Aviator

Aviator

Prologue

There was a reason most ponies tended to stay away from Manehattan’s North Docks after midnight. The place was creepy enough, with old hulks rusting away and broken, battered ships which had undergone repairs during the day, but it was its reputation as a hub for criminal activity that made it truly foreboding. Even police made their rounds as quickly as possible. Nopony dared stay at the docks for too long.

Yet it was here where a pony wearing a dark, sea-sprayed rain jacket stood, teeth chattering from cold, nervousness, or perhaps a combination of the two as he surveyed his surroundings. For a former Equestrian Army sharpshooter like himself, there was surprisingly little to see. Manehattan was shrouded in fog, and the docks weren’t much better. Spotting the pony he was supposed to meet would be next to impossible, and he was sure his contact preferred it that way.

Shivering and drawing his jacket tighter around himself, he thought about how he’d wound up in this position. Serving in the Armed Forces had been interesting enough, he supposed, but the pay was mediocre at best. He’d served his time and left for Manehattan. Most ponies, he reasoned, pursued a life of crime because they had no choice. He, on the other hoof, simply chose the life. Petty crime paid the bills and then some, or so he’d heard. This contact might finally be his chance for an entrance into Manehattan’s criminal underworld. And the job had been so simple…

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement amongst several derelict, grounded ships. It was a group of ponies moving steadily closer. Taking a gulp and trying to relax, the pony stood up straight and put his hoof in his jacket pocket, making sure the rolled-up soft binder was still there. He shuddered to imagine what might have happened if he’d met these ponies without holding up his end of the bargain. As the group drew closer, the pony in the lead spoke.

“You have it, I trust?”

The sharpshooter pulled the binder out of his jacket pocket. “Documents saved from the Hurricane Coast Air Base file shredder, just as promised.”

The pony snatched the binder and slid a bag of bits to the sharpshooter. “Your payment, as promised.”

The sharpshooter eyed the bits. It was a considerable sum, which would make what he planned to do next considerably harder to go through with.

“In lieu of payment, I would ask that you consider a different offer of mine.”

The pony froze, and in the darkness the sharpshooter thought he could see him narrowing his eyes.

“Oh? And what might that be, exactly?”

Taking a deep breath, the sharpshooter spoke. “I’m good with a bow, ex-military, like I told you before. I could be a great benefit to your group.”

The pony chuckled- a dry, deadly sound. “You seek a life of crime, do you? You probably think us petty thieves who rob banks for a living as well.”

“Is that not what crime is?” the sharpshooter said, taking a few cautious steps back.

“We currently have no openings,” the pony said, and while the sharpshooter couldn’t see his face, he imagined a thin sneer. “I hire by invitation only. And as for your so-called ‘irreplaceable’ skills-“

Without warning, there was a “click” and a crossbow bolt flew through the air, pinning a flap of the sharpshooter’s jacket to the boat behind him.

“Our sharpshooter position is more than filled. Good night.”

The ponies sank back into the darkness without a sound. Once he was sure they were gone, the sharpshooter wrenched his jacket free of the bolt. He wasn’t sure what the pony had wanted with the documents. He’d had a look himself- they were just pictures of some old, dusty mountain in the Badlands.

“That’s it,” he grumbled to himself as he left the docks, “from now on, it’s the straight and narrow. Criminals are crazy.”

The sharpshooter faded into the misty night; he’d played his small part in the grand scheme of things, but what the mysterious pony he’d met had planned was only beginning.