Fire & Rain: Applejack and the Queen of Knives

by Limbo Theorem

The Minarchist and the Night-Watchman State

PERTH, WESTRALIA
260034HJUL30:

Looks, the Queen knew, could be deceiving. And here in the capital of Westralia, was one of the best examples of that. Before Decimation, this had been Perth, the capital of the state of West Australia. The sandgropers, as the locals called themselves, had always had issues with Canberra and had always itched for secession and independence; and fringe groups, from the Movement to Found the Republic of Swan River to WAxit, had always been a thorn in the Australian Capital Territory’s side. But then Decimation came, and with it, heavy damage to most of Australia.

But by some miracle, or most likely due to its emptiness and remoteness from Australia’s population centers, West Australia was spared. Seeing their moment was nigh, the separatists pounced, declaring their independence as the Republic of Westralia. The provisional government, struggling to set itself up at the old RAAF station at Bogan Gate, trying desperately to rally against an alien invasion and coping with the murder of most of its citizens, didn’t have the resources or time to fight a civil war as well, and thus…simply gave up. The provisional government didn’t even acknowledge the Westralia situation, just ignored it completely while it desperately tried to hold the rest of Australia together.

In the years since, what had once been Australia proper was like so much before Decimation – a time long gone. While Queensland, New South Wales, the former ACT (now absorbed into New South Wales), Victoria and Tasmania had chosen to remain in the Union, the Northern Territory was seeking its own independence and South Australia was courting both “Old Australia” and Westralia to see where it would ultimately end up. And so far, it was looking as though Westralia would possibly win that equation.

As she gazed at the streets of Perth, the Queen looked around and realized it wasn’t hard to see why. Westralia was one of the few places on Earth that had not only escaped the devastation but had also rebounded and honestly didn’t look like Decimation had ever been a thing here. Moreover, due to the political stance of the Westralian government, those fleeing the war took refuge in a country that seemed to absorb immigrants with relative ease. The reason for that was simple, the Westralian government said: they had no interest in the war against the Others. The position of the Westralian government was that so long as they did not present a threat to the Others, the Others were no threat to them.

But like anything beneath the surface, there were other things at work here. For starters, the Westralian government was deeply fascist, with a heavily-armed border against its former home country, enough so that it seemed as though while Old Australia wasn’t interested in a war on the Australian continent, Westralia was. Second were the number of weapons in the nation. Despite its size, Australia had always had a relatively small military force, and yet in the five years since Decimation, Westralia now boasted a military that had been larger than pre-Decimation Australia…and moreover, weapons that had not been seen anywhere else. The Westralian Navy boasted thirty-five state-of-the-art destroyers based on China’s Type 045A warship. The Westralian Air Force’s fighter backbone was the WAF/A-01 Swan, an original design based on the otherwise laughable Q-313 that Iran had once tried to field. The Westralia Army’s main battle tank was one based on the French XLR Leclerc. In addition, the Westralian military showed an expertise and development that was just short of impossible. Part of that could be explained by immigrants with advanced military knowledge or even deserters from other nations seeking refuge in Westralia – it was rumored, after all, that many former Ukranian soldiers who could get to Westralia were doing so in droves – but even still, the buildup made no sense.

But most inexplicable was the financial situation. Western Australia had always been the poorest of the Australian states, but Westralia was wealthy enough that had it existed as a separate nation pre-Decimation it easily could have qualified for G-8 status. It boasted a budding agricultural and technological base, the fast-growing city of Derby was being called the “New Gold Coast” for its vastly growing entertainment industry and when the war was over, Westralia looked poised to be more than ready for regional power status. The meteoric rise of some nations were confounding, but given the current global situation, this verged on impossible…and needless to say, the powers of the world wanted to know why. How did Westralia get so powerful and why hadn’t they suffered any attacks by the Others? The aliens had hit other nations that had declined to participate in the global war, and had even destroyed Sri Lanka, whose government had outright surrendered to the Others via broadcast. Something else had to be there.

And so, here she was, investigating it. Espionage wasn’t her forte, and she doubted that she was the only one here – she’d already spotted some CIA, MI6, FSB and other national operatives who she just happened to note by coincidence – and all of them were looking for answers.

