Anarchy in the Equestrian Nation

Chapters

Chapter One: Dad's Gas Mask
Chapter Two: Day Zero
Chapter Three: The Outcasts
Chapter Five: Day In Day Out
Chapter Six: Motivation
Chapter Seven: Wreaking (Radio) Havok
Chapter Eight: Union Jack, House DJ
Chapter Nine: Not A Nightmare
Chapter Ten: More Like A Winter Wasteland
Chapter Eleven: The Chapter In Which There Is Cameos
Chapter Twelve: Dat Bass
Chapter Thirteen: Guess She Forgot I Existed
Chapter Fourteen: Retiring The Mask
Chapter Fifteen: Hey Little Apple Blossom
Chapter Sixteen: Who's That Mare?
Chapter Seventeen: Approval Pending
Chapter Eighteen: Questions, Questions, and More Questions
Chapter Nineteen: Are You Serious?
Chapter Twenty: Speech Check
Chapter Twenty-One: Loud Of War
Chapter Twenty-Two: New Blood
Chapter Twenty-Four: 100%
Chapter Twenty-Five: Visiting Hours
Chapter Twenty-Six: Takkun the Cat
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Weapon of Choice
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Muffin Top
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Big Day
Chapter Thirty: Who Ever Said 13 Was Unlucky?
Chapter 31: Not Sure if Gusta
Chapter Thirty-Two: Come As You Are
Chapter Thirty-Three: The Sound of No - Part One
Chapter Thirty-Four: The Sound Of No - Part Two
Epilogue: The Rascal King
Chapter Four: Now It Stops Going Easy On You
Chapter Twenty-Three: Always Outnumbered, Never Outgunned
Author's Note: Sequel!

Chapter One: Dad's Gas Mask

It was three in the morning, and the stallion known as Union Jack was sleepless. He tossed and turned, stressed about the day at hand. He had three hours left until it was time to leave for school. Today was his first day at Ponyville High. He kept thinking about how much the other ponies would laugh at him, how much vitriol and hatred would spill out of their mouths, all directed at him. However, it was worth it to get away from Fresh Start Alternative Academy. Heh. Academy, my ass. he thought as he rolled again, wrapping himself in the sheets. They had hated him there. The new crowd was sure to hate him here.

La Ciénaga had been no place for a stallion his age. Too many gangs, too much crime, too much goddamned corruption. It had all needed to be cleansed, cleansed by fire. He had partway succeeded with his plan to burn the city to the ground when the cops caught him. His dad, Vigilante, had bailed him out and enrolled him in Fresh Start. That was the worst day of his LIFE. He would have rather rotted in Riftgate Juvenile Penitentiary than go there, but his dad was indomitable. He had insisted that Union Jack go to Fresh Start simply because he couldn't bear to see his own son behind the polycarbon bars that marked every cell.

Vigilante was a magnanimous father, loving and caring for his son, no matter how far he deviated from what he had expected. Hell, he even bought me the materials to make my first petrol bomb when I said I wanted to try working with explosives to earn my Cutie Mark. he thought. Both Vigilante and Union Jack were rebellious punks of the highest grade. Like father, like son, I guess. Union Jack chuckled as he thought of Vigilante's day job as a legal clerk. His father knocked on his door.

"Hey sport, I know you're stressed. Come out to the living room and we can talk about it." came his dad's voice from the other side of the door. Union Jack smiled at the sound of his father's voice. He bucked off the covers, opened his door and walked out into the living room. Sitting on the charred metal coffee table (I remember that summer. Good times, good times. he thought.) was a metal lockbox. "Jack, I know that tomorrow's a big day for more reasons than just it being your first day at an actual school. In case you don't remember son, it-"

"It's the third anniversary of the day I tried to burn La Ciénaga down. I know." His father gave him a worried smile. "No, Dad, I'm not going to burn Ponyville down. I don't want to buck up any chances I may have with the school." His father chuckled.

"I always did like your optimistic outlook. Very, very rare trait among punks like you and me. Well, I wanted to give you this." he said, opening the lockbox. Inside it was a small leather gas mask. He knew for a fact it was the one his father used to wear to scare a much younger Union Jack into behaving. It usually worked. Now the white leather had been painted over with a lively Union Jack design (He chuckled in his head as he thought of the flag that had been his namesake), and the filters removed for easier breathing. Vigilante levitated it over to his son's head and slipped it over, letting his quincy punk mohawk-styled mane poke through the top. He tightened the straps experimentally, and said to his son

"You look like a different pony. A much cooler pony." Union Jack remained silent, not sure what to think. Eventually, the awkward moment coaxed a laugh out of both of them. After they had finished laughing, Union Jack laid down in his bed again, drawing the covers tight around him, finding sleep at last.

Chapter Two: Day Zero

BEEP

BEE- *click*

"Damn it. Seven AM."

And so began Day Zero of Union Jack's enrollment in Ponyville High. He considered it Day Zero because the first day didn't count as an official day of enrollment. It was just orientation. Still, he was nervous as hell. He was practically shaking as he stepped into the bathroom to take a shower. He slid the gas mask over the top of his head and laid it on the counter, taking a few seconds to admire the design his father had painted on.

He turned on the shower and stepped in, letting the hot water flow over his coat and wash the stagnated gel out of his mane. Oh, Celestia that smells awful. Why is that crap even in my mane? he thought as he scrubbed vigorously. Congealed pools of hair gel that had formed on his scalp slid off, landing on the shower floor, looking like bright blue puddles of mud. He scrunched up his snout and looked back up, concentrating on the bottle of shampoo on the small rack in the corner, attempting to lift it with magic. As he was still a young unicorn, his magic wasn't very potent, so it was quite an effort to lift it and pour some into his hooves. He rubbed it all through his mane and all over his scalp, the small flecks of dandruff speckled throughout his mohawk falling down like gross, oily snow. He did the same for his tail, and finally turned off the shower after washing his coat.

The bathroom was filled with steam that opened up his sinuses greatly, making it feel as though a very large weight had been lifted off of his face. He dried himself, slipped his gas mask on, and had opened the bathroom mirror's cabinet when he paused. He looked like a complete fool, with his mane tousled from scrubbing and a gas mask on.

That was sure to get him laughed at, and as a second cursory glance at the cabinet in the mirror revealed, he was out of hair gel. That alone eliminated his usual manestyle from the equation. His face turned to one of worry under the gas mask, and all he saw in the way of hair products was his father's pomade. No, no. That would just make his hair look greasy, and being pomade, it was sure to smell exactly like a Dumpster that had been sitting out in the sun. It was all that was available though, so he reluctantly opened the jar and tried not to inhale as best he could- OH SWEET LUNA WHAT IS THAT AMAZING SMELL. His train of thought had just been hijacked by the delicious aroma of the pomade. It smelled of pomegranates and green tea, two of his favorite things.

Hey, I may be a hooligan, but I have refined tastes. he thought as he contemplated the smell wafting up his nose for another couple of seconds. He started thinking about what he could do with his mane. He could slick it back, but that wouldn't be a very aesthetically pleasing option. Suddenly, it hit him. He could turn his mane into a nest of spikes. That would definitely look good with the mask, if nothing else. He took a small amount of pomade into his hoof and styled a small portion of his mane into a single spike. Hey, this looks pretty good, he mused, maybe some of the students will actually like it. When he was finished, he looked in the mirror again. A tangled mess of short spikes poked out of his head, standing straight out. It looked surprisingly good on him.

He finally stepped out of the bathroom to find it was only seven-thirty. School didn't start till eight-forty so he figured he was good. He stepped into the kitchen and found his dad sitting at the table with two mugs of coffee instead of the usual one. He levitated one over to Union Jack and smiled. "Big day, son. You'll need the caffeine." Union Jack levitated the mask off his head and onto the table, and took a sip of the coffee. "You remembered how I like it? Thanks, Dad." Vigilante grinned and said "Black and iced, same as me. Like father, like son, eh?" The two chuckled and clinked mugs, then took a long draught.

--An hour later--

Union Jack approached the gates of Ponyville High after about forty-five minutes of power-walking. The caffeine had sped up his walk by a good twenty or so minutes, so he was still good. He pushed open the gates and prepared to set his left front hoof in the courtyard. Three... Two... One... Impact. he thought grimly as he stepped into Ponyville High's courtyard for the first time. About thirty-five students were there, and none had noticed yet. He noticed the traditional groups, the jocks, the nerds, the preps, but what really caught his eye was the bunch of ponies that were mismatched.

A couple of punks here, a Goth there, a couple dressed in Victorian style clothing(Man, that pegasus stallion with the false wing looks cool. I'll make sure to talk to him. he thought), and what looked to be an otaku. They just made idle chatter, laughed, did the things friends did, despite their differences. To Union Jack that group looked like social paradise, a place where anypony who needed people to hang out with was accepted.

Since he still had ten minutes till first block, he decided to stick with them and learn a bit more about PHS. He calmly trotted up to them, adjusted his gas mask, and timidly said "Hello? Could any of you spare the time to help me around the school? I just enrolled here." They suddenly went silent and turned to him in unison. Union Jack's eyes widened in sheer terror as he anticipated the onslaught of insults.

Instead, the mare sitting at the farthest end of the table stood up and said "Yeah. I can do that." She walked over to Union Jack, smiling. "Day zero, huh? Well, me and the Outcasts will take care of you."

"Outcasts?" he asked.

"The students you were talking to. We're kind of misfits, ponies that don't belong anywhere else. None of the others would take us, so we decided to sort of unite. Can I see your schedule so I know what I'm working with?"

"Yeah, sure. Sure thing." he said nervously, hoofing her his schedule. "OK, first block is right around the corner, so you need to know what room it's in. Hey wait, you have the same schedule as me. Just follow me. First block is Physics, which is over there in room 106. Just follow me when it's time. For now, we still have eight minutes. I'd like you to come meet the rest of the Outcasts."

Under his gas mask, Union Jack grinned like a fool. He had found home away from home already.

Chapter Three: The Outcasts

Union Jack slowly and methodically approached his locker after fourth block. The numbers stenciled onto the locker read 102306. His locker number was also his student ID, along with countless other things, and it just made him resent 'The System' a little more.

How convenient. he snarked in his mind. Your student ID, your locker number, your library checkout number, your computer password, all rolled into one. His train of thought was interrupted by a silky voice from behind and to the right.

"Hey. How's day zero going for you?"

Union Jack craned his neck around to see Vagabond, the leader of the Outcasts. She had been the one to show him the classrooms and to better acquaint him with the other Outcasts. She had been the one to take Union Jack under her wing, so to speak (She had no wings to speak of, being a unicorn), the first friend of his new life in Ponyville. His first real friend in a long time.

"Um, Equestria to Union Jack? Do you read?"

He was snapped out of it by Vagabond's voice. Her beautiful, beautiful voice. Wait, what? Did I just think that? he asked himself.

"Yeah, I was just kinda spacing out there. So what's for lunch today?" he said, curious. He couldn't stop staring into her dark green eyes. SNAP OUT OF IT! he screamed in his head. Stop fawning over that damn mare and just get on with your day! But he couldn't. He simply couldn't. Every time he tried to look away, his eyes would lock on some elegant feature of hers and fixate on it, almost immobile. He couldn't bring himself to think of the mare as just a friend though. He knew she was out of his league, but he figured he'd try anyway.

"Pasta with butter and garlic. Kinda bland really." Vagabond said. Union Jack realized it had only been about a second that his mind had taken to be able to process all his thoughts about her. He stashed his saddlebags in his locker, shut it, and turned to face her. "Why do you ask?" she continued, "I saw you bring your own lunch."

"Yeah, I was just wondering if I could buy you lunch or something." His heart skipped a few beats as he waited for a response.

"That's fine. I hadn't been planning on eating, so this is a nice surprise." she said. Union Jack mentally breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn't picked up on his offer for a date. That was actually a good thing, considering she'd be likely to laugh him out of Ponyville.

"Wait... Was that an offer for a date?" Vagabond asked.

Shit. The jig is up. You're finished. Done for. The late Union Jack. he remarked grimly in the expanses of his own mind. His mind snapped back to reality like a rubber band being pulled too far. "Yeah. Why?" he asked, as calmly as he could.

"Because I accept." she replied.

It had felt like a dozen fireworks had just exploded inside his skull. Except the fireworks were made of pure love. And they were more like dynamite.

--Five minutes later--

The Outcasts, all eleven of them, as Union Jack had been named their newest member, sat at the oversized picnic table, munching on their lunches. The otaku pony (Manga, as Union Jack had learned his name to be) asked Vagabond "So he just asked you out, just like that?"

"Well, not really," she replied. "It was more of an allusion to an offer to date."

Manga gawked, stupefied. "And you accepted his offer? You've only known him a few hours! You never accepted my invitations to date, and you've known me since we were in elementary school!" He started sobbing.

Union Jack lifted his mask and scowled. "You never told me that anyone had asked you out before. Manga asked first, so I'm putting the whole dating thing on hiatus until you at least try going out with him. Put your priorities in order, Vagabond."

She was heartbroken for two reasons: The stallion who was so infatuated with her mere seconds ago had pushed her away, and she was watching her best friend since elementary school's body being wracked with sobs of pain and sadness. The Goth pegasus two seats down from Union Jack said "You did the right thing. Manga's been hopelessly in love with Vagabond for years. Thanks for giving him a chance. Meanwhile, would you like to date me instead?"

"Didn't I just say the dating thing was on hia-" he was cut short by the Goth pegasus locking lips with him. "What the hell!? What was that for?" he indignantly shouted.

"Sorry, it's just... I kinda like you. As in, like like you." she timidly said.

"Well that was obvious. Why you like me is the question. How could anypony like this? I'm scrawny, I look stupid with my mane spiked all over and my gasmask, and to top it all off, my Cutie Mark is A MAREOTOV COCKTAIL. If that's not a red flag for 'do not date this stallion', I don't know what is." he ranted.

"Quit being so down on yourself. You're just one of us, and I wouldn't have it any other way." She kissed him again, and after they had broken apart, he blushed redder than the red on his mask.

A chorus of "Aww"s and one "They make such a cute couple" echoed from the table.

"Shaddup, all of you! I'm trying to have a romantic moment here."

Chapter Five: Day In Day Out

Union Jack entered the courtyard the exact same way he had on Day Zero, about two days ago. Today was Friday, the last day of the week. He was undoubtedly going to be in for the same he'd experienced yesterday, but the fact that it was the last day of the school week lightened his mood somewhat. When he had trotted over to the Outcasts' table, he saw an earth pony with a white coat, black mane and tail with red tips, and a cutie mark consisting of a pair of DJ headphones standing at one edge of the table. Union Jack lifted his mask and smiled. "You a new student?"

