Prologue: The Shepard’s Lament
“Am I the right pony to protect the Galaxy? I’ll let you be the judge.”
Choice.
Throughout our entire lives, we are plagued with choice. From the first words we say as foals, to the last words we say before we inevitably pass on into the ether beyond, we can never escape the decisions we must make to survive. We seldom think we are the only pony who has to make the hardest choices, but we don’t often stop to think about the choices made by others and how they affect us. Or the choices we make and how they affect others. I’d like to feel that the choices that I made were the more difficult than most, and the ponies I have known in my life would probably agree.
Yet here I am, surrounded by the consequences of every decision I have made in my life thus far and those affected by them, seeking answers, recompense, and justice. I’ve done a great deal in the past few years, the results will change the face of our galaxy forever, for better or worse. I did things that some would call heroic, and things that some would call barbaric. But I did them, nopony else. Just me.
I’m not proud of some of the things I have done, but even knowing what I know now, I would probably make the same choices. I don’t believe in the concept of fate. I grew up believing that the choices we make in life mattered , whether they were small or significant. Sure it would have be easier to believe that our lives were plotted out before us, but what fun is there in life if you aren’t in control? The idea of legacy is what drove me to appreciate my role in life. I knew where I came from and I was certain that, if I my made the choices that I felt were the best, regardless if they were right or wrong, I knew where I was going. I was leaving behind something for the future, knowing that I made my mark on the universe. Even my legacy has its tragic beginnings.
What would one hope to learn from a story such as this? To hear the tale of a fallen hero? Or the history of a traitor? Are you looking to learn where I went wrong, or just to find new evidence to lend credence to my convictions? Personally, I don’t give a damn either way. This is a story no pony has heard except the ones who were there. Those who are still alive anyways. The only evidence I have to put forward are the things I have seen, heard and done; and I doubt any of you will believe any of it. Why would you? I’ll tell you what I think. Ponies believed in me once, and there is no reason they can’t believe in me again, here and now. This is a story that everypony should hear, so they know why I did what I did.
Where to begin then? That’s never easy. Some ponies think that stories only have one definite beginning and one definite end. They are wrong. Look at my file, and what will you see? Shepard, Commander, Earth Born, Hero. What does any of that explain about me? Nothing. Let me add some context to the events before my life really started. My story starts much sooner than most would guess. I could easily doubt anyone knew or cared about my life before I became a hero. I was ghost unnoticed by the failed system above. Before I was a Commander, before I was a soldier, before I was even some pony named Shepard. I was alone, unloved and unappreciated. So let’s start with that.
Earth. Yea, Earth. A lush, verdant world filled with beautiful flora, fauna, and a powerful civilization on the cusp of interstellar travel and intergalactic relations, and we name it after dirt. Brilliant. That was my home for the first half of my life, and I wouldn’t easily dismiss it as the boring half. The great towering metropolitan cities that dotted the surface of our homeworld were quite the sight to see. The grand skyscrapers looming high in the sky, even above the clouds themselves, brought a level a majesty that you would read in old stories. But the higher the cities rose, it was inevitable that the shadows they cast on the world below them would grow, and the spaces in between them began to teem with unsavory creatures. The depraved, the desperate, the unfortunate, and the unforgivable. So where did I fit in with all this? Well, if you can imagine the lowest possible rung of society, and go down a few more steps, you would be close to where I ended up.
Growing up an orphan in a city slum would not have been my first choice. What I remember of my parents is barely more than a whisper in the back of my mind now. ‘You are our most precious star’ seems to repeat most often, but I had little time for those memories after they were gone. Even in the so called advanced society we lived in, metropolis slums still sucked. The authorities didn’t care to help. They were too scared for their own lives to deal the gangs and drug cartels that roamed the underground freely. I didn’t blame them. The things that ponies did in the shadows of this city would give nightmares to a Manticore.
I was just trying to survive the life I was given. The life I lived there, on Earth. Not out in space, our newest broken threshold. First contact happened when I was barely babbling coherent words. None of it really interested me. I watched some vids or heard some gossip about the wars that broke out or the peace that followed, but I just didn’t care. I was more interested in surviving down there.
