Skyfall: Retribution

Chapters

Chapter 1: Contingency
Chapter 2: Dead Ends
Chapter 4: Black Wraith
Chapter 5: Operation Phoenix
Prologue: A Ghost of a Memory
Chapter 3: Introspection

Chapter 1: Contingency

December 28, Modern Era Year 3

1132 Hours

Canterlot, Equestria

Tap tap tap tap.

Hooves rapped against the heavy oak table in steady rhythm like a drumline. Tap tap tap tap. It broke the silence like a maddening metronome. From his seat, Fleethoof listened to the beat. It worked its way into his brain, thrumming along to his heartbeat. His weary blue eyes stared across the table’s surface with no emotion or focus, lost to the maelstrom of memories swirling around his mind. He saw snow—so much snow dancing in the arctic air. Trees reached out to him with gnarled limbs from the darkness. A chill ran down his spine.

“…Captain?”

Fleethoof’s body shivered against the cold. The rapping drummed inside his brain. The darkness swallowed the trees like a ravenous predator. He reached up and grasped the small pendant hanging around his neck like it would disappear if he didn’t hold onto it. Where had the convoy gone? His gun felt heavy in his hooves. His hoof flexed over a grip that wasn’t there. His gun wasn’t in his hooves. Why wasn’t she responding?

“Captain Fleethoof?”

Celestia’s voice banished the cold and the dark from his mind. His head shot up, staring in surprise across the table as if he had just been shaken out of slumber. Princess Celestia and Princess Luna exchanged a look. Fleethoof saw the gamut of emotions pass through the two. Concern, fear, uncertainty.

“Are you feeling well?” Celestia asked.

Fleethoof felt warmth flush beneath his cheeks. “Yes, your majesty. I’m sorry, it must be the medication.” He lifted his injured leg hung in a sling in demonstration.

His eyes fell from the princesses before he could see their disbelieving looks. He didn’t want to know how bad his lie had been. Instead, he ran his gaze across the other ponies seated around the table. All of Skyfall had been gathered to the meeting in the castle, called forth by the princesses themselves. In light of recent events, Fleethoof wasn’t too surprised. He knew how well the investigation into their ambush had been going. That was to say, it wasn’t.

Everypony looked as downtrodden and defeated as he felt. Their attempts to draw out Alaric had been a catastrophic disaster as far as the record books were concerned. Failure twisted up Fleethoof’s insides like a sickness. His head was throbbing. He chalked it up to the fracture and concussion. And now here they sat, Sharp Shot rapping his hooves on the table while they waited for the last few ponies to arrive.

A gentle hoof rested on his shoulder, giving Fleethoof a start. He glanced to his side in a quick motion, eyes meeting the warm gold of Midnight’s. She said nothing, offering him instead a look that spoke volumes. He offered her a trace of a smile in return. His memory from before he woke up in Canterlot Royal Hospital was a blurry haze, but he distinctly remembered Midnight sitting in his ward, sound asleep in an uncomfortable looking armchair. She had waited for him to regain consciousness, the doctor had told him. She didn’t leave his side for a minute.

Fleethoof’s eyes dropped from hers, then made their way over to Valiant. The pony had his leg done up in a cast, but otherwise expressed no discomfort or pain, just the same disappointment everypony felt. He flinched as he imagined the pain he must have gone through. That stallion had an uncanny ability to draw fire in the worst ways possible.

“Are you okay, Fleet?” Midnight asked to his side. He cast her a sideways glance, not lifting his head from its hung state. “If you’re not, you don’t have to be here. We can—”

The doors leading into the room burst open before she could finish her suggestion to leave. Fleethoof listened as hooves pounded against the stone floors with murderous aggression, heading in his direction. His eyes drooped closed while he sucked in a slow breath, releasing it in one long sigh. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Where is he?!”

“Captain Armor, please calm down—”

“Get off me! Don’t tell me to calm down! Where’s Fleethoof?”

“I’m here,” Fleethoof responded as placidly as he could, leaving his eyes closed.

The hoofsteps thundered right up behind his chair, and the next thing Fleethoof knew, he was being spun around like a top. He made the mistake of opening his eyes. Shining had his hooves on either side of the stallion, pinning him to the chair as he loomed above him, a look more livid than Fleethoof had ever seen smoldering in his eyes.

“One job. You had one job to do! You promised me you’d look after her!” he shouted.

Behind him, a beige pony and two guards rushed up to Shining, throwing their hooves around him and trying to pull him away. The captain didn’t so much as budge. “Captain Armor, control yourself!”

Shining snorted and pushed the pony away, focusing all of his attention on Fleethoof. Fleethoof’s heart broke when he saw the hurt look in Shining’s eyes. He knew he had failed. He knew he had let everypony down. Seeing just how much he had let his best friend down only made it all the worse.

“…I’m sorry…”

“Oh, you’re sorry?” Shining scoffed and choked on his anger. “Why don’t you tell that to the ponies in the morgue? Why don’t you tell that to Cadance?!”

“Captain Armor,” Celestia started. “Lower your voice and have a seat.”

Shining Armor snorted again, but relented and moved away from Fleethoof. “I’ll stand.”

“Very well. Minister, have a seat. Guards, please leave us to our business.”

The soldiers saluted and made for the door while the beige pony straightened his wrinkled blazer and moved with fluid grace across the room to take a seat beside the princess. The room was flooded with a palpable tension. Shining Armor paced back and forth along the perimeter of the table. His rage radiated off of him like an aura. Sharp Shot had become quiet, no longer rapping his hooves out of boredom. Other than Shining’s steady clip-clop of hooves on the ground, the room was still.

“We all know why we are here, and we are all here for the same purpose,” Celestia said, glancing between the faces gathered around the table. “We are all concerned for the safety of Princess Cadance. It is our duty and our responsibility to find her and rescue her.”

“We wouldn’t have to save her if she was never captured…” Shining muttered.

Fleethoof snapped his eyes shut tight. The darkness came back. The cold chilled him to the bone. Cadance screamed from somewhere in time. But he couldn’t see anything. His fractured memory bounded from moment to moment, blending together in a whirlwind of snow and ice and dark colors.

“You need to stop saying things like that, sir,” Valiant spoke up in objection. “We did our best. You weren’t there.”

“If I was, this whole mess wouldn’t have happened at all.”

“Captain, Sergeant, control yourselves.”

“No. I’m sorry, Princess, but I will not,” Shining retorted. “Eight of my ponies are dead, another one wounded. Cadance is missing, and what do we have to show for it? Nothing! Four days of investigating and nothing! We are no closer to finding Cadance than when we began. Each day is another day she gets further and further away. It’s only a matter of time before we lose her completely!”

Celestia was taken aback by Shining’s outburst. “Captain, please settle down.”

Shining Armor laughed. “How can you even suggest that? Cadance, your niece and a princess of Equestria, has been kidnapped! How can you be so calm?!”

“Because panicking is exactly how you lose control of a situation like this. I am worried, Captain Armor, but losing my mind won’t help anypony—especially not Cadance,” Celestia said and motioned to an empty chair. “Sit. You’re going to worry yourself sick.”

Shining Armor relented and scraped a chair across the floor before plopping himself down gracelessly into it. Fleethoof opened his eyes and stared at the table. His eyes unconsciously trailed the grain in the wood while his memory ran rampant trying to piece itself together. Huge gaps dissected the event to a point of unfamiliarity. It was like trying to watch an old movie with parts of the footage clipped out. He heard the scream and saw the destroyed interior of the carriage, and the next he was stumbling through the snow. Why couldn’t he remember?

Voices rose out of the wind screaming through his memory, muffled and distant. Their shouts fell on deaf ears as he fought his way through the haze that had claimed him, just as he had fought through the snow and the bullets to get to Cadance. The table shook beneath his hooves. Somepony had hit it with tremendous force. The shock threw him back into the carriage. He was tumbling about in the darkness with Cadance mere inches away. She was reaching for him, her wide eyes full of fear and a plight for help.

And then she was pulled into the darkness.

“Fleethoof…?”

A nudge on his shoulder threw Fleethoof violently back into the present. His head snapped up, and he realized all eyes were upon him. A cold sweat had broken out across his brow and his hoof was shaking as it gripped onto the edge of the table. His hoof held in a sling was still tensed around an invisible gun. He followed the pressure that had brought him back with his eyes till he met Midnight’s. She looked like he was about to have a seizure at a moment’s notice.

He exhaled hard and released his tense muscles until his hoof unfurled. His heart raced in his chest like he were galloping across the plains instead of sitting idle before the rulers of his country. The adrenaline pumping through his veins mad whim feel sick to his stomach. He was losing control of himself.

“You see, Princess?” Shining Armor said with a motion to Fleethoof. “He’s in no condition to be doing anything right now! He’s barely paying attention right now!”

Celestia held up a hoof to Shining Armor. Her eyes, which had remained locked with Fleethoof’s, didn’t waver in their intensity for even the briefest of seconds. “Captain Fleethoof, could you please tell me what your opinion is of Captain Armor’s suggestion?”

Fleethoof froze. It was like middle school all over again. He had been called on to answer a question he hadn’t even heard, and he was just as screwed now as he was back then. Fleethoof delayed, racking his brain to try and remember anything he might have picked up subconsciously when he drifted out. Only blankness and snow greeted him.

“Captain…?”

“…I can’t, your majesty.”

“I see…” Celestia looked away, over to the pony she had addressed as the minister before. “I fear your recommendation must be followed, Minister, as well as yours, Captain Armor. Henceforth, Skyfall Unit shall be taken off active duty and Captain Armor’s troops will commence with the search for Princess Cadance.”

That caught Fleethoof’s undivided attention very quickly. “What? Your majesty, please—”

“Do as you see fit, Captain Armor. Just bring her back to us.”

“Yes, your highness.” Shining turned and shot a look at Fleethoof that stabbed him in the heart. “I won’t fail.”

“Princess Celestia, please let us assist in the search,” Fleethoof pleaded. “We’re of no use to you on the sidelines.”

“You’ll be no use dead either, Captain, and in your state, I’m convinced you’ll wind up that way.” Celestia’s rebuttal was gentle, yet adamant. He could tell there would be no persuading the princess. “Take the time off. That’s an order.”

“Princess, I must protest—”

“I’m sorry, Fleethoof, but my decision is final.”

“Princess—”

“Captain Fleethoof. If I may…” The minister leaned across the table towards him, extending a hoof as if he were reaching out to connect with him. “You are in no condition to be galavanting around the world doing Celestia knows what to your already beaten body. Take the time off to recover and recuperate, then come back when you’re at your full strength. If not for yourself, do it for your ponies. Running yourselves ragged will do your unit no good.”

Fleethoof was stricken silent by the politician’s sage words. He looked around the table at the faces of each of his teammates. They showed no remorse or reluctance or reservation. All he saw was concern. His eyes settled on Valiant—on the cast he wore. He glanced down at his own injured hoof. His brain knew recovering was the best option for his team right now.

His heart still refused to accept it.

“…Fine,” he muttered.

Shining Armor rose from the table in a rush and stormed with heavy hoofsteps past him out of the room. Fleethoof listened to the doors swing wide and then slam shut again and flinched. Shining Armor blamed him. He couldn’t fault him for that. He blamed himself.

Princess Celestia sighed and tipped her head to the ponies still seated and said, “Very well then. Go, enjoy your rests. Spend time with your loved ones. Shining Armor can handle things from here.” She turned her eyes to Fleethoof in particular. “You all just focus on getting well again. I don’t want to see you anywhere near your headquarters for a time. Is that clear?”

Fleethoof averted his eyes like a guilty foal whose mother had accused him of smashing a vase. He hadn’t been taken off active duty since the end of the war years ago, and even then that was only for a couple months. He had never been not on some sort of alert, ready to spring into action when needed. Now, the throbbing in his head and the ache that had settled in the joints in his wounded leg dared him to attempt any springing.

“Crystal, your majesty.”

Celestia sighed and rose from the table, her motherly expression softening in turn. “Go rest, my little ponies. You’ve done all you can do.”

The rest of Skyfall rose in respect while the princesses made their way back out to resume their royal duties before leaving themselves. Only Fleethoof remained, lingering at the table. He would have given them a customary salute, had such an action not threatened to put him facedown on the floor. His eyes remained lowered to the floor, not wanting to look the princesses nor his team in the eye. He had lost their niece while she was in his care. He had failed his teammates. How could he dare make eye contact with them?

“Captain Fleethoof.” Luna’s voice brought Fleethoof’s head up. She was standing beside him now with that beige stallion—the minister. “Are you positive you are well?”

Fleethoof did his best to appear resolute. “I’m perfect, your majesty. Never better…”

She gave him a sagacious smile; it was obvious she didn’t believe him, but she let it drop regardless. “I don’t believe you’ve met Minister Just Cause yet, have you?”

“Pleased to meet you, Captain. I’ve heard many great things.” The pony straightened the collar of his suit and offered a hoof to the captain, then retracted it with an embarrassed laugh at the acerbic look Fleethoof gave him when he lifted his injured leg. “Ah, right, the leg. Sorry.”

“No worries. You’re the minster of what exactly?”

The pony boasted a proud smile and said, “Defense. Or War, as my political opposition likes to demonize me as.”

“Right. Sorry I haven’t gotten around to meeting you sooner, Minister. I have a thing against bureaucrats.” With that, Fleethoof dipped his head and turned to leave.

“Captain, I invited Minister Cause here today so that you and he may form a kinship together,” Luna said in her typical much-too-formal dialect. “We must always remember that we are all on the same side. It is imperative that we maintain positive relations with our allies, foreign and domestic, despite our prejudices. Now make friends.”

Fleethoof sighed and fought against rolling his eyes. “Have you ever served, Minister?”

“No, I have not.”

“Have you ever had any family serve?”

“I can’t say that I have.”

“Yeah, I think we’re done here.”

Once again, Fleethoof’s attempts to flee were thwarted when Luna stepped around to blockade the retreating officer. She said nothing, but the stern gaze she settled on Fleethoof told him more than words could. His expression soured, and he turned back around.

“Captain, I can understand your distrust toward my kind. I know the stories and jokes about politicians. I hear about a dozen a day at the local coffee shops. But believe me when I say I am on your side in this. I know of the Skyfall credo, I know of your operations and your methods. Princess Luna has brought me up to speed on your actions. I support what you do regardless of what you think of me. My job isn’t to make your life harder. Princess Luna brought me on to make it so that I can help protect and guide you.”

Fleethoof scoffed and shook his head. “How can you protect us? What can you offer my team?”

“Immunity, firstly. If you get caught on foreign soil, who do you think will be bailing your flank out of federal prison?”

“Minister Cause has also penned several training programs with Captain Armor, and written several protocols that will protect the secrecy of your special operations,” Luna explained further. “In fact, he is the pony that helped me create the criteria for your team when he was still a congresspony. So in a manner, you two have been partners before you even met.”

Just Cause risked a step closer toward the trapped captain. “Don’t shut me out, Captain. Let me be your ally.”

“Ally…” Fleethoof scoffed again. “You just had me and my team benched. You took me away from finding Cadance and making everything right. Why should I trust you?”

“Because if I let you go, I’d be burying an officer rather than making a powerful friend.”

“All I ask is that you give him a chance, Captain,” Luna said. “Minister Cause has many revolutionary ideas I think you would have a vested interest in if you’d collaborate together.”

Fleethoof ran his tongue over his rough, dry lips while he pondered that statement. He glanced up at Just Cause, sapphire eyes meeting cyan. There was a look of longing in them. He yearned to be involved in what they did. He could never understand. And he didn’t trust a politician as far as he could throw him.

“We’ll see…” was all he responded with, then nodded his head to both ponies and limped his way past. Out in the hall, Midnight was waiting against the wall, staring at him with such intensity he doubted the Thestral could see anything else. He cast a sideways glance at her for a brief moment, then another.

“…What?”

“Do you trust the stiff in the suit?” she asked.

Fleethoof suppressed a laugh. A wry smirk settled over his lips. “I don’t think I have much of a choice. When we get back on duty, I’ll give him a trial run and see how he handles us. If he really does prove to be helpful, then I don’t see a reason to not have another friend in high places on our side. If not…”

“Captain Fleethoof?”

The gravelly voice was not one Fleethoof recognized. He glanced up at the bat pony approaching the two of them with swift strides. He stood a full head taller than he did, his dark purple breastplate of the Lunar Guard seeming snug around the toned muscles beneath his skin. His dusky periwinkle mane lay in a messy disarray, his bangs hanging just above his brow. His eyes were a sight that shocked Fleethoof. A rainbow of colors ran through his irises, one covering the spectrum with blazing hues while the other was chilled with cooler colors. He had never seen a pony with such striking eyes before.

“Yes?”

Thwack.

The hoof connected with his jaw before he even realized the pony had thrown a punch. He was on the floor in the next instant, staring up at a spinning ceiling while bells rang in his head. A dull ache thrummed in his cheek where his jawbone met the rest of his skull.

“You bastard!”

“Bor! What the fuck?!”

“Step aside, Midnight. This is between me and him.”

“Not a chance!”

Fleethoof sat up, rubbing his aching jaw. Midnight had placed herself in between him and his assailant, somehow stopping the much bigger pony with her presence alone. The two were glaring at each other with such intense emotions it shocked the already stunned pony.

“What the hell—?”

“I read the reports about the ambush,” the bat pony shouted down at him, pointing an accusatory hoof at him. “How dare you put your team in danger like that? What kind of leader are you that you put your new recruits on the front-fucking-lines?!”

He made a move for the downed stallion again, but Midnight sidestepped in his way again. She pressed a hoof to his chest, holding him back with what seemed like no trouble at all. He snorted, but made no effort to push past her. Fleethoof knew there was something he was missing. This pony could bulldozer past Cupcake with that kind of unbridled rage. There was no way Midnight Dasher was overpowering him.

“Leave him alone, Borealis!” snapped Midnight and pushed against his chest. The Thestral stallion didn’t so much as twitch. “It wasn’t his fault. I volunteered to do this. This is what I signed up for. This is what you signed off on, for Luna’s sake!”

Borealis…? Fleethoof’s eyes widened in realization. Now he knew who he was dealing with. Cold dread settled in the pit of his stomach. Commander Borealis, Captain of the Lunar Guard. The most feared and respected leader of the Nightwatch since the Solar-Lunar Civil War, and a force to be reckoned with.

“Commander Borealis,” Fleethoof began, reorienting himself on the floor as he spoke, “I’m sorry, I didn’t think Midnight would be in any danger with me. I was looking out for her.”

“Nopony’s talking to you, featherweight. And you better stay down if you know what’s good for you, or I’ll be introducing your face to the floor again,” Borealis hissed and flashed his fangs at Fleethoof.

“You need to stop doing this, Bor.” Midnight kept her hoof pressed against his breastplate like it made any difference. Borealis’ eyes locked with hers again. “I’m under Fleethoof’s command now, not yours. You can’t keep tracking me down when I get in even the slightest bit of trouble. It’s not appropriate, and it’s creepy. I have my own life and you have yours.”

Borealis’ hardened gaze of bloodlust gradually softened and melted like snow. He exhaled in what sounded like a growl to Fleethoof. “Ambushes and gunfights in the woods…? This is what you wanted to be doing? At least when you were with me, I knew the worst that could happen was you’d prank the wrong pony. This is a whole new degree of paranoia for me.”

“Then stop worrying about me! I’m a big girl. I can look after myself. You know that.”

“…I’m not gonna lie, you’re making the whole ‘letting you go’ thing really tough, Middy…” he muttered.

“Yeah, well, when have I ever made anything easy?”

Borealis grumbled something indiscernible beneath his breath and settled a dark leer over Fleethoof. “If anything happens to her, I’ll have your blood.”

“Goodbye, Bor,” Midnight intervened, shooting a look at the Lunar commander the likes Fleethoof had never seen the mare wear before as she dipped her head down and nudged him back to his hooves.

“You’re making a mistake, Midnight,” Borealis shouted after her. “Don’t turn your back on the pony that cares about you!”

“Shut up!” she snapped back, and then they were gone.

Midnight escorted Fleethoof further down the halls, keeping herself between him and Borealis until they had rounded the corner and made it out of the commander’s sight. She glanced back over her shoulder to make sure he wasn’t following before allowing herself to relax.

“Sorry about that… Did he hurt you?”

Fleethoof shook his head. “Nah. He’s not the first to take a swing at me, and he sure as hell won’t be the last.”

