//------------------------------//
// False Flags II 
// Story: A Circle Has No End: Volume I 
// by Gladi Writes 
//------------------------------//

Wildcard rode the train to Canterlot, the greatest city in all Equestria; It had been wounded, but it still was a sight to behold. Over the last month most of the worst damage had been covered up, since it was the capital after all; they would look weak if Canterlot was a mess. A great deal of the cities inhabitants had been forced to share lodging together while their homes were repaired, and Celestia’s School now housed the government. 

The Magnificent was berthed, with a few dozen other ships, out over the cliffside. One of these had been given to Wildcard for official home-guard use. He had immediately renamed it the Ace in the Hole. It had been berthed here ever since the fall of Mezza Luna, waiting for some emergency. He had been spending most of his time there, with the weekends at Ponyville.

The Magnificent would be out to sea soon, which would leave homeland defence in his hooves. Or at least, the first line. The Home Guard, Wildcard had learned, wasn’t expected to really hold the line, only delay any invasion long enough for a larger force to respond.

They were cannon fodder.

Still, a job was a job, it had authority and the chance of honour; and Wildcard was happy to do it. Wildcard departed the train as soon as it arrived, and strolled out amongst a few scattered passengers. 

It was a noisy day in Canterlot, as the sounds of construction echoed through the streets. Under Luna’s gaze, the city would rise like a phoenix, to be greater than it had ever been. At the present however, it was just a cold expanse of cranes and scaffolding. Quite cold, in fact, and icy as well. Wildcard had to watch his footing, lest he slip on the thin coating of ice on everything. It was like the city had been flash-frozen.

He shivered, and sped up his pace to his destination. Through the streets he went, towards the docks. When he got there, a heavily armed checkpoint stood between him and the military berthing area, and a uniformed pony stopped him just before a gated metal fence.

Wildcard reached in his coat for his ID while the pony ordered him to halt. He handed it over, and the pony scanned it intently.

“Director Wildcard eh? Sounds more like a title for a movie producer. Are you sure you’re in the right place?” The guard teased.

Wildcard grabbed his card back, and glared at him.

“Very funny, you know I’m your boss right?” Wildcard said, and poked the insignia on the guards uniform.

The guard laughed, and nodded to his partner, who opened the metal gate.

“I can’t get much lower than I am now Director, unless you’re going to discharge me?”

Wildcard looked up at him.

“No, but I could send you down south,” He threatened.

The guard saluted hastily, and clumsily backed off.

“Yes sir, no sir, sorry sir!” 

Wildcard smirked at him, and passed on into the military dockyards. It was rather busy in there, as hundreds of Wonderbolts and Marines geared the Magnificent up for voyaging back to the ocean. They were setting out with state of the art equipment, and the Magnificent had been upgraded as well. No longer was the hanger totally covered, that metal had been re-used elsewhere. The flight-deck was open to the air now, with only enough shielding to cover it from ground fire. A tall structure shot out from the rear, with a spherical device on top. Wildcard could tell from here that it was spinning, slowly.

That, apparently, was Twilights great invention. Radar she called it, and apparently it would allow the ship to detect anything in the air for hundreds of kilometres around. Thanks to some of that Night Guard tech, the guns could fire automatically using it as well. It was one hell of a weapon, that was for sure. They could take down those Saddle Arabian planes before they knew they had been sighted. 

Wildcard sighed, and took a moment to look at it. It was a truly beautiful ship that Spitfire commanded. He strode over to one of it’s boarding planks, and looked up at a Wonderbolt looking back down at him.

He shrugged, and walked up the plank. He had been meaning to test the Wonderbolt’s security, and this was a perfect chance. The guard looked at him weirdly, but let him pass. Inside he wound his way through the corridors, not sure where he was going, before a marine military-police officer found him.

Wildcard was rather pleased to have been stopped, and when he glanced back he found another MP behind him, gun in hoof. 

Equestria was learning.

“Can I help you, Director?” The MP asked.

“I decided to have a look around before she sailed, but I guess you would rather not have my unescorted self wander around. If you could take me to the Air Martial, I would be grateful,” Wildcard said.

The MP mumbled something into a radio on his shoulder, and then gestured at his comrade.

“Follow me.”