Living on the streets was as easy as one would guess. Fighting through groups of desperate ponies and other muck dwellers, as well as the pains of your own weakening body, inching through poverty stricken streets with your head hung low to avoid drawing attention to yourself. Your head would be pounding, your stomach would be screaming, almost begging for that next meal even if it was somepony else’s garbage. Even on a day where the markets were quiet, and you would snatch from an untended stall and bolt, there was the running. The running to avoid getting caught as if your life depended on it. No law down there meant you had to make your own, and being caught by those with nothing to lose was more terrifying than being caught by the law. If you managed to survive a day of scraping food together and remaining unseen, then you only had one further challenge to go; finding a place for the night. You could luck out and find an unlocked venting shaft and keep warm, though the noise would keep you awake and you seldom fit in them for long. Or you would just find a box in a dark alley that felt just a tiny bit warmer than it did outside. Just a day in the life I used to live. In circumstances like those, you either grow up quick or die. So I did what was necessary, and to my credit, I got really good at it.
I found in between scavenging food and shelter that the slums had no shortage of junk to take either. At first I wouldn’t have paid it a second glance, being far more interested in collecting food. As I got older though, I started to view it in vastly different ways. Where one would see simple metal sheets laying in a gutter, I would see that if propped together, they would serve as a suitable metal tent from the rain. I started adding bits of scrap into my saddlebags in addition to finding food and if I managed to find a suitable shelter that night, I would spend countless hours looking for ways to tinker them together. I would find sheets of metal and make a shelter, I would find bits of old circuits and make them into functional circuit boards. My fascination in manipulating salvage into working tech evolved into a passion, a passion that at times overtook my desire to find food. The only reason my passion didn’t grow into a full blown obsession was the limitations of self teaching. Thankfully, they had institutions for that even in the poorer neighborhoods that I frequented.
I tried schools from time to time, if only to get the book-smarts on how computers worked. Didn’t really need it for long though, since I had managed to hack my own way into the registries before they even started to teach math. It wasn’t very long before I was just loitering, plain and simple. It kept me out of the streets, and gave me the occasional meal. I could never stay in one place for too long. They would eventually ask me about home, or about my parents. That was the tell all sign that it was time to leave. Eventually I ran out of schools to con and just stopped trying. I had learned what I needed, at least enough that I could challenge myself further with bigger fish.
Police presence was always high in the gutters. You could always feel their presence, even if you never saw a single officer. They had outposts in place to intimidate the gangs into obedience, not that it ever worked. I doubted they even had actual ponies attending to them, just mechs. Which made stealing from them all the easier. It was exhilarating to be stealing from the law’s cookie jar. A few schematics here, a few payroll deductions there. I even once managed to disable an entire automated outpost and took some higher quality equipment while the guard drones just stared at me absently. I even took them too. It’s not like Stable was using them for anything useful.
I don’t know why I was drawn to scrapyards every night. Maybe part of me thought technology would be the source of my cutie mark. After countless months and no mark to speak of, I figured I was meant for something even greater. Besides, who wants a picture of a welding torch as their cutie mark anyways? I became skilled enough to rebuild old loading drones, and even give them meager armaments for protection. Raiding salvage yards became easier, as did life. It was only natural that I would eventually attract attention from others. The kind your mothers would warn you about.
Some of the lesser gangs eventually caught wind of my less-than legal exploits. They were nice enough about my recruitment at least. No boring paperwork, or long interview process. Nope. Just pounce on me when I’m not paying attention and drag me to their lynchpony. Great outreach program. They did give a kid like me a decent enough opportunity. Steal lots of stuff, and you don’t get shot. In the interest of self preservation I complied dutifully. I didn’t appreciate being dragged down to their level, but I also preferred it to not being on the receiving end of a gang beating.
They gave me simple enough jobs. They did the shooting, I did the stealing. I was grateful for that at least, not being forced to bear actual blood on my own hooves. I realized I was still helping them with their dirty work regardless, but it was the only solace I could find to get myself to sleep at night. They attacked everything I would expect them to: other gangs, the authorities, even poorly defended shelters. Lines were being crossed, lines I would have never dared to step over. I was in the bowels of Earth Pony society, no pony was looking out for me, no pony cared about me, least of all these criminals. I was not yet convinced that I was a horrible pony like them. I was still clean from everything that this crap world threw at me. Until the scum I was forced into aiding crossed a line even the monsters of nightmares would not cross.