Currently, she was biding her time at a café a few blocks away from Government House, waiting until things were slow enough to make her move. Given that it was a Friday night, the streets were bustling with the nightlife, but even still, the number of people on the streets, from Westralian police and civilians, was denser than usual. She wondered if she should just ride her motorcycle back to her aircraft, stashed in the brush a hundred kilometers east of the town, or just bother to rent a hotel for the night and try again tomorrow.

“So, here for the big show?” She turned and saw a man seated next to her, drinking coffee as well and watching the crowd. Given his demeanor and general shape – or lack of it, given his dad bod – he was clearly a civilian.

“Sorry,” she said, doing her best attempt at faking a British accent and hoping he wouldn’t notice. “I just moved here a few weeks ago and am still sorting my way through. Is something expected to occur?”

“Ah. Well, apparently over at Government House in a few minutes, something big is about to occur. Some famous American celebrity who’s against the war’s going to give up her citizenship. Government’s already given her asylum, and she’s more than welcome here – we could bloody well use some levelheaded celebrities and the yanks won’t miss her.”

Curious, the Queen wondered about that. She recalled hearing in the news a couple of weeks ago that Brightstar, New Hollywood’s hottest up and coming star, constantly spoke out about the US government’s involvement in the war, arguing that she had been the only member of her family that had survived Decimation and she intended to spend the rest of her life using her fame to speak out on behalf the slaughtered millions that made up the ruins of Los Angeles and Old Hollywood. But from what the various news reports said, Brightstar was somewhat vain and flighty and hadn’t even lived in Los Angeles when Decimation came – she actually lived in New Hollywood (or Palm Springs, as it was known back then). Regardless, however, she was a celebrity and whether she was an intellectual or a moron who just spouted whatever came to mind, she had the public clout to make people listen…and that could be a dangerous thing.

Following the crowds, the Queen walked over to Government House, to see a large gathering already, as well as a bunch of people standing on the steps. Normally, this sort of ad hoc gathering would likely not be allowed by the Westralian government but seeing how the soldiers and policemen standing there just idly paid attention was more than enough to get the message across to the wise: they were tolerating it, because this clearly made for great propaganda. This was made doubly obvious by the hastily-erected monitors just in front of the doors to Government House. No “organic” assembly would have the time or resources to do this. The Westralian government was sending a message to the world, and they didn’t care to be subtle about it.

Finally, a young woman around the Queen’s age stepped forward and onto a wooden box that someone had provided so that she could stand tall enough to see the crowd. “Thank you all for coming,” she said, looking at them all. “Despite what I do for a living, I’m really not used to crowds and certainly not public speaking, so not everything I say is going to make sense. Please just be understanding and know it’s from the heart.

“I believe in a world of peace. I believe that violence doesn’t solve anything and that, if anything, only makes it worse. I have experienced that in my life and believe me, folks, I absolutely regret it. I tried to move on from those times, but I couldn’t – it’s like an infection in your soul that can’t easily be cured and if anything, goes into remission. So I have tried to do so by being a good role model and ambassador for peace. I am a strong believer in fair play and tempered wisdom.

“And then Decimation came, and I don’t doubt anyone here thought the same thing: so many of our loved ones were dead. I lost my parents and my kid sister. My husband…he died in my arms.” Tears came to the woman’s eyes as she looked at the crowd, but she never turned away. “So many of us lost so much that day and it was understandable that humanity’s first reaction was to lash out and attack – it’s in our genes, in our blood. But as a friend once told me, we need to rise above it all and embrace our better angels. And as the world began to go to war, I did that. My career was now in ruins, and I had nothing else to do, so what better thing to do than the wage for peace when so many were waging for war?”

She turned away to look at the stars briefly before continuing. “But I was like the old Greek tragedy of Cassandra: no one listened, no one wanted to listen. My government wanted to sink into wanton warfare, spending lives like it was no tomorrow while the so-called ‘leaders’ slunk back and watched from safety. Whole countries were decimated needlessly and did the governments of the world listen? No! They didn’t! They kept claiming ‘we can win the war’ when the truth is, we shouldn’t be worried about that – we should focus on winning the peace!

“Eventually, I lost faith in my government and left the US, hoping the Canadians would listen. But they didn’t either – they had been infected with the same warmongering sickness as my old country was. And as I watched so many enlightened governments of the world do the same, my heart sank. The leaders of the world don’t care about the soldiers getting blown to bits or the refugees running from the war, so long as they remain in power! I can’t comment about the Others – they are alien after all, but I am as human as you and so I know we are a faulty species, just like you. And absolute power corrupts absolutely.

