… Some skills turn out more useful than others… Sounds about right.”
“Yeah, my father never really taught me anything huge,” sighed Rat. “Only to trust my instincts and always watch my back. If only that advice could have saved him and my mom…”
“At least it might’ve,” scoffed Patch as she finished attaching the piece and stepped back. “Sewing is useless when you get pneumonia…” She sighed as well. “Still useful, but… Did my mom no good.”
“Well, same could be said for my mom and dad,” shrugged Rat. “Instincts do you no good when danger is all around you. Same with watching your back all the time. Most of what I learned was on the streets of Saddle Arabia, or here in the Cirrus.”
Patch smiled wryly. “Mostly same here. Just swap out Saddle Arabia for the streets of Haiphong,” she agreed. “But… Sewing gave me an edge… And because of it, I was able to pick up some basic first aid. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have even made it here.”
“Only way cloth ever helped me was this,” smirked Rat, drawing his signature knife and presenting it to Patch. “That’s the last scrap of the foal blanket that my mother made me, and the shard of armor belonged to my father back during the war. I learned quickly how to move undetected and fast when I needed to. Best medicine for me was preventative.”
She eyed the blade for a long moment before she looked away, her gaze dark and unfocused. “At least you have that much of them…” replied Patch, her tone bitter.
“Mom didn’t leave anything behind?” asked Rat, concern in his eyes. 
“If she did, I didn’t get it,” retorted Patch, her words turning sharp.
“Well, if you want the Pack to find your deadbeat father and beat the everloving-” began Rat.
“He wasn’t my father,” interrupted Patch, glaring at Rat with cold green eyes. “He made that abundantly plain when he left me on the street.”
“Well, the offer still stands for him and the asshole who left you and your mother with him,” reassured Rat. “We look out for our own, Patch.”
“Whoever my father was, he’s already dead,” shrugged Patch. “My mom said we were lucky that she found a stallion who’d take care of both of us… Little did she know that deal was for only as long as she was around… She was barely cold before my step-father packed everything up and left. Said I wasn’t his problem any more… So fuck him. I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing I cared when he clearly never cared about me.”
“Well, I’ve told you, Patch,” replied Rat. “We look out for our own. Cross one of our own, and you’ve made mortal enemies. So give us the word, and we’ll go rip his brain out through his-”
The clatter of tools on the metal catwalk nearly made Rat jump out of his skin. He looked behind and noticed that a large toolbox had fallen from the crate it rested on. Rat frowned slightly at Patch. 
“Patch, you haven’t been doing late night projects again, have you?” interrogated Rat.
“No!” replied Patch, a little too quickly before grimacing. “Okay… Well… No more than I usually do…” She peered intently at the offending toolbox, a confused and pensive expression on her face. “How did that get there?”
“Well, it should be mounted in its magnetic housing,” chided Rat gently. “You know what could happen if the Cirrus fell out of the sky.”
“Yes, I know that,” snapped Patch, even as she went to right the toolbox and put it in its proper place, muttering almost incomprehensible oaths in her native Vietmanese. “The question is more because I didn’t use that box today, and I always put everything back.”
“I don’t suppose that Hox would have done anything,” mused Rat. “Your sparring has pretty much only been verbal recently, and I dare say much more pleasant than in the past.”
“If he’s been mucking about with my tools, he’s getting more than that,” growled Patch as she completed reorganizing the box and putting it away.
“HAVEN’T TOUCHED YOUR TOOLS, GIRL,” called out Hoxton from the other room. “THOUGHT YOU WERE LATE NIGHT CRAFTING AGAIN!”
"THE ONLY 'LATE NIGHT CRAFTING' I'LL BE DOING IS WELDING YOUR DOOR SHUT, YA OLD PERVERT!" shouted Patch back. “AND WHY THE HELL ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME ANYWAYS, CREEPER???”
“DON’T BLAME ME FOR THE FACT THAT THIS SHIP IS BASICALLY A GIANT AMPLIFYING DISH!” yelled Hoxton. “IT’S HARD TO SLEEP WITH ALL THE CLANKING AND WHIRRING I HEAR FROM YOUR SIDE OF THE PIT! SERIOUSLY, ARE YOU BUILDING AN ARMY OVER THERE?!”
“HAVE TO HAVE SOMETHING TO COMPETE WITH YOUR DAMNED TOYS, DON’T I?!”
“ADMIT IT, YOU THINK THEY’RE CUTE! LIKE BASEBALLS WITH WINGS!”
“THE DAY I ADMIT THAT IS THE DAY I HIT A HOME RUN THROUGH YOUR SKULL!!!”
“OR THE DAY THAT I KISS YOU!” laughed Hoxton. 
Patch shuddered violently at that retort and grunted in disgust, turning her attention back to Rat. “Please start talking again before the urge to murder my neighbor comes back…”
“Well he’s not wrong, is he?” chuckled Rat, glancing pointedly at Patch. “Still, I do worry about Wasp, to go back to our original topic. He just… I don’t know, he doesn’t seem ready for anything more than stealth missions.”
“I suppose being hurled into the deep end like we were wouldn’t pan out well for your contracts,” suggested Patch with an amused smirk as she went about absently putting her worktop in some strange semblance of order that only the armorer could understand the logic of. “But really, if he’s going to learn anything else, then he has to be in those situations.”
“Thankfully, our contracts are usually stealth missions,” replied Rat. “It’s just… I don’t know. I just can’t help but feel something is going to go wrong…”
“He’ll be fine, Rat,” interjected Hoxton from the doorway, vial of graphene in his hoof. “Hey, the old grump unpacked the shipment again and swapped the crates around. Thought you’d want your half back.”
Growling, she stomped over to Hoxton and snatched the vial from him. “Fine. You gave it back. Now out,” snapped Patch even as she turned to put it away. “And he’s not an old grump. You are.”
“Ask him what he calls himself, and I guarantee the first words out of his mouth will be ‘old grump’,” chuckled Rat. “Besides, he’s already long past the mandatory retirement age for the Wonderbolts.”
“And if I’m an old grump, doesn’t that make you a middle-aged mare?” quipped Hoxton with a laugh and he retreated to his workshop. 
With an inarticulate scream of frustrated anger, Patch hurled a wrench at Hoxton’s back, hitting the door with a clang as it swung closed behind him. She huffed angrily at the closed door before she returned her attention to her visitor. “Much as I hate to admit it, he’s probably right… AND IF YOU TELL ANYONE I SAID THAT, I WILL KILL YOU, YOU LILLY-LIVERED EUNUCH!!!”
“WHO WOULD BELIEVE ME?!” laughed Hoxton. “I’D SOONER BELIEVE DESCENT AS A DOTING FATHER THAN YOU SAYING THAT IF I HADN’T HEARD IT MYSELF!”
“Heh, Razor might be right after all,” murmured Rat with a smile. 
“What did you just say?!” demanded Patch, whirling on him.
“I said, ‘You better play nice before you wake up fourth deck… again…’” replied Rat innocently. 
Patch peered at Rat through narrowed eyes before sighing heavily. “Believe it or not, I do know how you feel, Rat…”
“How so?” asked Rat, frowning in confusion. 
Patch bit her lip with a thoughtful look in the distance just over Rat’s shoulder. “Here, I can at least ensure through my work that the ponies I care about come back safe… But I… I can't do that for my half-sister. I worry about her a lot… I wish I could protect the last vestige of my mom…”
Rat didn’t say a word. The Shadowbolt simply stepped forward and embraced Patch in a comforting hug. 
“Look, I can’t promise anything now since Dante is sending us out immediately again. Some contract he called ‘top priority’ or something like that. After we get back from whatever he wants us to run, the Pack will take some time off and look for her,” stated Rat decisively. 
“It'll take longer than some shore leave to track down wherever they went…” sighed Patch. “But thank you.”
Rat chuckled. “You underestimate how much shore leave the Pack’s racked up…” quipped Rat with a wink. “Don’t worry about it, Patch. You’re one of us, and we’ll give our last breath to help, even though we solve problems long before that point.” 
With that, Rat stood up, making his way back up the stairs without another word. Personal work was important, but contracts came first. Despite the positive emotions he had felt for over a year now, Rat couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to happen. Something that would change the lives of everyone aboard the Cirrus, in a way that could never be reversed, and it was impossible to stop it.
To Be Continued….

> Chapter 14: The Raven
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Green Pastures, Southern Residential Block, Equestria
50 Years After the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Cloak sighed heavily. The foals looked up in confusion, not daring to speak. 
“Sir… What does any of that have to do with Nightshade?” asked one foal.
“Truthfully?” replied Cloak with a bitter chuckle. “Absolutely nothing. It’s the last mission the crew took before things went sideways.”
“So why bring it up, Grandpa?” asked Cold Snap. 
“Because you need to know how high we were before we fell,” grimaced Cloak. “You see, we were ‘the Rat Pack’. We were an elite team. We felt invincible. We could do no wrong.” 
“So what happened?” asked Kingfisher. 
“Dante’s age finally caught up to him, to put it simply,” explained Cloak. “He finally got cut by the knife edge he chose to walk along.”
“What do you mean by that, sir?” asked one of the younger foals.
“Well, you have to understand the first tenet of the Code,” explained Cloak. “In the Shadowbolt Code, our very first tenet is ‘The Strongest Leads’. There’s a damn good reason for that. It brings order to what would otherwise be chaos. The organization would be unable to function without it. Therefore, at the first sign of weakness, the leader must be challenged so as to minimize the amount of time we remain without a leader.” 
“So why was Dante in danger?” asked Starlight Harmony.
“Dante led the Shadowbolts for a good long while,” continued Cloak. “He was well respected for his tactical ability and his combat prowess. However, Dante was getting old. The stallion was fifty-five by this point, ancient by Wonderbolt standards and venerated by Shadowbolt standards. The only reason he retained command was that he seemed to be of sound body and mind.”
“So what was the mistake?” asked Cold Snap.
“Il Corvo,” whispered Cloak. “The War that Never Was…”

The Cirrus, Briefing Room, Equestria
6 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War 
Rat moved swiftly down the halls to the briefing room, knowing that Dante had said that his presence was urgently required. The last time he had said that, the Pack had rescued Crystal Rose from the Hekate Torch Bearers. Whatever this mission was, it would change the course of the future for the Pack. Of that, Rat had little doubt. Inside, Dante stood conversing with, of all things, a wyvern, with both looking up as Rat entered.
“Rat, thank you for arriving promptly,” greeted Dante. “I’d congratulate you on your last mission, but I’m afraid there isn’t time. Allow me to introduce Lóng Zhǔ, leader of the Huǒxīyì Tiānwáng from Vietmane.”
“Good evening, Dragon Lord,” bowed Rat. “It is an honor to meet you.”
“Indeed,” replied Zhǔ. “I have heard of your exploits from a friend of yours that I trust.”
“I see,” replied Rat. “We should get to business as soon as possible, though.”
“Agreed,” nodded Zhǔ. “Tell me, young Shadowbolt, are you familiar with the conflict between the Drakes and the Griffons?”
“Forgive my bluntness, Lord Zhǔ, but who isn’t?” replied Rat. “That conflict has defined the history of both races in equal measure, and has even affected Equestria’s own history.”
“Indeed, but I was more specifically referring to the Falchi di Montagna,” replied Zhǔ. 
“‘Mountain Falcons’?” asked Rat in clarification. “No, I haven’t heard much about them.” 
“They are an extremist group born out of the last Griffon-Drake War,” replied the wyvern. “They are led by a griffon by the name of Pietro.”
“I see…” nodded Rat. 
“This leader has been making a severe push to overthrow the current king,” continued Zhǔ. “And the most damning part is that he has a more legitimate claim to the throne.”
“Seems unlikely,” smirked Rat.
“Only if you ignore the infidelity of the previous Griffon king and queen,” sighed Zhǔ. “The current king is not the son of the previous one. Pietro, on the other claw, was born of by a dismissed scullery maid, who ended up retreating to a colony burned by the Drakes. Naturally, after watching his mother roasted alive in front of him, little Pietro grew up to be rather… brutal towards the Drakes. They called him ‘Myasnik’.”
“The ‘Butcher’,” nodded Rat.
“Indeed,” replied Zhǔ. “He’s slaughtered hatchlings while their parents watched in horror, burning them from the inside out, as a prelude to maiming the parents horrifically.”
“Tartarus…” cursed Rat. “So the contract is to capture him?”
“No, unfortunately,” replied Zhǔ. “He’s been captured by the Griffons, but given that his war crimes were privately sanctioned by the Griffon Warlords, they have a very unusual problem.”
“Oh?” asked Rat. 
“The problem is the Equestrians…” sighed Zhǔ. “You see, any trial of Pietro will result in severe reprisals from Equestria, perhaps even war, but summarily executing without a trial will surely result in war.” 
“Princess Celestia is very big on ‘justice’,” agreed Rat. “But what interest do the Drakes, much less the Huǒxīyì Tiānwáng, have in Griffon Kingdom affairs such as this?”
“The Drake Empire is no more prepared to see another war than the Griffon Kingdom is, perhaps even less so,” explained Zhǔ. “And if Pietro is allowed to speak, there will be more than a fair share of embarrassment for the Drakes as well.”
“Let me guess,” sighed Rat. “Funding? Weapons? Supplies? Intel?”
“All of the above, and all under the table, I’m afraid,” nodded Zhǔ gravely. “A shift in power in the Griffon Kingdom would have given the Scale Guard the time they need to recover after their massacre at the hooves of the Wonderbolts.”
Rat nodded. According to reports, a large contingent of the Scale Guard had managed to ambush a squadron of Wonderbolts on patrol. Led by the legendary Second Captain Blizzard Strike, the Wonderbolts made a significant last stand, decimating the Scale Guard forces at the cost of their own lives. If rumors were to be believed, that incident on its own ended the war months sooner than it would have otherwise. 
“I’m guessing that’s why the Drakes went to the Huǒxīyì Tiānwáng to pass on this contract,” mused Rat. 
“Griffons and Drakes both,” corrected Zhǔ. “Neither side is prepared for war, so the current griffon King and the Tsar have agreed to set aside their differences and allow Pietro to be… dealt with. They’ve even set aside five percent of their yearly income each to pay the contract.”
“I see…” nodded Rat, before turning to Dante. “You know that I don’t take assassination contracts, sir. Why choose my crew for this?”
“Your crew is one of the best stealth teams we have period, and all other teams that I’d trust besides yours are away,” explained Dante. “We need to strike immediately. Besides, you won’t have to kill him. Just extract him and get him back here. The Wyverns will handle the rest.”
“Alright, where is he being held?” asked Rat. 
“Well, that’s the- how does the phrase go? ‘Fly in the lotion’?” continued Zhǔ. “You see, while the leaders of the two nations have agreed to cooperate, they cannot inform their subordinates of the matter. So, as a war criminal and traitor to the Griffon Crown, Pietro has been taken to one of the most secure locations that the Sky Wings control. They call it-”
“-Il Corvo…” finished Rat. “...Shit.”

The Cirrus, Starboard Corridor, Equestria
6 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War 
Rat strolled through the hall, nerves all live wires. Shortly after the meeting with Zhǔ, Rat had taken a few moments to gather his courage before calling the Pack together. He’d expected protests and proclamations of his insanity, but, to his shock, they never came. There was a sort of silent acceptance upon hearing their mission, waiting for Rat to give them their orders. Somehow, their complete and utter faith in him was more unnerving than complete and utter doubt would have been. They depended on him completely. He couldn’t afford to fail them. 
As he passed the Mess Hall, Rat spotted Pitch out of the corner of his eye. Since the Sunbeam Hotel job, Pitch had thankfully stayed out of the Rat Pack’s way, whether out of fear or some other motivation.
Of the group at the table, Rat only recognized a few, and by reputation only. Sever was a berserker with a truly disturbing reputation, built by actions on and off of the battlefield. Thankfully, Dante had put a tight leash on the stallion after the first three incidents. Spider was something more of an enigma, reputed to be similar in ability to Rat himself. However, his plans seemed to maximize collateral damage, solely for “entertainment value”. There were two more that Rat didn’t recognize, a seafoam green mare and a brown and white stallion, and they all seemed to be speaking to somepony that Rat couldn’t see. 
“Once again, Sever, your capacity for cognitive reasoning never fails to astound,” chuckled an unfamiliar voice in rich, smooth baritone. 
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” snapped the grey-green stallion, crimson eyes blazing. “All I’m saying is that the old codger is growing soft.”
“And in what way would you mean?” countered the voice. “Soft in mind, resolve, body, or stallionhood? Because I question how you’d know that last one for certain...” 
“The first three, you arrogant-” snarled Sever.
“Simmer down, Sev,” chided Pitch. “You know he can’t help being a pompous asshole.” 
“Oh dear, is your flask running dry, Pitch?” interjected the voice. “You should have said something sooner. I’m certain that none of us wishes to deal with your sober temper. Apple Family brandy, yes?”
“Yeah, 979 to be exact, why do you-” began Pitch, suddenly stopping mid-sentence. “How the fu- nevermind. As long as this stuff doesn’t turn me into a parasprite, booze is booze. I ain’t gonna give two shits whether it came from your freaky voodoo magic tricks.”
“As amusing as your parlor tricks are, you haven’t explained why you brought up the subject,” asked the brown and black stallion, a disinterested look in his yellow eyes.
“Why, my dear Spider,” answered the voice with a grin. “It’s natural to be concerned with the direction that our great organization is going. ‘The Strongest Leads’, do they not? It is our responsibility to ensure that remains true at all times, and therefore we must consider this topic constantly.”
“Dante has yet to fail us so far,” commented the mare. “His decisions have been sound as they always have, so honestly this discussion does seem pointless.”
“Not pointless, as I said before, Banshee, but certainly brief,” chuckled the voice. “There’s no sense in beating a dead griffon, now is there?”
“Says you,” snorted Sever, sneering. “In my opinion, he’s always been useless.”
“You’re just mad that he has you on a leash, Sever,” snorted Banshee. 
Sever snarled and lunged forward, only to be stopped by the brown and white stallion, braided black mane whipping with the sudden motion. He held firm beneath Sever’s glare, despite the slight hint of fear in his yellow eyes. Sever held his glare for a few moments before snorting with a smirk. 
“Your brother is brave, stupid, or crazy, Banshee,” sneered Sever. “Can’t decide which, but I will say that I can respect his resolve.” 
“‘Devoted’ is the word you’re looking for, Sever,” chuckled the voice. “Although that may be a bit too polysyllabic for your vocabulary.” 
Sever snarled, but sat down without another word. Banshee guided her brother back to his seat. At that moment, another group entered the Mess Hall from the opposite side of the ship. Descent and Starry Skies moved to grab food from the line while Nightshade went to claim a table for the group. As she passed, the voice spoke up. 
“Ah, Nightshade,” politely greeted the unfamiliar voice. “Wonderful to see you aboard the Cirrus again. We were just discussing the approaching twilight of Dante’s career. Care to weigh in on the matter?”
Nightshade stopped midstep, looking down at the ground and taking a deep breath. She smiled briefly. Suddenly, Nightshade whipped around with seemingly impossible speed, gripping the unknown speaker by the throat and slamming him to the ground. A blue-grey stallion with a maroon mane and gold eyes was grinning beneath Nightshade even as he wheezed in pain. A patch of pure white fur could be seen beneath a fine leather great coat. 
“You want my two bits, Curse?” replied Nightshade calmly, leaning down to whisper in the stallion’s ear. “Here’s my two bits: How about I tell Dante what you think of his leadership, and we’ll see how far said ‘twilight’ really is?”
“Not my thoughts on the matter, my sweet Belladonna,” smirked Curse. “And if you really wanted me so badly, all you had to do was ask…” 
“Cute, but I’m afraid I must attend to business before pleasure,” smirked Nightshade. “And whose opinion was this, pray tell?”
“Oh, but why don’t we let them speak up right now for themselves?” grinned Curse before addressing the room. “Complaints about how Dante is leading us?”
There was no sound. No voice rose up in complaint. Curse turned to look at Nightshade again. 
“Well, that’s certainly quite odd,” mused Curse. “I could have sworn there were complaints before you arrived. Perhaps you provided a significant counterargument?”
“Perhaps,” smirked Nightshade, standing up and pulling Curse to his hooves. “Let me know if you find any who disagree.”
“Of course,” grinned Curse. “But, forgive my curiosity, you never gave your opinion on the matter of Dante.”
“If you are so insistent, then fine,” sighed Nightshade. “If he’s reached the end of his career, I’ll kill him myself. Is that what you wanted?”
“Yes, that satisfied my original question,” replied Curse, a devilish look entering his eye. “However, I did mean what I said about you only needing to ask…”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” smirked Nightshade. “However, for now, it’ll only be in your dreams.” 
And with a flick of her tail to Curse’s face, Nightshade walked away to find a table. Curse grinned before taking his seat again, and the Mess Hall began moving normally. Rat sighed and turned away. Ponies that messed around with Nightshade would only find themselves burned… among other things… 
Right now, Rat needed to make his way to the flight deck. He’d instructed the Pack to gather survival gear and rations for a three-day march as well as their equipment while he gathered as many maps and reports on Il Corvo as he could. As he approached the deck, a surprisingly familiar pair of voices appeared to be in the tail end of a heated discussion.
“Patches, for goodness’ sake, I’m only going to be away for a few days,” grumbled Razor. “It’s not like I’m going to march off to my death.”
“Well how in Tartarus am I supposed to know that when you won’t tell me where you’re going?!” demanded Patch crossly.
“I told you before,” replied Razor with thinning patience. “I’m taking a bit of leave for a couple of days to handle some personal business. I’m not going on a mission, which I have left for on countless occasions without telling you at all and have returned safely. This will be no different.” 
“But it is different, Razor!” protested Patch. “Every other time I’ve asked, you-”
“Patch, listen to me,” interrupted Razor. “There are some things that are personal that we don’t tell anypony, no matter how close they are to us. You have them just as much as I do. This is something that I have to do alone. If I tell you what I’m doing, will you promise to stop worrying?”
“You know perfectly well it won’t stop me worrying,” grumbled Patch. “But it’ll make me feel better, especially with Rat’s crew going out too…”
“I’m going to bury some old ghosts of my past,” explained Razor. “That should be sufficient. Besides, you and I both know that you would still worry even if I did tell you where I was going.”
Still, Patch wavered, chewing nervously on her lower lip. “You could distract me and let me get Hoxton back for that ‘middle-aged mare’ comment…” she suggested, somehow managing to sulk at the same time.
“And let the Rat Pack risk their lives without the intel and equipment he provides?” chuckled Razor. “Somehow, I think you’d be more unhappy with that…”
“I wasn’t gonna kill him…” protested Patch. “Just hurt him a little… Nothing permanent…” 
“You and I both know that your definition of ‘a little’ is severely skewed in Hoxton’s case, even life-threateningly so,” chided Razor. “Besides, on the off-chance you don’t actually kill him, do you really want the Rat Pack to be without his benefits right before their mission?”
“If he hasn’t given them the information already, he has it written down somewhere… And don’t tell me I’m wrong because I’ve been over there hunting for my supplies when you mix up the crates.”
At that, Razor didn’t say anything, simply smirking slightly before embracing Patch. Rat couldn’t be sure, but he could have sworn he saw a tear in Razor’s eye, but that had to have been a trick of the light. 
“I’ll be back, Patches,” grinned Razor before taking off into the sky.
“You’d better or I’m hunting you down and killing you… AGAIN!”
“Don’t think it works that way, little sister,” smirked Rat.
“I’ll make it work…” grumbled Patch even as she kept her eyes on Razor’s rapidly diminishing form.
“You know, you don’t have to worry about him, right?” asked Rat. “He’s one of the best fighters aboard the Cirrus, and I’m pretty sure I saw his rope dart and meteor hammer on his belt.”
“When all you’ve known is ponies leaving you, you always worry about it happening again,” murmured Patch with a sigh, and she turned to head back inside.
Rat didn’t respond, instead opting for a silent hug before walking to join the crew. Tank had somehow unfurled one of the survival tents and now sat sheepishly with a swearing Hawk tied to his back in the ropes and tarp. Rat sighed and chuckled. Some things never change. 
“He looks kinda cute all swaddled up like a foal, don’t he Boss?” quipped Cloak.
“Well, we don’t have time to untangle him now, so I hope he’s comfortable,” chuckled Rat.
With a single wing motion, the Pack took to the skies once more. Rat once again pushed the uncertainty he felt earlier to the back of his mind. There was no time for that, either. After all, the job had begun. 

Forest, Infiltration Point + 1 Day’s March, Three Day’s Journey to the Equestrian-Griffon Border 
6 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“So let me get this straight,” began Cloak. “The Griffons agreed to let the Drakes hire the Wyvern mafia to contract us to whack this Griffon turncoat quietly just so that Momma Celestia doesn’t bring the hammer down on both of them?”
“Don’t forget that this guy is a war criminal as well, and they need to hush up his crimes,” added Hawk. “I’m more curious as to why we’re hoofing it for three days rather than deploying directly on site.”
“Tactics, Hawk,” replied Rat. “Wasp, care to explain?”
“S-sir?” stuttered Wasp.
“You have been studying, haven’t you?” pressed Rat.
“O-of course!” protested Wasp. “Well, um, the griffons are a naturally-airborne species and culture, so virtually all of their military doctrine is based upon the air and defending said airspace.”
“Correct, Wasp,” nodded Rat. “And this is especially so, given that the traditional enemies of the griffons would be the drakes. As a result, all of their early warning systems focus primarily on air-based attacks.”
“Well, I guess a sore back is better than a griffon’s talons to the face,” grunted Hawk. 
“Better than a sore ass!” quipped Cloak. “Oh wait…”
“And to think you’re going to be a married stallion,” sighed Dagger. “Rose must have hit her head on something.”
“You’re talking as though she’ll say yes..” murmured Cloak in confusion.
“Oh, come on, you think she’ll say otherwise?” smirked Dagger. “She waited five years to see you again, brother. Mares don’t do that unless they like you.”
“Really?” 
“Yes, Cloak, really.”
“Wow…” marvelled Cloak. 
Tank chuckled gently, patting Cloak on the back. Rat couldn’t help but smile at his crew. 
They really had become a family over the years. As members of society, they were outcasts and misfits. As Shadowbolts, they now could say that they found where they belonged in the universe. 
Rat frowned slightly as he glanced at his own apprentice. The Lone Digger Job still weighed on Rat’s mind heavily. Wasp was excellent when it came to infiltration and stealth. It was one of the reasons that Rat had been eager to train him. During one of their later Sirejevo jobs, the young stallion had managed to steal part of a Loyalist weapons shipment they were raiding. It didn’t take the group too long to track him down, and in spite of the headache he’d initially caused, Rat decided that the young stallion’s talents would be better utilized elsewhere. Thus far, Rat had been impressed by the young stallion’s progress.
However, it appeared that Wasp had picked up very little from their combat training, if anything at all. The dive Wasp made was sloppy and easily dodged. Furthermore, the counterattack that the guard had made could have been easily blocked at any point.To an outside observer, Wasp appeared to know nothing of hoof-to-hoof combat. However, Rat knew for a fact that Wasp was capable of better. He’d seen it for himself dozens of times in training, and quite recently at that. So why did everything go wrong?
They continued their trek through the woodlands, being sure to keep low to avoid potential patrols and watchful eyes. Eventually, they stopped to set up camp, wordlessly setting up tents with rapid precision. No fires were lit and dry rations distributed, so as not to leave any sort of trace evidence.  Rat volunteered himself and Wasp for first watch, allowing the rest of them to turn in once dinner was finished. Night fell quickly, bringing with it a slight chill. 
For a while, Rat said nothing, sharpening his blade carefully while scanning the treeline and skies by the light of the Mare in the Moon. Wasp seemed to look everywhere except in his mentor’s direction, saying nothing. The silence grew thicker and thicker, like smoke in a sealed room. Rat sighed and set his knife back into its sheath. Wasp flinched at the sound, but said nothing.
“So, how long are we going to avoid the subject?” asked Rat.
“...I’m sorry, sir,” murmured Wasp. “I just- ...Well I don’t know what I can say.”
“How about the truth?” replied Rat. “What happened that night?”
“I’ve been trying to figure that out myself, sir,” mumbled Wasp in shame. “And honestly, I can’t think of any acceptable answer.”
“Then let’s try for any answer, then,” pressed Rat. 
“I guess, well…” sighed Wasp. “I guess I just froze, sir. It just didn’t register in my mind, I guess. I couldn’t think straight until it was all over.”
“Why now, though?” asked Rat. “It doesn’t make any sense. You were nearly flawless in training. It should have been reflex. So why wasn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” mumbled Wasp. 
“You ‘don’t know’ or you ‘don’t want to say’?” pressed Rat. 
“I really don’t know,” affirmed Wasp. “If I gave my guess, I guess I don’t have a killer instinct like you do, sir.”
“It’s not a matter of having a ‘killer instinct’, Wasp,” chided Rat gently. “I actually don’t have a ‘killer instinct’ at all and avoid it if at all possible. What I do have is the ability to act in order to protect my family, whatever the cost may be. Killing isn’t easy, Wasp. I do not take it lightly. And you don’t have to either. All you need to do is take action when needed to defend our family. Does that make sense?”
“Yes, sir,” nodded Wasp. 
“We’re going into a very dangerous mission, Wasp,” replied Rat. “I don’t think it’ll go sideways, but if it does, we’ll need to fight our way out. Can I count on you in there?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Wasp. 
“Really?” pressed Rat. “This isn’t a training exercise, Wasp. If things go wrong, death is a very real possibility. There’s no shame in waiting on the sidelines.”
Wasp looked up at Rat for the first time that night. His eyes burned with cold fire, resolute and unyielding. 
“Where my brothers and sisters go, I go,” affirmed Wasp. “I will not fail again.”
“Good,” smiled Rat. “If everything goes well, that won’t be necessary, but in our line of work, we’re either prepared or dead.”
“Yes, sir,” nodded Wasp.

Il Corvo, Front Gate, Griffon Kingdom 
6 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“Well, if I ever wanted to know what the Gates of Tartarus looked like, all I’d need to do is visit their source of inspiration…” hissed Hawk. 
Despite the flat look he gave Hawk, Rat couldn’t help but agree. Il Corvo was truly a marvel of engineering and a testament to the sheer will of the Griffon Kingdom, even in its state of disrepair. The entire fortress was carved into the center of the mountain, with sheer cliffs on all sides surrounding it. Griffons swarmed around the fortress like wasps near a hive, phalanx patrols gliding around the peak, scanning the skies for intruders. Each side entrance was secured by a massive stone gate, guarded by ballista turrets and search towers. Even the massive breach near the peak, a wound from the last war, was heavily guarded by temporary ballista and firebomb sling emplacements. Getting an army through the breach would be very costly, even with the element of surprise. Fortunately, Rat only had to worry about a small squadron, and he wouldn’t be bothering with the breach anyhow. 
“So Boss, how are we going to breach this monstrosity?” quipped Cloak. “Because I forgot to pack a shovel.”
“We’ll use you for a sledgehammer,” growled Hawk. 
“Really?”
“Of course not, you dolt!” 
“Quiet!” hissed Dagger. “Boss, how are we going to take this one?”
Honestly, it was probably one of the most secure locations that Rat had ever seen. There seemed to be no way to slip within the walls of the fortress besides the gates and the main breach. Patrols made both options impossible, however, as they’d spot anything before it got within thirty yards. It seemed that the fortress was only vulnerable to the wind, rain, and-
Rain…
Rat glanced around his environment, an idea sparking within his mind. Lush vegetation sprawled around the mountain, vibrant and healthy. It was an indicator of heavy rainfall. Rainfall would fall directly within the breach. So why wasn’t Il Corvo a lake rather than a fortress? A quick glance at the sides of the mountain confirmed his suspicions. A plan began to form in his mind. 
“Well, Hawk, I have a plan, but you’re not going to like it,” admitted Rat. 
“...Oh hell, not sewers again,” swore Hawk. 
“Not this time,” chuckled Rat. “Still, you won’t like it…”

Il Corvo, Below Courtyard, Griffon Kingdom
6 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“Dammit Boss, why the fuck are we always crawling through places like this?” grumbled Hawk. 
“We’re a stealth team, Hawk,” chuckled Cloak. “Places like this are how we make our living. Just be glad that the Boss decided that the storm drains were better than the sewers.”
“Shame, since we could have put your distinctive shit-eating grin to good use,” grunted Hawk. 
“Are you two going to do this right now?” hissed Dagger. “Right in the heart of a Sky Wing stronghold with a metric ass-ton of Griffon warriors above our fucking heads right now?!” 
“All of you, be quiet,” snapped Rat. 
Once the method of entry was determined, the rest of the plan had been straightforward enough. Rising up through one of the storm drains closest to the prison, Rat would lead Hawk, Dagger, Cloak, Wasp, Arclight, and Clover to silently break in and search for Pietro. Once located, Arclight would administer a fast acting paralytic on the griffon, and the crew would quickly make their way back to the escape. In order to cover their escape, Hawk and Clover would set up decoy explosives around the stronghold to draw attention away from the prison, which would be remotely detonated when the crew was safely away. Thus, the cover story for Pietro the “Butcher’s” escape from Il Corvo would become a legend and fade away with time, with the extremist fading into obscurity as he never resurfaced. 
Rat reached the upper grate that they were looking for, quickly removing the mounting screws. With well practiced precision, the crew emerged from the storm drain and split into two teams to complete their objectives. Rat reached the door of the prison, pulling out his lockpicks and his blade, working quickly to breach the door. In that moment, Rat glanced around at his team. Dagger was examining the edge of her weapon while keeping a close watch for patrols. Wasp was glancing around anxiously, clearly nervous given how his last time in the field had gone. Cloak silently stretched his wings, loosening his joints as best as he could without making a sound. Arclight was removing air bubbles from the hypodermic.Everything seemed to be going smoothly. Rat would always remember this moment, for the rest of his life, as the moment it all went wrong.
“-AT! CAN Y- -EAR ME!” bellowed Phantasm over the comms. 
“Phantasm?” asked Rat. “What’s wrong? You’re breaking up.”
“G- -UT OF- -ERE!” bellowed Phantasm. “-LCHI INCOMI-”
The com circuit went dead. Rat’s blood froze. He turned to the group to issue a command to scatter and hide, but soon found his ears ringing. A large hole was blasted into the side of the mountain. Falchi di Montagna poured through the gate, armed to the beak. The Sky Wings responded immediately, pouring out of the nearby buildings. Immediately, a search light fell over the group. For the first time in their long history, the Rat Pack had been spotted. The team turned to Rat, looking for orders. Rat grit his teeth. 
“PREPARE FOR COMBAT!” barked Rat. “FIND COVER!”

To be continued...
	
> Chapter 15: Insurrection
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Il Corvo, Airspace above the Breach, Griffon Kingdom
6 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Rat heaved his passenger further up onto his shoulder, struggling to keep from falling into total despair. His gaze glanced to the right as he watched Tank haul out the battered and unconscious form of Descent, his entire body covered in lacerations of varying severity. Nightshade looked as though she were ready to strangle somepony, spreading an aura of malice and hate that even unnerved Starry Skies. 
Rat looked around again, his heart growing heavier with every moment. All around him, similar scenes of wingmates helping injured comrades back to the Cirrus played out in similar ways, like melodies in a symphony of sorrow. Screams of pain filled the skies, which was good. While haunting and grim, every loud, soul-splitting screech signified another comrade that could potentially be saved. It was when the screams turned to moans, then whimpers, and finally silence that Rat felt his heart sink. 
He glanced down at his belt, trying to distract himself from the bone-chilling sounds of agony around him. Pairs of Shadowbolt goggles hung from a single metal clip, the sight making a lump in his throat. Each one signified another fallen wingmate, of which there had been far too many today. One last glance at his passenger finally saw a crack in Rat’s mental resolve.
How had this gone so very wrong?