“Well, I’m still sorry. He’s usually better behaved than that,” she sighed.

“Why is the commander of the Lunar Guard coming after me?” he asked, casting his gaze upon her stony face. Her expression gave nothing away. “Why is he so gung-ho to protect you?”

Midnight didn’t say a word. Her eyes dropped to the floor for a brief moment, a fleeting flash of something hidden away dancing across her eyes.

“Is there something going on between you two?”

The corners of Midnight’s mouth turned up in a smirk. “You could say that.”

Fleethoof blinked his eyes in surprise at Midnight’s straightforwardness. He had known of her outward flirting she’d done with him since the day they’d met. It was impossible to miss. But seeing her now with Commander Borealis had been a shock. Her taste apparently ran towards ponies in officers’ clothes.

“Doesn’t seem like it ended on a good note…” he observed.

“No, it kinda didn’t,” Midnight said with a touch of regret in her voice. “He was upset at first. Then he was just angry. But he didn’t have much of a choice. I wanted to leave, so I left.”

Fleethoof was surprised she had been so cold about the ordeal. “But didn’t you care about him?”

“Of course I care about him! I love him, and I still do. But he’s a bit of a flank sometimes and needs to be put in his place.”

“And who better to do that than you…”

Midnight giggled and flipped her mane out of her eyes. “You know me so well, Fleety.”

Fleethoof smiled a little, but felt he was still missing a piece of the puzzle. He had heard the tales of the mighty Commander Borealis. He never seemed the desperate type to pursue a lost lover.

“Who is he to you now?” he asked Midnight. “Why’s he still following you if he’s no longer your CO?”

“Ugh, probably because he’s ‘doing his job’ and being overprotective… as usual…” she muttered.

“Around these parts, that’s known as stalking…”

“Well, things are a little more complicated than that.”

“How much more complicated?”

Midnight shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“Look, can we just let it die, please?” Midnight turned a sharp look toward Fleethoof, taking him off guard. Her expression softened with a sigh and she diverted her gaze again. “I just… I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

Fleethoof had never known Midnight to be so guarded about anything like this. The way she avoided making eye contact, her attempts to divert the conversation… Whatever her history with Commander Borealis was, it was intense and deeply personal enough to get the usually candid Thestral to retreat into her shell. While he wanted to understand and know more, he could see the subject was delicate. In his mind, he made a note to pursue it on his own time.

“All right. We’ll let it lie,” he spoke under his breath.

“Thank you.” Midnight was quiet for a moment. She chewed on her bottom lip, looking down and away from him. “So what do we do now?”

“You heard the princesses…” He hung his head and sighed. “We’re done. We do nothing. It’s all up to Shining Armor now.”

Chapter 2: Dead Ends

January 2, Modern Era Year 4

0810 Hours

Southern Whitetail Wood

The fresh snow crunched underneath the hooves of the Marines as they pushed their way through the thicket of bare trees. The cold air stung at their noses and exposed skin, the bitter chill nothing more than a nuisance to the battle-hardened ponies as they advanced, bounding from cover to cover. They maintained near-perfect formation as they weaved through the woods, following behind their leader, watching for his every command.

At the head of the pack, Shining Armor gripped his rifle tight to his chest and threw his body through the snow. Pure adrenaline and raw determination drove him onward through the arctic environment. It had been just over a week since the convoy had been attacked and Cadance had been abducted. It had been just over a week with no results. It was disgustingly unacceptable.

Under his order, the Royal Guard had canvassed and re-canvassed the scene more times than he could count, but each time yielded less and less. The griffons and been meticulous to not leave so much as a single trace of their location. They had no evidence to run with, and no idea where to begin searching for the missing princess and her assailants.

That was until a pegasus scout had spotted griffons outside a lone shack in the middle of Whitetail Woods.

Shining Armor wasted no time. He mounted an immediate counterattack with the only soldiers he trusted with his life. The seasoned Marines at his back had saved the Arabian FOB in the past. If he trusted any ponies to not fail, it was them.

The squad rushed through the snow as fast as their hooves could carry them through the frigid powder. The forest began to thin out up ahead, the trees more sparse and far between, the telltale signs of a clearing. Judging by their location, Shining assumed the cabin couldn’t be too far off.

The soldiers advanced to the edge of the tree line, the bright sunlight streaming down through the gnarled branches overhead. Shining pressed his back up against the trunk of a tree and watched his Marines take up positions behind cover to his right and his left. He peered out around the trunk and stared across the clearing. Nestled at the far end was the cabin. It was small; couldn’t have been more than a couple rooms large. The entire area was silent, save for the soft whistle of the wind through the trees, but the smoke billowing from the chimney betrayed the presence of something living inside.

Shining gave a motion to the Marines at his sides, and the soldiers advanced toward the cabin, skirting the edge of the clearing and using the trees for cover as they moved. With a few of the infantry still with him, Shining bounded up across the snow to the front of the cabin, using the stray rocks and snowbanks along the way to hide their approach. He rushed up to a weathered fence about a hundred meters away from the front of the property and stopped, crouched behind one of the posts while he rested his rifle on the wood for support.

He eyed the windows through his scope, watching for any signs of movement inside. He heard the snow crunch and collapse beside him as the Marines caught up, copying his stance and covering the front of the house. The rest of the Marine squad had worked its way around to the sides of the cabin by now. Pegasi scouts darted from cloud to cloud overhead, keeping an eye out for any aerial contacts. They had the building surrounded.

A silhouette moved by one of the windows then. Shining Armor had his rifle to the window in an instant. They weren’t going to get away this time.

“Remember, we take these guys alive if we can. We need to trace this back to the source.” Beside him, the Marines nodded.

“Royal Guard! We’ve got you surrounded in there!” he shouted at the cabin. “Come out and throw your weapons down and you won’t be harmed!”

Nothing happened. For the longest, most tense of moments, everything was still. Shining eyed the door, waiting for it to open and the occupants to surrender to the might of Equestria’s armed forces. They had the upper hoof. They were in control.

What he hadn’t been prepared for was a gunshot to nip through the air past his right ear. Glass shattered as bullets were fired through the windows towards them. Shining ducked his head beneath the biting bullets while the Marines returned fire. In a flash, the entire cabin was torn apart. Windows were blown inward and wood was chipped from the walls under the ceaseless gunfire. Shining lifted his head back up and watched through his scope as the building was obliterated.

The door began to slide open then, and a barrel of a rifle poked through. Shining brought his rifle to bear and squeezed off a barrage of rounds into the door. He watched each one penetrate through the thin wood, and then the door slammed shut again. The gunfire slowed to a stop, and everything was quiet again.

“Move up,” Shining whispered in a hushed hiss to his soldiers and rushed for the front door. The soldiers bounded up two-by-two, the others covering while the rest were on the move until they had arrived at the front door. Shining lifted his head just enough to peek over a windowsill. He couldn’t see nor hear a thing. He pursed his lips and snorted. He didn’t like going into an unknown situation.

“1-2, you see anything around back?” he spoke into his radio while he took up position beside the front door.

“Negative. No rear exits to the building.”

He nodded his head. So this was the only way in or out. That meant they were going to be fighting in a bottleneck if there were any hostiles left alive. Perfect… he thought with chagrin. One more thing to worry about.

Swallowing back his nerves, Shining rose up and pushed on the bullet-riddled door. Something was pressed up against it, keeping it from swinging inward. Shining grunted and threw his shoulder against the door, forcing it open. He felt the weight pinning it slide out of the way as he pushed his way inside. Standing in the doorway, Shining got a good look at the cabin. The object that had been blocking the door was the body of a griffon, the one he had shot through the door. In his talons he held tight to an Equestrian rifle.

The front door opened up to a modest common space, and was unexpectedly empty. A fire burned bright in the hearth. The shabby furniture strewn about the cabin was in various states of disarray and damage. It looked like the cabin had been occupied rather than lived in.

Shining stepped past the threshold and over the corpse at his hooves. The Marines followed in close behind him, sweeping the room with their weapons. A single door sat to the left, closed tight. Two Marines took position beside it and kicked it in. The soldiers rushed in and swept the room. Nothing happened.

“Clear.”

Clear? Shining was baffled. How could it be clear? Walking with hurried steps, he made his way into the adjacent room. Glass shards crunched beneath his boots like the snow outside. The room was a small bedroom, the floor littered with glass from the broken windows. A second griffon lay dead beside the windows, bleeding from multiple wounds across his body. The Marines had got him good.

But what perturbed Shining Armor the most was the absence of Princess Cadance.

The Marines had broken into the closet at the far side of the room and were looking through the empty space. There was absolutely nothing in the cabin. All traces of griffon occupation or Alaric’s involvement were gone. If Cadance had ever been here, there wasn’t a single sign left.

“These are definitely Dawnbreaker griffons, sir,” a Marine said, producing a letter bearing the Dawnbreaker coat of arms. “They have the map and orders of when to attack the convoy.”

“This doesn’t make sense. Where else could they have gone?” Shining paced back and forth in the room. “Why would they leave their own behind if they moved her?”

The Marine shrugged and stood up. “Dunno. Maybe—”

A snap ended the Marine’s sentence and his life in the blink of an eye. Shining recoiled as the Marine’s head hit the floor, blood already pooling beneath him. “Contact, front!”

Gunfire erupted from the woods before he could finish speaking. Shining threw himself to the floor with the rest of the Marine outfit. All of a sudden, the situations had been reversed. They were the ones ambushed and trapped inside the poorly defended cabin. Bullets chewed away at the walls around them, ripping through the air like a swarm of angry hornets. The cries of the wounded were barely heard above the snapping bullets. It was all Shining could do to watch as his soldiers fell to the floor, either desperate to save their lives or already lost.

“1-2, we have heavy enemy fire to the north! Do you have eyes on targets?” Shining shouted into his radio.

“Negative. Do not have eyes on target—”

“In the trees! They’re in the trees!”

The radio became a flurry of indistinct shouts amidst the firefight. Shining Armor risked a glance up over the windowsill. Silhouettes moved between the gnarled branches of the bare trees, muzzle flashes popping up in between them. The griffons had been waiting for them all along and they had walked right into the trap. Shining cursed under his breath for being so short-sighted. He propped himself up against the wall, resting his rifle on the window and returning fire.

Another Marine shouted out as he was hit and fell to the floor, leaving Shining with just one other soldier with him. He grit his teeth, peering down his scope and squeezing round after round into the treetops. The branches provided the griffons with minimal cover, but no matter how many bullets Shining sent at them, none seemed to make contact.

A bullet snapped past his ear, nicking the skin and making the stallion yelp and drop his head. He could feel the wet blood dampening the fur down the side of his neck. That had been too close.

The Marines behind the cabin joined the fray, lighting up the griffon ambushers with everything they could. Despite their luck, the branches failed to hold up against the onslaught of accurate fire. One by one, the griffons fell from the trees to the powdery ground with squawks and squeals. Gaining the momentum again, Shining sat up and trained his sights on an enemy. He steadied his breath and pulled the trigger three times. The rifle kicked against his shoulder, and he was rewarded with the sight of his target plummeting to the earth with a spasm.

Before he could celebrate his kill, another bullet struck his rifle dead center in his scope, shattering both lenses and tearing across the side of his neck as it ricocheted out the other end. Shining screamed out as shards of glass flew into his eyes. Warm blood ran down his chest, and he fell to his back behind cover, pressing his hoof against the shallow wound while trying to blink the blurriness out of his vision.

“Pony down! The captain’s down!” the Marine shouted into his radio and dropped beside his officer, hurrying to press a cloth to his neck. “Stay still, sir. Where are you hit?”

“My neck. My fucking neck… Fuck! I can’t see!” Shining wiped at his eyes with his free hoof, feeling his pulse fast and strong against the hoof holding his injured neck. He prayed that his carotid hadn’t been nicked, or he was a goner. The thought of bleeding out in the cold made him tremble.

“Hang on, sir. They’re almost down.”

The firefight continued for only a few minutes more, and then the clearing fell into an eerie silence. Shining Armor could hear the wind whistling around outside the cabin above his labored breathing. His breath hung in a heavy cloud before his snout. His vision out of his right eye was hazy and unfocused, and his left was nonexistent. The collar of his uniform had been stained a dark red with his own blood.

“Hostiles down. Area clear.”

It was the best news Shining could have hoped for. He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling with distant eyes. How had he fallen for that? He was the Captain of the Guard. He was better than that. Wasn’t he…? His head rolled to the side, and his eyes were met with the grim sight of his dead soldiers. They lay broken on the dirty floor in pools of their own blood. He had led them straight into the ambush because of his haste. Now he understood why Fleethoof had been so beaten up. To think he had berated him over not being better, and now here he lay… A twinge of regret twisted his guts into small knots.

Hurried hoofsteps rushed into the cabin as the Marines surged inside, rushing to care for the injured ponies. Shining Armor was hoisted up carefully to the bed and settled down as a corpsman inspected his neck and eye. His vision continued to shift in and out of focus while he listened to the Marines methodically sweep the cabin, scooping up anything and everything that looked even remotely useful.

“Oh shit… Hold still. Your eye is messed up pretty bad, but it’s only a shallow laceration on your neck, Captain,” the corpsman said with a chuckle and placed patches over the seeping wounds. “You’re lucky. A little deeper and we’d be bagging you.”

Shining Armor gave a breathless, sarcastic chuckle. “Lucky me.”

“Sir, there’s nothing here about where the griffons went, or where the princess might be.”

Shining sighed. That was exactly what he had feared. Cadance’s trail had gone stone cold. “Just bag everything. We’ll let the RIS sort it out.”

“And the dead, sir?”

“Get them on stretchers. We’re moving them out too.”

“Are you sure you want to move out, sir? I mean, are you all right to?”

“I’m fine,” grunted Shining as he slid off the bed and onto his hooves, making sure the bandage on his neck held firm. “But the less time I have to spend here, the better. Just… somepony else take point. I’ll follow.”

“Aye, sir. You heard him, colts. Bag it and tag it. Let’s move!”

Shining Armor moved out of the cabin amongst the frenzy of Marines and stepped out into the cold. The chilly air whisked the sweat from his brow and stung at his lungs from the inside. He stared out at the trees, at the blurred and shifting trunks and branches. He blinked a few times in rapid succession to clear the itching in his eyeballs. How could he have been so careless? When did Alaric get this resourceful?

All of these questions passed through his head as he watched the dead Marines get carried out past him one at a time. They had nothing. They had lost several good ponies and they had nothing to show for it. Cadance was still missing. Only this time, they didn’t even have a scrap of a lead to follow next. They had hit a dead end.

He owed Fleethoof an apology.

1130 Hours

Canterlot, Equestria

The days following Skyfall’s removal from service had all passed in a slow blur to Fleethoof. He stared out at the bustling traffic of Canterlot’s streets from the small table inside his favorite café. A cup of untouched coffee sat wrapped in his good hoof, still steaming, despite how long it had been sitting there. Fleethoof’s nose was almost pressed to the glass, he was staring so intently out at the ponies. Perhaps if he looked hard enough, he’d see her emerge from somewhere within the crowd, as if she had never been taken at all.

“Fleet…?”

He tore his eyes away from the sea of ponies. He knew she wouldn’t appear by magic. She was gone, and it was all his fault. He glanced across the table at Midnight Dasher, doing his best to avoid looking into her worried eyes. He didn’t mean to keep worrying her over him. He was fine—fine being relative to his hoof still in a sling. The bandages had come off his head, and his other wounds had healed. Almost every trace of the incident had vanished with time.

“Hmm?”

“You okay?” she asked.

Fleethoof dipped his head in a slow nod. “Never better.”

“Are you really gonna try to lie to a professional liar?” She snickered. It must have been a hope to break the tension. “You’re still thinking about what happened?”

“How could I not?”

“Easy. Just don’t think about it!”

If looks could kill, the glare Fleethoof shot across the table would have hit Midnight with the force of a .45. “You’re hilarious,” he deadpanned.

“I’m just trying to help, Fleety.”

“I know you are, and I’m grateful, but…” He heaved a sigh and gazed with sullen eyes down into the dark pool of caffeine in his cup. “You couldn’t understand…”

“Why can’t I?” Midnight asked. “What’s so difficult?”

Fleethoof pursed his lips together and tensed up in his seat. His hoof left his cup and moved to rest against the crystal heart hanging around his neck. He caught Midnight’s eyes follow his hoof, noting how her ears drooped a little and her eyes seemed to darken ever so slightly.

“Sooo… what’s the story with the necklace?”

“Cadance gave it to me right before we were attacked…” he explained, speaking in a slow, neutral tone to keep the quiver out of his voice. “It was a thank you gift for all the times I saved her before, and then I follow that up by letting her get kidnapped and several ponies killed…”

Midnight raised her hoof as if she were in class, offering a rebuttal to a wrong answer. “But that wasn’t your fault.”

“It could have been prevented. It wasn’t.”

“But it wasn’t in your control to prevent. You didn’t see it coming. Nopony did.”

Fleethoof snorted under his breath and narrowed his eyes. “Somepony has to take the blame for it.”

“But that isn’t you,” Midnight replied. “That’s Alaric’s cross.”

Unable to come up with a response that made him feel any better, Fleethoof just hung his head and stared into his coffee again. His hoof continued to twirl the necklace. Midnight averted her gaze for a few moments, staring sideways at something else in the café that must’ve been enrapturing to keep her attention in such a way.

“Who is the princess to you?” she asked softly.

Her question caught Fleethoof off guard. His hoof stopped the necklace and he looked back up at her. “She’s the princess.”

“No, I mean, who is she to you that you’re like this?” She was unable to look up at him still as she spoke.

“Cadance has been a friend for a long time. She means a lot to me.”

Midnight’s ears lowered a touch more. Finally, her eyes lifted to meet his again, a seeking look in them. “How much is ‘a lot’?”

Fleethoof’s brow knitted together, trying to decipher just what she was hunting for.

“Do you love her?”

That struck him in the heart. Fleethoof opened his mouth, but no words came out. He could feel his jaw hanging open, his eyes wide. Midnight flicked her mane back behind her ear and shook her head.

“I’m not trying to pry. I’m just trying to figure out the whole broken and upset thing you’re going through. I mean, if you did, it would make sense…”

“I’m upset because I failed, Midnight,” Fleethoof sighed. “I haven’t failed like this before… I failed Cadance, I failed Shining, I failed you—all of you… That’s why I’m upset.”

Midnight’s eyes went wide. She leaned across the table and rested a hoof over his as it went for his drink again. He glanced up at her, holding her gaze while she offered him a tiny smile.

“You’re only one pony, Fleet. Nopony needs you to be a superhero.”

Fleethoof tightened his mouth into a line and glanced out the window again. “Cadance did. And now she’s gone, and I can’t do a thing about it…”

“Just take it easy for a bit,” said Midnight with hope. “You’ll be all better soon, and then you’ll be good to go. Then we’ll go get her back.”

Fleethoof scowled at his own reflection in the glass. He hated waiting. He hated being useless. Nothing made him feel worse than knowing there was more he could do and being unable to do so. But he had no choice. All he could do was pray and wait. Maybe if he was really lucky, Shining Armor would have already captured the bad guys and rescued Cadance.

But when am I ever that lucky? he thought and continued to watch the city, and the world, pass him by.

Chapter 4: Black Wraith

January 15, Modern Era Year 4

2247 Hours

The House of Congress

Canterlot, Equestria

Shining Armor marched down the cavernous corridors of the House of Congress, each hoof step echoing around him. It was as if he were inside a cave. Fitting considering the creatures that inhabited these halls. His own internal joke made him smirk, though it was short-lived. He had little to smile about these days. The search for Cadance had been called off. The politicians had deemed it ‘an impossible feat’ after weeks of fruitless searching. They were convinced Cadance was no longer in Equestria and were more willing to wait for ransom demands than continue to run their defenses ragged. The soldiers were tired and demoralized. They had worked their flanks off for many sleepless days and nights with nothing to show for it, save for a few bodies of their own brothers. And if life hadn’t thrown enough sand in his face, the Canterlot doctors had taken away all hope for recovery. An eyepatch hung over his wounded eye, where he knew it would remain for the rest of his life.

Shining had to admit that he was disheartened as well. No, that was wrong. He was torn up. He felt like somepony had reached inside of him and scooped every last trace of hope out of his heart. He was the only one still pushing the searches, despite his injuries. He was the only one that hadn’t stopped. He knew better than to wait. A ransom was never coming. Demands would not be made. Cadance was never coming back on her own. They needed to act or the next time they saw the princess would be when they dug her out of a shallow grave, but the bureaucrats had given up.