“But then I heard about this place. The shining hope of the world, the beacon of true freedom and care, the true land of the free and home of the brave – because peace takes bravery, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise!” The woman gestured towards Government House. “Chancellor Underwood and Prime Minister Landslide knew the risks of telling the world that they were wrong, and they were brave enough to do so anyway! And together, alongside the peace-loving peoples of the world, they built this land – this nation – free from the sickness infesting the rest of the world and humanity. War is the disease, my friends, and we can either take the choice of suffering with this illness and fighting the Others until there’s nothing left…or we can take the path that Government House took and declare that we can stand up to the world and tell them we will not die of the same illness that they have! That we have the cure and it is peace!”

The woman held up a small blue booklet. “This is my passport as a United States citizen. I used to be proud to carry this, to state what I am. But not anymore.” Looking at a soldier standing next to her, she took a lighter from him and set her passport ablaze, holding the burning document up for everyone to see. “But I no longer have faith in a country that would rather see me dead than to save its own people from the madness. And I will have no part of it. As of now, I hereby declare myself no longer an American citizen and declare my right as a sovereign citizen of the world to request asylum in Westralia!”

The crowd cheered in wild abandon as the woman threw the burning passport to the ground, stomping on it. “Hear me out! Even if my closest friends of old asked me to go back, I wouldn’t! Even if my family somehow survived and begged me to return, I refuse to! I was known for my fair play, my sportsmanship and my loyalty – but more than anything else, I need to be loyal to peace! So I swear before everyone here, I, Rainbow Dash, will never support this war and never do anything to tolerate its existence in this world! The Others aren’t the threat to humanity, the immoral and illegal actions of the world’s other tyrants are!”

Rainbow held her arms out to the crowd as she spoke. “Though I am now stateless, I call – I plead – for the Westralian government to do everything they can to shield its people from this global insanity. In my now-former country, contrarians and fools called this policy isolationism, and equated it with stupidity and narrow-mindedness, even racism. But I tell you: I am African-American, or black if you prefer. I put up with more racism from my own people than I ever did from the Others! The Others didn’t call me the N-word or say I could play soccer professionally because of the color of my skin – my so-called ‘fellow humans’ did!” She scoffed. “Look at the brave soldiers and police officers of Westralia behind me. They’re not all just white. They’re Indian, Chinese, Middle Eastern – all coming from different places to make this place what it should be!”

The defiant woman struck the air with her fist. “I declare myself Westralian if this government would have me, and if you, my fellow peace-loving peoples will! And together, we will do whatever it takes to bring peace and sanity back to the world. Now who’s with me?”

If the crowd had cheered earlier, Rainbow’s newer words were pure red meat. The crowed chanted the name of the now-former American soccer star, welcoming her to their ranks. Every voice in the crowd lifted in support of her words, every heart there beating in unison with hers.

All but one.

The Queen watched, trying to keep the look of utter shock on her face as she realized what had just happened and how the friendly, tomboyish and boisterous girl she knew had turned into a provocateur and propagandist for the Westralian government.

Rainbow, what have you done?

---

The following morning, she had breakfast in her hotel bedroom, having opted to stay the night in a hotel to get over what she felt was Rainbow’s absolute betrayal. The girl she had once known would have never said that, never been so eloquent about the knife wound she was presenting the world, but the Queen had to remind herself: it had been a long, long time since they had been girls. Rainbow really didn’t even look like herself anymore, the long rainbow tresses that she’d had for nearly all her life now supplanted by rainbow cornrows.

And now, while eating a thoroughly tasteless full English breakfast – What the hell is “bubble and squeak”, anyway? – she watched the Westralian National Network’s morning news broadcast, where the news presenter was giving an interview to Westralia’s newest citizen; in a sidebar screen, footage showed of the Westralian prime minister himself swearing in Rainbow not only as an immigrant, but as a citizen outright, in gratitude for her “eloquent defense of Westralia and of unyielding faith in peace overall”. Meanwhile, the presenter continued to lob softball questions at her, each one turning the Queen’s stomach even further:

Did Rainbow ever intend to return to the US? Not at all; in fact, it was common knowledge that once someone gave up their US citizenship, they were essentially persona non grata. Did she regret it? Rainbow admitted that while she felt some regret for what she did, in the end it was the right thing as she now had the chance to be a part of something greater. Now that she was a Westralian, given her international fame as a premiere-level athlete, did she plan to join any of the teams in the Westralian National Soccer League? Rainbow shook her head, saying that as much as she loved athletics, her days as a player and an Olympian were behind her. Instead, she would take a position in the Ministry of Sport and Culture, relishing the chance to work in government for the betterment of her fellow Westralians. She did note, however, that the Perth Glory had extended an invitation to work out with them whenever she wanted and had even sent her kit early this morning.