Il Corvo, Courtyard, Griffon Kingdom
6 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War (Thirty Minutes Earlier)
Rat spat blood and grit onto the ground as he took shelter behind a pile of storage crates. Griffon rebels and Sky Wings clashed all around, slinging spears and crossbow bolts with colorful Griffonese curses. Screams of rage, anguish, and fear filled the air, cutting through the smoke and haze like blades. Cloak was bleeding from a fresh cut above his eye, which did little to shake the determination from his eyes. Dagger shook blood from her signature weapon, taking cover with the rest of them. Wasp watched in shock at the carnage around them, while Arclight knocked the nearest griffon out cold with a swift strike to the back of the neck. 
Hawk and Clover scrambled to try and make their way across the courtyard, dodging spears and crossbow bolts as they ran. Hawk pulled the detonator from his belt, gasping as a crossbow bolt slammed into his chestplate, knocking the wind out of him. Clover caught the detonator before it hit the ground, slamming the activator and tackling Hawk to cover in one smooth motion. Plumes of flame and debris erupted all around the courtyard, griffons knocked from the sky as the shockwaves hit them. 
Rat watched as Clover pulled Hawk to cover with the rest of the group, dragging the stallion behind the crates just as a volley of crossbow bolts rained down upon them. 
“Who told the fucking cuckoos where their leader was?!”  swore Hawk as he checked his chestplate for any signs of a breach.
“Doesn’t matter now,” dismissed Rat. “We still have a job to do. Arclight, status report.”
“Well, we won’t be bringing in the bird alive, that’s for sure,” grunted Arclight. “Crossbow bolt smashed the hypo. We have no way of tranquilizing him.”
“And I really doubt that we’ll be able to convince him that we’re allies if his cell has any sort of window to the outside,” growled Dagger. 
“And we’re trapped in the middle of the courtyard surrounded by crossbow-wielding birdies with attitude problems,” interjected Cloak. 
“And we have no way to bring our Heavy and Sharpshooter in to where we are,” added Clover. 
“What do we do, sir?” asked Wasp.
Rat scanned the courtyard, looking for options. The team was caught in a deathtrap, and there was no way out. Not only that, but they still had a mission to finish as well. Options were fading fast as the Falchi were beaten back and the Sky Wings were able to devote more assets to the second set of intruders. Already, the Sky Wings had collapsed nearby buildings to seal the breach that the Falchi made. They needed to make an opening somehow, but how could they break through those impossible odds?
“AH FUCKING SHIT!” swore Hawk as a ricocheting crossbow bolt clipped him across the face.
A distant echo of a thunderclap brought the fighting to a brief standstill. There was a faint echo of a roar and a crescendo of thundering hoofsteps, climaxing in the main gate of Il Corvo shaking on its hinges. Thundering hoofsteps trailed off, a distant roar, another crescendo, concluding with another impact. Hawk’s eyes widened in horror as the roar echoed again. 
“Oh fuck… DON’T DO IT BIG GUY! YOU’ll NEVER MAKE IT THROUGH!” bellowed Hawk at the door. 
Another impact caused the gate mechanisms to groan and shudder in protest, just as a third roar chilled the griffons’ blood in their veins. One final charge saw the gate fly off of its hinges, crushing a nearby squadron of hapless Sky Wings. Tank carried Phantasm on his back as he charged Sky Wings and Falchi alike, trampling them on his way to Hawk. Tank instantly found his way to Hawk’s side, nudging the injured stallion with his nose and moaning in concern.
“Dammit, you big dumb lug,” cursed Hawk. “You can’t just smash your way through everything. One of these days, you’re going to run into something more stubborn than you are.”
Tank grunted and snorted dismissively, lifting Hawk up onto his back. 
“Alright, Dagger, get everyone back out through the breach Tank just made,” ordered Rat. “I’ll slip away as they pursue you all, and then finish off Pietro.”
“Boss, have you lost it?” asked Cloak incredulously. “You’ll never make it back through their lines!”
“Not the point, Cloak,” argued Rat. “Remember: ‘A contract is always completed once taken’. The job needs finishing, and I’m not going to waste your lives to do it.”
“Fuck that,” snorted Clover. “We’re staying with you, Boss. We’ve followed you this far. What makes you think we’ll leave now?”
Tank grunted in agreement, snorting as he nudged Rat with his head. Rat glanced around at the others, frustration building as he saw the same unyielding resolve in their eyes. Rat sighed heavily. There would be no dissuading them. With a single wing motion, Rat ordered the crew to follow him closely as they dove into the fire. 
The ensuing fight was an absolute failure. The Sky Wings were able to close ranks quickly, and the wing armor was too difficult to breach for any of the Pack, save for Tank and Phantasm. For every griffon Tank knocked out of the sky, two more took their place, and Phantasm was finding it hard to get an opening to fire. The Rat Pack’s charge concluded with Hawk taking a crossbow bolt to the right side of his chest, breaching his suit. Tank lost his focus instantly, diving and pulling his longtime friend out of the line of fire with a mighty roar. The Rat Pack followed the gentle giant into cover, preparing for a final stand. However, the sounds of battle stopped as soon as they were surrounded. 
A large griffon stood on the balcony of the main building, flanked by a pair of Sky Wing specialists. His armor and flightsuit, while largely identical to that of a common soldier, bore the six gold dots that designated the Master of the Skies. This was Commander Massimo, leader of the Sky Wings. In his avian eyes, there seemed to be a hint of admiration and respect. He then spoke, a deep accented voice ringing true above the courtyard. 
“Equestrians,” intoned Massimo. “You have fought well. Well as any I would be honored to fly beside, but you are outnumbered without hope. Surrender, and you shall be treated with honor and dignity fitting of the greatest warriors.”
Rat glanced around briefly at his comrades, already knowing the answer he had to give and silently begging for his crew’s forgiveness. He cleared his throat and spoke up. 
“Honorable Sky Wings Commander,” addressed Rat. “Your offer is kind and generous beyond measure. However, as you have your principles that you live by, we have our own. Surrender is not an option.” 
“Very well,” conceded the griffon. “Then we shall honor you in death.”
Crossbows clicked as the Sky Wings took aim. Arclight took Dagger’s hoof, closing his eyes in resignation. Tank stood protectively over Hawk, growling even as blood flowed from his wounds. Phantasm took aim at the Master of the Skies, ready with an explosive bolt. Clover stared up with fear in her eyes, unable to look away but unwilling to flee. Rat kept running through the possibilities of escape but found none that would leave an acceptable number alive and still complete their objective. If only the Falchi had held out a little bit longer-
A familiar buzzing broke Rat’s concentration. The stallion looked up, and gasped. It was a Hummingbird, carrying a brown leather bag. It dropped the bag at Rat’s hooves before releasing a high-pitched whistle that caused the Sky Wings to drop weapons and fall to their knees in pain. A large shadow blocked out the sun from above. A swarm of black and purple rained down into the breach, causing the Rat Pack to breathe a sigh of relief. Reinforcements had arrived.
“Little birds, little birds, see how they fly!” crooned a crimson stallion with a devilish grin on his face. “Little birds, little birds, it’s time to DIE!!!”
Ruin cackled as he dived into the nearest phalanx of Sky Wings, viciously slaughtering them in a spray of crimson, brown, and white as blood and feathers filled the air. The griffons immediately scattered, screeching in shock and pain as they began to fall one by one. Bone-chilling laughter cut through the screams as Ruin danced through the sky with a small scythe. 
“Little birds, little birds, don’t fly away,” wheedled Ruin. “Little birds, little birds, come back and play!”
“Ruin, don’t play with your food,” grunted a blue stallion. “You’re making a mess.”
“Oh, you’re no fun anymore, Moony-Moon,” pouted Ruin. “What would Iris say?”
Moon shot Ruin a glare that could have blistered the scales off of a drake, but said nothing as he tore into the nearest phalanx of Sky Wings without a word. Ruin smirked before returning to terrorizing the Sky Wing lines. The Hummingbird carrying the saddlebag dropped in next to Rat, Hoxton’s voice pouring from the construct.
“Rat! Thank the gods you’re alive!” sighed Hoxton in relief. “Everything’s all gone to hell! Someone tipped off the Falchi, but I didn’t notice until-”
“Don’t worry about that now!” barked Rat. “Right now, we need options for getting through the Sky Wing phalanx quickly, and that wing armor is going to be a problem. Any ideas?”
“Why do think I sent the ‘Bird, ya wanker?” snorted Hoxton. “Saddlebag has a few toys I’ve been cooking up since your little jaunt to Sireberia. Armor breaching hoof grenade-blades. Incendiary and High-explosive only, at the moment. They were originally designed to deal with Jaegers, but I figure the next best field test would be Sky Wings. Just be careful, though. I sent you every single one I had ready, and that only amounts to about a dozen, so make them count.”
Rat lifted the bag of grenades, glancing back at the team. A strategy formed in his mind. 
“Tank, get Hawk out of here, and then help Nightshade’s group keep the way clear for us,” barked Rat. “Arc, there’s no point in you staying here now, so head back to the Cirrus with Clover. They’ll need every doctor they’ve got. Phantasm, go find high ground and provide sniper support. Wasp, Cloak, Dagger, you’ll follow me with the grenades. We’re finishing this fight.”
“Not without help,” intoned a familiar voice. 
Rat looked up into the familiar face of his old mentor. Descent was flanked by a full squadron of Shadowbolts, including Bastion, Lance, Caprice, and Concord, members of another Shadowbolt “clan” known for their combat prowess. Even Matchstick and his Recon group were present. Rat simply raised an eyebrow at his mentor. 
“You’re sending half of your team away,” explained Descent. “It would be foolish not to press our advantage while we have it.”
“Just follow my lead, sir,” smirked Rat. 
“Even after all this time, you insist on calling me ‘sir’,” grumbled Descent with a small smirk. “You haven’t been my apprentice for years.”
“I prefer to look at it more as a younger brother irritating an older brother,” grinned Rat. 
“Well, let’s not waste any more time, Little Brother,” chuckled Descent. 
“On me!” barked Rat, activating a grenade and charging at the nearest line of Sky Wings.
The phalanx was slow to notice them as Rat tossed the small green explosive with deadly aim. The device lodged precisely between the feather-plates of the lead Sky Wing on his right side, red light blinking rapidly. A plume of bright orange light and a dull thud announced the detonation of the device, sending chunks of griffon and Sky Wing armor everywhere. Griffons screeched as they were impaled by flying pieces of armor, creating a large gap within their lines. The Shadowbolts charged through the gap, making their way inside the central complex. 
Inside the cavernous halls, the true practical artistry of the griffons was placed upon display. There were beautifully carved wood reliefs for each battle the Sky Wings took part in, and tapestries with the names of all Sky Wings lost were woven with tender care and superior artistry. Each mahogany carving was painstakingly carved with the same tender care whether it was a victory or a defeat, and names on the tapestries were only differentiated by a series of six colored dots to indicate the rank of the fallen soldier. Even as the crew rushed down the halls, Rat couldn’t help but admire the griffon artwork and how it spoke to culture of their warriors. 
Rebel took point as they rounded the corner to the detention wing of the main complex. The mare’s choked gurgle announced that they had company yet again. Massimo stood with his spear lifting the Shadowbolt up by her impaled throat as he stepped around the corner flanked by high-tier Sky Wings, tossing the spear to the side. Bastion and Lance moved to avenge their comrade, moving with well-practiced synchronization. Massimo caught Lance by his head, snapping the stallion’s neck and tossing him into Bastion in a single smooth motion.  Bastion collapsed from the impact of his fallen brother, and was swiftly dispatched by a Sky Wing crossbow. Concord lifted one of the new grenades, ready to throw it before Rat raised a hoof to stop him.
“Too risky,” explained Rat briefly. 
“Take that one and the large one alive for questioning,” ordered Massimo, indicating Rat and Descent. “The others are expendable.”
Three griffons stepped forward with pikes, ready to attack, while three more lifted crossbows. Descent moved faster than the eye could see, pulling the lead griffon forward by his pike, catching him in a chokehold while impaling one of the crossbow soldiers with the pike. The other two crossbow griffons fired on Descent, while the other griffons charged, Using his captive as a living shield, Descent caught the crossbow bolts and one of the griffon’s pikes before snapping the wielder’s neck. The crossbow archers fired again, this time killing the last pike wielder as Descent skewered the archers on the last remaining pike, rolling past Massimo. 
The other griffons moved to attack, but Massimo lifted a talon to stop them. Descent looked up slowly, smirking slightly as three black feathers hung loosely between his teeth. Massimo seemed to be torn between amusement and outrage as he stared at the Shadowbolt, utter silence falling over the two groups as the full implications hit them.
“A bold move, Equestrian, challenging me to single combat,” commented Massimo. “Some would call it foolish.” 
“Do you deny me the challenge?” asked Descent, tucking the feathers into headband of his goggles. 
“Not at all,” replied Massimo, tossing aside his weapons. “Do you have a name, Equestrian?”
“You may call me Descent,” replied the stallion, circling back around to a position opposite Massimo. 
“Descent of Equestria,” bowed Massimo. “I will remember that name when I tell my grandchildren of this battle. I will see that it is honored when you pass on.”
“I’ll return the favor, provided that you give me a fight to remember,” smirked Descent, before meeting the griffon in battle. 
Rat immediately slipped into the shadows with Wasp, slipping past the distracted Sky Wings to the detention block. While concerned for his former mentor, Rat knew better than to waste this opportunity. By challenging the Master of the Skies to a duel, Descent had created enough of a distraction to allow Rat to slip by the griffon lines. Several well-practiced movements placed master and apprentice in the rafters and on the opposite side of the room, allowing the pair to slip through the door. 
The prison was sparse, even by griffon standards. Solid concrete walls and oak doors lined the corridor, small barred windows providing the only ventilation for the cells within. Working quickly, Rat and Wasp checked the cells silently, searching for the target. Rat had already made up his mind about what needed to happen next. Wasp suddenly motioned to Rat, having found their target. 
Inside the cramped cell, a dark grey griffon rested casually on a pile of straw, yellow eyes exuding the same smug arrogance as his cocky smirk. Rat was surprised that Pietro didn’t have as many scars as his reputation would suggest. The griffon stretched lazily and sat upright. 
“Not exactly who I was expecting, but I assume that you’re here to get me out?” drawled Pietro. 
“We’re here to release you, yes,” replied Rat. 
“About time,” snorted Pietro. “I was beginning to wonder.”
Pietro stretched before rising to his claws. 
“Well, nags, are we going to get out of here or-” began Pietro.
“No,” interrupted Rat as he slid his blade between the griffon’s vertebrae with a sickening crunch of bone. 
The griffon gasped, falling limp as his face shifted in shock and betrayal. In another moment, the light left the bird’s eyes, a pool of red spreading across the deep grey flagstones. Wasp stared in shock, looking up at Rat. 
“We’ll be lucky to get ourselves out, much less a buzzard dead-weight,” explained Rat as he wiped his blade clean on the dead griffon’s feathers. “Come on, we don’t have time to waste.”
Making their way back to the main corridor, Rat and Wasp returned to find Massimo and Descent locked in combat. Blood flowed over dark feathers in a steady stream as Massimo screeched and slashed at Descent. Descent stood firm against Massimo’s assault, even as his suit stained red from the slashes he endured. Still, blood loss was taking its toll on the stallion, causing his motions to slow.
Thinking quickly, Rat tossed his second grenade, marked with a red stripe, into the crowd of griffons. The effect was immediate, griffons screeching and scattering as a brilliant fountain of white sparks ignited their feathers, setting them ablaze. Massimo flinched for only a second to glance back at his soldiers, granting Descent the only opening he needed. A single hoof struck true, a crunching sound of cartilage crumpling beneath. Massimo gave a choked gurgle, his expression merely one of surprise. The griffon clawed at his armor, attempting to pry off his armor plates to reach his neck, possibly in an attempt to perform an emergency tracheotomy, but the lack of oxygen and the blood pouring into his lungs prevented that. And so, the Master of the Skies collapsed, drowning in his own blood as his brain starved from lack of oxygen.  
The effect was immediately demoralizing for every Sky Wing in the room. Two lieutenants worked to carry the fallen commander to safety as the temporary truce collapsed on itself. Any Sky Wing that wasn’t burning attacked, sending crossbow bolts and spears into the Shadowbolts. Hag and Lark fell with crossbow bolts through their goggle lenses. 
“No!” cried out Concord before his head snapped to the side as a spear struck the side of his head with the sound of crunching bone. 
Rat signaled the rest of the Pack to throw grenades to cover their escape, stopping only to retrieve goggles and help Descent to his hooves. 
“You look like hammered shit, Sir,” quipped Rat. 
“Don’t pull any punches, do you?” smirked Descent through a pained grimace. 
“Just like you taught me,” grinned Rat, passing him off to Mercy and Thorn. “Now let’s get moving before the bird brains reorganize.”
The group made their way down the corridor and out of the building. The courtyard was more of a mess than before, with the Shadowbolts barely holding the line against the griffon forces. A familiar face burst from the crowd, wielding a rope dart with lethal precision. Razor grinned at the sight of Rat and Descent even as he fought of Sky Wings back to back with Witch. 
“Took the scenic route, did you?” quipped Razor. 
“Well, you know Descent: always wanting to go back for seconds,” smirked Rat. 
“Seems he bit off a bit more than he could chew this time,” grinned Razor as he pulled an impaled Sky Wing down. 
“Go fuck yourselves, the both of you,” grunted Descent. 
“No, old nag, I think Rat would much prefer a certain archeolo-” began Razor with a smirk. 
“RAZOR!” snapped Rat, eliciting a chuckle from the two older stallions. “LESS TALKING, MORE LEAVING!”
“Isn’t that what she said?” whispered Razor as Rat passed him. 
“...You know, I regret telling you about that…” hissed Rat as Razor laughed.
Nearby, a small azure stallion was clinging to the back of a Sky Wing lieutenant’s neck as he bashed the griffon repeatedly with whatever objects he could get his hooves on, ranting emphatically. 
“‘SMALL ONE’ AM I?! HOW DARE YOU CALL ME SO FUCKING SHORT THAT I COULDN’T REACH THE BOTTOM SHELF WITHOUT A GODDAMN LADDER YOU TURKEY FUCK!” swore Trance. “I’LL SHOW YOU HOW ‘SHORT’ APPLIES TO LIFESPANS AND BLOOD SUPPLIES! WE’LL SEE HOW FUCKING TALL YOU ARE WHEN I RIP YOUR DRUMSTICKS OFF AND SHOVE THEM UP YOUR-” 
“TRANCE!” screeched a crimson mare, striking with every word. “WE! ARE! LEAVING!”
Trance glanced at Witch for a full second before growling in the griffon’s bleeding ear. 
“You got lucky, chickenbait,” hissed Trance before snapping the griffon’s neck. 
The Shadowbolts were in full tactical withdrawal. Mercy took a crossbow bolt to the wing, screeching before Thorn caught her. Tank roared, diving to catch Descent before the stallion fell to his death. Rat was vaguely aware of his barking orders, but all he could hear was the pulse pounding in his ears. They were on the final stretch out of this hellhole. Only forty feet more to freedom. Rat would curse those forty feet for the rest of his life.
“Ah!” exclaimed Wasp softly, so soft that Rat almost didn’t hear it. 
Wasp’s chest bloomed dark red as a single black crossbow bolt protruded from him. The apprentice fell, his eyes fluttering. Rat dove to catch his apprentice, knowing it was probably too late, but unwilling to accept that fact. 
“Wasp!” barked Rat. “Come on, Wasp! Speak to me! Don’t you die on me now, dammit!”
Wasp stared unseeing at the sky, a ray of sunlight breaking through the clouds. Rat shut his eyes as he felt the familiar sting. His apprentice was dead. 
“...Goodbye, Wasp,” sighed Rat, removing his apprentice’s goggles. “We’ll meet again someday-”
“ARGH, SON OF A WHORE!” swore Razor. 
Rat whipped his head up to see Razor’s ankles impaled by a griffon spear. Distracted by this sudden injury, Razor was unable to avoid the half-dozen crossbow bolts that impaled his wings. The old stallion fell, yelling and cursing as he did so. 
“RAZOR!” screeched Rat, diving after the falling stallion, releasing his fallen apprentice as he did so. 
Rat barely caught the stallion in time, struggling to lift the stallion as they moved beyond the range of the crossbow emplacements. 
“What the hell are you doing, Rat?!” bellowed Razor. “Wasp needs you-”
“He’s gone,” choked Rat. “He’s gone, Razor.”
Razor was silent as Rat swiftly carried him out of harm’s way. 
“Rat, I’m so sorry…” sighed Razor. 
“It’s all part of the job, right?” sighed Rat bitterly. 	
Razor remained silent. Rat made his way back to the Cirrus as the screams of injured comrades filled his ears. A quick glance at Nightshade told him all he needed to know about how the other side of the skirmish went. 
“You know, there’s going to be hell to pay when you get back,” mused Razor, wincing. 
“I know…”
“It wasn’t your fault, Rat,” pressed Razor. 
“Won’t matter, though,” replied Rat. “Hell doesn’t care whether it’s your debt or not when it comes collecting.” 

To be continued….

> Chapter 16: Nightshade Rising
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Cirrus, Medical Bay, Griffon Kingdom
6 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“AAAAAAUUUURGGGHHH!”
“HOLD HIM DOWN!”
“WE NEED FRESH BANDAGES OVER HERE!”
“WE DON’T HAVE ANY! JUST CAUTERIZE IT AND WE’LL DEAL WITH IT LATER!”
“FUCK, WE’RE LOSING HER!”
“SHE’S GONE INTO SHOCK!”
“QUICKLY! SALINE SOLUTION!” 
“SHIT! HIS WING FELL OFF!”
“NOTHING WE CAN DO NOW! CAUTERIZE THE WOUND AND MOVE ON TO THE NEXT ONE!”
“NO! PLEASE! LET ME DIE A SHADOWBOLT! LET ME DIE IN THE SKIES!”
“WHERE ARE ALL THE FUCKING PAINKILLERS?!”
The Cirrus, Memorial Deck, Griffon Kingdom
6 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Rat stood in line with nineteen other Shadowbolts, a pair of cracked goggles in his hooves, as the brazer burned brightly on the path to the memorial deck. Despite being upwind of the flames, Rat felt his eyes sting and burn as he stared into the yellow-orange light. The dim light of the setting sun cast shadows across the memorial deck, causing the metal plates that marked some flagstones to gleam orange. Twenty more would join their number tonight. 
An older chocolate-colored stallion with a grey beard and mane stepped forward, his hazel eyes weary and tired. A small crowd had gathered around the deck, watching in solemn silence. The older stallion walked before a podium, clearing his throat before speaking. 
"My Brothers and Sisters of the sky, we have gathered here this eve, with heavy hearts, to see to the final task asked of any of us," intoned the stallion solemnly. "Before us, stand the final markers of our fallen. This night, among the shadows and the dying light, we commit twenty more to their ranks. On Wings of Shadows, they have turned from home, to live Skybound evermore. Free now to roam forever more. Though the world shall never know their deeds, for good or for ill, their memories shall live on in our hearts, and carved upon the deck beneath our hooves." 
The wind whistled by as the engines hummed softly beneath their hooves. 
"Come forth, now, those who bear the fallen." 
The Cirrus, Medical Bay, Griffon Kingdom
6 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War (Hours Earlier)
“AAAAAAUUUURGGGHHH!” screamed a Shadowbolt, blood pouring out around the crossbow bolt lodged in his eye. 
“HOLD HIM DOWN!” barked Burdock, struggling to administer painkillers properly as the patient lashed about. 
“WE NEED FRESH BANDAGES OVER HERE!” called out Tourniquet as a fresh crowd of injured Shadowbolts was brought in. 
“WE DON’T HAVE ANY!” replied Burdock, marking the stallion he was working on with a pen and moving to the next one. “JUST CAUTERIZE IT AND WE’LL DEAL WITH IT LATER!”
Rat stared blankly at the carnage around him, numb to the screams as he watched the medical team scramble to deal with the sudden influx of wounded Shadowbolts. A nearby mare with a crudely drawn “3” on her forehead suddenly began to hyperventilate, eyes rolling back into head as the bruise on her chest became darker and more pronounced. A yellow mare rushed to her side, hooking the patient up to a nearby heartrate monitor. The machine began to beep erratically, even as the mare began to sag to the side, eyes fluttering closed.
“FUCK, WE’RE LOSING HER!” swore Lancet, slamming a hoof against the monitor. 
“SHE’S GONE INTO SHOCK!” exclaimed Arclight. 
“QUICKLY! SALINE SOLUTION!” barked Burdock. 
A nearby scream of agony and a dull thump drew Rat’s attention as something bumped against his leg. Glancing down, Rat grimaced as a severed wing rested against his leg, a pool of blood forming beneath it. Thorn howled as Tourniquet struggled to staunch the flow of blood from the ragged stump. 
“SHIT! HIS WING FELL OFF!” swore Tourniquet
“NOTHING WE CAN DO NOW!” ordered Burdock. “CAUTERIZE THE WOUND AND MOVE ON TO THE NEXT ONE!”
“NO! PLEASE!” screamed Thorn. “LET ME DIE A SHADOWBOLT! LET ME DIE IN THE SKIES!”
“I-” gulped Tourniquet, as she glanced back at the ever-growing line of injured. “I’m sorry…”
“WHERE ARE ALL THE FUCKING PAINKILLERS?!” bellowed Lancet as she struggled to stitch her writhing patient’s wings up. 
“Painkillers are being saved for more invasive procedures!” barked Arclight, keeping his tone level even as he helped Burdock set a stallion’s wing. “We’d have more available if you’d followed procedure, Lancet!” 
“Oh fuck off, Nightlight!” snarled Lancet. “None of your little friends got mauled by those chicken fucks!”
Before Arclight could respond, a young mare with a crimson coat and blonde mane skidded into the medical bay, a determined look on her face. Upon seeing the carnage, the mare’s visible eye shrank to a pin-prick as she began to hyperventilate. Any courage she’d had seemed to dry up on seeing the triage. Her gaze locked upon Thorn’s severed wing, and she turned green, suppressing the urge to vomit. Lancet said nothing as she retrieved the limb, simply giving the mare a dirty look before storming off. The mare sprang up instantly and dashed to the nearest corner as panic took hold, not even noticing as Arclight made his way quickly to her.
“Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods-” whimpered the young mare. 
“CORRIE!” barked Arclight before softening his tone. “I need you to breathe… Slowly… You shouldn’t be here, now…”
“I wanted to help!” moaned Corrie. “But then I saw- oh gods, oh gods-”
“Focus, Corrie!” urged Arclight, again softening his tone. “There’s nothing you can do right now, Corrie. Head ba-”
“I WANT TO HELP!” blurted Corrie desperately, tears in her eyes as her voice dropped to a shaky whisper. “...P-please… You’re my family…”
“...Ok, Corrie,” relented Arclight. “Here’s what I need you to do: Head to the back storage area, and bring as many boxes of medical supplies here as quickly as you can. Bandages, suture kits, disinfectant, and clotting agents first, but if you can find boxes of painkillers after your first few trips, there are many who would appreciate them. Understood?”
“Y-yes! Right away!” croaked Corrie, leaping to her hooves and rushing out of the medical bay.
“Arc, I checked half an hour ago, and we’ve got nothing left!” snapped Lancet. “It’s a waste of time, just like her-”
Arclight slammed the mare into the wall by the throat, expression blank. A metallic gleam and a sharp intake of breath from Lancet signaled the bite of a surgical blade against the mare’s throat. Arclight’s face remained completely passive, his rage only betrayed by a slight glint in his eyes as he stared down the mare. A thin red line trickled a hint of blood against the blade.
“Let me make this absolutely clear, Lancet,” stated Arclight, his voice calm and cool. “You don’t get to decide the value of somepony’s contribution. Ever. And do not underestimate the lengths one will go for family. Now, get out of my medical bay. Unless you wish to become a donor?”
Lancet snarled, but turned away. Rat moved toward his old friend, even as he toiled over another crate of supplies, unpacking and tallying what they had available. 
“How bad was it, Arc?” asked Rat. “How many are we going to lose today?”
“During the fight itself, we lost fifteen in all, and we’ve got at least two dozen in critical condition,” murmured Arc as he swiftly unloaded the crate and marked what they had available. “If we don’t get more medical supplies up here soon, that number is only going to go up, but we’re already looking at a dozen who’ll not be back in fighting condition after this mess. Astral will be lucky to be able to fly again, honestly, and he’s the best of the serious cases that’ll pull through.”
“Gods above, how did I screw up this bad, Arc?” asked Rat. 
“You screwed up?” repeated Arclight incredulously. “Rat, this op was screwed up! No one knew about Pietro’s mole. Not even the Drakes knew, and they were bankrolling the bastard from the start! There’s no way in Tartarus this is your fault!” 
“...doesn’t change who we’ve lost…” sighed Rat, turning away.
“Hush, my friend…” Off to the side, the soft, soothing voice of a stallion whispered to a mare screaming in anguish in fluent, smooth Prench. “Breathe deeply… breathe slowly… It’ll all be okay.” The titanium-white stallion ran a hoof through her mangled mane, still speaking to her in Prench. His hooves were stained with blood, dried and fresh, and his body sported disgusting bruises, but he kept a comforting aura despite the chaos ringing through the air.
“Y-you -- AUGH!” the mare sputtered through her agony, the wound in her side growing darker by the second. “Y-you can’t say that!” she responded in Prench before screaming again. The medics at her side rushed to do whatever they could to save her, but her fate seemed to have been sealed. “N-not -- n-not now when ever-ryone’s dying!”
“It will be, mon ami,” the stallion pressed, switching to Equestrian as he continued to run a bloody hoof through her mane. “It will be. Whatever happens, whatever the grief and tragedy that strikes us, it will be okay…” He paused as the mare screamed again, shakily grabbing his hoof and clutching it with a vice-like grip. “We are Shadowbolts, Rougir… and you know what that means, don’t you, mon ami?” he asked her softly. Her screams gradually dwindled into whimpers, her eyes staring up at him helplessly as her breathing became more erratic, and the medics around her became more frantic. She barely managed to nod in her violent trembling, and the stallion’s mouth quirks up into a small smile.
“Bien…” he murmured, holding onto her hoof and keeping her eyes locked with his ocean-blue pair. The mare’s uneven breathing turned to wheezes, and her deadly grip started to loosen. She started blinking rapidly, trying to fight the glaze that took over her vision, and her mouth gaped as she gathered enough breath to say one last thing.
“Merci, Facade…” she managed to whisper, “... for the sweetest lies… one could ever tell…” she breathed in Prench. Her final breath left her lungs, her heart beat its final beat, and her soul rose to someplace new. And as her body went limp, just for the briefest millisecond, Facade flinched.
Blinking quickly to keep any unneeded emotions at bay, he let out a long exhale and slowly folded her hooves over her middle. Taking a moment to glance up at the other critically injured that flood the medical bay, he happened to make accidental eye-contact with a cobalt-blue stallion who had just finished work on one Shadowbolt and walked away to assist with another. And while neither of them showed it on their faces, their eyes told it all.
Taking in a breath to brace himself, Facade stands from the side of Rougir and turns to Rat briefly.
“Nothing will ever be able to excuse how many we’ve lost, Rat,” he says slowly, his accent thicker than usual. “Nor will it excuse how many we have yet to lose. And nothing will ever be able to live up to the blow that’s been inflicted on us. Nothing ever can, because this…? Something like is never fully avoidable in the life we lead… but that does not mean it’s fully guaranteed, either. We can be prepared as they come, we may have seen the darkest of the darkest wars, and we can imagine circumstances as wild as they may be… but the minute those blows land? All of that goes away. There is no fault in hours as dark as this… only tragedy…” Despite the obvious exhaustion plaguing him, he still somehow managed to pull a reassuring, comforting front, complete with a small smile and all. And without missing a beat, he turns and quickly trots to another failing Shadowbolt on a med-bay cot, fighting the limp in his hip and the strain on his muscles all the while.
“He’s not wrong, you know,” mused Arclight.
“I just wished I believed it…” sighed Rat as the door to the medical bay slammed open again.
“ARC!” squealed Corrie, struggling beneath a small pile of boxes. “I brought as many back as I could, but the disinfectant crates were too heavy for me to lift! I focused on bringing as much clotting agent as I could to go with the bandages and sutures, but-”
“Corrie!” barked Arclight. “Please just breathe! You did fine. You’ve done great work today. Now rest for a moment. Catch your breath, and I’ll send some ponies with you to help with the rest.” 
Despite her exhaustion, the young mare seemed to glow with relief and just a hint of pride. Lancet snorted and turned away, saying nothing. Arclight motioned to two uninjured Shadowbolts to help Corrie, but soon found them bowled over by a charging Tank, who skidded to a stop directly in front of Corrie, a very disgruntled Hawk strapped to his back. 
“Big Guy is going with,” explained Hawk. “He’s still bleeding, but I’ve seen him shrug off worse, and Celestia help the dumb fucker that comes between Tank and a kid in trouble…”
“Just don’t let him strain himself,” smiled Arclight briefly before moving on to the next patient.
Rat sighed briefly, turning away. A hoof caught his own before he could pass. Thorn looked up at Rat, a desperate look in his eyes. The freshly cauterized stump of a wing twitched as it wept plasma. 
“Please…” begged Thorn. “My wing mates are already moved on. Let me die among the skies with them. I can’t live on like this…”
Rat nodded once, hesitating only a moment before drawing his blade. The knife sank softly into Thorn’s neck, the stallion sighing in relief as crimson flowed onto the starched sheets.
“Thank you…” sighed Thorn as he closed his eyes for the last time. 
Rat said nothing. His throat felt too tight. His heart twisted in his chest. 
“Son, it’s time…”

The Cirrus, Memorial Deck, Griffon Kingdom
6 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Rat flinched, shaken from memory. He now stood before the pyre, the line before him long gone. Wasp’s goggles dangled from his hooves. Slowly, he passed the goggles to Book, the old stallion giving a sympathetic glance before placing the goggles into the fire. 
Flames gleamed across the lenses as they cracked. The cloth straps ignited and crumbled to ash. The frame and buckles coiled in the heat, breaking the brittle glass and twisting away. Only the steel tag remained in Book’s tongs as he set the tag into the last open space.
The glass cover for the stone had been removed from the center, revealing a rectangular opening with two metal rods spaced evenly in the middle, pointing toward the sky. Goggle tag and rods meshed perfectly as Book places Wasp into his resting place, flattening the ends of rods with a hammer. The tag was secured, but not permanent. Permanent came next.
A small crucible of a clear polymer resin was brought before the stone. Resin filled the gap, edge to edge, as the stone was tapped to remove bubbles. Now, only a dragon would be able to destroy these markers. The only tomb that seemed fitting for comrades like theirs.
Rat sighed as he turned away. Twenty new tags had joined the Memorial Deck today. He briefly wondered how many more he would see before his own joined them.
Down below, a shuttle balloon for the wounded who would not be staying to fight loaded up with passengers. More family that Rat would no longer fly beside. A familiar face caught Rat’s eye, and the young stallion flinched. Ignoring the exclamation of his team, Rat vaulted over the railing to the flight deck below, rushing to the heated argument of an old stallion and a red maned mare.
“Dammit, you don’t have to go!” snarled Patch, unshed tears gleaming. “How can you leave us like this?!”
“For the last time, I’m retiring, not dying, Patches,” sighed Razor. “And it’s not just the ankle that’s convinced me. Despite your insistence to the contrary, I am old. There’s only two ways for a Shadowbolt like me to go out; the Memorial or retirement. And I distinctly remember making a promise to stay alive.”
“But you could take a role here!” argued Patch. “You could stay out of combat here! Why won’t you stay here?!”
“Because he couldn’t stay out of combat here, even if he took a non-combat role,” explained Rat. “He’d miss it too much, and he’d find a way back in unless he steps away.”
“Took you long enough,” smirked Razor weakly. “Guessing you’re going to ask why I didn’t say anything until now?”
“No, I know why,” replied Rat. “You knew we’d try and talk you out of it.”
“And you’d have done it,” sighed Razor. “Patches, I want nothing more than to stay. But I made you a promise, and with my injuries as they are, there’s no way for me to stay and keep that promise. I won’t be far away, and I’ll check in on you. And when you find that this life is too much, you’ll have a home waiting for you on the ground.” 
“Please… We-” She cursed under her breath before she corrected herself. “I need you here. Don’t leave me.”
“...Dammit Patches…” sighed Razor before lowering his voice. “If it were just my injuries, you know I’d suffer whatever non-combat indignity Dante tossed me to, just so I wouldn’t have to. But there’s another reason why I have to leave, and it’s one that I don’t want anyone else on the Cirrus knowing. The same reason why I left earlier this week and didn’t tell you…”
With that, Razor reached into his belt pouch and tossed something that gleamed in the fading light into Patch’s hooves. A silver locket with the Vietmanese character for “love” engraved on the front with an elongated Vietmanese dragon looping around to chase its tail. Inside, three locks of mane were delicately tucked into the frame. While not the typical tourist junk, it certainly wasn’t an expensive piece, by any means.
Patch’s green eyes went wide at the sight of the three tresses, staring even as one hoof reached up to touch her braid. “How… Where?” she stammered, unable to look away even to ask.
“Where do you think, Patches?” smiled Razor. “Vietmane. It’s the whole reason I left that day, but it’s not all that I found there-”
“You found her!” Patch cut him off sharply, almost jubilant. “Was she okay?!”
“Found her and brought her back to Equestria with me, alive, well, and eager to reunite with her long lost sister...” smiled Razor. “That slippery bastard Prose is looking after her while I was here, and she’ll be staying with me once I retire. So that’s why I can’t stay. I can’t look after both of you, and I know you’ll be safe here… I’m sorry, Patches…”
In one of the whiplash-inducing changes of mood she was known for, Patch almost immediately started shoving Razor towards the transport. “GO already! Damned idiot. Longer you’re up here, the longer someone else is watching Shimmer!”
“No need to give me a teary goodbye…” quipped Razor with a chuckle as he hobbled toward the transport, glancing at Rat. “Tell Hox to keep a sharp eye, and there’ll be Hell to pay if anything happens to her.”
“Take care of yourself, old nag…” smiled Rat, placing a wing over Patch comfortingly.
“Same to you, little whelp…” smirked Razor as the ramp lifted and the shuttle balloon lifted out of sight.

The Cirrus, Dante’s Office, Equestria
6 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Rat continued to wander the Cirrus, long drained of emotion when angry voices caught his attention. A small mob had gathered outside Dante’s office, cursing and throwing insults and taunts. Curse stood nearby with Hex, his right-hoof mare, the stallion wearing his usual smirk while the mare her scowl. Rat spotted Cloak nearby, catching the stallion’s attention as soon as he could. 
“What’s all this?” asked Rat.
“See for yourself,” gestured Cloak. “My words wouldn’t do it justice…”
“Traitor!” howled Sever.
“Face us, old coward!” jeered Spider. 
“You gambled with our lives, you bastard!” snarled Belle. 
“The only thing staler than you was your intel, blundering fool!” snapped Bit.
“Washed-up old relics have no place here!” jeered Libra.  
“Then perhaps you should retire before I realize what you are,” intoned a familiar voice.
Dante moved through the crowd with ease as all voices suddenly fell silent. The old stallion strode calmly through the crowd, his expression unreadable. 
“It’s odd,” mused Dante lightly in spite of the fury in his eyes. “I could have sworn I heard objections and insults moments before… Are they not valid enough to voice to my face?”
“Dante!” shouted Nightshade.
“At last, someone speaks!” quipped Dante. 
“You’ve failed us, Dante!” accused Nightshade, gritting her teeth. “We never should have taken this contract!”
“This contract earned us more than triple our earnings so far this year,” growled Dante. “And it would have cost us much more if we’d ignored the matter.”
“Earnings be damned!” spat Nightshade. “What good is gold if none live to see it? You sent us directly into slaughter while you sat comfortably within your office! Is your greed so powerful?” 
“This was not about greed, Nightshade!” snapped Dante. “You were young when war split the world in fragments, but I still remember the tags we mounted from that disaster, and believe me, twenty dead would be a merciful number during the war!” 
“We had no business there in the first place!” snarled Nightshade. “Let the nations slaughter their problems out! We are the Shadowbolts! We answer to no nation! We answer to no creed but our own! Perhaps you have forgotten that in your old age?”
A deathly hush fell over the crowd as Nightshade’s words descended. Rat could feel his eyes widened at Nightshade’s blatant bid for power, knowing that even in his old age, Dante would not be an easy opponent. As far as he knew, this was the first time in decades since such a challenge had been made. Dante looked up at his former student, his gaze hard and unreadable. 
“...Is that a challenge, Nightshade?” asked Dante. 
“It is,” replied the mare, sealing their fates. 
“Then you know the price for failure,” replied Dante.
“I will not fail,” snarled Nightshade. 
Dante said nothing, merely motioning for all to follow to the Arena. The stadium now served as a courtroom by combat for many disputes on the Cirrus, but none so brutal as Challenges.
“You all know the rules,” announced Dante. “No weapons, no armor, no moves barred. Last to stand is declared winner. Nightshade, last chance to stand down.”
“Let’s begin,” replied Nightshade coldly.
Dante merely nodded, moving to his place in the arena. There were no countdowns, no jeers or commentary, nothing but rapt silence. Dante’s face remained impassive, staring Nightshade down, fighting the battle in his mind before it began. Nightshade snarled as she took her place, gritting her teeth as she prepared to strike. 
Dante held Nightshade’s gaze without flinching, calmly preparing for the inevitable conclusion to this fight. The only sound was Nightshade’s breathing, rage seething from every hiss of air. Tension rose second by second. Finally, a strangled cry of rage rose from Nightshade’s throat, and the mare launched forward, eyes blazing. 
And in an instant, it was over. Dante and Nightshade stood on opposite sides facing away from each other. Suddenly, Dante coughed harshly, crimson liquid splashing on the arena floor, his expression twisting in shock. The old warrior crumpled, falling to the ground as blood poured from his lips, the ghost of his surprise lingering on his face as the light faded from his eyes. 
Not a sound was heard. The world turned on its head. In the time it took to blink, an era had ended. Nightshade stared in silence before addressing the crowd.
“Dante has fallen by my hoof!” proclaimed the mare. “Challenge me or swear your loyalty!” 
A brief hush fell over the crowd. A single voice called out clearly a moment later. 
“THE STRONGEST LEADS!”
Rat turned and looked around at the other members of the crowd. Another Shadowbolt stood up and called out.
“THE STRONGEST LEADS!”
One by one, voices rose up to join the others. 
“THE STRONGEST LEADS!”
“THE STRONGEST LEADS!”
“THE STRONGEST LEADS!”
“THE STRONGEST LEADS!”
Rat stared out numbly at the rising crowd, not fully believing the sequence of events. Curse smiled coldly as he surveyed the scene. Something felt off about the whole sequence of events. However, the proof of the reality of the situation lay in a puddle of blood on the ground. Rat felt numb. Nothing was right. And yet, the stallion rose to his hooves, joined by his team, and let his voice be heard.
“The Strongest Leads…”

Green Pastures, Cloak’s Front Porch, Equestria
50 Years After the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Cloak leaned back and calmly sipped his lemonade as the foals stared up in shocked silence. Kingfisher’s jaw worked furiously as he attempted several times to choke out a response. A few foals whimpered in the back. Finally, Kingfisher found his voice. 
“N-no way,” he stammered. “Nightshade cheated. There’s no way she could have beaten Dante.”
“Weren’t you listening?!” argued Flare Glider. “Dante was old! Really really old! His age just caught up to him!”
“Me not listening?!” protested Kingfisher. “What about you?! Even Rat, Cloak, and the others knew something was wrong!” 
“They lost a father figure and a teammate!” snapped Flare Glider. “Of course the world is going to seem on its head! That doesn’t mean that Nightshade just turned her back on the code she was raised by!”
“You’re both wrong,” interrupted Cloak softly with a hollow laugh.
The two foals looked up at the stallion. Cloak seemed to have aged a dozen years with the weight in his expression. Although he smiled, his eyes lacked any warmth or mirth, and his voice carried a slightly bitter tone as he continued.
“Nightshade didn’t cheat,” murmured the stallion. “No challenger ever cheated in this tradition, and despite her faults, Nightshade wouldn’t be one to break that.”
“However, there was much more than met the eye that day, make no mistake, but that is a tale for another night. Not tonight, for the stars shine too bright while the gentle breeze carries the warmth of the day before, as Luna’s moon lights up a clear night sky. Only when the mist rolls in, the wind chills your heart like the howls of the Timberwolf, and the sky is as black and lifeless as the Void of Hell Itself; then, and only then, we will continue…”
As Cold Snap watched his grandfather rise and enter the house, he felt a harsh chill run up his spine. Was that a promise or a threat? With another chill, the foal had an even darker thought: Did it matter either way?

