Callsign MANE VI: Twilight

by Col_StaR

Chapter 1: Reactivation

It was a sense Applejack was all too familiar with, a gnawing quiver in her gut that echoed through her bones. Like a dog barking wildly into the night, she understood that it meant trouble. It was her instinctive alarm, a sixth sense that had kept her alive through several years of service. She never understood how it worked. Maybe it was a signal in the breeze, or some god-given gift of intuition, or maybe just rare instances when defensive paranoia paid off. But it always came. And it never faded. And it was never wrong.

She had finished washing the dishes, the remains of her family’s lunch disappearing into the sink under a pool of soap and dish water. From the rickety window of the kitchen, the pair of leaf-green eyes squinted through the shades towards the front of the estate. Clouds of dust and metallic glints of light were following the winding dirt road connected the farm to its property line. Trouble was coming to her doorstep. She wiped her hands dry with a rag and grabbed her trusty Stetson hat, placing the worn, leather article atop her unkempt blonde hair.

A pearl-black SUV pulled in front of the house. A lone man, sporting a grey suit jacket with a white undershirt, inspected the premise before stepping out from the safety of the car. Applejack’s surveyed every detail she could of the suit as she crossed her arms and waited.

“I thought you fella’s were supposed to be punctual,” the cowgirl snided, “I always knew you folks couldn’t keep away for very long, but now you’re a few months early. Maybe you’ve got more than just a clock broken.”

“Honesty has been reactivated,” the man sternly replied, “Your services are needed yet again.”

Hearing the term ‘service’ made Jack’s blood boil. She marched outside, her boots grinded the dirt underfoot, “Damn you. I was promised one full year. It’s barely been three months, and I know y’all know it. I just got home, and now you’re going to throw me back into it, ain’t yah?”

The man stood silent in confirmation.

“And what’s so important that you had to drive down here to tell me?”

“I was not informed of your assignment. I can only say that it is of great importance.”

“Well if it’s so important, why not assign another team?”

“Cell was very specific when she appointed you and the team for this.” He paused for added emphasis, “And she is not likely to reconsider.”

“Well she should! We took casualties last time. We’re at half strength with no word on replacements and barely time for R and R. So you can just turn around and find yourself someone else to do your wet work.”

The man’s humorless demeanor remained unchanged. “I don’t make those decisions. Cell insists that your services will be short-term. Once the mission is complete, you’ll be returned to leave status with your family.”

As her rage began to boil over, the woman threw her hat into the dirt. “To hell with that noise! I don’t care what Cell says. She can’t make me abandon my family again!”

Another presence entered into the conversation. Jack turned around towards the twelve year-old girl in the farmhouse doorway, watching them with her bright, hazel eyes she adored so much. The pink ribbon tied in the girl’s cinnamon-red hair drooped in dismay, and her fingers wringed the plaid fabric of the girl’s favorite dress. The expression of confusion and sadness tore through Jack: she saw what she had to lose.

The older sibling let a resigned sigh escape her, “Bloom, go fetch your brother from the orchard. Tell him I’ll be taking another trip soon. It’s… important.”

The girl didn’t move.

“Now!” Jack barked. The girl ran away, surely trying to keep hold the tears back. As her kid sister darted through the farmhouse and out the back door, Jack’s gut met the dirt floor. As she wiped the specs of dirt from the brim of her hat, guilt began to seep through her rigid composure. It would be another Christmas spent without them, she thought, Another broken promise. Yet despite the pain and regret she felt drilling into her core, she knew what she had to do.

“Alright, you win,” Jack said with a long sigh, “Just let me pack my bag and say goodbye.”

---

Her legs were strained to the point of failure. Her lungs struggled for the searing air. Her heart pounded like a jackhammer inside her chest. But all that mattered was the chalk line behind her, hidden under a trail of dust. She lifted her head to find her run time, and cracked a smile. She had done it. She’d broken the record.

There was an explosion of fervor throughout the stadium, coupled with fireworks and confetti cannons to herald her success. People stood from their seats and cheered her on, screaming with enthusiasm befitting such a stunning athlete. Even as her sweat seeped from every pore, the woman still posed triumphantly for all her fans out there. The camera flashes bathed her in light and attention at a blinding pace; in the morning, her picture would be on the cover of every newspaper and magazine back home. Last of all, she remembered that, as the golden medal was adorned around her neck at the final ceremony, a voice behind her called, “They don’t call her Dash for nothing.”