Raiding homeless shelters was one thing. Rounding up the newly orphaned fillies and colts like cattle was beyond what I could handle. Slavery, they said, carting these poor foals about like goods to sell at the market. I thought that sort of thing had been abolished centuries ago, but I guess some things never die. Things had to change. I had to choose; my own flank, or the well being of theirs. I had to get the buck out of there, and they gave me the perfect resources to break their own chains.
My newest employment opportunity due to recent company growth ( I kept telling myself that to soften the fact that I was working for depraved psychoponies) was attaching crude collars to the newly acquired merchandise: explosive slave collars. The overseers seemed to trust me enough to not watch me while doing the deed, or at least think I was weak and terrified enough to not dare defy them. Foals. All I had to do was prove that the collars worked on stuffed dummies, and they instantly believed that they were the real deal as I strapped them to the terror stricken foals.
I kept the explosives for myself. Week by week I snuck about the compound laying them in innocuous places that few bothered to frequent. I was planning a party with a great fireworks display, not a theatrical final act. I was not as twisted as them, and was not prepared to lower myself to murder just for the sake of others. There was always a better way, and I had found it. I was going to get these fillies and colts out of here, and I was going to kill as few ponies as possible in the process.
As well as strapping on the collars, I was also given the task of keeping an eye on the foals and keeping them quiet. The perfect opportunity to build trust with them, and show that I was a friend, not an enemy. I snuck them extra rations to keep them quiet, and read them what meager stories I could to help them through the night. They didn’t trust me at first, which was understandable since I was the one that attached the source of their nightmares to their necks. The older ones tentatively came to trust me, not enough for names, but enough for trust. I took great care in alerting them to my plan, because everything hinged on everything coming together perfectly.
Eventually the perfect opportunity presented itself for me to throw a wrench in this gang’s new business venture. If there was one thing you could count on down in the slums to ruin a gang’s day, it was another gang. Explosions and gunfire rattled the heaps of scrap and debris that comprised most of the compound’s walls. Knowing full well that my contract here did not stipulate combat involvement (Yes, I was getting tired of the business-speak allegories at this point too), I managed to sneak into the lower areas of the compound where the foals were being kept. They were understandably frightened at the conflict raging above. The colts that I had befriended looked to me expectantly. I nodded at them, it was show time.
I had been there for several months even before the gang had begun to cart in the foals for slave traders, and had a thorough knowledge of the compound’s layout. I instructed the older colts to keep the rest of the foals quiet while we navigated to the surface. I was expecting, as a worst case, a few guards remaining inside to deal with infiltrators, or escapees. I was right, unfortunately, but I always made a point to have a back up plan. The charges I had rigged were set off if the collars went out of range of the transmitter; the collars that were still being worn by the foals. My plan actually depended on the fact that the explosives would go off after we were sufficiently away to not risk getting caught in the blast. It looked like I was going to have to improvise.
It was a safe bet that the only guards left in the base would also be the least capable, so coming up with an effective plan to remove them wasn’t hard in the slightest. It was getting rid of them without killing them or alerting them to the fact that I had two dozen or so prisoners behind me that was the problem. The best way to occupy them was to make them think the compound was compromised from the battle above, so I had to detonate some of my explosives early. My transmitter was jury rigged at best, and even I could not feel confident in its use. The rogue signal could just as easily set off all the bombs, bringing the entire place on our heads. There was no time for second doubts. It was time to light that candle.
The explosions worked, barely. Nearly half of what I had laid went off at once, much more than I wanted. Thankfully it was the half that was on the far side of the base, earning the attention of everypony that could possibly get in our way. I heard screaming and shouting through static and broken radios; the base was on full alert, leaving the area we were in completely vacant. With a reprieve at last, I ushered the foals through the winding corridors, with nary an incident, to their freedom, and mine.
We ran for as long as we could to escape their reach, resting and laying low as best we could to avoid recapture, until we heard later that both gangs had nearly wiped each other out, and had nothing left. We were safe, from them at least, but we were still homeless, still alone in the ghetto. The rest of the foals begun to warm to me, naturally.I couldn’t just leave them on their own and go back to living on my own. They needed me, and as much I would have hated to admit it then, I needed them.
They looked up to me, like the parents they never had, like the parents I never had. I just did what felt right. I used what skills I had to build them shelter, and provide them with food, some stolen, some we made ourselves. It was no paradise, but it was home. These kids were my family now, and I was going to do my best to protect them.