To Be Continued...
End of Arc 4
> Chapter 17: Betrayal From Within
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Green Pastures, Cloak’s Front Porch, Equestria
50 Years After the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
The next few days after Cloak concluded his story were tense for the entire neighborhood. Every evening, Cloak would be asked if they could continue the story, and the stallion would gently refuse. The exact reasons were varied: The “wind was too gentle” or “the stars were too bright” or the “air was too warm”. Whatever the exact reasons were, he would always say that the “night wasn’t right” and tell a different story for the evening. 
They were always good stories, about another Shadowbolt clan known as the “Outsiders”. They were a Recon crew led by a stallion named Matchstick, and they spent a good number of hours with the Pack during their downtime. Cloak smiled brightly as he recalled a friend named “Impulse” and the work they did to perfect the art of something called “Breakfast Nachos” or how a blind filly named Oracle basically had the entire Cirrus wrapped around her hoof without her knowing. Still, the story of the Rat Pack lingered over the group. 
Finally, on a moonless evening with a cold wind from the east, the answer to the nightly question changed. 
“Yes, I think this evening will do quite nicely to continue our previous story…” murmured Cloak. 
“So what happened after Dante died?” asked Cold Snap. “Why was it so difficult for you all?”
“I would suppose the hardest thing about this time frame was the ‘Quarantine’,” mused Cloak. “When a Shadowbolt or Shadowbolt team became publicly exposed in an undeniable fashion, they would be marked for ‘Quarantine’ aboard the Cirrus or at a Waystation. They’d make their living out of sight for anywhere between one to two years, at which point, they could take contracts again.” 
“Only a year or two?” frowned Kingfisher. “That’s not great, but it doesn’t seem that bad.”
“You forget, young one, that Nightshade was a particularly vindictive bitch,” chuckled Cloak bitterly. “For the Pack, our ‘quarantine’ lasted for four long years, just because of how close our group was to Dante. She would only offer us ‘wetwork’ jobs that she knew that Rat would never take, to try and force Rat to bend to her whims. But Rat didn’t back down. In fact, if it weren’t for the way things ended up, our quarantine would have lasted for a decade or more.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Flare Glider. “What happened?”
“What Nightshade feared would happen, but not from us…” grimaced Cloak. “Mutiny.”

The Cirrus, Top Deck, Equestria
2 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Rat sighed as he leaned against the bulkhead. The time following Nightshade’s rise to power had been a rough one for the Rat Pack. In the wake of Il Corvo, the Pack had been virtually relegated to support missions with no shore leave after their Quarantine. Cruelly, Nightshade had posed a number of high-paying wetwork jobs to “prove their resolve”, but the Pack had refused.
One of the few things keeping them alive was their reputation and Hawk’s “steely” retort to a particularly vocal critic. A metal spoon to the neck was more than sufficient to take down that cretin. As far as keeping themselves afloat, the Pack was making a decent amount for planning operations for other groups.
Still, Rat was concerned. Mutterings had only gotten worse, and it only took one lucky hit from a dumb grunt to cause the whole situation to collapse on itself.
Rat stretched lightly before catching sight of a familiar stallion and rolling his eyes.
“Cloak, you’ve got to stop doing this…” sighed Rat. 
Cloak froze, turning slowly toward Rat. The stallion wore his full unmarked flightsuit, a small drawstring bag on his belt, just like every night prior to this. 
“Hey, uh, Boss…” chuckled Cloak evasively. “Nice night for a moonlight stroll?”
“One of these times, it’s not going to be me who catches you down here,” sighed Rat. “And if that happens, I’m not going to be able to save your ass, so I’m going to lock you down if it comes to that. Please don’t make me make that choice.” 
“I can’t…” sighed Cloak, looking down at a worn, velvet lined box. “I just can’t take it anymore, Boss… I want to see her, even for just a minute.”
“She waited for you before, Cloak,” reassured Rat. “She’ll keep waiting until it’s time.” 
“Doesn’t make it hurt less,” sighed Cloak.
“Come on, Cloak. Matchstick and his crew should be ba-“ began Rat before flinching as a scream of anguish split the night air. 
Rat was already moving to the primary Landing Deck to where the cry had gone up. Four Shadowbolts had hit the deck in a rough landing, a stallion with a perforated wing the source of the screams. Rat slammed his hoof on the Alert signal even as he moved to help Matchstick.
“Medical emergency!” barked Matchstick as he helped a mare with a profusely bleeding head wound onto the deck. 
A familiar young mare bolted onto the deck, immediately administering care. Corrie had grown in the past few years into a brilliant trauma medic. Her anxiety did still get to her, but it never got in the way of her work. 
Nightshade stepped onto the scene, her mouth a thin line of barely suppressed rage. Only Starry Skies betrayed any additional emotion, swearing under her breath.
“Get them stabilized and down to sick bay!” barked Nightshade. “Reconvene down below in ten minutes! MOVE IT!”

The Cirrus, Medical Bay, Equestria
2 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Rat frowned as he glanced at Matchstick, feeling a greater amount of unease than he had in a long while. Over the past few months, teams of Shadowbolts had seen a much higher failure rate for contracts, but nothing on this scale. 
“Report,” ordered Nightshade, her face impassive.
“Sireberia was a bust. Client was dead when we got there, and seemed to have been for some time,” stated Matchstick. “Hekate was waiting for us, though. It was a perfect ambush. Banshee, Inque, Goblin, and myself were the only ones to make it out.”
“Dammit,” swore Nightshade. “That’s the fifth operation in as many weeks. Get Hox to scrub the scene. You wore the unmarked suits at least?”
“Yes, but we have a bigger problem,” replied Matchstick. “HTB was using weighted and electrified weapons for blunt impacts and to take advantage of our suit’s inherent weakness. They were Shadowbolt killing weapons.”
“What the f-” began Starry before being thrown into the wall. 
The Cirrus lurched violently, a dull roar of shrieking steel and rumbling machinery echoing through the bulkheads. Rat tumbled across the ground in a well-practiced roll and took to the air, hovering as hell broke out around him. Alarms blared as the ship went into a brief freefall before lurching to a halt as the auxiliary lift drives kicked in. Nightshade limped over to a comm-box and slammed a hoof into the active button.
“Nightshade to Engine Room! What the hell is going on down there?!” barked the mare.
“We’ve got a pressure release failure on our primary lift and propulsion drives, and our auxiliary propulsion is out as well!” replied Gremlin. “Damn things nearly cooked themselves to oblivion! We’re limping with our auxiliary lift drives right now!” 
“How long until it’s fixed?” asked Nightshade.
“We’re gonna need to find the problem first, but we’re checking everything right now!”
“You have one hour,” ordered Nightshade. “Blade, Void, Angel, and Descent, I want you to take some scouting teams and check our surroundings. I don’t want anything catching us by surprise while our ass is hanging out.” 
And with that, Nightshade turned to leave before being nearly bowled over by a Kelpie stallion that ran past her, sprinting into the medbay to where Arclight was stitching up the mare Inque. 
“Shade?” asked Inque in bemusement as Arclight cut the last end of the monofilament for her stitches. “What are-“
Not another word was said as Shade captured Inque’s lips with his own. Rat smirked and looked away. Inque’s crush on Shade was the mare’s worst-kept secret, but apparently it wasn’t as unrequited as Inque thought. Of course, Inque didn’t seem to be thinking much as Shade made his true feelings known. Quite enthusiastically, if it wasn’t too bold to say. 
“...So… I know it’s a bad time, but who won the bet?” asked Cloak
“Cloak, this is hardly the-” scolded Rat.
“I have fifty thousand on the outcome of this, Rat,” interjected Nightshade. “Let our bookkeeper talk. It’ll be a welcome diversion.”
“Can’t say anything yet,” argued Hawk. “It would tamper with the outcome.”
“Well, let me know when it’s finalized, Bookkeeper,” smirked Nightshade. “We could use a bit of good news. Rat, I want you in my office in an hour. Your skills are… required…”

The Cirrus, Captain’s Office, Equestria
2 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“Scouting Teams, what have you to report?” asked Nightshade.
“Angel and Blade located seven squads of HTB mercenaries, all armed to the teeth, south of our position, along what would have been our current trajectory,” reported Descent. “We’d be able to fight them off, but it would be a tough fight, especially if our home were to drop out from underneath our hooves…”
“How… convenient that HTB would be waiting for us…” hissed Nightshade, her eyes blazing with barely suppressed rage. “Now… Someone explain how my ship nearly dropped out of the sky in the first place...”
“That means you, Gremlin!” snarled Starry Skies. “What the fuck were you thinking?! I ain’t an engineering type, but I know enough that the engines need to be powered on to lift us up!” 
“We had no choice, dammit!” swore Gremlin. “With no pressure release, we had to shut everything down on our steam engines! What would you prefer? A few bruises from a brief drop while we switched over to the methane engines, or half the crew shredded and the other half flash-fried from the boilers ripping the damn fecking ship apart?!”
“You’ve made your point, Gremlin,” sighed Nightshade. “However, that doesn’t explain why we’re no longer able to move.”
“Drive shafts failed on our auxiliary propulsion,” explained Gremlin. “Probably snapped a few after our brief freefall. Again, unusual, but not impossible-”
“GREMLIN! DĚNGDÀI! (WAIT!)” bellowed a familiar voice as a red and yellow blur kicked in the door to Nightshade’s office. “WǑ FĀ- I FOUND EVERYTHING!”
The only sound that followed was that of Patch breathing heavily as everyone froze in a mix of shock, bemusement and oncoming dread. Meanwhile, Rat did his best to stifle his laugh at Patch’s antics, knowing that what would follow next would require all of his attention. Patch’s face twisted from an expression of enlightened fervor to exasperated rage.
“Did you not hear me?! I said-” shouted Patch. 
“No, no, dear Patch, we did hear you,” replied Nightshade sweetly, even as her eyes flashed with irritation. “We’ve simply turned the floor over to you. Please continue…”
“Ok, so to start off, all of the damage we suffered was deliberate,” explained Patch. “I started by investigating our pressure release valves on the boilers. Most of them were deliberately sealed using the heat activated resin that we use to make emergency repairs on steam conduits and bulkheads. Not all of them, but enough that it would gradually raise the pressure to the emergency shutoff point within a fifteen minute window…”
“You actually figured that out?”  asked Void, scoffing. “Wasting time as usu-”
“Please ignore him and continue, Patch…” prompted Nightshade while Void wheezed in pain from a rattled stallionhood. “Not to say you wouldn’t do so anyway…”
“Next, I investigated the drive shafts on the propulsion methane engines, and found that most of them were sheared through with small demolition charges. Thankfully, our auxiliary lift drive was mostly untouched, but we’ll need to replace most of our lift drive shafts for the steam engines.”
“And how would you know there were demolition charges?” asked Angel. “Wouldn’t they have destroyed any trace?”
Patch rolled her eyes and muttered something disparaging about ignorance and bliss. “Bombs always leave their components behind, so they’re easy to reassemble if you know what to look for… And I did, because there was one that didn’t detonate, and a drawing of our schematics with places marked for all the points of sabotage,” explained Patch, producing said diagram.
“Well, that answers most everything, but it’s odd that they’d cripple the steam engines twice over…” mused Gremlin. 
“Exactly!” pounced Patch, flailing her arms - and the schematic - wildly. “Why go for the drive shafts on the primary engines, which we would obviously be shutting down from the overload, instead of…” Patch suddenly trailed off and looked at the diagram again, then suddenly flipped it one-eighty.
“It’s upside-down…” murmured Rat in realization just as Patch rotated the diagram. 
“You have something to add, Rat?” asked Nightshade over Patch’s fluent and inventive Vietmanese cursing. “I didn’t realize you had experience in engineering.”
“It's a simple deduction,” explained Rat while Patch lost herself in a world of tirades against idiocy. “The culprit knew they were on a time crunch after sabotaging the steam engines, so they had to work quickly to mount the charges, and in doing so, mixed up the diagram. A flip of a coin could have seen us on the ground and at the tender mercies of HTB. Am I right, Patch?”
“Retarded child of ince- What? Oh! Yes… Quite…” confirmed Patch, before grumbling in her native tongue that anyone with half a brain cell could see the drawing was upside-down.
“Captain, we still have a saboteur on board,” observed Descent. 
“Obviously,” groused Starry Skies. “And it could be anypony on board!”
“No, that’s not true,” interjected Rat. “Only anypony with contact with the outside.”
“And how do you figure that?”snarled Blade.  “For all we know, you’re the saboteur!”
“Whoever did this is clearly in touch with HTB. The discarded instructions and the waiting strike team are clearly evidence of that. As you all know, my team has been in quarantine for the past few years,” explained Rat. “Plus, if my team had decided to break ranks, none of you would be breathing now…”
An uneasy silence fell as the rest of the Shadowbolts considered his words. 
“What do you want, Rat?” asked Nightshade. 
“You need hooves on the ground that you can be sure had nothing to do with this,” began Rat. “My team needs work, but more than that, they need somewhere to focus their anger. This is our home that’s been threatened. This is our fight. Let us loose, Captain, and the traitor will have no way to hide.” 
“...You have four days…” replied Nightshade. “Do this, and we’ll talk about what missions you can take going forward…”

The Cirrus, The Pit, Equestria
2 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“So, in short, we need you to create armored clothing for us that looks like normal formal wear,” concluded Rat. “Can you make that happen?”
Patch grinned, an almost manic glint in her green eyes. “Can I make that happen, he asks,” she repeated with an almost exasperated roll of her eyes and muttered oaths in Vietmanese invoking the names of several unknown deities. “Rat… I’ve been dying to use these plans I’ve been making for years!!!” In a brief flurry of saffron feathers and titian braids, Patch returned, holding up a book with multiple sketches of rather elegant formal attire, complete with diagrams for the tactical reinforcement and notes on how she would integrate armor into the linings of suit coats and dresses, even less formal outfits like blouses, polo shirts, slacks and skirts. “Unfortunately, I’ve never gotten to make these before, since all anyone here wants is flight suits… Always flight suits…” she groused petulantly, closing her design book and clutching it to her almost like a foal would a favored stuffed animal.
“Now hold on a minute, Patch!” protested Rat. “We ran that job in Las Pegasus before the Quarantine, and that had us in normal clothes!”
“Well no one came to me for them!” retorted Patch with a disdainful sniff. “I would know if I had and I wasn’t.”
“But I specifically asked Cloak to place the request before-” replied Rat before freezing, remembering the exact reason why he’d delegated to Cloak all those years ago and how that would have been more than a little distracting. Daring had decided to bring the unmarked flightsuit that night...
“Cloak…” began Rat, frustration rising. “I thought I asked you to consult Patch for our disguises on the Lone Digger job, did I not?”
“Not my fault!” protested Cloak, raising his hooves. “Patch was scarier back then!”
“And I’m not scary now?” asked Patch with an almost dangerous gleam in her eyes as her hoof slowly moved towards one of her forge hammers.
“OH SHI-” exclaimed Cloak as he dived into an empty steel quenching barrel, covering his exposed backside with a bucket. 
Patch considered this spectacle a moment before she smirked and then wound up. With a huge, arcing swing, she slammed the forge hammer into the side of the barrel, ringing it like an ancient Wyvern gong. The barrel shuddered as it tipped over, depositing the rattled stallion onto the deck. 
“MAWP!” articulated Cloak, working his jaw in an attempt to clear the ringing from his ears. “MAWP! I CAN’T HEAR YOU GUYS! MAWP!”
“You do realize I need him?” smirked Rat. 
“Oh he’ll be fine…” Patch waved a hoof dismissively as she tossed the hammer back where she’d gotten it. “Eventually…” she added in a half-mutter.
Rat would have laughed and responded, but was stopped by a sight that his brain could not comprehend. Hoxton marched into the workshop, without being stopped by Patch, went to a nearby cabinet of tools, without being stopped by Patch, grabbed a soldering iron pack, without being stopped by Patch, and marched out of the room, without being stopped by Patch. 
“Gonna borrow this right quick,” interjected Hoxton without looking back. “Rat, swing by my side once you’re done with our armorer. I have some toys for you.”
“BRING THAT BACK IN THE SAME STATE YOU GOT IT!!” yelled Patch to Hoxton’s retreating back.
“YOU KNOW THAT I ALWAYS DO!” hollered Hoxton. 
“Doesn’t mean I won’t stop reminding you…” grumbled Patch, resorting to her native tongue even as she dismissed the matter entirely.
“....When did this become a thing?” murmured Rat to himself. 
“Now… let’s see…” mused Patch, seemingly oblivious to anything beyond her book of sketches. “I imagine Phantasm and Clover won’t be wanting actual dresses, so I’ll figure out something appropriately formal for them that’ll stick closer to what they’re comfortable with…” And with that, Patch was lost in a flurry of papers, scissors and fabric lengths, vanishing back into her sewing corner.
“I MUST HAVE BEEN HIT HARDER THAN I THOUGHT!” shouted Cloak, still rubbing his ears. “I THINK I HAVE A CONCUSSION BECAUSE THERE’S NO WAY HOX-”
“Yes, yes, let’s go ask him about it!” replied Rat, dragging Cloak out of the room to visit the other side. 
Hoxton was at his desk, putting some finishing touches on what appeared to be newer versions of the comm units that he provided the Pack with previously. The rest of the Pack was nearby as well, picking up various gadgets and weapons they’d need on the mission.
“Just wanted to give you a little bit of Intel before you rush off to the Den of Sin,” explained Hoxton without looking up. “HTB, unlike Janus, has no qualms about the Princess disapproving, hence why they have such a strong presence in Coltenhagen. Thankfully, they are not the main source of order in the lawless city. That would be the Olympia Hotel and their shadowy council.”
“So, what’s going to be our play, then?” asked Rat. “Where do we start in this mess of a city?”
“Thankfully, we do have a contact inside the city, and even more thankfully, we’ve had them there for quite some time,” replied Hoxton. “Cloak should be able to recognize them, at least when he’s no longer rattled.”
“Good, at least we-” began Rat before his brain broke for the second time that day.
Patch strolled in, completely at her ease, and made a straight line for one of the many cabinets. She briefly rummaged around in the drawer before extracting a micro torch. Smiling with her success, she nodded briefly to Rat, smirked at Cloak and then sauntered back out, tool tucked under her wing. “Need this. I’ll be done with it in three hours,” she called over her shoulder as she exited, leaving the door open.
“...What the hell was that?” asked Dagger. 
“WHAT’D SHE SAY?!” yelled Cloak. “I WAS HALLUCINATING THAT PATCH WALKED THROUGH HERE WITHOUT DECLARING WAR!”
“...Godsdammit…” sighed Hawk as he glanced at his little black book. “...How did that old bastard know…”
“Is that why the door was open?” asked Arclight. 
“I repeat my earlier inquiry: When did this become a thing?” asked Rat.
“When did what become a thing?” asked Hoxton, confused.
“You know… this…” gestured Rat as he indicated the open door and the borrowed soldering iron.
“....I don’t-” began Hoxton. 
“FOR FECK’S SAKE, TWAT! WHEN’D YA STOP GOING TO BLOODY WAR EVERY FIVE MINUTES, YA FECKIN’ QUACK!” bellowed Clover in frustration. “I CANNAE REMEMBER THE LAST TIME THE TWO OF YE WEREN’T GOING OFF YER NUTS AT EACH OTHER, SO WHY ARE YE NOT SCREAMIN’ AT EACH OTHER LIKE ALLEY CATS!” 
“Oh... That…”
“YES, ‘THAT’, YA TWAT!!” shouted Clover.
“Well… it just kind of happened…” replied Hoxton. “Can’t say exactly when-”
“WHADDEYE MEAN ‘IT JUST HAPPENED’?! FECKIN HELL FREEZES OVER AND YE SAY ‘IT JUST HAPPENED’?!” howled Clover before Tank sat on her.
“...Is this what it looks like from the outside?” asked Hawk with a frown. “Gods, it’s so weird to see this from the outside…”
“Nevermind that,” ordered Rat. “Pack your gear and be ready to move in three hours. We're bound for the City of Sins.”

To Be Continued...
> Chapter 18: Scum and Villainy
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Commercial District, Inner City, Coltenhagen
2 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Coltenhagen: For being the crime capital of the world, it certainly found ways to subvert expectations. The street was relatively clean, but considering this was the “upper class” district, it made sense. Crime was still rampant, but it lurked behind meeting room doors and offices. The only things that separated this from any Equestrian city were the vendors of illegal narcotics and weapons, the shady mercenaries carrying all sorts of weapons, and the Companions. 
Young and beautiful mares of all kinds smiled and flirted with passing strangers, promising nights of bliss and passion. Skilled in various therapeutic and tantric arts, the Companions were the most elite purveyors of the world’s oldest profession. Rat could feel their admiring gaze on him and his team as they walked past. Rumors were that the Companions tended to prefer the company of hired blades and all varieties of mercenaries, which didn’t seem too far from the truth. 



*******
“Dad!” gasped Tradewind, mortified. 
“Oh for pity’s sake! They aren’t newborns, dammit!” grumbled Cloak. “Besides, I wasn’t going to go into any detail on the matter!”
*******



Rat shook his head in an attempt to clear the enchanting gazes from the back of his neck. As he did so, a well-dressed stallion could be seen in an open-air cafe, speaking quickly with a dirty blonde Companion, sharing a friendly embrace before he moved toward the Pack. The black suit covered most of the stallion’s light blue coat, contrasting with it brilliantly. Cloak moved to embrace the stallion that was clearly their contact.
“Hey ya Quack! About time we found you!” snarked Cloak as he approached the stallion. “Get stuck in a Companion or three?” 
“It’s been a long time, Cloak,” smiled the stallion as he embraced Cloak in greeting. “Glad to see you well, friend.”
“It’s been no picnic, these past few years, Bane…” sighed Cloak, a little weariness slipping into his tone. “Thankfully, Boss has been looking out for us in the ‘Pack.”
“And this must be the infamous leader of your merry little band,” observed Bane as he glanced at Rat. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, friend. Hoxton and Cloak have spoken quite well of you.”
“All exaggeration and prevarication, I’m sure,” smirked Rat. “Still, our business here is urgent, and we can ill-afford delays. I’m sure you read the briefing.”
“Yes, and it’s a disturbing supposition, to be sure,” grimaced Bane. “I had my suspicions on the matter before, but there was never anything besides suspicions until now. Hekate has been shockingly tidy in regards to their interference. We’ll need to gather the information we need ourselves.”
“Come on, chucklenuts,” grumbled Hawk. “Surely there’s an easier way than that.”
“This might be the crime capital of the world, but even here there are rules,” protested Bane. “The Olympia keeps the city in line, but stepping on tails is strongly discouraged.” 
“Define ‘strongly discouraged’,” pressed Rat.
“At the tip of a blade, crossbow bolt, spear, and all manner of pointy objects,” chuckled Bane. 
“So we don’t have any idea what HTB is up to, then?” asked Rat. “Or even what might be motivating them?” 
“General motivation is quite simply power and prestige,” scoffed Bane. “As to their more specific goals, that’s the question of the day. Hekate has become more reclusive as of late, seeming to pull away from a lot of major players here in Coltenhagen, including the Olympia…”
“Speaking of the venerated lady herself…” chuckled Cloak as the pack moved through the mirrored glass doors of the Olympia. 
The Olympia continued Coltenhagen’s theme of innocent appearances, seeming to be yet another luxurious hotel like the Sunbeam in Canterlot or the Sky Needle in Seaddle. Marble and dark granite mingled in stark contrast to each other in the open entry hall as the stonework screamed of opulence. It was, in fact, an upscale retreat for wealthy patrons, but said patrons were thieves, assassins, mercenaries, counterfeiters and forgers. An old stallion with a greying mane and sharp suit was chatting with a Zebra at the front desk before he noticed the group approach.
“Charon, I see that you have brought guests,” the older stallion smirked. “Welcome to The Olympia, mares and gentlestallions. You may call me Zeus, and I am the proprietor of this establishment.”
“Rat,” greeted the young stallion coolly. “We’ll be requiring two suites for the next few days.” 
“Of course, of course,” nodded Zeus before motioning with a hoof. “Athena will show you to your rooms right away.”
A pure white pegasus mare with grey accents around her hooves and face moved forward, her brown-eyed gaze betraying no emotion. Rat momentarily felt a twinge of deja vu as he looked at this mare, trying to place where he’d seen her before. Her midnight blue mane flowed behind her as she turned to gold-plated elevator doors. 
“Follow me,” nodded Athena as she led the group to the elevators. 
Thankfully, the luxuriantly larger-than-life feel of the Olympia applied just as much to the elevators as well, allowing the Pack to go up in a single elevator ride. The mare moved swiftly upon exiting to the seventeenth floor and led the group to room 1704.
“You are invited to join the Management for dinner this evening at six sharp at the Rooftop Lounge,” advised Athena. “If you need anything else, please ring for a member of the staff.” 
Cloak dived for the enormous bed in one of the adjoining rooms and began jumping on it like a foal.
“We’ll ask Zeus this evening his take on the matter, but I doubt that will get anywhere,” planned Rat as he began to unpack. “Arc and Dagger, I want you to stick around the Olympia and keep your eyes open for anything suspicious. The rest of us will split into teams, hitting up bars, taverns, and other local businesses for anything we can find. A move like what happened last night is going to leave sizable ripples, and we should be able to track down the evidence fairly well.” 
“What’re we gonna be lookin’ for, chief?” asked Clover, aggressively fiddling with a breaching charge as Hawk eyed her nervously. 
“Anything that ties HTB to big moves in the Underworld, and whoever was responsible for such moves on HTB’s side,” explained Rat. “We’ll then put the screws to them and dig up who their contact was for the Cirrus.” 
“Well, I’ve got a great source of intel that we can use, but we’ll have to see them tomorrow evening,” mused Bane. “I’ll lead you there and make the necessary introductions.”
“You mean the Companions?” clarified Phantasm.
“No offense, but what would a bunch of floozies in an overblown whorehouse know  about HTB?” scoffed Clover. 
“The Companions are known to serve soldiers and mercenaries in particular, so HTB members of all ranks would certainly take advantage of their services,” argued Bane. “And while they may use their bodies for the pleasure of others, they are not the vapid, bubble-headed trollops you find in red-light districts.”
  “Mare in the Moon, Bane, take it easy!” flinched Clover. “I’m sure they’re perfectly nice mares, but it’s hard to remember shite when you’re getting your pipes swabbed, even if the swabber is shite at it!”
“Cut the chatter,” interjected Rat. “Bane, we’ll definitely follow up on that lead, but right now, we’ve got to keep up appearances…”

Rooftop Lounge “Mytikas”, Olympia, Coltenhagen
2 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“I think we’re either underdressed or overdressed, and I am not sure which…” whispered Cloak. 
The Rooftop Lounge was certainly in line with the rest of the Olympia, with masterful stonework taking influence from the Ancient Istallian coastal regions. In many ways, it was as if the architects had recreated the legendary home of the mythical gods for which their hosts were named after. However, instead of togas and robes of linen, most guests were wearing formalwear of the modern era, barring one group. 
“You mean as far as the formalwear or the armor in the formalwear?” smirked Dagger.
“Yes,” deadpanned Cloak, staring straight at a group of rough-looking Griffin sailors. “Tweet tweet, muthafuckas.”
“What, you mean Jacopo?” asked Bane, naming the leader of the Griffin group. “He may be the Pirate King of the West, but he’s pretty harmless, all things considered.”
“Yeah, well, you weren’t at Il Corvo with a bunch of those birdy fucks screeching for your nuts for earrings, were ya?” hissed Hawk under his breath.
“Griffins don’t have ears…” replied Bane.
“EXACTLY!” exclaimed Cloak. “So why did they need my nuts for earrings?!” 
“Hey pal? Can ya stop screamin’ about ya nuts for a second?” yelled a short Istallian pegasus with a curly brown mane. “I’m tryin’ to enjoy the braciole here, and the image of another stallion’s junk danglin’ from somebody’s earlobes is more than a little unappetizin’...”
“Le mie scuse, Don…” apologised Bane for Cloak. “My friend has some rather traumatic memories from a job he ran a few years back.”
“No fuckin’ shit?” the Don shot back. “I’ll let it slide, but that muddafuck spoils the cannoli for me, he’ll wish the birdies took his junk…”
“Duly noted, signore,” nodded Rat respectfully as Cloak made a noise somewhere between a squeal and a gasp. 
“Yes, well, passing over your friend’s unmentionables, I must admit that your group does… intrigue me…” interjected a dark blue unicorn stallion in a pristinely white uniform. 
As Rat looked up, he met the polite blue stallion’s calculating blood-red gaze evenly. A dark green stallion with a blonde crew cut stood at the unicorn’s right, and of the two of them, Rat found the earth pony more unnerving. 
“I apologize, but I’m afraid you have us at a disadvantage, sir…?” 
“Artistic Strategy, Chief Science Officer of Janus Security Solutions,” bowed the unicorn. “To my left is Major-General Firebrand of the Hekate Torch Bearers.”
“You may call me… Descent…” replied Rat, ignoring the squeaking sound of Cloak attempting to hide a laugh as a sneeze. “Independent contractor, same with the rest of my team.” 
“Independent, eh?” smirked Firebrand. “Don’t suppose I’d know any of your work?”
“It’s possible, I suppose,” evaded Rat. “Really, we’re just a group of pegasi trying to make our way in the world.”
“Ever made your way as far as Sireberia?” asked Firebrand with a veneer of joviality.
“Once or twice.” 
“Recently?” pressed Firebrand. 
“... Possibly…”
“... Still colder than a Windego’s teat, that’s for certain,” laughed Firebrand. “Strats, didn’t Janus use to have a couple facilities up there?”
“We did, but they were lost several years ago,” noted Strategy. “A rogue element brought them low with assistance from an Equestrian Navy vessel.”
“No foolin’?” chuckled Firebrand. “Ever catch up with them again?”
“Not the direct team, but we tracked the progress of the Equestrian Navy vessel as it made its way home,” replied Strategy. “Considering that a member of the assault team matched the physical profile of a Jaeger Project subject and none of the crew of the HMS Voyager match such a description, we’ve attributed the attack itself to a separate team of specialists.” 
“Well, I’ll be damned…” chuckled Firebrand. “I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that, eh Descent?”
“I’d have to be a ballsy idiot to speak with the two of you if I did,” quipped Rat lightly. 
The General stared at Rat for a long moment before breaking out into jovial laughter. “That you would, boy, that you would!” laughed Firebrand. “Ah… Well, I best grab a quick refill before this shindig picks up. Why don’t ya bring your crew around the Hekate Recruitment Office sometime? I’m sure we’ll make an offer you can’t refuse…” 
And with that, the older stallion turned away to speak with the leaders of the Vietmane Triads. Rat fought back his sigh of relief, clearing his throat. The odd blue stallion took the opportunity to speak his mind.
“A most interesting conversation, Mr. Descent…” mused Strategy. “Quite enlightening.”
“Forgive me, Mr. Strategy,” apologized Rat. “It was not my intention to-”
“On the contrary, I must thank you, sir,” bowed Strategy. “In five minutes of conversation with you, I have gleaned more from that pompous windbag than in hours of mindless prattle. But I wonder if I might have a closer look at the blade you wear around your neck.”
Rat blinked for a moment, stunned by the request as the stallion took his most precious possession into his hooves and examined the blade carefully, his blood-red gaze staring unnervingly into the reflection of the blade.
“This is high carbon steel, grade 22A; the same grade as Royal Guard armor from the Griffon-Drake War,” stated Strategy, before lowering his voice to a whisper. “Firebrand is not after just the organization that you represent, a goal I would normally not begrudge, but I fear his ambition reaches into matters that must not be interfered with, so for the moment you may consider me an ally. The General is a quite passionate individual. Such passions would need to be quenched regularly. With one Companion in particular, an angel, if you will, it’s said that he found salvation. Enjoy your evening, Descent…”
“Wait, but how-” asked Rat.
“You will know her when you meet her, Descent,” chuckled Strategy. “She is… unique. I daresay she is the most uniquely talented mare I have ever met.”
And with that, the strange unicorn vanished into the crowd, reappearing in deep conversation with Don Vito.
“Yeesh, I’ve heard that eyes are windows into the soul, but I doubt that a stallion’s soul could be that bloodsoaked, even for JSS…” shuddered Cloak, before taking a large bite out of a cannoli. “You all good, Boss? No Bad Touch from the Blue Meanie?”
“He’s actually helping us quite a bit,” frowned Rat, ignoring the chill down his spine. “HTB is up to something big, and it’s centered with Firebrand. We’ll need more evidence before we can act on it, but if anyone knows who the traitor is, it’ll be Firebrand.”
“Yeah, that’s great, boss, but how exactly are we going to handle this?” asked Hawk. “HTB is a big organization in an even bigger city. Even if Red Eyes Blue Stallion gave you a lead, who’s to say it’s any good to begin with, or has the info we need to tag the traitor?”
“We can always ask Athena, if you want,” interjected Bane.
“Does she do fieldwork? Because I swear I’ve seen her before…” asked Hawk. “I think the Boss might’ve chatted her up one time… or wait, was she in Seaddle? Might have been the same mare, actually...”
“If you’re talking about the mare I passed First Lieutenant Fleetfoot to at the Lone Digger, I wasn’t chatting her up,” argued Rat. “Besides, this mare is older, maybe even old enough to be the other mare’s mother…” 
“What, Athena? Being a mother?” scoffed Bane. “The mare is an ice cube with legs. Trust me, Descent has a better chance of spawning…”
“Shut it!” hissed Rat, elbowing Bane in the gut. “I’m running under the alias of Descent tonight!”
“Well, you certainly have a better chance of making spawn…” mused Cloak. 
“Stuff it, or you’ll lose your chance excruciatingly slowly…” growled Rat.
“It’s a wonder he hasn’t already…” snickered Hawk, delicately moving outside of Rat’s reach. 
“Put another fifty against ‘Rat’s Miss Adventure’, and then all of you pay attention,” smirked Dagger. “Zeus is about to speak.”
“Welcome again, my friends and compatriots,” greeted Zeus from his seat at the table. “We find ourselves at this conference yet again to discuss matters of interest to each of our organizations in this treacherous and volatile world. And yes, it is treacherous and volatile, despite the insistence of a certain Equestrian Princess to the contrary…”
A few dry laughs rose up from the crowd at Celestia’s expense. The Griffon captain rose from his seat, raising an unsteady glass of wine. 
“Hear, hear, my friend!” laughed Jacopo. “That cake-flanked nag could do absolutely nothing about the debacle at Il Corvo, no? A toast to the Olympia and their shadowy contractors for stabilizing my home nation!”
“Well, that answers one topic for discussion,” chuckled Zeus. “So the Griffon Kingdom is stabilizing well after the fact?” 
“Aye, they are,” squawked a stout griffon with a shiny bald head. “The Falchi are scattered like chicken feed and the Sky Wings are pecking them up!”
“Yes, yes we are!” chuckled a griffon with a wooden eye. “Tell ‘em, Pintel! Tell ‘em how we’s privateers are fillin’ in the cracks, we is-”
“I’M TELLIN’ THE STORY!” bellowed Pintel at his companion, before clearing his throat and resuming his tale. “But aye, we privateers have made a shiny little nest egg for ourselves in the ensuing chaos, as Raghetti just said…” 
“A toast to my most charming associates, yes?” grinned Jacopo as he chugged down another glass of wine and opened another bottle. 
“In a way, it is a shame, though,” mused Firebrand. “War is good for business, as we all know...” 
“But y’know, Peace is good for business too,” countered Don Vito. “Ya can’t sell to a dead schmuck regardless of where he is…”
“It is said that a little instability is sufficient for our needs,” a young kirin replied. “And with the situation growing in the east, we have more than enough instability as it is for all of us.”
“Yes, Xiōngtídǎo, thank you for leading into our next topic,” nodded Zeus. “I’m sure that all of you are aware of the situation in Neighpon. With the kirin’s clever exploitation of the Wyvern Empire’s attempt to source them as sex slaves, the Wyverns are cracking down on the kirin populace harder than ever, which will disrupt illegal and even legal business of all kinds down there. Lord Zhu, have you any comments on the matter?”
“His Imperial Majesty is most unreasonable, I’m afraid,” sighed Zhu. “His greed is outweighed by his vindictive desires. It is even rumoured that one of his sons was nearly castrated by one of the Kirin courtesan assassins, making the matter a personal one. No amount of gold may sway him, and anyone who isn’t making Neighpon suffer is an obstacle.”
“Saigo harbor is a major hub for the arms and narcotics trade,” stated Hera with a frown. “Even with employing a sea route, the losses we’ll incur will completely destabilize the market here in Coltenhagen. We simply don’t have enough ships-”
At this, Jacopo burst into laughter, pounding his clawed fist against the table. The entire table looked at the feathered brigand as his chuckles died down and he poured himself another drink. 
“I beg your pardon, Jacopo, but would you mind explaining why our lack of ships amuses you?” asked Hera sweetly, even as her eyes killed the griffon captain twice over.
“Come now, my dear Hera, is it not impolite to not laugh at the jokes of the lady of the house?” chuckled Jacopo, raising a glass to drink before freezing. “Oh… Oh you weren’t joking? You actually believe there are no ships that can be used?”
“That is the general implication of her statement, yes…” fumed Athena. 
“My dear ladies of the Olympia!” proclaimed Jacopo as he made to stand. “I am left appalled and speechless- Yes speechless I say! - that you truly believe that I, Jacopo of Ohnaka, would not lend aid to my good friends of the Olympia!”
“How do you mean, Captain Jacopo?” asked Zeus as he attempted to hide his amusement at the bemused looks that Hera and Athena were giving the griffon.
“You see, my friends, my good fortune is your good fortune!” boasted the griffon as he stood up on his chair, placing a foot upon the table as he stood to full height. “In our bountiful success, my fleet has found itself with more sailors and ships that we know what to do with! I, Jacopo, pledge to offer my ships in the service of the Olympia for a thirty percent-”
“Fifteen, Jacopo,” chuckled Zeus. “Don’t try Hera’s patience…”
“Fifteen percent shipping fee,” continued Jacopo with only the briefest of pauses to acknowledge the change, “and we shall all prosper for the better, yes? Of course, so many ships will need protection, and while my crew are a tenacious group, Wyvern Raiders are… rather unforgiving adversaries… Perhaps some help from Hekate or Janus-”
“Forgive me, Mister Zeus, but I’m afraid that Hekate does not work with washed-up relics of a bygone era…” sneered Firebrand at Jacopo.
“Come now, let’s leave your wife out of this,” replied Jacopo with a charming smile. “There’s no need for such impropriety among rogues and brigands, yes?”
“Is it wrong for me to say I’m liking the beaky bastards a lot more now?” muttered Hawk. 
“I find myself agreeing with the esteemed Captain on the matter,” proclaimed Lord Zhu. “Such a fleet would be able to make up for the loss of the land route through Wyvern territory, and we can finally stop paying the disgusting little newt to further recoup any losses.”
“And Janus Security would be honored to provide protection from the impending Wyvern threat,” bowed Artistic Strategy.
“We shall hammer out the details over the next few days, then,” concluded Zeus. “In the meantime, let us enjoy the meal.”