Then the ravenous applause was suddenly shut silent. The half-remembered fantasy faded back to the inescapable dredge of reality. An electronic ringing was the culprit, originating from a bench beside the track. Dash quietly cursed her phone as she begrudgingly walked over to answer it.

Stupid phone. What the hey could be so important?

The woman stepped off the sullen dirt track and onto the cold concrete sidelines. The vibrating buzz and the high-pitched rings echoed through the empty stadium, emphasizing the building’s pitiful state of abandonment. Dash wiped the sweat from her brow with her towel before finally considering the phone’s demands. With a groan, she picked up the phone with one hand as she collected her things in the other.

“Yeah?” Dash answered in her usual gruff tone.

The man’s voice was stone-cold. “Rainbow Dash?”

“The one and only,” her ego replied.

“Loyalty has been reactivated.”

The woman squeezed a jet of water into her mouth. She made sure to swish it around loudly enough for person on the line to hear, before gulping it all down. “Figured as much. You guys never call for anything else.”

The man replied with silence.

“Same time, same place? Who else’s comin’?”

“We’ll be in touch.”

The call ended as fast as it had begun, but that’s all she needed to hear. Dash tossed her things into her messenger bag and began to depart from the empty stadium. While she could imagine the disdain that others would feel after getting the call so soon, there was only excitement in her mind.

This life’s just too slow. Time to kick things up a notch.

---

From her home on the 20th floor, Rarity continued the project that had enslaved her every waking thought for the past few days. While she was always intent on maintaining a pristine and proper appearance for the rest of her maisonette, her design room was the sole caveat. Whenever she suffered from a storm of inspiration, that room was always ground zero. A delicate clutter of pencil-drawn patterns, sketches, and revisions plastered the walls and floor. Spools of thread lay tangled in a pile of neglect, pushed aside by bouts of conflicted frustration. Stretches of fine silk of several shades littered the areas around and below a well-worn sewing machine. And hidden somewhere in the mess was Rarity’s favorite pincushion. It was like the contents of the room had been shot from a cannon before landing in their final places.

But even from the mayhem, Rarity was able to perceive beauty in it all. Standing over the mannequin, her fingers worked with delicate precision, putting the final stitches into the slender waist of her creation. Her eyes strained as they squinted through the narrow glasses, watching the needle’s point pierce the surface of the fine black fabric before diving back below once again. It was a process which she repeated several more times, but she could feel her vision becoming manifest with each new stitch. Then, like a strike of lightning, she suddenly knew it was finished. Rarity cut the thread between her teeth and threw the needle aside, never tearing her eyes away from her work. With a deep breath, the seamstress stepped back from the mannequin to allow her creation to stand on its own.

Dressmaking has always been a painstaking process, requiring both skill and vision while consuming both time and patience, but it was always an art unto itself. The proof was right in front of her. The dress looked exactly as Rarity had imagined: the shape was slender and fitting, the design was flirty yet reserved, and the black silk flowed as freely as a passing breeze. A fine silver-laced diamond necklace would compliment the night-black silk while accenting the color of her shimmering sea-blue eyes. Oh how she fantasized of attending an elegant soiree amongst Manhattan’s social elite, where the eyes of powerful socialites would turn to find her and her astonishing ensemble. Captivating them with her elegance and grace, she would then enthrall them with her manners and charm. They would dedicate a toast to her, the lady of the evening, cementing her status with the gentle clinks of champagne glasses. By the end of the night, the regal Rarity would earn a place in high society, the exclusive coterie she was destined to join. Such dreams always made her smile.

To celebrate the birth of such a beautiful dress, Rarity felt she deserved to relax for the rest of the day, even if it was still young. She was content to sit on the couch, with a glass of Chianti in hand, and let time slip away from her. But before she could pour herself the first glass, an electronic blip caught Rarity’s ears. It was a sound that she hadn’t been expecting for months, yet the source unmistakably blipped a second time. When she went to check her computer, her suspicions were confirmed.

The message onscreen prompted was cryptic as always. “Generosity has been Reactivated. POST-3 Garage. H12 + 1200.” There was no indication of a sender, but Rarity who it was. More importantly, she knew what it meant.

