Rumble doesn’t have friends, and with the prospect of a new school on the horizon, he tries to accept that he’ll never befriend any Ponyville foal. But not all ponies are truly as they seem, and Rumble must find out what he really wants i
Rumble is twelve. For almost five years he has lived in Ponyville with his brother Thunderlane. They have a new life with new ponies, a new family, far from their first home – but Rumble has never seemed to fit in amongst his peers in Ponyville or Cloudsdale. The end of his last year at the Ponyville Primary School is approaching, and with it what Rumble hopes will be a new lease on life: a distant secondary school where he might start afresh and finally find his place.
But life isn’t as simple as that, and Rumble knows it. As Rumble approaches his goal, storm clouds gather and the path he has chosen for himself seems unclear. Foals he hardly knows begin to finally reveal their true colours, and Rumble must decide what he really values in life, and whether he can put his trust in the ponies that once left him in the dust.
He had always liked the sound quills made. It held some distant, subconscious appeal, a thin corridor of associated memories back to his younger days. The scratching of quill-tip on parchment, the slight suck-in of saliva, the plip when quill was dipped back into inkwell; there was so much to hear from just one little utensil. Rumble could tell if a quill was being manipulated with magic or not just by listening.
Now though, sitting quietly at the back of the classroom, head on hoof and eyes almost closed, all the signs of an afternoon nap, mind wandering, he didn’t listen. His conscious thoughts were far away, lightly skimming over grass and cloud, spread thin and unaware. The doors that opened so fully when he wanted them to were now almost closed, letting hardly a trickle of information in. Bird twitters – sun warms – whisperers whisper – Scritch-scritch of writing – breathing foals – RUM-
“-ble,” Cheerilee half-whispers. Rumble jolts a bit anyway. He hears her like silence after thunder, wary and menacing – the longer the quiet, the brighter the lightning.
He attempts to speak. “Whahgiz,” he manages to (not) say. He doesn’t think he has spoken much all day. He starts by clearing his throat, and ends by coughing. “S-cough-orry,” he says through a wheeze. Did a parasprite fall down his throat? “Sorry.” Cough. Heads were turning; eyes flung from sheets and scribbled nothings to the back of the class. A comment was made and summarily shushed. Cheerilee stared the offenders down. Test conditions were restored. Rumble observed; a fuss could be made of such minor things, and under a less firm hold the class might have erupted.
Cheerilee shook her head and smiled. Rumble started to wish she would go back to her desk. “Uhm … yes. Miss?”
“I know your home situation is a bit complicated, but could you read this letter with your family?” Cheerilee indicated to a scroll on the desk that Rumble hadn’t noticed. It had an impressive seal, a winged trident and infinity symbol in royal blue. He had seen it before. Hmm.
“Y-yeah. Umm, I can do that. When ... for?” Rumble trailed on for a moment. So incredibly mortifying to ask questions whose answers should have been said.
“Just a few weeks. Don’t worry too much,” Cheerilee said, an assuring smile on her kindly face. Infuriating. Did other foals care so much about dates? Rumble knew that most ponies in general didn’t seem to. He dropped it, though.
“Cool.” Boiling, breathing fire eating his veins. He needed to fly. His hoof shook as he smoothed his mane back.
“And here are your test results back.” The teacher pushed another slip of parchment towards Rumble. He swept it closer with his wingtip and tried not to look while she was there. “Are you okay to sit here for the rest of the lesson?” He relaxed, maybe even stopped shaking. He couldn’t tell. Either way, balance was restored. Teachers were teachers and the letter would probably say when a reply needed to be sent in. “I could give you some work if you want to, if you don’t mind doing it by yourself; the rest of the class won’t be finished for a while.”
Lightning. Bright and sharp and right in front of his eyes. He was glad for the silence now. “Could I – well, I, uh, am I allowed to maybe … leave? School, I mean. A little?” Rumble was very eloquent – a telepathic wordsmith.
Cheerilee glanced at the clock hanging on the wall, and frowned. “I can’t let you go before the end of the day – unless you have a note?” Rumble shook his head, and slumped back into his chair. Cheerilee hesitated for a moment before heading back to her desks to mark the other foals’ tests.