All except for one.

That’s how Shining found himself wandering through the dark corridors of the Congress building now. He had been summoned to the Minister’s office well after everypony else had gone home for the night. Shining turned his nose up at the dense shadows and empty corridors. The entire scenario smelled like either a bad spy drama or a cheap trap.

Shining’s hooves moved on memory. He had been to the Minister of Defense’s office before on several occasions. He had to keep him up to date on troop stations and movements, training regiments, and the like. The minister had always come across as a mild-mannered pony from his experiences with the stallion. He was unremarkable, which was striking for a politician. He didn’t try to smooth talk his way into Shining’s good graces or act like he knew better than anypony else. He did his job and let Shining do his.

So why is he calling me to his office in the middle of the night?

The door to Cause’s office came into sight, cloaked in darkness. Shining didn’t bother knocking on the door. Nopony would be inside to be disturbed anyway. He pushed it open and stepped into the reception area. The secretary’s desk was abandoned, yet the room was alight, the light from the overhead bulbs deafening in the silence. Taking his time striding across the floor, he opened the next door, and stopped in the doorway.

Just Cause sat behind his desk in the same fashion Shining always found the pony in. Standing before him, however, was Fleethoof, his back turned to Shining. Fleethoof turned around when he heard the door open and the stallions’ eyes met for one tense second. He stared at the patch covering Shining’s eye with a grimace of guilt and turned away.

“Captain Armor, thank you for joining us,” Minister Cause said, beckoning him inward with a wave of his hoof. “Please, come in.”

Shining lingered in the door for a moment longer. His eye shifted between Cause’s inviting gesture and Fleethoof’s cold shoulder. Keeping his gaze trained on Fleethoof’s back, he shut the door with a soft click and sauntered up to sit at the other end of the desk. Fleethoof didn’t stray his gaze from Just Cause, almost deliberately avoiding making eye contact with Shining more than he had to.

“What’s going on, Minister?” Shining asked, an air of apprehension in his voice.

Just Cause folded his hooves across the desk and leaned across toward his guests. “We’re here to discuss the possibility of getting Princess Cadenza back.”

Shining Armor’s head shot up in the blink of an eye. Beside him, he saw Fleethoof’s wings give a subtle ruffle.

“What are you talking about, sir? The searches have all but ended.”

“And for good reason,” Just Cause interjected. “You’ve been running your soldiers—Equestria’s armed forces—ragged in this goose chase. You’re no closer to finding the princess than when you started; in fact, you’re further away. You’ve sustained a grievous injury, and to be quite frank, I don’t think you’re in any condition to be going vigilante on your own.”

Shining shook his head. “Minister, I wasn’t—”

“Please don’t insult my intelligence and your lying capabilities by saying you didn’t entertain the thought.” His words shut Shining up on the spot. “Your actions and intentions, while noble, are self-destructive to yourself and to the nation. You should know better than that as Captain of the Guard.”

“Is that why you brought me in here?” snapped Shining with an edge of irritation to his hard voice. His brow narrowed and it took all his self-control to keep still in his seat. “To berate me and tell me I’m useless?”

“I did not call you here to insult you, Captain. I’m here to recruit you.”

It took Shining’s mind a full minute to comprehend the minister’s words. “What are you talking about?”

“There is a program my department has drafted up called Operation Black Wraith.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“That’s because it’s highly classified and top secret, even from you, Captain.” Just Cause stood from his seat and approached a small safe in the corner of the office. He opened it and produced a black folder from within, a ghostly white pony head adorning the cover. “The only ponies aware of this are Princess Luna and myself.”

“What is Black Wraith?” Fleethoof asked, reading Shining’s mind without missing a beat.

“Black Wraith is a contingency plan, Captain Fleethoof, to be used only in the most dire of circumstances in the protection of Equestria and its Royal Family,” Just Cause said while opening the folder and handing two sheets of paper to each stallion. “I cannot explain too much about it until you agree to it. I need both of you to sign these. Catch-22, I understand… However, I can tell you that it will permit you to search, locate, and recover Princess Cadenza without fear of international incidents or legality.” He paused and glanced between the two faces. “Both of you.”

“Minister, this is… highly irregular,” Shining said, glancing over the waiver Just Cause placed in front of him.

“It is, Captain Armor. Everything these past few weeks has been highly irregular.”

“Fuck it,” muttered Fleethoof. He snapped up a quill and was quick to scrawl his signature across the paper.

Shining stared at the paper clenched in his hooves. The edges crumpled in his uneasy grip. Everything about this felt off. He was signing up for Celestia-knows-what based on blind trust. It didn’t sit right in the pit of his gut and his hesitation showed it.

“I can understand your reluctance, Captain Armor, especially when you are a pony of such admirable tenacity to following protocol,” Just Cause said as if reading his mind, “but I assure you, this is our best course of action for rescuing the princess. Every day we waste is another day we get closer to losing her forever. I would not ask this of you if I were sure there were another way.”

“I don’t even know what you’re asking of me,” Shining retorted.

“I am asking you to take a leap of faith for Cadance.” Just Cause’s face remained as stolid as stone. “But if this makes you uncomfortable, I can always ask another officer. I merely require any two captains, and I wanted you as my first choice.”

Shining released a heavy exhale through his nostrils and set the paper down. His lips pulled together into a tight line while he leered at the face of the innocuous paper. His hoof rapped against the edge of the desk with a gentle clop-clop.

“Just sign it, Shining.” Fleethoof turned to him at last. The first look Shining saw on his friend’s face was the impatient glower. “I’m not gonna wait around for you to debate yourself when Cadance is somewhere out there waiting for help, so get over it or get out.”

Shining Armor met his gaze with a biting look of indignity. Fleethoof didn’t back down; he held his eyes with the smoldering look until Shining caved. The unicorn snorted and picked up the quill in his telekinesis, letting the tip hover not even an inch above the paper’s surface. He swallowed a breath and signed his name.

“Thank you, gentlecolts,” Just Cause said and gathered the papers back into the folder.

“All right, I’m playing ball. Now tell me what this is all about.”

“Very well, Captain Armor. If it will make you feel better—”

“It won’t,” he snapped.

“—I will tell you.” The minister cast an indifferent look in his direction. “Black Wraith is a black operation. None of this will be on any official record, nor will it be tied to the Equestrian government. The program calls for a preassembled list of some of the finest operators from various branches of the Equestrian Armed Forces, led by two team leaders to split the duties and command, and keep enemies from targeting one head pony. That would be you two. Under Black Wraith, the operators are permitted to conduct otherwise questionable operations in the pursuit of protecting Equestrian interests, namely recovering Princess Cadenza. In short, this team will operate much like how yours does, Captain Fleethoof, but since we lack the time and means to train several new soldiers to your standards, this is an expedited emergency protocol that has the same function.”

Fleethoof raised a curious brow. “‘Questionable operations’? Does this mean this is illegal?”

“Let me put it to you this way, Captain Fleethoof… If any of our allies found out our government was behind this, we would probably have an international catastrophe on our hooves,” Just Cause said with a trace of a smirk on his muzzle. “However, Black Wraith is intended to permit you to operate under my direct control on international soil. So long as you fly under the radar and don’t shoot any of our friends, you should have no issues moving at your own discretion.”

“So what exactly are we doing?”

“Finding Princess Cadenza and the individuals responsible for this calamity by any and all means necessary.” There was a pause in the minister’s words. “And hunting down that dog Alaric.”

Both Fleethoof’s and Shining Armor’s heads shot up at the mention of the griffon tyrant. Fleethoof’s jaw set solid. The corner of his mouth twitched to fight a grimace.

“I will provide you and your ponies with whatever equipment you need to complete this task. Guns, explosives, helicopters, automobiles, fake IDs—”

“Auto-whats?” interrupted Fleethoof.

“Automatic land vehicles, Captain Fleethoof. Germaney’s latest and greatest feat in engineering and a gift to the world,” Just Cause explained in as passive a voice as he could muster. “Have you ever seen a parade float? It operates on the same principles, but burns on magical energy our scientists were able to harness. Made of metal, better to handle impacts and incoming fire. Much faster and safer than carriages.”

Fleethoof’s expression twisted into an infuriated sneer. “You mean we had a better way of getting around and we didn’t use it to protect the princesses? Could this have all been avoided?”

Just Cause ran his tongue over his lips while he considered Fleethoof’s prospect. “Perhaps. But these vehicles are still in the prototype phase in Equestria. Our stock only supplies the military and private buyers right now. Once we were certain of their capabilities, we were going to release them to the public and to the Royal Family. Unfortunately, this little incident came up before testing was finished. After this, however, we will begin immediate mass production.

“But let me give you this warning now: if you two screw up, there is no retry. There are no second chances. I will do my best to protect you, but there is a very real chance you will most likely spend the rest of your days in an international prison waiting to be executed for espionage,” Just Cause said with a firm tone. His eyes flickered back and forth between the stallions. “That is why I need you two to behave and play nicely with one another. After your little incident in front of the princesses, I had my doubts about your ‘friendship,’ but now I have no choice. So tell me: can I trust you two to cooperate or shall I begin looking for two other ponies to lead this team?”

Neither Shining nor Fleethoof spoke. Both ponies stood like statues, eyes fixated and focused on him. Just Cause looked between their faces. They looked as if they were doing their best to avoid stealing glimpses at the other. His mouth pursed into a fine line. He had no time for these childish games.

“Can you two work together?” Silence. “Answer me.”

“Yes, sir,” both ponies responded in the same breath.

Just Cause dipped his head in a subtle nod. “That’s better. Then if it’s all right with you two, I would like to get to work right away. Seek me out in the Department of Defense tomorrow and we’ll go over your roster, a plan of action, our intel, the whole nine yards. The less time we spend sitting around, the better. Any objections?” Fleethoof and Shining Armor didn’t say a word. “Get some sleep, gentlecolts. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”

No sooner had the minister finished speaking, Fleethoof had turned on his heels and marched out of the office. Shining Armor lingered a second longer, then followed his compatriot out into the expansive hallways of the Congress building. He followed behind Fleethoof, leaving a few steps’ worth of distance between them as they walked in the dark and the moonlight. If Fleethoof heard him, the pegasus didn’t show any signs of acknowledgement.

“Fleet,” Shining called out to him. Fleethoof’s ear twitched backward, but he did nothing otherwise. “Fleethoof. Hey, wait up!”

Shining galloped to catch up to the retreating pony. Fleethoof’s eyes stayed straight forward, following the corridors with practiced steps. Shining took a deep breath and ran through his apology in his head once more.

“Look, I… uh, I know we haven’t really talked since the… y’know, the whole incident back in December. I know, I’ve been busy trying to find Cadance, and you’ve been on the sides, but still…” Shining saw Fleethoof’s shoulders tense up and his brow narrow a touch. Okay, Shiny, go for the gold, he thought. “I just wanted to let you know I’m not mad or anything anymore. I mean, look at what those griffons did to me. I didn’t realize how tough they were. They sure as hell aren’t the same pushovers from the war. I guess that’s karma, or something. Heh.”

Fleethoof was dead silent. His jaw quivered like he was biting his tongue, forcing himself to remain quiet. It was more than irritating to Shining. He sighed. He had to get Fleethoof back on his side if they were going to get anywhere with this new team. It was now or never.

“Hey, did you hear me? I said it doesn’t matter that you lost Cadance—”

Before Shining could finish his sentence, he was slammed into the far wall and lifted off the ground. The force holding him kept him pinned in the air. Shining gasped and stared down at the pair of red hooves pressed so hard to his chest he couldn’t breathe. He followed those hooves up to the smoldering glare of Fleethoof, the pegasus baring his teeth while he gnashed them together like a Timberwolf.

“Don’t you think I know what I’ve done, Shining?!” Fleethoof snarled in the darkness, snorting under his breath. “Don’t you think I’ve lived that day over and over and over in my mind, asking myself what I could have done differently? What fucking difference I could have made?! Maybe if I was a second faster, or maybe if I took a shot, or didn’t take a shot. It’s all I’ve done for the past three weeks, and I do not need you reminding me. I fucked up. I fucked up and Cadance is gone. I don’t need a reminder, or an excuse, or my best friend getting angry and hurt because of me!”

Shining struggled against Fleethoof’s hold on him, his hooves kicking in the air for freedom. His eyes narrowed in return and he pushed back against him. “I wasn’t trying to blame you!”

“Like hell you weren’t! You’ve done nothing but blame me from the moment I set hoof in Canterlot! Why don’t you just say you wished I’d been killed instead of Cadance getting taken? Go on, say it!”

“It’s not like that, Fleet,” Shining growled through gritted teeth. “Let me go!”

“Bullshit. It’s all it’s been to you! ‘You fucked up’, ‘You lost Cadance’, ‘How did you fail so badly?’. And all you’ve done is beat me down when you haven’t done any better than I did!” Fleethoof seethed.

Shining Armor blinked through the stupor. “Me?! What the hell did I do?!”

“How about getting those Marines killed for nothing? You wanna talk about expecting ambushes? Then tell me what the fuck happened out in those woods. You were reckless, Shining. You can say whatever the hell you want about me, but you are no better than me!”

Fleethoof saw Shining’s jaw tremble as he bit down harder. He was really struggling to control himself. Shining’s eyes narrowed to slits and his tail flicked with agitation against the wall.

A rose-colored light glowing from his horn began to build, making Fleethoof wonder what sort of spell the unicorn was charging up. “Let me go before I beat your face.”

Fleethoof released a few more heavy breaths to vent his anger before letting his grip relax for fear of taking a swing at Shining. His muscles loosened until he had set the unicorn on the floor again. The stallions stood in the dark hallways, glaring daggers at one another from a space no more than a few inches. Fleethoof wanted to lash out, to release his pent up frustration with himself, with Shining, and with Alaric.

Instead, he settled on a sharp turn and walking away. He didn’t look back at Shining again, too afraid he’d still see the loathing look in his friend’s eyes—eye, he reminded himself in grim thought—if he could still call him a friend when all of this was said and done. Fleethoof didn’t care. It didn’t matter if Shining Armor never spoke to him again after this so long as they got Cadance back safe. Doing his best to keep from quivering with anger on each step, Fleethoof made his way out into the cold streets and back home. If Just Cause was speaking the truth, he would finally have a way to set things right again, and he wasn’t about to let anything, even Shining, get in his way.

* * *

January 22, Modern Era Year 4

0759 Hours

Department of Defense and Homeland Security

Canterlot, Equestria

The base of operations for Black Wraith was much more clandestine than Fleethoof had anticipated. When he arrived at the Department of Defense, an agent in a suit greeted him at the front doors and promptly led him through the maze of corridors to the elevators. Another agent stood before the closed doors with Midnight Dasher in tow. He exchanged a look with the bewildered Thestral as they stepped into the elevator. The agents unlocked a small panel on the elevator’s controls and pressed a hidden button within. The doors shut and the car descended.

Midnight shifted her weight away from the stiff agents and closer toward Fleethoof. “What are we doing here, Fleet?” she asked. He could sense the trepidation in her voice.

“You’ll see.”

He did his best to ignore the prying look of the mare beside him. He knew the only way Midnight would be here was if she accepted the Black Wraith offer. However, part of his agreement with Just Cause was an oath of silence. Neither he nor Shining Armor could discuss any of the details with the new Black Wraith operators until the minister had told them otherwise.

The elevator doors opened to a bright white corridor. A few ponies scurried between rooms, carrying mountains of paperwork and reports with them. The agents led Fleethoof and Midnight down the hall to somewhere else in the building. Fleethoof couldn’t even guess which basement level they had ended up in. The ponies followed their guides past door after door, unable to peer into them through the frosted glass windows. Everything about this place screamed top secret.

When they reached the end of the hallway, the group stood before a set of heavy-looking metal doors. The agents took positions on either side and opened the doors for the ponies, permitting them entrance. Fleethoof and Midnight stepped into the immense room. A group of ponies, many Fleethoof recognized as his own team, stood around a large terminal in the center of the room, various documents strewn across its surface while projections of maps hovered like magic over them. The far wall was made up of monitors displaying every major city in the world. Machines hummed and whirred with electrical life all around them.

“What is all this?” Midnight asked.

Fleethoof said nothing. Across the room, Shining Armor lifted his head from the group of ponies and waved them over.

“About time. Thought you two got lost.”

Fleethoof took painstaking measures to avoid looking at Shining. “What is this place?”

“This would be my contribution to our military’s R&D,” Just Cause spoke up from across the room. He approached the gathered ponies with several folders floating beside him. “Magical projection of crucial pieces of information, such as building schematics, weapon blueprints, photographs and records… you name it.”

Fleethoof waved a hoof through the projections, watching them stutter and wave in midair as if he had dispersed a cloud of steam. “You developed this?”

“Me? Oh, Goddess, no. That would be a team of very clever unicorns. I don’t know how any of this works. All I know is that it does.”

“Everypony, this is Captain Fleethoof and Corporal Midnight Dasher, the last two you need to know,” Shining introduced to the others around the projector terminal. “Captain Fleethoof, these are my ponies: Sergeant Fire Wave of the Marines—”

“We’ve met,” Fleethoof interjected, leaning across the way to shake hooves with his old acquaintance. “Pleasure to see you again, Sergeant.”

The Marine gave a curt nod of his head. “Likewise, sir.”

“Staff Sergeant Rook and Sergeant Major Centurion,” continued Shining, moving to two gruff-looking stallions in matching desert print uniforms. “They’re on loan to us from the Equestrian Rangers.”

Fleethoof raised a brow. “From Zavros?”

“Like we’d be from anywhere else,” Rook muttered.

“How’s it going over there?”

“Oh, you know, same old… Ponies gettin’ killed, mass genocide everywhere you look, no news coverage back home, not a flyin’ fuck given…” Centurion snorted under his breath, then added a snide, “thanks for askin’.”

Shining stepped up to the last pony in line, the mare smiling at the Captain of the Guard, then at Fleethoof. “And last but not least, Master Sergeant Raptor of the Air Force.”

“Wonderbolts Reserves,” she amended, then reached across to shake the captain’s hoof. “I’ve heard good things about you from Lieutenant Spitfire, sir.”

“Good things?” Fleethoof laughed to himself. “If they’re coming from Spitfire, then I know that can’t be true.”

“I’ve taken the liberty of introducing the rest of your team while we waited for you, Captain Fleethoof. Time is of the essence, after all,” Just Cause said. He levitated each of the folders to the ponies around the projector. “Now, you all know why I’ve summoned you here. You’ve all been briefed on Black Wraith and have volunteered to stay its course in the interests of Equestria.”

“Yeah, we know. Get on with it,” Rook groaned.

“From this moment on, in order to protect your identities, all official documents and briefings will refer to you as ‘Phantoms’. You will become that: ghosts. Specters of Equestria that your enemies will come to dread and fear. You cannot be stopped, you cannot be contained, and you cannot be defeated. I know I’ve given you carte blanche on how you conduct your missions, but bear in mind, you are not permitted to disobey my direct orders. Do I make myself clear?”

Murmurs of agreement ran through the group.

“Good. Remember to work together as a team. You will play nicely with one another, regardless of race, rank, gender, and personal history.”—He fixed Fleethoof and Shining Armor with a hard gaze—“There are no lone wolves or solitary heroes in Black Wraith. Listen to your team leaders, and above all else, watch each other’s backs.” Just Cause’s horn glowed as he manipulated the projections. The images shifted until Cadance and Alaric were both displayed side-by-side. “We all know this is about these two: Princess Cadenza and Alaric Dawnbreaker. We still have not located the princess, and we believe the individual that perpetrated her abduction is Alaric. Many of you remember him as the former leader of the Griffon Kingdom.”

“Get on with it!” Rook’s second interruption earned him a swift smack upside the back of his head from Centurion.

“We’ve exhausted all possible leads on either of them,” Shining said with a sigh of defeat. “Unless there’s some magical piece of intel we’ve missed, we’ve got nothing.”

“No, Captain Armor, I’m afraid you’re right. We have no idea where in the world they are.”

Just Cause’s news did little to help soften the somber mood in the room. Fleethoof watched Shining Armor’s shoulders slump as he leaned against the projector. He was losing hope. He had to admit that he felt the walls closing in on him too. Each second slipping by felt like a smack to the face, mocking him and reminding him of what he was losing.

“What we do have is an idea of where to start.”