Wildcard did, and was led through a maze of corridors and staircases. He took note of what he saw on the way, and was continually impressed. They went through the cargo hold, which was loaded with enough armoured vehicles to take on a smaller country. They went past the guns, each of which which were large enough to take on a moderately sized navy on their own- and it had sixteen. Then they made their way to the middle open-air decks, and walked through the buildings that housed the crew quarters. It was an odd design, but it certainly worked. The armour was all around the lower compartments where the weapons were housed, and the crew quarters were open the air. The assumption was that if the ship was fired on, nobody would be in them anyway. It was certainly in the style of the old Night Guard, that was for sure.

The MP led him to the final building, which stood nearly six stories tall, reaching right up to the upper flight deck. It, unlike the others, most certainly was armoured. It was the ships bridge, and Wildcard noticed his tail stay at the door while the MP led him inside.

Up two staircases they went, and then they came to the command deck itself. The MP saluted, and addressed the handful of ponies in the room.

“Air Martial Spitfire, ma’am! Director Wildcard is here to see you,” he said, with a sharp salute.

Spitfire looked up from a display at the end of the room, with Twilight Sparkle standing beside her. Spitfire looked at Wildcard, and smiled. 

Spitfire, in her Wonderbolt uniform, yellow coat, and fiery hair, was one hell of an attractive pony. She had been rather friendly with him ever since Mezza Luna had been defeated as well. She had sent him a fruitcake, in fact, with a card.

“Congratulations, wish it had been me.”

There was something odd about her at the moment, but he couldn’t quite place it.

“Well, Director now! You came at good time Wildcard, take a look around!” She said, and stood on two legs with her arms apart.

“You’re standing on the single greatest machine Equestria has ever made!” She gloated, and gestured Wildcard over.

He humoured her, and she showed him to each of the stations. The first was a complex looking series of knobs, buttons, and wiring that seemed incomprehensible. A quad of television displays was buried in the wall at the end of that board, silent at the moment.

Spitfire leaned on the board, and waved a hoof over it. 

“State of the art communications management. The signal can be boosted to reach Equestria from a thousand miles away, and dozens of simultaneous connections can be maintained. We could actually route all of Equestria’s military communications through here in an emergency, but I doubt that will come to pass.” She said, and strode off to the next station.

Wildcard’s jaw however, was holding him in place. He figured out what was odd, and it was staring back at him from Spitfire’s shoulder.

She had a phoenix, an  ice  phoenix. 

Spitfire smiled back at him.

“His name is Shard, and I’m going to assume that’s what you’re staring at…” she teased.

Wildcard coughed, and quickly caught up.

“I’ve never seen anything like him, is he one of a kind?” Wildcard asked.

Twilight cleared her throat, and as soon as he looked over she assaulted him with facts. Apparently no, he was one of a great many wild phoenixes that made the North their home. It was rare for one to be beholden to a pony master, and at that it squawked angrily at her.

“Fine, a pony companion, not a master,” Twilight grumbled.

Shard stuck out his chest, and squawked his approval back at her.

Twilight rolled her eyes, and went back to whatever she was doing.

Spitfire laughed, and continued to the next station while she stroked his feathers. That station was sixteen monitors, which at the moment showed half Canterlot, half the valley below. The view from the guns, he assumed. Beside each monitor was a speaker, and before it all was a board with a set of switches and a single microphone.

Spitfire turned to him before it.

“Sixteen guns, each in itself more firepower than that frigate you’ve been given. They can all be controlled from here, and the gunnery commander can give orders to any, or all. They can connect to the radar too, but we’re having some difficulty with that at the moment…” Spitfire said.

Twilight groaned in the background, and Spitfire laughed.

“I’m sure you’ll have it ready for prime-time, Princess,” she said, and led him to the next station. 

The stations were all arranged in a circle around the commanders chair, and this one was directly to it’s right. It was a rather simple one, with a single monitor showing the flight deck, and a few dozen clipboards of flight wing statuses. A single microphone, with a simple radio board, was before all this. A Wonderbolt officer sat at the station, babbling jargon to whoever was on the other end of the line.

“Flight Control; simple but important. The officer here is in charge of organizing the coming and going of our flight wings and planes. It’s a complex job, and never really ends,” Spitfire said.

She led him past the door, to the other side of the room, and the final station on the outside. An empty chair, which sat before a wall of switches, and a map of the ship with dozens of un-lit lights all over it. Wildcard was able to guess it well enough- engineering.

