Darkened Skies

Sprocket opened his eyes again. His vision swam, everything was blurred, and he had a massive headache. He hadn't expect much anything else.

When he was able to see clearly, he started to observe his surroundings. He was strapped to a chair, unable to move. A single light hung from the ceiling of the concrete room. A door was directly in front of him. A few pipes wrapped around the room. There really wasn't much to the place at all.

However, Sprocket did notice something perplexing. His leg was bandaged and the gash across his chest was tended to. They wanted him alive.

_______

Sprocket cursed his unfortunate luck and turned to Twilight.

"Twilight, my ship is in the Ponyville Airports. Once you get me a navigator, you ca-" Sprocket didn't have time to finish his sentence.

The henchmen had already made their way to Sprocket.

"Are you Sprocket? Captain of the Marietta?" grunted one of the henchman in a very guttural voice.

          Sprocket looked at Twitch and motioned to the door with his head. Whatever was going on here, he didn't want his mechanical companion to be any part of it. Twitch got the message and zipped through the door way and back to the Marrietta.

         Sprocket took a deep breath, released it, and turned to face the henchman with a forced grin.

"Yes, I am Sprocket. And who are you gentlemen?"

The men were remarkably well-dressed. The one on the left wore a navy blue suit with white pinstripes running along it. He was pale green with a greased-back brown main. The one on the right wore a plain black suit with a red tie. He was grayish blue with an orange mane cut close to his head. They both donned reflective black sunglasses. The look on their faces showed that these men meant business, and when it was obvious they weren't going to return the smile, Sprocket dropped his immediately.

"Listen, I've already told your boss that I don't have to owe him anything"

The brutish stallions didn't agree. "We're not paid to hear your excuses, we're here to bring you to the Superintendent. He'll decide what to do with you."

Sprocket was still not going to so easily be taken.

"This really doesn't need to happen. You guys seem overworked. You should take a break. Just tell the Superintendent that you were unable to find me, alright? I'm only here for a small amount of time, anyway. One more errand and I was just about to leave, in fact!" said Sprocket nervously.

The henchmen were unconvinced. They flicked their hooves, and long, telescoping devices shot out from beneath the long sleeves of their jackets. On the ends of the batons, a current of electricity sparked. The henchman on the left raised his stun button threateningly in Sprocket's direction.

"Woah, woah! Alright, geez! I'll come, but next time you could just say 'no'," stammered Sprocket.

Sprocket wondered how Twilight fared in this situation. He looked over his shoulder in wonder.

She was gone.

Sprocket's heart pounded. She was gone. Where did she go? As if he couldn't help himself, he immediately brought a single word to his mind.

Traitor.

He heard something in the background, but was too lost in thought.

Traitor.

Whatever the case was, he was not going to allow these two henchmen to take him without a fight.

"I said move, damn it!" yelled the pinstriped stallion. He reared up and struck Sprocket across the back with the cattle prod. He fell to his knees in agony.

Slowly, Sprocket managed to pull himself into a standing position.

"Move, now!" barked the stallion.

Sprocket had to trust that Twilight had not abandoned him. With that in mind, he had to find a way to escape these pawns of the Superintendent. He couldn't be captured now. Instead, Sprocket gathered all the remaining force that hadn't been sapped by the batons and backed the two associates in the chest. Not expecting any resistance, the two were caught off guard and lost their balance. Quickly looking for an exit, he spied a backdoor behind the table he'd been previously sitting. He sprinted towards the door and ran out into the crowded streets of Ponyville.

          Sprocket took off as fast as he could. He spotted a alley and burst into it. He knew the thugs must be calling in some kind of support, at the very least reporting what had happened. The Superintendent hated him, he knew, but now he probably had a price on his head. That is, if he made it out alive.

          After coming out of the back alley, Sprocket examined his surroundings to get an idea where he was. The clearing was circular with a lone, round spire cropping up in the center. Around the spire were many booths with merchants and peddlers behind them. It was crowded, which was good, but the spire in the center was the town hall. Sprocket had virtually stepped into the Superintendent's front lawn.

          Sprocket had no choice but to push his way into the crowd. The alternative was to back track through less congested areas. That would make him more noticeable, and Sprocket couldn't afford it.

          Making his way around the market place was less than easy. Ponies everywhere were waiting to buy their goods, and not all were patient. Sellers called out to various ponies, offering them their wares, while the sounds of bartering, idle chat, and complaining easily overtook any other noises.