The Queen mentally pushed back the bile in her throat, the forkful of black pudding wavering just before her mouth. She’d wanted to try it because she never had it before, but even still, it was like so much of what she was seeing here in Westralia: a gilded, golden surface hiding the rot underneath. And now part of those ensuring the rot was covered by gilding it was a woman that the Queen knew once upon a time would have found abhorrent for doing so.

She pushed aside the remainder of the meal and instead downed the breakfast tea – she was going to need the caffeine if she intended to get through this. Instead, she took out a laptop, and started tapping away, activating the various tunning and INFOWAR protocols. She then sent out a signal, one that would bounce through several proxies and find its way to the nearest allied communications station. They would recognize the FOUREYES protocol, as it was the only way she contacted them.

A few minutes and one drained cup of tea later, a man wearing a Chinese uniform came on screen. “This is Gen. Heavenly Stem, PLA Air Force. Do I have the honor of speaking to the Dāofēng nǚwáng?”

The Queen activated the vocoder on her end; it wasn’t as good as the one in her helmet, but it would service. There was no visual of her, so at least her face would remain hidden. “This is she,” she stated. “I have a message for the Combined Intelligence Analysis Group and it is of the utmost importance that you pass the information on.”

“Your name bears great weight, great lady, and our people are forever grateful for your actions in Xi’an – your spirited defense saved countless lives. But even I must bow to the rules of my government, and the standard is that all incoming communications must be cleared by the Party prior to being issued to the CIAG, NATO, the CIS, ASEAN, SIXTEENEYES or UNIF.”

The Queen bit back a retort; lives were in the balance and too many nations wanted to play politics when it suited them, even with the world at stake. It seemed that sometimes they didn’t realize their behavior was why fascists like Westralia came to power or why the old regimes in Myanmar and North Korea continued to hold on to their iron-fisted grasp on power. But even if she tried to break off the line and contact someone else, there was no guarantee that she would be able to reach anyone as quickly; worse, the Chinese government might take it as an insult and grateful for her actions or not, would be wary of working with her further.

I swear, I hate politics – I was never cut out for it, she groaned inwardly. “Please, press to your government that this is information that cannot just sit. I have reason to believe that—”

She never finished her sentence. There was a sudden running through the outside hallway, and a second later her door was battered down, while troops wearing Westralian combat gear broke into the room. “HALT! YOU ARE UNDER ARREST!” one voice shouted.

The Queen acted quickly. She grabbed her computer and threw it out the nearby window and immediately followed. Bullets filled the space behind her and she even felt one tracer round sizzle right past her right ear. The fact that they immediately shot at her without her even trying to fire back made it clear that killing her was an option if they couldn’t arrest her…and they had already moved to that plan. Unfortunately for them, they hadn’t expected her to jump out the window of her hotel, twenty-one storeys above.

A second later, her laptop hit the ground, shattering into so many pieces and run over by at least one car before the drivers started reacting. In a second, she would reach the pavement as well and with the same general results unless she acted fast. She couldn’t change into her trademark gear; given that they went after her the last thing she needed was for her name to be used in Westralian propaganda. She didn’t even have time to try to figure out how they caught her; that line of reasoning would have to happen afterwards.

Tapping a ruby stud in her left ear, she then spoke to the air, hoping that it would be heard. “Emergency transmat! Bounce me onto the nearest roof. Transmat, fire!” She felt her body cover her with rainbow, translucent energy like a cocoon…

…and a second later crashed onto the nearby Westpac bank building, across the street. A few of the Westralian soldiers had filed out onto a nearby balcony and opened fire on her, the rounds crossing the distance and hitting everything, with her just barely dodging out of the way. She had a number of options to return fire, but unlike them she didn’t want to risk hitting civilians and more important, she needed to get out of town.