“Here we have the engineering station. The chief engineer can manage the bulkheads from here, send orders below-decks, and activate fire-suppression systems. Most of the time all this is automated, but in the heat of battle it pays to have a pony at the end of everything. Knowing to pre-emptively turn on fire-suppression can save lives.” She said.

Wildcard nodded respectfully, it was wise enough.

Spitfire led him up a small step to the other two stations, which were both just ahead and below an elegant rotating chair. Twilight was working at one, with wires spewing all over the place out of a buzzing monitor, while the other sat silent. It was only a wheel, a seat, and a map- but Wildcard knew how important it was.

“And here we have helm, and radar operations,” Spitfire said, and slipped into the commanders seat.

“That map is electronic, and can be adjusted to either one kilometre per centimetre, or the entire world. Thanks to a little bit of magic, we always know we are, and where we’re going,” Spitfire said.

“What about the radar?” Wildcard asked.

Spitfire shrugged. “Broken, for now. It should be able to see targets up to 200 kilometres away, but right now it has trouble seeing Canterlot,” she said.

Twilight groaned, and looked back at the two angrily.

“This is what happens when you contract to the lowest bidder! Whoever put this together had no idea what they were doing- despite my clear instructions!” She exclaimed, and slammed the monitor.

Which then flashed, and stopped humming. Twilight turned to it, and cocked her head.

“Well… that did it,” she said.

Spitfire laughed, “You’ve been here for days, and that’s what the problem was?” 

Twilight glared back at her. “Yes, yes it was. Do you have a problem with that, Air Martial?”

Spitfire came rigidly to attention. “No ma’am! No problem! Thank you for the help!”

Twilight grinned, and closed up the monitors open panel.

“Good, I was about to send you in for a fitness evaluation,” she said, and slowly walked around to the exit.

As soon as she was gone, Spitfire released a deep sigh, and slumped in the chair.

“Princesses…” She mumbled, and then looked to Wildcard.

“So, now that you’ve had a good look, what do you think? You’ve seen more out there than I have, what’s the judgment of our honourable Changeling Duke?” She asked.

Wildcard took a slow look around, and grinned.

“It’s going to win the war,” he concluded.

Spitfire clacked her hooves together. “Good! We’ll wipe the floor with the Griffons, and then maybe we can do something about that queen of yours, eh?” She said, and winked.

Wildcard laughed, “If she saw this coming, she would probably try to sell us to south for another ten minutes of power,” he said,

Spitfire grinned, “Then we’ll take the entire south down with her,” she said.

“I suppose you must have some other reason to be here, right? You’re not the kind of pony to make personal visits,” Spitfire said.

Wildcard nodded. “That’s right, I had a few things to ask you. In private, if you please,” Wildcard said.

Spitfire slipped out of her chair, and led Wildcard into her quarters. She flicked her hat over her desk, and took a seat. Wildcard stood, and looked out the window towards the valley.

“Spitfire, how long would it take for you to get back to Equestria, from over the ocean?”

“That depends on how far out we are, but you’ve got all those reports on hoof in Canterlot, why come here to ask me that?” Spitfire asked.

Wildcard turned to her, and was watching quite keenly by both herself and that phoenix. 

“No, no I needed to ask you something I can’t officially,” He said, and took a seat across from her.

“If, Celestia help us, Trotsky starts a fight, which side will you be on?”

Spitfire glared at him, “Do you really have to ask? I would drive him into the ground, for Equestria. I don’t take kindly to my loyalty being questioned, Wildcard. I took an oath to serve the Princesses,” she said,

“A lot of ponies did, and you saw what happened. You have a great power here, and could shift things in either direction if you wanted. Hell, you could take Equestria for yourself.”

Spitfire leaned back, and allowed herself to consider it.

She shook her head, “I could, but then I would to deal with politics. Wildcard, I hate politics. Give me a battlefield and soldiers to fight, and I can handle it. You know your enemy, you fight, and the smartest one wins. Politics? Who even knows who your enemy is, and all too often the fools win because the smart ones are too busy fighting each other,” she said.

Wildcard snorted, an apt description of politics.

“That’s good to hear, but what if… the Princesses were off the table? I’m asking you if you would support First Class,” he asked.

Spitfire leaned back, and grinned at Wildcard.

“You want my public support? Did you not get the bit about politics, Wildcard? I might hate Trotsky, but unless he starts shooting- I’m out of it,” She said.