Shining Armor’s ears pricked up atop his skull. Fleethoof lifted his head to meet the minister’s conniving eyes. “We know where information on Alaric is?”

“We do,” Just Cause said with a curt tip of his head. “Since we’ve had no luck getting access to the griffons’ private archives, we’ve had to settle for the second best paper trail to Alaric.”

“Which is…?” Fleethoof held his breath, waiting for the rub.

“The Tail Aviv Archives.”

There it was. He knew there had to be some Goddess-awful catch for there to be such a prominent ray of sunshine. It seemed like nopony else knew how to take the revelation either. Shining Armor looked shell-shocked. Half of his team was staring in disbelief at the minister, as if the stallion had just proposed they sacrifice their firstborn foals in a pagan ritual. The Rangers were laughing.

“The Re'emian Archives?” Centurion repeated between chuckles. “Now I know you’ve gotta be pullin’ my leg.”

“I assure you, Sergeant, I am quite serious.”

“Then you’re outta your fuckin’ mind. The Re'emians are our own allies, stained as that friendship may be, plus they’re at war right now. Those archives are gonna be locked up tighter than a clam with lockjaw. Not to mention they’re bein’ run by the Mossad.”

“Will the Re'emians not share that information with us willingly?” asked Shining.

Just Cause shook his head. “Alaric is not wanted for any crimes in Re'em. He and the griffons are still friends of the nation—much closer to them than we are. I tried to reason with Director Adonai, but he refused to provide us with the rope to hang Alaric. They do not want to be involved at all.”

“Fuck that!” Sharp Shot scoffed. “They’re involved by association!”

“Yeah, cause that’s gonna hold up reeeal nice in a tribunal…” Rook muttered.

Just Cause sighed. “Look, I understand your reluctance. I know this may seem difficult—”

“It looks like outright suicide to me,” interjected Centurion.

“Let him talk.” Fleethoof steeled his gaze on Centurion, staring off with the Ranger for a moment before giving a look to Just Cause to continue.

“I know this may seem difficult, but I wouldn’t have summoned you all if I didn’t have the utmost faith in your ability to complete the job.”

“But… infiltrating the Mossad Headquarters?” Raptor asked. “It’s never been done. It’s impossible.”

“It’s not impossible. It just requires a certain amount of preparation and finesse.”

Raptor didn’t seem convinced. “It seems impossible to me…”

“I can do it.”

All eyes turned to Fleethoof when he spoke. He nodded and turned his eyes to his team with a confident glean in them. “My team can handle it.”

“Ha! Seven ponies against the entire Mossad?” Rook looked on the verge of laughter. “You’ll all be dead before daybreak.”

“No, they won’t, because we’re going too,” Shining Armor said. Rook and Centurion exchanged a look; a silent conversation passed between their eyes. “Something you want to share, Centurion?”

“With all due respect, Shinin’, this is a piss poor deal.” He gave a forlorn shake of his head. “I know you mean well, tryin’ to get the princess back, but trust me. Rook and I have seen nothin’ but death over in Zavros, and I know when we’re walkin’ into a trap. This has bad news written all over it.”

Shining looked completely unfazed by the sergeant’s concerns. “You took an oath to protect Equestria and its leaders, Centurion—no exceptions. And it’s more than that. You were with me in Asgard. You remember what it was like fighting Alaric and his fanatics. Now’s our chance to hunt him down and end it all. Or have you forgiven all the pain and suffering he caused already?”

Centurion snorted, an indignant look on his face. “You know damn well it ain’t like that, Shinin’.” He paused, seeming to collect his thoughts. “I have ponies dependin’ on me comin’ back to Fetlock. I can’t be runnin’ around like a damn fool chasing ghosts to find a princess we’ve already lost.”

“And I have the entire Royal Guard relying on me. I’m still going.”

Shining Armor and Centurion held each other’s gazes for the longest time. The room was kept from silence by the humming of the computer terminals alone. It was Centurion who gave in first, turning his gaze down to the floor with another shake of his head that tousled his navy blue mane.

“Dammit if you aren’t the most persistent son of a bitch, Shinin’…” Centurion laughed, and then sighed. He lifted his head a fraction of an inch to glance across the table at his captain. “All right, you win. We’re in.”

Rook looked gobsmacked. “Cent, you can’t be serious.”

“We’re already here, Rookie. Might as well make ourselves useful.”

“I’m down for fucking up the Mossad,” Fire Wave pitched in. “Not in the Marines to shy from a challenge.”

All eyes turned to Raptor last. The mare rubbed her foreleg and rolled her eyes. “Wow, the peer pressure is real. I guess if everypony else is doing it, I should do my part, too.”

“Thank you,” Shining said with a smile. “All right, Minister. That’s a dozen ponies. So what’s the mission?”

Just Cause took a few moments to work the computer terminal. Before their eyes, the hologram shifted to create a three-dimensional projection of the Mossad Headquarters. A section in the middle of the building was highlighted with a bright blue glow.

“This operation, codenamed Operation Phoenix, is a straight hit on the archives. As Sergeant Raptor pointed out, the archives are housed in the Mossad Headquarters. That means you won’t be dealing with your run-of-the-mill soldiers protecting them. Mossad agents are renown for their brutal efficiency at subduing and eliminating threats. In a metaphor, you’ll be trying to steal honey from hornets.”

“Hornets don’t make hon—ow!” Sharp Shot was quieted by a well-placed smack on the head by Fleethoof.

“The archives are all electronic now, which means that you’ll have to infiltrate the archives, hack the mainframe, and find the information you’re looking for. Anything pertaining to Alaric Dawnbreaker is fair game.”

“How are we going to hack a computer like that?” Midnight asked. “They’ve probably got a ton of security on it.”

“We’ve created a special backdoor virus designed specifically for cracking encryptions and passwords when installed on a computer.” Just Cause levitated an optical disc over to Midnight. “You will have to disable the system’s firewall remotely, but after that, simply put this disc in and the program will do all the legwork getting you in. Imagine it like a digital lock pick, if you will.”

Midnight squealed with delight and took the disc with a ‘mine!’. Valiant raised his hoof. “Do we know the Re'emians have any relevant info on Alaric before we go burning this bridge?”

The minister puckered his lips and shook his head. “No, we do not. But we know Alaric has served with them in the past and they are on friendly terms with the griffons. They may still have records on his contacts, friends, hideouts… If we have any chance at finding a clue—even the slightest, most minuscule hint—we have to take it. Otherwise, we’re walking blind in the dark.” Just Cause waited a moment to let the information sink in, reading the expressions of the ponies around him. None of them looked too happy. “Ready for the catch? While you’re in there, under no circumstances are you permitted to kill any Mossad agents.”

All at once, everypony began to voice their disapproval. Everypony looked visibly distressed at the restriction. Just Cause held up his hoof to quiet them before adding, “In fact, you aren’t permitted to bring any weaponry on this op.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Rook hissed. “I’d rather give up my left leg than my gun.”

Midnight Dasher asked, “No weapons? What if they start shooting at us?”

“Then duck, or avoid being seen in the first place.” Just Cause didn’t bat an eyelash while he spoke with cool detachment. “It’s one thing to be breaking into a government facility and stealing from a nation we’re supposed to be friends with, but murdering their agents is a different business. You are free to subdue the agents as you see fit and bring any nonlethal equipment as necessary, but there are to be no casualties. None. If you get caught, the mission is scrubbed. Try to escape with whatever you have. If you can’t, surrender, and I will do my best to get them to turn you loose. However, if you do get caught, it’s game over. We’ll have no intel and no leads to track Alaric down with. Do I make myself clear?”

Nopony spoke or moved. The sour grimaces on their faces told Just Cause all he needed to know.

“Where do we go if we get caught” asked Fleethoof, “or when we complete the mission?”

“In both eventualities, either the Equestrian embassy or local FOB will work. Once there, get in touch with me and I’ll have you home as fast as I can.” Just Cause shut down the holograms and folded his hooves on the terminal. “I know this is less than ideal for you ponies. I know this isn’t the sort of thing you’re used to—”He stopped himself and glanced over at the group of ponies in matching black uniforms. “—Most of you aren’t used to. If I had another alternative, I would take it. But I don’t, and neither do you, and neither does Equestria.”

Just Cause paused to take a breath. In that moment, Fleethoof decided to voice a question that had been gnawing at his mind. “Why are you doing this? Being so hooves-on in this kind of work.” He stared into the cyan eyes of the minister across the terminal. “Why take a risk that could ruin your career?”

A smirk twisted at the edge of Just Cause’s mouth. Fleethoof couldn’t decide if it put him off or not. “Because, like you, I took an oath to do whatever I can to better Equestria. If my job wants me to sit on my hooves and do nothing, then I don’t want this career regardless. This is me doing just that. It might be unethical, even illegal, but if I don’t, how can I say I did all I could when I knew in my heart that I didn’t?”

The minister’s words had left Fleethoof in a confusing state of bewilderment. He hadn’t expected such a patriotic response from the stallion. He had expected the typical spiel of a politician, the lies and sweet nothings they spewed to get elected and then do everything but what they said. Just Cause didn’t mince words. He didn’t make promises. He told things the way they were and let the chips fall where they may.

Fleethoof couldn’t decide if he liked or resented the minister for his outlandish manner. On the one hoof, he let him do his work as he saw fit. On the other, Fleethoof couldn’t get a read on him. He knew how to see through the façade of every other representative or senator or whatever—but not Just Cause. It perturbed him not having the upper hoof in their relationship.

“If there’s no other questions, I’ll let you ponies discuss your gear and plan. There’s a train leaving for Tail Aviv at one with a private car reserved for a wealthy anonymous benefactor. I suggest you not miss it,” Just Cause said and made his way out of the room. “Good luck, Phantoms. Make me proud.”

Chapter 5: Operation Phoenix

January 21, Modern Era Year 4

2310 Hours

Tail Aviv, Re'em

Tail Aviv buzzed around Fleethoof, the sounds of crowds of ponies, carriages, and the new automobiles filling the air with the din of a thriving metropolis. It seemed like Re’em was adopting foreign technology faster than Equestria was. Towering skyscrapers dotted the skyline around him as he peered out the window of the hotel room. He counted the lights in each, silently whittling away time. It was such a shame; any other time he would have marveled at the beauty of the vast exotic city. Unfortunately, he was on the job. They had been in Re'em for less than a day, but already he was eager to put distance between himself and the city.

“Activity in the building?”

Shining Armor’s voice spoke with murmured words beside him, each one reigned in and controlled. It sounded as if he was trying to avoid talking to him as much as Fleethoof was doing the same. He turned his eyes across the street to the hexagonal building made of steel and glass. The Mossad Headquarters was dark without so much as a flashlight to break the wall of blackness through the windows. A high concrete fence ran around the perimeter of the property, and the only gate was lit up like a Hearth’s Warming tree. Even from this height, he could see the specks of several guards patrolling around the entrance and on the grounds.

“Same patrol patterns on the ground,” he replied. “Still nothing in the building.”

“Hmm.” Shining didn’t sound pleased.

“They don’t wanna make this easy for us,” said Rook from across the room. The Ranger was busying himself with packing rappelling gear into saddlebags for the team.

“Most of the windows are covered up with blinds,” Sharp Shot reported while peering down at the Mossad Headquarters through his binoculars. “I can’t see shit.”

Shining Armor reclined back against the wall with a grunt and crossed his hooves over his chest. “So we’re walking blind in the dark, huh…”

Sharp lowered his binoculars and glanced up at the captain. “Yeah, about that, I had some concerns about the ‘getting in’ part. More specifically, the ‘how do we get in without getting killed’ part. As in, how do we get in without getting shot full of holes and buried somewhere in the desert?”

“Why don’t we just walk up to the front door and ask politely?” Rook quipped with as dry a tone as the stallion could manage.

“If we do that, I’m volunteering you first.” Sharp turned back to the two captains. “No, but really, I’d like to not die.”

Midnight Dasher sat up from her prone position on a nearby couch. “I second that motion.”

Fleethoof heard Shining Armor shift his weight beside him and felt the eye of his comrade burning into the back of his skull. He was waiting for a response. Shining didn’t seem to be any more certain than he felt. Without a word, he reached over and took the binoculars from Sharp with his telekinetic magic, beginning to scout the building more closely.

“Well, the front gate is out of the question…” reasoned Shining, scratching one option off the very short list. “We could try to scale another section of the wall and slip past the guards out front. We could try to get in through the sewer system, assuming it isn’t all locked up as well.”

“We could go in through the roof,” Fleethoof offered.

“Har har, very funny. We don’t all have wings, you know,” Shining retorted.

“We don’t need wings. The building across the street is taller. We could zip-line down from there to the roof. We just need to fly the ropes down, secure them to something, and we slide on down. Six, maybe seven of us tops. The others can provide overwatch for guard patterns on the ground.”

Shining turned his body to face Fleethoof, his hooves still folded over his chest. “And what about the guards?”

“I see one pony on the roof.” Fleethoof did another pass over the roof to confirm his statement. “I think most of the security is based on the lower levels. I don’t think they’re anticipating a rooftop break-in.”

“Let me see.” Shining lifted the binoculars again. Dammit, Fleethoof was right. “Okay, so that might work… But we still have other options.”

“Put it to a vote then.”

“The roof sounds like the safest way to me,” Sharp Shot murmured beside the two officers.

Fleethoof cast a complacent glance at Shining. “That’s two.”

“I vote roof.” Midnight added her vote to the mix. “I think anypony with wings will say the roof.”

“Cent, Rook?” Shining asked, peering over his shoulder at the Rangers in question.

“I don’t give a shit,” Rook said amidst slipping into his vest. “Whichever way gets us killed less.”

Centurion voiced his ballot in the same manner as his compatriot. That just left all the wingless members of Skyfall Unit, and Shining Armor already knew which way they would vote.

“Okay, roof it is then… Anypony have any objections to heights?” Nopony spoke up. “Anypony? Nopony at all? We still have the sewer option on the table.”

Fleethoof smirked and stashed his binoculars. “Looks like we’re going up and over. All right, let’s get geared up, ponies! The sooner we get in there, the sooner we get out.”

Shining glanced across the expanse of space at the other rooftop, then peered down at the street twelve stories below, already feeling light-headed. “Celestia have mercy…”

* * *

Standing on top of the roof with warm air whipping around his body from the coastal gales, Fleethoof almost forgot that it was snowing back home. He shuffled his hooves closer to the edge of the towering building. The lip of the roof kissed the tip of his boots, ushering him to take that final step into free fall. He peered over the precipice at his target below. The roof of the Mossad building was mostly dark. It would provide the perfect cover for their descent.

“Can you see the guard, Midnight?” he asked.

Beside him, the Thestral nodded. “Just left of the door.”

Fleethoof made a soft sound of acknowledgement. He turned to the rest of the group, watching as they made the final preparations to the ropes. They had tethered them to the ventilation shafts of the roof they were on and were triple checking to make sure they were secure. Shining Armor paced back and forth, taking slow, deep breaths as he went. The unicorn looked positively green.

“We all set?”

Sharp Shot ran the length of the nylon ropes over to him and Midnight. “Good to go, boss. Hey, uh, you sure these’ll hold us, right?”

Fleethoof tested the weight of the rope in his hooves. While not the most ideal material, the steel cable was sturdy and rigid. It should last long enough for a one-way trip. Or so he hoped.

“They should be fine. We’ll have to find another way out, but you’ll get down there alive.”

“Oh gee, that makes me feel so much better…”

“Just wait for our signal.”

With that, Fleethoof passed one of the cables to Midnight and stood on the edge with her again. He pulled his set of night vision goggles down over his eyes, drew in a few lungfuls of air, and dove, dropping like a missile down and then veering up. His wings burst from his back with a powerful flap, propelling him through the air like a shark in the water. Just behind him, he could hear the leathery flap of Midnight’s wings keeping close. The two ponies zeroed in on the target roof with lethal precision, coming in closer… closer…

“He’s to the right of the door!”

Fleethoof followed Midnight’s directions. In the green tint of the goggles, he picked out the shape of the guard just to the side of the doorway. He adjusted his trajectory, coming in hot right on top of him. The pony turned in time to see a set of hooves make contact with his face. Fleethoof bucked the guard back, his head smacking into the hard rooftop with a dull thud, rendering him unconscious in the blink of an eye.

The second his hooves touched down on the solid roof, Fleethoof went to work winding the rope around another air duct. Once his and Midnight’s lines were secure (he gave each an experimental tug just for good measure), he pulled a flashlight from his saddlebags and flickered it several times to the others. The dark silhouette of a pegasus shot off the roof, Valiant joining them a few moments later.

Then came the others. One by one, the ponies without the ability of flight slid down the makeshift zip-line, soaring across the gap of street several stories above the earth. Sharp Shot landed first, collapsing into a heap the moment his hooves touched down and all but vomiting on the spot. Without his rifle, the sniper was useless at a range. The Rangers arrived next, looking as unflappable as ever, the kind of aloofness that only came with seasoned experience. They hit the roof and immediately set to getting the door open with a crowbar. The others remained on the opposite roof, setting up reconnaissance positions overhead.

Shining Armor arrived last, dropping to a crouch when he landed. The stallion was shaking and his chest heaved with each labored breath. Fleethoof saw a thin sheen of sweat across his brow, but said nothing of it. He waited until Shining had collected himself again before moving on the door. Centurion and Rook had broken the lock and were peering inside in a scene similar to foals spying on something they shouldn’t see.

“What do you see?”

“Stairs,” came Rook’s blunt response.

Fleethoof resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Anything else?”

“Lots of stairs. That’s it.” Rook pulled back and pulled his neckerchief up over his muzzle, partially obscuring his face. “No contacts though. We’re clear.”

“I’ll be damned… It looks like your plan worked,” Centurion said with a trace of impression in his voice.

“They do that sometimes, but ponies always seem to be surprised when they do.” Fleethoof smirked at his quip and nodded to the ponies. “Now Just Cause said the archives would be somewhere on the eighth floor. There’s a lot of power being consumed on that floor around the clock, so it’s gotta be there. We just need to find it.”

“Plan?” asked Midnight, her voice lowered to a hush.

“We locate a fuse box and trip the power long enough for us to find a security room and get the cameras down. Then we find the archives, get the goods, and get the hell outta Dodge.” Fleethoof looked around at the group of ponies. “Any volunteers?”

“Rook and I’ve got the security,” Centurion said.

Valiant raised a hoof and said, “I studied the schematics Minister Cause was able to pull on the building. There’s a utility room just below the roof that should have a panel that controls camera feeds.”

“Sounds good. Get on it, Val.” Fleethoof turned to the Rangers at the door next. “After you. Rangers lead the way.”

“You fucking know it,” Rook muttered and yanked the door open. He disappeared down the darkness of the stairs, flanked closely by Centurion.

Fleethoof rushed in next, following his night vision as he descended the concrete stairs. It was a few flights down from the roof before they came to anything. A heavy metal door with words written in Re’emian sat isolated and alone to the side of the landing they were on. Fleethoof stared at the word, trying to make heads or tails of it.

“It’s the utility room,” Rook explained after he struggled with it for a full minute. “I know Re’emian. Better get your ass in there, little pegasus.”

Valiant nodded and ducked inside once the Rangers had pried the door open for him. The door gave way with a loud groan of metal that made Fleethoof cringe, but once Valiant had disappeared within, he breathed a sigh of relief. It was still quiet inside the building. Their entry had gone unnoticed so far.

He peered down the edge of the stairs, down into the gaping pit of darkness that was the stairwell. He couldn’t see more than three floors down before it dropped off into black nothingness. The lack of hoofsteps echoing around the stairwell inspired confidence though. So long as no guards were around, he could breathe easy.

“Okay, let’s keep heading down to the eighth floor while Val does his thing,” said Fleethoof. “He’ll radio us when he’s ready. Keep moving.”

The operators hustled down the stairs, their equipment shifting and shuffling sounding like an earthquake in the stillness of the night. It made Fleethoof very self-conscious about their presence. They had to leave as little of a signature as could be. The first floor they passed was marked with a large number ’12’ painted on the wall. Good, they weren’t that far off. They descended further and further, each floor they passed making Fleethoof’s heart beat that much faster. Each step he took, he realized he was getting closer and closer to Alaric—and to Cadance.

“Captain, the security feed is running to somewhere on the sixth floor,” Valiant’s voice spoke in a whisper through his headset. Fleethoof nodded to himself. The others would be hearing the same thing he was.

“Got it. Standby for the kill command,” he replied.

