Daylight always scoffed at the thought that bits made the world go round no matter how many ponies parroted it. She had always countered such arguments when she heard them by laughing and saying her own stockpile certainly was heavy enough to change the speed of a planet's rotation, but otherwise was a massive pain in the flank.

Thief by trade – conmare specifically – she always considered herself to have a certain affinity for bits, or at the very least the acquisition of them. So when her most ambitious job goes suspiciously awry she immediately suspects foul play. Dodging the authorities and vengeful ponies takes up most of her time, but as the world crumbles around her a little voice in the back of her head tells her that, maybe, this is all her fault. That she may have been the trigger for something catastrophic.

And now her conscience is forcing her to do something about it.