Chapters The airship christened the Marietta descended over the City-State of Ponyville into the designated dock reserved for such craft. A recent feat of technology, airships looked every bit like their naval-faring cousins, however, in place of sails were massive blimps. The hull was covered in thick sheets of armor, and The ship itself was suspended by ropes which were attached to the blimp. In that sense, the Marietta was indistinguishable from any other airship. However, the large ballista on the aft of the ship was not something you saw every day. It meant that this ship saw combat. This was a warship.
A grayish-emerald green Pegasus with tousled gray and crimson main, a short, spiky tail, and the cutie mark of a gear sat at the helm of the Marietta , taking pride in the attention his ship had garnered. The Marietta was not easy to miss. It was a twenty meter long, seven meter wide hulking giant compared to most conventional airships, but was dwarfed by larger cargo-carrying airships. Above the ship’s captain was his sole companion: a brass hummingbird. Its cyan eyes glowed while it metal wing flapped frantically to keep him aloft.
The warship touched down at the docks. A large brute of a pony with a voice to match greeted the Marrietta’s captain with a broad and friendly smile.
“Sprocket? Is that you? I never s’pected to see you in Ponyville again, after what happened last time. Nasty business, that,” said the dockworker.
“Really? I had it under the impression people thought I was looking for trouble,” replied the pegasus.
“You do, I just thought you actually had limits to your stupidity!” laughed the dockworker.
“Right. Anyway, is the Librarian still here? I need her help,” asked Sprocket.
The dockworker’s smile faded quickly. This was not unexpected.
“Not this again, Sprocket. I care about you, man, I really do, but it isn’t worth it.”
“You know what? To me, it is.”
“I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”
“I won’t be the one being hurt, this time.”
“I’m just saying-“
“Would you kindly just shut up!” burst Sprocket.
The dockworker was taken back. “I’m just trying to help you. But fine, you win. The library closed down months ago, but the Librarian rents a room at the local inn.”
Sprocket sighed deeply. “Thank you. Now if you excuse me, I have some business to at-“
“Just be careful. For me. If you get hurt again, I couldn’t help but blame myself.”
Sprocket mentally rolled his eyes. Sometimes earth ponies were way too quick to feel at fault for things that are beyond their control. “Yes, I’ll be fine. Now, I really need to go. I have a Librarian to talk to.”
Sprocket made his way down the ramp that led off of the suspended docks. The inn was on the other side of the town, so he had some walking to do. As he trudged down the muddy streets of the great city's back alleys, he noticed that heavy, dark storm clouds had blown in during his chat. He counted his blessings that he wasn’t in the air when a storm hit.
An irritated buzz interrupted Sprocket’s thoughts.
Sprocket turned to his mechanical companion. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. He just doesn’t understand.”
Sprocket and Twitch, the mechanical hummingbird, seemed to have a special connection. Sprocket didn’t quite understand it himself, but then again, when did the world last make sense?
He knew the answer to that. Ten years ago. Before the Lunar-Celestial war. Before the proud race of ponies had been reduced to independent city-states warring over resources and bandits clans raiding caravans.
Sprocket’s head smashed into the side of a wall with thump. He backed up, dazed, and looked at the sign in front of the building. The Ponyville Inn.
“Well, Twitch, let’s go see our old friend Twilight, shall we?”
Sprocket opened the door. Inside, the place was pretty crowded. The bartender took no notice of him. Fine by him. He needed to stay incognito for as long as possible.
Scanning the sea of ponies, he searched for the purple unicorn. After a few moments of searching, Twitch let off a high-pitched chirp, motioning towards the corner. There, at a small rounded table, sat a bored-looking unicorn. Sprocket strode over to the table casually, trying not to attract attention to himself. Despite his efforts, several ponies had a surprised look on their face as they whispered to the ponies next to them. Obviously, he wasn’t staying incognito very long.
The mare hadn’t even noticed him sit down. She was too engrossed in a large, dusty, brown tome. In her mouth was a long tobacco pipe. Periodically, she would let a huff of smoke escape from her mouth. Sprocket cleared his throat in an attempt to get her attention.
Nothing.
Sprocket rolled his eyes. Once again, he cleared his throat, even louder.
Nothing.
Sprocket got up from his seat and slammed both of his front hooves on the table. He then swung one arm back and knocked the pipe from her mouth.
This got her attention.
“And just what do you think you’re doing, you rude son-of-a-“ Twilight stopped when she was who was at fault, “Oh.”
Sprocket sat back down. He hadn’t meant to make a scene. He just hated being ignored so blatantly like that, accident or not. “You know smoking is bad for you, right?”
“I know very well what is and isn’t good for me, but you try losing a job you’ve done all your life and see how you feel,” replied Twilight, gruffly.