Shining Armor turned to Centurion and Rook. “You guys go to the sixth floor. Call Valiant, tell him to kill the cameras just before you go in. Try to find the security room fast, then wipe the recordings.”

“Quit worryin’, Cap’n. We’ll get it done,” Centurion said and tapped Rook on the shoulder. The two ponies hustled ahead of the group while they passed the ninth floor.

Fleethoof hugged the last turn tight, his hooves sprinting down the stairs until he saw the door. Then he saw the large ‘8’ painted beside it. His breath caught. This was it. With a motion of his hooves, he stacked up on the side of the door while the others took their positions. Shining Armor stood just opposite of him in the doorway. The two exchanged a brief hard look before they deliberately tried to focus on something—anything—else.

Down below, Centurion and Rook jumped down the last three steps and rushed the door. The giant ‘6’ betrayed the floor. The two stallions pressed their backs to the hard concrete, breathing hard to catch a second wind, and then Rook placed his hoof on the door handle and nodded to his partner. Centurion nodded back.

“All right, kill the cams.”

“Standby…” A few seconds passed. “Okay, they’re down. Move fast!”

Rook threw the door open as fast as he could. The two ponies scurried into the dark corridor, crouching low as they moved and sticking to the shadows. The sixth floor looked like offices of some kind. Large glass cubicles made up the bulk of the space the hallway wrapped around. Desks, computers, file cabinets, the entire facade of a regular office space. The Rangers knew better.

Centurion took the lead down the hall, pausing at each door they passed to let Rook translate what was written on the placard next to each. They passed by several private offices for administrators, two bathrooms, and a janitor’s closet. Then they came to the black metal door. Centurion, used to their routine of stopping for a second and then rushing on, went to run forward. He was stopped by Rook pulling him back so hard, he nearly fell to the floor.

“Here,” he hissed through his teeth. He eyed the keycard reader beside the door and muttered a curse under his breath. “Hey, pegasus, this door’s got some sort of electronic lock. You got any wires up there for that?”

“One second… Yeah… Yep, try it now.”

As if on cue, the little red light on the card reader went out. Centurion eyes the black door, then looked to Rook for confirmation. While Centurion took position beside the door, Rook slid a hoof into his saddlebags and produced a small black handgun. Centurion raised a brow.

“I wasn’t about to let some stuffed shirt political tell me what to do.”

With a nicker, Centurion grasped the door handle. He counted down three with a wave of his hoof, then pulled the door open. It released with a click, and the two ponies charged into the room. Two Re’emians dressed in black suits had been sitting at the computer terminals, working at a feverish pace while staring in bewilderment at the rows of black monitors around the rooms. They were taken by surprise when two stallions ran inside, one tackling a guard to the ground while the other drew a pistol on the second and ordered him to surrender in Re’emian.

Centurion grunted as he struggled against the thrashing Mossad agent, landing two hard blows against the stallion’s stomach and doubling him over before locking him in a chokehold. The ponies writhed about on the floor while Rook took the other guard’s cuffs and restrained him, then took his radio. Centurion fought on the ground with the guard, yelping when his head made contact with the edge of the terminals. He growled and tightened his hold around the Re’emian’s neck until his opponent’s struggling grew weaker and weaker, and then he slipped gently out of consciousness. Centurion heaved a sigh and rolled back onto his hooves to restrain the unconscious guard.

“You sound out of breath,” Rook teased. “Maybe you should’ve brought a gun, too.”

“Go fuck yourself. You’d better not kill anypony, or I swear I’ll tan your hide myself.” Centurion leaned over one of the terminals and stared at the blank monitors. “All right, we’ve got security down. Go ahead and turn the cams back on.”

“Roger.”

Within a minute, all of the monitors flickered back to life. Night vision views of nearly every corner of the Mossad Headquarters came into view. The grainy, high contrast pictures showed ponies walking practiced paths up and down the corridors, some in pairs. Centurion and Rook gawked at the amount of guards patrolling around the hallways and offices. There was a lot more security than they realized.

“Uh, Phantom leaders, be advised: we’ve got a hell of a lotta guards.” He changed a few of the monitors to start observing the eighth floor. “Looks like about half a dozen on your floor alone. Can’t see anything like the archives from the cams though. Move at your discretion.”

Fleethoof’s voice came through the radio calm and clear: “Copy that. We’re oscar mike.”

From one of the monitors, the Rangers watched as the door to the stairwell slid slowly open, and a line of dark silhouettes slipped inside.

* * *

The long dark corridors did not inspire confidence in Fleethoof’s heart. They were now in the actual Mossad Headquarters—the Mossad, one of the most dangerous intelligence agencies in the world. And they were about to steal from them. That knowledge alone was enough to put his heart in the cold vise grip of fear. Actually being in the lion’s den was another story. Fleethoof glanced up at a camera hanging from the wall. At least they didn’t have to worry about those anymore. The cameras were on their side now.

The eight other members of Black Wraith followed close behind him. They slunk through the shadows, doing their best to avoid making a sound and the large glass offices. Fleethoof slid up alongside a corner and pressed his back to it, sucking in a deep breath, and then peeking his head around the edge. A guard was walking away from him, his back to his position. Fleethoof quickly motioned for the others to cross, keeping an eye on the guard until they had made it safely past. Then he rolled across the floor and across to the other side.

Searching for the Archives in the darkness was a near impossible feat. Couple that with his inability to read Re’emian and Fleethoof was at an impasse. Well, aren’t we just seven flavors of fucked… he thought with despair when they approached another door with a nameplate written in the foreign language.

“Anypony know Re’emian?” he asked. Nopony spoke up. “I didn’t think so… So we check every room then.”

Midnight Dasher slid up to the door and sat back on her flanks, freeing up her hooves to produce her set of lockpicks from her tactical vest and set to work on the lock. The others kept a lookout; Fleethoof and Shining Armor watching either end of the hall. Neither made any attempt to interact with the other. The stretch of silence tightened Fleethoof’s stomach into a knot. The tension was palpable in the hall. He was half expecting a patrol to come around and catch them by surprise at any moment. What would they even do in a situation like that? What contingency did they have without their weapons? Take them down and subdue them before they made a sound was their only option, but how possible was it to do without somepony raising an alarm first?

Fortunately, he didn’t need to worry about that. The door clicked as the tumblers released. Midnight wore a victorious grin as she pulled the door open, revealing a storage closet filled with boxes of paper and other office supplies. The way her face dropped like a rock made Fleethoof snicker.

“Strike one. Let’s move on.”

“Do you think one of these computers will have the files we need, boss?” Sharp Shot asked, peering into one of the glass offices.

“No. They’re gonna be keeping them locked up somewhere.”

“Phantom leaders, be advised: you’ve got two contacts approaching to your twelve o’clock.”

Centurion’s voice through his headset sent chills down Fleethoof’s spine. His head snapped up in the direction they were heading. Just ahead, the hallway split into a three-way intersection again. In the low lights coming from the ceiling, he could just make out two shadows fast approaching.

Oh, shit! Fleethoof hurried forward. A set of hooves other than his own moving with him surprised him; Shining Armor was following close at his side. They reached the corner just as the two guards came into view. Fleethoof wasted no time, flapping his wings and throwing himself into one of the guards. The pony yelped, then as silenced as Fleethoof wrapped a hoof around his neck and pinned him to the ground. Behind him, another thud hit the ground. He glanced over his shoulder to see Shining dragging the unconscious second guard back towards the storage room.

Fleethoof grit his teeth and struggled against the flailing guard. The stallion beneath him was desperately bucking and thrashing his hooves, trying to score a hit to loosen Fleethoof up enough to throw him off. Fleethoof held on all the tighter, keeping him held down under his weight. The pony’s hooves began to scramble for the gun on his hip, trying to pry it from its holster beneath his suit. Fleethoof grabbed the Mossad agent’s hoof just as he freed his weapon and slammed it into the floor twice, sending the pistol sliding across the floor.

The guard’s fighting slowly began to weaken as he wheezed for air. His motions became more sluggish and confused, and then he fell still. Fleethoof let go after another moment had passed, wanting to make sure he was out cold, but not wanting to kill him. When the body didn’t move any more, he grabbed the pony and hoisted him over his back, carrying him to join his friend in the storage room.

“What was that?” Midnight asked in amazement.

“Knockout spell,” replied a cool Shining Armor. “Puts a pony down for four hours.” He fixed Fleethoof with a hard gaze. “Think we can accomplish our mission in four hours without any more surprises?”

Fleethoof clenched his jaw to resist snorting, lest they alert any other guards.

“Phantom leaders, we found a blueprint of the building, break,” Centurion said. “I think we may have a possible location for the Archives. We can guide you there. Over.”

“Please do,” Shining replied. “I don’t feel like spending all night checking these rooms.”

“Copy. Proceed down the hall to your twelve.”

Shining nodded to himself and took point. Following his lead and Centurion’s instructions over the radio, the operators crept through the shadows past several more doors. Every now and then, a flashlight would shine through the glass walls of the offices between them and the roving security. Fleethoof’s heart would stop whenever the beam would pass over them, watching it dance on the walls before turning away, and then they would move faster. He didn’t mind one bit. The faster they got in, the faster they got out, and time was not on their side—it never was.

“At the end, turn the corner and walk about fifty meters to the door. That’ll be it.”

“Copy.” Shining Armor picked up the pace, his hooves making muted thumps on the carpeted floors.

Fleethoof was doing his best to move as evenly as possible to keep his gear from banging together and making any noise. He glanced back at the others, making sure they were all still present. All of them were moving just like he was—save for Midnight Dasher, who was walking around without a care in the world. He pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. Something wasn’t right. He fell back to her side, studying her from head to toe with scrutinizing eyes.

“You know, if you wanted to undress me with your eyes, there’s a much better time and place, Fleety,” Midnight said with a wry smirk pointed at him.

“I’m trying to figure out how you’re moving so silently with such ease.”

Midnight just rolled her shoulders in a shrug. “Maybe I’m just really good at this stealth business.”

“Yeah, or maybe you’re compromising one aspect for another.” Fleethoof stopped Midnight with a hoof on her chest. His hoof sank through the malleable fabric of the vest without any resistance. He stared down at her chest with narrowed eyes as the realization dawned on him. “You took the plates out of your vest?” Midnight’s lack of a response was all he needed. “Midnight, what the hell were you thinking?!”

“I was thinking about how to move more easily without getting caught,” she remarked.

“You’ve got no protection!”

“Yeah, I know.”

“What if you get shot?”

Midnight released an indignant huff and puffed out her chest with a pout. “I won’t.”

“You don’t know that! You’ll be killed!”

“I’ll be fine, Fleet.”

“Hey,” Shining whispered in a sharp hiss back to them. His pointed glare told Fleethoof he was in no mood for their banter. “Are you two done?”

“Yes, we are,” Midnight said, then turned to Fleethoof with adamant resolve in her eyes.

Fleethoof relented with an irritated sigh and said, “I don’t want you doing this again, understood?”

“Whatever you say, sir.”

Fleethoof growled and muttered several profanities under his breath as he and Midnight hurried to catch up to the others. They had gathered outside a frosted glass door with more Re’emian words fixed to the panes. Fleethoof cocked his head as he studied the calligraphy.

“That’s them,” Rook’s voice spoke this time. Fleethoof scrunched his nose, trying to figure out how he could know that. Sharp Shot must have seen his reaction because he tapped the pegasus’ shoulder and motioned to a camera pointed right at the door. “I’m bringing up the cameras inside now. Standby for— whoa…”

Whoa? Whoa what? Fleethoof wondered. Shining Armor gave voice to his mental question over the radio.

“You’re gonna want to get in there and see for yourselves.”

Shining Armor tugged at the door handle. The metal frame rattled in place but refused to budge. He grunted and tugged on it again to the same effect. That was when he noticed the keycard reader beside the door. “Aw hell… The door’s electronically locked. I’m betting this glass is bulletproof too. We need to get it open.”

“Hey, Val,” Fleethoof spoke up next over the comms. “Think you can find the power to this thing and shut it down?”

“So long as it’s a magnetic lock, sure. Hang tight.”

Silence overtook the ponies in the hallway. They waited, and they waited. Each second that slipped by felt like an eternity to the anxious Fleethoof. His wings were bristling, ready to dive through the door into the Archives. He kept staring at the unassuming glass door. This was it. This was the only thing keeping him from finding Alaric—and Cadance. The little red light on the keycard reader glared like an ominous signal in the dark, mocking him with its presence. He glared at that light. Soon it would be gone. All he had to do was be patient.

Fleethoof glanced down at his watch; the face read 12:03. They hadn’t been here that long. He shuffled his hooves on the carpet and peered between the others. Shining Armor was standing beside the door looking like he was doing everything he could to keep from pacing. He turned his gaze to Midnight next with a look of disbelief. The Thestral locked gazes with him and gave him a pressing look.

“…What?”

“I can’t believe you took the plates out…”

Midnight made a point to exaggerate her rolling eyes. “Really? We’re breaking into the Mossad and you’re worried about my fashion sense?”

“It’s not your fashion sense I’m worried about. It’s your common sense.”

“Okay, I think I got it. Try the door now,” Valiant said.

Shining glanced at the keycard reader; sure enough, the light had gone out quietly. He pulled the door handle. The door yielded this time, swinging outward to permit them entrance. Fleethoof couldn’t keep the enormous grin off his face. They were in!

“Everypony move fast,” Shining ordered, keeping the door held open while they hurried inside.

Fleethoof rushed past Shining, making the briefest second of hard eye contact before the moment had passed. The door led to a plain white corridor with lights set into the ceiling illuminating the way with cones of pure white light. The hall was short—maybe fifteen feet in length—before coming to another door. This one also had a keycard reader, but like its twin outside, the light was off. Fleethoof licked his dry lips and rested a hoof on the door handle. This was it. He pushed the door in and stepped past the threshold.

“…Whoa…”

One by one, the ponies made their way into the Archives. The room was larger than Fleethoof had been expecting, done up in dark colors with pale neon lights. Towers of computer equipment stood like monoliths around the room, buzzing and humming with life. By his count, there were twenty different servers set up, all connected to computer terminals set up around the perimeter of the room.

“Wow,” Shining gawked as he wandered around the room, his hooves making metallic stomps on the metal floors.

“Told you,” said Rook through their headsets. “Now can we please find what we need and leave?”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Shining turned around to face the rest of the team. “Okay, everypony take a terminal and start searching. Everything that has Alaric’s name on it we take. Let’s move!”

* * *

The glow of the computer screen illuminated the small office. The stench of hours-old coffee perfumed the air with the acrid scent of the bitter liquid now sitting cold in its mug. The inconsistent tacking of keys was the only thing staving off silence from making its home in the office.

Chaim sighed and ran his hooves down his face, staring at the computer screen with tired eyes. He glowered at the half-finished report pulled up on the monitor. He had spent most of the night filling out new battle damage assessments for the recent string of attacks the Saddle Arabians had ravaged the border stations with. Something had whipped those horses into a frenzy and they were all too eager to take it out on the Re’emians. He had been the lucky pony to draw the short straw to go check each station and get a tally of casualties, damage done, and the other statistics and logistics.

That meant a whole lot of paperwork for him to fill out for the Archives, which meant another sleepless night stuck at the office. He turned his glare to Adira’s empty desk directly across the room from him. His treacherous partner always had his back, except when it came to forms and reports. Thank you for your love and devotion, sister dearest… he thought with a scowl.

He lifted the mug of stone cold coffee to his lips and grimaced when the foul drink touched his tongue. With a quick spit back into the cup, he sighed and rose from his chair, the plastic frame squeaking under its owner’s shifting weight. If he was going to have any hope of finishing this up with any time left to sleep, he was going to need more coffee.

Chaim strode out of his office with the mug clenched tightly between his teeth. He navigated the dark, empty hallways with practiced steps. Routine at the Mossad had become something of a formality that he had memorized: twenty steps down the hall, then a right, and all the way down to the end to the break room. He could have made this trip blindfolded. Chaim rounded the corner at a sluggish pace, his weary hooves refusing to move with any urgency and his tired mind pleading him to go to bed. He gave neither of them any satisfaction. After all, what sort of Mossad agent would he be if he didn’t stay alert at all—

Shrick.

Chaim froze with his hoof on something hard and metal. He furrowed his forehead and glanced down, trying to figure out what he had stepped on. He wrapped his hoof around smooth polymer and cold metal and brought the object up to the light. It was a Mossad pistol. Why is this lying around in the hall? he questioned and began looking around for any nearby guards that may have dropped it. It was a surprising and careless rookie mistake, one he didn’t expect from one of the night-shifters.

He stepped into the nearest office and picked up the phone and punched in the line for security. The phone rang for several seconds, but no answer came. Pursing his lips into a fine line, Chaim trudged back down the hall the way he had come until he walked into the eighth floor lobby. A single agent sat at the desk in front of the elevators, munching on a bag of potato chips while watching some late night show on a small television set.

“Hey, Ivory,” said Chaim as he approached the mare at the desk. “Would you mind calling up to security?” Ivory raised an eyebrow at him. “My phone in my office isn’t working.”

Ivory peered past him at the dozens of dark offices, each with their own phone, then shrugged and dialed the number for security control. The phone rang and rang. When it passed its tenth ring, she shook her head. “They’re not picking up,” she said.

Chaim’s lips tightened again. “That’s what happened last time.”

“I thought you said—?”

“Could you radio one of the security teams down there and ask them to swing by for a check-in? I found this laying on the floor just now.” Chaim asked and placed the gun on the desk, then began to backpedal into the office space. “It’s probably nothing, but you know how paranoid I can get.”

“Understatement of the millennium…” Ivory brought the radio to her face with her magic. “6-2, this is 8-main. Could you stop by Central and see what’s going on with them? They’re not answering their phones.”

Satisfied with that, Chaim turned and headed back for the break room. He still wanted his coffee more desperately than anything else at the moment—save for maybe his comfy bed and a good night’s sleep. But there’s no rest for the wicked… he thought with a nicker under his breath. Carrying his mug down the dark corridors, he rounded the corner, the break room in sight at the far end of the hall. Oddly enough, he still didn’t see the patrol for this side of the office. Where had those two gotten to?

Probably gone out for another snack run… Chaim rolled his eyes at the insubordination. I swear, if Adonai knew what they were up to when he wasn’t here, he’d have a coronary. But I suppose stupidity is better than a… security… breach…?

Chaim’s thoughts slowly drifted off as he stepped past the Archives. His trot slowed to a walk, then to a meander, and then a stop until he was staring at the frosted glass door with scrutinizing eyes. The light for the keycard reader was out. That’s unusual… Chaim moved up to the door and placed his hoof on the keycard reader. He tapped the little black box, half expecting the light to actually flicker back on like it did in the movies whenever you hit something. No such luck this time. He reached into his blazer pocket and pulled out his security ID, then slid it through the reader. Nothing happened; no confirmatory beep, no change of the light, no sound of the magnetic lock releasing.

A suspicious scowl made an appearance across the agent’s face. He put a hoof on the door and pushed. It opened without any resistance. Chaim switched from suspicion to defense mode in the blink of an eye. He pulled his pistol out and pressed his back to the doorframe, peering in at the second frosted door. He couldn’t see inside the Archives proper, but if security was down, then there was a very real threat of a breach. A power out would have explained away the missed phone calls and the magnetic locks, but with the lights and computers still running, Chaim doubted the explanation was something so simple.

Chaim snuck down the short hallway toward the second door. Adrenaline focused his mind to deadly precision. Part of him was urging him to go back and get a security team to check the room with him. The other part wanted to run in there right now and make sure everything was okay. Unfortunately for him, his gung-ho style won that debate. He positioned himself at the second door and brought his weapon up. One deep breath, two deep breaths… then he pushed the door open and moved in.

* * *

The Re’emian Archives was a goldmine. After Centurion and Rook released the initial firewall and securities around the mainframe, all it took was a few minutes of Midnight Dasher installing the decryption virus and the codes were broken, just as Just Case ensured they would. Fleethoof had to admit that he was impressed with Cause’s work. So far, he had proven to be an invaluable ally. Fleethoof watched with excited eyes as lines of code ran across the screens of the computer terminals, followed by a home screen. They were in.