Chez Madrassa, Middle City, Coltenhagen
2 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Chez Madrassa; home of the Companions. On its face, it was a shining example of Prench Neoclassical architecture, aside from the eight plate glass windows behind which young mares performed seductive dances and acts of debauchery for the crowds on the streets. Upon conclusion of such acts, curtains of crimson velvet would close as the stage and mare were cleaned up, ready to entertain the crowd outside or service the next stallion or two-



*******
“DAD!” shouted Tradewind. 
“DAMMIT, I DIDN’T GO INTO DETAIL!” shouted Cloak. “PUT THE ROLLING PIN DOWN!”
*******



Rat attempted to ignore the acts in the windows as he made his way up the staircase with Bane. He knew that the sounds would only get worse as he went in, the gasps and sighs of a mare’s pleasure like a siren’s song to him, and while he couldn’t deny that he was tempted, they had a job to do here. He needed to keep a clear head.
The interior shared the Neoclassical design of the exterior but a house of noble propriety, this was not. Lithe mares of all shapes and sizes danced on tables, on chairs next to their customers, around poles set on smaller stages around the room, and on the runway-esque stage at the back. The air was filled with the scent of smokeweed, alcohol, and mares in heat. In many ways, Rat was reminded of the gaudy nightclub in Seaddle all those years before. At least this venue was honest with its intentions. 
The Companion with the dirty blonde mane that Bane was speaking with upon their arrival to the city approached the two of them. She was a tan Earth pony with grey eyes that seemed to have hints of blue and green in them, but that could have been a trick of the light. Her figure was most certainly not a trick, as her crimson corset gave way to the most perfect set of hips Rat had ever seen. The mare ran up to Bane and caught him in a warm hug, as though greeting an old friend rather than a lover. 
“So who’s your friend, Charon?” asked the Companion, her gaze friendly, but not flirty. 
“Charger, ma’am,” bowed Rat respectfully.  
“So polite,” laughed the mare. “You may call me Terra. Charon’s an old friend of mine.”
“Terra is a dancer here, and a damn good one,” explained Bane as the group set up at a table. “That being said, she doesn’t do the horizontal tango, if you catch my meaning.” 
“I see,” replied Rat blankly, trying to keep from staring at a particularly lithe unicorn as she moved up and down one of the nearby poles. 
“My husband and I don’t share, you see,” explained Terra before grinning and elbowing Rat in the side. “It’s okay to look, you know. Ivy takes pride in her polework, and she’d take it as a compliment.”
“Oh, I see…” coughed Rat, taking a drink from one of the water glasses that a waitress had brought to their table.
“...And she does ‘horizontal tango’... if you say ‘please’...” whispered Terra conspiratorially.
“Terra, please don’t tease the stallion,” snickered Bane as Rat turned into a living fountain while the mare cackled. “Poor soul has been without for a very long time, so to tease him like this is rather cruel…”
“Longer than you, Charon?” snorted Terra, but then the mare flinched. “...Sorry, I didn’t mean-” 
“We’re looking for any signs of Major General Firebrand of HTB,” interjected Rat between coughs. “We have reason to believe that he’s a regular here.”
Terra frowned, her expression contemplative. “I mean, it’s possible,” mused Terra. “We see a lot of clients from HTB and JSS, but most of them keep a low profile, staying out of recognizable uniforms…” 
“We were told that he ‘found salvation’ with an ‘angel’ here,” pressed Rat. 
“...That’s the tip he gave you?” deadpanned Bane. “Luna’s Ass, Charger, that’s fuck all useless here…”
“He did also say that she was ‘unique’-” began Rat.
“Not helping your case, buddy…” snorted Bane. 
“Charon’s right,” sighed Terra. “We’ve got so many ‘angels’ here that we’d be here all day to try and find the right one.”
Suddenly, the music changed in the room, and Bane seemed to turn rigid as he heard a distinctive piano solo begin. Terra sighed and placed a hoof on her face and muttered something Rat could not hear. Rat was able to recognize the song instantly. It was a popular song back in Equestria, by a Cubrayn pop star named Marina. It stayed in the top ten songs on the Charts week after week. A song of true love separated by circumstance, it had been the song that had gotten the Pack and their fellow clan the Outsiders hooked on the artist. 
“I-... I think I'll freshen up a bit,” coughed Bane. “Excuse me a moment…”
“... Fuck’s sake, he needs to get his head out of his ass…” sighed Terra. 
“Why would-” began Rat before he put the pieces together in his mind. “He fell in love with someone and that song reminds him of her…”
“Worse…” sighed Terra. “He fell in love with the songwriter, and that song reminds him… it was written because of him...”
“Wait, what?!” exclaimed Rat. “How-”
“Not my story to tell, but long story short, he’s being a stubborn idiot about it,” growled Terra in frustration before sighing. “I’ll go ask the other girls here to see if I can find any leads. Go ahead and take some time to unwind. You look like you could use some fun….”
 Rat’s choked protest fell on deaf ears as Terra slipped away with a wink. It was no use, honestly. With the mission now at a standstill, there was little to block out the siren calls of the mares in heat around him. He could feel their eyes on him, silently appraising him and judging his worth. It had been far too long since he’d last held Daring. It wasn’t as though he held any sort of hope that she was still waiting for him, nor did he feel that they were destined for each other, but he did miss her touch, her laughs, her warmth… Maybe-
“Sharp as a knife, I see,” mused a gentle voice from Rat’s right shoulder. “And with a steely glint to match. How many mares’ hearts have you pierced with it?”
Rat turned to see a beautiful ivory Kirin mare wrapped in form-flattering jade green silk. Her aquamarine gaze carried a note of teasing woven seamlessly into its inviting warmth, captivating any caught within. Her sky-blue mane seemed to shine in the dim light, tempting him to run his hooves through it. Were it not for her curious words, Rat would have found himself unable to speak.
“Excuse me?” inquired Rat, raising a single brow at the mare’s statement.
“Your focus, your mind, your gaze, and your stride; you are a Blade,” smiled the mare enigmatically. “Furthermore, you are a Blade with purpose. Still, even the sharpest blades can dull without proper care.”
“And I suppose you offer such care?” replied Rat with an amused smirk to this truly unique mare.
“If asked nicely,” countered the mare with a coy smile. “I am Tenshi.”
At this, Rat froze briefly, trying to dismiss his gut instinct with logic and reasoning. It couldn’t be that simple: Sure, her name was literally the Kirin word for “angel” and the first word that Rat would use to describe her would be “unique”, but it could not be that easy! Rat’s mind was clearly being muddled by the intoxicating fumes surrounding him. That was the only explanation because it could not be that easy! And yet, for all the excuses he made as to why it could not, his gut instinct screamed that it was. 
And it could very well have been. Artistic Strategy had met the mare, and he knew that “Charon” was a frequent regular of the Companions. Strategy had known that “Charon” was a close associate of “Descent”, so it would have been easy to tell the mare to approach “Charon” or anypony that “Charon” brought with him! Still, in spite of this, Rat’s experience screamed at him that this was far too easy. He had to tread carefully. 
“And what would bring you to come over my way?” asked Rat with a roguish grin, careful to maintain the character of a hot blooded stallion flirting with a mare, which was easy enough given his current predicament.
“You interest me…” smiled Tenshi. “You have a very interesting story, my Stallion Blade…”
“Really?” asked Rat, forgetting his purpose for a moment. “What can you tell me of this ‘story’? And how can you see it?”
“It’s truly simple, my Silver Eyed Warrior… You wear your story on your skin…” giggled Tenshi as she traced an ivory feather along a scar on Rat’s chest. “You are skilled with a blade and have fought since you were very young, but the number and depth of your scars suggest you have avoided direct confrontation, and yet it has found you all the same a few times. The way your gaze sweeps the room suggests that you are a leader and a strategist, watching over a group you love and care for like family. You’ve lost one recently, and it weighs on your mind at times, late at night when you are alone with your thoughts. And you have known the pleasures of a mare, but just one, and it has been a long time since you have. The only thing that I cannot read from you is your name, but that matters not. If you’ll allow me, I shall call you Shirogane...”
“Oh…” articulated Rat, unsure of how to respond to being completely deconstructed verbally by a mare who had known him for less than five minutes, split between fear and arousal. He instead chose to compartmentalize it for later as he pressed on with the mission. “Sure, I don’t mind that name. You speak as though you’ve known many warriors…”
“Yes, although I have only known one as well-spoken and sharp as you. A unicorn with an unsettling gaze…” frowned Tenshi, shuddering lightly at the memory. “I much prefer yours, Shirogane. His was red, but cold as the northern wind. Yours is silver, yet warm as the summer breeze…”
“...you’re the Angel…” murmured Rat in shock. “...you’re the one he found Salvation with…”
At this, Tenshi’s eyes widened before frowning and cursing in Kirinese. “You’re the contact?” pouted Tenshi. “Dammit, why are you the contact?”
“Wait, you didn’t know I was the contact?!” hissed Rat. “Then why did you approach me?!”
“I told you, didn’t I?!” hissed Tenshi. “You were interesting! I mean, you still are, but business puts a damper on that… Still, maybe not enough that we can’t-”
Rat’s blood froze as the door to Chez Madrassa was kicked open, and two HTB Heavy Soldiers marched to the front desk. While he couldn’t hear what they demanded of the hostess, he could clearly see his own face in the bounty crystal they placed on the counter. 
“...Shit, they’re on to me…” hissed Rat, sinking lower down the table. 
Tenshi didn’t turn to follow Rat’s gaze, instead checking a nearby mirrored wall to view the scene, her eyes widening briefly. She quickly turned to the unicorn dancing nearby. 
“Ivy, tell Terra to dance,” she ordered quickly. “It’s as she feared.” 
The mare Ivy nodded once before gracefully tumbling off the stage and fast walking to the changing room. Tenshi quickly turned to Rat and stared him in the eyes. 
“Trust me and follow my lead,” ordered Tenshi as she moved closer. “Be ready to move upstairs when I tell you.”
And with that, Rat felt himself pressed firmly in his chair as gentle lips met him in a slow yet passionate kiss. Rat soon found himself utterly unable to perceive anything besides the beautiful Kirin mare in his lap, not that he truly wanted to. He used his wings to pull her closer even as one hoof cradled her cheek and one caressed her beautiful sky-blue mane. All too soon, her lips broke from his as she whispered a single word in his ear. 
“Run,” she hissed, grabbing his hoof and leading him away. 
Rat kept low beneath the crowd as he was pulled along by the mare, but he stole a glance at what sort of distraction this incredible mare had cooked up. Terra was on the stage, spinning flaming fans made of torches as she moved in an erotic display of skill. Every eye in the room was on the spellbinding spectacle that was Terra as flame and dancer intertwined. It was only the tug of Tenshi’s hoof and the impending danger that kept Rat moving. 
Rat was only vaguely aware of being pulled into a room and a door slamming before being dragged briskly toward a bed. 
“You can’t leave out a window, since they have the building surrounded, and they’ll be searching room to room,” explained Tenshi briskly as she stripped off her jade dressing gown and began undressing Rat, haphazardly tossing the pieces of the suit around the room. “That means that you’ll have to hide in plain sight. Try to be convincing.”
“Convincing?” repeated Rat as he watched the mare hop up onto the bed and picked up a thick grey blanket. “What-”
But Rat’s vision suddenly turned grey before steadily turning to white…







Sergeant Flint tapped his hoof impatiently as he waited for his squad to finish searching the building. They’d received orders to apprehend a stallion named “Descent” and his compatriots for suspected ties to the “Darkbolts” they were hunting. It was imperative that they were stopped before they could interfere with Operation Ashfall. Failure would not be tolerated. 
Two Privates bolted towards him, flushed in the face and breathing hard. Sloppy form and potentially out of shape, he noted. That would have to be reprimanded. 
“So, did you find him?” barked Flint. 
“No sir,” stammered Private Tag. 
“No? Did you check every room?” asked Flint.
“...Well, yes…” coughed Private Blink. 
“Well, did you or didn’t you, Private?” barked Flint.
“We did, but…” 
“The only ‘but’ that is acceptable in this instance is the one attached to you, Private, and that is debatable!” snarled Flint. “What room did you not search?!” 
“...Room 1313, sir… But-” 
“I swear to the Gods, the next one of you that says ‘but’ is going to find my hoof so far up their butt that I could do a godsbedammed puppet show!” bellowed Flint. “Now march your ‘butts’ back in there and let me show you chucklebutts how to search a room!”
Flint grabbed the two privates by the collars and marched into the overblown whorehouse. The pair of them looked like blushing schoolfillies after secondary school sex ed classes. What did they expect to find?! Whatever was in that room would not stop Flint from scouring the room from top to bottom!
Flint cleared his throat and bellowed as loud as he could shout. 
“HTB! OPEN UP!”
Flint kicked in the door. 
He blinked once.
He blinked twice. 
He slowly reached in the doorway and grabbed the doorknob.
He slowly closed the door.
He blinked a third time.
…
…
… Nope, still burned into the inside of his eyelids. 
He turned to the privates.
“We’re leaving. If I hear you speak of this to anyone, you’ll scrub the latrines with your toothbrushes for the rest of your godsbedammed careers…” murmured Flint.
“Understood, sir…” murmured the Privates.



*******
“...There… Will you put the rolling pin down now?” 
*******








Tenshi went quiet as she listened for the HTB soldiers to march away. Satisfied that she was safe at last with her “client”, she deftly unwrapped him from her lower half and proceeded to barricade the door. 
“I told you to be convincing, you know…” quipped Tenshi as she moved the dresser in front of the door. “If it wasn’t for my performance, you’d have been clapped in irons and hauled away…”
“Well, forgive me for not wanting to take advantage of an honorable mare, dammit!” snapped Rat, face still flushed but not from the blanket. 
“If I hadn’t wanted you to do it, I wouldn’t have put your head so close, would I?” teased the mare as Rat’s ears turned bright red.  
“So, you were the one that Firebrand went to?” coughed Rat, attempting to change the subject. 
“Yes, and the General is clumsy as he is stupid, and I have an eidetic memory…” sighed Tenshi. “HTB is intending to wipe out the leaders of the entire criminal underworld and seize control of the remnants in the chaos. They call it ‘Operation Ashfall’. The only group standing in their way is a group of pegasi they call ‘Darkbolts’. In fact, this plan was all made possible by a traitor to the Darkbolts selling them out.”
“And who is the traitor?” asked Rat.
Tenshi told Rat the traitor’s name.
“... And the General has proof of this?” asked Rat.
“Yes, he has an employment contract for the traitor in his safe…” replied Tenshi.
“Well, shit… at least this resolves the mission…” sighed Rat. “But now I gotta get back to my team-”
“HTB is going to stake out Chez Madrassa for several hours to try and wait you out,” protested Tenshi. “You’ll need to hide.”
“... With you, then…”
“If you truly do not want to, then I’ll accept your choice… But do you really not want to?”
“... I do want to… But I cannot compensate you-”
“Did I ask you to?” 
“But this is your livelihood!”
Tenshi smiled and sighed at her Shirogane. “If you must insist on it, then I ask you to tell me your story, Shirogane… Let me hear it in your own words as we become one…”



******
“DAMMIT SON, PUT THAT ROLLING PIN BACK WHERE IT CAME FROM OR SO HELP ME-”
******



> Chapter 19: Ashfall
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chez Madrassa, Middle City, Coltenhagen
2 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Rat woke to the gentle tug of Tenshi’s wing as she pulled him closer. Moonlight from the window strewn across the sheets as the kirin mare hummed in contentment. Unsurprisingly, Rat felt as though he’d drank a glass of wheat flour with a side of sand. To speak of his life for the past two decades was a challenge. To make love to a mare and satisfy her thoroughly was another challenge. To do both at the same time and bring said mare to her peak at least five times throughout the evening was quite exhausting. As he reached for the mug of water on the bedside table, Rat suddenly felt the wing across his chest tighten more. 
“Don’t go…” whispered Tenshi plaintively. “Please, Shirogane… Not yet…”
“I’m just getting a drink of water,” rasped the stallion with a chuckle. “I’ll be back in a moment…”
“I know I cannot keep you, Shirogane,” sighed Tenshi. “No more than I could stop the sun from setting or the moon rising. But please stay a little longer.”
Rat nearly spat the water back into the mug at the mare’s declaration. There was a tone of finality in her voice that left no room for doubt. Had any other being, pony, god, or demon, told him that, Rat would have dismissed them as insane. But Tenshi was not any other being. 
“How do you know you can’t?” asked Rat, moving back into the bed with a frown. 
“I may walk beside you now, but I know in my heart that I will not be the one beside you at your end,” smiled Tenshi sadly as she wrapped Rat back into her warm embrace. “It’s not something I think or remember, but I trust this as sure as fact, dearest Shirogane… You have already met your true beloved. I can feel it in your soul.” 
“You mean Daring?” frowned Rat. “I mean, we had good times together, but…”
“No, Shirogane…” giggled Tenshi. “You have not made love to her yet. You have not even learned her name, but you have met her twice now…”
“I have?” asked Rat thickly before chastising himself for such a foolish question.
“Twice before, you have met, and twice more will you meet again before you love her, Shirogane…” smiled Tenshi. “It will be a difficult road for the two of you, but you will stand together. This I know in my heart, and this is why I cannot keep you, Shirogane.”
“Fate can be defied, in my experience,” replied Rat. 
“If only it were fate, Shirogane…” sighed Tenshi. “No, if this were merely a thought in my head, I would fight to keep you. But this is the same feeling in my heart as the day that I gazed upon the Imperial Family, when I knew I would cripple the Wyvern Emperor’s son. The same feeling as the day that I looked upon the Wyvern guards, when I knew my father would sacrifice himself to help me escape them. The same feeling as the day I stepped into the Chez Madrassa, where I felt that a silver-eyed warrior would grant me a gift more precious than life itself but never return. No, my darling Shirogane; we cannot defy this, regardless of how we wish to. But I will be fine, my dearest. And so will you. But please, hold me close, Shirogane. No more passion, but take comfort in my embrace…”
“If you insist…” whispered Rat as he pulled the Angel closer to him.

Black Market, Middle City, Coltenhagen
2 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Rat slipped through the crowd unnoticed as he made his way through the Shadow Bazaar. The crew had set a rallypoint there, just in case they were separated. Of course, for security, they had not named an actual location, just in case of capture. Thankfully, there were only so many places Tank could hide. 
“Miss me?” snarked Rat as he slipped into the sidestreet where they were hiding. 
“Good fucking grief, Boss!” hissed Cloak. “What did you do?! Hekate is swarming the city for us! We’ve got six figure bounties! Each! Yours is seven!” 
“Only six?” snarked Rat. “I’m disappointed in you all. Even with Firebrand being a cheapskate, I expected eight figure bounties for all of us…”
“Rat this is serious, dammit!” snapped Dagger. “We got fucking played-”
“I know,” interjected Rat. “I know who the traitor is, but we have to get the proof from Firebrand. Worse still, HTB is making a huge move on the Underworld. They’ll seize control of everything if we don’t stop them.”
“No pressure, right?” snarked Arclight. 
“Hawk, what’s the city look like as far as exfil goes?” asked Bane.
“Damn HTB have all the gates locked down tighter than Void’s asshole,” reported Hawk. “And they’re using slings, not crossbows, so whoever the leak is, they know exactly how to beat our armor.”
“Well, flying out of the city isn’t an option,” mused Rat. “What about the waterways?”
“Sure, we could do that,” chuckled Bane mirthlessly. “If we wanted to spend the next fifty years trying to find our way out. Because that’s what we’d be doing if we didn’t have a map or a guide.”
“Well, Mr. Intel-Colt,” deadpanned Cloak. “How do we get those if you don’t know them already?”
“Say ‘please’...” whispered a voice as a shadow dropped behind Bane and held a wicked blade to his throat.
“FUCK ME IN THE KEYHOLE!” swore Cloak as he fell backwards into a dumpster. “CONTACT!”
“Hold!” demanded Bane. “Not a threat...I think…”
“How reassuring,” deadpanned Dagger.  
“How sweet, darling,” the mare purred as she removed the blade from Bane’s jugular. “You only occasionally think of me as a threat? I feel like I’ve let my mentor down now…”
“The worst ‘threat’ you present is a nasty case of blue balls at best, and shameful release at worst, Chroma,” quipped Bane, as he discreetly pressed a blade into her side.
“You know… I think that isn’t actually a dagger and you’re truly happy to see me this time, Charon,” retorted the mare with a playful smile, though she’d been pouting before.
“Wrong blade, Chroma, but I will say I am glad to see you,” countered Bane as he stepped out of Chroma’s grip and put his weapon away. “I have need of your services.”
“Really?” the mare purred again, green eyes lighting with devilment. “Have I finally gotten through that thick cranium that I’m not a child? Well, I am most certainly ready for you, even though this caught me by surprise. I must admit, I didn’t picture our first would be a live performance, though...” 
“...Hey, Boss? Are we sure that Hex doesn’t have any living family out in the world?” asked Cloak. “Because a sheboinking impulse like that has to be hereditary…”
“Chroma…” sighed Bane in exasperation. 
“Oh fine,” sulked Chroma. “I heard… I can help. You already knew I spent my first months here exploring the tunnels… And the catacombs underneath the citadel…”
“I’d love to go spelunking in her tunnels, no mistaking that,” muttered Clover as she bit her lip. “How the local playcolt hasn’t already drilled them wide open, I have no idea…”
“He thinks I’m too young for him,” Chroma answered, rolling her eyes heavenward, having clearly heard the quiet comment.
“Oh! Uh…” blushed Clover. “Sorry, miss. Didn’t realize I was speaking-”
“You could if you wanted too,” Chroma murmured, sidling up next to the other mare with a sly grin on her face. “I mean… A girl has needs too… And Bore-on there hasn’t given me any satisfaction, despite the countless Companions he’s tended to so freely. It’s a wonder he hasn’t sired anypony yet…” 
“First off, I am careful, because I don’t want those mares to deal with unwanted burdens,” protested Bane as Clover’s knees gave out and she sank to the ground in a squeaking blush. “Second, I have given my reasons for not indulging yet-”
“Oh, ‘yet’?” asked Chroma with a devilish grin. 
“Slip of the tongue,” countered Bane.
“I have a better place for it to slip, love…” smirked Chroma. “If not several…”
“...And your reason for not sheboinking her through the floor is?” asked Cloak. 
“I’m not a foal-fooler…” deadpanned Bane, rolling his eyes. 
“And I’m not a foal,” deadpanned Chroma, green eyes flashing angrily.
“You might as well be,” grumbled Bane as he peeked out of the alley to make sure the group hadn’t drawn unwanted attention. 
“Wait, how old are ye, lass?” asked Clover warily. 
“Does age really matter in this line of work? Seriously???” sighed Chroma, exasperated.
“How close to the line are ya, lass? It’s a simple question, and a hundred steps is a hell of a difference from a hundred miles…” countered Clover. 
“Two weeks and five days,” grumbled Chroma.
“...Bane, ya feckin’ clamjammer… She’s almost a year past the age of consent in Equestria and ye still haven’t painted her walls white yet? You leave that field fallow much longer and you’ll see it tended by another plow,” scolded Clover before muttering to herself. “Probably by me...”
“Soon to be two in Cloudsdale. My mentor wouldn’t let me try for an apprenticeship until then,” sighed Chroma before fixing Clover with the highest form of bedroom eyes possible. “Save us a room, ‘love’? It’s never too late to till the fields...”
“... I’m sorry, Patch, dear girl…” squeaked Clover. “That won’t be washing out anytime soon…”
“Well… That’s another one for my Seduction 101 Bingo card… Never thought I’d get the corner ‘cause orgasm with words alone’ square...” chuckled Chroma. “Now… C’mon you lot… I’m not getting you out of this gods-forsaken city just standing here and flirting you all to little deaths.”
“That was a ‘little’ death?” asked Cloak as he lifted his pack. “I’d say little Clover had a ‘Grand Finale’ and then some…”
“Learn Prench, you uncultured hack,” grumbled Dagger. “It’s slang for ‘orgasm’...”
“... Oh…” replied Cloak as he carefully stepped over a conspicuous puddle. 
“Ok now that one wasn’t me…” protested Clover. 
“And how do we know that?” smirked Hawk. 
“... Because these suits are water-tight…” sighed Clover. 
“... Gonna try to ignore that comment when I hear sloshing in the next few minutes…” muttered Hawk, wings twitching.
“If you’re all done coming, shall we get going?” asked Chroma, tapping a hoof impatiently.
“We’ll need to make a stop first, actually,” mused Rat. “How far is it to the Olympia?”

Main Lobby, Olympia, Coltenhagen
2 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“Three minutes…” whispered Rat to Bane. 
The two stallions made their way to the elevator, smirking slightly at the HTB guards that now stood powerless to halt their advance. Rat took a moment to straighten his tie in the reflection of a nearby soldier’s armored faceplate before sauntering mockingly over to the elevator. Bane frowned at Rat, but refrained from speaking until the elevator closed its doors.
“Rat, you do realize that the whole point of HTB’s plan involves spilling blood on Consecrated Ground, yes?” sighed Bane. “And that your actions might set one of these tin cans off early, right?” 
“Oh please,” scoffed Rat. “Changeling worker drones have more free will than those meat cans down there. Besides, we need to give the others as much time to finish their job as possible.”
“Too much time and the target slips away,” argued Bane. “You said yourself that we have a tight window for this, and if we fail, the traitor- wait… You know who the traitor is already, don’t you? And you were considering letting them go, even after what they did?”
“Look, they may be a traitor, but they were still family once…” countered Rat. “It’s hard enough to condemn strangers to death… It’s even harder when it’s one of our own.”
“Is it one of your crew?”
“What?! No, of course not!” 
“Then let them to their fate, Rat,” frowned Bane. “They had no compunctions about sending every single Shadowbolt to their death, including your crew. Turnabout is more than fair play…”
“Let’s table this,” dismissed Rat. “Right now, we need to save your hometown…”
The doors opened on the elevator as they reached the Mytikas Lounge, revealing Firebrand and Zeus enjoying brandy and cigars at the bar. Bane drew out a bronze cestus, the firelit glint on its surface matched in his eyes. Zeus frowned at his trusted agent and set down his glass.
“Charon, what is the meaning of-” began Zeus.
“General Firebrand of The Hekate Torch Bearers, you will stand down your soldiers now. Your attempted takeover of the Underworld has failed,” accused Rat.
“Hmmm…” smirked the General as he pressed a button on his sleeve. “It seems the game is given away early, then, yet not early enough to stop the wheels from turning...”
The nearby Olympian Myrmidons suddenly clutched the backs of their necks as the devices hidden in their shirt collars electrocuted them on the spot. Firebrand simply raised his hooves and laughed as Bane stalked forward.
“All you’ve done is simply thrown me under the wheels of the carriage that is our master plan, dear Descent, if that’s your true name…” cackled Firebrand mockingly as he took a long drag from his cigar. 
“What the devil is he talking about, Charon?” asked Zeus. 
“He’s planned to detonate charges on the surrounding building so they collapse into the Olympia and crush everyone inside, leaving HTB to sweep in and take control of Coltenhagen and the entire criminal underworld,” explained Bane quickly. 
“Very astute, Mister Charon, but I’m afraid you won’t get to revel in your small victory than I would my total victory. We only have a minute left now… Goodbye, gentlestallions…”
Seconds ticked by, then a minute, then a minute more, and nothing changed on the Coltenhagen skyline. Firebrand frowned in confusion before grabbing a crude box radio from his belt.
“Overlord to Ashfall One, do you copy?” barked Firebrand. “...Ashfall Two, do you copy? Can anyone from Ashfall hear me?”
“...You are Roaming. To call your Mobile Carrier, or any other callsign, purchase a calling PIN by pressing 1 now…”   mocked Chroma over the radio.
“... Ashfall Beta, remote detonate charges now!” snarled Firebrand. 
“...We’re sorry, this callsign cannot be reached as dialled. Please take the radio and shove it up your arse, ya dusty dry cunt…” snarked Clover.
Firebrand blinked, saying nothing as his mouth worked in shock. A new voice came over the radio. 
“Y’ello? Firebrand Pizzas? I’d like a large pizza with no anchovies, please! Stuffed crust! Extra thick! And remember: Thirty seconds or it’s free!” giggled Cloak gleefully.
Firebrand simply stared at Rat in outrage and confusion while the stallion chuckled. 
“It was a near miss, but thankfully we knew your plan in advance to disarm it,” smiled Rat. 
“...Well, in that case…” sighed Firebrand before draining his glass. 
In a swift motion, Firebrand lunged forward, breaking his glass into a jagged edge as he moved to rip open Zeus’s throat. Bane kicked the glass as he dove in, shattering the makeshift weapon before striking the final blows. Three precise strikes to the chest, and it was over. Firebrand gasped before falling backward. Rat knelt by the general’s side.
“Your briefcase,” demanded Rat. “Where is it?”
“...Room 315… Right side of the closet…” coughed Firebrand as blood coated his mouth. “You’ll deal with your traitor that cocked this up?”
“That’s not your concern,” sneered Rat, standing up and letting the stallion drown in his own blood.
“...Charon… What have you done?” asked Zeus softly.
“What I had to…” sighed Bane. “You know he wouldn’t have stopped.”
“You’ve still spilt blood on consecrated ground…”
“He would have spilt yours.”
“And you could have stopped him without bloodshed.”
“... I know. And I am prepared to accept responsibility for my actions. I am loyal to the Olympia…” bowed Bane.
“...No, I don’t think you are…” smiled Zeus. “And I don’t think you have been for a long time. Rest in peace, Charon. And it’s a pleasure to meet you, Bane.”
“...As you say, sir…” replied Bane. 
Zeus turned to Rat, bowing his head lightly in acknowledgement. “I owe you and your crew a debt of gratitude. It will not be forgotten.” 
Before Rat could say a word, the elevator chimed and disgorged a full squadron of Myrmidons led by Athena.
“Zeus! What is this-”
“Horrible treachery on the part of Hekate, Athena,” explained Zeus solemnly. “Firebrand managed to slay my security detail and mortally wound Charon before dying before me.”
“Charon was wounded, sir? He looks fine-” questioned Athena. 
“-Mortally wounded, yes. Dreadful business, but he will be remembered fondly,” dismissed Zeus. “On an unrelated note, have you met Descent’s associate, Bane? I really must credit them with saving my life and stopping Hekate.”
“...Of course…” grumbled Athena, glaring daggers at Bane. “I must say that it’s a pity that Charon died after killing Firebrand. I would have needed to kill him three times over for spilling blood on consecrated ground…”
“A shame he didn’t survive, then,” replied Bane, nodding briefly. “You certainly won’t be seeing him again…”
“...See that we don’t, Mr. Bane…” growled Athena, brown eyes sparking dangerously. 
“Well, we best be going,” interjected Rat as he tried to prevent Bane from making more of an ass of himself. “To Room 315, and then rendezvous with the crew and Chroma at the west building…”




“Good gods above, this lot’s been fucked…” gasped Clover.
“Eeyup…” confirmed Cloak. “And-”
“-’Not in the fun way’ we know…” sighed Dagger.
“Well… he’s not wrong…” commented Arclight.
Tank glanced at a HTB officer attempting to crawl away before nonchalantly stepping hard onto the hapless stallion, before looking away innocently. Rat had to admit that this Chroma did good work, and all without killing on top of it all. The flirting was a little bit much, but the results that Chroma brought to the table almost made up for that one piece completely. Clearly, this mare was not the average freelancer, but what organization could lay claim to such rigorous and specific training, Rat couldn’t say. 
Chroma sat off to one side on a bench near a window, nonchalantly admiring a pocket watch with visible gears that she decidedly had not had anywhere on her before this had all started. She looked up as Rat and the rest entered, smiling at them over the heap of unconscious guards that she’d piled in the center of the room. “I’ve already picked over what they had on them,” she informed them casually, waving dismissively at her work. “Anything still there is fair game.”
“Boss? Can we keep her?” asked Cloak.
“You can’t afford me, darling,” smirked Chroma, slipping the watch into a pouch as she left her bench and approached the motley group.
Cloak said nothing, but still pouted expectantly at Bane, like a five pound puppy begging for a ten pound steak. 
“Only freelance, Cloak,” smirked Bane. “Chroma, I’ll put in a good word for you, if you ever need something to occupy your time…” 
“I’d much rather have someone to occupy my time,” retorted Chroma, eyeing Bane like an especially sweet, cream-filled dessert.
A particularly violent sound, akin to an umbrella opening in a windstorm, signalled Cloak and Arclight receiving much expected pokes in the eyes.
“...dammit...” swore Hawk as he attempted to fold his wings. 
“Alright, as amusing as it is to see how far Bane can stick his hoof into his throat, we do have a job to do,” chuckled Rat. “It’s been a pleasure, Miss Strike…”
Chroma pouted at Rat, then shrugged and sauntered from the room. “Don’t be strangers now. Charon’ll know how to contact me if you need me,” she said, with a meaningful glance at Clover as she walked past the mare, nearly brushing against her. 
“Stranger than what?” smirked Dagger, as she watched a peeved Phantasm drag a catatonic Clover to be carried by Tank. “Cloak’s the strangest one here…”
“Oi!” snapped Cloak. “I resemble that remark!”
> Chapter 20: The Truth
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cirrus, Flight Deck, Equestria
2 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War

All along the return trip to the Cirrus, Rat remained silent as he pondered the problem of the traitor. Bane was right; the traitor deserved to suffer for everything they’d done, and then some. The problem was that this betrayal would hurt a group that had been like family to the Rat Pack, and while Rat knew that they would agree that it was the right action eventually, it was not going to ease their pain. Still, Bane had been right; this traitor was willing to sell out every one of them, and that was unforgivable. 
“Well, you actually came back, scum?” sneered Blade as they landed on the flight deck. “So, are you going to report your failure to Nightshade now, or did you want a minute to get your affairs in order?”
Rat pushed Blade aside as Tank snarled at the older stallion, silencing any protest. Blade skulked away, clearly to inform Nightshade of the Pack’s return. Rat continued his march to the traitor. They’d still be in the medbay with their crew. It was unfortunate, but it couldn’t be helped. They deserved to know the truth as soon as the news broke. Glancing to his left, Rat could see that Sin and Shadow had fallen in line with the Pack as they moved to arrest the traitor. Moon and Descent followed along the right. 
The door to the Medbay slammed open with a clattering clang as Rat kicked his way in. Impulse yelped and fell off the nearby bench, his angry protest dying on his lips as he ducked away under the aura of Rat’s glare. Whatever Matchstick said fell on deaf ears as Rat pushed past him. Goblin frowned as Rat moved to the other side of his bed. The traitor looked up just in time for Rat to strike them to the ground with a quick sucker punch.
“Banshee, I hereby accuse you of breaking the Code,” snarled Rat as Sin and Moon hauled the mare to her hooves. “In betraying the Cirrus to her enemies, you will now face Tribunal.”
“You’re making a mistake…” spat Banshee.
“I wish I was…” snarled Rat. “May your Tribunal Jury be merciful, for I will not…”

Cirrus, Captain’s Office, Equestria
2 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“And with the selection of Tag 9810922A, this Tribunal Jury has been selected,” announced Starry Skies. “The rest of y’all can go fuck off!”
In spite of the jeers and middle feathers that Starry’s response prompted, the rest of the Shadowbolts gathered made their way out of the room. 
“Why am I even up here… I have better things to do than listen to this bullshit…” groused Patch as she stomped through the dispersing crowd up to the ‘planning table’ where the other unlucky chosen were gathered.
“You’ve got goggles, don’t you?” smirked Sin as he settled into his chair. “Goggles got a tag number, and yours came up.”
“I’ll shove your goggles so far up your, ass you’ll puke the lenses,” retorted Patch, her expression promising the next time the stallion had need of her services, he would not find the experience comfortable.
“Now, now, little Patch, you are a Shadowbolt, are you not?” chided Curse with a smile. “Like your adopted father before you, we all have our duty to uphold. Even if we only serve within the walls of the Cirrus…”
“I’d rather deal with Hawk than listen to this bitchfest,” she muttered under her breath, but found a chair and placed herself in it, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring out at the gathering.
The rest of the jury, drawn by lots from a tumbler based on numbers on goggle tags and composed of Prose, Ruin, Moon, and Cloak, were gathered around the table loosely while Nightshade presided at her desk. Rat, as the Accuser, stood in front of the desk on Nightshade’s right while Banshee stood opposite, guarded by Blade and Void. 
“We shall now begin the Tribunal for Banshee, who stands accused of betraying her Brothers and Sisters of the Cirrus and the Code we all serve,” declared Nightshade. “The Accuser may begin.”
“Jury of the Tribunal, by the knowing act of working with our enemies at Hekate Torch Bearers, Banshee has deliberately, by direct and indirect action, attempted to kill every last one of us!” began Rat. “These documents detail the correspondence between HTB General Firebrand and the accused, promising the wreck of the Cirrus in exchange for a comfortable desk job and an obscene signing bonus! Every single failed operation in the last few months can be attributed to Banshee’s direct action! The evidence is irrefutable! The crime is unforgivable! The punishment must be absolute!”
Rat stepped back and took his seat without another word. Part of him wondered what sort of justification Banshee would offer, but part of him scoffed at the idea that there could be any justification, no matter how crazy, for Banshee’s actions. 
“The Accuser has finished,” declared Nightshade. “The Accused may now defend their actions.”
“I did not work to bring down the Code…” began Banshee. “I was trying to save it… from a lie!”
“And what lie would that be?” 
“The lie that you are the rightful Captain!” sneered Banshee. 
The jury burst into an uproar, only to be silenced by the Captain’s right hoof. 
“Were this not a Tribunal, I would rip out your tongue for daring to say that…” replied Nightshade slowly. “As it stands, you may continue with your defense…”
“Nightshade used Enhancement Magic to increase her strength and blinded Dante with Illusion Magic so that he would not defend against her blow!” explained Banshee. “I could see the energy haze over Dante’s eyes and around Nightshade herself! How else could we explain Dante’s swift fall?!”
“I knew that no Shadowbolt could stand against such sorcery!” spat Banshee. “And why wouldn’t our ‘illustrious leader’ use such tricks to stand on top?! The only option was to bring her down! Yes, I worked with Firebrand, but only to cauterize the festering wound that Nightshade was upon us! I deliberately lied about our strength and timed this when most everyone would be away! Only Nightshade and the other traitors to the Code would have been slaughtered! We’d have then retaken the Cirrus and elected a new leader the right way! The Way set forth by the Code! The Code that she sits in defiance of!”
For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of Banshee’s gasping breaths as she came down from her insane rant. Rat honestly didn’t know how to rebut something so… insane. Fortunately, he didn’t have to, as one stallion made the only rational response to something so insane. Curse laughed as he applauded slowly. 
“A wondrous and fanciful tale, but I’m afraid that it’s just that: a tale told by the imaginative ravings of a madmare…” chuckled Curse. “A pegasus casting spells like some coneheaded windbag? Quite impossible. I would sooner believe a Wonderbolt to be an Alicorn…”
“PRINCESS WONDERDOLT, INDEED!” cackled Ruin. “I’LL EAT MY GOGGLES IF I SEE THAT!” 
“With ketchup or mustard?” asked Cloak. 
“Ketchup,” Prose chuckled, “closest thing he’ll get to being the bloodsucker we know he is.”
“You make jokes when our leader was betrayed and murdered?!” shrieked Banshee.
“Dante was not the young stallion he used to be, Banshee,” Prose said with a frown, “he was slowing down, we all saw it. And your claims are extraordinary, and quite hard to prove. How do we know this isn’t another lie to delay punishment or justify your actions?”
“I saw it with my own eyes!” snapped Banshee. “Ask the Lunatic! He’ll have records!”
“The only lunatic I see is the one who couldn’t hold a diagram right…” snarled Patch, her voice cracking like a whip, eyes flashing dangerously with green fire.
“OOOH! SNAP!” Ruin cackled.
“And what color was the energy haze that you saw?” asked Prose.
“Pink! A horrible, evil Pink-” began Banshee.
Curse burst out into a full-blown laugh. 
“Are you quite serious?!” chortled Curse as he wiped a tear from his eye. “Your evidence is that you saw a pretty pink light during the fight and then your beloved Dante lost the fight?! I expect that you’d have us believe the Mad King Sombra was a justified hero in his folly as well?!”
“Rat! Please!” begged Banshee. “You have to know! It just doesn’t make sense! Dante couldn’t have fallen without outside interference! I know I saw her use magic! She broke the Code first!”
“So you would sell out your family just to have your petty revenge?” countered Rat quietly, with a sharp edge of malice. “Did Limpet break the code? Did Crosswire? Did Krieg? Oracle won’t be getting over losing her ‘crazy big brother’ anytime soon. I don’t fucking care what you think you saw; you betrayed everything that Dante stood for. You betrayed the Code and everything that it means to be a Shadowbolt: Have the decency to die like one...”
“Jury, how do you find the Accused?” asked Nightshade.
Banshee’s fate was decided in two minutes of discussion. Curse smiled cruelly. Rat blinked in shock, rubbing his eyes. A moment of doubt now slipped into his mind.
“We find the Accused guilty of violating the code and endangering, or otherwise killing by proxy, her fellow Shadowbolts,” Prose intoned softly, a cold edge to his tone and eyes.
“The punishment for which is death, and shall be carried out immediately…” stated Nightshade, gesturing briefly to Void and Blade. 
“No...NO!” screamed Banshee as she was dragged away. “YOU’RE ALL GOING TO BURN! WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE! YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING!”
Rat flinched briefly and looked away. The doubt he felt continued to grow, prompted on by a faint memory. He couldn’t be sure, but when the verdict came down, Rat swore he saw a flash of neon pink...