The earth pony lifted off his headphones and said "Sorry, what? Couldn't hear you." Union Jack asked again, and the earth pony replied "No, I've been here a while, I was just sick the last couple days. Name's Turntable. What's yours?"

"Union Jack." he replied, "Or just Jack if you prefer."

Suddenly a cacophony of voices echoed from behind him. It was the same bullies from yesterday, the ones who were calling him names and threatening him, teasing him about wearing a gas mask. He lowered his head and his whole body started shaking in anger. Eventually after one particularly vicious taunt, he spun around, enraged.

"WHAT THE BUCK DID YOU JUST CALL ME!?" The other ponies had gotten the rise they wanted, and were laughing their flanks off, at least until their leader was hit head on by what felt to him like a tan-and-red freight train. The other two watched their leader being pinned to the ground by the infuriated Union Jack, turned tail, and ran as fast as they could for the school gates.

Union Jack raised a hoof in preparation for beating the living moonlight out of the bully, grinning like a madman as he brought it down directly between his opponent's eyes. The bully was dazed, but regained his senses quickly enough to see Union Jack getting ready to bear down on him with both front hooves in a hammer blow. The bully raised a hoof as if to stop the crushing blow, and squeaked out "Please don't hurt me. I was joking! You knew that right?" He grimaced as he prepared for the pain of a pair of hooves being driven into his skull, but Union Jack had lowered his hooves a little.

"Beg enough, and I might let you go." To Union Jack, those words made him sound like a psychopathic killer from a cheesy slasher movie, but to the bully they were genuinely terrifying.

"Please, let me go! I didn't think the insults were actually making you mad!" he pleaded. Union Jack brought one of his hooves down onto his enemy's chest, and stood up.

"Just don't do it again. You do, and next time you won't be getting up." Union Jack walked back to the table in triumph, but found everyone shrinking back away from him. "Relax, guys. I'm bipolar. It only takes a few seconds for me to cool off, and I have enough self control not to hurt any of you." They shrank back a little more.

"You crazy? You could've seriously gotten in trouble for that!" exclaimed Turntable.

The 8:35 bell rang, interrupting both their thoughts. "We better get to class." said Black Bell.

--A few minutes later--

Union Jack listened to Mr. Emcee drone on about projectile trajectories, and had to struggle from yawning. Physics wasn't very interesting to him, mostly because he preferred PAD to any of the other classes. A small slip of paper hit his desk, and he slipped it into his notebook, leaned back, tipped his notebook against the edge of the desk, and took a few notes off the blackboard before he read the note.

Two things, Union Jack.

1. The Outcasts forgive you.

2. I'd like to thank you for setting me up with Manga. Last night was our first date, and it was amazing!

-Vagabond

He breathed a noiseless sigh of relief. The Outcasts had let go of what he did this morning, that was good. But what was better was knowing that the mare he loved was happy even without him. He wrote his thoughts on the paper, and was prepared to slide it along the floor unnoticed, but at the last second an idea had popped into his head. Taking a quick glance at his notes to determine how he needed to toss the note for the trajectory to land it right in Vagabond's notebook (Mr. Emcee WAS right! he thought. This lesson IS useful!), he used his magic to fling it across the room. Mr. Emcee caught sight of it, and decided to call Union Jack out on it.

"Union Jack, are you passing notes?" he asked.

"No sir. I was actually testing the formulas you showed us on the arc of a thrown projectile." Union Jack snarked.

"Good stallion. Now, as I was saying..." he continued drilling the formulas into the other students.

Union Jack simply couldn't believe it! His teacher couldn't recognize sarcasm! He counted himself lucky and rested his head on his upright hoof again, nearly falling asleep.

Chapter Six: Motivation

--Third Hour--

Union Jack slumped back in his chair. Writing class was bound to be boring.

"All right class, today's lesson begins our unit on writing fiction. Today, we're going to talk about writing compelling characters."

Union Jack instantly bolted upright. He never could write fiction for that exact reason! He never could figure out what a compelling character was.

This is my chance. This is it. I could use this to become a good writer! he thought excitedly.

"So first, give an example of a compelling character." the teacher continued. Several ponies raised their hooves. "OK, you, up front, third seat from the left, black mane with red tips. You first."

"Turntable's my name ma'am. As for the question, my answer is Griffin from the Griffin the Griffin book series. He's got good intent, but plenty of flaws to balance it out." Turntable said.

Flaws! That's it! All my main characters have all been Pony Sues! he thought as he leaned forward, listening intently.

"You heard him class. Flaws are what make a character compelling. A good main character needs good qualities and bad qualities to be well-written. Our hero can't be some all-powerful, beautiful alicorn who solves all the world's problems. Turntable, describe Griffin's flaws."

"He's short-tempered, rude, sarcastic, and just generally mean."

Union Jack drank in the tips like water, and sat back, taking notes every few seconds.

--Fourth Hour--

Union Jack leaned forward. Fourth hour was Algebra III, something he thought he wouldn't need. His teacher was pretty slack about class. All he ever did was write the day's notes on the board and have the class write them down, and considering the copious quantity of notes he had them scrawl into their notebooks, it usually took all hour. Every Friday there was a test. Today was no different, except for something he hadn't expected. A small note flew across the classroom and landed in Union Jack's notebook. He unfolded it as he wrote and read it.

Union Jack,

I'm playing live at Radio Havok tonight. Be there. In case you don't know where it is, it's the club under my mom's house. The password is your name. You and the other Outcasts are the VIPs. Make sure to bring your gas mask (You're famous now! Looks like that fight in the schoolyard paid off!), and don't address me as anything but DJ Vox (my stage name). Be there early too. You can't miss the first number, Showstopper. It's sort of the Outcasts' unofficial anthem. See you tonight!

-Turntable

Union Jack flipped the note over and wrote

Your mom has a club under her house? You must have one cool mom. Anyway, where is your mom's house, and what music do you play?

-Union Jack

He slid the note across the floor to Turntable, who pulled out another sheet of paper and wrote another note, using the same method Union Jack did to get it to him.

My mom's Vinyl Scratch! Of course she's cool!

You can't miss the house. It's got a record on the front door, and if you press on it, you can feel the vibrations from the club underneath. I play techno of all kinds, from house to dubstep. You'd like it.

-Turntable

The rest of the hour went by uneventfully, with Union Jack squeezing the last of the notes into ten minutes to compensate for the fact that he'd been writing notes for a small chunk of the class.

--Lunch--

Lunch was mostly spent talking about Turntable's gig that night, and about how Union Jack had gained respect among the jocks for having the gall to attack their leader.

I got a huge amount of respect for getting pissed and hitting someone? That's just weird. he thought.

"What's up, Jack? You look upset." Black Bell said, putting a hoof around his shoulders.

"It's nothing, Bell. Just wondering why I got so much respect so fast." he said glumly. She tightened her grip.

"I'm not gonna let you be all down like this, Jack. You're my coltfriend, and I can't let you be unhappy." she said, concerned.

He pulled in closer to her, and she gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Hey, Turntable. Why do you want me to show up at your gig? I barely even know you." he asked.

"Cause you're one of us, man. Outcasts always stick together." he said casually.

"And as for asking me to bring my gas mask?" Union Jack asked suspiciously.

"It's your signature accessory. We each have one. Vagabond's are her wristbands, mine are my headphones, Manga's are his glasses, yours is your mask, Clockwork's is his robot wing, Charger's is her generator, the list goes on." he answered.

Union Jack pressed himself up against Black Bell and listened to the rest of the conversation.

Chapter Seven: Wreaking (Radio) Havok

Union Jack placed his hoof on the record on the door. Vibrations shot up his foreleg into his shoulder, and after a few seconds, he found the common sense to knock. The door swung open on its own, and he heard a song start up, faint, but definitely cool-sounding. Turntable greeted him with a bro-hug and a pat on the withers, then said "You like the music? It's the last song on Mom's set, then I take over. It's called Save The World." Union Jack nodded wholeheartedly.

"Where can I get this song for my MP3 player? It's awesome!" he said as his head bobbed.

Turntable chuckled. "We'll worry about that later, Jack. I gotta start prepping for the gig, so see you in a while. Remember, gas mask, and password is your name." With that, Turntable disappeared into his room.

--A Few Minutes Later--

Union Jack knocked on the door to Radio Havok.

"Password?" said the bouncer.

"Union Jack." said Union Jack.

"Come on in sir. Enjoy the show."

Union Jack slipped on his mask and walked towards the stage, where the other Outcasts were already waiting. Black Bell rushed up to Union Jack, pushed his mask up, and gave him a passionate kiss. As he pushed his mask back down, startled, Black Bell took her place by Union Jack's side. The crowd was hushed. Turntable, or rather DJ Vox, leaned forward to get closer to the microphone.

"Hello once again audience, today I have some very special guests. My good friends the Outcasts are here to enjoy the party. Now let's drop some bass!" he said as he threw two records on and started up the first song on the setlist.

Union Jack's jaw felt like it hit the floor as the music washed over him. The bass pulsed, everything felt powerful. The entire crowd was hoof-pumping, and he followed suit.

Union Jack had discovered a new kind of music, and he liked it.

As the song drew to a close a few minutes later, the energy washed out of the crowd like a grass stain from a T-shirt.

DJ Vox leaned back towards the mic and said "Now that our opening number's over, change of plans. I'm going to teach my good friend Union Jack how to work these turntables right in front of all y'all. Union Jack, step up to the plate. It's time to spin some mixes, pal."

Union Jack reluctantly walked over to where DJ Vox was standing. "Place your hooves on the discs." said the DJ, who Union Jack could only faintly recognize as Turntable. Union Jack did as he was told. "Now do what feels natural." He moved his hooves slightly out of sync, creating a basic beat that the crowd seemed to like. He kept doing that for a few seconds, then used his magic to move a few sliders, keeping the beat he had started going. As his head bobbed, Vox moved two more sliders to change the pitch of the discs, and as Union Jack spun a tune, the crowd started to move in response to the music. He smirked under his mask and let DJ Vox take over. Vox kept the song going until he started a whole different song. Union Jack let himself be encapsulated by the music, and the song was over before he knew it, the crowd's energy settling once more.

"Hey Vox. Can I try another song?" Union Jack asked. DJ Vox/Turntable smiled and beckoned for him to walk up. Vox pressed a button and a second set of turntables slid out from the side of the first.

"Use these. They're normally for me whenever DJ-Pon-3 is playing, and you seem to be a natural at making beats, so improv time is at hoof. Let's get crackin. You run the beat, I run the melody."

Union Jack nodded and waited for his moment as DJ Vox started to scratch the melody into existence. Union Jack started to mix in bass and rumble, and the two were in perfect harmony.

The club's audience were pumping their hooves and bobbing their heads to the awesome music the two were making, and Union Jack smirked under his mask.

--After The Show--

Black Bell hugged Union Jack and said "You did great up there! I didn't know you could mix!"

"I can't. It was only thanks to Turntable's help that I could. He did most of the work."

Turntable removed his sunglasses and said "You were a natural, Jack. That bass you spun during the fourth song? Damn. I was impressed, and my mom's a DJ!"

"Thanks man. But without your help, I would have failed miserably."

Turntable gave Union Jack a bro-hug and invited them all to go meet Vinyl Scratch in the flesh.

Union Jack was as happy as could be. A new kind of music, one he could actually play to some degree, a new friend, and some recognition. He kissed Black Bell and went to go meet Vinyl.

Chapter Eight: Union Jack, House DJ

Union Jack walked into the schoolyard, and was greeted by Black Bell, as usual. As he approached the Outcasts' table, he saw something sitting on it: a boombox. It was blasting music, techno that seemed familiar. When he got closer, his eyes shot wide open. It was a crystal-clear recording of the set he and Turntable had played the previous night, including the basic beat he had mixed with Turntable's help. Turntable hit the stop button and said "Well if it ain't the famous Union Jack. Dude, the crowd loves you! You're a huge hit! From now on you're playing at all my shows with me! I'm not just saying that cause you're famous either. You have great potential. I think I'll ask Mom to train you. That is, if you're up for it."

"Is there money to be made?" asked Union Jack.

"Oh hell yeah. Mom and I rake in the bits like nothin. Of course, it all goes to managing Radio Havok, but you win some you lose some." replied Turntable.

"Well, I'm certainly for it." Union Jack said.

The 8:35 warning bell rang, letting students know there was five minutes left till class. Union Jack stiffened, then turned and bolted for Physics class, Vagabond and Manga close behind.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, at least until 6:00 PM.

Union Jack placed a hoof on the door with a record again, feeling the vibrations of another set. He knocked, same as last time. The door swung open and there stood Vinyl Scratch, sunglasses perched on top of her head. "Come on in. Turntable's waiting for you!" she said cheerfully. He followed her up to the studio in the loft, and observed as Turntable, dressed in his red bomber coat and aviators, finished up the song he was working on. As Turntable stepped out, his glasses almost fell off of his face. Union Jack looked at himself in the booth's window and realized his mask was at home.

"Crap. Do you want me to go get my mask?" Union Jack asked.

"No, it's just... I've never seen you without your mask..." Turntable replied shakily.

"I've lifted it up while I was eating before. You can't tell me you never saw that."

"I never looked at the right time, I guess." Turntable said.

"Why are you so freaked out? It's just my face." Union Jack replied, a little irritated.

"Yeah, but... The scars. Man, how did you get those?"

"It was from when I tried to burn down La Cienaga. The petrol bomb I was carrying fell when I slipped in a puddle, thankfully the thing was unlit, it shattered, and I fell muzzle first into the glass." Union Jack said, regret filling his voice. "I'm ugly, aren't I?"

"No, dude, I was just a little frightened that you had scars hidden under the mask that you never told us about."

"Well, Black Bell knew. So did Vagabond, and Manga."

"Well, let's ignore that. Come on bro, we have techno to make."

The rest of the evening was spent mixing and spinning, honing Union Jack's skill on the turntables.

Chapter Nine: Not A Nightmare

I stepped out of my house dressed as a samurai, ready for my first Nightmare Night. Turntable and Black Bell joined me as I entered the town square, the two of them dressed in equally good costumes. Turntable was decked out in full DJ Vox regalia, while Black Bell was dressed as a vampire. We stood by the apple-bobbing cauldron, waiting for Princess Luna to arrive, as she did every year, or so I was told.

It wasn't long before the carriage arrived, pulled by two sinister bat-winged guards, and bearing its terrifying payload, the one and only Princess Luna, in disguise as Nightmare Moon. As her hooves touched the ground around the main fountain, everypony's heads dropped in a gesture of both fear and respect (mostly fear). Turntable, Black Bell, and I seemed to be the only ones who knew Nightmare Moon didn't exist, judging by the terrified expressions of the townsponies, but we bowed all the same.