At Shining Armor’s orders, everypony sprung to a computer and began attaching drives to take any information they found. Fleethoof dove to the nearest one and stared in awe at the amount of files stored in the Re’emian Archives. Everything was neatly organized and labeled. They had intel on everything under Celestia’s sun: espionage reports from Saddle Arabia, trade documentation from other nations, military plans, strategies, and protocols, every political action and order on and off the books, and so much more. There were even reports on Equestria-Griffon relations and projected simulations for future hostilities, as well as documents and photos of foreign leaders that would have bordered being blackmail.

“Hot damn, Re’em wasn’t holding anything back,” Sharp Shot said with a whistle. “Wish we could take all of this. It’d make one hell of a good tell-all book.”

“We’re here trying to prevent a catastrophe, not start another. Keep your hooves to Alaric’s stuff only,” Fleethoof reminded him.

“There’s a lot of stuff from when he was king.” Midnight was typing away like a madpony through the files, her beaming grin illuminated by the computer’s glow. She was in her element. “Meetings, deals, troop exchanges, you name it. It looks like he was getting pretty cozy with Mossad too. Looks like the director put an order out to secure all of his files a few days ago.”

Fleethoof nodded and said, “It would explain their reluctance to give him up. Can you find any reason why he’s protecting him?”

“Not yet. Let’s see how deep this rabbit hole goes…”

“Hey, I found something!” Sharp Shot shouted from across the room. Both Fleethoof and Shining Armor abandoned their searches to rush the unicorn’s position. “Turns out Alaric was a part of this PMC group almost twenty years ago. They were working with the Re’emian Army against the Saddle Arabians. Looks like they were damn good at what they did too. Tormented the Arabians for six years! The government adored these guys.”

“More bad news for us,” muttered Shining. “The Re’emians aren’t just protecting Alaric—they love the son of a bitch.”

“I’ll say. They wanted to award Alaric and make him an honorary Re’emian.”

Fleethoof cocked his head to the side. “So why didn’t they?”

“Because he became king of the Griffon Kingdom,” Sharp Shot said as he read further into the files. “Looks like his father died just before they could and he went home to take his throne. They’ve been keeping meticulous records on him every year since then, all neatly organized chronologically.”

“Any reports on where he is now?”

Sharp Shot clicked through a few more files, then shook his head with a frown. “Nope. The reports end just after the Second War. Looks like they didn’t wanna be friends with ol’ Alaric after he screwed the pooch.”

Of course they fucking do… Fleethoof scowled and turned on his heels. Everypony else was hard at work filtering and searching through the thousands of files for any mentions of Alaric. Even with the computer doing most of the legwork, they’d be here all night at this rate.

“Okay, grab all those files, soldier,” Shining ordered, then turned back to the others and asked, “Got anything else?” There was no response from anypony. “Keep looking. There has to be something here.”

Fleethoof returned to his computer with a heavy sigh as the machine finished its search of anything with Alaric’s name in it. He skipped past the old military records Sharp Shot had just showed him, perusing through the diplomatic and economic reports between the Griffon Kingdom and Re’em during Alaric’s reign. Trade between the two countries nearly tripled in those years, not that it came as any surprise. Alaric and the Re’emian government seemed thick as thieves. The revelation made Fleethoof taste bile rising in his throat.

Hope this manhunt doesn’t spark some sort of diplomatic crisis, he thought with a grim expression. The last thing Equestria needed was another enemy. He had just begun copying the trade and diplomacy reports when his headset crackled back to life.

“Phantoms, you’ve got incoming from the hall. One agent, looks like he just noticed the keypad…” Rook’s voice spoke evenly through the radio. “Yeah, he’s coming in. Weapon drawn.”

Fleethoof leapt and bounded over to the door again. Shining Armor took up position on the other side of the door and met his hard gaze with an equally cold eye. He didn’t nod or give any sort of gesture, but the unspoken body language between the two was enough to know the plan: subdue the inbound threat fast and hard. Fleethoof took a deep breath and steadied himself.

“He’s stopped just outside the door…”

He’s waiting to breach and take us by surprise… Time seemed to slow down while Fleethoof waited for his enemy to make his move. He ran his tongue over his dry lips, counting each second down. On the fourth, the door sprung open, smacking Shining Armor in the nose with an audible thump. The unicorn groaned and staggered backwards just as the Mossad agent stepped into the room. The first thing Fleethoof saw was the gun. That was all he needed.

The moment the gun came through the door, Fleethoof grabbed the pistol by the slide and laid a sucker punch across the stallion’s face. The hit stunned him enough for Fleethoof to twist the gun and pry it loose from the agent’s grasp. However, before he could take his enemy down, the stallion turned his stagger into momentum and brought a hind leg up into Fleethoof’s jaw, kicking him just below his chin. Fleethoof stumbled back, the gun clattering to the floor with the sound of metal hitting metal.

Shining Armor sprung into action, lunging at the Mossad agent and wrapping his hooves under his chest like a tackle. The two slammed into the wall, Shining pinning the agent to the surface. He grunted when he lifted the stallion and slammed him into the floor, using his weight to pin him. However, the agent managed to slip a hoof between them and land two hard strikes just below Shining’s ribcage, knocking the wind from his lungs with a heavy gasp, then buck him backwards into one of the servers with a slam and clatter of metal.

Fleethoof dove onto the agent as he was getting to his hooves again. The two tumbled about on the floor in a mess of bodies and flailing hooves. Fleethoof took an elbow to the end of his nose and saw stars. He felt his hoof make contact with the side of the stallion’s skull, then punched his side until the agent groaned and doubled up. Shining was up and running over to help Fleethoof subdue his opponent, but the agent made another lunge with his rear hooves, catching Shining Armor between his legs. Shining yelped and nearly collapsed to the floor. Fleethoof was losing his grip on the squirming agent—and then the pony slipped out of his blazer, leaving Fleethoof clutching an empty pile of fabric.

The Mossad agent scrambled to his hooves, starting to get his bearings. Fleethoof’s heart hammered against his ribs like a drum. He couldn’t let the agent see their faces! If he identified them as Equestrians, they were done! Fleethoof flapped his wings, using the added momentum to throw himself at the agent just as he made his turn to find his attackers. He wrapped the blazer around the pony’s head and collapsed with him onto the ground, tying it like a makeshift mask around the pony’s face while he gave muffled shouts and struggled to break free.

“Take him down! Take him down!” Fleethoof hissed through gritted teeth to Shining.

Shining Armor’s horn glowed with magic, then a thin bolt of energy arced like lightning from his horn and struck the Mossad agent in the chest. The glow encompassed his body and the pony went rigid, his muscles tensing, and then he relaxed into a heap on the floor. Fleethoof slowly unraveled the blazer from around his face. The stallion lay unconscious on the floor.

“Goddess damn, these Mossad agents don’t play nice,” Shining wheezed, still trying to catch his lost breath.

“You’re not getting a Purple Heart for getting kicked in the nuts,” Fleethoof said and got back up on his hooves. He peered down at the agent that had found them, then he froze. He recognized that dark burgundy coat and sandy mane. Oooooh shit… “I know this pony…”

Shining Armor lifted a brow. “You do?”

“I think so. Hey, Sharp, come here and make sure I’m not losing my mind, okay?”

Sharp Shot swiveled away from his computer and trotted around the server. He glanced between the two standing stallions, then down at the one on the ground. “Oh shit! That’s that Re’emian fucker that helped us before!”

“That’s what I was afraid of…” Just to verify his fears, Fleethoof leaned down and inspected the pony’s ID badge up close. Chaim Lieb. Damn, sorry, Chaim. Nothing personal, he thought with a grimace. Sure hope he doesn’t remember what my voice sounded like. “We need to hurry this up.” With a nod, Shining agreed. “Somepony tell me we’ve got something more than old news articles and receipts.”

“Sorry, boss, looks like all the Re’emians have is his record from when he was a PMC, a ton of articles and commendations for his actions, a few Mossad personnel reports on him, and his stuff when he was king. Nothing recent.” Sharp Shot leaned back from the computer and sighed.

Shining Armor snorted and stomped around the Archives. “Come on, there has to be something for us! Don’t tell me we broke in here for nothing!”

Fleethoof licked his lips again and ran a nervous hoof through his mussed up mane. He paced the floor, his hooves making metallic clop-clops with each step. His head hurt from fighting with Chaim and the low lighting. There had to be something they were missing. Maybe the Re’emians had removed any files and stored them somewhere else? But where would they have put them? There was nowhere more safe in the entire country than the room they were standing in right now. The irony was enough to make him smirk, though it was short-lived. So what were they missing?

“Maybe there was never anything here we needed,” he dared to think aloud. “Maybe Just Cause was wrong and we just walked in here for no—”

“I think I’ve got something!” Midnight cheered from across the room.

Fleethoof let his negativity die with the sentence on his tongue. He and Shining moved to Midnight’s computer with quick strides. She had pulled up the personnel file marked with the Mossad emblem. A mare’s photo stared back at them from the glowing screen.

“What are we looking at here, Corporal Dasher?” Shining Armor asked.

“Gentlecolts, say hello to Chaniya.”

“Hello, Chaniya,” Fleethoof murmured to the grainy photograph, then fixed Midnight with a curious stare. “Why are we saying hello to this mare?”

Midnight reclined back on her haunches with a wide smile. “Because Chaniya no longer works for the Mossad.”

“And this helps us how?” Shining asked with a start.

“Because prior to her being removed, she worked as a Mossad liaison with foreign aid, specifically soldiers and mercenaries that were hired to fight for Re’em.” Midnight tapped a line of text on the screen. “Read her last assignment.”

Fleethoof leaned in closer. Chaniya’s last liaison assignment had been to Alaric’s PMC group. “Well, I’ll be damned…” he said and chuckled.

“On top of that, she was brought up on multiple disciplinary citations of fraternizing with her liaisons. Sounds like my kinda mare, hehe.” Midnight paused when neither stallion beside her laughed. She pouted and sulked. “Grumps… Anyway, she was removed from the Mossad after she went AWOL and never came back,” Midnight continued to explain. “Guess when she disappeared off the face of the earth?”

“August 9th, Solar Era 1000.” Shining Armor’s eyes began to widen in understanding. “That was a week after the war ended.”

“And more than enough time for Alaric to escape and flee here,” Fleethoof said. The blanks were beginning to fill in. He knew where Midnight was going with this. “If she was involved with Alaric, she would have the means and resources to sneak him into Re’em and then out to anywhere in the world. She could be our key to finding him.”

“And if Alaric’s kept her on the side for his own pleasure, he may even be with her,” Midnight pointed out.

Fleethoof patted Midnight on the shoulder. “That’s good work, Mid. Do you have a location on Chaniya?”

“At first, no. I didn’t think I’d be able to track her down since the Mossad didn’t have much to go on. They had a small investigation, but I guess they either didn’t think it worth the time to hunt down a lowly liaison agent or they just didn’t care. Then I began to look into her background and I found an old safe house she used to be in charge of when she was Mossad’s liaison to the Marexican government. If I had to guess one place in the world she’d be, my money’s on there.”

“Well, you know what they say about what happens in Marexico…” Fleethoof and Midnight both nickered. “Good job, Midnight. Copy that intel. Was there anything else?” Midnight shook her head. He lifted his head and said louder, “Sharp, do you have anything else? Anything at all?” No response. Fleethoof glanced down at his watch. They had been looking through the Archives for just under an hour and already had one agent almost catch them. “All right, start wrapping it up, ponies! Copy and save what you have. We’re getting out of here.”

“Phantom leader to away teams, we’re packing up here,” Shining spoke through the radio to Centurion, Rook, and Valiant. “Start making your way to the eighth floor and we’ll figure out our extraction. Recon team keep an eye out for us.”

“Copy, sir,” Valiant replied.

No response came from Centurion or Rook. Concern scrunched deep creases in Shining Armor’s forehead. “Phantom leader to security team, do you read me?”

“Not now, Shining…” Centurion’s voice rasped through his headset in a rough whisper.

“What’s going on?” Fleethoof asked. Shining could only shrug and shake his head. “Try them again.”

“Security team, give me a sitrep, ASAP. What is going on?” A long stretch of silence answered him back. His eyes narrowed to a glare, and he growled out, “Security team, respond now!”

BWEEEEP! BWEEEEP! BWEEEEP!

The shrill cry of an alarm shattered the silence in the building like a glass on a concrete floor. Fleethoof felt his heart leap up into his throat. He looked around in a panic. Beside him, Midnight had sprung to her hooves as well and was covering her sensitive ears, a look of excruciating pain contorting her features. Sharp Shot was spinning around in his chair, his head snapping to and fro to locate the sound. Both ponies looked as distressed as Fleethoof felt—save for Shining Armor. The Captain of the Guard looked livid.

“Centurion, Rook, what the hell was that?!”

“Shinin’, I’ll explain later! We’re headin’ your way now. Just get ready to run!”

Shining Armor gnashed his teeth together and let loose a series of irate snorts. Fleethoof had never seen him so worked up before. “Everypony ignore the alarm and grab the drives! Move, move, move! We’re getting the hell outta here!”

Fleethoof rushed back to secure the drive attached to his computer before making sure they were shutting down. The last thing they needed was to remain logged in with their decryption programs running. The scene inside the Archives and become chaos and pandemonium. Everypony was scurrying to secure the files and cover their tracks. He still had no idea what had happened, but whatever Centurion and Rook had done, it had screwed them.

Now they had to face the entire Mossad coming to kill them. They had no weapons, they had no backup, and they had no way out. All Fleethoof could do was give an incredulous laugh. And this was going so well… Fuck me…

* * *

If Fleethoof had thought the dark hallways were a confusing maze before, they were an impassable labyrinth now. The alarm continued to wail through the building like a knell signaling their coming deaths. It would only be a matter of minutes before Mossad agents flooded the building and trapped them like rats. They had to get out before that happened.

Fleethoof and Shining ran through the dark at the head of the pack, looking for any familiar landmarks to navigate with. The sound of stomping hooves caught Fleethoof’s pricked ears. He could see the beams of flashlights bouncing around through the glass walls of offices.

“Guards! Get low!”

The operators dropped to a crouch as the guards ran by in a blur. Going to secure the Archives… he realized. They passed by without a glance in their direction. Once the coast was clear, the ponies sprung up to their hooves and sprinted for the stairs. Fleethoof’s breathing came in short and harsh. His lungs sucked in as much oxygen as he could in shallows breaths while he bolted just behind Shining Armor. His head was on a constant swivel, keeping an eye out for any more guards. They might have been caught, but they hadn’t been found yet.

It took a little bit longer than he would have liked, but Shining eventually found the way to the stairs again, yanking the door open in a hurry and nearly colliding with another pony. “Hooves! Show me your hooves!” he ordered. The pegasus on the other side looked just as started as they were—he also happened to be wearing the same uniform as them. “Celestia dammit, Sergeant Valiant!”

“Sorry, sir! I was just coming to find you!” he said in his defense. At Fleethoof’s motion, the pegasus rejoined the ranks of the others.

“Where the hell are Centurion and Rook?” the pegasus captain asked.

Shining shook his head and sighed. “I don’t know.”

As if they had heard Fleethoof’s question, a door somewhere below them flew open with enough force to slam into the concrete wall with a resounding bang that echoed in the stairwell. Hooves thundered up the stairs toward them until the two ponies in question came dashing up. Rook was splattered with blood, and Centurion had a trickle of red running down a laceration on the back of his head.

“Run, you sons o’ bitches, run!” Centurion shouted.

The door slammed open again. Down below, shouts and calls in Re’emian chased after them. Fleethoof felt ice water run through his veins. The guards were hot on their heels. Without even saying a word, he turned and ran, everypony else already following the Rangers’ lead and making a mad dash down the corridors. Fleethoof had no idea where any of them were going; he doubted any of them knew either. But anywhere was better than here.

Somewhere else in the black hallways the pounding of heavy hooffalls of the other security team searching for them seemed to come from all side. They had to have found the Archives broken into by now. Just Cause hadn’t warned them of what would happen if they were caught. Would the building be locked down and sealed tight? Would they even have an option of escape now? All he said was to handle it however they saw fit.

So we treat it like we’re trapped, Fleethoof thought. In the flurry of signs and rooms rushing past them, he caught sight of an elevator sign out of the corner of his eye, the little symbol of a pony stepping into a box unmistakable.

“Wait! This way! This way!” Fleethoof pushed to the head of the group and took a sharp turn.

Another sign directed him around another corner, then down the long hallway. He followed the signs until they rounded a large archway and ran into the eighth floor lobby. A row of four elevators sat in wait for them. Fleethoof breathed a sigh of relief—then skidded to a halt when the agent behind the desk rose to her hooves in shock. The agent reached for something, but Rook moved faster, drawing down on her with his pistol.

“Don’t move or I paint the wall with your brains!” he ordered, freezing the agent in her tracks. “I’ve got her. Get the elevator.”

Fleethoof was caught between a desire to scold the Ranger for disobeying Minister Cause’s direct orders to relinquish all weapons and thanking him for doing so. He put his internal conflict aside and ran to the elevators, hitting both up and down buttons. Whichever car came first they’d use as their escape. His mind was a flurry of dire thoughts while they waited, scrambling for any semblance of a plan. They couldn’t go out the front door, they couldn’t rappel off the roof…

So we rappel from a lower floor.

Ding! With a musical chime, the furthest elevator doors slid open. Fleethoof hurried to check the empty car, then held the door open and waved the rest of the team in. Rook held his gun on the Mossad agent and disarmed her while the others hurried into the cramped elevator, just managing to fit everypony.

“C’mon, Rook, you’re next.” Fleethoof held the door for the Ranger while he backpedaled into the elevator, leering at the agent all the time. Then Fleethoof slid into the car and hit the fourth floor button on reflex. Any floor was a good floor.

The doors slid closed with a quiet sound of moving pistons and metal, and then the car lurched downward. Rook handed the Mossad agent’s pistol to Centurion who began checking the weapon. “Well, this is a fine mess,” he muttered under his breath.

“What the fuck did you guys do?!” Sharp Shot asked.

“We had a complication with security. Somepony tried calling us. We ignored it, so they sent a team to check in on us.”

“Caught us with our pants down,” Centurion said. He pulled the slide of the pistol back, checking to make sure a round was chambered. “Didn’t know anypony was comin’ till the lock opened. Talk about a surprise.”

“We weren’t surprised,” said Rook in rebuttal. “We just didn’t have a contingency plan for this.”

Sharp Shot barked a laugh and shot the Ranger a huge shit-eating grin. “I bet you pissed your pants, didn’t you?”

“I will beat your face in, little unicorn.”

“Hey, foals,” Shining started, turning to the two with a hard look, “do you mind if this waits until after we’ve gotten to the embassy?”

The elevator doors opened with another musical ping. Shining Armor and Fleethoof turned back to the sliding metal doors—and the half a dozen Mossad agents standing on the other side. He had been wrong. Any floor was not a good floor!

“Oh shit!”

“Down!” Fleethoof shouted and grabbed the collars of the two ponies nearest him, pulling them down to the floor as the agents lifted their submachine guns and began firing into the car. Rook shouted a profanity and returned fire with Centurion, forcing the agents to break from the open door. Somepony yelped.

“Wrong floor!” Sharp Shot cried out and reached a hoof up and mashed random buttons on the control panel until the doors closed again. The sound of bullets hitting the door like pebbles being thrown at a window deafened the inside of the elevator car, and then they began moving upward.

Fleethoof took several deep breaths to slow his racing heart. He lifted his head and peered around at the others in the car. There was no blood splattered against the wall, and nopony was screaming, so they must have escaped without any injuries. He called out for a status check and was rewarded with a mixture of groans and curses.

“I’m hit,” Valiant said. “Sorta.” Fleethoof’s gaze turned to the pony in a hurry. Valiant had a hoof pressed to the side of his head, covering his ear. A trail of blood was cutting down the side of his face.

“Let me have a look. Move your hoof.” Fleethoof gently urged Valiant’s hoof away from his injury. A bullet had torn a hole through the edge of his ear, just missing his skull by centimeters. “It’s not that bad. Let me get a bandage on it.”

Shining Armor glanced up at the control panel. Sharp Shot had hit floor nine. “Better make it quick. We don’t have a ton of time.”

“Hope you always wanted your ears pierced, Val,” Sharp Shot said with a chuckle.

“I really didn’t.” He winced when Fleethoof tightened the gauze. “Dammit, Charm’s gonna kill me for this.”

Sharp Shot peered back at the pegasus with a raised brow. “Who’s Charm?”

Valiant’s ears lowered to his skull until Fleethoof ushered them back up to finish adhering the bandage to his wound. “Silver Charm. My partner. Do you really need to talk about this now?”