Rumble itched to open the letter; he wanted to hear the seal crack and for all it’s contents to sit before him. He wanted to know what was inside. But he knew it wouldn’t be right for him to read the letter right in front of Cheerilee, and so tucked the creamy scroll in his saddlebag on the floor, where the deep blue seal couldn’t stare at him. Instead, he distracted himself with his test results. It was History, his best subject, and although Rumble wasn’t surprised at the good outcome he still allowed himself half a smile. Only half.
Something moved to his right and Rumble was suddenly aware that he had a prying neighbour. He turned his head sharply – he had finished his test, so the fear of being accused of cheating didn’t apply – to see Featherweight glancing out of the corner of his eye at Rumble’s corrected test. Rumble doubted he was just in awe of Rumble’s terrible mouth-writing, and quickly shoved the sheet to the other side of his desk, his only other neighbour the wall. For good measure he stared directly out the window, resting his head on his hoof and blocking Featherweight’s view.
Now that the pose was forced on him Rumble found it uncomfortable, and waited impatiently for the little bell to chime the end of the school day. Insane as it was, Rumble was embarrassed to have caught Featherweight cheating, which is why he didn’t tell Miss Cheerilee. Maybe Featherweight hadn’t been cheating, he thought nervously. Maybe he was only glancing Rumble’s way for a moment, an involuntary reaction to some motion on Rumble’s part. Rumble began to wonder if it was his own fault; in hindsight it seemed he had been gloating, putting Featherweight in a position where it could hardly even be considered cheating to look at Rumble’s test. This line of thinking wasn’t new, but that quirk of his personality to doubt and dither infuriated him to no end. Even now he still felt a gnawing anxiety about when a response to that scroll needed to be in. Justifying the truth to himself – that Featherweight had been looking at his test on purpose, that the letter would certainly have the date for a response detailed within – didn’t help to calm him down, only to incense him further about his own shortcomings. It was a vicious cycle with which he had too much experience.
The sharp clang of the bell ruptured Rumble’s train of thought, and he quickly slung his already-packed saddlebag onto his back, intent on leaving. Most of the class still had their test with them, though all but a few were only checking for mistakes and passed their completed test to the front without any fuss.
Rumble looked back for a moment at the doorway after mumbling a ‘good afternoon’ to Miss Cheerilee, and saw that Featherweight still hadn’t given in his test. The Pegasus colt scribbled crazily, his quill darting back and forth like a frightened fruit bat. Rumble felt a dart of guilt wash over him, and tried to shake it off with a quick burst of flight out the door, his wings buzzing. It wasn’t his fault if Featherweight didn’t know the answers, or hadn’t bothered to study, and he determined to think about something else.
He succeeded partially, though as is the nature of that particular demand Rumble kept circling around the thought for a while. When he finally calmed down he stopped his hummingbird imitation and landed on a low cloud. Flying calmed him down, usually. Clouds did too, for that matter; he understood clouds, and they were pretty beautiful anyway.
Rumble pushed the edges of the small cloud closer to the centre to solidify it a bit more, and then slipped his saddlebag onto it. He stretched out, letting his front hooves dangle off the cloud and watching his classmates and the younger school-foals leave the Schoolhouse. From high above, Rumble could almost see the invisible lines connecting groups of friends: Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon, and the Cutie Mark Crusaders from his own class, Snips and Snails in the year below him, and younger foals he only knew by face. Twist walked alongside Apple Bloom when the other two Crusaders started heading towards town. Shady Daze, second-in-command at the Foal Free Press, was apparently absent.
Rumble didn’t really hang out with any of them, and although he knew a lot of them were friendly he couldn’t seem to break into many conversations or implicate himself in games. He was in his last year at the Ponyville Schoolhouse, so it didn’t really matter that much in the long run; the Ponyville Secondary School wasn’t in the books for Rumble. In a few months, if all went well he’d be in a school where no foals knew him, and in the chaos of new foals and new groups forming, he would fly in next to another foal and make a lifelong friend, or maybe two...
... of course it wouldn’t turn out that way, but Rumble had accepted a long time ago that friendship would never come easily to him. By now he knew how to take solace in being alone and able to think and dream of whatever he wanted. He remembered friends in Cloudsdale, and sometimes thought about contacting them, but he knew ultimately that they would probably hardly remember him. It had been four years since Rumble and Thunderlane left Cloudsdale, and even before that Rumble had been isolated from his friends for some time. He suspected that he idealised them as well, and when Rumble thought back enough he recalled that he’d never been good friends with anypony even then, only a tagalong foal who everypony tolerated because he didn’t cause much trouble.