"GREETINGS, CITIZENS OF PONYVILLE! WE HAVE GRACED YOUR TOWN WITH OUR GLORIOUS PRESENCE ONCE MORE!" Luna roared, obviously using the Royal Canterlot Voice. "BE GRATEFUL THAT WE HAVE DECIDED TO BE SO MAGNANIMOUS!"

I shivered at the sheer volume of her voice. As I started to stand, I noticed Black Bell had gone missing. "Where the hay is Black Bell?" I whispered to Turntable.

"She left before the Princess arrived. She's at the ticket booth, getting us a pair of tickets for the Nightmare Night concert." Turntable replied, barely audible over the Princess' Royal Canterlot Voice.

As Luna continued her genuinely frightening tirade, I asked "Concert? There's a concert? Where, and more importantly, who?"

Turntable grinned slyly. "Ever hear of a little punk band called Claws of Anarchy?"

I freaked out. "OHMYGOSHOHMYGOSHOHMYGOSH." I replied, voice low enough so as not to alert Princess Luna. "Claws of Anarchy? THE Claws of Anarchy? As in, Gilda the Griffin's band?" My eyes widened at the thought. Claws of Anarchy had been my favorite band for years! "Here? In Ponyville?"

Turntable's grin expanded. "Yep. Black Bell's off getting tickets for the show as we speak." he said excitedly.

Luna finished her monologue, and Turntable and I stood up, ready to find Black Bell and head to wherever the hay the concert was.

Ten Minutes Later

We arrived at Sweet Apple Acres around ten minutes later, after learning that Applejack was hosting the concert in her barn. My eyes drifted to the sign outside the gates and my heart sank.

????? (and Claws of Anarchy), it read.

Are you serious? They're only the opening act? I thought grimly. Though, I do wonder who the main attraction is.

Turntable's eyes jetted to where the sign was. "What are you looking at?" He paused, reading over the sign. "Huh. I guess there's a secret show or something. Either way, we're still going to see Claws of Anarchy." he said optimistically, a smile on his face.

After exchanging our tickets with Big Macintosh, we made our way to the concession stand and paid for a couple of mugs of cider. The three of us managed to squeeze into the rather packed barn, eyes trained on the stage.

"Howdy. Tonight, I'd like y'all to welcome... Aw, shucks, I lost the page." Applejack said disappointedly. "Well, anyway, enjoy the shows!" As she said that, four very familiar shapes came on stage and my jaw dropped.

The entire crowd was stomping and hollering as the spotlight shifted to Gilda. "ARE YOU LAME PONIES READY TO HEAR SOME ROCK!?" she shouted over the excited crowd. "WELL YOU'RE GOING TO HEAR SOME, WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT!"

The band began to play Black Sheep, which was my favorite song by CoA. Must be my lucky night. I remarked in my head.

Chapter Ten: More Like A Winter Wasteland

Author's Note: I decided to switch perspective from third person limited to first person, from Union Jack's POV, as well as employ a timeskip. Some chapters will be in the form of Union Jack's journal entries, some will be past-tense narratives. I promise all of you that some of the Mane Six (plus cameos from characters in my first story!) will appear in minor roles next chapter. Enjoy!

December 13

It's been a few months since I first scratched a song together with Turntable, and the last few weeks of it has been sad. A few days after I was dubbed DJ Firebomb (that is to say, when I completed my training with Vinyl and Turntable the week before last), Turntable moved to Manehattan with Vinyl. I've been filling the void with playing at various clubs across town, even at the final show of Radio Havok before Octavia, Vinyl's old (and admittedly bitchy) roommate, converted it into an orchestra practice hall. Dad bought me a portable turntable set for my birthday, and it's been serving me well. I got a lot of cool presents that birthday, most from the Outcasts, and one from Cheerilee. Still, nothing has been able to fix my generally bad mood. Even hanging out with the Outcasts hasn't helped. I guess that's because the Outcasts aren't the same anymore, not without Turntable. I found out he was the first Outcast, and while I knew he was the de facto leader, I never expected that. When he moved, he left a note that put a sinking feeling in my heart, mostly because of the finality it gave the whole thing.

Union Jack,

With me gone, the Outcasts need a leader. I trust you to take it up, given that you're the oldest (Vagabond's younger than you think.) You've proven to be a great friend, and I'll never forget you or the Outcasts, no matter where I go or what happens to me. I'll write to you guys as often as I can, but in Manehattan, that's not going to be often. Mom says best wishes to you and all the other Outcasts. We'll miss all of you.

Sincerely,

Turntable

P.S. I hope you like my birthday present for you. Get good use from them.

I had framed that note, and the two letters he'd sent since then, and hung them above my bed, below my replica katana set that Manga gave me. I've taken to wearing Turntable's headphones, his parting gift to me, in addition to my mask. The paint on the mask was beginning to flake now, but I don't care. I just need to get someone to repaint it. I don't live with Dad anymore, not since he was arrested for drug use a week ago (Who can blame him? His job was effing stressful!). A friend's dad adopted me, and that's where I've been living since. I live with Clockwork now. His dad and I get along well, and Clockwork's pretty cool. But that doesn't mean I don't miss Dad. Gearbox is a nice guy, caring and friendly, but he's just not the same. Clock and I don't hang out much, due to him working a lot. I mostly mope around town. There's not much to do here in Ponyville, not since the Outcasts all went on family vacations for winter break. Winter break started yesterday, and they already left. Two more weeks till they come back. Two more weeks of wandering town all on my lonesome. Misfortune is befalling me left and right recently. The only thing I can take solace in is the music I make. And even that's not much, mostly because I can't play when Gearbox is home. Which is nearly all the time.

I wish I had something to do.

Signed,

Union Jack

Chapter Eleven: The Chapter In Which There Is Cameos

I plodded miserably along the snow-covered streets, deep in thought. Alone. Again.

Or so I thought.

"Hey there. Why the long face?" I looked up at the source of the voice and saw none other than Pinkie Pie, the local baker, walking along with a deep orange pegasus in a trench coat. After a few seconds, I recognized the pegasus to be Madjack, Pinkie's husband. "What's the problem?"

"Lonely." I muttered. "And you two aren't helping." I continued along, now more crestfallen than before. Things were not working out. As if seeing Pinkie and Madjack wasn't enough, I spotted Twilight Sparkle and Sir Loams on a cafe's patio. They kissed, and I felt sick to my stomach. Thoughts of Black Bell crept into my mind, and a tear welled up. I turned back towards home, the comfortable brass-walled two-story house. I was halfway there when I saw the music shop. I had always passed it by, until today, when I saw the 'Hiring' sign. A job would be a perfect way to pass the time. As I stepped in, I saw something that was a blessing.

Standing behind the counter was Turntable.

"Union Jack?" he asked.

"DUDE! I HAVEN'T SEEN YOU IN MONTHS! Oh my Celestia I am so happy to see you!" I shouted, rushing towards him. He jumped over the counter and gave me a huge hug.

"Didn't you move to Manehattan?" I asked.

"I turned 18 last week, so I moved back here and got a job and a nice apartment. Mostly just to see the Outcasts again. It's so awesome to see you again! Where are the others?"

"They're off on family vacations. Well, except for Clockwork and Charger." I replied.

"So... When I moved back two days ago, I went to your house to tell you and it was completely empty, so I thought you moved to another town. What happened?" he inquired.

I frowned. "Dad got arrested and imprisoned for drug use. Clockwork's dad adopted me. I live with them now, at least until Dad gets out and gets clean." I said mournfully.

"So why'd you come in here?"

"To apply for a job."

"No need to apply. The store's critically understaffed, so they take anyone that is interested." he said. "Good pay, plus employee benefits. You get about 10 bits in-store credit for every five minutes you work, plus 30 an hour. Considering the hours, that's good pay."

"All right, I accept. When do I start?"

"Right now." he said. I started laughing, until I noticed he wasn't laughing or smiling.

"I'm serious, Jack."

And that was pretty much how the day went. I helped customers with finding albums and stocking the stands.

I couldn't have been happier, honestly. A good job, I was reunited with my best friend, and it passed the time like no tomorrow.

It gets better. Thanks to that music shop, I picked up on a new kind of music I liked. Ska, which is like jazz and punk mixed together, was both familiar and new. The rock part echoed of the time when I was still a punk (I've since become more unique than that), but the jazz brought a new cheerfulness to it, something I liked.

But I digress. Anyway where was I? ...Crap, I lost my train of thought.

Sorry it ended like that, but I couldn't wrap it up properly.

Chapter Twelve: Dat Bass

Working in that music shop introduced me to new things. Many, many great techno artists were discovered hiding inside the bargain bin, along with a few good rock bands and the occasional ska group, but the thing that caught my eye the most was the green Rickenbucker 4001 bass in the display case at the front of the shop. I always had a great appreciation for bassists. They were the heart of any rock band, keeping the beat going. It was also the simplest instrument to play. Easy to learn, hard to master. Just the way I liked it.

At the end of my shift, three days after I first started working, I strolled over to the case on my way out. I stopped and gazed at the Rickenbucker's shiny green paint job. The bass was designed for a unicorn, made to be levitated and played by magic. Thankfully I fit the bill. I felt a hoof on my shoulder, and turned to face Six-String, the store's owner.

"Go ahead. Take it home. Nobody's gonna buy it anyway, not with a six hundred bit price tag." he said with a smile on his face.

"But... What if somepony drops by to buy it? Surely someone saw it and started saving up?" I asked.

"Trust me. Nopony has given that thing a single passing glance in the four years I've owned this shop. I've relocated six times, twice from different cities. Nopony has paid attention to that bass. People come in wanting to learn guitar or violin or drums, but nopony wants to learn bass. It's yours." He smiled again.

"No. I can't just take it without paying you. I'll come back later and see if I can buy it." I replied as I walked out the door.

I magically levitated my envelope with the paycheck, opened it, and read it. 450 bits from the past three days. I thought. Just 150 more. I realized I still had in-store credit, and turned back, just in time to see Six-String leaving.

"Hey. How much store credit do I have?" I asked.

"105 bits." he said as he read a small notepad. "Wh-" he started to say before I interrupted him.

"Can I work an extra fifteen minutes cleaning up the shop?" I asked.

"Yeah sure. You won't get paid any wage, but-"

"As long as I get those extra fifty bits of credit I'm OK."

I rushed back into the shop, leaving Six-String bewildered. I worked in a flurry to re organize the shelves, a job normally reserved for Turntable after hours, and came back out fifteen minutes later. "Add those fifty bits to my credit and come back in. I'd like to buy something." I said triumphantly.

We walked back into the shop, and as I passed the case, I gave the Rickenbucker a long, thorough look. "What is it you'd like to buy." He added0 "I was kidding. That was rhetorical. I know you want that bass." as I opened my mouth.

"Yessir," I said. "Four hundred fifty in the envelope, plus one hundred fifty in store credit, makes an even 600." I smiled.

picked up a guitar case from behind the counter and opened the display case with a small silver key. "It's all yours." he said as he gave me the case to put it in. I took the bass and gently laid it in the case's velvet lining, making sure to latch it securely.

I walked out of the shop towards the Industrial District, home of Ponyville's factories and workers. It was where home was, where I lived since Dad got put in the slammer. Clockwork and Gearbox would be expecting me in time for dinner, but thankfully the shop closed early that day, so my time window was far more forgiving. I did make it home in time, but Gearbox was naturally suspicious of the case at my side.

"What's in there, Union Jack? What's in the case, huh?!" he demanded.

I chuckled and opened it. I saw his eyes trace over the paint, widened. "Is that..."

"A Rickenbucker 4001, yes. 600 bits, good price. Cost me my first paycheck and everything but five bits of my store credit, but it was worth every single bit." I said proudly.

Gearbox frowned. "You spent your first paycheck on an instrument you can't play?"

"Well, not yet, but my next paycheck is going towards lessons. Unless somepony at school can teach me." I said.

"Manga knows how to play." piped up Clockwork. "Just ask him to teach you once he gets back from Neighasaki."

After dinner, Clockwork and I returned to our shared room, me toting the Rickenbucker.

"So tell me, why choose a bass guitar?" he asked on our way up the stairs.

"There are very few bassists out there. I figured I'd join their ranks." I replied.

"Well, I think it suits you. You've got excellent rhythm." he said.

"Thank you."

The rest of the evening was spent either conversing with Clockwork about his projects or playing video games with him.

Again, sorry I had to wrap up the chapter this way, but I can't end chapters very well.

Chapter Thirteen: Guess She Forgot I Existed

December 18

Well, it's official. My mood took a nosedive today. Why, you ask? Black Bell came back from Fillydelphia. That would have been a good thing if I hadn't seen her with another stallion. Apparently, according to a conversation he and one of his friends were having that I just so happened to "overhear", the two met while Black Bell was on vacation and started dating behind my back. Moreover, said stallion was a jock. As a general rule, the Outcasts are not allowed to date a non-Outcast, especially not jocks or cheerleaders. Not cool, Black Bell. Not cool.

I'm changing to a past-tense narrative from here through the rest of the chapter.

I walked into the music shop, my head hung low.

"What's wrong, bro?" asked Turntable. "I'm your best bud, I need to know what happened."

"Black Bell cheated on me, that's what. She was with another stallion, one who goes to our school. A JOCK, nonetheless!"

"SHE DID WHAT!?" roared Turntable.

"You heard me. She cheated on me." I said sadly.

"NOPONY TREATS MY PAL LIKE THAT!" he shouted angrily.

Six-String walked down the stairs. "Why are you shouting? What's wrong?"

Turntable's face went from angry to mortified in half a second, and he murmured. "Sorry about that. I got mad at Union Jack's marefriend because I found out she cheated on him. Not only that, but all of our friends trusted her."

Six-String frowned. "I know how you feel, Union Jack. A few of my marefriends have been unfaithful before. I'm sorry it had to happen to you."

At that moment, luckily enough, the door opened and in came Black Bell.

"Well, well, well. Speak of the devil and the devil shall appear." I growled.

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

"Don't play dumb with us, Black Bell," Turntable said. "We know you've been cheating on Union Jack."

"What!? I don't know what you're talking about, guys!" she squeaked.

"Union Jack saw you with that jock. Not only did you cheat on him, you cheated on him WITH A JOCK! How many times have we told you that Outcasts do NOT date non-Outcasts!?" Turntable barked.

"Okay. You got me. I did. I'll just leave now." She turned towards the shop door.