Sprocket forced himself to keep a level head. Now was not the time to blow his fuse. “Twilight, I need your help.”
Twilight looked puzzled at first, but then realization dawned on her. “This isn’t about your revenge is it? I thought I told you last time that that was purely between you and Rainbow Da-“
“I understand that you are not a part of this at all, but I can’t do it by myself! I need your help. Listen, Rainbow hates you, and you know this. Why do you keep defending her? You think there is some chance you can become friends again? Fat chance! Whatever happened between you and her after the War separated you two forever. Get over it! Stop living in the past and wake up already! Welcome to the Equestria you helped create!”
Twilight was at a loss for words. When she finally composed herself, she had an irritated expression on her face. “Why do you persist in making the Equestria I helped create an even worst place that it already is?”
It was Sprocket’s turn to be at a loss for words. He had never really thought about it. After a few moments of pondering, he looked up and said, “Survival of the fittest. If I can’t adapt to this new world, I will be killed off. I cannot allow that monster you once called a friend to maim anyone like she has to me.”
“Is it really that big of a deal, what she did to you?”
“Yes, Twilight, it is. You wouldn’t know what it’s like to fly, would you? There is a feeling of freedom that is unmatched to anything else I’ve ever felt. At one point, it was the only thing that kept me from ending my life. And now I can’t ever feel like that again. Because of her. Because she became a bandit and I was an unfortunate merchant that happened to be captured. I may have escaped the bandit camp alive, but part of me died there. The part that loved flying high. All because I was at the wrong place at the wrong time. But she doesn’t know that. She doesn’t know the pain that comes with losing the only thing keeping you sane! She needs to feel that pain and misery, the pain and misery I’ve carried with me for the last two dreadful years of my life!”
Twilight took a minute to think. After several minutes of pondering, she said, “Alright, I’ll help you. But you better make it worth my while. Risking my neck for you isn’t going to be cheap.”
Sprocket leaned back and sighed. “Thank you. I have spent my years since I last talked to you doing jobs, and I’ve racked up quite a lot of bits. Half of them are yours.”
Twilight raised an eyebrow. “Half? Are you just going to keep the rest?”
“No,” Sprocket replied, “You are my captain on this adventure. I need to recruit a navigator for the travelling we’ll be doing. Happen to know anybody that could help us with that?”
“Hmm,” said Twilight, “I just may happen to know a guy fit for the job, but first . . .,” she pointed towards the doors, “I’m assuming those two burly ponies staring angrily at you aren’t your friends. Am I right?”
Two Years Prior
A pair of ballistas on the aft and stern of the ship were the only things that kept the bandits from boarding the Concord immediately. The large crossbows had simple controls. Peddles were located at the base of the circular platform that held the ballista. Peddling forward rotated it to the right, while peddling backwards rotated it left. At the forward end of the platform, a wooden beam was attached. The beam had a notch where the crossbow would rest, and a small hole was drilled through both the beam and the bow, where a pole would be inserted to act as a lever for aiming up and down. A rotating handle drew back the string to fire again, and ammunition was placed in a rack on the side of the ballista, which would feed bolts into the firing position when it was reloaded. Ballista fired massive meter long bolts with explosive tipped broad heads at high speeds. The gunner sat on a chair behind the ballista.
A unicorn sat at the gunner’s position on the forward ballista, frantically peddling, trying to hit certain spots on the bandit’s airships. These were lightly armed and armored airships, so hitting them is easier said than done. The Concord , however, was a hefty freighter. Despite this, bandits were after the supplies in the trading vessel, and thus held their fire. If they were to damage any of the ship’s cargo, it would be useless to them. Instead, they darted from hill to hill, trying to find a spot to hit that wouldn't damage any of the cargo.
Sprocket was one deck below, checking certain conditions of the ship. If any components were to overheat, they could accidently cause the ship itself to explode. If, by chance, the component didn’t explode, it wouldn’t function properly, and the ship would plummet. Right now, all the parts of the ship were hot, but none were overheating to a serious degree.
“Captain Rolston?” called Sprocket to the stairwell, “We can’t keep this up much longer!”
Captain Rolston peeked his head down into the lower deck. “I know, Sprocket! Try and keep us cooled long enough for us to escape!” The grey Pegasus was growing old, and had a long white beard to prove it.
Sprocket trusted the man. If he hadn’t, he would have abandoned the ship almost immediately. Sprocket assumed his crewmates had the same amount of trust and respect, because no one looked ready to abandon their post, either.
Boom!
Sprocket was thrown to the starboard side of the ship. The port side of the ship’s hull had a gaping hole in the center. They were trying to down the ship by attacking the boiler. Gutsy of them, but maybe the Concord had proved too much of a nuisance. Sprocket slowly stood up. The blast had given him a few scrapes and a large cut across his chest that he would need to deal with sooner or later. All things considered, he was in good shape.
