Scootaloo hobbled along the quiet streets, the cold wind biting at her now-uncovered body as the morning sun rose slowly, casting golden rays down on the snow-covered ground. A few times, she had to shuffle quickly into the shadows to avoid a Street Mare patrolling on a motorcycle. Still, she continued onward, lost in the labyrinth that Canterlot had become. All at once, the realisation that she was lost, alone, beaten to the point of near-death and stripped of her suit hit her, and she broke down. Throwing herself onto the ground in a dim, mist-laden alley, she sobbed and sobbed. For about an hour, Scootaloo cried out in utter anguish, letting her fears and anxieties and problems well up in her eyes.
"Oh, damn it.. Damn it all, I can't.." She uttered through sobs and sniffles and gasps, voice shuddering uncontrollably along with her convulsing body. "I can't do this anymore." She stared up at the grey sky above, her hopes and worries colliding inside her head to form a jumble of incoherent emotions which left her feeling empty and alone. After another long time crying, however, she retreated out of the alley and onto the street. But as she stepped back onto the harsh stone of the road, a rumbling noise met her ears. Engines. The rattling and roaring of motorcycle engines hit her ears just in time, and in a flash, she dove out of the way to avoid being rammed by a troop of four Street Mares. The Mares, which had been riding in a roughly diamond formation, now broke into a wide group and circled back toward Scootaloo, glaring with electric-blue eyes at their latest target with a cold and calculating menace. All mares skidded to a halt and dismounted at once, dark red capes swirling as they moved through the cold air. The leading member stepped forward.
"Well, well.. What do we have here? You're looking like a troublemaker, lady. Hanging around alleyways on your own? I believe that'll be one count of loitering, confirmed?" Another replied, following.
"Yes sir, one count of loitering. Arresting perpetrator." The group of four galloped forward. three grabbing stun batons from within their capes and the leader simply charging with the intention of headbutting his target. But he didn't get the chance.
A popping of gunfire from down the street stopped the group in its tracks, and the leader of the group could do nothing as his skull was punctured by a large-calibre bullet. Blood flecked across the pavement in front of him and he crumpled forward to the ground silently. The rest of the group scattered, and Scootaloo followed suit.
"Under fire! I repeat, take cover!" One of the Street Mares yelled as she ducked behind a dumpster.
"Anyone have eyes on the assailant? I repeat, does anyone have-" Another Mare called, cut off as another bullet smashed through a window above, smacking into her neck. She dropped, gargling as she choked on her own blood. Scootaloo, from around a corner, tried to get a good look at one of the gunners in the windows above. There was one scruffy-looking mare with pale eyes and a scarf of some kind.. Another stallion hidden beneath a cloak. Both angled long sniper rifle barrels out of their respective windows, scanning the area for targets. Scootaloo ducked as another shot rang out. Another Street Mare dropped dead, abdomen bleeding and punctured. Finally, the last Mare was ended with a clean shot to the head. One of the gunners called out from his window, his gruff voice betraying his age.
"All clear! You're safe, now come on up!" The door to the gunner's building swung ajar; an inviting option. Scootaloo took the chance, diving toward the door and slipping inside. Trotting slowly up the rickety steps within, she soon found herself in a trashed apartment. Broken items lay everywhere, and some crates of supplies stood in one corner. There, crouched below the windowsill of the now-shut window, was the gunner. A grey old stallion, wearing a scruffy old rain-cloak of threadbare brown material. He had a combat vest of some kind strapped to his abdomen, holding pouches of ammunition and supplies. His sniper rifle was now propped against the wall next to him. He brushed a greasy mane out of his eyes. "What d'you think you're doing, running around out there in the open like that? The Street Mares will pick you up, and most that are arrested are never seen again." He grunted.
"I should know. I've spent days being tortured by them." Scootaloo muttered coldly. The stallion's eyes widened a little.
"You?" He asked. "What would they want with you? Forgive me, but you don't seem worth interrogating for that long, ma'am." Scootaloo gave a weak smile, sitting on the floor beside the grizzled old stallion.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Let's just say that I'm an old enemy of the state." She sighed, head drooping low.
"Try me." He replied. She turned to face him. It was clear that the stallion was looking for answers.
"Do you remember the time before Everfree? When there were a few minor criminals, and they'd be kept under control by Mare-Do-Well?" She stood slowly, turning to look out the window at the bodies on the street below. "Do you remember what that costume used to represent?" She motioned a hoof to the now crimson-coloured, redesigned uniforms of the dead officers in the street. "Back when it was a night-time purple, not a bloody red." She turned back to the stallion, who was now staring at her.
"Wait, you don't mean.. You?" He uttered, eyes widening.
"I was the protector. The protector of you, and me, and all this land. I've died once to save us, back at Manehattan." Scootaloo stated, voice low. Her eyes blazed with a passion the likes of which none had seen prior. "And now, I'm back to save us all.. Or die once again trying."