"Not only did you violate MY trust, you violated that of all the Outcasts. Now GET OUT!" I shouted, face turning bright red with fury. "You're not welcome here, or at the table anymore!"

The last sound I heard before the door shut was her crying as she galloped home.

Six-String frowned and asked "Wasn't that a little harsh, guys? I mean, you made her cry."

"She deserved it. She was unfaithful, and she broke Union Jack's heart like a damn twig." Turntable said.

"Well, either way, I thought it was pretty mean of you two to yell at her like that."

"Can he take a couple days off to recover? He's pretty busted up about this." Turntable asked.

"You both can. He needs your help. I can hold down the fort myself. Here's your pay for the next three days. Consider it paid vacation time." Six-String answered.

"Come on, Jack. Let's go get some coffee. Vagabond's back from Manehattan." Turntable said, laying a hoof across my shoulders.

We left the shop, heading towards the cafe down the street from the music store. As we sat down at a table inside, I saw Vagabond waiting tables. She appeared to be the only waitress on staff, and thankfully wasn't too busy. She strolled over to our table levitating a notepad and started to ask if she could take our orders, but then stopped once she saw that I was none too happy.

"Something up? You seem sad." she said worriedly.

"Yes, something is up, and if I seem sad, that's because I am sad." I mumbled.

"What's the problem?" she asked.

"Black Bell cheated on me. That's the problem."

"HOW COULD SHE!?" Vagabond cried.

"Keep it down, we're in public." Turntable whispered.

"Sorry about that, but this is an outrage!"

"That may be an outrage, but we're here for coffee, not to tell you about my love life." I said, with a slight hint of anger in my voice. "I'll have a small coffee, black."

"One small black coffee, and what would you like, Turntable. Wait, Turntable!? I thought you moved to Manehattan!"

"I did, until a week ago. I turned 18 and moved back here. One hot tea with vanilla creamer please."

"Okay, that's one hot tea with vanilla creamer and one hot black coffee. I'll be back in a few minutes with your orders and a tray of nutbread." she said as she turned towards the kitchen.

A single tear slid down my cheek as I thought about all the good times with Black Bell, from my first kiss to the concert we had gone to last month. I loved her, and she had betrayed me.

"All right guys, here's your drinks and your bread. I know you didn't order the bread, but it's free of charge." Vagabond's voice snapped me back to the present, and I wiped away the tear.

"Thanks. Hey Vagabond, do you have any idea when Manga's coming back?" I asked.

"Yeah. He'll be back on Friday. Why do you ask?"

"I'm going to ask him to teach me to play bass. It'll take my mind off this." I said.

Another tear welled up as I took a sip of coffee. Not from memories of Black Bell, mind you, but from the acidic, bitter aftertaste of the coffee. Turntable's cell phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his saddlebags and looked at the screen. "Text message for you." I took the phone and read the message.

Union Jack,

Turntable told me what happened. Sorry for your loss. Also, of course I'll teach you to play bass. It's what friends do.

-Manga

"Oh." I said, disappointed, and hoofed the phone back.

"Why are you so disappointed about that? It was what you wanted to hear, right?" Turntable asked.

"I wasn't expecting something as hollow as 'sorry for your loss'." I replied. "Just seemed a little uncaring to me."

"Manga's kind of busy. He's got an Equestrian History report to finish. I'm sure he'll be a lot more caring when he's got free time. Now finish your coffee, we have places to go today."

Chapter Fourteen: Retiring The Mask

I placed the gas mask in the brass box Clockwork gave me, shut the lid, and placed it in the closet.

"So why are you not going to wear the mask anymore?" asked Clockwork.

"The paint is flaking and the leather is cracking. I'll just go get another one down at the military surplus store when I have the cash." I replied.

"Still, that thing was a gift from your dad. Why not wear it until it's really done in?"

"Simple. It's because it was a gift from Dad. I don't want the paint disappearing or the leather becoming dried out and warped. It means a lot to me. I don't want it becoming unwearable."

"Ah, I see." Clockwork said. "So, what mask do you have in mind?"

"It's more modern, and a lot more durable. The surface is rougher, which means the paint won't start peeling off, and it's a lot more comfortable. It's an HR-101."

"Whoa, slow down. Isn't the Model 101 the current model the Equestrian Armed Forces use?" he asked, worriedly.

"Yeah, but it's a military surplus store, remember? Military and surplus being the key words." I said as I laid down on my bed.

"True. But how much is the mask?"

"64 bits. Then the waterproof acrylic paint is a bit a tube. Brushes are 4 bits. All in all, about 71 bits, which I can easily rack up from a day or two at the shop."

"Why bother with working at the shop during the days you have off? Why not work with me? I have a project I'd like you to help with." Clockwork asked.

"Forgive me for answering your question with a question, but are you paying?"

"No, but I do have a reward for you if you do help. You'll see what it is." he said with a smile on his face. "Oh and you never did tell me why you have the next three days off."

Shit. He's backed me into a corner. Now I have to tell him.

"Black Bell cheated on me, so Six-String gave Turntable and I the next three days off so he could help me bounce back. I've been trying to keep my mind off the whole thing."

"Hold on. Black bell did what?" he asked with a slight hint of anger.

"She was with another stallion. A jock no less. Turntable and I ended up kicking her out of the Outcasts for it." I answered, crying.

"Ouch. I never expected she'd do that, especially not to a nice stallion like you. You did the right thing in disowning her from the Outcasts." he said sadly. "I'm sure you'll find somepony better."

"No. I won't. Vagabond, her and Charger are the only female Outcasts, and Black Bell is no longer one, along with Vagabond and Charger being taken." I mumbled as tears streamed down my face.

"There will be more Outcasts by the end of the year, and I'm sure some will be mares." Clockwork replied as he laid a comforting wing (Thankfully the organic one) across my shoulder.

I sobbed until the tears didn't flow anymore. "You've never seen me cry have you? Well now you have. You've seen how weak I am. Go ahead, tell the Outcasts how I cried like a little filly."

"Union Jack, I would never do that. You're like the brother I never had. I know we don't spend much time together, but you are like a little brother to me."

"Really, Clockwork?" I said. "Thanks. That means a lot."

"Yes, really. Now, let's go spend some quality bonding time together."

And so we did.

"Well, this is the project." he said, gesturing with his hoof to a black leather vest and foreleg guards sitting folded next to a new gas mask. "Some new clothes for you. Dad and I have been working on these ever since you moved in. That's why you didn't get a birthday present. They're finished, more or less. Try em on." He smiled as he said the last few words.

I slipped the vest over my head and put my forelegs through it. The leather was supple and soft on the inside, but the outside was more like leather armor. The same went for the vambraces.

"Comfy. Thanks, Clockwork." I said with a smile.

He hoofed me the mask and said "Try it. The leather is enchanted so as not to dry out, and it's dyed, not painted."

I slipped on the mask and tightened the straps. I inhaled experimentally and found the filters were still in. "Uh, Clockwork. You forgot to remove the filters."

"Oh, whoops. Sorry." I undid the mask and gave it back to him. He took the filter out of the muzzle and slipped it back over my head.

"Looks better than the original." I said proudly, looking at my reflection in a polished piece of sheet metal. "Thanks again."

"Don't mention it, little brother. Just a gift from Dad and I. Sorry it's two and a half weeks late."

"Not a problem."

He and I spend the rest of the night making tweaks to the vest and vambraces, from adding a shoulder belt for my bass to polishing the smooth black material.

The phone in our room rang around 10:15, and when I picked up, I was surprised to hear Charger's voice.

"Hey, Union Jack. Turntable told me about what happened between you and Black Bell. Just know my heart is with you and I hope you find somepony soon. Tell Clockwork I said good night."

As I laid down to sleep, another tear formed in my eye.

Chapter Fifteen: Hey Little Apple Blossom

<Note: This chapter does not have Apple Bloom or any other apple-related character. It's named after a White Stripes song. Also, I employ another timeskip in this chapter.>

I sat in the cafe with Manga and Turntable discussing the whole ordeal with Black Bell, which I had gotten over in the two days that had passed (I bounce back from tragedy remarkably fast.). Turntable and Manga were really the only ones talking, I was just sipping at my coffee (Turntable had convinced me to try vanilla creamer. Definitely a good change.) and listening. That is, until something caught my eye. Sitting alone on the cafe's patio was a mare, sipping at a mug of something. She couldn't be much older than me. She had a light blue mane and a brown coat, and when she finished her drink and turned to go inside, I saw she had the most beautiful magenta eyes.

No, man, get yourself together! You just got out of a relationship! You can't risk it again! I mentally shouted at myself.

Oh, how I wanted to. She was beautiful, and something told me that she was available, but I had no reason to ask.

Well, I thought I had no reason. That changed when I saw that her coat was darker around her eyes, a sure sign that she had been crying very recently. I excused myself from the table, taking my coffee and a slice of nutbread, and followed her outside.

"Hey. What seems to be the problem?" I asked.

She turned towards me and growled angrily "Why would you care? You're just another stallion who wants to toy with my feelings and then reject me when I foolishly fall in love with you."

"I'm not like that." I said calmly. "I've had similar problems with fillies where I used to live, and I'm fairly sure I have yet to find a female anything that tolerates my presence."

"You're lying!" she shouted. "You're just like every other colt out there!"

"No I'm not. You can ask my friends. Now, what's the problem? I want to know so I can help. I could never live with myself if I did something like that to you."

She recognized the honesty in my eyes, and softened up. Tears welled up in her eyes as she explained to me. "I'm sixteen, and I've never had a coltfriend or a first kiss, and worse yet, I'm still a blank flank! I have to keep my flanks covered so nopony sees!" She ran up to me and pressed up tight, crying into my shoulder.

I held her for as long as she cried. It felt like hours, but for all I knew, it could have simply been a few minutes. "I know how you feel. For a while, I was completely alone. No friends, half a family, and even after I fell in love with Black Bell, I found out a few days ago that she had been cheating on me. I know how you feel. If you need a shoulder to cry on, remember the name Union Jack." I said. Then the most unexpected thing happened. I felt a passionate kiss reach my lips, and before I knew it, the mare was gone.

I didn't even manage to get her name.

Chapter Sixteen: Who's That Mare?

I woke up the next morning with thoughts of who that mare was who kissed me already implanted firmly inside my skull like nails in a board.

I practically leapt to my hooves and bolted out the door, grabbing my bass and mask on the way out. First stop, the Historical District's most famous eatery, Sugarcube Corner. Pinkie Pie knew almost everypony in town, so surely she knew who that mare was.

It took me about five minutes to arrive, and I was out of breath when I did. I heard chuckling and giggling to my right, and I looked over to see Pinkie Pie and Madjack restraining guffaws. I held up a quick drawing I managed to get done (while running, nonetheless!). It was vague, merely depicting her mane style and color and her head shape. "Know anyone that looks like this?" I asked.

"No. Not personally. I can't tell you who she is, but Silversix or Rainbow Dash could." Pinkie said.

"Thanks!" I sad as I blasted through the shop's entrance, heading towards the Embassy District. The Embassy District was home to the Sky Knights Equestrian HQ, the base of operations belonging to the Sky Knights, the personal military force of Celestia's first student, Lord Deus. The Sky Knights had set up a few days after the Changeling Crisis almost ten years ago, and some had been living there ever since. Silversix and his wife, the Wonderbolt Captain Rainbow Dash, were the two in particular I was looking for.

Before long I was standing in front of the HQ, a large building that used to be an embassy. I walked breathlessly into the front office, greeting the receptionist with a hoof wave. "Hold... on... a few... minutes. Need... to catch... my... breath..." After regaining my composure, I asked "May I speak to Silversix or Rainbow Dash? I have an inquiry about somepony in town. I held up the drawing again.

"Oh, her? That's Pitch-Perfect. She's Silversix and Rainbow Dash's adopted daughter. She's in the third-floor study."

Pitch-Perfect? Sounds like a singer's name. Maybe I can help with her cutie mark after all. I thought to myself.

"Thank you so much."

I trotted up the stairs to the third floor, spotting the door that said "STUDY" in big gold block letters. I politely knocked, and the pony who opened the door was none other than Pitch-Perfect. She gave me a huge hug and said "Union Jack! You came to see me!"

"You're... crushing... me... Pitch." I squeaked, the breath being squeezed out of my lungs.

"Oh. Sorry. I get a little overzealous whenever somepony comes to visit. Considering I don't have any friends, I don't have much time to practice my social skills." she mumbled sadly, letting go of my now slightly compressed body..

"No problem, Pitch. You don't mind if I call you that, right?" I asked.

"No, not at all. But I would like to ask how you found out about my name."

"The receptionist. She mentioned it. Beautiful name, I should add." I replied.

"Thank you." she murmured, blushing red as a tomato. I chuckled.

"It really is. It's as beautiful as you." No backing down now! You've said it, now prepare for the consequences.

She blushed even brighter. "You really think so?"

"Yes. Really." She hugged me again, this time very gingerly. I hugged back, and when she and I let go of each other, she invited me into the study.

"You're not the only pony who's told me I was beautiful, but you and my parents are the only ones who meant it. I can tell by the way you look at me. Nopony has ever looked at me that way. Better yet, you understand my situation, how alone I feel. There is a problem though."

My ears drooped, and I sadly asked "What is it?"

"My parents are kind of at odds when it comes to me dating. Dad's cool with it, but Mom doesn't let me date unless she approves of the stallion, and given that I had some bad run-ins with stallions who only pretended to love me, she might be suspicious. It'll take quite a while before you earn her trust." she said. She planted a kiss on my cheek and said "Come meet my parents. It might go better than expected."

"I'm not sure. Your parents have high standards I'm sure. Your dad's a Sky Knight and your mom's Captain of the Wonderbolts, so a former criminal from the city of La Cienaga won't exactly tickle their fancies."

"You're a-" she started.

"Former criminal, yes. Three years ago I tried to burn down the city I lived in, but I thankfully failed. I got sent to Riftgate Juvenile Penitentiary until Dad bailed me out, and then he enrolled me in Fresh Start Alternative Academy. Worst year of my life. I've changed since then, but my cutie mark stays. It symbolizes my talent to bring about revolution. Still sticks with me."

"Well, come on. You have to meet them anyway, even if Mom doesn't approve."

She gave me another kiss and we started off for the top floor, where the founders of the Sky Knights' Equestrian chapter lived.

Chapter Seventeen: Approval Pending

I sat in the Founders' Room, the home of three of the most famous Sky Knights in history and their wives, three of the most famous ponies in Equestria. Only one of the knights and his wife was present, however, and I felt rather uncomfortable at the table, under the scrutinizing gaze of Rainbow Dash. Silversix was quiet and reserved, hardly speaking at all, but Rainbow Dash was analyzing me, finding questions to assault me with. I steeled myself as she opened her mouth to ask her first query.