We grew up quick together, and it kept us alive. Everypony had their skills, some even had their cutie marks to prove it. Some could cook, some could scavenge, some could even stay perfectly hidden, which would be the most useful skill to have down here. Being noticed got you killed, didn’t matter who did the noticing. Any time we felt our home was threatened, we left for greener pastures. Well, as green as you can get with rusty metal heaps and piles of refuse. We never would risk fighting over a plot of land that didn’t rightly belong to anypony. We were foals, not fighters.
We shared everything together. Our lives, our treasures, even our birthdays. The day we became a family would be the most precious day to us forever. Funny enough, it happened to be the same day as my real birthday, but they didn’t know that. Our family birthday would always be that much more special for me, and we always hoped those days would never end.Until the one birthday that changed everything forever. It was the one I’ll never forget, the one I wish could forget; our final birthday together. That day will be with me forever.
They had found us. I don’t know how, but they found us. A gang that we had been stealing scrap from had followed us after one of our raids. I was stupid because of what day it was. It was our day of celebration, our birthday. I felt invincible on those days. And I led them right to us. We had long since found a permanent home in the remnants of an old space shuttle graveyard, miles from the city. We still had to go into the city for working parts, this place had been here for decades, not one piece of usable tech to be found anywhere. We used an old train rail to load it between the city limits and the shuttle yard.
I had no idea that the gang was vindictive enough to consider scrap to be their property, or that they were smarter than they appeared. They were watching us the whole time, and I never noticed. I used to always keep an old signal scanner to watch for cameras or radios that would give us away, but we never had problems, so I stopped using it. I got complacent, and I ruined everything.
They had tech savvy ponies of their own. They followed us right to the rail yard, to our home. They had time to plan, to prepare, and they picked to perfect time to attack;Right in the middle of our birthday dinner. There was no cake, no sweets, no presents, but it was still the greatest dinner we ever had all year, and those monsters crashed it and they ruined everything.
The alarms I had set up went off late, but looking back on it now, late was better than not at all. The cameras I had were fuzzy at best, but I could see them, dozens of them. The foals started to scream, the fillies started to cry, and the colts looked to me with pleading eyes. I knew what had to be done, but even I doubted it would work. We had a safe house here, sort of. It was a hole in the ground, with one way in and one way out. I led everypony inside, knowing full well that I was probably leading them to their grave.
I never told them that I had planned for this. I didn’t think it would be necessary. I found all sorts of things useful for defense in our raids, but I had always told the foals how dangerous the stuff we found was and to stay away from it. Most of it was old rifles, pistols and old worn out ammunition; The weapons themselves were useless, but the parts would make for some excellent explosives. The foals never knew that I had built mines and laid them all over the shuttle just in case. I had hoped never having to actually use them, but this was my fault, my burden to bear.
I watched from my makeshift command center as dozens of the psychopaths began stampeding into our home, unaware of the small metal discs that they were stepping over. I held the detonator in my hooves, hesitantly. These ponies, these angry, downtrodden, murderers without compassion or kindness were descending upon us with intent to kill or worse, and I couldn’t press the button. I couldn’t bring myself to their level. I wasn’t a murderer. I was just a dumb foal, trying to protect my family, but not like this.
I sent everything else I had left at the intruders; anything that might slow them down. I heard the explosions and gunfire ring out from all directions, shaking the very foundations that kept the scrapheap from falling on our heads. Accomplishing what I could, I raced to the safe house to keep everypony calm. The safe house could be easily described as a metal box twenty feet deep in the earth. From what I could tell when I was digging this place out, it used to be an engine core. Heavily re-enforced, deep under the wreckage and rubble of the junkyard, and reeking of several unidentifiable fluids, it was the perfect place to hide, not the best place to die.
I entered the dilapidated reactor, feeling dozens of eyes upon me. I searched across their faces, terror and panic evident on each and every one. I had long since lost my voice amidst the chaos. What could I say to them? That we were about to die? I did what any responsible guardian would do; I huddled together with them, to comfort them as best I could. I could feel the fear pouring out from the others, but I held them firmly, assuring them it would be ok. I was lying of course, but they didn’t need to know that either.