Cirrus, Flight Deck, Equestria
2 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Rat frowned as the jeering crowd gathered by the railing. Matchstick was the only one of his crew in attendance, and yet he seemed troubled to be there. Of his original crew, only Goblin and Inque would remain once Banshee’s sentence was carried out. Sure, there were trainees like Oracle, Impulse, and Venom to name a few, but Rat would miss Krieg screaming about being “conductor of the poop train”. 
At last, the moment came for the traitor to meet her fate. Banshee continued to thrash and scream incoherently as she was forced down the gangplank. 
“Brothers and Sisters of the Open Sky, this pitiful wretch before me has broken our Code, with the intent to betray and murder you all!” began Nightshade. “We shall grant her a courtesy better than she deserves and grant her a few last words…”
“Please!” begged Banshee. “Just break my neck! Slit my throat! Gut me alive! Stab me in the fucking back! Just please don’t do this!”
Nightshade leaned in swiftly, seizing Banshee’s wings and hissing in her ear. 
“May you find mercy in the Open Sky…” sneered Nightshade. “…before the Ground claims you.”
In a single, swift motion, Nightshade pulled and rotated Banshee’s wings, dislocating the joints and breaking the bones with a sickeningly fleshy snap. The traitor’s scream echoed across the open sky as Nightshade kicked Banshee off the edge of the Flight Deck. Five seconds, ten seconds, twenty seconds, Banshee screamed her last, fading into the clouds below. At forty seconds, the scream stopped short. Rat sighed at Banshee’s misfortune. She’d been conscious the whole way down; a cruel fate, but probably better than she deserved. 
As the crowd dispersed, Rat frowned at Curse’s cocky sneer, staring down at where Banshee fell victoriously. Another flash of pink caught Rat’s eye. Despite betraying her family, Banshee was right: There was something rotten going on. He flipped on his Comm unit.
“Hox, I want you to look into Banshee’s claims,” whispered Rat. “Check your Hummingbird records, frame by frame if you have to. She may have tried to sell us out, but something isn’t sitting right with me. We’ll meet back in the Pit to go over it.”


Cirrus, The Pit, Equestria
2 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“...Well? What did you find?” asked Rat warily. 
Hoxton frowned heavily, placing a marked tape cassette into the reader. The screen crackled to life as the reader scanned to the correct timecode. 
“Well… Banshee wasn’t wrong about what she saw, but it gets… complicated...” sighed Hoxton. 
“Show us,” demanded Rat. 
With only a moment’s hesitation, Hoxton played the tape, And Dante and Nightshade appeared in living color, vibrant as the day the fight occurred. The moment the two moved to strike played out over the next five minutes in slow motion, faster than anyone beside Impulse could have processed at the time. A brilliant pink glow emerged from Nightshade’s eyes, undeniable and exactly as Banshee had described, and soon engulfed Nightshade’s hoof as it prepared to strike. Dante’s hooves were set to block the clumsy blow, but as the hoof approached, the pink glow shifted his hooves almost imperceptibly out of the way, allowing Nightshade’s amplified strike to hit Dante’s heart directly.  The glow lasted for three tenths of a second, and could have been easily dismissed as a trick of the light. Hoxton rewound the tape and then exchanged it for a totally different tape. 
“...OK, so the traitor was telling the truth. How is that complicated?” snapped Hawk as he gestured at the screen. “We just broadcast this shit to Descent, and-”
“Keep watching…”
The tape whirred to live and then…
“Duh-buh-duh-buh-duhm! Duh-m doo-doo, duh-m doo-doo… Duh-m doo-doo duhm-duhm doo-doo! BAAO doo-doo, BAAO doo-doo… BAO doo-doo BAO-BAO doo-doo- HEEEEEEEY-ey-ey! HEEEEEY-ey-ey!” sang Cloak off-key as he danced a sort of pelvic-thrusting shuffle from the shower while singing into a toilet brush. “WHAT’S-”
“FUCKING HELL, HOX!” shouted Hawk as he covered his eyes. “WE DIDN’T NEED TO SEE THAT!”
“Oi! Don’t take that tone with me, ya wanker!” snapped Hox as he ejected the tape. “Compared to the shite I’ve had to watch, that’s pretty low on the list! I mean, seriously! You wouldn’t believe how much shagging happens in the training rooms late at night-”
“Focus, please!” interjected Rat. 
“Right… Sorry…” flinched Hoxton as he played the correct tape.
A new sequence showed Nightshade alone in her new office. She moved rigidly toward her desk, a few errant twitches and shakes being the only sign that betrayed her actual feelings. She moved to sit at the desk, tremors moving through her limbs before her face twisted into a rictus of pain. 
“Fuck…” whispered Nightshade, barely more than a hiss, before she flipped the desk and screamed. “FUCK!”
Nightshade stumbled, hissing in pain and massaging her arm. “What the fuck was that?! Why- …Why did we do that?! What was so important that we had to make Dante suffer?! And now we’re in charge?! What the fucking hell?! Why?! WHY ARE WE IN CHARGE?!”
Nightshade threw a bottle from off the shelf at the overturned desk. She then fell to her knees and wept. 
“Descent… I don’t know what to do…” sobbed Nightshade. “Why’d you have to get yourself broken like that? Dammit, you big oaf, I need you here… I can’t ask your whelp… He’d take advantage of my weakness in a heartbeat… I need you, dammit...”
“...Is there more we need?” asked Rat. 
“Not really-” 
“Then turn it off…”
“Rat?” asked Hoxton.
“Turn it off, Hox…” ordered Rat.
The tape ground to a stop. Silence filled the Pit. No one wanted to acknowledge that the mare they all feared was broken as she was. Or that Banshee had a legitimate reason for her accusations. Or that there was a larger set of wheels turning for reasons unknown. Cloak finally broke the silence.
“Orders, Boss?” asked Cloak.
“Hox…” sighed Rat. “Take those tapes and burn them.”
 “…Have you lost your mind?!” asked Hawk. “This is a betrayal of the Code, a Code that you hold above all else! This cannot go unanswered-“
“And it won’t, but we need to take our time with this,” explained Rat. “If we’re taking this news poorly, how do you think the rest of the Cirrus is going to take it?”
At this, Hawk froze mid-objection and frowned. The Pack exchanged uncertain glances at Rat’s words. For however much Nightshade had exerted her control following the Challenge, her reign as Captain could hardly be called “secure”. The only things stopping an all-out schism were the Code and the traditions surrounding it. Clearly, as Banshee showed, there would be violent reprisals as a result of this knowledge.
“...So, what do we do, Boss?” asked Dagger.
“...We keep an eye on Nightshade,” replied Rat. “As long as her thoughts and actions are her own, it doesn’t matter how she got into the position of Captain.”
“...And what happens if her thoughts and actions don’t stay as her own?” asked Phantasm. 
“...Then a Shadowbolt Civil War is inevitable, I suppose…” sighed Rat.
“Whoa, whoa, wait a frigging minute!” exclaimed Hawk. “You ‘suppose’? We’re leaving our asses to the wind on a supposition?”
“Yes, Hawk, we are, because that’s the best we’re going to get without our home ripping itself apart,” countered Rat. “I don’t like it either, but I find the alternative to be far worse. Besides, if there’s something out there that can control Nightshade, we’re all screwed anyway.”
“So you’re sure about this?” asked Arclight. 
“No...I’m not…” replied Rat. “But it’s the only option we’ve got…”

Green Pastures, Cloak’s Front Porch, Equestria
50 Years After the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Cloak slumped back in his rocking chair, ghosts of memories finally overwhelming him to break from his story. 
“...How could you?” demanded Kingfisher. “You knew that there were problems and you just ignored them entirely? How could you?”
“Quite easily, at the time, since a Shadowbolt Civil War would have killed so many of us for no reason,” smiled Cloak bitterly.
“It was Nightshade!” argued Kingfisher. 
“And she was a Shadowbolt,” replied Cloak. “What do you want me to say? That we could have prevented the war entirely?”
“Yes! You could have!”  snapped Kingfisher. 
“And all it would have taken was the life of one Shadowbolt Captain?” frowned Cloak.
“Yes!” insisted Kingfisher. 
“...Fine…” replied Cloak with an even expression as he drew a knife from a concealed sheathe in his armchair. “Kill Cold Snap. Right now.”
A deathly silence fell over the group. Kingfisher and Cold Snap stared at Cloak in disbelief. Cloak’s expression did not change. The wicked blade left Cloak’s hoof to flop on the table like a copy of the Canterlot Times, landing in front of Kingfisher with a dull thud. 
“That’s not funny…” protested Kingfisher. 
“No, it’s not,” agreed Cloak. “We must defend Equestria at all costs, right? Regardless of the threat, right? He’s the grandson of two Shadowbolts, the great-grandson of Descent himself, and the grandson of the Seaddle Mafia’s Capo. Who else could be a greater threat to Equestria’s future security?”
“But he hasn’t done anything!”
“But it’s not about what he’s done, is it? It’s about what he’s going to do-”
“How should I know that?! It hasn’t happened yet-”
“AND HOW COULD WE HAVE KNOWN WHAT NIGHTSHADE WAS GOING TO DO?!” howled Cloak, smashing the table beneath his hooves.
The only sound that broke the silence was Cloak’s heaving breaths as the stallion hyperventilated, standing as his hooves rested over the broken table. Cloak swallowed hard as his breathing returned to normal, his voice barely above a whisper. 
“Hindsight does no good in this conversation,” replied Cloak. “Could we have changed the course of history in that moment? Yes, we could have. Could we have saved lives that would have later been lost? Yes, but at the cost of how many lives that would have otherwise lived? Who’s to say the war wouldn’t have been worse? I’m not going to go down that line of thought. Only madness lies there. I have lived for fifty years with the knowledge that we could have changed the war, and I will go to my grave with the doubts associated with that knowledge. But we made the choice to stay true to those we loved and cared about, and I will not apologize for that.” 
“...I’m sorry, sir…” whispered Kingfisher. “That wasn’t fair-”
“Maybe not, but I can’t say that I haven’t had that doubt over the years, or even had that same argument with the other members of the Pack, surviving or otherwise…” mused Cloak. “Regardless, that’s enough for tonight. We’re nearing the end now: The war is just on the horizon. But for tonight, let’s get some rest. We’ll finish things up next time…”

To Be Concluded…
End of Arc 5
> Chapter 21: The Train Job
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Green Pastures, Cloak’s Front Porch, Equestria
50 Years After the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Kingfisher frowned heavily as he watched the group gather in front of Cloak’s front porch. After last night, he’d found himself unable to look anypony in the eyes, especially not Cloak. Despite the older stallion telling him that he didn’t have to apologize, Kingfisher found himself unable to sleep, unable to focus on classes, and unable to take fifty steps over to the porch where the story was doubtlessly continuing. 
“Looking kinda glum, kid,” commented an unfamiliar voice. “Somebody piss on your pillow or something?”
An orange pegasus frowned at Kingfisher, his one good eye showing concern, the other eye concealed by a black patch that failed valiantly to hide the jagged white scar that snaked down to his upper lip. His black and grey mane was liberally streaked with silver, and beneath his worn black traveling cloak Kingfisher could see a network of scars mapped across his body. Next to him stood an earth pony mare in a similar traveling cloak in grey, her long silver mane with its few remaining blonde streaks peeking from beneath the hood in well-kept ringlets. 
“No, I just- …Have you ever said something that you regretted to somepony, even though you were so sure you were right in the moment, that you couldn’t even face them later because there weren’t enough ways to apologize?” asked Kingfisher.
The stallion gave a low whistle. “I’ve said some pretty boneheaded things in my time, but that must’ve been one hell of a something you said to think there was no way to apologize,” frowned the stranger. “Care to talk about it with an unbiased set of ears, half-deaf may they be?”
“Well… do you know about the Shadowbolts?” asked Kingfisher.
“I know a fair bit, I’d say,” replied the stranger as he sat down next to Kingfisher. “How do they fit in with your woes?”
And so, after hours of silence, Kingfisher explained everything to the stranger. The words tumbled from his mouth as he told the stranger about Cloak, his stories, the dark secret the Rat Pack had concealed, and the confrontation the night before. As he repeated the words that Cloak told him the night before, a choked sob finally ceased further explanation. 
“Don’t feel so down, kid,” replied the stranger with a grin. “Gods know I’ve said worse to that asshat over the years, and I’m still invited over Hearths-Warming dinners.”
“Wait, you know Mr. Broadcloth?!” exclaimed Kingfisher.
“Husband of mine, please stop toying with the colt and bring him back to the rest of the group,” sighed the mare next to the stranger as she pulled down her hood. A few bionic implant mounts gleamed metallic silver in the sunlight, the one just above her eye somehow adding to her glare. The stranger raised his hooves in mock surrender, laughing gently. 
“Oh come on, Dee,” chuckled the stranger. “I can’t let Cloak have all the fun, can I? You know that bastard loved every minute of sharing those stories.”
“Perhaps, but at this point we’re holding up the story, which is rude to the other guests, since I know you don’t care about wasting the ‘old bastard’s’ time,” replied Dee as Cold Snap finally wandered over.
“Hey ‘Fisher,” greeted Cold Snap. “Did Uncle Hawk and Aunt Dee help you feel better?”
“Wait, Uncle Hawk?!?!” exclaimed Kingfisher, glancing at the stranger in shock.
“And Aunt Dee,” added Cold Snap helpfully. 
“Thank you, Nephew,” nodded Dee-Seven. “You’ve gotten taller.”
“Technically, it would be ‘Great Uncle Hawk and Great Aunt Dee’, but that’s a mouthful and I hate the term ‘Grunkle’,” smirked Hawk. “Now, I know you’re probably still scared to face the music, but I can tell you for a fact that he holds absolutely no grudge toward you for what you said. If he does, I’ll kick his ass. Fair enough?”
“...Yeah, fair enough,” murmured Kingfisher in a daze as he stumbled his way back to the porch. 
“Glad you finally joined us, ‘Fisher…” smiled Cloak easily. 
Kingfisher tried to find the words, but no sound left him. His face burned with shame as apologies that raced around his head died on his tongue before they had a chance to live. He trusted Hawk on his word, given everything he’d heard about the stallion up to this point, but still, it all seemed inadequate to what he’d said. 
“Kingfisher…” began Cloak gently. 
The colt looked up. 
“I’m not angry with you,” reassured the old Shadowbolt with an easy smile. “Honestly, I’m more annoyed at this old quack for gate-crashing without so much as a postcard!”
“Piss off, ya windbag!” smirked Hawk. “It’s your fault for talking shit about us all like I wouldn’t find out!” 
“Can we continue now?” grumbled Flare Glider. “We’ve been waiting for an hour!”
“Well, after Rat buried the truth, we really didn’t see much of a change in Nightshade,” replied Cloak. “We were allowed to take missions again, but our ‘shore leave’ privileges were still revoked. It kept us content, but Rat was frustrated with Nightshade. If it wasn’t for the War starting, the Pack might have considered deserting entirely.” 
“The Ponyville Tornado?” asked Merida Streak. “But I thought only Descent, Starry Skies, and Nightshade were involved in that!”
“They were the only Shadowbolts involved in that,” smirked Cloak ruefully. “And we were away in Thestral Lands at the time.”
“Then what was the actual start of the war?” 
“The Appleloosan Express Disaster…” replied Cloak grimly. “The first time we purposely took innocent lives…”

The Cirrus, Mess Hall, Equestria
14th of Cold Moon, 1001
Seven Months Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“And so I says to him ‘That’s no Moon: That’s Sunbutt’s Little Sister!’” joked Impulse as Crescent rolled her eyes at her teammate’s antics.
“Seriously, it’s not that funny,” sighed Crescent as Cloak fell off the bench laughing and taking his glass of lemonade with him. “And of course you would turn the prospect of never-ending darkness into a cheap joke.”
“Hey, laugh to keep from crying, babe,” smirked Impulse. “But seriously, who would have guessed the Mare in the Moon conspiracy theorists were right all along?”
“I did!” chimed in Hoxton. 
“Of course you did…” sighed Hawk. “Forty to one odds, on that. Frigging bats have been screaming about it for years, though.”
“The thestrals are beside themselves with joy at the return of Princess Luna, for sure,” commented Arclight. 
“You could even say they’re… over the moon?” grinned Cloak, causing Impulse to inhale his cola.
“Arc… Tell me that fratricide is a bad idea…” sighed Dagger.
“Fratricide is a bad idea, dear…”  smiled Arclight as he kissed Dagger on the forehead. 
“Admit it: You’d miss me if I was gone!” cackled Cloak before glancing at the latest addition to the table. “So, whaddya think, Academy Escapee? Hell of a lot more fun than the Blunderdolts, right?”
“...Well, certainly less… stiff than I was expecting?” mused Lightning Dust. 
“To be fair, Descent and Starry Skies are not the best representatives of what the rest of the Shadowbolts are like, dear...” chuckled Facade, causing Lightning Dust to blush lightly.
“The Ice Cube on Legs and the Crown Princess of Bitches are certainly not representative samples for us, darling, and the less said about Nightshade, the better…” purred Cheshire from Lightning’s other side, causing the unfortunate mare to blush even harder. 
“The Captain has become a touch more unstable as of late, if you ask me,” frowned Shade. 
“Well, the Code says ‘The Strongest Leads’, not ‘The Sanest Leads’...” countered Matchstick. 
“That doesn’t sound… safe?” frowned Lightning Dust.
“If you don’t like it, you can speak up and challenge the Captain,” explained Inque. “Just be sure you can back it up.”
“What do you mean ‘back it up’?” asked Lightning Dust with a frown.
“You fight Nightshade,” replied Rat simply.
“Fight the Captain?!” exclaimed Dust. “Like, what? Hoof to hoof, to the death or something?”
“Sometimes,” shrugged Rat. “Depends on how merciful the current Captain is.”
“Which Nightshade really isn’t,” chuckled Matchstick. 
“So, yes, to the death,” remarked Rat, smirking at the dumbfounded look in Lightning Dust’s eyes. 
“We keep to the Code, Dropout,” barked a familiar voice. 
“Starry, I presume your last mission was productive?” nodded Rat as Dust had a conniption fit at how her foul-mouthed mentor snuck up on her. 
“Captain wants to speak with you,” barked Starry with a frown before addressing Lightning Dust. “Move your ass, Dropout. We got a new job coming up, and I want you ready.”
“Oh? And what does our illustrious leader want with me now?”
“New job. And you won’t like it…”



“...You can’t be serious,” deadpanned Rat.
“Deathly serious, Rat,” smiled Nightshade, sweet as poisoned honey. “You are to kill the six targets on the 11:35 Appleloosa to Ponyville Express, Sleeper Car Fourteen, and you’re to make it look like an accident. Those are the client’s stipulations. You have to derail the train.”
“The Appleloosan Express seats 187 passengers at one time, and runs a crew of eight,” growled Rat. “189 souls need to be sent into the abyss for the sake of silencing six targets? Who are they?”
“Classified, but I assure you that such measures are quite necessary,” smirked Nightshade as she sliced into her apple with a knife. “You might not survive a close encounter.”
“Why?” demanded Rat. “What could they possibly do-”
“Turn you to stone in an instant?” smirked Nightshade. “And that’s just one possibility, but the rest are very classified. Are you in?”
Rat didn’t say a word, instead scooting away from the desk and walking to the door. Nightshade let out an exaggerated sigh. 
“As you wish,” replied Nightshade as she straightened the contract dossier. “It’s a shame about Ponyville, though…” 
Rat froze in place, hoof literally on the doorknob as his veins flooded with ice. He didn’t say a word as he turned to look at Nightshade, his glare demanding explanation.
“Well, the next opportunity to kill the targets would be in Ponyville, and only a storm unlike any seen before would be able to kill them,” explained Nightshade with a careless shrug. “Naturally, since they would be more ‘spread out’, so to speak, we’ll need to wipe out the entire town. Pity about Tigress. And dear old Prose-”
“Fine,” snarled Rat. “But we need R&R. Proper R&R. Not just time off aboard the Cirrus.”
“Of course,” smiled Nightshade. “Nys’strova is lovely this time of year. I’ll move you to the top of the list. Next rotation is in two months.”
“...Fine…” replied Rat stiffly, standing and turning to leave when a vindictive thought slipped out before he could stop himself. “It’s treatment like this that drives me to become what you fear me to be, no matter how much I’m not…”
“Beg pardon, Rat?” simpered Nightshade mockingly, seizing on the fact that she struck a nerve.
“Do you really think that I’d betray you in a heartbeat at the first sign of weakness?” snapped Rat, frustration boiling over. “Do you really believe that Descent, your closest friend and ally, would teach his ‘whelp’ to take advantage of you in a heartbeat?”
Nightshade’s smile turned to glass in an instant. “I beg pardon?” asked Nightshade blankly, even as a glimmer of fear and panic danced in her eyes. 
“The Shadowbolts are my Family, same as you if what Descent has told me is true, and I won’t betray that simply for the sake of ambition, especially not a member of the crew who found me,” replied Rat. “Ask Hoxton if you still doubt me.”
“I see…” smiled Nightshade sweetly, even as fear still lurked behind her eyes. “I appreciate your loyalty, Rat. I’m sure that after this mission we’ll need not see it strained any further, no?” 
“After this mission? …No, I would say not,” replied Rat carefully. “However, I would appreciate it if you would utilize my skills in the moment you need them. All you need to do is ask.”
“I will keep that in mind…” simpered Nightshade, even as her posture subtly relaxed. “It’s a shame that you’re so much more useful unbroken… I think I might have enjoyed the task…”
“I’m sure you would have,” nodded Rat as he took his leave.



Rat needed to find Patch as soon as possible. If he had to derail a train and put nearly two hundred lives at risk to save five times as many, then so be it. However, Rat would be damned if he didn’t try to save as many of the other passengers as he could. To pull it off, Rat needed Patch to put a long-forgotten plan into effect. 
Before he could say a word, a groggy yellow shape lurched past him, mumbling incoherently. 
“Oh fuck, this isn’t good…” muttered Rat. 
Rat watched in fascination and apprehension as Patch stumbled bleary-eyed into Hoxton’s workshop. Hoxton didn’t look up from the Hummingbird that he was repairing. Patch stood in silence, rubbing her eyes, before recognizing where she stood. 
“Oh!” slurred Patch. “Hoxy!”
“Hrm?!’ grunted Hoxton in surprise, finally looking up. 
“Hoxy!” exclaimed Patch, dashing forward and capturing the inventor in a tight hug.
“P-p-p-p-PATCH!?” stuttered Hoxton, standing stiffly. “What are you doing?! I don’t understand!”
“Doing?’ murmured Patch, dazed, before burying her face back into Hoxton’s shoulder. “Oh, who cares? You’re comfy...”
“Guh?!” articulated Hoxton, sweating profusely. 
“Hey, Hoxy,” giggled Patch. “Why don’t you call me ‘Patches’? I really liked it when you did. It made me feel all warm…”
“Patch, what the heck is going on?!” exclaimed Hoxton. “I don’t understand what’s going on here at all!”
“Oh, Hoxy, you ol’ meanie,” pouted Patch, gently running a hoof on Hoxton’s shoulder in small circles. “What do I have to do to get you to call me ‘Patches’ again?” 
“Pa- I mean, uh, Patches!” fumbled Hoxton. “Hold on! Let me call Arclight or another medic down here! You aren’t well right now!”
“Medic?” murmured Patch, looking up at him curiously. “Don’ need a medic… Need you…” She then buried her face back in his chest, rubbing her cheek against him affectionately.
Rat gritted his teeth, unsure of whether to laugh at the present situation or flinch at the oncoming doom. Since the sabotage incident, it seemed plain as day to Rat that Hoxton had become enamored with his fiery neighbor. When the two of them shouted back and forth with each other now, Hoxton’s quips seemed to take on a playful tone, almost affectionate. However, whether such affection was mutual was nearly impossible to say, given Patch’s mercurial temperament.
Rat winced as the sound of steel against steel shattered the moment like ice as a single screwdriver clattered off of the desk Rat had perched next to onto the bulkhead below. Patch blinked, freezing mid-nuzzle but for her eyes darting around to reestablish her location. With a shriek that could bend metal, she shoved Hoxton away from her and scooped up a nearby wrench. The change in the armorer’s mood would’ve given whiplash to those less acquainted with her. However, Hoxton was not one of those ponies, so he was able to react in time to shield himself from Patch’s furious attack.
“MY HOOVES WERE AT MY SIDES THE WHOLE TIME!” yelped Hoxton as he fell backward. 
Patch continued swinging wildly at him, screaming insults about his parentage, his simultaneously small and nonexistent stallionhood, and his lack of intelligence. “You rotten, perverted old EGG!!!” With one final blow, she hurled the wrench at the hummingbird he’d been working on and stormed out of the workshop, slamming the door closed behind her.
“...besides, I’d never do something that would hurt you,” murmured Hoxton. “...no matter what I feel…”
Rat kept to his hiding spot for a count of ten before swooping over to Patch’s side of the Pit and rushing to open the door. It was his fault that the moment broke, so the least he could do is help with the cleanup. 
“Patch, are you alright?” asked Rat, emphasizing the concern in his voice. “What just happened?”
“That- that- perverted old goat tried to get his hooves on me!” hissed Patch. 
“Are you sure about that?” asked Rat, doing his best to feign ignorance of the incident. “I mean, he’d be signing his own death warrant a dozen different ways if he was, and I don’t think he’s suicidal.”
“He had to have!” protested Patch. “Otherwise, it means that I- I- oh gods above…” She slammed her head down on her desk, blushing brightly as she tried to hide her face in her hooves. 
“Patch, what’s wrong?” asked Rat gently, placing a hoof on her shoulder. “Why are you so upset about this?”
Patch groaned again, keeping her face pressed into the desktop and grumbled, “Just… Stupid… No. I did not… He had to have…” 
“‘Had to have’ what, Patch?” pressed Rat. “Disregard all sense of self-preservation to grope a mare who could put his ass in the ground faster than you can say ‘Ouch’? Because that’s what you’re implying. And if that’s the case, and you aren’t going to do anything about it, then there’s a whole line of ponies ready to do it for you, so if you’ll excuse me-”
“Rat… Wait…” protested Patch, finally prying her head up from her work top, the remains of her blush still staining her cheeks bright pink. “Don’t… Don’t kill him…”
“But, according to you, he-” began Rat, continuing to keep up the act. 
“I need him around so I don’t go completely stir-crazy while you’re out on a mission, okay?!” snapped Patch, scowling. “That’s all there is to it!”
Rat smiled gently before affectionately ruffling Patch’s mane even as she continued to glower at him. 
“As you wish, sister,” chuckled Rat. “Well, now that I have you here, I’ve got a tall favor to ask you. How quickly can you implement the Blunderdolt Contingency?”
“I made them as soon as you asked,” frowned Patch in confusion. “Why do you need that, though?”
“Well, you probably won’t like it…”
“That depends… Are you telling me to take out the darts I put in Hawk’s suit so it’s less form-fitting?”
“Worse than that, I’m afraid…” hedged Rat, hoping to not go into more detail.
“Well it can’t be that bad… nothing’s worse than having my fun at Hawk’s expense ruined.”
“What about civilian casualties?” 
“Oh…” The playful manner drained dramatically out of the armorer’s demeanor. “Oh.”
“Yeah…” sighed Rat. “Thing is, if I don’t do this, then an entire town is going to be wiped off the map, Patches. What the hell am I supposed to do?”
“I’m guessing a surgical strike isn’t an option?”
“Patches, someone’s hired us to kill the Elements…” whispered Rat.
“Mmm… Yeah… tackling that head-on wouldn’t end well for anyone…” 
“....You’re… Taking this rather well…” frowned Rat. “I figured there’d be a little more ‘What the Fuck, Rat?’ than this…”
“Oh no mistake… I don’t like this idea. Not by any stretch. But I’m also rather more concerned about your survival. The Elements had bearers before… There’ll probably be new ones in the future. You can’t destroy things like that… Only the ponies who happen to wield them at the time.”
“Maybe, but something does seem a little bit off about the whole thing,” mused Rat. “Almost as if there’s something else at play here.”
“Powerful folk make enemies all the time,” shrugged Patch. “It’s a day that ends in y around here when it happens.”
“True enough,” chuckled Rat. “I still can’t believe the look on Cloak’s face when Nightmare frigging Moon suddenly appears in the Mess Hall and demands that he take her to our leader… Only time he’s ever dropped the filling in his sandwich.”
“I had Hoxton save that image…” Patch recalled with a fond smile of reminiscence. 
“...Do you think Razor ever had doubts like this?” asked Rat suddenly. “Back during the war?”
“Probably… Not to mention even afterwards… I know… Well… Ancient history for another time…but remind me later to tell you about the mess he landed in that resulted in him meeting me…”
“Wasn’t that during the Triad Wars in Vietmane?” frowned Rat before his brain caught up. “Wait, are you saying-”
“We’re what caused the Triad Wars…” Patch nodded, smiling fondly again at the memory. “I thought he was madder than a Grass Moon hare... Especially when we had to take a shortcut through the Undercity…”
“Well… That puts him in a new light…” chuckled Rat. “Still, we’ll end up taking innocent lives with this mission directly, but I’m going to keep a lid on them as much as possible.”
“Direct or indirect doesn’t matter, Rat… It never has for those like us. The idea that our actions caused someone to die? It doesn’t sit well with me, it never has. I do not envy you, gēge.”
“I’ll be alright, mèimei.” sighed Rat with a smile. “If I can save an entire town? There’s no other choice to make, and I’ll have to live with it. Well, that… and possibly one other thing…”
“And what is this other thing?”
“We need to go to Appleloosa…” grinned Rat ruefully. “Which should be fine as long as Cloak doesn’t-”



“...And I absolutely did…” grinned Cloak unrepentantly. 




La Rosa Falina, Appleloosa, Equestria
14th of Cold Moon, 1001
Seven Months Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“I fucking hate you, Cloak…” grumbled Bane. 
“What? This is the only place that’s open. Besides, what’s wrong with it?” argued Cloak.
“It’s the Rosa Falina, where Bane met-” explained Dagger. 
“Yes, now hush and let me sulk in my ale in peace,” grunted Bane. 
“Well…. whadaya know…” chuckled a gruff voice. “If it isn’t the Cloud of Sunshine himself! How’s it been, Charon, old buddy!”
“Hello, Dex…” sighed Bane as his brow seemed to twitch slightly. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
“It’s been a right dog’s age, Charon, and that is a damn shame!” chuckled Dex as he quickly mixed up a cocktail. “Five years, hasn’t it? Or was that six? I can’t remember.”
“Long enough, I’d say,” chuckled Bane as he accepted the drink, his mood taking an upturn. “...Glad to see this place...hasn’t changed.”
“Not much since you were last here, no,” laughed Dex as he made drinks for the rest of the group. “A few tables and chairs finally broke, but we’ve practically been frozen in time since you were last here.”
“...How wonderful…” smiled Bane bitterly. “So, how have you guys kept up on acts in the past year, Dex?” 
“Honestly, been pretty thin on the ground, to be honest,” grumbled Dex. “No one has really had that much of a shine since Marina took off on her stratospheric rise to fame.” 
“Wait, since who did what now?” asked Cloak, glancing between the bartender and the ex-Infiltrator.
“Since-” started Dex before Dagger interrupted. 
“Shhh, no, let him put the pieces together on his own,” smirked Dagger.
“It is a hell of a lot funnier that way,” chuckled Hawk.  
“OH! OH THIS IS THAT PLACE!” realized Cloak. “Now I get why you’re pissier than Dagger during ‘that time’...”
“Broadcloth…” 
“Oh c’mon, Charon,” chuckled Hawk. “It’s not like she’s gonna-”
“Alright, fillies and gentlecolts and everyone in between!” greeted a big, jovial voice as an older earth-pony couple walked out on stage with bright smiles. “Welcome, yes, welcome to La Rosa Falina! As you know, we promise entertainment with every visit, but tonight, we have something very special planned.”
“This upcoming act is a very dear friend,” the mare at his side spoke. “To us, and to all of you. You may remember her as a simple mare with nothing but a guitar, a notebook, and a heart bigger than the oceans with dreams that soared higher than the sky. Well, said simple mare went off to do great things after her time in La Rosa Falina… but that does not mean she has forgotten about us.”
“Fillies and gentlecolts, hailing from the tropics of Cubray, the Siren of the Sea in flesh, please, give a very warm welcome back to-” 
“...Marina…” sighed Bane, setting his head on the table.




“And that’s right where I need to stop you, old buddy,” interrupted Hawk. 
“What?!” screeched Flare Glider. “You’re stopping the story there?! Why?!”
“Yes, that would be nice to know, ‘old buddy’,” frowned Cloak. “You are throwing off my groove, there…”
“How ‘bout because Marina would be heartbroken if you told this story without her?” smirked Hawk smugly. 
“...Fine, you win this round…” grumbled Cloak.
“Missed you too, asshat,” smirked Hawk.
“Wait… does this mean we’ll be visited by Marina Caballo?!?!” shrieked Flare Glider. 
“Oh, lovely, now you set them off by teasing…” sighed Cloak. 
“Who said I was teasing?” chuckled Hawk. “Anyway, skip to the relevant part, ya windbag…”
“...Fine…” frowned Cloak, before suddenly acquiring a wicked grin. “...So, let’s go ahead and jump forward to the most relevant part of this story… Shall we, Hawk?”
“Wait, what?” asked the one-eyed Shadowbolt.


Appleachian Mountains, Appleloosa, Equestria
15th of Cold Moon, 1001
Seven Months Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
"Fuck that fucking asshole, all nice and warm in his mare and their bed while we're freezing our junk off..." cursed Hawk as he waddled his way through the snow drift.




“....Really? That’s the part where you’re going to start back in?”
“Who’s telling the story again?”
“...You’re a punk…”
“Missed you too, hat-ass.”