"So what school do you go to?"

Simple enough. I thought confidently. "Ponyville High, same as most of the teens in this town."

"Good school. Any friends?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Yeah. A few. There's Vagabond, she's a really cool rocker filly, there's Clockwork and his marefriend Charger, a pair of inventors from the Industrial District of town, there's Manga, this guy who's really into the culture and art of Japony, there's Turntable, a DJ, and up until recently there was my ex-marefriend Black Bell, who I found out recently was cheating on me.

"They sound like nice ponies. So, do you have a job?"

"Yeah. I work as a music store clerk. I've had the past two days off to recover from the whole relationship problem though."

"I see. Do you play any instruments?"

"Well, I can work a synth, but I don't think that counts."

"What does your cutie mark mean?"

"Well, that's kind of a long story." I replied nervously.

"I have time." she said irritably.

"Okay, well if you must know, it symbolizes the ability I have to bring about a revolution. I got it during my worst moment in my life. Did you read about the arsonist trying to burn down La Cienaga a few years ago? That was me, and I am not proud of what I did. I've changed since then."

"So you're a former criminal? That's a little unnerving. Still, I can tell you have good intent. I'll sleep on it and call you in the morning. What's your number?" she asked.

"928-274-7945. Don't call till about seven, I get off work at six-thirty."

"Okay.

When I got home, I collapsed on the couch in a nervous wreck. I was falling in love again, and I wasn't sure if Rainbow Dash would let me date Pitch-Perfect. Clockwork came downstairs and offered to help, but I told him I'd tough it out.

The truth was, I was just hoping I could stay with this filly.

Chapter Eighteen: Questions, Questions, and More Questions

I awoke to the hellish noise of a telephone going off directly under my ear. I picked it up and groggily asked "Hello? Who is it?"

"Hey, is Union Jack there?" asked an undoubtedly female voice.

"Speaking." I replied.

"It's Rainbow Dash. I made my decision." she started.

My mind raced. What is it? What if it's a no? What if it's a yes? WHAT DO I SAY?

"You can date her. But so help me if you break her heart I will lift you higher than Cloudsdale and drop you."

"Understood. But why are you calling at 4 AM?" I asked.

"Goodbye." I heard a click from the other end of the line, and hung up the phone, laying back down to sleep.

About five hours later, Clockwork woke me up. "Why'd you sleep on the couch? You could've come up back to the room anytime. We have a phone in there too, remember?"

"I just needed some time alone, that was all." I said as I got up, taking time to slip my mask on and sling my bass over my back. I had grown accustomed to feeling its weight, even if there was no reason for me to carry it around. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go to work. See you around seven."

The whole town was blanketed in white, and it was still snowing. I had grown used to cold weather, mostly from living in La Cienaga, where it rained almost every day, and was usually quite chilly. As such, I often didn't need a coat or a scarf. Today was no exception. I was almost to the music shop when I heard something land in the snow behind me. I turned around and saw Clockwork. He never really spent time with me outside of when I was off work, so this was quite unusual. "Clock? What're you doing here?" I asked.

"I figured I'd drop by the music shop and see if I wanted anything." he replied. "Plus, I'd like to see Turntable again."

"I see. Well, here we are." I pointed to the recently renamed Six-String's Records And Instruments. "Home of the only pegasus guitarist I know of, as well as being the best music shop in town."

When he and I walked in, Clockwork's eyes widened.

"I have never seen so much music in one place before. What in all do you have in terms of music type?"

"Well," I began, "We have rock, techno, ska, classical, jazz, blues, the list goes on. Plus we have instruments. Turntables, guitars, brass, percussion..."

After I rattled off a laundry list of instruments, Clockwork stopped me. "Whoa, is that him?" he asked as Six-String descended the stairs from his loft, carrying an electric guitar under his wing.

"Yep, that's him. The only pegasus guitarist in Equestria. Six-String." I replied proudly. "And one of the greatest rock musicians I know."

"How does he play? I mean, aren't guitars meant for unicorns?" Clockwork asked, his face in a puzzled expression.

"Good thing you asked." Six-String began. "You see, I never liked flying, being afraid of heights. So, instead of training my wings for strength, I trained them for dexterity, to act as prehensile tools rather than a means of motion. I picked up quick. My dad died in a cart accident when I was about ten years old. All he left for my brother, my mother, and I was an old acoustic. All three of us were pegasi, so I thought there would never be any use for it. That is, until my hour of greatest need. I was fifteen, a blank flank, couldn't fly, and had just been broken up with by a filly I thought I loved. I was on the verge of offing myself. I was digging around in my closet for a belt, and hit upon the acoustic. I gave it a try, and lo and behold, my cutie mark made itself apparent through an accident. By using my wings the same way a unicorn would use their magic to play guitars, I became Equestria's first pegasus guitarist. Or, in short terms, I use my wings to play."

Clockwork smiled. "I enjoyed the story. It's always great to hear about somepony who overcame the odds."

I made my way to the box of records that had just been shipped, the ones I was supposed to be unpacking and organizing on the racks. Six-String's story had distracted me, and as he played for Clockwork, I heard the front door chime. I rushed there, already knowing who it was.

"Union Jack! Hey!" cried Manga happily, wrapping me in a warm, friendly hug. Apparently, I was wrong about who had shown up at the door. "Haven't seen you in a while. So this is the music shop, huh?" he asked, intrigued at the huge number of records which spanned our walls and racks. He turned to Six-String. "Got any J-Rock?"

Silversix glanced up from playing to nod hello. "So you're one of the famed Outcasts. Union Jack and Turntable have told me all about you guys." He paused, then added "Did you try the section labeled 'J-Rock'?", gesturing with his forehoof to a small rack.

"Thanks." replied Manga, before trotting over to the stand. "Hmmm... Most of this I already have, but there's a few here I haven't heard of, and a good number of those I've been meaning to get." he mumbled as he scanned over the records with an inquisitive eye.

The door chimed again, and I turned to see the remainder of the Outcasts making their way through the door. "Surprise, bro, I arranged for all the Outcasts to show up to help you recover after the whole Black Bell incident." Turntable said.

I froze, my hooves planting themselves firmly onto the ground, my eyes wide.

"Umm, guys, I don't need comforting anymore. I found somepony else. Now will you please let me get back to work? I have records to sort." I mumbled, turning towards the back.

Of course, then came the onslaught of questions.

Chapter Nineteen: Are You Serious?

I stepped onto the frozen grass of the Ponyville High courtyard. My eyes scanned the space around me from under my mask, catching sight of the Outcasts' table, not too far from somepony who appeared to be a loner. His black coat was covered in scars, undoubtedly from self-harm. There was a certain sadness in his eyes that belied his rough-and-tumble appearance. Something in those eyes echoed of loneliness. A trait all Outcasts shared.

I trotted up to him to say hello, but as soon as I opened my mouth, I got a rather harsh response. "Buck off."

I cocked my head and pushed up my mask. "I just wanted to say hello. Geez. Can't a guy say hello to someone without being told to go away?"

"Not with me." the pegasus said, looking surlier than before. I frowned and made my way over to the table, pushing through a few crowds of ponies.

"Hey, Jack. Just in time." Vagabond said, smiling. "We were just discussing something. Manga, tell him."

Manga grinned. "Vagabond and I were just talking about starting a band. We'd like you as our singer."

I chuckled. "You're kidding right? Do you have any idea how bad my singing is?"

Manga put on his most serious face. "Does this look like I'm kidding?" he said coldly.

I snorted. "I can't sing, Manga. You'll have to put me on bass or something."

Manga's grin widened, reaching nearly ear-to-ear. "I can arrange that." He tapped my forehead with his horn, causing sparks to emit. "Accelerated Learning spell. Learned it from Mom. It'll boost your ability to comprehend new things. It's gonna make teaching you to play bass a dozen times easier." He paused, then added, "You'll be able to play in time for the talent show in a week."

I jumped, scared out of my wits. "A WEEK!?" I cried. "That's nowhere near enough time!" After regaining my composure, I finished with "And we also don't have a guitarist."

"Now, who told you THAT?" a familiar voice echoed. "There's one standing behind you." I spun around to find Six-String staring at me from behind his aviator sunglasses.

"What the hay are you doing here?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"The music teacher... Miss Octavia, was it? Well anyway, she got sick and asked me to sub." Six-String replied, smiling. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to prepare for class."

-First Hour-

I sat quietly in my desk, eyes drifting all across the room. My vision hit upon the pegasus from before, up two rows and over two desks. An easy shot if I wanted to land a note on his desk. Mr. Emcee wasn't paying attention, so I opened to a blank page in the back of my notebook, levitated a pen, and began to write out a note. I glanced to either side of the room, then to the front chalkboard, scanning for anyone who'd noticed. When I finished, I checked over my note to make sure it said what I wanted to.

Whoever the hell you are,

There's no reason for you to be alone. The Outcasts take in anypony who needs somewhere to belong. We don't care who you are, or what you've done. If you don't fit in anywhere, you're one of us, whether you know it or not.

-Union Jack, it read. Surprisingly touching. I thought. I didn't know I could write like this. I carefully placed the note on the floor with my magic and flung it towards his back legs. The small, folded-up triangle of lined paper hit its mark, causing the now-confused stallion to give his back legs a cursory look, before picking it up.

I watched him unfold it inside his notebook and scrutinize the writing. He scribbled something on the page I'd tossed and pretended to stretch, throwing it back to me with a subtle flick of his wing. It impacted in my mane, bouncing off and finally stopping right in my notebook. I opened it and skimmed the addition he'd written.

My name is Red Tear, first off. Second, I need to think about whether I can trust you. In the past, some who've had the gall to call themselves my friends have turned on me, and I have to make sure it won't happen with you., the note read. I frowned.

I was going to have to convince him to stick with us.

Chapter Twenty: Speech Check

--Lunch--

I sat down at the table, the one we always ate at, the one that bore the names of every single Outcast to ever be part of the group carved into the solid teak. My mouth was twisted into a frown under my gas mask. "Damn it. I've been trying for two hours to get that Red Tear guy to stop being a loner." I mumbled, planting my head firmly on the wood where my name was.

"Maybe you just need to leave him alone and see if he comes to us of his own accord." Vagabond replied, adjusting her glasses. "Some ponies just prefer to be on their own."

I glanced up at her through the lenses, still scowling. "Yes, but he needs us. I can tell. He seemed angry, but I could tell he was just lonely. And what is Rule 5?"

"We stick together, no matter what?" Manga piped up. "That doesn't exactly fit the situation."

"That's Rule 4, Manga." I muttered, head still pressed onto the table. "Rule 5 is that we help those who need a place to belong."

He nodded his head as I raised mine off the wood. "We have to go talk to him."

Vagabond raised an eyebrow. "I told you to leave him alone. If he was outright hostile, he doesn't want other ponies around him." I started off towards Red Tear anyway, but was jerked back by Vagabond's magic catching hold of my coat. "I said no." she said bluntly. "And no means no."

"Dammit, Vagabond!" I shouted, attempting to squirm out of her telekinetic grasp. "Let me go!" She reluctantly obliged, and I promptly darted over to the lone pegasus who sat at an empty table, plucking absentmindedly at a guitar with his feathers.

"Hey, it's m-" he cut me off with a punch.

"Go the hell away. I want to be left by myself." he growled. "I won't join your silly little group. Not when I know you'll just laugh at me behind my back."

"Implying we have ulterior motives. I'm offended, Tear," I replied in a tone that was both honest and sarcastic.

"Wounded, even?" he said, a scowl crossing his features.

"Hurt." I turned away, then craned my head back and tilted my mask up. "At least spend this lunch period with us at the table. You'll see that we aren't like other ponies." I paused, then added, "Oh, and bring your guitar."

"Ugh..." he groaned, "Fine. I'll sit with you guys today." He folded his guitar under his wing and followed me back to the table. His eyes scanned the names that had been gouged into the planks. Red Tear looked up and made the connections.

"Welcome to the table, Red." I said, gesturing to the Outcasts with a wide sweeping motion. "This is our domain. This is our home away from home. We'd be proud to call you one of us, if you so choose."

He growled. "Keep asking and I'll leave right now." he muttered angrily.

I backed away. "Chill out. I'll stop asking." Tear and I took our seats. He continued to mouth the names of everypony who'd ever been an Outcast.

"Lot of ponies here." he murmured.

"Yeah. Hey, wait, who are these two?" I asked Turntable, gesturing to a pair of names I'd never noticed before. "Brass Heartbeat? Twisted Reed? Who are they, and how come I've never seen them here?

"They graduated recently." Turntable replied, "But they're still here. They're Octavia's TAs. They're usually in the band room."

My train of thought was derailed by the sound of somepony plucking at their guitar, and I turned to see Red holding his guitar with his wings as he played some chords and tuned it. I raised an eyebrow. "Where did you learn to do that?" I asked.

"This?" he queried, strumming.

"No, playing with your wings." I clarified.

"My music teacher, Six-String." he replied, causing me to almost leap off of the bench.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. SIX-STRING'S your music teacher?" I cried.

"Yeah. Or, was, anyway. I finished my lessons a few years ago back in Canterlot."

I swear my jaw felt like it hit the ground when he said that. "We need you in the band."

He shot me an angry look and growled "No."

"We already have a guitarist, Jack." Vagabond said. "We don't need two. Not when Six-String is perfectly capable."

I turned to apologize to Tear, but he'd up and left.

"Well, looks like that failed spectacularly." I grumbled, hitting my head on the table again. "One potential Outcast, nixed. He's not coming back. And it's my fault, isn't it?"

The bell rang, snapping me out of my state of self-depreciation and back to reality.

Chapter Twenty-One: Loud Of War

I decided to write this chapter in the present tense as a sort of self-imposed challenge.

I step into the rehearsal room. The entirety of last week has been spent leading up to the PHS Talent Show. First, we named ourselves. We chose to name ourselves after a card game, for some odd reason. The band's name was originally 52 Pickup, but we unanimously agreed on 42 Pickup after Manga and I were assigned Hitchhiker's Guide to The Galaxy for a book report in Writing class. 42: The answer to life, the universe, and everything. I muse as I take a look at the list of performances. I'm halfway down the list when it hits me like a 42-ton weight.

"Oh, shit!" I exclaim loudly, startling Six-String, "We're scheduled for an amp versus amp duel with Turntable!" Vagabond isn't fazed by my sudden outburst of vulgarity, standing quietly by the drum kit. A mare walks in.

"Uh, I forgot to check this, but... Is your guitarist a student?" she inquires, gesturing to Six-String.