She activated her comms again. “Need a pickup where I am, stat. Bring weapons on Blue Soprano online. Plot me a course to the nearest RAAF base, even if we have to skybounce.” She didn’t wait for the answer; she needed to get out of range of the net that was going to close around her soon enough.

Said “net” came in the form of a massive explosion to the far side of the building, followed by a WAF/A-01 Swan screaming above. The shockwave from the missile blast threw her to the ground, but she rolled with it, though not for long. Dealing against heavily-armed stormtroopers was one thing, but now they were literally trying to kill her by taking out the building if need be. In the distance sirens and emergency warning beacons sounded into the air, letting all of Perth know that war had finally reached out to their nation, even if the populace wasn’t aware that their own hypocritical country was the aggressor in this instance.

She tapped her stud one last time. “Gear up!” she ordered, and magical circles enveloped her briefly as her armor suddenly surrounded and adhered to her, hiding the woman she was and revealing the Queen of Knives in her full, powered glory. Pulling her arm back, the sound of thunder roiled through the sky as a blaze of fire appeared in her hand, quickly taking the shape of a flaming revolver.

Meanwhile, the Swan had come around for a second pass, now joined by a wingman. The first one opted for guns and the minigun in the airframe spat, firing dozens of depleted uranium rounds her way, each large enough to completely obliterate her if they connected. Instead, the Queen loosed her own weapon: the Golden Gun, to give her own response. A blast of solar fire rocketed away from the gun, hurling itself at the oncoming fighter and hammering into it practically instantaneously. The fighter detonated in midair, the wingman barely managing to pull away before getting cooked in the resulting fireball. The Queen turned and fired two more shots; the second Swan barely dodged the second blast but the third round struck true right in the cockpit, burning that portion of the fighter away and sending the remainder of the airframe careening into a nearby skyscraper that she hoped was empty of people.

Engines roared behind her and her aircraft appeared twenty feet above: Blue Soprano 01, her own personal craft. A blue-and-gold fighter that looked like someone had taken an old NASA X-29 and given it an art-deco refit, the vehicle was more than capable of holding its own against Octo cuttlefish and capital ships, and certainly would outmatch a Swan. Given that there was no place for it to vertically land, it hovered over her, waiting for her to transmat aboard.

As she appeared in the cockpit, warning sirens went off, letting her know that she’d been targeted by additional bandits. Well, unfortunately for them, they weren’t going to have it easy. Settling her hands on the HOTAS, she immediately rocketed off, then pulled hard up and kicked in max, climbing towards the sky, ignoring the sirens indicating they had a lock on her. She continued to climb anyway, pushing past Angels Five-Oh and continuing to go, her pursuers hellbent on taking her down.

At Angels Six-Oh they launched their missiles at one. She kept going, and the missiles sputtered out at Angels Six-Two, not built for this kind of atmospheric action. Eventually the Swans pulled away at Angels Six-Five, rapidly approaching the coffin corner. In the viewscreen on her canopy, it showed as the four broke off, no longer in pursuit.

She smiled; time to return the favor. At Angels Six-Six she immediately pulled back, letting Blue Soprano lazily arc into a wingover and then barreled down on them, triggering her own guns. Her rounds cut through the four aircraft, shredding them as if they were nothing. She wasn’t thrilled about having to take human lives when she was supposed to be protecting them, but then again she hadn’t expected her investigation to turn into a firefight and a direct attack on her.

Watching as the last of the four fighters turn into a fireball several thousand feet below her, she adjusted her profile and checked her position. If the onboard computers did their homework, then she should have had a plot.

“RAAF Control, this is Blue Soprano 01. I say again, RAAF Control, this is Blue Soprano 01.”

The response was quick. “This is RAAF Control, Blue Soprano 01. Please send confirmation code, over.” The Queen tapped a quick sequence on the keyboard to her side and sent. A second later the response came back. “Bloody hell, it’s you! We read you loud and clear, Blue Soprano! What can the RAAF do for you today?”

“I’m inbound to RAAF Farrars Creek with some urgent information that needs to be transmitted to the CIAG and related. I’m inbound and moving fast.” She thought about it for a second. “I’ll also need some fighter escorts if you have them; Westralian assets just tried to shoot me down and nearly singed my tailfeathers.”

“Bloody traitorous bastards. Alright, we’ve notified No. 209 Squadron, should be coming out of RAAF Woomera to cover you. We now have you IFF confirmed on radar so they should be there soon.”

“Woomera, huh? SA decided to stay in the Union?”