The gunfire roared endlessly from above. Seconds stretched into stale hours, as the explosions drew closer and closer to our hiding place. Eventually the gunfire began to slow, replaced by shouting and screaming. The walls of the room were thick, and I could not discern what was being said, only the emotion behind the words. First was confusion, perhaps they did not know where we were? Then came anger, they were clearly agitated to have come all this way for no bloodshed. Then....panic. The shell that we hid in trembled violently, a great swooping roar echoed from all directions. Gunfire erupted from above us once again. Whoever was outside was screaming in panic. One by one the sources of the muffled shouting from above vanished into silence.
Then nothing. For what felt like an eternity I heard nothing. The others had quieted down, believing that the worst was over, but I knew better. Something was wrong. I stepped away from the others, and trotted cautiously over to the door. I placed my ear to the wall, listening intently for anything that could tell me what was going on.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I stumbled backwards in surprise. Even in light of what was going on, some of the foals giggled at my display of acrobatics. I regained what grace I had left and moved back to the door. Then I did something that I deemed immediately in retrospect to be the, single, dumbest, thing I had ever done in my life. I knocked back.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
A voice called out from the other side. It was deep, strong and commanding, but It also betrayed a feeling of safety and trust to me. “You can come out now. It’s all over.”
Every fiber of my instincts protested that this was not our salvation. It could have been a trap, a convincing lie to get us to expose ourselves to the slaughter. It took great difficulty convincing my brain, but I managed to ignore the fear. I knew that this was the right thing to do. I knew we were safe. I carefully removed the lock, and opened the door. I was met with a blinding white light from atop the corridor. As my eyes struggled to regain vision, my ears took in all new sounds. I heard radio chatter, voices speaking in military code babbling on in the distance, the droning roar of a hovering drop-ship ,and the pathetic whining of a wounded gang member.
My eyes eventually recovered, and fell upon a dark silhouette within the light atop the ramp. It stepped forward into the bunker, its features gradually gaining coherence. It was a large chestnut pony, clad in military blue. His jet black mane tossed about in the gusting winds rushing inside. His deep blue eyes were squarely focused on me. He looked at me carefully, then glanced at the foals behind me. His expression became far sterner then I would have liked. As if from instinct, I retreated backwards to the cowering foals, standing between them and the newcomer, my own fears now greatly outweighing their own.
The chestnut stallion came closer, bowing his head to me, as if yielding. “What is your name, child?” he asked. His voice was low, calming and soothing at the same time. His tone alone were deflating the worry gripping at my panicking heart.
My name? By now, the name I was given at birth was just one more thing I would have loved to forget of my life up to this point. The deeds I committed, the atrocities I did to survive, who in their right mind would want to remember? The foals had taken to calling me something, but in the midst of what was happening, it was lost to me. Suffice it to say, I had no acceptable answer that I would willingly give to this stranger.
“That’s our Shepard!” a tiny voice shouted.
I turned to the little filly that had spoken up in my defense. I could see the defiance in her eyes, showing no fear towards this stranger in our home. Shepard. That was it. That was what I was to these foals; their guardian, their steward, their....shepard. The stallion’s eyes glanced to her, then back to me. He was smiling.
“Shepard, eh? Well, Shepard, you are certainly a hard pony to find.”
Stable was looking for me as well? It had been months, maybe even years since I had raided their outposts, and they were still looking for me? Worry began to creep back into me, making me start to wish I was left for the gangs. A second soldier had entered the chamber silently behind the other during the conversation thus far, covered head to hoof in blackened armor. He was staring at me the entire descent into the room, until he was side to side with the other stallion.
“Are you certain this is the one?” the officer demanded.
The black clad pony nodded. “There is no doubt sir, this is the one.” His voice was raspy, distorted by a breathing apparatus in his suit. He looked at me, tapping on his ear with his hoof. A holographic visor appeared across where his eyes would have been, if i could have seen them. A small part of me was yearning for the chance to use that technology, provided I survived this encounter. He padded at his hooves, activating a device I had never seen before; a holographic interface! Embedded into his armor! Now I was jealous.
I watched in fascination as he used the device to bring up holographic displays before my eyes. Until I realised what was on said displays. Top quality, high definition, full color images of....me. Images of all my raids of Stable outposts, for all to see. There was my first attempt, where I simply disabled the security to see if I could do it, poking my head into full view of the camera that somehow avoided deactivation. Then the second, where I actually entered the outpost proper to take whatever small scrap I could carry. The third; where I reprogrammed their mechs for my own personal use, taking the time to make a funny face at the camera I thought was broken. The foals giggled behind me, while the officer remained stone faced.