Disappointing, but acceptable. Rarity would have to take a rain check on the night of rest she had planned. Instead, she would spend the evening packing her things and getting what beauty sleep she could. Before the break of dawn of the following morning, the woman would already be on the road. The drive through the city and into the country would be long and lonely, but one she could not decline. She was a professional, and it was time for her to go to work.

---

Cell’s gaze was unwavering as always, eternally caught between appreciating and demanding. As she looked down upon them, the imposing gaze of her slate-grey eyes seemed to pierce through whomever she was looking at. The woman could turn a person’s blood to ice with a mere turn of her voice, but the heavenly aura that emanated around her body often put their minds at ease. She placed a tablet computer into her protégé’s hands, whom couldn’t help but notice how slender, pale, and flawless her aged hands were.

“Travel arrangements, mission details, and necessary information are loaded onto the dossier. You will assemble with the guards at the motorcade at 0600. We depart at dawn.” Cell concluded her in-person briefing with her pupil. The woman had expected Twilight to jump excitedly at the opportunity, asking questions and exploring the topic as thoroughly as she could. But today, her student said nothing.

In a way, Twilight had trained for a mission like this for her entire life. But now, as she held the weight of the dossier in her hand, she felt like she was made of straw, ready to blow apart with the slightest gust of wind. She peered into the endless abyss of Cell’s silvery gaze, into the eyes that she had worked so hard to earn affection from. She just couldn’t say no. Shrugging off the fear and doubt, the student held the dossier at her side and confidently bowed to her mentor, letting her long, black hair fall past her shoulders. Cell nodded approvingly.

“One last thing, Twilight,” her mentor added, “I’ve made an additional arrangement. You’ve been assigned someone to be your assistant for the duration of this operation. He will aid and escort you for the duration of the mission in any way possible; how you utilize his skills is up to your discretion. I have sent him to your quarters to make his introduction. I suggest you do not keep him waiting. You are dismissed.”

Twilight’s heels clacked together as she stood at attention. “Understood. Thank you, ma’am,” she responded, before making her way to the exit.

---

The elevator doors opened on the fourth floor, revealing a hallway that Twilight had become well acquainted with. Over her years of study, the halls of the Institute’s Palace had come to embody a personality all their own. Shoes clacked against the marble floors with an air of authority, and the oaken walls were polished to a mirror shine. A pair of Illuminatus Knights, royal guardsmen dressed in white and grey uniforms, nodded as Twilight passed; she returned the respectful gesture as they continued their patrol. The girl turned final corner towards her room. Who she saw stopped her in her tracks.

A young man, six years her younger, leaned against the wall beside her doorway. The boy’s arms crossed while he waited, breaking only to check his watch or run his fingers through his spiked-up hair. Having heard the echo of approaching footsteps, his boyish face turned to find her. Casually clad the same charcoal uniform as her, he could have been indistinguishable from any of the other students. But even after ten forlorn years, Twilight still recognized the twinkle in his emerald-green eyes.

For Twilight, everything changed in that moment. Those green eyes, that young face, the shark-black hair: there was no denying that it was him. An excited gasp escaped her, leaving her mouth agape. The books and tablet Twilight had held in her hand crashed to the floor. The young man barely had time to stand before the woman sprinted over and wrapped her arms around his body in joyous embrace. Her fingers clung to the back of his jacket as if they would never let go of him again.

Warm tears rolled off her cheeks as she rested her head on his shoulder. “I missed you, Spike.”

As the young man regained his footing, he slowly draped his arms around her. Spike gently rocked from side to side to comfort her, struggling to hold back his own tears as well. A long, warm breath emanated from between his sharp-toothed grin. His voice cracked as he whispered into Twilight’s ear, “I missed you too, sis.”

Comments

[The Grey Pegasus]

Kicking the story into gear right away… was this actually a change? Because it seems like it is.

Did you change Spike's hair color? I think you did.

[MellowMabari]

Ooh, this is a really good start. I like how you've presented the humanized characters so far, and everything's really well written. Well, I'm hooked - off to the next chapter!

[totallynotabrony]

Well, this story has very little to do with the show.
I don't care. It kicks ass.

1660770 Hey man. 'Sup?

[Skeeter The Lurker]

Ooo. This is very good so far.

The way you've got the Mane 6 set as... Not bad at all.

~Skeeter The Lurker