His cloud started drifting into a larger cloud, and Rumble shrugged his saddlebag back on before lifting off. He felt a bit better now – thinking about his bleak social life tended to mellow him out – and decided it was time to head off. He suddenly felt an intense desire to read the letter Cheerilee had given him, and decided to fly straight home instead of cloud-hopping like he usually did. It would be harder on his wings, but Rumble could handle it.
Below him, Rumble saw a skinny cream coat trudge down the Schoolhouse steps. Featherweight must have seen Rumble out of the corner of his eye, because he looked sharply upwards. Rumble swept his wings downward and charged through a thick cloud faster than was safe or necessary, and angled himself northward to where his house should be around this time of day. He still felt ridiculously at fault for the earlier incident, and smoothed back his mane with a shuddering sigh. He couldn’t wait to get home.
Rumble smiled through his breathlessness as he approached home, and half-flew to the next small cloud. He had actually flown most of the way from school, but his wings were worn out and it was easier to jump from cloud to cloud at this point. He felt a bit disappointed in himself for giving in, but managed to convince himself that for once it didn’t really matter. He realised that, for some inexplicable reason, he was in a good mood.
He opened the door and ran through the living room. He made for the kitchen, intending to open and look at the letter as soon as he could. Flitter should be at work for a while, and Cloudchaser’s usually asleep this time of day, so I shouldn’t be interup-
“Rumble! Come’n join the party!” Rumble leaned back and stretched out his wings, slowing him down. He closed his eyes for a moment to gather his thoughts before looking back up.
Flitter was slung across the ratty old couch Star Hunter had dragged in a few weeks ago, her hoof clamped around Cloudchaser’s side. There were several empty bottles of cider scattered around the room, and Rumble could see a container of salt on the floor. Flitter had clumps of salt stuck around her mouth, and an orange stain on her wing that Rumble guessed was cider. Cloudchaser herself looked like she’d been dragged through a series of interlocking gears, and her half-closed eyes looked more shadowed than her usual sleep-deprived self. Rumble could bet that Flitter had woken her up, and given how badly Rumble’s experiences of encountering Cloudchaser on her way back from the night-shift were, he could believe that she might not even have too much of the salt.
Rumble stared for a moment, taken aback. “Uh… you’re here,” he said lamely, waving his wings around for added emphasis. Flitter curled her wing around a bottle of cider and expertly chugged it down.
“Mhmm,” she slurred, followed by a huge burp only a pony adept at handling winds could muster. She waved the bottle in Cloudchaser’s face. “Wan’ some, sis?” She didn’t wait for an answer before pouring half the bottle down her sister’s mane and the other half onto the floor. “Woops!” Cloudchaser didn’t react much, so Rumble winced for her. Someone’s going to have to wring out the floor later.
Cloudchaser seemed vaguely aware that someone else had entered the room, and slowly turned to squint at Rumble. Rumble waited uncomfortably as she stared, took an abnormally long blink, and stared for a while longer. “Thunderlane?” she said. Rumble felt the urge to face-hoof.
Flitter bent double in a wordless laugh, dragging Cloudchaser down with her. “No silly filly! It’s Rum – uh, Gurmb – Rubbl – oh whatever, it’s Whositscalled!” Rumble wished there was a convenient wall to bang his head against so he wouldn’t have to deal with this. He settled for leaving the room while Flitter was still laughing. He was almost to his own room when he heard Flitter’s slurred voice from the living room. “Hey! Where’d he go?” Rumble hurried to his room and slammed the door closed.
He took one deep breath and tried to calm himself down. It wasn’t that he hated Flitter and Cloudchaser. It wasn’t even that he couldn’t stand to be around when they weren’t sober. It was because, somehow, they’d ruined Rumble’s good mood.
He ran his hoof over his mane a few times before sighing and letting the whole affair go. He still wasn’t as happy as just a few minutes before, but at least he still had the letter to look at.
“The letter,” he murmured. He flapped his wings and jumped onto his bed, twisting in mid-air so he landed on his back with his saddlebag on his belly. He felt a twinge go through him when he realised that the saddlebag wasn’t properly closed. Now that he thought about it, his saddlebag didn’t seem as heavy as it had in the morning… Rumble sat up and hesitantly pawed through his bag.