“Surely there’s something I can offer you. Perhaps if Equestria Daily were to run a story highlighting your achievements? I could have someone mention your budget should be enlarged, perhaps a shipment of vehicles for the Crystal Empire goes missing…”

Spitfire looked at him, and laughed, “oh please, if you had anything I wanted, I would have taken it,” she said.

“But if you want my word to back your wife, I’ll do it. Not for you though, just because I think Trotsky is an asshole. I’ll be over the ocean soon enough, I won’t have to deal with the avalanche of shit it’ll cause,” she said.

Wildcard laughed, “That’s all I want, it doesn’t matter to me why. I could have somebody from EQD come by later today,’ he said.

“Fine, but I’m only sticking my foot in this once. I have a war to fight, you know,” Spitfire said.

“Fair enough, and I wish you the best. We’re all counting on your work out there,” He said, and stepped out of the chair.

“Hold on now, you’re not going just yet,” Spitfire said, and reached into her desk for, what Wildcard quickly found out, was a half-filled bottle and two shot glasses.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been able to really let loose. I can’t bitch around the crew, not too much. Certainly not about royalty,” she said, and quickly filled them both.

“So indulge me, please.”

Over the next half hour, Wildcard fell quite decisively off the bandwagon. Spitfire was serving some rather high-proof cider: Atronach Springs, 40%. It had the intended effect, and the pair complained about everything from Wing Commanders (Rainbow Dash had apparently decided to pick a fight with a mare named Lightning Dust, leaving them both in the infirmary for a week), to the weather, which according to both “sucked”. Spitfire also ranted for a few minutes about how the contractors paid to work on the Magnificent had constantly screwed up. Apparently good help was hard to find in Equestria.

Once the bottle was drained, Spitfire giggled and swept it aside, leaning on the desk with her rosy-red cheeks smiling at Wildcard.

“Ya know… You look like shit,” she said, and prodded him with a hoof.

Wildcard laughed. “I know right? I’m gonna give Chrysalis a run for her money at this rate!” 

He rolled on the floor, laughing, he hadn’t felt this good in a long time.

Spitfire giggled, and reached into her desk. She stumbled out of her chair holding something, and “tripped” so as to fall on Wildcard.

Wildcard laughed, since that’s all his brain could do at this point. 

“You can…. change into anything right?” Spitfire asked, her voice suddenly flat.

“Sure… if it weighs the same! At this rate I’ll be able to disguise as Celestia next year!” He laughed, and prodded his own belly.

“What about… this?” Spitfire asked, and showed him what she had been holding.

A picture of Soarin.

Wildcard scrambled out from under her so hastily that Spitfire was sent on her back, and the picture landed on her desk. 

“What? You can’t *hic* be serious!” Wildcard sputtered, as his brain blearily tried to burst through his inebriation. Oh he wanted to, but something felt… wrong.

Spitfire rolled on her stomach, and looked at him, “Why not? I know you… want me…” she said.

Wildcard swallowed, and desperately fought his baser desires. “Of course… I do, but I can't-not like that. He’s dead Spitfire, it’s not… not right…” he managed to force out.

Spitfire sighed, and dragged herself to her hooves.

“I know he is… I just… is it so bad to want another minute?” she mumbled, and fell into her chair.

“It wouldn’t be real Spitfire, you would still have to go back to reality.” Wildcard said, and steadied himself by the door.

“I know, I know! I shouldn’t even think this, but… I would do anything, anything for another moment. Even if I know its fake, it wouldn’t… feel fake,” she said.

Wildcard felt supremely awkward, but could understand her position. If he lost First Class, to what extremes would he go for another moment with her? The answer, was any. The thought of life without here was more terrible than anything else, he couldn’t go back to that way of living. To living alone, nobody for himself but himself; it was too horrible to imagine. 

Spitfire looked up at him, “this never happened,” she stated.

Wildcard nodded, and left her to herself. The most powerful mare he had ever met, beyond even Luna or Celestia, but even she was still a pony. She had a heart- they all did. That was something Chrysalis never new, that care for others beyond oneself. These ponies felt that care though, all of them. That was worth fighting for. Spitfire, at her worst, grasping at anything to relieve her of her grief for even a moment, was better than Chrysalis had ever been. She was real, she had a soul, she felt. She would lead not for her benefit, but for others. It was this soul that enabled her to do that, and it was that same soul that made First Class so great. 

Soul. 

A word worth fighting for.