"PFFT!" Six-String snorts. "No, of course not." I give him a nervous 'zip-it' gesture, but he ignores it as we wait for the mare's response.

"Well, then he can't participate. Students only." she says, before briskly leaving the room.

"SHIT!" I cry. "WE'RE GOIN' ON IN FIFTEEN MINUTES AND WE DON'T HAVE A GUITARIST AND WE CAN'T PLAY WITHOUT A GUITARIST AND WE'RE SET TO DUEL TURNTABLE AND *WILL YOU STOP BUCKIN' STANDIN' THERE VAGABOND YOU'RE FREAKIN' ME OUT!***" I shout in a tone that's equal parts panic, nervousness, and fury, gesturing to Vagabond towards the end of the rant.

I hear a knock on the door, undoubtedly the manager telling us that our show is up. I gulp and open the door to see... Red Tear, oddly enough.

"What're you doing here, dude?" I asked.

"Filling in for Six-String." he replies bluntly, walking in as if we'd invited him in. "I heard you ranting from the next rehearsal room over about how you needed a guitarist, so I'm here to help."

"But... I thought you said you didn't want to be in the band?" I say, puzzled. "So, why are you here?"

"Because," he begins, "You were nice to me. And that doesn't happen often with ponies like me." He steps out of the room and comes back with a guitar, a black Telecaster. "So, I decided to return the favor."

Six-String smiles as he sees this going on. "You've done me proud, Red. You finally decided to come out of your shell." he says, beginning to tear up. "I'm proud to say you were my student."

And for the first time since I met him, Red Tear smiles.

The three of us step on stage and hook up our equipment. I look across the darkened room and manage to make out Turntable waving at us. I give a nervous wave back, knowing he'll kick our asses in the upcoming music battle.

The curtains open, bathing us in light. Turntable sits at a set of switchboards and discs, with two Mareshal stacks behind him. We're hooked up to a different pair of amps, equally loud. I pick up the Rickenbucker and smirk.

Turntable starts spinning discs and flicking switches, creating the beginnings of our defeat. I look at my bandmates in a universal gesture of "Ready?"

"WE ARE 42 PICKUP AND WE ARE HERE TO ROCK YOUR SOCKS OFF!" Vagabond shouted over Turntable's blast of music.

<Song during this part is Mutiny by Pendulum>

His volume battles with ours throughout the song. His bass drops and powerful hooks duel against our guitar riffs and drum breaks, until eventually he gives out for long enough for us to fight back. He's visibly worried as Tear blasts him with a particularly wicked solo, and he tries to recompose himself, panicked. After an unsuccessful comeback attempt, he gives the signal to stop, that he's declaring the battle over and up for the audience to decide who is the victor.

The crowd roars as we take a bow before stepping offstage.

"THAT WAS AWESOME!" Turntable shouts. "You guys deserve that win, no question."

"So, wait... You're not going to be pissed if you lose?" Red Tear asks, scratching his mane.

"Course not." Turntable answers, chuckling, "The only time I've ever been mad about losing a competition is last year, when I was eliminated from the Hold Your Color tournament in the semi-finals."

"Hold the phone." Vagabond says, amazed. "YOU were in the Hold Your Color tourney?"

"Now is not the time." Turntable says. "We're about to find out who won."

Cheerilee steps on stage. "The votes are in, everypony. Let's check the envelopes, and..." she trails off, leaving all four of us shaking with excitement.

"Best Comedy Act goes to Hilarity, for her amazing stand-up comedy!" The crowd stomps and cheers.

She continues. "Best Physical Act goes to... Air Dart, for his awesome aerial tricks!" The crowd applauds the proud pegasus,

"And the award for Best Musical Act goes to... 42 Pickup, for their outstanding persistence in the music battle!"

"YES!" I shout, hopping up and down. "WE WON!" I wrap my fellow bandmates in a group hug before we go onstage and feel the approval of the crowd wash over us. As I look at my friends, one after the other, I notice Red Tear is grinning like a fool, his face a perfect picture of genuine happiness.

"Oh, looks like I forgot one." We freeze. "Best Overall Act goes to 42 Pickup as well, for winning the music battle, as decided by popular vote!"

My grin widens, and I lift up my mask as we wave to the audience.

Chapter Twenty-Two: New Blood

<This chapter is written from Red Tear's perspective.>

I made my way towards the Ravine Cafe, Vagabond's workplace and the Outcasts' unofficial meeting place, where I'd been told to go. As I pushed open the glass door, trying not to attract attention, I was given a hero's welcome by the other Outcasts. My eyes widened as I was wrapped up in a huge bro-hug by Union Jack. I protested loudly before he let go. "Oh, you're one of those ponies that doesn't like being touched? I respect that."

"No," I started, "That's part of it, but it's mostly that I don't know you that well." I peeled his forelegs from around my neck and headed towards the table I always sat at. Usually alone. Vagabond stepped out from behind the counter and moved a large number of tables to make a larger dining-hall style table, which the others immediately sat down at.

I reluctantly took a seat at my table, which was awkwardly joined with a good seven or so of the other ones. I rolled my eyes and groaned as Union Jack tapped on the hardwood with a mug to quiet everypony down.

"Aight," he began informally, "First order of business. We need to officially welcome Red Tear into our fold. Vagabond, eight Ravine Dark Brew. And one Welcoming Party Special."

All of us turned to the front door as the chime rang, alerting us to the presence of a tenth patron. "Hello?" a mare with a brown coat and blue mane asked timidly. "I was told this was where Union Jack and his friends hung out."

"Present." he piped up, before turning to Vagabond. "Make that two WPSs." The mare drew up a chair next to Union Jack. "Everypony," he began, "This is Pitch-Perfect, my new marefriend." He wrapped a foreleg around her and gave her a quick hug.

"So soon?" Vagabond asked from inside the kitchen. "You, like, JUST got over Black Bell a week and a half ago."

"Hold the door a sec. Who's Black Bell?" I asked, plucking absentmindedly at my Telecaster.

"She's Union Jack's ex. Their breakup wasn't a pretty sight." Turntable explained. "He was in a funk for a couple of days after that." My muscles stiffened. "Wasn't it some guy named, like, Subtle Rampage or something like that?"

"WHAT!?" I shouted indignantly, standing on my hind legs and planting my hooves on the table. "First, he turns on me and starts treating me like shit! Then, he goes and steals my first real friend's marefriend!? He's gone too bucking far!"

"Chill out." Union Jack said. "I'm over her now. She's just a memory now that I have Pitch."

I plopped my ass back in my chair, still grumbling. Vagabond came out from behind the counter, levitating a massive tray of coffee. She doled out the small mugs each to an Outcast, and set in front of me and Pitch-Perfect were large metal double mugs. "What the hell is this?"

"Welcoming Party Special. It's sort of an initiation rite. Strongest brew of coffee in existence, exclusive to us." Clockwork explained. "It's a challenge. Anypony who manages to drink the whole damn thing the first try gains massive respect among us. There are only two who've done it. Vagabond and Charger."

I raised an eyebrow. "Challenge accepted. Pass the sugar."

"No." Turntable replied, "That's part of the challenge. You have to drink it black." My eyes widened as I heard the last part of the sentence. I gritted my teeth and took hold of the metal handle.

"You ready?" Union Jack asked. I nod, along with Pitch. "Then drink!" he shouted, and I brought the mug up to my lips and chugged. The coffee roared down my throat, acidic, bitter, and scalding. It tasted like what I imagined fire felt like. After a few seconds, I slammed down the mug.

"Whoa." I mumbled. "That's some good coffee." I looked over to the rest of the Outcasts, who were standing and stomping their hooves. I smirked.

"Your turn, Pitch." Union Jack said. She followed the same motions I did, but she downed the coffee faster. Or so it seemed. She set the mug down and coughed.

"Couldn't finish it. Too strong." she sputtered as Jack patted her on the back.

"Easy there. I don't want you getting hurt." he replied, pulling her close. She coughed again.

"I'm fine Jack. Just drank too much at once." She chuckled and gave Union Jack a kiss on the cheek.

Vagabond stepped up to the table.

"Welcome to the Outcasts. Both of you." she announced. "You're the new blood."

I grinned. I was home.

Chapter Twenty-Four: 100%

This chapter was partially written by the amazing Jamie Sibert, my girlfriend. We wrote this at two-thirty in the morning over Google Docs. Pitch-Perfect's background is mostly true, aside from the orphan and adoption parts. It's a very sappy chapter, I must warn you.

What could I do? Union Jack had been in a funk ever since Red Tear had been pulled off to jail for assaulting someone three days ago. He wasn’t his normal self anymore. It broke my heart seeing him like that. I paced back and forth in my room, trying to figure something, anything out to cheer him up. Then, it came to me.

I could take him out for a walk in the park with me. It could possibly take his mind off of what’s going on with Red Tear right now, and even though there’s snow on the ground it isn’t too cold if one were to wear a jacket. OK then, that’s what I was going to do. I called him, and though he didn’t seem very happy to me, he agreed to meet me at the Highland Reservoir. I put on my purple track jacket and walked out the door, anxious to make Union Jack feel better after all he had done for me.

When I met him there, he was wearing my favorite jacket of his, the green one with the wool collar. “Hello.” I said as I trotted up to him, and he glanced up.

“So, why are you insisting we take a walk? You don’t normally do this.” Union Jack asked, tilting up his gas mask a little.

“What’s wrong with taking a walk? It’s a wonderful day.” I replied, wondering if I should just tell him why I wanted him to walk with me.

“Nothing at all, it’s just... You’ve never asked me to take a walk with you.” he answered.

“Well there’s a first time for everything.” I continued, skirting around telling him why I wanted him to walk with me yet again.

“I need to ask you,” Union Jack began, “Is there another reason you’re doing this?”

I sighed. I have such weak willpower around him. “Yes. You’ve just been so. . . I don’t know, unhappy since Red Tear got taken to jail. I wanted to cheer you up a little. It hurts me when you’re upset.”

“You didn’t have to do this, Pitch.” he began. “But then again, you do know what day it is, right?”

“Of course I do.” I answered, “It’s January 20. One month since you and I met. How could I forget?”

Union Jack nuzzled me, a small smile crossing his face. “Glad you didn’t forget how much this day means to me.”

“I could never do such a thing.” I replied, returning his smile.

He gave me a kiss on the cheek. “I’m honestly at a loss for words here.” he mumbled, his smile widening.

My smile grew as well, and we set off on our walk. As we plodded along the trail, my mind wandered, and began thinking about how I had gotten here.

I’ve never been that sociable, I’ve been homeschooled my entire life, and isolated from everypony else. I was an orphan until Rainbow Dash and Silversix adopted me, and I have a lot of abandonment problems. I was depressed for the longest time, I felt so unheard and unloved. Like I was standing in a room full of ponies and I was drowning, but no one saw or cared to help me, that I was nothing special, just another mare out there with nothing to offer. I took to cutting myself, but that didn’t last long because it wasn’t enough. I attempted to take my life over five times. The most recent attempt I came very close, but when I blacked out from loss of blood, my foreleg fell on a towel, and stopped the blood flow. Once I awoke, I found that it was two days after I had first blacked out. No one had even noticed I was gone.

A few days after that I had been out around town, and decided to pay a visit to the Ravine Cafe, that I wanted some coffee. I usually didn’t drink the hot stuff, but I needed some warmth in my cold being. I sat at the table on the patio, my mind mulling over what had happened to me. The tears started to fall. Not wanting to appear weak, I rubbed my eyes, and got up to leave. That’s when I first saw Union Jack. I remember his spiky red mane, his beautiful green eyes full of concern. He asked me what was the matter, and I blew up at him, accusing him of being something I could already tell he wasn’t. Don’t ask me how, but I knew he was different. He wasn’t like all the other colts out there. I broke down in front of him, telling him only a small part of my story, not wanting to scare or offend him with the rest. Then, he did something I never would have expected. He offered me support. I was so overwhelmed with emotion I did the first thing that came to mind. I kissed him, and then turned tail and galloped home.

“Uh, Pitch? You OK?” Union Jack asked concernedly.

“Hm? Oh, yea, I’m fine. Just thinking about when we first met.” I said, Union Jack’s voice snapping me out of my thoughts. He smiled.

“I was thinking about the same thing. Kind of an odd coincidence that you showed up at the Outcasts’ personal hangout when you needed me most.” He paused, then added, “Or was it fate?”

“I don’t know, but whatever it was, I’m sure glad it happened.” I said, smiling up at him. “I don’t know where I would be right now if we hadn’t met. I don’t know if I would even be around right now.”

Union Jack scratched his head worriedly. “What do you mean?”

I took a deep breath, and told him everything that had happened before we had met, and how I had considered attempting suicide again at the Ravine.

“I had no idea that happened to you. I’m glad I was there to help.” he began. “It’s always a shame when an awesome pony like you goes and wastes their life in desperation.”

I blushed a little. “I’m glad you were there too. I’m very glad.” He nuzzled me again as we walked.

After a few more minutes spent in silence, a pause in our conversation, I decided to speak the words I had been thinking to myself for weeks. “Love you.” I said, smiling.

“Love you too.” he replied, and we kissed. After we broke apart, he continued. “And that’s the first time I can say that to somepony and be 100% sure.”

“Same here.” I replied, the smile on my face broadening.

We kissed again, and continued walking.

“I’m glad I can tell you that and mean it. I wasn’t sure about those words with Black Bell, but I sure as hell am with you.” he said as he sidled up to me and pressed his side to mine.

I nuzzled him, my cheeks turning pink. I kissed him on the cheek, and we continued our walk.

Note: This picture does not indicate the end of the story. It's just a piece of art done by my girlfriend for this chapter.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Visiting Hours

I sat quietly with the other Outcasts in the visitation room, minus Pitch-Perfect. We awaited the arrival of our friend.

And arrive he did. The metal door swung open on mechanical hinges, revealing Red Tear, his wings pinned to his side by chains. He walked into the room, slightly limping on his left back leg. Tears were welling up in his eyes as he sat down.

"Hey pal." I began. "I know you're cooped up in this shithole, so we brought you some comfort food." I placed a white cardboard box containing a pumpkin pie onto the cold brushed steel table. He turned the box around and opened it, cracking a smile when he saw his favorite dessert sitting there in front of him.

"Thanks." he said simply, before closing the box. "But how the hell did you get it through security without them getting suspicious?"

"They have X-rays, and the pie isn't in a tin." I explained, glad that my friend was at least a little happy. His smile shrank a little as we were asked to leave, but not before we wrapped him in a bear hug.