“Quit your whining, ya tosser,” piped up Clover. “Just because you’ve got the romantic sense of seasnail, that doesn’t mean you have to spoil it for the rest of us. I think it’s quite lovely, and I wish somepony would look at me like the two of them were looking at each other.”
“Oh, if only…” sighed Phantasm. 
“We should be focusing on the job,” frowned Dagger. 
“Actually, I’d rather not focus on it too much this time around, Dagger…” sighed Rat. “I’m sure you understand.”
“...To be honest, I do agree, Boss,” replied Dagger. “Just figured somepony had to stay professional.”
“Fair enough,” replied Rat with a nod. “We’ll run the plan one more time, and then it’s back to light conversations.” 
“We set the charges to start the first avalanche and block the tracks ahead of the train,” explained Clover. “That’ll cause them to hit the breaks and stop within the specified zone.”
“From there, we trigger the second avalanche to wipe out the back cars of the train, including Sleeper Car Fourteen,” continued Dagger. 
“Estimated total casualties?” sighed Rat. 
“The rear three cars will be affected by the second avalanche for sure, but it could possibly be as many as five cars,” explained Arclight. “Estimated maximum casualty count is right at around fifty-five, if all cars are full…”
“They are,” added Hawk. “I checked with the station manager before we set out, and the 11:35 was overbooked.” 
“Thankfully, emergency decouplers were made standard after the Canterra Loop string-lining disaster of ‘78 killed everyone aboard and wiped out half the town of Stonefork in the valley below, so no chance of pulling the whole train with it,” advised Clover. 
“Fifty-five for a thousand lives…” repeated Rat. “...No, we’ve no other option. It’ll have to work. We’ll use the Blunderdolt Contingency to keep that count down.”
“Contact! The Express is on its way down the track! Five minutes to the first mark!” 
The train thundered along, echoing off the mountainside as it came into view. Clover clicked the detonator, gritting her teeth. A flash of pink glowed in the drifts for a moment, but no detonation. Clover clicked the detonator again. No effect. The pink glow grew in size.
“Clover, what-” asked Rat.
“I don’t know! I’ve clicked it twice-”
“Whaddya mean ‘you don’t know’! You’re the engineer” hissed Hawk. 
“It means I don’t bloody know, ya feckin’ gobshite-”
“Guys…” interjected Cloak. 
Along the mountain, black clouds materialized from the snow, causing the area to darken suddenly as though Celestia herself had seen fit to cause an eclipse. A large drift of snow suddenly dropped down the mountain, as though pushed by a giant foal’s hoof, and landed on the tracks. The Appleloosan Express slammed into the drift, burying itself three cars deep into the freshly formed drift, screaming as steam billowed from the emergency release. 
Moments later, the black smoke pushed a second avalanche onto the rear two cars of the train, pulling both cars off the tracks and down the side of the mountain. Rat could have sworn that a pair of glowing white eyes turned to regard him within that smoke, causing his skin to crawl in revulsion. And, just as suddenly as the eldritch horror had appeared, the smoke dissipated, leaving no trace save for the buried train and the derailed cars. None of the Pack spoke for a long moment, attempting to process the scene before them. 
“What…” asked Cloak in shock. “What the actual hell was that?!”
“Interference,” answered Dagger as the shock slowly subsided. “Boss, you saw the-”
“Yeah, I saw it,” confirmed Rat. “Clover, what happened with the bombs? The avalanche should have been much larger than that, right?”
“At least twice as large, and thirty seconds sooner,” confirmed Clover, glancing at the detonator controls. “Instrument panel shows both bombs are still live and ready to detonate, but I’m clicking the detonator with no success. That pink flash must have fried the ignition circuits on the bombs.”
“Nightshade didn’t trust us,” concluded Hawk. “What was the flipping point? Sending us out here to do a job and she does it herself like it was no big deal?”
“No time to think about that now,” argued Rat. “The train barrelled into that snow pile from the first avalanche, and they’re stuck inside that drift up to the first three cars. Arc, how long do they have?” 
“At that speed? At least some cars would have buckled, even with the powdery consistency of the snow, so anyone left alive from the initial crash that hasn’t been buried from snow pouring in will be looking at fatal hypothermia within the hour.” 
“Then we need to move now,” replied Rat, pulling on his Wonderbolt Reserve uniform. “Get your disguises on and ready the First Aid kits. Blunderdolt Contingency is in effect. Cloak, Hawk, check the intact cars and tell the survivors to keep them sealed for as long as they can and bundle up since we don’t have nearly enough survival blankets for everyone. Everyone else I want on that first snow drift digging for survivors. Arc, be ready to triage as quickly as you can. Clover, find an emergency radio from the train and call this in. We’ll need to get the Wonderbolts involved with the rest of the train.”
“Right on it, Boss,” nodded Cloak, before freezing. “Wait, what was that about the Blunderdolts?”


The Cirrus, Patch’s Workshop, Equestria
17th of Cold Moon, 1001
Seven Months Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War

“So?” prompted Patch as Rat entered her domain, the curtain to her sewing area swinging as she passed through it to greet him. “The Contingency work?”
“Like a charm, Patches,” smiled Rat fondly. “Third Captain Fire Streak didn’t even give us a second glance. The Reserves are completely interchangeable and absolutely disposable to the so-called Elites.
Patch snorted derisively. “Blunderdolts indeed… Like anyone could be a reservist… Not picky at all.”
“One of them made me a bit nervous, and we may need to be careful dealing with that one in particular, but she looked to be older, so she’ll be drummed out soon enough,” commented Rat as he cracked open a bottle of cider and passed it to Patch. “Misty Fly, I think? She made a point of thanking each of us for ‘our diligence and fast response to the crisis’.”
Patch snorted again, taking the bottle with a nod of gratitude. “Just proves she’s nothing to worry about either. Hox says she’s stone deaf.”
“Oh?” smirked Rat. “Does he now? I didn’t think that you and the ‘old goat’ were on speaking terms at the moment…”
Patch scowled sourly at Rat. “Before, stupid egg... When I was doing the research to make the Contingency suits. Had information pulled up on the current blowhards-in-blue.”
“Ah, I see,” mused Rat, despite not believing a word of Patch’s excuse. “Well, if you need me to have a word with Hox about his dumbassery, let me know.”
“And I already told you not to,” snapped Patch and irritably downed the rest of her cider. “If anyone’s gonna have words with that meat-sack, it’s me so butt out.”
“Well, I’m here if you change your mind, sister dearest,” chuckled Rat as he offered another cider to Patch. 
“I need him around anyways because now you and the others are off on pleasure-bent and I’m stuck here, and how else am I going to amuse myself if not by threatening my neighbor’s life?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” smirked Rat. “Maybe by actually talking to your neighbor?”
“Threatening his life counts as ‘talking’,” countered Patch, almost petulant now.
“True, but there’s only so many ways you can threaten a stallion before it becomes stale,” smirked Rat. “Eventually, you’ll need to have a fresh topic to discuss.”
“Oh there are plenty of variations of threats… his life, his annoying little toys… using up his supplies…”
“I’VE CHANGED THE LOCKS SINCE THEN, SO GOOD LUCK WITH THAT!” shouted Hox from his side of the Pit. 
“WHO NEEDS LOCKS WHEN I STILL HAVE YOUR MICROFORGE?!” returned Patch, and though she’d deny it with her last breath probably, Rat could see the corner of her mouth twitching upwards.
“AND MELT THE CABINETS AND THEIR CONTENTS BEFORE THE LOCKS?!” shot back Hox. “NOT EVEN YOU’RE THAT WASTEFUL!”
“STILL COUNTS AS USING YOUR SUPPLIES!!!”
“NOT IF I HIDE THEM SOMEWHERE ELSE!”
“Seriously, if this keeps up, the two of you will start a betting pool, and you don’t want to give Hawk that satisfaction, right?” smirked Rat. 
Patch paused, mid-inhale to continue the volley, scowled, then sighed, letting the breath out. “Eh… he’s lost his touch with the banter anyways…” she shrugged, turning to her workbench. “Need anything special for your trip, Rat?”
“...Honestly? I just needed to take my mind off the eighteen lives we snuffed out just to kill those six targets,” sighed Rat. “But at least Ponyville is safe…” 
“Um… Rat?” Patch hesitated before pulling out a newspaper and holding it up for him to see the very large headline.
Rat glanced down at the latest copy of The Baltimare Herald, and felt his gut tighten into a knot at the headline “Perilous Journey on the Slopes! Elements Barely Survive Appleloosan Express Disaster!”
“...Shit,”  swore Rat.

To Be Continued...
> Chapter 22: This is Bat Country!
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Green Pastures, Cloak’s Front Porch, Equestria
50 Years After the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Cloak leaned back as the group burst into outraged chatter, taking a long draught from his lemonade. Hawk sat and watched in amusement as the crowd tore into Cloak verbally, laughing at the thoroughly unbothered look on his former wingmate’s face. No one voice stood out above the rest, but they all seemed to accuse the exact same thing: How could you stand aside? Finally, Dee Seven managed to silence the crowd with a well-placed glare. Cloak finished his glass, picked up the pitcher, poured another glass, and set it back before turning to the crowd.
“I take it that you have some concerns about what happened after the Appleloosan Job?” asked Cloak. 
“How could you stand by and do nothing?!” demanded Kingfisher. “The Ponyville Tornado Incident would have killed thousands if the Wonderbolts had failed to stop Nightshade, and you’re telling us that the Pack could have prevented it?!”
“Why didn’t you try to take the job, Grandpa?” asked Cold Snap heatedly. “Fisher’s right; you could have stopped it from happening at all and still kept the Shadowbolts hidden!”
“Because Nightshade was already on her path to destruction,” sighed Cloak. “Anything we would have tried would have ended in our deaths and the mission would have proceeded as Nightshade planned anyway. Even still, Rat did try to take the mission for ourselves, but Nightshade wouldn’t allow it. Honestly, we were lucky that we weren’t blamed for the failure of the Appleloosa Job.”
“Was Nightshade that much of a maniac at that point?” asked Flare Glider.
“To those of you who know how the war started and have been paying attention thus far, you’ll already know the answer to that, and I’ll ask that you hold off on your explanations to your fellows,” sighed Cloak. “For the rest of you, all I can say for now is that yes, Nightshade was already lost by this point.” 
Some of the crowd flinched visibly, clearly connecting the dots that Cloak had laid out. The others grew concerned as they wondered what could make Cloak so certain that there was no turning back on this path. In any case, the time for questions was at an end as Cloak resumed.
“So, Nys’strova!” smiled Cloak warmly, causing the opposite effect for his audience. “The homeland of the Thestral nation, and one of the few places where we could walk around in public wearing our Shadowbolt flight suits.”
“How?!” asked Cold Snap. 
“During the Griffin-Drake War, Nys’strova was hit hard by both the Griffins and the Drakes, with no support from Equestria forthcoming,” explained Cloak. “It was Dante that made the decision to give the Thestrals a blank contract for whatever assistance they needed, to be paid out over the next fifty years. The result of that contract is that we gained the open support of an entire nation, thanks to our actions during the war. They kept their lives and freedom, and we gained safe harbor. As Shadowbolts, we did often get our hooves dirty, but it was nice to be heroes every once in a while…”

Ly’synia, Drydock Beta-06, Nys’strova 
Starsday, 11th of Grass Moon, 1001
Five Months Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
Rat frowned as he walked down the ramp to the streets of Ly’synia, trying to forget that Nightshade planned to slaughter an entire town just to kill the Element Bearers. Any attempts to convince Nightshade of a different course of action was only met with claims that she “had alternate arrangements''. Rat didn’t press the matter further, but he had the feeling that whatever happened in Appleloosa would be involved in said “arrangements”.
“Dude, you realize how lucky we are to make it to Nys’strova?” crowed Hawk. “This is fucking amazing-”
“No kidding!” smiled Cloak as a nearby street vendor offered him an enormous cured sausage, insisting that the Shadowbolt accept it as a gift. “Would ya look at this thing?! I bet this could satisfy even Hex…”
“In what way?” grinned Rat, shaking away his grim thoughts.
“I say nothing and think even less…” replied Cloak, deadpan. 
“What more can we ask for, really?” asked Clover as she spun around ecstatically. “The residents are friendly, there’s a wonderful mix of delicious aromas in this open-air market, the alcohol is free, the Thestral mares are gorgeous, the alcohol is free-”
“I’m glad you like what we’ve done with the place, Shadowbolt” a voice apperated behind the group. “Ly’synia still bears many scars from the Drakes, but to hear her praised so openly brings warm feelings to my soul.”
“Who the fuck are you and how did you get behind us?!” swore Cloak as he brandished the sausage like a fencing sword, the tip wiggling mere inches from the stranger’s face. 
“Ah, how rude of me, I should have introduced myself.” The Thestral stallion smiled wide, sharp white fangs poking out from under his lips. “I’m-”
“Are you fucking blind?!” snapped Hawk. “That’s the godsdamned Margrave of the Thestrals so watch your fucking language and get your sausage out of his face!”
“Mišlana works too.” He smiled awkwardly, slowly pushing the offending sausage away from his face with a wing. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintances”. 
“Forgive my team, sir,” bowed Rat as he smacked Cloak and Hawk upside the heads with his wings. “It’s been a while since we’ve had some honest-to-goodness shore leave.”
“Your companions remind me of my oldest daughter…” Mišlana addressed Rat with a chuckle, shaking his head. “There is nothing to forgive here.” The Thestral stallion considered the question for a moment. “And if it’s drinks you’re looking for, then I’d personally recommend the mushroom vodka, though fair warning, it's… most likely stronger than what you’re used to”.  
“I mean, Cloak generally needs to be forgiven on principle,” smirked Dagger as her brother squawked in protest. 
“Mushroom vodka?” perked up Clover. “Where can I fill me glass?”
“Easy, Clover,” chided Rat. “We should probably find a place to set our bags down first. I don’t suppose you can direct us to the nearest inn?”
“You might struggle to find an inn at this time of the day…” Mišlana replied, briefly flashing a look towards the setting sun behind the drydocks. “Any Shadowbolt would be welcome to stay in my home, if that suits?” 
The Pack shared one look before Rat grinned at the Margrave. “Please, lead the way, by all means.”






“Do you think we can just live here from now on?” asked Cloak. “Basically tell Nightshade to go fuck herself with a cactus and just live and work here from now on?”
“Better tell her through a letter, because that’d be your funeral,” smirked Hawk. 
A large room opened up, with twin staircases running along each side towards the far end. A marble floor, worn almost smooth from centuries of hooves trotting up and down on it, bore almost indiscernible mosaic tracings of ancient battles and legends, thestral figures throughout the ages rendered immortal in the cold stone. Tall windows flanked the walls along either side of the atrium, affording onlookers with sweeping views of the sprawling metropolis beyond. Nys’strovan battle emblems swayed gently on the walls, with shimmering silvers and blues to rival the night sky itself. The rich scent of lavender incense hung in the air, drifting down from cast iron braziers hanging from the ceiling. 
Just beyond, a monumental stained glass window was positioned on the landing directly in front of the group, stretching from almost floor to ceiling. Depicted within were the twin effigies of Princess Luna and Nightmare Moon, circling around one another in an elegant, eternal dance amongst the cosmos. The two faces of Ly'synė, as the thestrals called their patron goddess, struck frozen in glass, had distinctly peaceful expressions across their noble features. The figures were joined in an almost bellicose harmony, hinting towards a closer, more spiritual relationship between the two mares than most equestrian history books would have suggested. Between them, shades of jet black clashed sharply with blues and violets, with what must have been thousands of angular shards of meticulously placed stained glass. The phases of the moon encircled the outer edges of the window, alongside almost indiscernible etchings and symbols from a long forgotten history. Further interwoven with these ran brightly coloured depictions of the seasons, cycling from winter to summer and winter again. Small equine figures were visible in the various scenes, with what seemed like jovial festivals and gatherings spaced intermittently through the cycles. 
Mislana smirked to himself, allowing the Shadowbolts a few moments to acclimatize before speaking again. “Impressive, don’t you think?” He asked, strolling around the floor mosaic with a flourish. “Strangely enough, this is one of the only parts of the castle that survived the war intact.” He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, taking a moment to admire the ancient artwork beneath their hooves. 
“We…” He paused, frowning at his hooves. “We’re not exactly sure when this part of the castle was built…” He sighed, gesturing towards the group of Shadowbolts to follow behind him. “Many of our historical records were lost during Ly’synia’s long siege…” 
“Although,” Mislana’s leafy ears perked up, “Ly’synė, or Princess Luna, as you Equestrians call her, expressed her personal gratitude for the fortuitous sparing of this particular section.” He beamed at this, face splitting into an euphoric grin as he continued. “This is our history.” He gestured around the room with his hooves, “You ‘Shadowbolts’ have done so much for Nys’strova, and you have our eternal gratitude.”  
“Please, Your Highness,” chuckled Rat. “You’ve done plenty for us as well. You’ve given us an open and safe harbor for years, one that we can relax and be open about our allegiances.”
“And you’ve helped us rebuild our nation,” Mislana retorted sharply. “That’s a debt we’ll never be able to repay… although, I’m glad you’ve had such… warm experiences of Ly’synia so far.” 
“My subordinates weren’t kidding about their desire to work exclusively from here,” smiled Rat. 
“You’d be more than welcome to,” Mislana chuckled heartily, pushing stray locks of his dark mane away from his face. “Though I don’t imagine your current boss would easily agree to such an arrangement.” 
“Even arranging this vacation was a nightmare…” chuckled Rat. “Let me tell you-”
Mislana suddenly froze,  His ears swiveled forwards, slitted eyes fixating beyond the Shadowbolt group and towards the large double doors. A tall gray mare burst into the room, almost ripping the door off its hinges, several heavily armored thestrals in tow close behind. 
“Danica!” Mislana raised his voice, sounding more irritated than anything else. “Can you please stop using the doors like that!?”
“I have a good reason this time, I promise!” the mare replied breathlessly, coming to a sudden stop just before the group. “We need to talk…” She cast a look towards the Shadowbolts. “In private…” 
“Who’ve you offended this time?” Mislana narrowed his eyes, scowling at Danica. 
“Surprisingly, no one this time…” Danica rolled her eyes. “It’s-” 
“Lavinia is alive!” One of the soldiers behind Danica blurted out. Danica spun around, baring her fangs as the unlucky soldier shied away from her glare. 
“Who’s what now?” asked Hawk.
“Dude… that’s the Bat Queen,” replied Cloak reverently. 
“Danica…” Mislana spoke quietly, his body frozen and tense. “If this is some sort of joke, then I really don’t appreciate it…” He glared daggers at her. 
Danica turned to face him, flinching slightly from the intensity of his gaze. “I wouldn’t joke about something like that!” She retorted defensively. “Look,” her voice softened. “We need to speak… alone, preferably.” 
“Wait, how did the Bat Queen survive?” asked Hawk. “I thought she was a confirmed casualty of Cantermere.”
“She is,” Mislana replied curtly, any sense of polite composure the stallion had quickly dissipated. “She commanded the rearguard during the final moments of the siege of Cantermere…” He trailed off, still glaring at Danica. 
“Your Highness, if I may interject, unless this Danica is known for often telling such outlandish stories, I would take her words seriously,” implored Rat. “I’ve observed no trace of deception or guile to her words.” 
“She's my daughter,” Mislana replied quickly. “I would trust her with my life.” His tone softened. “Apologies, I’m just… confused…” He looked towards Danica. “What are you talking about?” 
“I didn’t want to tell you like this…” Danica began, turning briefly to hiss and bare her fangs at the soldier standing behind her. “But I… sensed something, while dreamwalking last night… When I attempted to enter the dreamscape, something blocked me…” 
“Dream-what-now?” asked Cloak. 
“Who do you think took care of the realm of dreams while Luna was sealed in the moon?” replied Rat. “Wasn’t Celestia, that’s for damn sure. It’s why the Thestrals were such a big target to begin with.” 
Mislana remained silent, considering Danica’s words. “Are you sure this… presence, you sensed, whatever blocked you from entering the dreamscape, wasn’t Ly'synė?” He tapped his hoof against the ground in fast, rhythmic patterns.
“I wasn’t sure myself…” Danica’s voice cracked. “Whatever it was, it broke my concentration, and I lost it…” She hung her head, averting her eyes. “It didn’t feel like Ly'synė, at least not from my experience…” She lifted her head to look at Mislana. “I consulted with Moor’ak this morning, and there’s only one Thestral who could access the dreamscape in the same way we can…”  
“She’s… alive…” Mislana mumbled, staring through his daughter. 
“Arc, I want you to radio Hox,” barked Rat as he activated his comms. “Get him to sweep the entire countryside of Nys’strova, starting with the ruins of Cantermere.”
“He’s already searching now, but I don’t think he’d have to search far,” replied Arclight. 
“Wait, why won’t he have to search far?” asked Cloak. 
“Cantermere is the one place we haven’t scouted since the war, not with live ponies anyhow,” replied Arclight. “If Lavinia is alive, she’d be there.” 
“They’d be holed up in the ruins of Cantermere Keep,” mused Dagger. “It would be the only defensible position in the city ruins, and the most sensible place to hide.”
“So when do we leave?” asked Rat. 
“I can’t ask that of you,” Mislana quickly replied. “This isn’t your fight to get involved in” He paused. “We have… a history, with these Drakes…” 
“We’ll go,” Danica piped up, gesturing her hoof towards the small group of soldiers behind her. “This is what the Night Witches train for.” She flashed a brazen, fang filled smirk. 
“All due respect to the both of you, Your Highness, but we have an ongoing contract with your people, and we’re not about to abandon you now. Call it a matter of professional pride, but we’ll stand by you in this endeavor.”
“I appreciate your courage, Shadowbolt. I really do.” Mislana let out a shaky breath, “But I can’t risk your lives chasing loose ends…” He turned to address Danica. “How… how sure was Moor’ak that it was Lavinia?” 
“I don’t know…” Danica confessed. “But, I think we owe it to her to make sure, right?” A pause. “I mean, her body was never recovered…” 
Mislana flinched. “I… I think you’re right…” he exhaled, appearing a lot smaller than before. “Shadowbolt, how long would you need to prepare?”
“Give us an hour to prep at the armory, if you don’t mind lending us some equipment?” replied Rat. “We didn’t really pack any of our heavier gear for R&R.”
“Of course,” replied Mislana. “What would you need?”
“...Guns…” replied Cloak as he put on a pair of sunglasses. “Lots of guns…” 

Ly’synia, Armory, Nys’strova 
Sunsday, 12th of Grass Moon, 1001
Five Months Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
During the last war, the Thestrals became known for a magitech weapon commonly referred to as the “steam gun”, a modified design of the draconic counterpart. The weapon was credited as the primary factor in driving back the Drake advance into Thestral lands as the pressure-propelled bullets were one of the few things to punch through a Drake’s natural scales with ease. Rows upon rows of said weapons lined the walls of the armory, darkened steel and Nys’strovan hardwood gleaming by torchlight. 
“Why are they so pretty?” whined Clover. “They’re feckin’ gorgeous, ain’t they, Boss?”
“A bit much for my taste, Clover, but I’m sure you’d be welcome to use one,” chuckled Rat. 
“I’ve always wondered how these things work…” squealed Clover. 
“Spellstone striker hits fire rune on cartridge to make steam. Steam expands in the cartridge and propels the bullet,” replied the local armorer gruffly. “What more is there to know?”
“But how do you stop the problem of condensation on the inside of the barrel after repeated shots?” asked Clover rapidly. “Wouldn’t the barrel need to be properly dried after every few shots, or does that have to do with how the barrel is formed? And how did you find the right pressure mix for water-to-air inside the cartridge to prevent the entire thing from turning into a bomb to begin with?”
“Uh-” articulated the armorer, slowly backing away from the frenzied Clover. 
Rat was about to rescue the hapless armorer from his subordinate when a smaller steam gun caught his eye. He tested the feel of it in his hoof, appreciating the heft of the weapon. A long, darkened steel slide rested above a smooth oaken grip. Seven rounds per box magazine in a blowback design, the weapon was no-nonsense, which Rat could appreciate. The barrel ended in multiple vents, far more than the standard rifle that the Night Witches carried. 
“That’s a prototype, Shadowbolt,” explained the armorer, seizing the opportunity to escape the Shadowbolt engineer. “Kicks like a manticore and leaves you twice as sore. 
“I’ll take it,” replied Rat. “A full steam rifle would be too much for me, but this is perfect. How much?”
“It’s on the house, Rat.” Danica’s voice cut across the clamor and noise of the armory workshop. She closed the distance between the two in a manner of seconds, her large, dark eyes trained on the weapon Rat held in his hooves. “Although, I’m not the biggest fan of this design.” She smirked, stark white fangs glinting in the dim light. She cast the armorer a dirty side look, unholstering her own weapon and offering it to Rat with a bounce of the eyebrows. 
“I humbly accept…” smiled Rat as he took the second pistol. He turned back to the target range, racking the slides on the twin pistols and opened up all fourteen rounds into the target, dropping the magazines to the floor with a clatter. The head of the dummy dropped off of the shredded stump of the neck, barely hanging on by a thin strip of burlap. 
“EEE!” Danica shrieked, hovering a few feet off the ground as she clapped her hooves together with a baroque grin. “Now isn’t that so much better!?” She landed lightly on her hooves, eyes full of starlight. 
“Gotta say, I do love the feel of it-” began Rat. 
“Boss, stop flirting with the sexy bat,” deadpanned Cloak. “No sheboinking allies, remember?”
“Now now, where’s the fun in that?” Danica tittered, sidling alongside Rat, thwapping the top of his head with a leathery wing. She licked her lips, sharp white fangs on full display as she winked at Cloak. 
“Taken, Ma’am, as long as she’ll still have me after seven years…” replied Cloak in amusement. 
“Shame…” Danica clicked her tongue, rolling her eyes as she snorted to herself. “Probably for the best though, you know what they say about Thestral mares.” 
“They’ll suck out your soul out through your naughty bits?” asked Hawk with a smirk.
“Something like that.” Danica grinned flirtatiously, sighing as she removed herself from Rat’s side. “You see anything that catches your eye?” She addressed the rest of the group. 
“Bolt-action, five round internal magazine, eight millimeter bore firing a twelve gram steel and copper projectile at over seven hundred fifty meters per second,” whispered Phantasm. “Telescopic sight with twenty-times magnification… Nys’strovan hardwood body, polished to a fine finish. She’s beautiful…”
“Ooh… Oh oh oh, I like you!” Danica spun on her rear hooves, turning to face Phantasm with a coy smile plastered to her features. “Please, take anything you want,” She flared her front limbs about the room, tossing her dark mane across her muscular shoulders. 
Phantasm blinked for a second before a wicked grin spread across her face. “Anything I want, eh?” asked the mare, as she pulled herself closer to Danica.
Danica looked up, dark, olive eyes alight with ecstatic intrigue. She ran her tongue along her fanged teeth, considering the proposal at great lengths. “Anything” she replied in a low, sultry tone, leafy ears perked forwards. 
“How about we have a little wager, then?” smirked Phantasm, trailing a primary feather teasingly along the Thestral mare’s jaw. “Most kills gets a favor from the loser…”
Danica shivered almost imperceptibly at the mare's touch, leathery wings twitching at her sides. “You sure you wanna’ write cheques your body can’t cash?” She slurred, staring at Phantasm as if she were a mango. 
“Haven’t you heard the Reino proverb that the ‘House Always Wins?’” countered Phantasm. 
“Don’t you know that the night lasts forever?” Danica fired back, gently pushing Phantasm’s mane away from her eyes. 
“Don’t threaten me with a good time…” hissed Phantasm as she leaned forward and nibbled on Danica’s ear. 
“Oh…” Danica exhaled through her nose, sighing quietly. “It’s not a threat…” She bit her bottom lip, hard.
“You promise?” grinned Phantasm. “Because I can think of a few things we can try…”
“Now I am intrigued…” Danica breathed, half lidded eyes tracing lines along the other mare's body. 
Phantasm leaned forward and began whispering rapidly into the Thestral mare’s ear, causing her to blush heavily. The sudden sound of Hawk, Danica, and Clover simultaneously popping wing-boners echoed across the armory. 
Danica’s mouth hung open, face bright red as she stared at Phantasm in a mix of shock and arousal. “I…” She stammered, struggling to find the words, “I don’t think I’ll mind losing…” She grinned eagerly at Phantasm. “You can actually do that?” 
“I’d demonstrate the technical skill, but I doubt you have a pair of cherries on your person…” winked Phantasm. 
“Cherries…” Danica mumbled, trailing off as she awkwardly tried to force her wings against her sides once again. She perked up, lifting a dirty muzzle in time to slur “As long as you put your money where your mouth is, I’m game”
“Are you sure that’s all you want in my mouth?” pouted Phantasm innocently, a devilish gleam in her eye. 
“I was about to ask if we knew if Hex had any Thestral relatives,” commented Cloak. “Now, I’m concerned that Hex’s family tree is far more extensive than I thought, to the point we should be concerned about this development…”
“Oh, come on, they’d only be third cousins… maybe…” scoffed Hawk. 
“Cousins?...” Danica tilted her head to one side, shooting a quizzical look towards Cloak. 
“They’re implying that your libido is hereditary,” explained Rat as he smacked the two stallions upside the head again before wapping Phantasm with a rolled-up maintenance manual. “And No. Stop it. Mission first. I can’t believe that you made me pull out Matchstick’s Cheshire Management Technique…”
“I can’t believe it actually worked…” snarked Hawk. “Still, you seem to be a lot friendlier than you were earlier, and I don’t think it was Phantasm’s seduction that helped with that either. …uh, if you don’t mind me saying so…”
Danica glared at him. “That’s between me and her!” She bared her fangs, hissing. “Besides,” She tossed her mane to one side. “This is important to my father, and I didn’t know if any of you could be trusted…” 
“As blunt as my crewmate is being, he does bring up a very valid point of concern,” replied Rat. “Will you be able to trust us enough to work with us, or are we going to have problems?”
Danica remained quiet for a few moments. “I trust that you know not to cross me…” She retorted quietly, her tone poisonous and low. “The Shadowbolts and Thestrals have always had good relations, and I trust that you wouldn’t be the ones to break that promise.”
“Nothing further than that, then?” asked Rat. 
“I don’t know you, or your companions, well enough yet to make any judgments on your allegiances.” Danica examined her hoof. “So you’ll forgive me for having some reservations about working alongside you… especially for a matter so closely involving my family.” 
“Fair enough, I suppose, and it will have to do,” sighed Rat as he caught sight of a familiar flying sphere. 
“Positive ID on Priority One target,” announced Hoxton through the speakers. “Counting no more than sixty bandits, armed with scavenged equipment. No more than thirty draconic “Thunderdrum Mk.3” steam rifles among them. Potentially saw a Mark Five, but could be mistaken.” 
“Mk.3 huh?” Danica mused,  a small smirk finding its way to her face. “At least they’re not making it too easy for us.” 
“The Thunderdrum is still very dangerous,” argued Rat. “It was the first line of weapons designed by Drakes to kill other Drakes. Granted, it doesn’t have the revolving cylinder of the Mark Six, but the Mark Three can punch through a Lunar Guardsman’s armor at two hundred meters.”
“We’re not the Lunar Guard.” Danica snorted, holding a hoof to her chest. “”I’m guessing you’ve never seen the Nys’stralla in action before?” 
“You’re definitely squishier than a Lunar Guard,” commented Cloak.
“I don’t mind,” grinned Phantasm. 
“Stop it…” scolded Rat with the rolled up manual. “And while we’ve not had the pleasure of seeing the Nys’stralla in action, I’ve seen what a steam gun can do to an unarmored target.”
Danica bared her fangs at Cloak, blushing furiously. “You’re right….” She addressed Rat, managing to regain some composure “Even our armor is no match for any steam gun…” Her eyes lit up. “But they’ve gotta catch us first.” 
“Let’s hope that your confidence never outweighs your luck,” replied Rat simply before activating his comms. “Hox, deliver the Shellbreakers to the RV point. We’re on our way with Captain Hubris herself.” 

Cantermere, Rendezvous Location Alpha, Nys’strova 
Moonsday, 13th of Grass Moon, 1001
Five Months Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“There it is…” Danica remarked, hovering a few feet off the ground, projecting her voice as she waited for her companions to catch up behind her. 
“Bleeding hell, there’s hardly anything left…” swore Bane. 
Beyond the small group, a colossal line of walls stretched out from east to west. Crumbling gray fortifications loomed above their heads, casting long, dark shadows across the barren landscape. The dark material was ancient, made out of compressed stone and mortar that had fused together over centuries from the structure's immense weight. Clinging to the outer edges of the ruined city walls, the group were offered a closer look at the ruined buildings. The pale structures may once have held some colour, but their surfaces had faded from years of exposure to the elements. 
It was all ruined. Chunks of stone lay where they had fallen over smaller buildings. All was silent, the wind itself seeming to quieten down out of some solemn reverence to the dead city. The ground had a marred, gray haze to it. A half destroyed statue stood just ahead of the group, resembling the marred and gnarled branches of a tree struck by lightning more than any work of art. 
Despite the decrepit state of the buildings- the first they had seen in days- there were still small clusters of grass and vegetation. Windowsills, doorways and alleys were overgrown with flora, where soil had collected in the former shells of houses. Lining the edges of the buildings were brown and black splashes of discolouration, alongside the telltale signs of scorch marks. Hollowed out husks of trees stretched skywards in abandoned gardens, flakes of ash and sediment still blowing through the empty streets. A cloud of dust blew up, and Danica coughed savagely in its wake. 
“I guess life still finds a way, even in the shadow of tragedy and death…” sniffled Cloak, lifting his goggles to wipe away a tear as he carefully picked up an abandoned stuffed toy and sat it upon a broken counter. 
“...Boss, tell me that we’re not letting any of these bastards go on living,” asked Hawk. 
“That all depends on the client,” replied Rat before turning to Danica. “Permission to give no quarter?” 
Daninca chose to ignore them, touching the ground gently. She took slow and deliberate steps, carefully weaving her way around broken chunks of stone and debris as she timidly walked underneath the ruined gates of Cantermere. She soon reached the other side, coming to an unsteady stop just inside the city proper. A long, slightly curved road stretched into the horizon beyond. Loose debris littered the broken ground as far as the eye could see. Buildings, or whatever remained of them, stood more like the skeletal remains of long dead creatures than structures in their own right. They bore the same marks of discolouration as those on the outsides of the walls. A horrible fire had seemingly swept over the city, destroying everything and anything that may have once contained life. A fine, ashen dust coated the Thestral mares hooves, clinging and sticking to her fur like an unwanted parasite. 
She glanced backwards, swallowing a bitter lump in her throat. “No…” She replied quietly at first, before raising her voice. “There is no justice in history, Shadowbolt.” She turned about to face the group, her dark mane fluttering in the meandering breeze. “Exacting some sadistic revenge on these Drakes won’t bring back everyone we lost here… No matter how… tempting it may be to indulge myself in those fantasies.” 
“Then we bring back those who surrender to be tried for banditry at best and war crimes at worst,” replied Rat as a Hummingbird flight dropped three canvas bags at the group’s location. 
The Pack descended on one of the bags, taking three Shellbreakers and a phosphorus grenade each. Rat tossed the other two bags to Danica.
“We call these ‘Shellbreakers’,” explained Rat. “We used them to kill JSS Jaegers, so they’ll definitely crack a Drake’s armor. Grip the side button to eject the blade, and the top button to start or cancel the five second timer. I think a few of us gliding in low and quiet to drop a few of these on the lookouts should be an excellent distraction for us to extract the target.”
“Like this?” The blade flew out with a metallic shing as she slammed her hoof across the side button. She tilted her head at Rat, smiling hopefully. 
“...Yeah, just like that…” replied Hawk, stepping slowly to the right, eyes never leaving the Shellbreaker. 
“Here’s the plan I’ve got: We’ll need two teams, plus sniper support from this ridge,” explained Rat. “Team A will slip behind their lines and locate the target. Once secured, we’ll have Team B rush the enemy in a stealth glide and drop these two bags of Shellbreakers to cover Team A’s escape. Once the target is evacuated, we’ll commence mop-up operations. Any questions?”
“My group should be able to cover the extraction team's escape.” Danica commented, glancing aside at her lieutenant, who simply nodded in agreement.  
“I’m assuming you’ll want to be part of team A?” The mare asked Danica, though she already knew the answer she’d receive. 
“Of course I do!” Danica retorted, grinning. “I have a bet to win.” She glanced at Phantasm with a smirk.
Phantasm simply primed the bolt on her new rifle and smirked. “Who said I wasn’t going to do whatever you wanted anyways?” retorted Phantasm. “The favor I’d ask is the ability to keep this beauty with me…”
“You’ll have to earn that the hard way” Danica bared her fangs, grinning. 
“Stop it…” warned Rat. “Both of you… Danica, that means you’ll be with my entry team. That’ll be me, Cloak, Dagger, Arc, and Bane. Are you fine with that?”
“Well, you’ve come this far.” Danica replied, gaze still lingering on Phantasm. “I gotta admit, I’m interested to see you guys in action…” She slid the shellbreaker’s blade back into place, clipping it to the leather strap of her rifle holster. “My squad can hold up their end of the deal. As long as you do the same, I can’t see us having any problems.”  
“We’re Shadowbolts, ma’am,” replied Bane smoothly. “Watch and learn.”