Wildcard found a shorter way out of the ship, out a berthing arm below the bridge, and groggily made his way towards his own frigate. A moderately sized frigate, one of many the Night Guard had made to complement its force. It was around fifty meters long, with a sleek black look to it that did well to hide it at night. The windows of the bridge, and others, stuck out, and shined in the daylight. It’s weaponry was relatively tame, with only a few gatling guns and a single turreted gun that could fire out of the bottom, but it was more than enough. This wasn’t a ship designed for fighting, it was a mobile command centre. It even had an area at the back for launching a wing of pegasi- although at the moment they had none. Instead that area stored a single helicopter.

Wildcard had renamed it, and this morning the dockworkers had finished the change. On the side that name, in red, was displayed for all to see. 

H.M.S Ace In The Hole

Absolutely perfect.

Wildcard strode up to the single docking arm, and was greeted by a sharp salute by the guard. 

“Director Wildcard, welcome back!” she greeted.

Wildcard attempted to meet her salute, and beaned himself in the head. She wasn’t sure what to think as he drunkenly stumbled past, but shrugged and continued her watch. The corridors were notably more tight than the Magnificent, but that also meant it was much less walking to get anywhere. His “office” had been the vessels stateroom, and was now the command centre for the home guard. As much as he would have rather worked from home, this was where he had spent a good deal of his time lately. Wildcard swung the metal door to the room open, and stumbled past his desk to a cot he kept there for when he had to work overnight. He flopped onto it, and instantly fell asleep.

When he awoke, a dozen hours later, he was fairly certain he had died at some point. The pain in his head felt as if somebody had liquified his brain and then boiled it, and now it was trying to force its way out through his eyeballs. He quickly wandered into his private bathroom, retched up a good amount of bile, and did his best to look decent for the day. At the very least nobody would think he was hungover- he looked like crap normally.

A quick wash, and a handful of painkillers later, he stumbled back into his room- and nearly jumped out of his skin to see a pony standing at the other end of the room.

His panic subsided when he recognized it as Shining Armour. He stood with a map of the continent, with the current lines of battle in the south, behind him. That was about all there was to the room, except for a rather nice desk covered with papers, some filing cabinets, and a phone beside his cot.

“Director, I’ve been waiting for you. I’ve got some information to pass along, and I need to know you’ve gotten it personally,” Shining said.

Wildcard closed the door, and walked over to him. 

“I have a feeling it’s not good news,” he said.

Shining sighed, and turned to the map. Wildcard followed his hoof, which led to the current line of battle. It had been moving north every day, and was now only thirty miles from the hive.

“It’s not looking good in the South. With the majority of our force concentrated over the ocean, the confederacy has been pushing harder and harder towards the North. I would pull some force back from the ocean front, but then we risk losing what we gained. I have to make a decision here, Director, and you’re not going to like it,” he said, and slid his hoof up to the hive.

“We’re abandoning it,” he said.

“You’re abandoning the hive?” 

Shining nodded solemnly. “We can’t hold it, and there’s no defensible positions between there and here. If we take a stand there, and lose, they’ll have a clear shot at Canterlot itself before we can regroup. Not only that, but the hive is in a valley-they could just bypass us. I’m going to order our forces to regroup at the far side of the Badlands, and get a line up there,” He said.

Wildcard sighed.

“How long?”

Shining pulled a folder from his uniform, and hoofed it to Wildcard.

“Three weeks, it’ll take some time to break everything down,” he said.

Wildcard tossed the envelope on his desk, and trotted over to it.

“Well, you’re in charge, so if it’s gotta be done, it’s gotta be done. Thanks for telling me, I’ll try and get out who I can,” he said.

“I didn’t tell you this out of kindness, Director. I did it because it’s my job, and I need something from you,” Shining said, and strode on to the other side.

Wildcard flopped into his chair, and sighed.

“Of course, and what’s that?”

“Chrysalis remains a… standing question. I need you to make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid before we get our people out. If you think she’s going to defect, or Celestia forbid try and use the refugees as hostages somehow, tell me,” he said.

Wildcard squinted at him, “Why?”

“So we can destroy her, naturally. When we fall back we’ll have a chance to burn the place down on the way out, but I wasn’t going to do it without asking you,” he said.

Wildcard sat back, and thought. Here was his chance, but there was a serious standing problem.

“Yes, she will use the refugees as hostages. If you try to abandon them, or move against her, she’ll do it. What we need to do is somehow get them out.”