“Stealing from the military is a serious crime, Shepard. So is gang involvement, kidnapping, murder and slavery. I hope you realise that.” he said calmly.
Disbelief. That was the single thought that ran through my mind. Was he seriously expecting me to believe that he brought an entire regiment of soldiers, eliminated an entire gang, just to find me?
“But you aren’t here to arrest me, are you?” I questioned.
He smiled again. “On the contrary. I’m here to give you a job.” He raised his head from its gentle bow, now speaking with a hint of vigor and praise. “ It is no easy feat to break into Stable outposts, and yet you made it look like child’s play. You worked to undermine a gang and disable two violent criminal forces in the process of saving a great deal of young foals. And you managed to hide from our infiltrators as well for a very long time, at your age. Most impressive.”
He turned to the black pony, and shook his head dismissively. The subordinate nodded, and trotted out of the room.
“This is a life changing decision, Shepard. I won’t force you to make it lightly,” he continued, without turning back to me. “But do you honestly wish to remain here when you could accomplish so much more out there?” He pointed up the ramp as he spoke. The blinding floodlight had long since faded away, and through the vaulted corridor I could see several sections of metal ceiling had been torn out from the room beyond in the earlier chaos. It was clear to me that he was not merely pointing outside of this metal box, but up to the small sections of sky that were visible even from here in this pit.
More choices. Doubt crept over me like a blanket of lead. The choices I’d made up until now had ended in disaster each time. Was this soldier really offering me an out? How could I trust somepony that I had just met. The grip of the foals around me grew tighter. I met eyes with them, I could still see fear in their eyes. Not for any further danger, but of abandonment. They could not bear to lose me, and I didn’t think I could lose them either. I couldn’t leave them here, alone. The military was here for me, why would they bother with them? I had to take a chance, for their sake.
“I have one condition,” I said with weak desperation.
He turned to face me, a quizzical look on his face. “You are in an awfully unique situation to think there is room for bargaining Shepard.”
“You can at least hear me out.” I don’t think my voice sounded so pathetic as it did then. I looked up at him, his never changing expression still resolute.
His brow arched, and he leaned forward with interest, but said nothing.
I could not look to the foals again, but I could feel their grip on me still tightening on me. They felt I was ready to abandon them. They were right, but only partially.
“I want you to find good homes for them, all of them. I won’t settle for anything less. Do that, and I’ll go with you. I’ll be your willing lapdog.”
His features relaxed with dawning comprehension. A smile slowly crept onto his face. He stepped forward and extended a hoof to me. “I assure you that you will be put to much more use than a mere lapdog, Shepard. There are bright things in your future.”
He pulled me from the weakening grasp of the group hug. I stood face to face with him, his oppressive stature not diminishing in the slightest even after rising from the ground. This pony reeked an authoritative presence that demanded respect, even from a civilian garbage rat like me. I was not afraid, not even uneasy. I felt...safe. For the first time in my life I felt that ever-present sense of danger was finally gone.
“Thank you, Sir...” I said wearily, remembering that I had not even asked his name.
“Quartermane,” he responded. “Commander Regal Quartermane. And you are most welcome Shepard.” He turned away towards the ramp to the surface. “Let’s get you all out of here.”
We were led slowly up the ramp into open air. The sun was just barely beginning to rise, but the night sky was still fully visible through the crumbling integrity of our now former home. The canvas of lights on the pitch of night was still there, and did not fail to make me feel infinitesimally small.
I felt a tiny tug on my ratty barding. “Shepard look!”
The same little filly was pointing wildly at my flank. I craned my neck to see what it was, hoping it wasn’t a wound that I was unaware of. What I did see was far more incredible. A wavy sheet of black...no, it was a dark blue like the night sky. Four tiny bursts of white lined in a pattern: a familiar pattern. I looked back up to the sky, searching for it. And there it was, just above the cresting sun, yet fully visible. The scale of the sky, the scholars tool. The constellation of Choices. I looked back to my flank. It was an exact match.
So that’s how I joined the military, got myself out of the gutters, saved over two dozen foals from a life of poverty and slavery, even got a name I could be proud of, and that’s the day I earned my Cutie Mark.