“Yes. You mean lover?” Sharp corrected with a smirk. “Why haven’t you introduced the lovely lady to us yet? Are you embarrassed of us?”

“You’re always an embarrassment, Sharp…” Fleethoof murmured, earning a few titters and nickers from Midnight and Valiant. Sharp gave a deadpan laugh and rolled his eyes.

“But really, why have you kept this from your old buddy Sharp Shot? You’re hurting my feelings, Vally.”

“I didn’t do it intentionally! He’s always kept so busy in the Capitol, keeping track of records and important documents. Besides, we’re a classified unit. I can’t just be bringing visitors willy-nilly!”

“Oooh, Congress worker, eh? What’s he—” Sharp Shot trailed off, staring off into space. The ears in his head began turning. When the realization was made, he stared at Valiant with stunned eyes. “…Did you say ‘he’?” Valiant nodded his head. Sharp looked at the back of Fleethoof’s head. “Did you know—?”

“Yep.”

“How—?”

“Believe it or not, Valiant’s a very open pony when you’re not making fun of him.”

Sharp turned his attention back to a nonchalant Valiant. “How long—?”

“Staff Sergeant,” Fleethoof said, his loud voice booming in the confined space of the elevator, “I appreciate your efforts to get to know your teammates better, but this is not the time nor the place for it. If you’d like to meet Valiant’s coltfriend when we get back to Canterlot, then set up a lunch date. Right now I need you to keep your head here. Understood?”

Sharp Shot grumbled, “Yes, boss…”

“Good.”

There was a period of silence as the elevator rose up past the seventh floor, then the eighth.

“Did you really not know…?” Midnight Dasher whispered to Sharp Shot.

Ding! Everypony went rigid and tense, waiting for the doors to open. Fleethoof’s breath caught in his throat. The doors slid open at their own pace, revealing… nothing. The dark emptiness of the ninth floor lobby was a refreshing sight, one that brought much needed relief to Fleethoof’s pounding heart. Rook and Centurion moved out first, clearing the lobby before the others moved out.

“Clear,” Rook called out.

“Okay, so what’s the escape plan, Captains?” Rook asked.

Shining Armor was busy checking his saddlebags for his rappelling gear. “We rappel out of the building, get over the wall, and haul ass to the Equestrian embassy six blocks away.”

“Do we have enough rope to reach the ground from up here?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” said Shining, his face as impassive as it had been since they began their mission. His eye was steeled and unreadable. “Let’s go find a window and get the hell out of here before anypony else gets hurts.”

“Phantoms, be advised: we’re tracking a lot of hostile movement on the ground. They’ve secured the yard and more agents are showing up at the gates,” Fire Wave came through on the radio.

Midnight shuffled closer and tugged on Fleethoof’s sleeve. “Fleet…”

At her shaky word, Fleethoof turned and looked at the mare, then followed her fearful gaze back to the elevators. The numbers above each one showed that two were on the move, heading up for them. The agents had tracked their movements and were coming after them.

“Time to move,” he said.

Shining Armor nodded. “Centurion, take point. Find us a window.”

Centurion nodded his head, then proceeded down the long hallways, gun raised and ready for any surprises. The offices and corridors were still and abandoned. Fleethoof considered it a blessing. It meant all of the security on this floor had probably been called to the lower levels to deal with them and secure the Archives. He slowed his gait, letting the other operators pass him by. His eyes followed each face that went by, doing a mental check that everypony was still present and all right. Midnight was the only one to linger, waiting until they were both at the rear of the group before they ran after them. Fleethoof liked playing rear security. He was able to keep an eye on everypony now.

That was when the glass walls next to them exploded as bullets smashed through them. Fleethoof ducked under the flying lead and glass shards, the glistening shrapnel spraying all over the ponies. Rook stood up and returned fire at the guard on the other side of the office cubicles, catching him in the shoulder and knocking him to the ground with a cry of pain.

“Move! Move! Move!” shouted Shining Armor.

Centurion led the group to the end of the hall and ducked right. With a loud crash, he kicked a door in on itself and ran in. One by one, the others followed inside. Fleethoof was breathing hard when he came in, pushing the doors shut again. They were in a conference room of some kind. A long oval table with chairs around it sat in the middle of the room with a whiteboard and projector off to the far side. Moonlight filtered into the room through the wall of glass that stared out into the city, covering everything in a silvery veil.

“All right, this’ll work. Everypony get your gear out.” Shining set to removing each piece of his rappelling gear. He motioned Rook over to the window. “Get two anchors hooked up, Sergeant.”

“Yes, sir.” Rook grabbed two magnetic anchors from the ponies’ rappelling gear and smashed one of the large glass pane windows. Shards of sparkling glass rained down on the floor and the side of the building. He began attaching the magnetized bases to the steel window frame, testing the strength of each before securing the hooks to them.

Fleethoof paced back and forth in front of the door while the others worked to hook up the ropes to the mounts, then to descenders. He slid his sleeve back to peer down at the face of his watch with a leer. It had just turned 1:50. By now, every agent in Mossad would be flooding this building trying to hunt down the daring intruders with nothing short of extreme prejudice. The ones in the elevator were scouring the floor by now, turning over every office looking for them. Time was up. They had to leave now.

“Okay, everypony hook up. We’re getting out of here.”

Shining Armor took his position at the edge of the window and attached his rope to his harness’ link. Giving the rope an experimental tug, he shuffled his hooves closer to the edge, then jumped backwards and disappeared over the edge. Fleethoof watched the nylon rope pull taut against the anchor and prepared to dive out the window in case it gave. It held strong, the magnets proving far more effective than he gave them credit for. Rook stepped up to the second rope, secured himself, and then he was gone too.

One at a time, the operators incapable of flight dropped down the side of the building. Sharp Shot looked like he was on the verge of throwing up just before he went over with a pathetic yelp of fear. Midnight stood by the door, her expression dropping.

“Hoofsteps!” she said in a low hiss.

“Go, Midnight. Go.” Fleethoof pulled her away from the door and pushed her towards the window. He peered down the ropes to the ponies reaching the bottom of it now. They had just enough rope to reach the top of the first floor, meaning it was a ten foot drop from the end to the ground. But more importantly, they were still on the rope. If the agents came in and saw the ropes, they’d cut them and the ponies would be done. He stopped Midnight with a hoof on her chest. “Wait. Do you still have that thing I got you after the incident with Clydesdale?”

Midnight stared at Fleethoof for a full second, then opened her mouth in an acknowledging ‘O’ shape. She began patting down her vest pouches until she pulled a small black taser from within. Fleethoof took the device from her and motioned back toward the window. She stood on the edge, but she didn’t jump.

“Don’t do anything stupid, pegasus,” she said as she glanced back at him. Fleethoof smirked and flicked his golden mane out of his eyes.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, bat.”

She nodded, and then she was gone, sailing through the warm night air and out of sight. Fleethoof watched her leave just as he heard the door to the neighboring office get smashed in. A ripple tensed all of his muscles like a tiger waiting for its prey to come closer. He moved a chair and shoved it beneath the handles. He then turned to face the closed doors and leveled the taser with them. Any amount of time he could buy the others to safely reach the ground would be invaluable.

The doors shook as something strong impacted them, but the chair held firm. The doors refused to budge, even after a second hit, and then a third. A fourth started scraping the chair against the hardwood floor with a terrible screech. Fleethoof sucked in a steadying breath and focused his aim. The fifth blow knocked the chair loose, and then the sixth broke open the doors. Two Mossad agents ran through the doorway.

Fleethoof pulled the plastic trigger on the taser. Four metal prongs flew from the defensive weapon and struck one of the agents in the chest. The pony made a grunting sound when he dropped to the floor, body spasming like he was having a seizure. In the same instant, Fleethoof dropped the taser and pulled the pin of the flashbang attached to his vest. He tossed it to the floor as the second agent was getting his bearings. He drew down on him while Fleethoof threw himself through the open window. There was a bright light, then a bang, and then he was falling.

Warm air hit his face and rippled over his body. Opening his eyes was a big mistake. Fleethoof saw colors soaring past him as he descended toward the ground. His wings popped open and he settled into a glide into the gardens around the building. The soft grass crunched underneath his hooves when he touched down, trotting a short distance until he slowed to a stop. Sharp Shot had just jumped from the bottom of the rope and landed on the ground with a grunt. Only Centurion remained on the rope now—and the agents above had just discovered them.

Fleethoof watched two ponies pry at the anchor with their hooves. The magnets gave, and the rope went slack. Centurion cried out as he began to plummet to the ground. With a beat of his wings, Fleethoof took to the sky again, hurtling towards the falling pony as fast as he could. He swept alongside the building to keep from crashing into it and intercepted him between the second and third floors. The impact knocked the wind from him, but he flew on, breathless and dazed, until he hit the ground again. The two of them tumbled across the grass for a moment, Fleethoof ending up on his side while Centurion drew the lucky straw and stopped on his hooves. From his wide-eyed expression, Fleethoof guessed falling to one’s death was as terrifying as he imagined it would be.

“Good save…” Centurion said amidst gasps for breath.

“Thank me when we’re at the embassy.” Fleethoof groaned when he got to his hooves, ignoring the stinging in his wing. His aching body protested the movement, but the adrenaline rush was thankfully dulling the pain and giving him his second wind. “Come on, we’ve gotta go.”

“How are we getting out of here?” Sharp Shot asked. “Not all of us are lucky enough to be able to fly, ya know.”

Fleethoof nodded to the other two members of his team. “Mid, Val, let’s lift ‘em up.”

“So how are we— Hey!” Sharp Shot was abruptly cut off when Midnight lifted him off the ground. Her leathery wings whooshed overhead as she carried the flailing unicorn over the wall and dropped him with an audible thud on the other side.

“Okay, who’s next?” she said with a casual smile when she came back.

“Touch me and you die,” scowled Rook. He was swiftly absconded by Valiant, who carried the Ranger to safety.

Fleethoof looked to Shining Armor, the two exchanging a hard, reluctant stare before the unicorn sighed and hung his head, then held his hooves out to the side. The pegasus smirked and wrapped his hooves under Shining’s legs, then lifted him with a grunt into the air. Flying with Shining’s additional weight wasn’t too arduous, just slow. He set him down on the opposite side while Midnight returned to get Centurion.

Gunshots rang out in the night. Bullets smacked into the concrete wall around the property, coming from the small army of agents rushing from the building toward them. Fleethoof did a quick check to make sure everypony had made it over, then dove behind the cover of the wall with the other ponies. Sharp Shot chucked a smoke grenade back over the wall just before they took off down the street, running as fast as they could. In the open, they would be very conspicuous, but Fleethoof knew it didn’t matter. They had already tripped the alarm and raised a red flag. All they had to do now was get off the streets as fast as possible without getting stopped.

“This way! It’s this way!” Valiant led the misfit crew down the sidewalks and dark alleys, avoiding the roads as much as they could.

In the night, Fleethoof hugged the shadows, watching their backs as they ran. His heart was pounding like it was fit to burst. Fire filled his lungs, burning and scorching his veins with each breath he swallowed. Sirens blared out from the streets around them. The police were responding to the infiltration at the Mossad. He smirked when he pictured the expressions on their faces when they realized their most secure building had been broken into. They had done the impossible. They had infiltrated and escaped the Mossad Headquarters.

The ponies kept low in the shadows until the others rendezvoused with them on the ground. All together again and with one final glance back at the towering glass building, Fleethoof darted down an alley after his team and vanished into the night.

Prologue: A Ghost of a Memory

Skyfall: Retribution

By: Dusk Quill

"Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice." — Samuel Johnson

Rusted metal creaked against rusted metal with a screech that sent chills down Cadance’s spine. It was a sound she had grown uncomfortably used to over the past… How long had she been here? Time had no concept in the darkness. How long had it been since the ambush in the woods? How long since the snow and gunfire had hidden her disappearance from the world? It felt like eons in the dark of wherever she was now. She had been moved time and time again. The only thing the princess knew was that she was alive and that she was alone.

At least she had been. The noise that made her shudder was followed by the stomping of hooves across the cold concrete floor. Others were coming. Others had come and gone for as long as she could recall, yet she never saw any of them. The heavy cloth across her eyes made sure she never even saw the light of day. Her body turned, straining against the shackles binding her to the solid wall. She could feel the very metal sapping her strength bit by bit, as it had since she had been incarcerated, the telltale bite of arcanate inhibiting her natural draw of magic. She had spent enough time imprisoned in the Griffon Kingdom to recall the dreaded material by heart.

Something—or someone—was being dragged across the floor. She could hear the sound of skin and flesh sliding across the smooth ground. She could hear voices—the voices of the ponies that had captured her. Over the time she had spent here, she had come to learn each one. Each had their own pitch, their own mannerisms, their own inflections. She also learned which ones to dread more than others.

Cadance listened as they grunted, lifting something heavy into the air. Chains rattled against something metal and hollow. Pipes… she came to realize. Shackles snapped and locked together, the sound like a firecracker in the otherwise silent prison. Cadance turned her head towards the noises. She was desperate to understand what was going on. Were they locking another prisoner up with her?

“Now you just get nice and cozy, amigo,” the voice of one of her captors sneered with a laugh.

The other captured pony didn’t say a word in response. Cadance could hear the chains rattling in slow rhythmic time. The pony must have been suspended from the pipes overhead.

“‘Ey, hombre, can you hear us?” Still no response. “How did you find us, huh? Where’d you get that patch?”

Cadance strained her ears to hear something—anything. A shift of weight, a sigh, anything. The other pony didn’t make a sound. She could hear some whispers in Spanish back and forth in the background.

“Well, it doesn’t matter now, Phantom,” the voice hissed. Cadance heard the captors strike the pony, but not so much as a groan of pain was uttered. Had they killed him already? “You ain’t getting’ outta this mess.”

Another sound of a strike, and then another, and another. Cadance grimaced and recoiled from each. She didn’t dare imagine what they were doing to the poor prisoner no more than ten feet away from her. The sounds faded off into riotous laughter, cruel and unsympathetic.

“Say hola to your new friend, princess,” the pony called out to her. “He won’t be here for long.”

The door squealed open again before slamming it shut with a bang that shook the walls. Cadance waited until the tremors had stopped before turning back to where she could hear the pony swaying in the air, his chains clinking together every couple of seconds.

“Hello…?” she called out. Her voice surprised her. It was weak and cracked from the extended period of disuse. She cleared her throat and licked her dry lips, hoping to recover some of her former strength. “Hello? Are you all right…?”

Nothing but the gentle clinking of the chains responded to her query. Cadance did her best to shift in the direction of the sound. The shackles cut into her legs, keeping her mostly held in place.

“Can you hear me?”

“‘Ey! Silencio!”

Cadance shrank back when a voice from across the room yelled at her. She hadn’t realized there had been one guard left with them. She should have expected it. They never left her alone, ever.

Time passed slow and steady, with only the sound of her own breathing making any sort of noise. The other prisoner was so quiet. Cadance didn’t know how long the stillness lasted. But she wasn’t about to permit it to stay. She had to know what was going on. She needed to have something to grasp onto. There was only one way to do that…

“Please… Please talk to me,” she pleaded with the anonymous prisoner. “Say something. Say anything. Just let me know you’re okay…”

“I said shut up!” the guard snapped. Cadance listened as his hooves clopped across the floor to where the prisoner hung. “He ain’t anypony, chica. Some wanna-be hero that got in waaaay over his cabeza. Ain’t that right, pretty boy?”

Cadance heard the guard smack the pony and chuckle under his breath.

“Whassa matter? Got no more fight in ya? I thought you fantasmas were supposed to be scary? Oooh, big bad pony playin’ by our rules now. What, did it get too tough for you? Hahaha!”

Cadance flinched when she heard another blow land, knocking the prisoner’s air from their lungs. She reacted on instinct. “Leave him alone!”

The guard laughed. “Or what? You gonna kill me with the power of love? Pssh. Princesa de amor… What a joke! And this guy? He’s like a piñata, and just as useless as one too. I’m gonna beat him till the candy comes out.”

So the stallion had come to rescue her… Cadance felt compelled to ask the question. She had to know the answer. She needed to know who her would-be rescuer was.

The guard muttered something in his native tongue and spat, Cadance guessed on the pony he had been assaulting mere moments prior. She listened to his hooves move with a clip-clop back across the room toward where she knew the door was and then stop. Silence made its residence within the room once more. She heard the pony hanging from the ceiling spit something up. Cadance did her best to not imagine him coughing up a mouthful of blood. She could just taste the bitter metallic tang on her tongue from the thought alone.

“Who are you…?” she asked after a minute.

Much to Cadance’s disappointment, the pony didn’t speak. She waited, breath held in, as the seconds slipped by.

“…A friend.”

Cadance’s ears stood up straight on her head. He had spoken. But the words he said weren’t what shocked her. It was the voice. She knew that voice; that low voice filled with confidence and caring.

Her heart rose in her chest. It can’t be…

“I said no speaking! Do I have to beat you till you—”

The guard’s heated words were silenced abruptly with an ear-shattering clatter of metal collapsing against concrete. Cadance all but jumped out of her skin as the cacophony evolved into the sounds of a struggle. Voices grunted and gasped for breath while the soft sounds of blows striking flesh were exchanged back and forth amidst the rattle of metal on metal and stone. She writhed against her shackles, trying in vain to slip free and see what was happening. With no way to free herself or remove her blindfold, Cadance was left at the mercy of her hearing alone.

A body smacked into the wall beside her, and she became acutely aware of the presence of the two fighters very close by. Their sounds of battle were almost right in her ear as they struggled on the floor. Then she heard a cry of pain and something cracked.

There was popping outside the room now, fast and controlled. Cadance realized she recognized those sounds all too well also. Guns were firing somewhere close by. The struggle continued further across the room. The two must have been tumbling about while trying to overpower the other. The lack of details was driving her insane. She had to see what was happening. Was he winning? What if he lost? What was going on?

The door flew open, the metal slamming into the wall with a thunderous smash. Gunfire exploded in the small room six times in rapid succession. Cadance felt her heart leap up into her throat, making it difficult to breathe right. The struggling stopped. Something heavy flopped against the concrete. She strained her ears, listening as hooves shuffled across the floor. Had somepony been killed? Did the guards come back?

Cadance whimpered once, and then blinding light flooded into her eyes as the blindfold was removed.

Chapter 3: Introspection

January 14, Modern Era Year 4

1013 Hours

Royal Canterlot Hospital

Canterlot, Equestria

Fleethoof peered out the window of the waiting room, the large wall of glass providing a picturesque view of the capital city. The usually vibrant colors of the world appeared dull and flat in the dreary weather. An overcast sky prevented Celestia’s sun from reaching the ground. A light drizzle pattered against the glass, filling the quiet room with a steady stream of comforting white noise while a receptionist typed with loud hooves at a computer at the front desk. Other than him, only one other pony occupied the waiting room: his ever-ready companion and personal nurse.

He glanced over at Midnight Dasher. She was sitting beside him, kicking her hooves back and forth on the floor in a perpetual state of boredom. In the passing weeks, she had been at his side constantly, prowling the halls of Canterlot Castle to make sure he was okay, at his side throughout the drawn out days to help him until his leg was healed. As begrudging as he had been in the start, her dedication was a flawless trait he had to admire in her.

He stretched and flexed his hoof, reveling in the feeling of freedom being out of the sling brought with it. In his idle state, Fleethoof reached forward to pluck a wrinkled newspaper from a nearby coffee table. As he had come to expect, the front page was littered with articles and photographs about the ongoing search for Cadance. The grainy pictures of Royal Guards combing through a winter forest were followed by a photo of the missing princess, her purple eyes peering straight up into his. Fleethoof could swear he felt Cadance staring through his soul from the thin page, calling out to him to save her.

“Fleethoof!”

A hoof lifted to grasp at the pendant around his neck. The trinket felt a million times heavier all of a sudden. His pulse quickened in his veins and pounded against his eardrums in time with his throbbing heart.

“Fleethoof!”

Cadance cried out from the newspaper. She was calling to him from across time itself. His hoof grasped the paper so tight that it crinkled in his hold.

“Fleethoof?”

The voice brought the pony’s head up, turning with a start to the mare standing in an open doorway. She was smiling at him and beckoning him inside with a wave of her hoof.

“Right on time! Come on in.”