The novel he had been reading at lunch was gone, and an oat bar he’d been saving for later. “At least the letter didn’t fall out,” he said, weighing the scroll on his hoof before carefully placing it under his blanket. If he went back now he should have a good chance of finding the book. He slid off the bed and put on his saddlebag, making sure that everything was properly closed this time. He left a short note in the kitchen for when Flitter and Cloudchaser were aware enough to notice he wasn’t home – not that Rumble had any intention of being gone that long.
Rumble couldn’t help but notice when he stepped out the back door that the wind was picking up. He ran back inside and crept into Cloudchaser’s room, a bit nervous about entering. He found the radio that all weather-ponies kept and turned it on. Somepony was reporting a class-one thunderstorm heading west to Ponyville. Buck, the book’s going to get wet sitting outside in the rain. I’ll bring a raincoat to keep it dry.
Rumble left through the back door so Flitter and Cloudchaser wouldn’t see him go. He adjusted his raincoat and jumped onto the nearest cloud. It was moving quickly and wasn’t particularly stable; Rumble fell through it. He glided down to a paddock below, and gazed up. Flying above the clouds isn’t going to be a good idea, he realised. I can’t hop on the clouds if they’re going to be moving that fast either.
Rumble stretched his wings a little as the wind surged. Winds are going the same way as me. Perfect. Rumble fully extended his wings and pushed off the grass, skimming close to the ground, flying.
The rain hadn’t started when Rumble arrived at the schoolhouse, but after an hour of searching in vain for his book the downpour had begun. Rain dropped from the sky so thick and fast that Rumble could hardly see where he was going. The constant rattle of raindrops against the ground was incredibly disorientating.
Rumble didn’t dare fly in the rain, but he was pushed around so much by the wind that he had to use his wings to keep himself on the ground. They became soaked, and Rumble began to wonder if going out alone in the rain was such a good idea.
He stumbled forward a few more steps, and the red side of the schoolhouse came into view. That’s it! Cheerilee might still be there, and I can stick around inside until the storm ends! Rumble half-galloped half-bounced to the bright red wall, and ran around to the door, pulling his hood further over his head.
“Miss Cheerilee!” he shouted, not very loudly at first. “Miss Cheerilee!” He knocked on the door loudly , but there was no answer. “Buckwheat,” he muttered. He couldn’t fly home in this storm, Rumble knew that; yet staying exposed in such drenching rain, even with a raincoat, wasn’t the wisest option. Scruching up against the side of the schoolhouse, trying to shelter as much he could, Rumble wondered how in Celestia he was going to get out of this situation.
My poor book’s going to be ruined, and I’ll get sick and Flitter and Cloudchaser are going to have hangovers, he thought sadly.
Suddenly he heard a muted slamming sound from around the side of the schoolhouse. Rumble shot towards the noise, tripping over his slipping hooves and tumbling head over hooves. He righted himself and edged more carefully along the wall, turning his eyes away from the stinging rain.
Finally, after a lifetime of slowly edging closer, Rumble reached something he almost face-hoofed himself for forgetting: the trapdoor into the basement, where the Foal Free Press held their meetings and printed their newsletter. The trapdoor must have come loose a while before, and been slammed closed by the wind. Rumble pushed open the trapdoor.
He jumped inside and kicked the wildly flapping doors closed, before falling down the steps to the basement.
It was a lot quieter down here, and Rumble’s ears felt heavenly after the cacophonous rain outside. He carefully got up and looked around the dim room, where he noticed something odd.
Two colts were staring, wide-eyed, right back at him.
Rumble blinked and slumped against the basement wall, closing his eyes. Why does this happen to me, of all ponies?
Something moved, and Rumble’s eyes jerked open. He had a disorienting feeling that he had just woken up – the blurriness of his vision didn’t help much. A pale blue shape took form alarmingly close to Rumble. He flinched and sneezed. Shady Daze was standing in front of him, wearing a bemused expression and an ink-stained green cap.
Shady Daze stepped back, giving Rumble enough space to stand up. “Now really isn’t a good time to apply for the newspaper,” he said. “We’re sort of busy, and generally ponies shouldn’t go out in storms…” he trailed off as Rumble shook off his hood, exposing his face.