---------------[Shifting to Red's perspective for the rest of the chapter.]-----------------

Once my only friends left me sitting alone with a pumpkin pie, I smiled a bit. I picked up the plastic spork the guards had given me and scooped a bit of the filling out of the center, taking a bite and savoring it. The mellow, sweet taste of pumpkin greeted my taste buds, a taste that was welcome after three days of dull, bland, flavorless jail food. I relished every bite of the pastry that I took, genuinely smiling for the first time since the talent show a week ago.

Once I had finished, I was escorted back to my cell, bolts of pain lancing through my back leg. The still-present taste of pie offset this a bit, its mellow taste soothing.

I entered my eight-by-ten hoof cell and promptly plopped on the cot, full and somewhat happier than before. At least until memories of Jack, Vagabond, Turntable, and Manga flooded my mind and caused tears to flow from my eyes and sobs to escape my chest. The Outcasts were the only ponies who I could ever consider my friends. They didn't understand me, but they didn't care what I'd done, they just saw the good in me.

Eventually, I fell into a fitful sleep, halfway waking up several times, and I only fully woke to a knock on my door. "Red Tear, your court date is today." a burly male guard said.

"CV?" I asked, testing to see if it was the guard who'd been helping me through my incarceration.

"Yep. It's me." Constant Vigilance confirmed. "Don't worry pal. The odds are tipped in your favor."

"How so?" I inquired worriedly.

The guard smiled. "Your friends, plus that teacher, are here to testify in your favor." Constant Vigilance hoofed me a cup of water and a single pill. "Painkiller. Figured from the limp in your walk you needed 'em, and I had to go through hell to get permission." I swallowed the pill and downed it, the sour aftertaste sticking for a couple of seconds.

"Thanks, man." I said simply, at a loss for words of how truly grateful I was. The pain in my rear left leg had been killing me. It's where I'd cut the deepest, and it was never quite the same after that. The pain ebbed after a few minutes of walking to the courtroom.

My friends and Cheerilee sat in the front row, all dressed semi-formally, and Jack had even forgone his mask. "All rise." the judge commanded, a few minutes after Vigilance and I had sat down. "You may be seated." he said, nodding. "First case is the town of Ponyville vs Red Tear. Mr. Tear, will you please come up to the stand and tell your half of the story."

I gulped, but swallowed my fear and spoke. "My friends and I were sitting at the lunch table, when my former friend Rampage decided to start picking Union Jack. I have no idea why, honestly, but it had nothing to do with me, so I sat down. Eventually, Jack stood and said he wasn't going to fight Rampage. Rampage got mad and grabbed Jack's bass guitar and took a swing. It hit the wall and broke, which caused my friend to snap. He was about to fight Rampage, but I knew Jack couldn't take him alone, so I tackled Rampage while I still had the element of surprise. Jack backed off, but I knocked out Rampage and threw him into the street."

Cheerilee stood. "I can vouch for Tear, Your Honor. Jack told me what happened, and Officer Cuff has the security tapes."

"We'll get to that, Miss. For now, I wish to inform Red Tear of his charges." He shifted his steely gaze back to me. "Mr. Tear, you are charged with assault and battery. Do you plead innocent or guilty to these charges?"

"Guilty, Your Honor." I admitted.

"Very well then. You are to complete twenty-four hours of community service and an apology letter, unless Mr. Rampage's situation is less favorable. The court would like to call Subtle Rampage to the stand." Rampage walked quietly to the stand, and I noticed Black Bell watching. "Mister Rampage, tell your part of the story."

"I was sitting at another lunch table, across the schoolyard from theirs, and my marefriend, Black Bell, showed up crying. She kept saying about how Union Jack broke her heart, so I went to go show him that I wouldn't tolerate that. My story turned out otherwise the same as theirs."

"All right then, Mr. Rampage, you have been charged with aggravated assault, attempted assault with a deadly weapon, harassment, destruction of property, and threatening and intimidating. Do you plead innocent or guilty?"

"Guilty."

"Your punishment is as follows: You are, as of right now, ordered to pay the exact value of the bass guitar you destroyed, you are expelled from Ponyville Public High School, and you are to spend one month incarcerated. You are also not allowed contact with Union Jack or Red Tear unless they contact you and say otherwise." Rampage gravely nodded.

The judge flipped through some papers before coming back to my case. "Red Tear, you have accepted your charges and no evidence is needed. You are hereby released into the custody of your parents." I gulped at the mention of my parents, who when I turned to them, I expected them to be disappointed and angry. I found them to be happy as could be that I was out of jail.

And I was too.

Chapter Twenty-Six: Takkun the Cat

I sat on Manga's couch, admiring the numerous Japonese watercolors and replica weapons all along the walls of his living room. A particular display case held three racks of authentic katanas, with an empty spot where I could tell a fourth rack once was. I carefully studied a nearby watercolor painted on reed paper, a scene that showed the sun setting over... The school?

Inspection revealed that it was, in fact, the school, seen from far away as the sun set behind it. I noticed a tag hanging from it, which gave the artist's name and the title.

"Artist: Manga

Title: Home", the tag read. I studied the details outside of the school and noticed nothing other than our lunch table, painted below a Japonese maple that wasn't really there.

"I did that my freshman year." I heard my friend's voice come from behind me, causing me to jump. "That maple was there up until last year, when it died and was cut down. We're going to plant a cherry tree where it once was. Anyway, here's the kittens." He gestured with his tail to a litter of kittens snuggling with their mother in a basket that he'd brought from his room. "Naota is with Dad on a trip right now." he explained, noting my confusion as to where the father was. I got up and bent down to say hello to Ninamori, a cat who was very fond of me. She playfully batted at my muzzle before laying back down.

"These are Revy, Haruko, Atomsk, Elric, Amarao, Kusanagi, and Takkun." he explained, gesturing in turn to each particular kitten. My eyes laid on Takkun, a silvery-grey tomkit. "Eyeing the runt of the litter, are we?" he asked, grabbing a small basket with a blanket in it for the month-old tom.

"How much?" I asked, stroking the sleeping kitten.

"Free, as long as the home you're taking him to is good, which given you live with Clock, shouldn't be a problem." he replied, smiling. He carefully lifted Takkun, who stirred drowsily in his magical grasp, and placed him in the mini-basket before giving the cat to me. "He still needs to be fed milk twice daily, once before you go to school and once after. Try feeding him wet cat food in a few weeks. He's already box-trained, so I'll drop off a litterbox and a bag of litter tomorrow, so till then use a newspaper." he explained, speaking a mile a minute. "See you tomorrow at school."

"See ya, Manga." I said, bowing and exiting the house with the basket's handle in my mouth.

I made my way back to the Industrial District and the three-story brass and wood house I called home.

I nearly dropped Takkun once I made it there.

Standing outside the front door of the empty house, wearing a fresh, clean suit and with his mane slicked back, was Dad. He knocked on the door, apparently unaware of my presence. I set down Takkun near the bush by our front door and tapped on Dad's withers. He turned around and instantly recognized me, wrapping me in a bear hug. "Jack, I missed you so much! I was worried about you and..." I quieted him, placing a hoof over his mouth, and continued embracing my father.

"I missed you too, Dad." He softly sobbed into my shoulder, but the shift of muscles in his neck and jowls indicated a smile. "So..." I began after we broke apart, "Did you get custody?"

"Not yet. The court decreed you had to stay with Gearbox until I complete four months of rehab." he said sadly. "It'll be about the end of the school year before I can try to get custody again." I frowned at this news. "Hey, looks like you got a little friend." he pointed out, nudging the basket.

"Ah. That's Takkun. Manga gave him to me. He's sleeping right now and I need to get him inside." I fished the house key out of my jacket pocket and unlocked the door, swinging it open with a smirk. "Age before beauty, and all that." Dad chuckled and walked in to inform Gearbox that I'd be staying with him a while longer. I made my way up to my room, carefully making sure to be silent. I wanted to surprise Clockwork with my new pet.

And surprised he was. Apparently I was stealthier than I thought, because when I snuck up on my housemate, he immediately tried to take flight and slammed into the ceiling, almost destroying our light. "The hell, man?" he cried indignantly once he stood up, brushing off his vest.

"Cat." I said simply.

"What are you talking about? We don't have a-" I lifted the basket to where he could see. "Oh. I guess we do." He nuzzled the sleeping kitten and chuckled. "He's cute."

"Manga gave him to me. His name's Takkun." I said. I set the basket down by my bed, and the cat roused from his sleep, casually strolling over to me and taking a sniff. I expected him to be reluctant, but the little kitten was anything but. He hopped up onto my coat collar and snagged into the wool, climbing onto my back and digging his tiny needle claws into the canvas.

I could tell this cat and I were going to be good friends.

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Weapon of Choice

"What?"

I stared at the sorrowful owner of the Ravine Cafe, who, if my ears weren't decieving me, had just told me that the Ravine was going out of business.

"The cafe is going out of business. That stupid Starswirl's chain just opened a shop next door, and now everypony's buying from it. Nopony wants good coffee anymore, they're content with cheap corporate bullshit..." I tuned out her rant to try to contain my burning rage.

"WHAT!?" I roared, my face feeling like it was on fire. After a few minutes of ranting myself, I cooled off and started to think of ways to stop Starswirl's from taking over.

There was burning it down. No, that won't work.

There was always trying to sabotage business. We'll get caught.

Then it hit me.

Fundraiser concert.

I sat in the band's rehearsal room (better known as Six-String's attic), explaining the crisis the Ravine was in and why we needed to save it. Vagabond listened the most intently, as her job hung in the balance.

"Hold on." Six-String said, after I finished. "I was only supposed to be a replacement for Tear while he was in jail, but I don't want to leave the band. I'm afraid there's only one way to settle this."

"Rochambeau?" I asked jokingly.

"Guitar battle." Red answered simply.

"Great minds think alike, my student." Six-String smirked. The pegasus went downstairs to choose a guitar, and Red began to hook up his Telecaster, until he remembered what was in the guitar case he'd brought.

He snapped open the latches and opened the hard case, revealing the red Foaler Stratocaster that lay within. Red carefully lifted the guitar from its case and gave it an experimental strum. "Perfectly in tune." he stated. "But then again, you could use this thing for batting practice and probably wouldn't even have to retune it."

Red snatched the cable and rammed it into the output jack, strumming a few chords out to test the sound. He flicked off the amp and plugged his distortion pedal in, ready to face his opponent.

Six-String trotted up the stairs, carrying a Les Pony under his wing and wasted no time setting up his speaker, grabbing a wail pedal from inside a suitcase, and running the cord to the vintage instrument. His feathers found their place along the fretboard, ready for Red to do his worst.

( Over My Head (Guitar cover by Griffin Siats) - Sum 41 ) Red Tear whipped out a pick and plucked out an intro before tearing into a heavy, distorted storm of riffs and chords, hammer-ons and pull-offs blending together as his wings moved in a flurry. Red looked up at his former teacher and smirked, a devious smile crossing his face as he began the solo. Once Red had completed his half of the battle, Six spun his guitar into place and tapped his chin with a hoof, as if thinking.

"Ah. Got it."

( Sweet Child O Mine (Guitar Solo) - Guns N Roses ) Six-String immediately picked up the ball, wailing on the Les Pony like crazy as he roared into a solo that impressed everypony in the room, even himself. The emotion in the music was quite present, the white pegasus leaning back and forth, raising his guitar, and thrashing his head in time with the music. Six-String didn't just play the music, it was clear he felt it too. Once finished with the spectacular solo, both Tear and Six-String turned to me for judgment.

"I can't judge either solo. They're of two different styles. They can't be compared." I said, more than a little annoyed at not being able to pick a winner right there. "We'll have to do it head to head, same style, same notes. Manga, you provide bass, Vagabond, get on the drums. We have a bandmate to pick."

( Rage Against the Machine - Killing in the Name Of (Guitar cover) ) The other two members found their places at the drums and bass, and I dropped a guitar cleaning cloth onto the floor to signal the start.

And start it did. Both sides immediately began, blasting heavy distorted chords, playing in sync, each bound to the same rules. I could tell that despite his experience, Six-String was nervous. He was used to playing classic rock, and he was a fish out of water playing punk. Sweat beaded on Six-String's forehead as he noticed a couple of squeaks in his playing that didn't slip my notice, but neither did a few coming from Red's. Desperate, Six-String broke into a solo about four minutes in, determined to stay a member of 42 Pickup.

It didn't work. The B and high E strings broke from trying to play them too high when the guitar was already tuned higher than Red's, making a horrible *TWANG* and flying off of the fretboard, one nearly slashing his cheek. Six-String flicked off his amp, and for a second I expected him to call it cheating or call for a rematch, but he simply let it slide.

"Why are you forfeiting? You could have won that had you called for a retry." Manga asked angrily, apparently rooting for Six-String.

"It was my fault the string snapped. I didn't take the time before the battle to tune the guitar a couple of octaves lower." Six-String answered frankly, reaching into his Les Pony's hard case to grab a spare set of B and high E strings. He turned to his former student. "Well done, Red. Ya beat me. I'm proud of you, I truly am."

Red was wrapped in a group hug before he got the chance to say anything to his teacher. When he did, he wasn't boasting or saying he lost like we expected him to. "After six years, I finally manage to show up my teacher in a guitar battle. Took damn well long enough, but the day came."

"It was a fluke, Red. My strings broke, otherwise your ass would've been grass." Six-String joked, twisting the tuning peg to get the string on. "But I'll cut you some slack. You've wanted to be part of a band for years, and now you have that chance."

While the two traded harsh-sounding words, the camaraderie between Red and Six-String was evident, and the two even wing-fived before letting Six-String get back to re-stringing his Les Pony. "Oh, and by the way, about that fundraiser concert, try the Muffin Factory. It's really popular, and since you know Ditzy and I, they'll be a little more open to the idea once they realize we support it."

"What do you mean?" Vagabond inquired curiously, looking downstairs at Ditzy and then back at Six-String.

"I mean, we're their most frequent customers. They know that if we support it and they reject the idea, they'll lose their highest paying patrons."

"You are one crafty bastard, Six." Red remarked. "Genius plan."

We waved goodbye and headed to our next destination of the day, the Muffin Factory.

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Muffin Top

I stood outside the Muffin Factory, a rather large and imposing structure that from the outside looked like an actual factory, but the double glass doors and the cheerful staff behind the counter said otherwise. I didn't stand alone, but I felt that since it had been my idea to hold a fundraiser concert, I had to be the one to pitch it alone. I opened the double glass doors and went to the front desk.

"Where would you like to sit?" the mare asked, assuming I was a customer.

"I'm not here to eat. Is the owner available?"