There are too many ponies here, thought Sprocket. Ever since the fall of the Celestial-Lunar Diarchy ten years prior, smaller settlements became the targets of larger city-states. It's not as if this was unexpected, but the reception to the possibility of smaller settlements being taken by violent force frightened most ponies into packing up and moving to their capitals. The result of the mass annex  to the cities brought filthy, over-crowded conditions.

But it's oh-so-lucky they can hide me.

_______

           Twilight navigated the gravel streets of the city, trying to appear as calm as possible. Sprocket was in trouble, and she had to help him out of it.

          Again.

          At any rate, she hoped Sprocket could handle himself during her absence. Twilight was going to have her hooves full with the navigator. Only one navigator would she trust he life with. And he was retired.

           Twilight arrived at Thunderlane's house minutes later. The use of the word "home" was an overstatement. The brick was chipping and was cracked in several areas. What pane of glass had not been shattered was grimy and dusty. The wooden features of the shelter had green paint peeling off of them.

          She  trotted her way up the cracked cobblestone path that lay upon the overgrown grass. At the end of the short path, a door rested on rusted hinges. Twilight knocked three times. With each knock, more flakes of old green paint fell from the door onto the cold stone.

          A moment later, a dark gray pegasus with a mowhawk-styled mane opened the door. His hair was a light cyan-white color, with a lighter color forming streaks down his mane. He always struck Twilight as a ghost of his former self, as if he had become only but a husk of what used to be an energetic, athletic, and generally friendly stallion. Instead, she saw eyes filled with pity and loss and an almost impermeable air of lonely isolation and depression. Even talking to him was a chore, being that he was always so terribly morbid.

          Those bright yellow eyes looked at her with such an empty stare, under which were bags that showed the fatigue he endured on a regular basis, as was usual for him. He did not open his mouth to communicate, he only just stood there, staring.

          "Thunderlane?" asked Twilight, cautiously.

          Thunderlane gave a small nod and a suppressed, barely audible sound, which Twilight assumed was a "yes." His answer seemed more to remind himself of who he was rather than to confirm Twilight's question.

          Twilight herself momentarily wondered if he was the right candidate. As skilled as this pegasus was, the years of darkness and conflict in the unforgiving and terribly cold world had taken their toll on him. However, she would be hard pressed to find another as capable and knowledgeable as him.

            So, regardless of the condition of his mental faculties, Twilight found it gainful to employ him.

          "Thunderlane," she took a deep breath, "I need your help. My friend and I, we need a navigator. We need you. You're the most talented one here and I need someone I can trust."

          Instead of directly answering her question, he instead shut those dreary eyes of his and shook his head slowly. He reached for the door to close it, and would have succeeded if Twilight had not stopped it with her hoof. Almost as if he didn't notice, which was, given his state, completely possible, he slowly walked down the narrow hallway. His house on the inside reflected it's condition on the outside: the striped wallpaper was torn in seemingly random areas and was peeling off in others. What picture frames had not fallen off the walls had cracked glass. Immediately to Twilight's left and right were two rooms, what appeared to be a foyer and a kitchen, respectively. At the end of the long hallway was a spiraling staircase, of which there were steps missing and cracked.

          Twilight quickly shut the open front door and trotted over to Thunderlane, who this time looked irritated. He exhaled though muzzle and turned to Twilight, who noted that this was the most emotion he had shown in several years.

          "Twilight, why do you think I don't do anymore navigating! I hate it. The things I saw were terrible, and I refuse to do it again. Hell, aren't you supposed to be smart? Should you know this by now?!"

         Twilight took much offense to that. She was not stupid, not an imbecile, and she would not stand to be called that.

          "Thunderlane! Look at yourself! You're a wreck! You have nothing to be proud of, absolutely nothing! All you do is sit here and be a damned recluse. Maybe your past isn't squeaky clean, but no one else is! Not ever since a damned decade ago! So how about you actually do something with yourself instead of being a waste of space!"

          That was it. Thunderlane looked at her with a malice she had not seen him give anyone before. She had pushed him over the edge. Instead of retaliating and yelling back, which Twilight had expected, he simply turned away from her and continued up the stairs.

          "I'm sorry . . . " said Twilight in a fruitless effort to apologize, but it was too late. She had said too much, let her anger and personal pride get the best of her, and now she was facing the repercussions of her actions. So, she left.

          She went towards the Airports. She didn't know what she would tell Sprocket. She had failed.

         Just then, she heard the sound of hooves rapidly trotting against the gravel roads. She turned around to see Thunderlane, this time with a saddlebag belted across his stomach and flight goggles strung around his neck. He had a neutral expression on his face, neither upset nor happy.