“Sh-shady Daze. I thought you were sick,” Rumble said, blurting it out before he could think of anything else. Something’s obviously gone wrong there.
“Wait – Rumble?” Shady Daze peered closer, narrowing his blue eyes. “Wow, you look weird with that hoodie on. We didn’t recognise you. Hey, do Pegasus feathers repel water?”
Rumble ignored the question, suddenly aware that he was completely dripping wet. He didn’t care so much about appearances, but not knowing how dishevelled he must look didn’t decrease his mortification. Shady Daze’s comment hadn’t seemed to be a jibe at Rumble’s bedraggled state, but Rumble was embarrassingly bad at judging ponies.
“Do they repel water?” Shady Daze repeated, turning to ask the other pony this time. Rumble turned to where Shady Daze was looking and immediately jerked away in shock.
“Y-yeah, sort of,” Featherweight said in a tiny voice, as if he couldn’t muster anything louder. Rumble felt shaky and realised the whip-thin colt was staring at him.
“Well, umm… anyway,” Featherweight said, “that’s irreverent. We need to find out… uh, I mean, why are you here? Rumble, I mean. I uhh… didn’t think you… what I mean is that I wouldn’t have thought you’d… I mean, why are you out in this storm?”
Featherweight spoke so little at school that Rumble wasn’t sure if this bumbling way of talking was usual for him, or if Featherweight felt embarrassed about cheating. Either way it made Rumble nervous.
He flicked his ears and smoothed back his sodden mane. “ A book,” he said slowly, not wanting to have to repeat himself. “I lost it earlier.” He paused for a moment, and then blurted out, “and the word is ‘irrelevant’, not ‘irreverent’.” Featherweight opened and closed his mouth like a stranded fish, speechless with either surprise or irritation. Rumble tended to have that effect.
Shady Daze tilted his head and frowned in sympathy, blind to the other foals’ awkwardness. “Such a shame. Any idea where you left it? I can help you look when the storm ends!”
The mortification of landing himself in this ridiculous situation lessened a bit with Shady Daze’s kind words and expression. Maybe this won’t turn out so terribly after all, even if Featherweight is here. Shady Daze seems alright, even if I hardly know him. Against his good sense, Rumble started to hope that maybe this chance meeting might result in a better relationship with Shady Daze, if not outright friendship. He’d probably just misinterpreted that comment about wet feathers.
A flash of light pierced the dim room, and the other two colts jumped in unison. The fact that Rumble managed to sit still and maintain his dignity buoyed his confidence a bit, and he decided to try and make the best of this situation.
“Well,” Rumble began tentatively, “I – I think I must have left my saddlebag open, and the book fell out while I was flying home.“
Shady Daze twitched his tail, his expression curiously intense. “You found it?”
Rumble shrugged. “I don’t know how long I was looking for, but I have no idea where it is. I’ll – I’ll probably never see it again, after this storm.” Rumble allowed himself a little sigh as he accepted that inevitability; he’d really wanted to finish that book.
Without warning Shady Daze’s expression changed from curious to exasperated, and before Rumble knew it he and the smaller colt were nose-to-nose.
“You left a book outside, in this weather?” As if to illustrate his words, a volley of thunder crashed around the basement. “It won’t even exist in the morning! How could you do something so careless?”
Rumble scrambled back into the corner and felt utterly confused. Hadn’t they just been talking calmly a moment ago?
“H-h-hey,” he said through freshly chattering teeth. “I didn’t l-leave it outside on purpose. And I went searching for it for… for ages! Even when it started raining, okay. So, don’t… oh, just, will you… ugh!”
Rumble caught himself before slamming his head into the wall, and just shuddered. He always sounded so eloquent in his head, then couldn’t get the words out properly.
Featherweight stepped between Shady Daze and Rumble, hovering nervously. “Hey, come on, it’s just a book. Don’t get so worked up.” The others kept silent.
Featherweight touched his slender hooves to the wooden floor and spread his wings in a gesture of conciliation. “Look, just forget about it. There are better things to worry about. Like for instance, what we’re going to do about Rumble.” Rumble ducked his head, scowling.
“Leave, right?” Rumble was glad that anxiety didn’t make him blush.
“Well, I’m no expert on storms,” Shady Daze said, eerily cheerful again, “but I think we’d be committing pony-slaughter if we let you leave now.”