The boiler, however, was exposed to enemy fire.
Sprocket sprinted up the stairs to the top deck as fast as he possibly could. There, he was greeted to a scene of absolute panic. The unicorn manning the ballista had been injured and curled up beside the turret. In his place was a strong earth pony, who seemed quite capable of moving the heavy weapon. Rolston was shouting orders over the chaos, trying to salvage what was left of the ship and its journey.
It was quite clear to Sprocket that the Concord was a lost cause. However, perhaps out of attachment, Rolston was blinded to the danger he posed to the crew and himself by not abandoning the ship. Sprocket had to talk sense into him for both the crews’ and his well-being.
He walked up to the captain. This was going to hurt Rolston. Hard. He had spent so much time on the airship that he grew very fond of owning it. This was his life’s work.
“Rolston . . .,” Sprocket said, regretfully, “Give it up.”
The old captain’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, no, no, no, my dear boy! I can’t give up now! See? I think we’re winning now!”
The captain was clearly wrong. The ships were light, but vastly out-numbered them by at least seven ships to their one.
“Please . . . Rolston. Look me in the eye.”
The captain, reluctantly, did as he was told.
“If you don’t abandon ship, every one of the crew will die. I will, you will. Hell, Sparks has already been injured on the ballista. Give it up. Please.”
The captain glanced around at the ship that was falling to pieces. He sighed heavily and hung his head low. “You’re right. Get all the pegasi to carry any unicorns or earth ponies off of the ship. Abandon ship.”
“Yes, sir!” said Sprocket. As much as it pained him to break the old stallion’s heart, it was necessary.
The injured were the first to be moved. Sprocket was exempt from the rescue effort because he lacked the strength and wingpower were not enough to lift the crewmates. Instead, he kept the ship in the best shape possible while others transported the remaining crew. Throughout the entire time, the ballista at the fore end of the ship had to be manned to at least scare off any of the bandit's ships. They would, no doubt, see that a rescue effort was being staged, which would only bolster their confidence. This, coupled with the hole blown in side of the ship, made the Concord very susceptible to attack.
The abandonment of the ship went well, all things considered. Only three ponies remained aboard: Rolston, an earth pony named Spring, and Sprocket. Spring gunned the ballista, holding off any would-be boarders. Sprocket, who had been a deck below, galloped up the stairs. A look of confusion crossed his face when he saw Spring.
"What is he still doing here?" asked Sprocket to Rolston.
Rolston did not make eye contact with Sprocket, or even speak to him.
Sprocket became irritated with the captain. Sharply and firmly, he asked, "Rolston, what is Spring doing here?"
Rolston turned his head to meet Sprocket's eyes slowly. "He volunteered to stay behind and defend the ship while we leave. He's wounded. Bad."
Upon closer inspection, Sprocket did notice a large gash on his chest, a fatal wound. Perhaps shrapnel from a bandit's blind fire?
Sprocket didn't know what to do. He could leave the pony to escape with the rest of the crew, or he and Rolston could try and carry him together. Carrying him was not going to make a difference, he was going to die, but it did make him feel better that he had tried his hardest to save his comrade. There was really only one choice that Sprocket could make.
"Rolston, you take one side of him, and I'll take the other."
Rolston nodded. He was surprisingly strong for such an old pony, and he knew their combined strength could carry Spring off of the ship. They had to.
"Come on, give me your arm, Spring. You're getting out of here," said Sprocket as he circled around to the earth pony's left. Rolston flanked him on the right, motioning for his arm.
Spring hesitated, confused. "No, no! Get out of here! I'm going to die anyway!"
"We'll see," replied Rolston.
As the two pegasi lifted Spring out of his seat, a ballsy bandit decided to exit the cove of the large hill it had hid behind to attack the rear of the ship. The ballista fired, penetrating the stern's armor into the lower decks.
"We need to move, now! Come on, Rolston!"
Even as he said it, Sprocket saw the gunner reloading his ballista. They were in a perfect position to shoot the boiler.
The gunner fired.
It was as if time was suspended in air. The bolt of the ballista rocketed towards the exposed midsection of the Concord . Sprocket turned to Rolston, whose eyes were full of fear. The bolt's explosive head nailed the boiler, virtually splitting the ship in half. The ship, torn asunder, dragged down the ripped blimp of the Concord . The blimp engulfed all three ponies. Sprocket felt Spring's hooves slip from his as the massive force of the balloon dragged them to the earth at speed. As much as Sprocket tried to slow his descent, it was futile. Sprocket braced for the impact as well as he could, hoping his death would be swift. He hit the ground, felt a pain like no other before, and saw only black.