“Vote was official yesterday and announced last night. Now those damn sandgropers have got us right on their bloody doorstep. In any case, Blue Soprano, we’ve got you covered. We’ll let the boys and girls at Farrars get a coldie ready for ya. RAAF Control, out.”

---

PERTH, WESTRALIA
261003HJUL30:

Various military police scurried around the hotel room, performing forensics and doing DNA sampling on the bed and half-eaten breakfast, looking for hair follicles, and trying to identify the stranger that had been in the room. Outside, more police interviewed others in the other hotel rooms, trying to get an answer.

In the middle of the room, wearing the uniform of the Westralian National Police, the commander in charge looked around, more to make sure his people were being through than doing any actual investigation himself. As part of WNP Counterintelligence, it was his duty to safekeep the nation from the forces that threatened it. And today, that number had increased by one. He shook his head in dismay. He’d heard the tales of this so-called “Queen of Knives” and that the world considered her the closest thing the world had to a true superhero. But today, the truth had been outed: she was clearly a spy for the aggressors and had even killed several brave Westralian troopers in defense of their homeland. No “true” hero would ever sink so low.

It was said that no one knew who the Queen of Knives’ true identity was, and that the closest they could come was that based on her voice, she was either American or Canadian. Well, he swore that he would find out and expose her to the world before putting her down like the dog she was. It would send the proper message to her masters, he mused.

“Are you Cmdr. Funnelweb?” A man and a woman walked in, and the man flashed his badge. “My name is Piercepoint, and I’m with the Ministry of Defense and Police Protection. And of course, my lovely associate is—”

“A pleasure to have you, Mr. Piercepoint,” Funnelweb stated, shaking the man’s hand. “And your partner needs no introduction, though my understanding was that she was part of the Sport and Cultural Ministry.”

“Cover story,” was Piercepoint’s response. “The Prime Minister felt that someone with her talents would be better served fighting the good fight as a covert. And quite the good thing as well, because clearly things are afoot. What do you have?”

One of Funnelweb’s officers passed him a tablet. “She checked into the hotel at one in the morning and checked in; the concierge who checked her in is being investigated right now though I doubt we’ll find anything. As for the woman’s identity, she claimed to be one Izzy Moonbow, recently immigrated from Malaysia. We’re discussing things with the Malaysian embassy, but given the country’s current situation, I doubt we’ll get any answer of substance. One interesting thing is that the credit card she paid with was in her name but bounces to a French Polynesian bank. We’ll do what we can to contact the bank but given our current diplomatic status with France….” Funnelweb left it that.

“You don’t have to say another further, Commander, I understand. Fortunately, we do have other options.” Piercepoint turned to his counterpart. “Do you think your contacts could…?”

“Without a doubt. They all have as much reason as I do; I’m just the face of the group, but my group is thorough.” She looked at Funnelweb. “Please let me know who I need to contact in your office to pass the information to.”

Funnelweb looked at the woman with new eyes. “Forgive me for saying this, but when you first made your speech, I thought you were nothing but a stupid root rat. But it looks like the Yanks lost something good when they drove you away.”

Standing there, Rainbow Dash nodded. “Believe me, I’ve been fighting the good fight for years, ever since my husband was murdered. And I hope that someday, when this is all done, Westralia will welcome my Shadowbolts with open arms.”

Author's Note:

Note: I have no idea if this is realistic or not; I know West Australia has some separatist groups, but no idea how serious it is. I just saw the idea in another story and wanted to show how much the world has changed in other ways. So, Aussies, please, put your killer boomerangs down - I don't get upset about people writing America as evil, please don't hurt me.

Comments

[jarjaxle]

What Da F Dash?

[Edguy0009]

Something suspicious is going on with Westralia if Rainbow Dash is acting like that.

[WhitewolfStormrunner]

11040842 THAT is the question, isn't it?
LT?
Can smack her one?
Hopefully knock some sense back into her head?
PROVIDED, of course, that AJ or Scoots don't beat me to it first.

11041022 Indeed.
The question is... what is it?

[Shinzakura]

11041022
Or maybe we're seeing the kind of person that Rainbow Dash has become. After all, Applejack became a hardened, death-seeking military specialist, and Fluttershy matured out of her naivety. Maybe Rainbow's loyalty, in the wake of her husband's murder (and I wonder exactly what that entails), has calcified into outright bitterness.