“Do all Drakes smell this bad?” asked Cloak as they slipped past the primary camp.
Lights gleamed from the fires around the camp. Rat silently slapped Cloak’s head with his wing in admonishment, motioning to remain silent. Unlike most foes, Drakes were nigh impossible to take down silently, even lethally. The only weapon that would be effective against them would be Bane’s sledgehammer, and it would be unlikely to knock out a guard before they sounded the alarm. 
Thankfully, in the years since the war ended, these Scale Guard had become lax in their wariness. Shadowbolt and Nys’stralla moved in unison as they made their way to the cell that the aforementioned “Queen of Bats” was being held. One rotten wooden door stood between the target and the extraction team. Bane hefted his hammer, but Rat shook his head. Cloak moved in, carefully picking the lock and opening the door. A very surprised group of drakes playing some sort of dice game stared at the extraction team. Cloak stared back, unblinking. Neither side moved. Cloak slowly reached forward, grabbed the door handle, and closed it gently. 
“...I think we had the map upside down…” observed Cloak lightly.  “We should run now…” 
“Phantasm, go to Plan B!” barked Rat into his comms as he drew his steam pistols. 
There was a shout of something in Draconic, and in an instant, the six Drakes pushed past the door. Rat instantly moved, shooting two in the head, dropping them to the ground from the impact, but not finishing them. Dagger slid under the legs of another before ramming a Shellbreaker into the back of his neck, backflipping gracefully as the drake’s head vanished into chunks of flesh, spraying Cloak in gore.
“Ah fuck! My mouth was open and everything!” complained the stallion, spitting onto the ground.  Cloak mirrored the move of his twin, stabbing a drake in the backside, blowing off the drake’s tail and causing the unfortunate enemy to fall to the ground in pain. 
Danica hastily leveled her rifle at a charging Drake, baring her fangs with a silent scream as she fired a searing bolt of mana at almost point blank range. The dark hallway briefly lit up in a sickly wash of pale blue as the shot tore into the unsuspecting Drake's chest, who spun to the floor like a discarded marionette doll. She dropped her rifle, lunging forwards and sinking a moonsilver blade into the twitching soldier's neck. 
Rat moved to the two stunned drakes and quickly performed execution shots before the two could get back to their feet and attack. This time the two stayed down, blood pooling on the stone floor. The last drake froze in horror, not surrendering, but not dropping his weapon. 
“Watch and learn?!” Danica hissed, grasping her rifle and keeping it trained on the remaining Drake. 
“We got bad intel,” shrugged Bane. “It happens, and you deal with it. You’ll notice that five well-armed drakes are now dead in thirty seconds or less- sorry, six- and we even still have a plan to rescue the target even when things have gone sideways.” 
Rat sighed as he reloaded after literally disarming the last drake with a well-placed shot through the poor soul’s elbow. He leaned down over the drake, frowning. 
“You speak Equestrian, yes?” asked Rat. ‘Where is the Margravine?”
“You cannot understand a word I’m saying, and I would not tell you even if you could!” snapped the bleeding Drake. 
Rat frowned, drawing his personal knife. “...I can… and you will…” replied Rat in perfect Draconic, stepping forward slowly. 
“Fine! Fine! I speak Equestrian!” snapped the drake. “Margravine is on the other side of the base! Will already be dead by this point! Order to kill if discovered!”
“Then we’d better hurry,” replied Rat before glancing at Danica. “Kill or maim, ma’am: Your call. We can set off some white phosphorus in his eyes, if you want?”
Danica grinned at his last comment, considering his proposal. “We’re running out of time”, she stated flatly, clicking a fresh cartridge into her rifle. “If we’ve been spotted, then it’s only a matter of time until my squad is overrun.” 
“You heard the lady, Pack,” ordered Rat. “Belly him.”
Before the drake could scream, Cloak, Bane, Dagger and Arclight struck the primary tendons in the Drake’s wings and legs, severing and permanently crippling them. The draconic soldier screamed in agony and horror as his equine captors inflicted an ancient draconic punishment upon him. “Bellying” was a cruel punishment that the First Imperium would inflict upon dishonored soldiers, forcing them to live the rest of their days dragging themselves along their bellies like common lizards. No help or comfort would ever be offered to the victim beyond what was required to extend their miserable lives for a minimum of fifty years. 
“W-why?” sobbed the Drake. “Why would you-”
“The war was over. Any idiot could see that! And you still held my aunt prisoner!” Danica hissed, leaning down to whisper vehemently in the drake’s ears. “This whole time, my father has believed his sister was dead, and that it was his fault! He never had the chance to…” She trailed off, choosing to instead kick the drake with a hoof, prompting another cry from the soldier. “Did… did it bring you honor, to level our city? To murder so many innocent Thestrals?” She kicked him again, harder, her voice on the edge of breaking. “Answer me!” 
“Leave him,” chided Bane. “He’s already broken enough, and you’re the one who said we’re short on time.”
Danica glanced upwards from the drake, eyes widening. She looked between the Drake and Bane, her dark eyes pinpricks. 
Shrill whistles of draconic steam guns firing broke the night air. Exclamations in draconic could be faintly heard between the shots as Drakes died within the sights of Phantasm’s steam rifle. If the words of their prisoner were to be believed, the Margravine was on the opposite side of the stronghold, so the group could no longer waste time. Rat drew both steam pistols, motioning for their group to unsling their own steam rifles. 
“Fix bayonets, and let’s get moving,” ordered Rat. “We cannot lose any momentum to the Margravine. You see a drake, you drop them and keep moving. If we slow down, the Margravine is dead.”
“Nonstop, Boss,” confirmed Bane, chambering a round from the magazine. “They won’t know what hit them.” 
The Pack took a standard arrow formation, flying down the hall with rifles at the ready. A squad of eight drakes turned the corner into the hall when Rat opened fire, killing two of them instantly with precise headshots into their unarmored eye sockets. Bane bayoneted another Drake through the throat before shooting twice through the unfortunate target into a second and third Drake, leaving them to drown in their own blood as he rushed forward. Cloak kicked the fifth one in the back of the knee before firing twice into the heart and once in the head. Dagger simply tossed her rifle like a javelin, killing the sixth Drake, before drawing her signature blades and slicing the seventh’s throat as she flew past and retrieved her rifle. The last Drake barely had time to process the deaths of his comrades before the back of his head was atomized by Danica with a well-placed shot from her manarifle. 
“Let’s not assume that was the only kill-squad they’re sending to the Margravine,” barked Rat. “Reload as you run if you have to.”
“No prisoners.” Danica hissed darkly, moving alongside Rat as she clicked her bayonet into place. 
They finally reached the end of the corridor where a large solid Thestralian ironwood blocked their way to the Margravine. Arclight tried the door handle, with no success. 
“Of course it’s fucking locked,” sighed Bane, staring at the naturally magic-resistant door. “Hang on, grabbing a Shellbr-”
“Stand back!” Danica raised her voice, leveling her manarifle at the door. A deep blue glow emanated from the weapon as she charged it up, casting long, dancing shadows down the corridor. Her dark eyes lit up with chemical burnout, and she unleashed a silent scream as she fired off multiple bolts of searing mana into the door. 
“Wait, no-” exclaimed Cloak before the first shot hit the door and all hell broke loose.
The group instantly dropped to the ground as the mana blasts rebounded off of the ironwood door before ricocheting down the hall and killing a pair of hapless drakes. Bane scowled at Danica, reaching into his bandolier and pulling out a pair of Shellbreakers and stabbing the blades into the door by the hinges and the lock. 
“Shellbreakers set,” barked Bane as Cloak and Dagger took position by the other two. “Trigger in three… two… one… COVER!”
The group took cover as the charges counted down and detonated, blowing the ironwood door clean off its hinges and into the prison cell. Inside, an emaciated gray mare sat neatly folded into one corner, staring blankly at the wall near her prison cot. All around her, crude scratchings of vaguely alicorn shaped equines engaged in vicious fights decorated the walls, alongside incoherent sentences in some ancient dialect of Equestrian now lost to time. Sharp pointed symbols and flowing runes filled the empty spaces in between, whatever ink they’d been scratched into the walls with having faded over the years into a dull, sickly brown. On the floor directly below the cot, an evidently more recent combination of symbols had been laid out in a rough, undulating circle. The lines were rough, broken and flaking in some spaces, with suspicious splotches and smudging at various intervals along the borders. Four points struck out of the circle at even, quarterly intervals, resembling something like the compass points on a map. Just inside the circles, more paragraphs had been written, the hoof writing appearing rushed, unpolished and frantic. Her pale limbs were covered in numerous cuts and slashes, the dried blood caked into her matted fur. 
Unaware or uncaring of the chaos around her in spite of nearly being decapitated by the flying door, She blinked slowly before rising to her hooves, observing the newly empty doorframe before glancing back to the relocated door as it stuck out of the back wall, smoldering slightly.
“I think there’s someone at the door, Ly’synė,” remarked the mare to no one in particular. “And their mothers clearly never taught them to knock gently…”
“Lavinia?” Danica spoke hesitantly, a stark contrast to her demeanor just moments prior. “It’s…” She stumbled over her words, stepping into the cell with caution. “Mislana sent us to rescue you.” She reholstered her rifle, taking another brave step forwards, limbs trembling. 
“Mislana?” Lavinia’s nose wrinkled. She glanced at Danica. “Why are you a mare? I suppose I have been away for a while, and if it makes you happy-” 
“No, I’m not-” Danica protested, holding a hoof to her face. “I’m your niece!”
“I believe it’s pronounced ‘niche’, dear,” replied Lavinia absently. “Or was that the other way around? It’s been so long since I’ve spoken to anyone besides Ly’synė, and she only ever really listens-” 
“That was me, auntie,” Danica responded, a slight hint of frustration in her tone. “We’ve been in contact in the dreamscape, remember?” 
“You’re Ly’synė?” asked Lavinia in confusion. “I must say, you’re much smaller than I remember. And weren’t you in the moon?”
“I escaped,” Danica exclaimed through an exasperated sigh, her patience having evidently run out as she lunged forwards and grabbed Lavinia’s hoof. “Come with us now and I’ll tell you all about it!” 
In a motion faster than Rat could see, the former Margravine pulled Danica into a well practiced hold before suplexing the unfortunate Thestral and catching the stunned mare into a vicious chokehold.
“If you try to eat me I’ll haunt you forever!” Lavinia hissed into Danica’s ears, squeezing her tighter. “You are not Ly’synė, imposter! And I will not go anywhere with you, Imperium spy!”
“A… little help?” Danica spluttered, eyes wide and face reddening. She grasped around her neck with her hooves, wings flapping uselessly behind her. 
“Damn… Nana Bat claps back,” mused Cloak. 
“Shit, we don’t have time for this,” swore Rat before addressing Lavinia. “Margravine Lavinia of Nys’strova, my name is Rat of the Shadowbolts, and I have been hired by your brother to help you escape Cantermere.”
“My brother hired you to help me escape?” frowned Lavinia, forgetting about the choking Thestral beneath her as she considered Rat’s words. “But I hired you to help him escape first…”
“Of course you did,” agreed Rat. “And we have. Now it’s your turn.”
“Oh! That makes sense!” brightened Lavinia as she released Danica from the chokehold. “Lead on then, Sir Shadowbolt!” 
“...That was shockingly easy…” observed Cloak blankly.
“Shush! Don’t tempt fate!” hissed Hawk.
Danica fell in a sprawling heap on the floor, wheezing and clutching at her neck. “Bitch…” She managed to spit out through gasping breaths. She eventually stumbled to her hooves. “First time I’ve not enjoyed being choked,” She mumbled to no one in particular, casting around for her dropped manarifle.  
“Oh my… Society has become quite candid, I see,” commented Lavinia. “I suppose as long as public orgies haven’t become the norm, I will find a way to adapt. If they have, I suppose I’ll simply have to watch my step.”
Danica smirked. “She’s growing on me.” A pause. “Just keep your hooves to yourself.” 
“Margravine Lavinia, what shall we do with your captors?” asked Rat. “Do we allow them to surrender?” 
“Send them to the moon?” Lavinia replied brightly, clapping her hooves together with something close to excitement. 
“Shoot and move,” Danica stepped forwards, brandishing her manarifle close to her chest. “We don’t have to kill them, we just need a clean escape from here.” 
“We can breach the wall here with our remaining Shellbreakers,” mused Arclight. “I think four or five should do it.”
“Poor turtles,” commented Lavinia, staring down the dark hallway with wide eyes. 
“Do it, Pack,” ordered Rat. “We got lucky that the Margravine wasn't injured, but I don’t like our odds of breaking out of here without casualties. Phantasm, pop skulls as fast as you can. They’ll hear the blast, but I want to keep them from doing anything about it.”
“Copy that,” replied Phantasm over the radio. “Hey Danica, I’m at fifteen- sorry, sixteen- so far. What’s your total?”
Danica snarled at the radio, removing her knife from its holster before hurling it down the hallway. At that same moment, a single Drake soldier rounded the corner, the knife embedding in his exposed throat. The Drake spun twice, dropping to the floor with a surprised look on his face. “Three…” She eventually replied, a barely concealed snarl on her lips. 
“One hundred points to Griffinstone!” Lavinia taunted, nudging Danica in the ribs.  
“Cut the chatter,” ordered Rat. “Cloak, are the charges set?”
“Locked and ready to rock, Boss,” grinned Cloak. “Just need to push the Big Red Button!” 
“Everyone, we move when the charges detonate,” barked Rat. “Get ready.” 
“Boom town, baby bats” Lavinia piped up, hyping herself up for the fireworks. 
Just as Cloak readied to engage the charges, the “hiss-fweee-crack” combination of a Thunderdrum steam rifle firing announced the arrival of a bullet three inches from Lavinia’s head. 
“GET TO COVER!” shouted Bane as he pulled Lavinia to the floor, upended the single table in the room into improvised cover, and proceeded to panic-fire over the barrier.  
“Oh, now why would we do something like that when we can get filled with bullets-” sniped Cloak sarcastically. “OF COURSE WE’RE GRABBING COVER! WHERE’S AN ASS-BUCKET WHEN YOU NEED ONE?!”
“WASN’T TALKING TO YOU!” shouted Bane. “I WAS TALKING TO THE HVT!”
“Oh don’t worry, I was immunized for that as a foal,” Lavinia tittered, attempting to poke her head out from behind the table before being pulled down once more. “Quite candid indeed, Ly’synė.” She shook her head in disapproval. 
“Sorry ma’am, ‘High Value Target’ and don’t do that!” explained Bane as he pulled Lavinia out of harm’s way yet again. “We need your head attached to the rest of you!”
“CHARGES ARE LIVE!” shouted Cloak as he backed away to a safe distance. “HOLD ON TO YOUR FUN BITS, BECAUSE YOU MIGHT LOSE ‘EM!”
There was a roar of sound, a rattling shockwave, and a blinding flash as the Shellbreakers detonated behind them, opening an exit to freedom. Rat shook his head to clear it before laying down covering fire with the twin pistols. Bane hauled Lavinia to her hooves and pulled her out the opening as Cloak and Dagger covered him. 
“EVERYONE BACK TO THE RV POINT!” yelled Rat. 
Lavinia opened her mouth to speak once again, but was quickly shouted down by an irate Danica.
“I swear to Ly’synė I will punch you in the face if you make one more sound!” Danica snarled, clearly having lost all patience as she shoved the Margravine forwards with the rest of the group. “Now, move!”
As they flew, the sounds of Phantasm’s rifle sang out against the moonless night, the aria reaching its crescendo. Shots ricocheted off of rocks and other debris as they fled from Cantermere Keep. Insults and curses in Draconic flew more liberally than the bullets, not that a single word or bullet was acknowledged. They fled the Keep without firing back, trusting in Phantasm and the rest of Danica’s “Night Witches” to hold back the onslaught of Scale Guard pouring from the walls.
When they arrived at the RV point, a rather interesting sight caught Rat’s attention. One major drawback of steam guns is that eventually condensation would render the gun ineffective until the barrel was dried, which could take several minutes. Phantasm seemed to have worked out a system around that problem with the help of the other Night Witches. A veritable mountain of spent cartridges littered the ground around Phantasm as she’d fire a rifle until the barrel dripped before grabbing a fresh one from a pile and passing the spent one to a group of thestral mares that worked to get the rifles dried and reloaded to go back into the pile. Phantasm caught Danica’s eye and winked once.
FWOOOMPH!
The sound of a dozen thestral mares, Danica, Hawk, and even Clover flaring their wings in unison was audible even above the sound of the steam rifle firing. 
“Wow, Phantasm sure leaves them dripping…” commented Cloak.
“The rifles or the Thestrals?”  sniped Hawk as he attempted to fold his wings.
“Yes,” replied Cloak.
“You know, this reminds me of this one night in Ly’synia,” Lavinia began, blushing lightly. “Our household guard had just been oh so lovingly replenished with over fifty new stallion recruits, and we had all this whipped cream and-”
“NO!” Danica shrieked, shoving her hooves across Lavinia’s muzzle. “For the love of Ly’synė… NEVER FINISH THAT SENTENCE!”
“...I mean, I could stand to hear a little more…” murmured Clover even as she blushed bright enough to outshine a lighthouse. 
Danica turned on a dime, her pale cheeks flushed bright red. “Not helping!” She hissed, baring her fangs at the mare. 
“Danica, Clover, behave yourselves,” ordered Phantasm. 
Danica squeaked quietly, blushing furiously while trying and failing to fold her wings back at her sides. 
“Yes Mommy!” squeaked Clover before slapping a hoof over her mouth. 
“Wait…” Lavinia tilted her head in confusion, glancing between the three mares. “You’re their mommy?” She scrunched her face. “Aren’t you the same age?”
“No, no, Mommy, not ‘Mommy’” explained Cloak. 
“Ah, I see now, apologies for my mispronunciation,” She paused, biting her bottom lip with half lidded eyes. “Mommy.” 
“Oh for Gods’ sakes, did they not have such a thing as a ‘Dommy Mommy’ kink back in your day?!” shouted Dagger as she fired again. 
“I’ll have to ask Ly’synė when I see her again,” Lavinia commented, gazing upwards at the night sky.
“Not the time or place!” barked Rat before activating his comm. “Hox! Where’s our backup?!”
“Thestralian Guard inbound,” answered Hox over the comm unit. “You should be able to hear the Adiabatic now.”
The hum of airship engines announced the arrival of their backup, and not a moment too soon. The drakes had clearly decided to end the fight in a single overwhelming charge, but scores of Thestralian Guardsponies leapt from the railing and a storm of copper and lead rained down upon the charging drakes to cut them down. In less than three minutes, over a dozen more drakes were dead. 
“I love the smell of steam guns at sunrise,” grinned Cloak.
Atop the prow of the airship, an imposing Thestral figure in mismatched armor stood brandishing an impressively large manarifle. The flowing runes along the rifle’s body were steadily pulsating, growing brighter and brighter as the weapon reached full charge. A moment later, and a bright blue shard of energy ripped forwards from the weapons muzzle, bathing the battlefield in a lightning flash of blue as it arched over their heads. Danica craned her head as it sailed past them, wincing slightly as it slammed into a charging Drake soldier. The drake evidently didn’t have the time to scream, as a large portion of his abdomen was vaporized on impact, with what remained of his body spinning to the ground with a sickening crunch. 
Danica stomped her hoof against the ground, struggling with a mix of relief and annoyance flowing through her body. Not wanting to be outdone by her fathers forces joining the fight, nor Phantasm’s runaway lead in their wager, she unholstered her own mana rifle, letting loose three shrill, sharp shrieks. Moments later, the night witches members began forming in a loose group in front of her. 
“Night Witches!” Danica flashed her fangs in a wide, unhinged grin. “The drakes have held our city for too long! Tonight, that changes!”  She strode forwards, bringing herself eye to eye with her lieutenant. “You!” She pointed a hoof in the mare's face. “Tell me, what is the approximate range of a shellbreaker?”
The mare tilted her head in confusion. “I… I have no idea?” She scrunched her face in confusion. “Danica, are you-“
“Approximately?!” Danica cut her off, spittle flying from her lips as she spun on her back hooves. She trotted forwards a few paces, twisting back to face the Night Witches in a messy whirl of dark hair and wild eyes. “Approximately?!” She flashed her fangs, grinning like a maniac. “The same size as everything they love and cherish!” She made a nose somewhere between a cackle and a shriek, brandishing her mana rifle towards the charging Drakes.
“And what exactly do you intend to do now?” asked Rat with a raised eyebrow.
Danica giggled, one eye twitching in a bizarre mix of excitement and anger. “I’ll show them the meaning of love in a Nys’strovan farmhouse.” With that she let loose an ear shattering shriek, launching herself forwards in a flurry of beating wings and kicking hooves. The Night Witches followed close on her heels, adding their voices to the haunting, undulating dirge as they tore a path directly towards the largest group of Drakes.
The drakes did not yield. They did not raise their claws in surrender. They charged, full force, into the oncoming wave of death that was the Thestralian Guardsponies and Night Witches. They were met with a steady, yet sporadic hail of bullets from the drakes. Danica twisted and dived, contorting her body in unnatural ways as she dodged the onslaught. All around her, Thestrals fell screaming, their bodies slamming into the ground with the sickening crunch of broken bones, but they did not slow down. 
Mislana watched the scene unfolding from atop the prow of the Adiabatic. He reloaded his smoking manarifle, holding back a frustrated sigh as he watched his daughter charging headlong into the chaos. “That filly is going to be the death of me,” he mumbled under his breath, a mixture of annoyance and concern flickering across his face. He glanced behind him, whistling to one of his officers.
“Make sure she doesn’t get herself killed.” He gestured with his head towards Danica’s swathe of destruction. The officer nodded at once, quickly leaving Mislana’s side to gather another group or guardsponies to join in the fight. 
He gripped his manarifle in both hooves, making ready to leap from the edge of the airship to join Danica, when he suddenly froze. He narrowed his eyes, focusing on the firing line that had been set up by the Shadowbolts. Just behind them, one member of the Shadowbolts was desperately pulling on the tail of a lanky Thestral mare, their hooves skidding along the ground as she obviously dragged them forwards with her. 
Mislana’s mind went numb. He clumsily holstered his manarifle across his shoulders, spreading his wings as he kicked off from the airship’s deck and gently glided down towards the mare. Bullets whizzed past him as he descended, and his right wing throbbed with pain from the injury he sustained during the war, but he barely registered any of this. 
He soon landed behind the firing line, breaking into a swift trot to offset the speed of his brief flight. Lavinia peeked out above the rampart and began to wander her way into the fray, unheeding of the bullets whizzing by her. Hawk blinked once before rolling his eyes and sighing.
“Oh for fuck’s sake- Get back here, Batty!” swore Hawk as he tried to pull the Margravine out of the line of fire by her tail, only to be pulled along with her. “Fuck’n Sh’t- TANK! I NEED YOUR HELP HERE!”
The gentle giant caught sight of the older thestral, grunted disapprovingly, before picking up the mare by the scruff of her neck in his teeth and carrying her away like a cat carrying a kitten. Hawk, unable to dislodge her tail from his teeth, proceeded to be pulled along unceremoniously back behind cover.
Mislana approached the group slowly, careful hooves treading lightly across the uneven terrain. Lavinia glanced towards him, face scrunched in foalish annoyance as she was gently placed onto the ground by Tank. 
“Ah, maybe you can help me, kind stallion!” Lavinia gestured to Mislana as he slowly approached. “You see, I fell down a wishing well, and I just kept on falling and falling, and now I can’t find Ly’synė.”
“-And then you followed a white rabbit in a waistcoat back home?” quipped Cloak, even as his eyes swam with unshed tears.
“You met Mr. Carrol?” Lavinia’s eyes widened in disbelief, but she was quickly distracted when a dark, Thestral shaped blur rushed towards them and enveloped her in a tight embrace.
“You’re alive… It’s… it’s really you.” Mislana’s voice trembled, his eyes clasped tightly shut, almost as if he feared she wouldn’t be there when he opened them again. Lavinia stumbled backwards slightly, prompting Mislana to loosen his vice-like grip on her. He opened his eyes, the two Thestrals finally regarding one another for the first time in twenty four years. 
“This feels a bit like a hug from an emotionally unavailable parent,” Lavinia mumbled, her eyes suddenly widening. “Oh! I must tell you about this thing the Shadowbolts taught me about!” She chittered excitedly “Apparently there’s something called a Dommy Mommy, and-”
“Lavinia… it’s Mislana…” He took a single pace back, his lips trembling and eyes moist. 
Lavinia tilted her head, eyebrows furrowing for a moment. “But… I thought you were a mare now?” 
“That’s Danica, Margravine,” Phantasm shouted over her shoulder as she discarded yet another steamgun, grabbing a freshly loaded one from the pile. “This is your brother.”
“Oh,” Lavinia replied, her face twisting in confusion as she glanced between Mislana and the charging Thestrals. “Wait… so…” she turned to face Mislana. She stared at him for several  moments, studying his features. Then it hit her. “You’ve grown up…” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Mislana almost burst into laughter. “I did,” he managed to stutter. “You have no idea…”
“You made it out then,” Lavinia murmured, seeming to slowly gain slightly more lucidity at the sound of Mislana’s voice. Her dark eyes glistened in the weak starlight, her voice soft and undulating. 
“Thanks to you,” Mislana breathed, the two standing mere paces from each other. 
“And now she’s made it out, thanks to you, sir,” added Rat, not unkindly before giving a wry grin. “Still, it might be best to get her out of the line of fire, and we’ve all had a bit of a long night.”
“But I dropped Ly’synė somewhere back there,” Lavinia protested, pushing past Mislana once again in an attempt to run directly into the line of fire. 
“FOR FECK’S SAKE, GET ON THE DAMN BOAT YA BATTY GOBSHITE!” bellowed Clover, eyes blazing fire as she dove in front of the Margravine and pushed her onto the Adiabatic.
Lavinia grumbled, intimately complying with the irate mare's request. “I’m not deaf dear, have you seen the size of my ears?” She pointed a hoof to her leafy ears, which were currently flat against her head, similar to a scalded dog. 
“I’M HOPIN’ FER A SNOWBALL’S CHANCE IN HELL OF REACHIN’ WHAT’S BETWEEN ‘EM!” shouted Clover again, clearly done with the situation. “NOW GET YER ARSE IN THE BOAT AFORE I CHAIN YE TO THE MAST TAH KEEP YE FROM GETTIN’ SHOT!”
“Fine!” Lavinia shouted, marching away with her tail tucked between her legs. “But only because I don’t mind being tied up!”
Mislana stared at her in disbelief. “Uh…”
“Beggin’ your pardon, Your Grace, but we’ve had a hell of a time keepin’ her alive to meet ya here,” apologized Clover.
The Margrave glared at her for a moment, but his expression soon softened into a somewhat amused smirk. “It’s okay,” He chuckled, “I guess Lavinia and Danica aren’t only similar in their looks,” He glanced out across the battlefield, taking deep and measured breaths. “Thank you, Clover,” he glanced at her briefly, quickly turning away to hide the growing moisture in his eyes. “I don’t know how we can repay you.”
“A hot bath, a hot meal, and a glass of that mushroom vodka that ye mentioned is all I need, sir,” smiled Clover tiredly. 
“That can all be arranged,” Mislana replied, smiling gratefully at the mare. “I just need to take care of one thing first…” He stared straight ahead into the melé, his eyes focussed in on Danica, who was currently driving the bayonet of her rifle deep into a Drake soldier's stomach. She screeched ferociously, firing multiple bolts of mana into the convulsing soldier as they both fell to the ground in a sickly spray of blood and viscera. 
Mislana groaned as he unholstered his own manarifle. He clicked a switch on the side of the weapon, the dormant runes steadily pulsing with a blue energy. He glanced at Clover. “Apologies, I have to go attend to my daughter’s terminal case of stupidity,” He glanced at the rifle in his hooves. “Never have children.” He sighed, spreading his wings to their full span and kicked off from the ground with his hind legs. His form was reduced to a dark blue streak as he tore across the ground like some vengeful wraith or spirit. The Pack stared in silence for a moment before Cloak broke it.
“...Well, I could use a good nap,” observed Cloak with a yawn. “So… sleep and then we feast?”

Ly’synia, Banquet Hall, Nys’strova 
Watersday, 15th of Grass Moon, 1001
Seven Months Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
The past few days in Ly’synia had been a whirlwind of activity. Upon their return, cheering crowds had swarmed the returning heroes, with city wide street parties being thrown and lasting long into the early hours of the morning. Many of the city's essential services, shops and restaurants had shut down, with only the vodka distilleries working overtime to keep up with the demand for fresh liquor. Fireworks kept the night sky constantly lit up in bursts of technicolor light, and hurried messages had been sent to the outlying cities and villages, informing them of Lavinia’s return. 
Lavinia, for the most part, was the life of the party. Twice she’d ’gone missing’ from the Ly’synian castle grounds, only to be found many hours later in some sort of mess of her own making. Twice, they’d had to postpone the official banquet being held in celebration of her return. Important officials from all across Nys’strova had been summoned to the capital, including a few from as far as Equestria itself. During this time, Mislana had been driven almost to his wits end attempting to keep track of not only Lavinia’s exploits, but Danica’s too. When they’d finally managed to track down Lavinia, he called it quits on trying to find Danica, evidently deciding there would be less potential for any more incidents if she ‘just stayed in whatever gutter she’s crawled into’. 
He glanced over the assembled thestrals, smiling for what felt like the first time in years. He took a deep breath, before letting loose two sharp, high pitched shrieks, silencing the room. He glanced down the table towards the Shadowbolts, who were all holding their hooves against their ears, and mouthed a quick apology. 
“Thank you all for coming,” He started, standing up slowly to his full height. “As many of you already know, this banquet is being thrown in honor of the return of my dear sister, the hero of the siege of Cantermere!” He nudged his sister with a hoof, prompting her to stand up alongside him. A wide smile cracked across her face, and she waved enthusiastically to the assembled crowd as a chorus of cheers and shouts sprang up all around the room. Mislana opened his mouth to continue speaking, but Lavinia interrupted him.
“Thank you, thank you!” She shouted over the racket. “I’ve been having a lot of fun since I’ve been back, you’ve all been so kind and friendly!” She lifted her tankard in an unsteady hoof, and stepped onto the table. Mislana groaned, reluctantly allowing her to continue. “However, some of you…” she extended the last word, gesturing wildly with a hoof across the room, “have been a little too friendly…” She glared at a random thestral, shooting icy daggers across the room for a moment too long, before she suddenly twirled away, spilling half of her drink on Mislana. “However, after a brief discussion with Ly’synė, we have decided to let it slide,” She took a large swig from her tankard, draining what remained, and tossed it behind her shoulder. “And besides, if we aren’t tempted, are we really showing our virtue?” 
“Aaannnd that’s enough there,” Mislana climbed onto the table, attempting to lead Lavinia back to her seat at the table as everyone else attempted to suppress their laughter.  
She hissed at him, baring her fangs as she reluctantly sat back down. “You know, you really carry yourself with all the confidence of a much taller stallion.” She glared at him from her seat, snatching his tankard and taking a small sip from it. 
“I love you too, Lavinia,” Mislana grumbled, cursing under his breath and making a mental note to keep an eye on how many tankards Lavinia worked through. 
“What happened to the drakes, Lavinia?” A Thestral shouted from somewhere in the room, evidently hoping for another amusing, if completely off topic reply. 
Lavinia glanced up, ears perking forwards as she considered how to reply. She took a little sip from her tankard. “They died the way they lived. Wasting all of my time.” 
Sporadic laughter and words of concern bounced around the room at this, much to Mislana’s annoyance. He sighed deeply, clearing his throat to gain some semblance of control over the room once again. 
“Anyways…” He glanced at Lavinia momentarily, before continuing. “We’re overjoyed to have her back with us today, and we owe an unpayable debt to these eight Shadowbolts seated besides me.” He gestured to each side of him, a thunderous chorus of applause filling the lofty atrium. Once the applause died down a little, Mislana continued. “You will all have the chance to get to know them tonight, I promise you. Without their help, Lavinia would still be captive in Cantermere, so I hope this feast will be able to express, in some small way, the extent of our gratitude towards them!” He smiled warmly at the Shadowbolts. “So please, enjoy!”
He clapped his hooves, and the double doors at the end of the hall opened in unison. With clockwork precision, a full contingent of Thestral maids arrived with dishes covered in silver cloches and simultaneously placed them in front of the Pack. The cloches were removed to reveal a sizable megascarab on each plate, steamed to a bright rusty red and served alongside melted butter and spices with mashed parsnips and a fresh coleslaw made with carrots, red and green cabbage, and broccoli stems. 
“Those… can’t be our dinner… Can they?” asked Hawk.
“Please…” smiled the Margrave, gesturing to the banquet. “Enjoy…”
Tank blinked twice at the bright red, steaming scarab on his plate before sniffing briefly. The giant sniffed the megascarab again, before picking up the entire bug within his mouth and chewing it in silent contemplation, much to the shock of the thestrals present. Tank swallowed and hummed in satisfaction. 
“...We… do not eat the shells, normally, but we are most pleased that you enjoy it…” chuckled the Margrave. “Perhaps another five for our larger guest-”
“Good enough for me,” chirped Cloak before digging in. “BANZAI!”
“Of course the team glutton digs in…” sighed Hawk. “And Tank eats it because it’s Tank. But what does the Doc say-”
“Don’t forget the ‘mustard’ of the scarab!” chimed in Arclight as Clover prodded at the cracked headplate filled with a yellow liquid. “That’s where all the flavor is…”
“...I am mildly concerned,” frowned Hawk. “Whaddya think, Miss Stabby? These things any good?”
“I...I think...so?” replied Dagger as she prodded the steaming megascarab before her.
“Is good food, yes,” replied a babushka Thestral as she ladled a large helping of potato and parsnip soup. “You make for husband. He give you many strong foals.”
“H-HUSBAND?!” squeaked Dagger, matching the color of her meal as Arclight inhaled half of his tankard of ale. “FOALS?!”
“Yes, he no give you foals already?” asked the babushka, clicking her tongue in disappointment, “Here, mylui, will help fix. Give husband two drops at dinner. He will last all night.”
“Perhaps when he’s done aspirating his beer,” chuckled Cloak, as he clapped his twin’s coltfriend on the back. “...Wait, did you actually pocket the jar of boinking juice?!”
“SHUSH!” snapped Dagger as she buried her brother’s face into a bowl of soup.
“Well, passing over the ‘boinking juice’... I’d say that was a job well done,” smirked Rat as he tucked into his megascarab, pausing a moment before breaking into the shell. “...Did anyone see where Phantasm got to?”
“I don’t know,” frowned Hawk. “She said something about a bet-”
The doors to the banquet hall crashed open as Danica and Phantasm fought to assert dominance in their torrid and passionate makeout session, moaning and giggling as their tongues entwined, growling in frustration when their lips were not making direct contact. Almost like a pair of saber masters in a fencing competition, one would advance while the other retreated, crashing into suits of armor, tapestries, carts, and hapless maids and butlers before the aggressor would be routed to retreat in return. Rat dropped his head to the table as the rest of the banquet stared in shock. There was little doubt as to what the two of them had been up to, as their manes were slick with sweat and they reeked of sex. Of course, the Kirin-style shibari rope harness on Danica was also another dead giveaway.
“Clearly, they found more boinking juice…” mused Cloak as he drank thoughtfully from his glass. 
“You really think they needed it?” asked Hawk rhetorically, before the two mares crashed onto the end of the banquet table, their passions reaching a fever pitch. 
“And there’s the reason I didn’t send Dancia to Canterlot,” Mislana grumbled, glaring across at the two mares with a mix of disapproval and begrudging amusement across his face. He pinched the bridge of his nose, lightly glowering across the hall at his daughter and her latest antics, struggling to formulate any sort of response. “Just… who even is that?” He eventually managed to respond, taking another heavy swig of wine.
Before anyone else could reply, Lavinia perked up from beside him, nudging his shoulder with a wide, fang filled grin. “Your daughter calls her ‘Mommy’,” she giggled to herself, arching her head back before promptly falling off her stool and onto the floor. 

The Cirrus, Primary Flight Deck, Equestria
Starsday, 25th of Grass Moon, 1001
Five Months Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War

“I still cannot believe you, Phantasm,” grumbled Rat. “The Margrave’s daughter, for pity’s sake!” 
“Don’t forget the three maids, the four other Nys’stralla members, the chocolate sauce, the jar of cherries-” added Cloak helpfully. 
“Not helping, dumbass,” sniped Dagger, in spite of the grin growing on her face. 
“She clearly regrets nothing,” observed Clover, with a tinge of hurt in her tone. 
“Maybe the fact that her tongue finally locked up fifteen minutes before we had to leave,” chuckled Hawk. 
“Her expression clearly says it was worth it,” smirked Bane.
Phantasm said nothing, but the smirk and middle feather she gave spoke volumes. Rat sighed with frustration, but in reality it wasn’t quite that bad. Thankfully, Mislana had been quite understanding about the situation, and in fact seemed more exasperated with Danica in regards to the situation.
“Oh come on, lighten up, Boss,” laughed Hawk. “It’s about time that Phantasm cut loose during R’n’R. Besides, you have little room to talk with that little Thestral chambermaid visiting you at all hours of the night this past week-”
“That was completely different!” protested Rat.”She just wanted to-”
“-Show her undying gratitude to one of the saviors of the Margravine?” smirked Cloak. “What exactly was she doing in your room there, Boss? Polishing your bedpost? Dusting your candlestick? Fluffing your pillows?”
“Cloak-” growled Rat. 
“I’ve always heard maids are a liberal breed…” laughed Hawk.
“Did she provide you with the full room service package?” asked Bane.
“Did you receive some of that famous Thestral hospitality?” grinned Cloak.
“Just paying lip service to the stallion who freed the Margravine?” cackled Hawk.
“Maybe she just needed help reaching all the nooks and crannies she couldn’t get on her own?” suggested Arclight, in a surprising twist of betrayal.
“Funny, I can’t imagine he feels very clean despite how many times the maid visited his room,” added Dagger.
”How hard did she scrub?” asked Cloak with a cackle of his own.
“I wonder how she handled the mop handle?” pondered Bane.
“Hopefully the floor wasn’t too slippery-” jeered Hawk.
“...Wait, why are there crates on the deck?” asked Clover suddenly. “Resupply isn’t due for another two weeks.”
“...For that matter, why have we got such a large group gathered on the deck?” asked Dagger as she surveyed the flight deck and took notice of the large group.
At this, the rest of the pack ceased their ribbing of Rat over his latest romantic dalliance and took in the surroundings. Three large crates did occupy the space on the deck, and they were unlike any that Rat had seen with all previous supply drops. Furthermore, having such a large group of Shadowbolts on the deck this late in the evening was also unusual, unless they were about to dock with one of the many hidden drydocks they’d set up around the world. But the strangest sight that Rat could see was Hoxton, the Lunatic of the Pit himself, pacing agitatedly on the deck. Upon catching sight of Rat, he stormed up, eyes blazing fire in a way that would be more familiar on Patch.
“Has anypony told you yet?” asked Hoxton without preamble.
“Told us what?” demanded Rat. “We only just got back-”
“Nightshade’s fucked us all,” spat Hoxton. “Ponyville Job went loud, and they were arrogantly wearing Full Shadowbolt gear. It’s a full Omega Protocol situation here. Descent is injured and being assisted back by Starry. Nightshade isn’t doing well either. No matter what happens next, everything is going to fall-”
One of the lookouts cried out indistinctly, cutting off whatever Hoxton was going to say. A bright pink tornado of energy spun in the sky and approached the Flight Deck, touching down and tossing three ponies to the deck in a scattered mess. Nightshade was a mess of bruises and bleeding from her nose and mouth, almost as though she were unable to stand. Descent looked like he’d tried to hoof-fight a thunder cloud and lost horribly, the stallion covered in burns alongside the same sorts of bruises that Nightshade sported as he lay completely unconscious on the deck. Only Starry Skies was able to stand in any sort of capacity.
“ARE YOU ALL BRAIN-DEAD?!” bellowed Starry Skies. “CLEAR THE FUCKING DECK AND GET A MEDIC OVER HERE!”
With that, the deck became a flurry of activity as the Medics swarmed Descent to begin his treatment as they relocated him to the Medbay. Nightshade merely glared at any medic that dared to approach, so did not receive any treatment. Starry, meanwhile, followed her wingmate and fellow crew member down to the Medbay to see to his condition. For a moment, things seemed to be the usual level of “fucked” after a bad mission. But then Hoxton finally boiled over.
Hoxton stormed up to the injured Captain and struck her with a solid haymaker to the face. A splash of blood left her mouth and spilled onto the deck as her head snapped to the side, her expression unwaveringly passive even as the resident Cleaner let his rage explode outward in a way that Rat had never seen in his life aboard the Cirrus, even after witnessing many battles of the Pit Wars between Patch and Hox. Honestly, it made Hox all the more terrifying than Patch, and Patch was practically nightmare-inducing.
“ARE YOU FUCKING HAVING A LAUGH, NIGHTSHADE?!” howled Hoxton in a rage. “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU’VE DONE?! DO YOU HAVE ANY CLUE HOW FUCKED WE ALL ARE?!”
Nightshade spat more blood onto the ground and gave Hoxton a withering look. Unnoticed by either Hoxton or Nightshade, but rather impossible to miss otherwise, Patch appeared from around a corner, green eyes peeking over the top of a tower shield with a medical kit precariously balanced atop her head.
“...Is that a challenge, Lunatic of the Pit?” sneered Nightshade.
“It’s a bloody damn fact, ya tosspot!” snapped Hoxton, “You’ve killed each and every one of us! Shall I explain to the rest of the crowd how royally you’ve fucked up?” Patch’s head ducked down, and the shield inched closer, her neighbor’s loud recriminations masking the slight vibrations and clangs of her smaller frame moving the shield which was clearly meant for someone closer to Descent’s size to use.
“With this reckless and direct assault on Ponyville and the Elements of Harmony, you have exposed us to the entire world! All eyes now rest firmly upon us, you dumb bint!” snapped Hoxton as he began pacing. 
“Centuries of careful effort to keep our organization hidden, decades of work on my part personally, all gone to shite because of your godsbedamned ego!” seethed the Cleaner. “And not only have we been exposed, but we’ve been revealed to the Wonderbolts, the Elements of Harmony, and the fucking Diarchy of Equestria. Celestia and Luna themselves have been presented with undeniable proof of a real and present threat to ‘their little ponies’, Captain, and no amount of scrambling on my part will let us hide again. The entire laughing world has seen us…” 
“So strike me down if you must, Nightshade, but I think you’ll find my skills at least mildly useful in the coming war that you have catapulted us into…” sighed Hoxton. 
Again, Patch’s head, the first aid bag still perched atop it, peeked over the shield, watching Nightshade and Hoxton, eyes flicking between the two with her brows furrowed as the seeming stalemate continued. Eventually, Nightshade glanced away with a snort and smirk, the tension instantly dropping between the two.
“...Patch, give the medics that medkit so they can actually put it to use,” sighed Nightshade. “Your coltfriend will not suffer my wrath today, because he’s not wrong.”
“Who said it was for him?” Patch retorted with a derisive snort. “I brought it in case you’d need them.” And then, with less effort than previously, she brought the shield (and medkit) over to Nightshade and planted the shield between her and Hoxton. “You might still need this though,” she added and, dropping the medkit on the floor behind the shield, sauntered away.
“At least she’s no longer in denial,” smirked Nightshade briefly at Hoxton as the stallion became a stammering mess of protests that died before they left his lips. “But you are correct, Hoxton; we are now at War. And with these tools of our generous benefactor, we’ll be victorious in said war, rather than licking our wounds in the aftermath.”
At this, the mare strode across the room and kicked open one of the foreboding crates, causing their contents to spill out. Rat felt his mouth go dry as a familiar pink glow flooded the room. It was the pink glow they saw in the Arena on that terrible day. It was the pink glow that Banshee tried to warn them about, and subsequently saw as the mare was executed. It was the pink glow they saw on the mountainside outside of Appleloosa when that…thing…caused the avalanche before they could. Glowing pink crystals spilled before them, radiating power that they could feel even from across the room. Nightshade bent over and picked up a crystal, letting it hover and rise above her hoof.
“So… Who among you will be the first to embrace this power and taste of its sweet succor?” asked Nightshade with a wicked grin as her eyes glowed pink.