When Sprocket came to it, the first sensation he felt was that of terrible pain. His vision was blurred, not that there was much to see. He was trapped under the blimp of the Concord laying on his stomach. He tried using his rear left leg to push himself out of the balloon. Pain shot up through his leg and he opened his mouth in a silent scream. Perhaps it was best to stay put.
At that moment, he heard a trio of voices. One a deep, gruff stallion voice, an even-toned mare's voice, and another mare's voice that sounded . . . strange. As if he had known it well, once.
"It was our kill, and you know this. Stop being so greedy!" said the unknown mare's voice.
"Hey, watch yourself!" said the gruff stallion.
"Calm yourself, Brawn! I don't want to make this anything but civil. Now, Mariette, how about you take you and your posse back to your ships before I lose my patience?" said the familiar voice.
"No! I'm not going to just let you take the spoils for yourself! You at least have to give me a cut!" said the mare, whose name was apparently Marietta.
"Fine, " replied the other voice, "but most of the cargo is damaged, so don't expect anything big. Oh, and Brawn, round up the survivors. There's and old pegasus at the bow of the ship and another one stuck in the balloon."
Fear came over Sprocket as a brutish grey earth pony with a short, brown mane dragged him by the head in front of the wreckage. Shortly afterwards, he dragged Rolston by the rear leg, depositing him beside Sprocket. He seemed barely able to think. Sprocket, however, took a moment to conjecture what had happened. Apparently, Marietta and the eerily familiar voice were two bandit leaders, but Marietta's bandit group scored the kill. Marietta's group is not as powerful as the other, but she still demanded a cut.
Right then, a blue-green pegasus with a spiky mohawk-style gray mane walked to stand and face them. She had strikingly bright amber eyes that almost radiated fear into other people.
"So, you're the persistent ones who tried to fight. Good attempt, but you were being an idiot. Do you even know who you are dealing with?" said Marietta.
Sprocket said nothing.
"I thought so. You just don't realize who you are dealing with. Well, I'll let her introduce herself."
The familiar voice spoke once again, as if taunting him. "Got them lined up, Brawn? Good."
Through the wreckage of the freighter came a cyan pegasus clad in metal segmented armor with cerise eyes. The most distinguishing feature, however, was her mane and tail. Six colors, depicting a rainbow. Then he remembered. Long ago, in a time now nearly forgotten, he idolized her. Put her on a pedestal no one could but her could attain. He envied her strong wings and fast flight.
She was Rainbow Dash. She was his enemy. And he hated her for it.
"Are you sure these are the only ones, Brawn? Did you check around for more?" said the Deceiver.
"Yeah, I'm sure. Saw one of them impaled on a broken plank," answered Brawn. Sprocket hadn't noticed it at first, but Brawn donned a suit of segmented leather armor that stopped at his stomach and halfway down his forelegs, similar to the Deceiver's.
"Good, now get me my crossbow."
Sprocket did nothing. He couldn't. It was as if he was paralyzed by the rage he felt inside.
The Deceiver spoke again, this time to Rolston, who seemed to be experiencing Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Shell shocked.
"You. You're the captain of this wreck?"
The captain said nothing.
"Answer me!" she yelled as she struck him across the face with her hoof.
"He is!" barked Sprocket, not caring to make eye contact.
"Did I ask you?" said the Deceiver to Sprocket.
Brawn came back, holding a small device. At first glance, it looked like a piece of crap metal with a bracer on it. But Sprocket knew better. This was a weapon. It was a folding crossbow.
The Deceiver took the weapon from her bodyguard and fit it on her wrist. Then, she pressed a button on the top of it. Two limbs shot out from the sides of the body, where a string was attached to each end of the limbs. A small box-like device was placed on the top of the weapon. That was the rack, used for quick reloads. Three bolts were already stacked in the detachable rack. She pulled the string back and placed the tip of the crossbow to Rolston's forehead.
Rolston looked into the Deceiver's blank eyes.
She flicked he hoof down, releasing the drawn string.
The bolt entered Rolston's head, being lodged with the bolt's head poking out of the back.
Sprocket may have screamed. He couldn't tell. All he knew was that he jumped after the Deceiver. Pain shot up his hind leg, but he didn't care. Rolston was going to have some redemption before he died, which he most certainly would.
Sprocket tackled her, pushing her to the ground. He struck her several times across her face. She yelled something, but he could tell what she said. It was as if he was deaf to the world around him. Suddenly, he was yanked by his injured leg by one of the Deceiver's comrades. Another took him into a stranglehold. The last thing he remembered before he was unceremoniously knocked out by a swift buck to the head was promising to kill the Deceiver. To kill Rainbow Dash.
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.