“Fine, how?” Shining asked.

“Give me some time, and I’ll get back to you. If Chrysalis asks about this, tell her it’s some sort of standard rotation. That should buy you some time,” 

Shining rubbed his forehead, “three weeks, that’s all I can give you. If you haven’t found a solution by then, we’ll just have to do it live. Based on what you said, I guess “scorched earth” would be the plan,” he said.

“I’ll be blunt, Wildcard, I’ve been looking forward to bringing some cold justice to that queen of yours for quite some time,” he said, and cracked his neck.

“We’ve got something in common then,” Wildcard noted.

Shining laughed, and made his exit. When he closed the door, Wildcard opened up the envelope and took a look inside. It was a few documents, which backed up what he had said. The south was building for a major offensive, which would probably blow right through their lines as they were. He put that report to the side, and noticed that there was a new paper on his desk. It was watermarked with Luna’s crescent moon, backed by a shield. The new emblem of the Night Guard, and that most certainly meant it was important.

Wildcard flipped it over, and read. Malgavian had written this to him personally, and it was a shocking evaluation of the Manehatten and Baltimare situation. According to his intelligence they were arming themselves, with the Baltimare refugees stealing shipments that were bound south, and hiding them in the city ruins. Manehatten’s police meanwhile had been buying huge amounts of supplies from smaller weapons manufacturers that had been cut out of the larger contracts. Thousands of rifles and nearly a million rounds of ammunition.

Trotsky’s allies were arming for war.

Wildcard rubbed his forehead, and took out a bottle of painkillers from his desk. He had basically been living off them for the last week or so, but there was no time for worrying about that now. Whatever was wrong with him, it had to wait.

Probably just the flu anyway. Wildcard took a handful of the pills, and shoved them down his throat. A few moments later some relief flowed to his head, and he stood up again. He left his uniform on the chair, and strode back out of his office. He would have to work quickly now if he was going to avert violence, but he had come up with a hell of a plan. He left his ship, and the docks, and donned a new form.

He walked off into the city streets as Velvet Glove, and even remembered her cutie mark. That mark, of a thematically suitable velvet glove, marked her purple flank. Her mane was gold, and hopefully Trotsky wouldn’t notice she had put on a few pounds.

The real one was in a “holding area” near Ponyville. Put more aptly- a cave. Silver had picked her up after one of the protests. Thankfully Trotsky hadn’t noticed yet, the two often separated for days or weeks on end. He was a business pony after all, and she was a career rabble-rouser. According to her history, she never stayed anywhere, or with anyone, for long. Born on a rock farm, she had abandoned her family and left for the city of Vanhoover. There she had fallen into a group of anarchists, and had been raising hell ever since then. She, apparently, met Trotsky during a protest. They had been together, in a sense, ever since then.

Trotsky lived in the political quarter, and Wildcard hoped to either find him there, or somebody that could lead him- her- to where he was. 

The residence was rather grand, and had avoided the worst of the damage from a few weeks ago. It was an old building, built during the last major expansion of Canterlot 200 years ago. An elegant stone facade, with arched windows, stood facing the street. It stood three stories tall, and was surely equally as deep.

Wildcard knocked on the door, and spared a glance at his flank to ensure he was well disguised.

A pony opened the door, and looked him over. He didn’t recognize the while coated unicorn, but that didn’t matter.

“Velvet Glove! He’s been looking for you. Actually, he’s been a little worried,” The stallion said, and led her inside.

“Good, he should worry. I’m one of a kind you know, he would do well to respect me,” Wildcard said, and brushed past the doorpony.

He entered into an incredibly elegant lobby, with a marble floor and enormous chandelier above, while two staircases sloped around the far sides of the room upwards. A pony stood under it, and stood on two legs with arms wide as he entered.

“Velvet!” He shouted happily. 

It was, of course, Trotsky. He wore a red suit with golden lace, which went perfectly with his yellow coat. His brown mane shined, he had obviously spent some time with it.

Wildcard strode forward, smiling, and allowed him to embrace him- her- self. From now on, until his mission was done, he would be Velvet Glove. She nuzzled him gently, and fluttered her eyes as she looked up to him.

“I always come back, you know that,” she said softly.

Trotsky ran a hoof through her mane, and guided her to the window. He looked over the street, and pointed out there.

“You and me, Velvet, we’re gonna change the world,” he said.

Not if I can help it.