To Be Continued...
> Chapter 23: Crystal/Ball
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Green Pastures, Cloak’s Front Porch, Equestria
50 Years After the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
The Crystal Magic had finally been mentioned. It was the elephant in the room for all who listened to Cloak’s story, looming over them all, and now that it was finally here, all questions fell silent. No one wanted to be the first to bring up the thousands of questions about the source and catalyst of the war. By this point, everypony had read about them in their social studies class or any recent history books that covered any major events from the period, such as the Siege of Canterlot, the Ascension of Princess Witching Hour, the official formation of the Wonderbolt Air Corps, and most certainly anything that discussed the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War itself. Somehow, though, they never seemed to be “real” in anything else discussed, partially because the descriptions of them always boiled down to the same vague and lackluster description: They were synthesized artifacts of Pain, one of the Vice Magics, and they brought power to those who used them, but at a terrible price. Certainly, it was a sore subject with the Princesses, given that Princess Hour’s own son died in the fight against such Vice Magics, and the use of such magic was one of the only crimes that carried a potential penalty of death, and the only one where such a sentence was carried out without trial. 
“...What was it like to use the crystals?” asked Kingfisher finally. 
“First picking one up?” chuckled Cloak darkly. “Pain… Pain beyond all imagination. For some, it lasted only a heartbeat. For others, it lasted minutes, even hours. For the most unfortunate souls, it never ended. After the hellish pain? It was… Power… Sheer, unadulterated power, almost euphorically so. Some even gained abilities with the use of a single crystal.”
“Just a single crystal?” asked Flare Glider. “I’d heard of the Shadowbolt Commanders getting special abilities from the three crystals they’d use, but just a single crystal?”
“Oh yes, even just one gave special abilities,” explained Cloak. “The grunts would gain enhanced strength and agility, the ability to make ‘shadow copies’, and the ability to fire energy blasts from their crystals. Just to name a few of the special gifts, Rapidfire gained a unique Disguise ability, I gained Perfect Concealment to mask my presence entirely, and Dagger gained Perfect Reflexes for combat.”
“Did Rat gain an ability?” asked Flare Glider.
“He did, and I’d say that in his hooves, it was probably the strongest out of all of the ones we saw,” replied Cloak. 
“What was it?” asked Cold Snap.
“Well, it was called ‘Perfect Strategy’ but I always called it ‘Three Steps Ahead’...” replied Cloak.

Cirrus, Training Room Five, Equestria
Woodsday, 30 Gold Moon, 1001 Equestrian Era
Four Days and Six Hours Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
“Ready to lose, Rat?” smirked Bane as he twirled his riot baton.
“Been ready the last fifty times that you all have tried, yet none of you have been able to manage it,” grinned Rat. “With the exception of Tank, of course, but he’s Tank.”
Bane scoffed while Hawk laughed Ever since they’d been gifted with Nightshade’s “new toys”, the Pack had taken to testing the limits of the new tool, quickly finding that Rat was now the pony to beat among the members of the Pack. Only Tank was able to bypass Rat’s Gift of Perfect Strategy, with Rat handily beating every single one of the other Pack members in one-on-one combat. In order to try and find the limit of Rat’s ability, the group had decided that multiple opponents would be the only solution besides simply throwing the Gentle Giant at the problem. Today’s opponents were Bane, Cloak, Dagger, Hawk, Phantasm, and Matchstick, each armed with a unique “training variant” of their preferred weapons. 
The new training weapons were an interesting innovation by Hoxton and Patch within the last few years, designed to not only be safe but also properly mark hits. A rubber core supported a dye-soaked outer wrapping that would mark the coat of the target in a clearly visible fashion that could easily be judged by an external referee for multiple opponent scenarios. In their testing, Clover quickly volunteered to be referee, as she “had nary a snowball’s chance in Hell” of winning. 
“Everyone get ready,” called Clover, hesitating a moment before calling out again. “Fight!”
Rat let the noise around him fade away as the crystal glowed briefly and his gift came to life. In his mind’s eye, he could see a pink outline of Bane attacking his own pink outline, observing the perfect counter to each strike and knowing the exact parrying move needed to be in position for each of his own strikes. Perfect Strategy was not a gift that physically enhanced his abilities beyond what the Crystals did naturally, but it allowed his perception of time to slow while he calculated up to a five minute window of actions and reactions to a desired outcome. Every move and counter-move was clearly on display, and a coherent strategy solidified as the gift pointed Rat to his desired goal of back-hoofing his team into next Metalsday.
Bane opened with the first strike of his baton, which Rat side-stepped and struck with his practice blade at Bane’s exposed left side across the ribs. Bane twisted out of the way by a fraction of an inch, moving his baton in a counter-swing at the back of Rat’s head. Rat artfully ducked before catching Bane’s wrist and flipping the stallion over his shoulder. Bane gasped as he slammed into the padded floor of the training roof and saw stars, the air forced out of his lungs in an instant. As the world shifted back into focus, Bane felt the rubber blade of Rat’s training knife against his throat, signaling his end of the fight.
“Bane is Out!” announced Clover from the sidelines. 
Rat didn’t celebrate, knowing that the next strike would come from behind and not from Dagger or Matchstick. He didn’t even flinch as Dagger moved into attack, knowing it was a feint. He then heard the distinct sound of Cloak’s Perfect Concealment falling, a faint high-pitched whine, from exactly where he’d been tracking the stallion with the Wind-Sense he’d learned from Oracle mixed with input from Perfect Strategy. Cloak then made his move.
“WATAAAAAAAA-AAAAAAAUGH!!!” yelled Cloak as he charged Rat and proceeded to be thrown into Dagger, knocking the twins off their hooves.
“Idiot!” snarled Dagger as she shoved Cloak to the side. “What the hell were you thinking by yelling out like that?!”
“Distraction,” grinned Cloak as Hawk made his move. 
The orange stallion leapt forward with his training machete to perform a sundering strike at Rat’s wrist. At the same time, Phantasm lined up a shot with her training “rifle”, a modified paint pellet gun powered with pressurized gas, pulling the trigger. Rat twisted out of the way of both attacks, grabbing Hawk as a living shield for Phantasm’s follow up shots. Two in the chest, one in the gut, and a final in the stallionhood took Hawk out of the fight. 
“Hawk is Out,” called Clover unnecessarily with a smirk. 
“...fucking shit…” squeaked Hawk. “...every fucking time…”
Phantasm quickly moved to reload as Rat dropped Hawk and charged. The next “magazine” was loaded, with one in the chamber, by the time Rat closed the distance, gripped the rifle, and slammed it into the mare, causing the round to discharge at the ceiling harmlessly. Phantasm wheezed as she fell to her knees, helpless to prevent Rat from shooting Matchstick between the eyes twice, bright pink paint splashing over his goggles. Rat then turned the practice rifle on her and took her out with a quick double-tap.
“Matchstick is Out,” called Clover, hesitating a moment before continuing. “...Phantasm is Out. Two Opponents remaining.”
“This time, we take him together,” growled Dagger.
“You mean like we did last Metalsday?” snarked Cloak. “Sure, we can try that.”
Rat smirked as he picked up Hawk’s training machete into his off-hoof before nodding at the Twins to approach. Dagger struck from the left while Cloak struck from the right, training blades locking with Rat’s own blades. Rat kicked Dagger in the side hard enough to distract her while he looped behind Cloak and stabbed him in the back. 
“Cloak is Out,” called Clover.  
“Avenge me, Twin!” cried Cloak dramatically before being tossed aside.
“Why is it always down to us, Boss?” sighed Dagger. 
“Take it as a complement to your own skill, Dagger,” smirked Rat. “Now let’s finish this before Hox gets here.”
The two pegasi charged at each other in a brief flurry of blades, with Rat matching Dagger’s every strike with a near perfect parry. Dagger growled in frustration as Rat continued to toy with her, finally seizing an opening to disarm Rat by striking his overextended wrist. Her eyes widened in shock as Rat threw his weapon upward with enough force to keep it suspended in place for five seconds while he moved his hoof aside, allowing her attack to pass by without touching him and putting his weapon beyond the range of where she could block or dodge it. A quick throat slash ended the fight moments later.
“Dagger is Out,” called Clover. “Rat Wins!”
“...Godsdammit,” swore Bane as Rat helped him to his hooves. “That gift is way too overpowered.”
“Well, short of having me fight the entire Cirrus at once, I think we’ve determined that there’s really no upper limit to how many I can fight, so long as I pulse my usage of the Crystal,” chuckled Rat. 
“It’d be better if you didn’t use them at all,” grumbled Hoxton as he entered the training room. “Sure, they do provide you with power beyond all imagination, but is that actually worth your soul?”
“So you’ve concluded your tests on these things without even ever touching one?” asked Dagger skeptically. 
“Didn’t bloody need to, what with all of the rest of the ship jumping on the bandwagon to use them,” shot back Hoxton. “Don’t forget what that bonding process was like, and what happened to the ‘rejects’...”
At this mention, everyone in the room winced. Being granted a Crystal was not a trivial matter, and the aforementioned “Rejects” were a very visceral example of that phenomenon. Driven to madness by the pain of accepting the use of a Crystal, these individuals were left in a near-vegetative state until Nightshade sent them away to an unknown location. Even though the number of Rejects was low, those that were accepted by the artifacts went through a grueling process to gain that acceptance. It didn’t help that Nightshade appeared to get off on the process, insisting that she be present for every single bonding. Hoxton sighed heavily as he ran his hoof through his mane. 
“...Look, Rat, I know that the ‘gifts’ from these crystals can do some pretty powerful things, but magic like this always comes at a price,” began Hoxton. “There’s a balance that must be maintained, and the cost to maintain this balance appears to be far too high for my liking.”
“...You’re right, Hox,” sighed Rat. “They’re a powerful tool, but not one that we should come to rely on. We’ll hold onto them for appearance’s sake, but let’s not use them any more than absolutely necessary to keep each other alive. I take it that you did manage to confirm our suspicions?”
“They were definitely involved with the tampering we saw during Nightshade’s Challenge,” nodded Hoxton grimly. “In fact, if it weren’t for the other recording we watched, I would have said that Nightshade planned this to take over, just like Banshee implied. Without a doubt, I would say that we’re being used as pawns in some bigger game, and this Kayn Ost is the chessmaster.”
“Well, that complicates matters, to be sure,” frowned Rat. “I’m thinking that we may want to prepare for an early retirement. Let’s prepare some ‘bug-out’ bags with emergency cash, fake ID papers, and spare weapons so that we can go to ground if things go south.”
“But this has been our home for years!” protested Clover. “We can’t just abandon it-”
“Can you honestly say that it has been home since Dante died?” argued Rat. “My home is with all of you, for however much this bucket of bolts has played a part in that, so my first and only priority is keeping all of you alive.” 
Tank grunted in affirmation, ending any sort of protest to the contrary, not that there would have been as Rat looked around at each of the members of the Pack. Rat certainly understood the pain they all must be feeling at the prospect of abandoning their home for nearly two decades. They wouldn’t even be retiring in the traditional sense that very few Shadowbolts who survived long enough did: They’d be abandoning the Code and the Shadowbolts, deserters at best, if not outright traitors at worst. They’d be renegades. Still, with how things seemed to be going, that didn’t seem so bad anymore.

Green Pastures, Cloak’s Front Porch, Equestria
50 Years After the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War
The group felt a collective shudder run through them all as Cloak took another long drink from his lemonade.
“With that kind of power, why weren’t you used during the raid on the Wonderbolt Compound?” asked Cold Snap. “
“Three reasons spring to mind, as I think about it,” replied Cloak. “First, as I explained before, the rest of the Pack had decided that our time with the Shadowbolts under Nightshade was coming to an end, one way or another. We’d either retire quietly and disappear, or if she forced our hooves, we’d escape and defect to the other side, taking as many of our compatriots along with us as we could.”
“Second, Nightshade was a particularly vindictive mare,” continued Cloak. “It was a matter of offended pride to her, so when our mysterious benefactor presented an opportunity to soothe her bruised ego, she seized upon it instantly and decided to handle the mission personally.” 
“Finally, Nightshade knew we weren’t best utilized in direct combat and extraction, even though we were fully capable of direct combat, as our little excursion into Nys’strova demonstrated,” concluded Cloak. “That being said, we made our own contribution to that effort…”

Canterlot, Palace Ballroom, Equestria
Woodsday, 1 Fire Moon, 1001 Equestrian Era
Three Days and Twelve Hours Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War

“Hey, Cloak?” asked Hawk suddenly. “What are we doing here?”
“You know Hawk, I think that’s one of life’s great mysteries,” mused Cloak. “I mean, is reality all just a cosmic accident, like curds formed from spilling lemonade and milk at the same time, or are we all just pastel characters acting out scenes of some shut-in god’s script? …I dunno, man, but it keeps me up at night…”
“...Cloak, what the hell?” 
“Hmm?”
“I meant what are we doing here in the strongholds of our enemies here in flipping Canterlot!” snapped Hawk. 
“Oh…” articulated Cloak. “...Did you fall asleep during the briefing too?”
“It’s an intel grab, Hawk,” explained Hoxton over the comms before Hawk verbally murdered Cloak. “At this point, we need to know what our enemies know about us, and without any Infiltrators positioned inside these two locations, you guys get the job.”
“So we’re sticking our heads in the lion’s mouth just because Nightshade said so?” snarked Hawk. “‘Trust’, my ass…”
“I do trust your ass, and everything else attached to it, friend!” quipped Cloak. 
“So here’s my question,” asked Bane. “Why does Rat get to live it up at the Ball while we do all the fun jobs?”
“Someone needed to accompany Dust to the ballroom so she could make contact with Turncoat,” replied Rat softly. “Besides, there are two alicorns we need to keep an eye on so that you all aren’t turned to greasy spots by god-tier mages…”
“Speaking of Turncoat, does anybody else feel really weird about having Rapiddouche on our side?” asked Cloak. 
“I mean watching him run into Rat again was certainly amusing,” chuckled Arclight. 
“Something that I should be aware of?” asked Lightning Dust.
“Long story short, one of our ops got Rapidfire laid once,” chuckled Rat. 
“...Well, that’s certainly a mental image,” replied Dust. “Sounds like quite the story, but I was under the impression that he didn’t need help with that?”
“Asshole relies completely on his status as a Wonderbolt and targets the naive fanfillies,” snorts Bane. “Without that, he’d be as sexless as a shut-in living in his mother’s basement.”
“To be fair, I do think a lot of those mares use him just as much as he uses them,” mused Cloak. “I mean, they can’t all be naive, right? There’s gotta be some of them that just want to jump the bones of a Blunderdolt and any Blunderdolt will do. He just happens to be the one that doesn’t have standards for that sort of thing.”
“Well, whether it’s mares simply looking to add a Wonderbolt to their bedpost notches or something else, Rat would still have Turncoat beat when it comes to track record for mares,” chuckled Hawk. “I mean, he’s seduced six mares in the past six years, and most of those were within the last six months!
“I count three,” frowned Cloak, confused.
“That adventurer archeologist, the spy, the companion, the thestral chambermaid, that waitress from the cafe earlier today-” listed Hawk.
“Does it really count as a seduction if there was no action, though?” asked Cloak. “I mean she did give him her address and bedroom eyes that could rival Hex’s, but Rat wasn’t gone nearly long enough-”
“As interesting as the Boss’s love life is, could someone explain the point of us gathering this intel from the Wonderbolt Compound?” asked Dust. “I mean, I get why we’re gathering what they know about us, but couldn’t we have just gotten that from Turncoat?”
“Well, we do need to know about the security measures for the Compound for the Op that you and Nightshade’s Crew will be running,” explained Rat. “And before you ask, these would be the sort of things that Turncoat wouldn’t know.” 
“You mean the operation where we break into the Compound, smack Big Blue into the dirt, and drag him back with us?” asked Dust.
“...I mean yes,” admitted Rat. 
“...That’s stupid and a waste of resources,” replied Dust. “I’ve got a better idea.”
Rat frowned, about to ask the mare what she meant, when he caught a glimpse of a blue pegasus stallion in a Wonderbolt dress uniform. Clearly, Dust had seen him as well. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where the mare’s thoughts were. 
“Dust, what the hell are you doing?” hissed Rat into his lapel mic. “That’s Big Blue you’re approaching!”
“He’s the target, right? I can save us a lot of resources and effort with a few smiles and a sway in my hips,” replied Dust. 
“That’s not our mission right now, Dust,” argued Rat. “Make contact with Turncoat before you get recognized. They know your face. Do not compromise the mission.”
“Relax, Rat,” smirked Dust. “I know what I’m doing. In more ways than one…”
“Dammit, Dust!” swore Rat, knowing it was useless as Dust had removed her earpiece.
“Is this one from Hex’s family tree or Cheshire’s?” asked Cloak. 
“I’m going after her,” hissed Rat. 
“Contact!” barked Phantasm over her link in her headset. “Elements sighted!”
Rat froze in horror as things spiraled further out of control. Prose had sworn up and down that the Elements had no interest in the Gala whatsoever after the previous year. For a brief moment, he wondered if they’d been betrayed, but dismissed the notion as too clumsy for Nightshade or even Pitch Tempest. 
“Which ones?” asked Rat, hoping to confirm his suspicions. 
“Magic and Loyalty just disembarked and are speaking with…Astro-Lady…” reported Phantasm, pausing briefly on Luna’s codename. “Hang on, Generosity spotted as well!” 
“... Alright, they must have no clue we’re here, or we’d have a full set to face down,” justified Rat before he continued with his orders. “Phantasm, keep an eye on them and let me know what-”
Suddenly, Rat found himself abruptly shoved to the side as a rainbow and cyan blur of a mare pushed past him with a brief, yet sincere apology. It was only by years of experience and training that Rat found his balance again, placing no less than five wine glasses and a tray of appetizers in mortal peril before stabilizing. Nearby patrons applauded the display lightly, drawing further unwanted attention. 
“...Loyalty inbound and coming in hot to your location,” replied Phantasm sheepishly.
“...Noted, Phantasm…”
“So if we’ve referenced Notes Art’s opera with Sarastro as Celestia’s codename, why are we calling Luna ‘Astro-Lady’ again?” asked Arclight.
“Because ‘Astrifiammante’ was too hard for Cloak to pronounce,” quipped Dagger. 
“Oi! I resent that implication! I love Istallian!” protested Cloak.
“Istallian food, maybe,” snorted Hawk. 
“I confirm nothing and deny even less,” deadpanned Cloak. 
“Cut the chatter, guys,” chided Rat. “I need to get back to Dust and get her out-”
“...Dust reporting in. Target stormed off. Didn’t recognize me, but wasn’t able to convince him,” reported Dust blankly. 
“What the hell were you thinking?” hissed Rat into his lapel. “Are you trying to get us all killed?! You could have compromised the entire operation!”
“...just wanted to help…” murmured Dust. 
“...We’ll discuss this later… Privately…” relented Rat. “Get back to your assignment and make contact with Turncoat.”  
“...Yes, sir…” replied Dust. 
“Hey… Shake it off for now,” encouraged Rat gently. “We’ve got our job to do. Just… Listen to what I have to say?”
“...Got it, Boss,” affirmed Dust, her tone brightening a little.
Rat sighed briefly as he watched the mare approach Rapidfire and after a brief exchange of highly suggestive banter, if the other patrons’ scandalized gasps and spittakes were anything to go by, began to dance a provocative tango. He squinted slightly, catching sight of the primary target entering arm and arm with Rainbow Dash herself. 
“Big Blue is taking the dance floor with Loyalty,” reported Rat. “Must be a significant connection there. Going in for a closer look-”
“...finding you a stallion to dance with and you are going to enjoy yourself- Oh hey there handsome!” called out a familiar voice. “Yes, you there, with the red mane! What’s your name?”
“Uh-” began Rat, hoping to end the conversation quickly as he concealed his earpiece in a movement that appeared to be rubbing the back of his head anxiously.
“Hey, Spitty! Haaaaave you met ‘Uh’?” grinned Fleetfoot as she pushed her captain into the equally confused stallion.
Any protests the two pegasi had died on their lips as the band struck up a new song. Wordlessly, Rat offered a hoof to the mare, almost on instinct. Spitfire responded in kind, almost just as mechanically. An awkward silence threatened to set in before Rat cleared it. 
“Your wingmate seems very… enthusiastic about you dancing this evening,” chuckled Rat as he tried to mask his panic.
“I swear, I don’t know what to do with her some days,” sighed Spitfire in frustration. “At least I’ve kept her from bothering Soarin and Dash, I guess.” 
“Was that the rainbow-maned mare that made a scene with your second in command?” asked Rat as deftly twirled the Wonderbolt captain in a brief spin. “They seemed rather… involved… with each other, to be frank.”
“Oh gods above, you don’t know the half of it,” chuckled Spitfire ruefully. “Soarin was moping for weeks thinking about her before tonight, but then lit up like a signal flare the moment she showed up here tonight. Dash wasn’t any better either, making like a bat out of Tartarus the moment she saw him. Honestly, if it were any other reason, I’d write him up for abandoning his responsibilities tonight, but she’s good for him. Besides, Rainbow Dash is the most promising Wonderbolt hopeful we’ve seen in a while.”
“They seem like they’d complement each other well, then,” mused Rat. “Pushing their flight skills to the limit while matching their temperaments well on the ground.”
“Almost makes the logistical fallout worth it,” sighed Spitfire. “Tabloids are going to have a field day that not even Squad Twelve could draw attention from, Dash will catch all kinds of flak from jealous fanfillies even before she makes her attempt to join the Wonderbolts, and baseless accusations of favoritism will fly the moment word gets out that she’s trying out.”
“It’s enough to make Discord himself cross-eyed, yes?” smirked Rat.
“...Sorry, that was a lot to unload on a complete stranger,” apologized Spitfire. “I don’t even know your name and here I am, burying you up to your eyeballs in Wonderbolt drama.”
“Eagle Eye, ma’am,” bowed Rat as the current song concluded and the next began. “And it’s no trouble at all. I can tell that they’re your family, in all the ways that matter. Of course you’re going to be concerned about them.”
“Still, a mare all tied up in her work can’t make for the best dance partner, right?” snorted Spitfire. “Certainly not what you came here for tonight.”
“Is that how you see yourself?” asked Rat with a frown. “Respectfully, and for whatever it’s worth from a stallion you just met, that’s not the impression I get from you at all.”
“Oh? Care to elaborate?” smirked Spitfire with a skeptical eyebrow. 
“You love the family that you’ve found in the Wonderbolts,” replied Rat. “For all the shenanigans that they get up to, for however much they’re a bunch of idiots, they’re your idiots. You feel that you need to carry that weight in silence and with distance and decorum considered ‘appropriate’ for your rank. In doing so, you feel that you must make sacrifices, which is categorically untrue.”
Spitfire blinked owlishly for a moment. “Is this the part where you tell me you’re a sideshow psychic and you want to read my hoof?” snarked Spitfire with a nervous chuckle. 
“Nah, it’s just something that we ‘crew chiefs’ can recognize at a glance,” replied Rat. “I’m the leader of my own band of idiots, so I get it.”
“What kind of team are we talking about?” asked Spitfire with a raised eyebrow. “Unless you’re military, I don’t really think it would be the same kind of idiots.”
“Charitable work foundation,” replied Rat. “Just got back from Thestral territory, but we’ve been to Sireberia, Saddle Arabia, Sirejevo, you name it. Just odds and ends work, helping with reconstruction, education, relief efforts, and even evacuations.”
“But no ranks in the group,” mused Spitfire. 
“None whatsoever, which is why I know that putting that distance between yourself and your team is completely unnecessary,” nodded Rat. “Granted, habits do die hard, so maybe start with adding just one more to your current group that you let your mane down for.” 
“And who would you suggest that ‘one’ should be?” smirked Spitfire. “You?”
“Oh gods no, I’m a strange stallion you just met,” laughed Rat. “No, I would say another Wonderbolt that’s not already in your immediate circle. Somepony from one of the other squads, maybe?”
“I mean, I do let my mane down with them occasionally,” murmured Spitfire before trailing off. The look in her eyes is one Rat recognized all too well. 
“Ah… Well, that look is one that I’m still trying to find the answer for,” sighed Rat before chuckling at the irony the orchestra had brought upon them. “And of course, the band decides to punctuate this moment with a bit of Gershwinny…”
“I think I know this one,” frowned Spitfire. “It’s ‘Somepony to Watch Over Me’, isn’t it?”
“‘There’s a saying old, says that Love is Blind,’” confirmed Rat with a smile.
“‘Still we’re often told' Seek, And Ye Shall Find’,” continued Spitfire.  
“Well, here’s hoping they both ‘put on some speed’ for us, yes?” smiled Rat. 
“And how do we know that we’re not the each other’s someponies?” asked Spitfire with a laugh.
“You really want to invite this civilian in on the nonsense that is the Wonderbolts?” laughed Rat. 
“No, but it was worth a shot,” smiled Spitfire. 
“You’ll find that somepony soon enough, Spitfire,” replied Rat. “Just keep a sharp eye and be open to them when they appear.”
“Aaaaaand now it’s time to change partners!” grinned Fleetfoot mischievously as she pulled a very confused Wave Chill and an equally confused mare toward Spitfire and Rat. Before Rat could say another word, Spitfire was whisked away into the arms of the steadfast Second Commander. Once again, Rat offered a hoof to the mare on reflex, to which she accepted, also on reflex. 
“This seems… Oddly familiar,” mused Rat idly. “Forgive me, but have we met before?”
“It is always possible,” the mare shrugged. “I remember not where or why though.” The cadence of her words had an odd lilt to them, as though Equestrian was not her native tongue.
“It’s probably nothing,” dismissed Rat. “Just a faint memory of another time the Silver Streak was more than a little tipsy.”
“She does this often… Though her aim must be lacking if she has managed to catch you twice now…” the mare smirked. “She prefers a variety of targets.”
“I wouldn’t say her aim is lacking,” chuckled Rat as he and the mare fell into an easy two-step. “Far from it, as I don’t consider myself to be an easy target. Still, in both instances, I feel that I was merely collateral damage.”
“WOOOOOOOOO! I FOUND A BIG PARTY PONY!!!”
“Oh gods dammit…” sighed Rat. 
“You said something about ‘collateral damage’?”
“...You get yours, I’ll grab mine?” asked Rat, glancing back at the mare. 
“Oh!” The mare’s eyes fell finally on the extremely large pony that had just entered and now had Commander Fleetfoot draped ridiculously from his shoulders. “I realized not that you were a friend of Mister Guardian. I am wondering if Mister Bird knows what his brother has gotten himself into… Commander Fleetfoot at a ball is a far cry from my young cousin in a park…” she commented, a laughing twinkle in her eyes.
“Well, I will certainly make sure that he’s made aware, Miss…?” chuckled Rat.
“Starbolt, Ensign of Squad Nine,” the mare offered, smiling easily. “Best we move quickly… The longer the commander is attached, the more difficult it will be to remove her…” she added, dropping her arms away from her dance partner and heading towards the scene.
“Indeed, and Guardian can be just as difficult to… motivate…” replied Rat, hesitating as a faint memory buzzed in the back of his head.
“He spent close to five hours playing with my cousin, despite Mister Bird clearly desiring to leave… And departed only when I had to take my cousin home,” said Starbolt, chuckling at the memory of a sunny afternoon.
“You know, I think I remember him saying something about that,” smiled Rat as he inwardly cursed at complicating the group’s civilian aliases. He now remembered where he briefly met this mare, and he’d not introduced himself as “Eagle Eye” at that juncture. 
“That surprises me not at all,” she replied and then turned her attention to the very befuddled giant pony with the diminutive commander still hanging from his neck. She waved broadly to capture Tank’s attention and stop him from his continuous backwards circling, and then easily approached the pair, starting the delicate process of extricating her commander from the poor stallion’s neck.
“Alright, Big Guy, let’s go find your ‘brother’, shall we?” suggested Rat as Tank bent forward to assist Starbolt in removing the drunken Fleetfoot from his neck.
Tank snorted briefly in affirmation, but then frowned as something else caught his attention. Once the commander had been removed, Tank immediately began moving… in the opposite direction from what Rat had indicated. 
“Well… I guess we’re moving that way…” frowned Rat. “A pleasure, Miss Starbolt, but if you’ll excuse me, I need to make sure another mess does not arise.”
Starbolt merely smiled and made a brief nod as she waved another pegasus in dress blues over to her, and the pair managed, between them, to haul the very inebriated Fleetfoot out of sight in the crowd.
Rat immediately moves to pursue Tank, briefly losing sight of the giant in the crowd, but eventually managing to catch sight of him. 
“Guardian, you can’t just wander off like… that…” Rat trailed off as he caught sight of Tank glaring disapprovingly at two stallions who seemed to be at the brink of coming to blows prior to the giant’s arrival. “… What seems to be the trouble, gentlestallions?”
“Trouble? No trouble here,” piped up one stallion with a squeak, earning himself eyerolls from the two unicorn mares that were closest. “Did you see trouble, good sir?”
“No trouble at all, good sir,” replied the other stallion. “Perhaps you may have seen trouble over by the refreshment table, but we are certainly fine here, isn’t that right, ma’am?”
The two mares glower with disgust at their partners, unable to match the intimidation from Tank only because of their smaller stature. As one, they share a look of matched distaste and then, with a scoff from the white mare, and a snort from the pink-maned mare, they turn around, cutting the two stallions and stalking away together.
“...Well, I suggest that you two be on your way,” suggested Rat. “My friend has a nasty habit of sitting on those he does not approve of…”
The stallions were gone before Rat had even finished his sentence. Chuckling slightly, Rat walked Tank back onto the balcony. 
“Rat reporting back in,” stated Rat as he placed his earpiece back in. 
“So, does the Captain of the Blunderdolts make seven?” asked Hawk cheekily. 
“… Bane, what’s your status on the Compound?” asked Rat, pointedly ignoring Hawk even as the rest of the group chuckled.
“Files located in Spitfire’s office and copied,” reported Bane, a hint of a smirk in his voice. “We’ve got the schematics for the Compound right now, and Clover is babbling about a ‘Nimble’ or ‘Nimbus’ or something, but we’ve identified the security vulnerabilities we need to catch them unaware.”
“Good work,” replied Rat. “Get out of there as quick as you can. Big Blue and Loyalty just left the ballroom, and they might run into you. Dagger, how’s-”
“AAAAAAAAAAUGH!” screamed Cloak.
“Cloak?!” exclaimed Rat. “What’s going on?!”
“DonotlookintotheSunortheSunstaresback…DonotlookintotheSunortheSunstaresback…” babbled Cloak over the comms.
“‘Look into’- Cloak, did you encounter VIP Sarastro?” demanded Rat. 
“DonotlookintotheSunortheSunstaresback…DonotlookintotheSunortheSunstaresback…” Cloak continued to babble. “Here comes the Sun, doo-doo-doo-doo… Here comes the Sun, and I say… ‘It’s alright’? But it’s not alright. Daylight has become Nightlight. No amount of cake will fix this…”
“Dagger, grab him and get out of there ASAP!” ordered Rat. “We’re bugging out now-”
“No!” protested Cloak. “...No, I’m fine, guys. It was just… frightening for a bit.”
“What happened?” asked Rat. “What did you see?”
“What cannot be Unseen, Boss…” replied Cloak solemnly. “You know how we don’t talk about what Dagger saw in the training room when Patch was testing out the new Crystals?”
“I thought we agreed never to speak of that!” hissed Dagger. 
“Let’s also not speak of this and leave it be!” protested Cloak.
“...Fine… If you have the intel we need, then get out of there,” ordered Rat. “Dust, make a convincing scene to get Turncoat away from the Gala and then meet back at the Safehouse.”

Canterlot, Safehouse Flashpoint, Equestria
Metalsday, 2 Fire Moon, 1001 Equestrian Era
Three Days and Six Hours Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War

Rat leaned against the railing at Safehouse Flashpoint, staring out over the lights of the city below. Clover was still in an excited babble even hours after they’d recovered the plans for the Wonderbolt compound, but all the crew could get out of her was something about a “sister ship” or some such nonsense. Still, Rapidfire had been briefed properly, the intel had been gathered, and their enemies were none the wiser. 
“I guess it’s ‘later’ now?” asked Lightning Dust uncertainly, approaching from the kitchen to the balcony. 
“...Do you know what bothers me, Dust?” frowned Rat. “Do you know why your actions made me so frustrated?”
“I disobeyed your orders, I know-” sighed Dust.
“I don’t give a damn that you disobeyed my orders, Dust,” interrupted Rat sharply. “I’m angry that you took an incredibly stupid risk, and to what end? We already had a plan with minimal risk-”
“Storming the Wonderbolt Compound is ‘minimal risk’?” asked Dust incredulously.
“Tell me the last time you heard of Wonderbolts in active combat versus the last time you heard of Shadowbolts in active combat,” deadpanned Rat. “Regardless, the risk you took was incredibly foolish. To be honest, I don’t care about the fact you could have jeopardized everything. What do you think would have happened if the Wonderbolts had caught on to your actions?”
“I would have been fine,” argued Dust. “Like you said, it’s the Wonderbolts, right?”
“You do realize how Celestia responds to clear and present threats to ‘her little ponies’, yes?” retorted Rat. “If not, I would suggest asking Discord or Queen Chrysalis how well that worked out for them. With that in mind, consider what Nightshade just tried doing to the hometown of her precious Elements, and consider the pressure you would be placed under as the only link to finding said threat?” 
Lightning Dust winced, so Rat pressed forward. 
“Even if it paid off this time, what would happen if you tried to pull this stunt on another mission?” continued Rat. “Against a foe far more dangerous than the Wonderbolts? Like Janus? Or the Rakyat?”
“I wouldn’t-” protested Dust. 
“And how do we know you wouldn’t?!” asked Rat. “What would possess you to make that choice in the first place?”
“Because I didn’t want to be abandoned again!” blurted Lightning Dust. 
The silence stretched on for long moments, with only the wind whipping by to break it.
“What- ‘Abandoned’?” asked Rat. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“When I was at the Academy, I pushed myself as hard as I could, but it still wasn’t enough for them,” whispered Lightning Dust. “I broke every record they had, and I still got drummed out. Nightshade, Descent, Starry Skies, your crew, the Outsiders, even Pitch’s crew! You’re on a whole different level than the Wonderbolts! It’s like you stepped out of some kind of spy thriller! If I wasn’t good enough for the frigging Wonderbolts, how the hell could I possibly measure up to you all without taking the initiative?! …If I wasn’t a Wonderbolt academy dropout, would the Shadowbolts even look at me?”
Rat said nothing. He looked up at the night sky, breathed in a slow breath of cool night air, and exhaled slowly. Slowly, he walked forward to the seafoam mare, deliberate steps punctuating every motion. He stared down at his hooves, not even looking up. Lightning Dust prepared to be dismissed from her new family, wincing and closing her eyes…
…And promptly received a wing to the back of her head.
“Ow! What the hay!” Dust swore. 
“You’re a dumbass, Dust,” smirked Rat.
“Look, I know I’m not on your level yet, so there’s no need to rub it in!” groused Dust. 
“You don’t need to be, Lightning Dust,” replied Rat gently. “As you pointed out, we’re not the Wonderbolts. You don’t have anything to prove with us.”
“But you’re… You’re all… so cool…” protested Dust. “Why would you want anything to do with me besides my connection to the Wonderbolts?”
“You know I was a pickpocket when Descent found me, right?” countered Rat. “Cloak and Dagger were two scared orphans in a burned out house. Hawk was just some random mercenary that Tank dragged along by the vest collar. Oracle was a frightened blind filly with a fishing rod. Do you think we all started out the way we are now?”
“Well-”
“We’ll not abandon you just because you’ve ‘outlived your usefulness’,” explained Rat. “There’s no ‘mandatory retirement age’. We don’t kill you when you’re done. We’re a clan. So don’t jump in over your head because you’re trying to impress us.”
Lightning Dust looked uncertain still, but seemed to take Rat at his word. Rat gave a comforting pat to Dust’s shoulder, to which the mare smiled weakly and made her way to her bunk at the safehouse. Rat watched her go for a moment, sighing briefly before turning back to the railing.
“You do realize that Nightshade is not that merciful anymore, yes?” commented a familiar voice once Dust was out of earshot. 
“Yeah… I do…” sighed Rat. “A lot has changed with the Shadowbolts these days, hasn’t it?”
“Change is inevitable, regardless of the group,” replied Descent as he stood next to his former apprentice. “Some are for the better. Some are for the worse.”
“Nightshade’s attitude towards perceived ‘failures’ is certainly worse,” snarled Rat. 
“I certainly hope that your words from earlier reached Dust, or else Nightshade’s wrath will find her instead,” replied Descent. 
“Wrath that she didn’t even earn,” argued Rat. “Those crystals are poison, Descent. You know it, Hox knows it, and I know it. Nightshade was more than a little bent before, but now she’s become something…else. Something decidedly evil, or at least the servant of something evil.”
“You refer to our new mysterious benefactor?” replied Descent. 
“I know Hox told you what we saw on the tape the night Dante died. Banshee may have been a traitor, but she was right. Somepony used a crystal to rig that Challenge,” replied Rat. “Somepony set all of this up for Kayn Ost, but for what?”
“I doubt we’ll ever know, but that’s just how we work, isn’t it?” replied Descent. “We’re Shadowbolts, after all.” 
“Are we?” snorted Rat. “Somehow, I don’t know that I believe that anymore. We’ve changed, Descent. I’m sure you’ve seen it. We were once proud professionals who worked in secret, but now we’ve become little better than lap dogs for a shadowy benefactor. We’re puppets. We’re the new HTB now.”
“Are you saying that you’ll challenge Nightshade?” frowned Descent. 
“Fuck the challenge,” replied Rat. “And fuck betraying the rest of the group because Nightshade has lost her mind. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’m keeping my crew alive.”
“Desertion?” asked Descent in shock. “I never would have expected that from you. And after all these years?”
“What has that loyalty gotten us, Descent?” argued Rat. “A one-way ticket on a suicide express, and I won’t watch my team die if I can help it. We won’t sell them out, but we’ll take early retirement without asking. ”
“...I find myself unable to disagree with you,” frowned Descent. “Did you need me to turn a blind eye this evening?”
“No, we won’t be leaving until the Blunderdolt has been grabbed,” replied Rat. “Still, this conflict is going to get out of control, and we’ll be damn lucky to live through it… Just… Promise me that Dust will be cared for?”
“You could stay and see to it yourself,” argued Descent.
“Descent…” frowned Rat.
“...You have my word,” replied Descent reluctantly. “Whatever it takes to keep her safe…”
Rat nodded in thanks, looking back out over the railing. He could have sworn he saw the outline of a pegasus couple dancing among the clouds, filling him with dread. An entirely different storm was brewing on the horizon now, as the fog of war drifted over the land.

To be Concluded...