Fleethoof went to stand when he felt a gentle pressure on his shoulder. He turned, following the gray hoof to Midnight. She stared at him with deep gold eyes filled with concern. He offered her a small smile and slipped away, rising to his hooves and stepping into the adjacent room. It was a small corner office, the two outer walls made out of large panes of glass providing a panoramic view across Canterlot. Fleethoof gazed out at every rooftop and spire he could see, counting the buildings until he heard the door shut behind him.

“Have a seat, Fleethoof,” the mare spoke in a tender voice while motioning to a red suede psychiatrist’s couch.

He obeyed with a moment of hesitation. Sitting down into the plush cushions felt wrong. The sickly mint green wallpaper felt wrong. Everything about being in this room just put him off and made every alarm in his head go off. He made no effort to hide his hatred of doctors.

“My name is Psyche. It’s a pleasure to get to know you.” She offered him her hoof, which he shook out of formality alone. Her horn ignited, and the rolling chair behind her desk made its way across the floor on its own along with a notepad and pen. “I see you got your leg out of the sling. That’s good!”

Fleethoof gave a curt nod and mumbled, “Thank you.”

“How’s it feeling?”

“It’s nice to be able to walk normally again, that’s for sure.”

“I’ll bet. I can’t imagine how much it must’ve hurt. That was one doozy of a wreck, huh?”

Fleethoof locked gazes with Psyche, watching the psychiatrist with wary eyes. He knew what she was getting at. He’d played this game before with Cadance.

“I’m sitting here, so that means you’ve read my file,” Fleethoof surmised. He sat tall and taut, almost to the point of discomfort. “You know how bad it was.”

Psyche relented with a nod. “Yes, I’ve read your file. I went through the whole three-hour briefing that comes with it, too. I have to say, I’ve seen soldiers before, but none quite so… secretive as you.”

“Secrecy is part of the job.”

“Do you enjoy your job?”

“With every fiber of my being,” Fleethoof said with absolute resolution in his voice. “It’s part of who I am.”

“Even with it being so dangerous?”

He shrugged. “Occupational hazard. As long as I have my team, I know I’ll be fine.”

“Your team is important to you.” It wasn’t a question. “Would you say they’re your friends?”

“No, they’re more than that. I’d say they’re my family, and I love them like they were.”

Psyche nodded and subtly scribbled on her notepad. “I see.”

Fleethoof let himself recline back into the couch, feeling his body sink into the cushions a little further while he watched Psyche levitate a folder from her desk onto her lap. She began flipping through the pages within at an agonizingly slow pace. He squirmed on the seat and kept stealing glances out the window while he waited for the doctor to speak again.

“You were involved in the Second Griffon-Pony War, right?”

“Infantry rifle pony, 3rd Company.”

“And you were only twenty! You must’ve seen some terrible things over there.”

Fleethoof sighed and lowered his eyes to stare at the threading of the beige carpet under his hooves. “There was a lot of killing. A lot of destruction… Hell, it was a war.”

Psyche made a couple more notes and pursed her lips as she stared at the pony on her couch. She tapped her pen against her chin in pensive thought. “You’re a very succinct pony, Fleethoof.”

Fleethoof gave a sharp laugh. “I don’t mince words. Maybe I just don’t have a lot to say on the subject.”

“Or that you’re just feeding me what you think I want to hear.”

He shrugged. “Is there a difference?”

Psyche sighed and pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. Fleethoof could see her doing her best to be patient with him. “There is if you’re preventing me from doing my job properly.”

“How ironic. You’re keeping me from doing mine.”

“Don’t look at it that way,” she spoke softly and leaned in towards him. “Whether you believe it or not, I’m here for your benefit.”

“You’re right—I have a hard time believing that.” Fleethoof grit his teeth and rolled his aching wing joint until it popped.

“Is your wing bothering you?”

“It’s nothing. An old injury… I’ve gotten used to it.”

“Very well then.” Psyche took a deep breath and reviewed the folder in her lap. “If you want to cut right to the chase, why don’t you tell me about the ambush then?”

Fleethoof felt the forced smile drop from his lips. The ice and snow flooded his veins again and sent shivers trembling down his back. His eyes darkened while he fought those memories back.

“What happened, Fleethoof?”

His eyes turned away, back to the outside world. “You read the file.”

“I would like to hear it from you, if you don’t mind. Paper never does as good a job as a first-hoof witness.” There was a pause. His hooves clenched into fists on his lap. “What happened?”

“…I failed…” he muttered. “I failed. I let those maniacs take Cadance.”

“Would you say Princess Cadance is somepony dear to you?” she asked.

Fleethoof could hear the pen scratching against the paper. His shoulders tensed up. Whatever he said now would be on the record forever. But if he had any hope of making things right, he had to do this. It all rested squarely on his transparency.

“…Yes.”

“Do you want to tell me about that?”

“Sure. I met Cadance when I rescued her from the Griffon Kingdom during the war. She became a friend over the years and helped bring me back to reality when the war ended.” He sucked in a deep breath and opened his eyes again. “She was always somepony I could count on, and when she counted on me, I let her down.”

Psyche made a thoughtful hmm as she mulled over her notes. “You feel a lot of guilt over what happened.”

Fleethoof managed a hard laugh again and rolled his eyes. “Understatement of the year…”

“And how close of a friend would you consider the princess?”

It took Fleethoof longer than he would have liked to respond. “A very close friend…”

“Would you say there are romantic feelings between you two?” Fleethoof shot a look up at her. Psyche made a motion of a shrug. “It would explain why you feel such self-reproach for her abduction.”

Fleethoof’s eyes wandered to the notepad levitating in the air and lingered on the pen pressed to its surface. He gave Psyche a cautious stare. He could feel his face go warm as passionate memories danced in his head. “That is none of your business.”

“I thought as much,” Psyche said with a small smile, making the note and turning back to him. “Did you not worry your feelings would compromise your duty though?”

“Oh, of course I did! But I also knew that if I could be the one watching over her, then I could protect her. I know what I’m capable of, and I knew that if her safety was my responsibility, I’d never screw up,” said Fleethoof. His inspired speech drifted off when cold factuality hit him hard. “…But I did… I was overconfident. I let myself get distracted and fucked up bad. Now she’s been taken to… Goddess knows where and I’m benched. I got one hell of a reality check, huh?”

“Sometimes reality checks are a good thing,” Psyche stated passively, all while seeming to be writing a novel on her notepad. Fleethoof wondered just how much paper she was going to use on him. “They remind us that we have limits and that we are only pony. They keep us safe from ourselves.”

Another heavy breath left him while he rubbed his hooves together on his lap. “I was too cocky, I think… I was so sure I couldn’t fail… Now I know even I can be beaten if I’m not on my A-game…”

“Well, now that I know why you were removed from duty,” Psyche started, turning to peer at Fleethoof from beneath her lashes, notepad at the ready, “why don’t you tell me why you think you’re ready to return?”

Fleethoof got caught on his own tongue. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He had not been prepared for that question. He had expected the typical ‘How does this make you feel?’ line of questions, followed by a hoofshake and a permission slip to get back to work. He could easily lie and weasel his way around those sorts of questions. But this… this was all on him. He had to choose his words with care. He opted for the truth.

“Because I need to help bring Cadance home.”

Psyche did nothing. She fixed him with a stony expression that made his stomach churn. He didn’t know whether to feel confident in the lack of response or outright terrified. “There’s plenty of soldiers doing that right now,” she said after a moment had passed. “Why do you need to return?”

Fleethoof was taken aback by the rebuttal. Since when did psychiatrists become debaters? “Because there’s no reason to keep me off duty. I’m medically cleared and ready for action.”

“You’re healthy, granted, but ready? Do you want to try that again?”

Now she was starting to piss him off. He grit his teeth together. Damn shrink… Why did he have to persuade her he needed to be back in the field? Why couldn’t she just see he was ready and let it be? What was so hard to understand that he could help?

“Because I need to help my friends. They’re dying out there and I won’t stand for sitting around on the sidelines like a crippled player when I know I could make a difference.”

“Now that seemed more genuine,” Psyche said, but shook her head all the same. “But I’m still not convinced that’s your true reason.”

“What do you wanna hear?” he snapped and shot upright again. “What the fuck do I have to say to convince you to let me do my damn job?”

Psyche looked him dead in the eye. She was unfazed by his outburst. “The truth.”

“The truth? How about the truth that ponies are dying because I was arrogant?! How about every second I waste sitting around, Cadance could be getting further away from being found?!” Fleethoof seethed. He leapt to his hooves so fast he almost toppled the couch. “I need to come back because I screwed this up and I need to make it right! This is my mistake, not theirs! Shining Armor shouldn’t have to pay for my fault! Nopony should have to pay besides me! Now, how long before you get it through your thick skull that if somepony has to die for this, it should be me?”

Fleethoof felt the weeks of pent-up frustration shake his legs. He realized he was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath until his lungs ached. Psyche still seemed utterly indifferent, but despite her neutral expression, he could swear he saw the ghost of a smile at the corners of her mouth. Holding his gaze, she wrote something down on the notepad.

“Would you like to sit down now?”

It took him a full minute before he had calmed down enough to slow his breathing and settle back into his spot on the couch. He didn’t want to sit down. He wanted to run. He wanted to fight. He wanted to do anything but sit down. Fleethoof still felt residual tremors run through him every now and then from the anger fueling the fire in his heart. He kicked himself in his mind. There went his chance. So much for playing it cool… he thought with a snort.

“Shining Armor is a close friend of yours as well?”

“He’s my best friend… I think… We haven’t talked lately. He’s sort of pissed at me for this whole screw up…” Fleethoof muttered while staring down at the floor. She nodded and set her notepad down.

“It’s difficult to accept when you inadvertently harm those you care about, Fleethoof. But the answer isn’t to let anger guide you,” said Psyche. “Owning up to your mistakes is only part of the solution. How you resolve them makes all the difference.”

Fleethoof snorted again and turned his head away. He folded his hooves across his chest and attempted to save what little dignity he still had left. He was sure he looked more like a pouting foal than a healthy soldier right now.

“I understand your passion and drive to set things right, especially given the circumstances of who it involves, but if I were you, I would consider how I would conduct myself if I was given the chance to make reparations. Anger and frustration will only lead you to your own fall. When you let rage blind you, you lose sight of what really matters. It is my job to evaluate you to make sure you’re not going to get anypony killed—including yourself.”

He grunted under his breath. “Yes, ma’am…”

“You need to let go of this anger and stress. Let it out in whatever way works best for you. Meditation, physical activity, something creative… Find a friend or somepony close and let them help you release this tension. Keeping it brewing inside yourself is like putting a bomb in an oven: sooner or later, it will explode.” There was a tense quiet for longer than Fleethoof cared to keep track of. Psyche chewed on her lip in thought and lifted the notepad again, then motioned with her pen to the door. “That mare who came in with you today… the Thestral, who is she?”

That got Fleethoof to lift his head again. His eyes turned to the door as if he could see through the walls to the room on the other side. “Oh, that’s Midnight Dasher. She’s part of my team,” he said.

“And she escorted you here today because…?”

“She’s been looking after me since the accident.”

“She’s been taking care of you while you were injured?” When Fleethoof nodded, a knowing smile teased her lips. “Is she a ‘close friend’ of yours, too?”

Fleethoof fixed Psyche with a blank stare. “If you’re asking if I’m sleeping with her, the answer is no. She’s a good friend—hell, she’s like my partner. I look after her and make sure she doesn’t get into trouble, and she has my back when I need her. When one of us is down, we help them back up.”

“It seems you weren’t exaggerating the closeness of your team.”

“We all look out for one another. That sort of commitment and loyalty is why I need to get back and find Cadance.” Fleethoof sat up and leaned forward toward Psyche. “Please, Doctor, you have to understand. I can fix this. I know I can. This is about what I helped start. I need to see it through, but my team can’t do anything until we’re cleared, and Equestria needs us if Cadance is to be saved. I need to be cleared. Please.”

Psyche pursed her lips into a tight line and rapped the pen against her chin again. She seemed to be pondering his dilemma hard, her eyes reading every facial tick and clue. Fleethoof’s heart hammered in his chest. This heartfelt plea was his last hope. If he couldn’t convince her now, he had no hope of finding Cadance.

“I’ll see what I can do…” Psyche said, making a few final jots down on her notes before setting them back down on her desk. She glanced up at the clock on the wall. “And unfortunately, that’s all the time we have. I know you probably won’t, but I would recommend you get some counseling, Fleethoof, even if it’s not with me. You might not think you need it, but a lot of times just talking to somepony who listens can help.”

“Yeah, I know. Believe me, I know.” Fleethoof gave her a weak smile and stood up. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“Take care, Fleethoof.”

Fleethoof made for the door, each step seeming to go in slow motion. His insides were all knotted up and his head felt light. It was as if he’d just flunked a test in high school all over again. But what she said had hit a nerve. His anger was guiding him, and it was that same anger that drove him back in the war when he’d fought Alaric. He scowled when he remembered how that battle had fared for him. As if on cue, a twinge tightened up his wing joint again. If he wanted things to change, if he wanted to make a difference, he had to be in control of himself. The alternative was a pine box and a folded flag.

He pushed the door open and slunk back out into the waiting room. Midnight was standing against the window, exhaling her hot breath against the glass to form small patches of precipitation and drawing little faces in each. Her head snapped up when the door opened, and she was at his side in a flash, peering up at him with curious eyes. Fleethoof gave her a crooked smile and said nothing.

At his request, both ponies made their way out of the office. Midnight was more than eager, running over to the door and holding it open. He nickered and rolled his eyes. As he stepped through the doorway, he paused to cast a final glance at Psyche’s office door. His fate was hers to decide. There was nothing more he could do. It was out of his hooves now. I hope I have a guardian angel or something looking out for me… he thought. Otherwise, I’m screwed.

* * *

The House of Congress

Canterlot, Equestria

Several hours later

Psyche set the manila folder down on the desk in front of her. Her eyes glanced around the spacious office, inspecting the detail in the dark wood paneling and tall arched windows letting murky light spill inside. The rain continued to fall with a rhythmic pitter-patter against the panes. On the opposite side of the desk, Just Cause dropped his hooves from the desk and pulled the folder closer. He flipped the cover open with a casual flick of his magic and began reading through the report. Psyche watched as he gave a reaction every now and then. Nothing major, just a subtle lift of a brow, a turn in the corner of his mouth, or a muttered hmm beneath his breath.

She shifted in the cushioned seat, trying to get comfortable while the minister read her report. Now she knew how Fleethoof and felt earlier in the day. He flipped between the pages with speed, skimming each segment for key notes and important information. Psyche hated when ponies did that. It made her feel like they had no time or no care for the content within.

After several minutes had crawled by, Just Cause glanced up at her from across the desk and raised a curious brow. “These are your findings then?”

“Yes, Minister Cause,” she said with an affirmative nod. “As you requested, I scrutinized the captain for every detail of the incident and any traces there was lasting mental damage done.”

“And…?”

“Well… you have my report there. I don’t know what more you’re looking for.”

“Let me hear it straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak,” Just Cause nickered.

Psyche took a deep breath and prepared herself. “Captain Fleethoof is a very diligent and dedicated officer. He shows great valor and a strong sense of duty. He is self-sacrificing almost to a fault. In short, he’s the perfect poster child for the Royal Guard.”

Just Cause chuckled under his breath. “Buuut…?”

“He’s reckless. He lets his emotions guide his actions more often than logic, and I fear that they will lead him down a path of self-destruction. He appears to have a case of PTSD from the ambush. I worry that he will put his life and the lives of anypony under him in jeopardy if he’s restored to active duty,” she continued to explain. “I am also skeptical about his relationship with one of his teammates. He claims there isn’t one, but he became very defensive of the subject when I asked him about her. It borders on the inappropriate. I fear he’s getting much too involved there to be professional about it. All in all, sir, while Fleethoof is an exemplary officer, bringing him back on board the search for Princess Cadance would probably be the worst possible thing we could do.”

Just Cause made a soft noise of understanding in his throat while he flipped through the analysis again.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t recommend him for active duty.”

He set the folder down and tapped the files on his desk until they were in perfect alignment, then set the neat stack back in its home and closed the cover. Just Cause folded his hooves over each other on the desk and leaned forward, staring at the grain in the wood while he pondered the situation he was handed. Finally, he nodded his head a couple of times.

“I understand what you’re saying, Doctor. You are the professional here. That’s why I tasked you with this job, and I thank you for your continued service. You know what red flags to look for ahead of time so we don’t have any unwanted circumstances springing up on us in the future.”

Psyche sighed, more than thankful he was taking it so well. She had never reviewed an officer before. It was usually the wounded or traumatized enlisted ponies that came through her office, privates that had just seen live combat or sergeants after taking a nearly-fatal round, easy cases that were open-and-shut textbook examples of PTSD. Fleethoof had been the first captain, and she secretly feared rejecting him would upset the Canterlot bureaucracy.

“I’m glad you understand, Minister Cause. It is my professional recommendation that Fleethoof receive continuing counseling until his issues are better resolved, followed by an extensive period of—”

“I want you to clear him.”

Psyche froze. “…Beg your pardon?”

“I said, I want you to clear him,” Just Cause repeated, his voice calm and composed. His eyes peered at her with a cold hardness that showed he was unwilling to bend on the matter. “Change your report. Keep whatever praise about him you want in it, but say he’s mentally fit to return to duty.”

At first, she didn’t know if he was testing her or just joking. When it became apparent that it was neither, Psyche gave a weak chuckle and shook her head with incredulity. “Minister Cause, I mean no offense, but you can’t be serious.”

“I’m as serious as a chimera attack,” he said with the same monotonous edge in his voice that gave her shivers. “I want him cleared for active duty as soon as possible.”

“Sir, I can’t. It goes against every code in the medical field. It’s completely unethical!”

“I don’t care if it’s outright illegal. Do it.”

“Minister Cause, I—”

“I don’t think you grasp the severity of the situation, Doctor. Princess Cadenza is missing. She is out of our custody. She is in danger. We can’t hold a hope of recovering her without him or his team, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit around and wait for somepony to hold his hoof and try to make him cry and spill his guts on their couch.” Just Cause pushed the folder back across his desk towards her with a swift hoof. “Change the report.”

“B-But, Minister, I—”

“Change. The. Report.”

Psyche felt as if she had been sucker punched. Her jaw hung slack, the appropriate words to express the mix of conflicted feelings duking it out in her head failing to come to her tongue. She stared down at the intimidating manila folder on the desk, eyeing it like it would attack her if she dared to look away. She had never been so deathly afraid of paperwork before in her short life.

“If you didn’t want my opinion, why did you ask me to evaluate him…?”

“Because it’s a formality; a requirement. Nothing more,” he explained with as much impassivity as ever. “You were always going to pass him regardless of what you thought. I merely gave you the chance to do it on your own accord. Clear him for duty, Doctor, or I’ll give our government contract to another psychiatrist who will.”

It took Psyche a long while before she broke eye contact with the folder, only to make the mistake of looking up at the stallion behind the desk. His eyes seemed to gleam like a predator waiting for its prey to make a move, or a chess player who knew he had beaten his opponent before she made a move. He hadn’t budged a muscle, much as he hadn’t budged in his resolution. A tremor ran down Psyche’s back. Her moral quandary paled in comparison to what losing the military contract would do to her practice. She needed the continued supply of soldiers and agents. But could she look at herself in the mirror if she let the government bend her judgment and place her patients in harm’s way?

With great reluctance, Psyche took a deep breath and shook her head as resolutely as she could. “I’m sorry, Minister, but I cannot do that.”

Just Case peered up at her with hawking eyes. “Is that your final answer, Doctor?”

Another deep breath. “Yes.”

“Very well, Doctor. You are relieved of your duties with this department. I’ll have my secretary send you your release papers first thing tomorrow morning. Enjoy working in the private sector for the rest of what remains of your career.” Psyche’s mouth dropped open and she began to stutter. “That is all, Doctor.”

“But Minister, I—”

“That is all, Doctor.”

He returned to his work without another word. Psyche watched the pony go about filling out papers and forms like nothing had happened, even though she was still shaken to the core. She opened her mouth, but for what, she didn’t know. Maybe it was to protest, to stand her ground and defend her morals. Maybe it was to accuse him of abusing his power and threaten him. But whatever it was, she instead ended up turning tail and walking back out of the office. Just Cause watched her leave from beneath his lashes, a smirk splitting his lips. Once the door had closed behind her, he levitated out a flask and a folder. He took a long draft from the flask while flipping open the folder’s cover with a smile.

“Now we can get back in this game…”