          With a bit of confidence in his voice, he said, "You're right, I do need to do something with my life."

          Twilight gave a small grin as he passed her on the way to the Airports.

______

          Sprocket tried to act normal. However, he was nervous. The Superintendent had muscle out in the crowd, undoubtedly looking for him. The only thing that kept him from getting spotted was the fact that navigating the congregation of ponies was like trying to push an anvil: slow, time consuming, and not at all efficient.

          Maybe fifteen minutes had passed since he had entered the city's center. He was, more or less, three-quarters through to the other side of the large circle. Much of his time was spent hiding from goons and not actually moving through the crowd.

          Like now.

           Sprocket stood in a line to buy some apples from a stand. At the stand, a yellow mare with a bright red mane and a large, wide brimmed hat stood,  advertising what seemed to be delicious treats. She looked familiar, but he couldn't place who she was.

It doesn't matter. She's irrelevant, thought the logical portion of his mind.

          To get his mind off of her, he looked to his sides. On his left stood a bright pink mare in a deep conversation with another pale purple mare. On his right, a dark yellow stallion with a cropped brown mane and wearing a gray shirt with long sleeves looked worried, almost panicky. His pale blue eyes were twitchy and kept fidgeting back and forth between Sprocket and the stand.

          Sprocket, trying to console him, asked him, "What's wrong, man?"

          The stallion jumped, seemingly afraid of Sprocket. He moved his left hoof to his right leg, lifting the sleeve to reveal a red flare strapped to his extremity.

          He was a Superintendent plant.

          "Don't do it," said Sprocket, with an undeniably hostile edge to his voice, " You do it, and I'll find you. I'll make your life a miserable hell, mark my words."

           The plant merely shook his head with a overwhelmingly sad look in his eyes, and whimpered, "I'm so sorry."

          The pony lifted his arm.

          "You son of a bitch," was the only thing Sprocket could say.

          The flare stuck the brick road, exploding into red smoke and spark.

           "There he is!" was heard throughout the crowd.

          Sprocket had to make the best of the situation. When the flare ignited, the ponies in the general vicinity backed away, perhaps out of wonder. However, Sprocket knew one thing:

          Flares hurt like hell.

          Sprocket quickly kicked the flare with his right hoof into the crowd ahead of him. It struck a pony on the chest, who promptly screamed in pain from the burn. As Sprocket suspected, this did not only create chaos, but the other ponies backed up to avoid touching the flare.

          "Get back, come on!" yelled Sprocket as he kicked the flare again. Part of him felt bad about it, yet part of him saw it as a necessity. He decided to not judge the morality of his action at this moment.

          Two more kicks into the crowd, who had gotten terribly efficient at avoiding the flare, and the street to the Airports opened to him. However, the goons he'd been hiding from burst out of the crowd as well, stun batons drawn.

          It was time to go.

          Sprocket sprinted down the stone streets of Ponyville, avoiding pedestrians and carts on the street. He had nearly made it to the Airports when an explosion erupted behind, sending stone and earth into the air.

          "Shit!" was the only thing that Sprocket could say, which he felt was enough to summarize the situation.

          Out of a street corner came a metal beast, the pinnacle of earth pony technology. Someponies called it a MAP, or a Mobile Artillery Platform. Most just called it a tank. It was essentially a long metal box that was angled steep in the back and gradually in the front with treads attached to either side. On the top was a shallow platform there the gunner could fire an oversized ballista. It operated almost exactly like an airship's.

          The appearance of the tank meant that Sprocket was now expendable. This was going to complicate things. The tank would easily turn the Marietta into an ash pile. That wasn't his main concern, however. Not getting gored by an explosive bolt was.

          Finding the nearest exit, Sprocket took a left into an alley. The rumbling of gears, hissing of steam, and crunching of treads on the stone roads confirmed that the tank was going to fire at him in the alley. As if his life depended on it (which it did), he sprinted as fast as he possibly could.

           The tank stopped to take up a firing position.

          In front of Sprocket, the alley turned left.

          The gunner aimed.

          Sprocket dashed around the corner.

          The gunner fired.

          Everything became eerily quiet, save a ringing noise. The force of the blast knocked Sprocket off of his feet and into the side of a brick building. Dazed by the shock, he could only lay there, wishing he were killed.

          But death is not so nice.

           Instead, a soldier in the Superintendent's army came through the alley, whacked him in the head with the stun baton, and Sprocket saw no more.