He doesn’t seem too troubled about that, Rumble thought. Given how much conflict had arisen in only a few minutes, Rumble had doubts about surviving the night.
Infuriatingly, Rumble felt betrayed by Shady Daze. Another of his faults that Rumble was perfectly well aware of was his gullibility and trust; annoyingly, this only made him more aware of when things went wrong and added to his frustration. Rumble knew that he never seemed to learn from his social mistakes, and that only made it all the worse.
Rumble sat in the corner with an old, red woollen blanket draped around his shoulders. It wasn’t very good for soaking up water, and it itched, but he was warmer now.
He hadn’t moved at all since Shady Daze had backed him into this corner except to lie and down and get as comfortable as possible on the hard floor. The others had apparently been doing work for the Foal Free Press before Rumble catapulted down the stairs; they’d returned to that after finding the blanket. There wasn’t much else they could do, and Rumble was glad that all the attention wasn’t focused on him anymore.
Now Rumble watched as Shady Daze fiddled with his printing press and Featherweight read papers on his desk. Given nothing else to do, he theorised crazily about why Shady Daze was in the school basement when he should by all rights be sick and home. Maybe his parents had given him a day off, maybe he’d just skipped school, or become miraculously better and decided to come and help Featherweight. Maybe.
Rumble sniffled a little and tried to ignore the headache that was wrapping its claws around his skull. He was sick, hopefully with nothing more than a chill, but he was resigned either way; if he was going to experience consequences for going out in a storm, they may as well start and end as soon as possible.
“Bucking machine!” Shady Daze stamped his hoof on the ground and shook his head so violently that Rumble expected his flimsy green cap to go flying.
Shady Daze collapsed onto the ground and put his hooves over his eyes. “It’s broken.”
Featherweight gasped.“Wh-wh – how? We’re supposed to have a new edition tomorrow! Can’t you fix it?”
“Yeah, unless Rumble over there’s an expert mechanic this isn’t going to get fixed. It’s like, I mean it’s really old; it’s just warn out.” Shady Daze raised his forelegs in a gesture of surrender.
Featheweight lethargically lowered his head and took a deep breath. Rumble thought he saw him muttering something before Shady Daze caught his eye.
The blue colt had his head on his hoof now and was staring at Rumble intently. “You wouldn’t happen to know how a printing press works, would you?”
Rumble shook his head and almost winced at the way Shady Daze’s eyes shuttered. It reminded him of Thunderlane for the first few months after leaving Cloudsdale – though a broken printing press seemed slightly less catastrophic then all Rumble’s brother had endured.
Rumble decided to try a joke. “Well, if it’s that old maybe you need an antiquarian instead.” Shady Daze didn’t reply.
Featherweight put his hooves to his head and seemed to think very deeply. “Shady.” He paused. “Shady, we’ll be fine. We can still work on the paper. We’ll ask the Ponyville Times if we can borrow a press tomorrow, or find someone to fix it.”
Shady Daze rolled onto his hooves, his diminutive stature hardly any taller than when he was lying down. “You’re way too optimistic; with our luck this storm will carry away every printing press all the way to Canterlot. But, if you want to, I’ll help.” The unpredictable foal determinedly placed his cap back on his head, and Rumble had the feeling he often got while watching other foals playing and having fun, the feeling that he was a complete third party, that he was watching from the outside; almost like reading a book.
Featherweight buzzed in the air, stirring dust motes around his rickety-looking desk. His expression could have brought the sun out even on a day like this. Rumble envied him, but only because of his current lonely position; overall, Rumble liked his life, his family (however strange), and the small beautiful moments throughout it. He could live without these two foals, and soon enough living with them wouldn’t be an issue.
Hunched uncomfortably in a corner, damp and itchy and catching a cold, unstimulated and socially awkward, he had a sudden confidence that just as he was he could survive this storm, and resume his course on the other side. A satisfied light had stirred to life in his brain.
Featherweight jumped over his desk and met Shady Daze with a disproportionate smile and a bro-hoof. A blinding light soared in through the high shuttered windows, followed almost simultaneously by a round of earthshaking thunder.
Rumble’s eyes stayed glued open, but the lights had gone off.
“Well,” Shady Daze's voice crept to Rumble through the darkness, “this sucks.”