"Why are you-"

"Why I'm asking is none of your business. I just need to see the owner, please." I explained. I looked back on what I said twice before why the mare was offended hit me. Shit, I need to rephrase that. "Sorry about that, I'm just kind of on a short fuse today. Anyway, I need to see the owner if it's not a problem. Is he busy?"

"No, not really. He's in the kitchen." the mare said, still eyeing me angrily.

I strolled into the kitchen, taking off my gas mask and hanging it around my neck from the straps. "Sir?" I asked to the bustling stallion who was bouncing around the kitchen, checking ovens and kneading dough left and right. "SIR?"

The owner froze in place. "Yes?"

"I need to speak with you."

"Forgive me, my mouth is too dry to do a spit take, but WHAT!?!?" Muffin Top shouted. "The Ravine's going out of business!? You gotta be shittin' me!"

I threw my mask to the floor and looked the portly grey stallion in the eyes. "DOES THIS LOOK LIKE I'M KIDDING?" I asked, my voice a mixture of deadpan sincerity and anger. "The place where I've spent the past year hanging out with my best friends is going out of business thanks to Starswirl's, and if we don't stop it, there won't be any Ravine left to save!"

"And what do you propose we do, kid?"

"I have a band and I know other musicians. We can hold a fundraiser concert to raise money. The Muffin Factory is one of the most popular, if not the most popular, restraunt in Ponyville. Everypony who's somepony will be there."

"You raise a good point." Muffin Top reflected upon my offer. "How much of the profit are you asking for, and how much goes to us?"

"The bands and the Muffin Factory don't get anything. All the proceeds go to the Ravine Cafe." I stated, slipping my mask back onto the top of my head. "Anypony that wants to perform does so out of the kindness of their hearts."

"I'm liking this idea. Have a setlist back to me by the eighteenth of this month, prove all the bands involved can show up and are good enough, and you have a deal." he and I shook hooves, and I left the room, reaching into my saddlebags for a pen and my notebook.

"So, we got the gig?" Vagabond asked once we'd made our way back to the rehearsal room, absentmindedly tapping a hoof onto the pedal of her hi-hat cymbal, creating a steady beat that actually helped relax me a bit.

"Yeah, we got it, so long as we can prove we're good enough and that any other bands that decide to play can make it." I said, looking at the list of songs we'd written and practiced over and over until they were drilled into our heads.

"Mutiny?" I asked, mind momentarily whisking me back to the time not too long ago that we were on stage in a music battle with Turntable.

"Nah." Red Tear remarked. "What about Where We Belong?"

"That's for the end." Vagabond said. "Unless we get an encore."

The black coated pegasus nodded in understanding, twisting the second tuning pegs of his Telecaster. "What have we got on the list?"

"Let's see... I crossed off Mutiny, so from there we have Over My Head, Streets of Nowhere, Days Go By, Stuff is Messed Up, Rooftops, Town Called Hypocrisy, Teenagers, A Better Nothing, Last Train Home, Lonely Colt, and Paper Wings." I took a long look at the list. "How about we each pick two?"

"Teenagers and A Better Nothing." Tear said, taking the initiative.

"Over My Head and Rooftops." Vagabond continued, leaving me as the last one to provide input.

"Streets of Nowhere and Paper Wings." I finished, and the three of us nodded in assent. I grabbed hold of my laptop and stylus and began to type out a message to the musicians and bands in town that I knew.

Musicians of Ponyville,

As you may know, the Ravine Cafe is going out of business thanks to a corporate coffee chain called Starswirls', so myself and my band are looking for other musicians to help with a fundraiser concert. It will be held at the Muffin Factory on February 20, and you have until the 18th to reply. Call or text message this number 928-274-7945 to get more more information or to reply.

Thanks everypony,

- Union Jack

I clicked the "send" button and shut my computer, putting it back in my saddlebag and noticing a sudden buzz at my side. I levitated my phone from the end table next to me and checked the screen.

Incoming call from: Six-String, it read, and I pressed the accept button.

"Hello?" I asked, not expecting a reply so soon.

"So, I read you were putting together a concert."

"Yeah, wh-"

"Count me in." Six-String replied, cutting me off.

"Do you even have a-"

"A band? No, nor do I need one."

"All right then." I said, shaking Six-String's hoof. "See you there."

I popped my neck, my emotions a mixture of nervousness and excitement.

We had our first real gig.

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Big Day

The apartment building loomed in front of me, its height towering from this angle. Actually it was only about six stories, but you get why I was intimidated.

I'd been offered a flat on the first floor by Dad, who'd gone back to court early to file for custody, and thankfully won. He'd be living right across the hall from me, saying I was able to fend for myself now that I was 17. I was, of course, jobless, however. I had been for at least a week since I quit working at the music shop.

A light orange Vespony scooter was parked next to me, Dad's reward for my winning of the talent show, with a helmet dangling from one of the handlebars and a pair of boxes attached to the side. A perfect conveyance, considering the apartment was on the outskirts of the Shipyard District, about a mile from school and two miles from the cafe.

I steeled myself and stepped into the lobby of the apartment building, eyes taking in the sight of the ornate red rug spread across the tile, the cleanly polished desk. My nose took note of a thousand different aromas: furniture polish, freshly made coffee, a slight hint of perfume, recently sharpened pencils, new ink, cleaning solvent. All of it blended together to form the smell of my new home. The sounds were just as varied, ranging from the steady thrum of the elevators to the whir of desktop fans to the idle chatter of a pair of secretaries.

However, the most attention-attracting feature of the room was Dad, standing in the stairwell with a clean suit, the same one he'd been wearing when we last met at Clockwork's house. "Hey, sport. Good to see you again!" he remarked just before I rushed in for a hug. My hooves wrapped around his neck, sudden impact jostling Takkun (who had been asleep in my saddlebag) to awake and protest rather loudly, as did my father.

"Uh, Jack. You're crushing me." he wheezed, pushing slightly outward with his shoulders. I let go and straightened his tie.

"Sorry bout that, Dad. I must've picked up a little something from Pitch-Perfect." I said, tittering nervously as I blushed and looked away. Takkun shifted in my saddlebags before jumping out of them, landing gracefully on the rug and giving his cutest look to my dad.

"Well, if it isn't little Takkun, too." he said, grinning widely at the grey tomkit who was staring at him. "C'mon, let me show you two your apartment." Dad began the trek up the stairwell (apparently the elevator was out of order, not that we needed it. The flat was only on the first floor, after all.), hooves making a steady thump-thump-thump against the wood of the steps. After about thirty seconds (the ceilings here were really high for some strange reason) we made it to the first floor, where the first door that came into view was 106. I stepped onto the doormat, a broad grin plastered across my face.

The door swung open in a brief flash of magic, and I was promptly greeted with a shout of “Attack hug!” and the high velocity impact of Pitch-Perfect, who’d launched herself at terrifying speeds into a constricting hug that rivaled the crushing power of a cart compactor. But hell, I wasn’t going to complain. Upon contact with the floor, Pitch let out a contented sigh and gave me a quick peck on the cheek as I began to get my bearings.

Once I had stood, I found that in the living room stood all my friends, plus most of their parents. Even Vinyl Scratch and Red’s parents had turned out to see me. Each friend was greeted with a cordial hug and a warm hello, same for their parents.

“So,” Turntable began, “You got your own place, eh?”

“Yep. Two bed, one bath. Running water, electricity, and a stocked pantry. Plus Dad lives across the hall if I need anything.”

“Nice,” the DJ remarked, “Think I could move in?”

“What.”

“I’m serious, bro.” Turntable reached into his saddlebag and pulled out his ‘I’m serious’ sunglasses, a rather silly pair of orange triangular shades.

“I’ll think about it. I need to get a new job first.” I replied lucidly, forgetting the fact that Dad didn’t know I quit.

“Wait, what?” Dad queried from inside the kitchen.

“I forgot to tell you that I quit my job at the music shop,” My statement was followed up with a nervous titter.

“You have a month.” he instructed sternly, before changing to his normal friendly demeanor. Turntable’s face broke into a wide frown, obviously startled at my father’s sudden mood swing.

I bode each of my friends farewell in turn, save for Red Tear, who had asked and gained permission to stay the night. We took seats on my couch, one cushion between us for personal space reasons.

“Red, you and I are going to have a talk.”

“Dude I already know about rutting-” I cut him off from his snarky comment by placing a hoof over his mouth.

“There’s a time and a place, and this is neither.” I countered. “The incident at school. The no-holds-barred beatdown you placed on Rampage.” I said, voice radiating authority. “You can’t go off doing shit like that.”

“I’ll get myself arrested again, I know-” I once more cut him short.

“I’m not concerned about that. I’m worried about you getting hurt.”

His expression was questioning, one eyebrow raised and mouth flat. It was the closest visual representation of “Huh?”

“Red, you’re one of my closest friends. I don’t want to see you hurt. Not by Rampage, not by anypony.” I paused to let it sink in for a second before continuing. “And most of all, not yourself.”

His countenance changed almost instantly to one of shame. “I try to cover up the scars, but there’s too many. I don’t cut anymore, and yet that stigma is still there.”

“Tear, it’s not a stigma. Don’t cover the scars. They’re part of what makes you, well, you. Why hide something that makes you stand out?”

“Because I’ve been picked on for the scars because I cut because I was picked on for the scars because I cut-” I halted the recursive cycle before smiling at my friend.

“Don’t worry about it. You’re you. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” A smile slowly spread across his face. “No more worries. You have friends now. We will be here. You will never be alone.” He nodded strongly before we bro-hoofed and turned on the TV.

Chapter Thirty: Who Ever Said 13 Was Unlucky?

[---RED TEAR---]

We sat at the lunch table after school once more. Tomorrow was Hearts and Hooves Day, the most romantic holiday of the year, and my long-standing least favorite. I always, ALWAYS had nopony to spend it with.

Until that particular February 13.

Union Jack was snuggled into Pitch-Perfect's side and Vagabond and Manga were sharing a kiss. I turned away, an odd mixture of sorrowful, jealous, lonely, and angry. I heard Turntable's voice pipe up from across the table, and I turned my head to the black-maned (his red-dyed tips having washed out recently) earth pony.

"So, Red," he asked, "Got a special somepony?"

"No," I began, tears forming in the corners of my eyes, "And don't remind me, either. I've spent the past sixteen years alone every year, left to my own devices." The tears began to flow freely. "So don't ask again."

"I know how it feels. I've been lonely as well."

"You're lying, Turntable. You're a DJ, you're bound to have mares fawning over you left and right!"

Against all mood of the situation, and the tears flowing from both our eyes, he chuckled. "Mares fawning over me, true, but I'm not into mares."

I was dumbfounded and speechless, struck temporarily mute, as was everypony else. Union Jack unwrapped his forelegs from Pitch-Perfect and threw them up in the air in a gesture of puzzlement. "You're gay?" he asked, not angry, but rather confused.

"You didn't know?" Vagabond asked, apparently aware of this fact already.

"He never told me! I'm his best friend and he never bothered to tell me!" Jack shouted indignantly.

"Calm down, Jack. He never asked, so I figured he knew already." In the midst of this clusterbuck, he turned to me. "So, will you go out with me for Hearts and Hooves Day?"

I was even more silent than before. I had mentioned that I was bi-romantic before, but I had never expected THIS. Nonetheless, I was incensed. "Are you joking!?" I cried, pissed at the very notion of dating. There was no chance he wouldn't break my heart, just like any mare I'd ever been with.

[---TURNTABLE---]

"No, I'm not." I stated simply and sincerely, crossing my forelegs. "I'm not joking. We've been friends for a while now, and I recently came to grips with the fact that I've fallen in love with you, Red." He fell silent for almost two minutes before speaking again.

"You're lying. You're just trying to lead me on. Just going to break my feelings, like anypony else." As he spat out those words, vitriol lacing them like love poison in the punch of some badly conceived Hearts and Hooves Day date, he was fighting back a raging blush, heavily apparent even through his dark coat. It won out, and he turned away, hiding his face in his wings.

"I'm not. I love you. I don't want you to be lonely anymore."

"Correction. YOU don't want to be lonely anymore." he snapped.

"That's not true. I don't like seeing you like this. It breaks my heart."

"I won't go." he remarked.

Union Jack raised his hoof and spoke up from across the table. "Well, we could all go on a group date if it makes Red feel more comfortable. Strength in numbers, right?"

"Right." I confirmed. Red visibly softened his guard upon realizing that the whole group could go together.

"Well... Depends on where it is." he said, still slightly wary, feathers plucking at his guitar. Tears matted his coat below his eyes, which were darting around in their sockets, clearly nervous.

"Streetlight Maneifesto is in town tomorrow. Sound good to all of you?" Manga suggested, his idea met with a rather loud "HELL YEAH" from Union Jack which was in turn met with a slap from Pitch-Perfect..

Red begrudgingly and slowly nodded. "It's a trial date though. Don't expect any hugs or kisses." I could have sworn there was a under-the breath "but that doesn't mean they won't happen." in his exhaled sigh. Might've been just me, I don't know.

Either way, trial date or not, I was elated.

---Sorry for the shorter than usual chapters, everypony. A little flooded right now.---

Chapter 31: Not Sure if Gusta

-[Union Jack]-

We took our seats in the bleachers, each of us now with a partner, including Red. A look up at the usually-brooding pegasus revealed he looked happier than usual, if only marginally. Some semblance of a smile was spread across his lips as Turntable wrapped his forelimb around his new coltfriend and gave him a gentle hug. I felt a nudge from Pitch to my left, and looked towards my marefriend. My inquisitive look was met with a strong kiss, and after a few seconds my eyes fluttered closed.

Once the kiss broke off, my eyes again drifted up to my best friend and the newest member of the Outcasts, who seemed just as happy as they had been thirty seconds previous. Red Tear leaned out and looked at me, the gleam in his eye and the smile on his face saying "Hey, this might not be so bad after all."

-[Red Tear]-

It was damned cold in the Stargazer Field, and unfortunately I'd left my jacket at home. I felt Turntable pull me into a hug, and as awkward as it truly was, I couldn't help but smile when I felt his foreleg drape over my shoulders. It was uncomfortable (socially at least, physically it was quite comfortable), but somehow it felt... right. Like I belonged here. The mood (and my train of thought) was broken by my involuntary shiver, because despite having Turntable next to me, I was still cold as hell. He pressed into my side a little more, forcing me to turn my head away as, despite my best efforts, I blushed.

I was momentarily distracted by the fact that Union Jack was sharing a kiss with Pitch-Perfect, which completely ruined the mood I was in. Once the two sweethearts had unlocked lips, Jack looked at me with concern, as if hoping he hadn't put me in a bad mood. (He probably WAS hoping he hadn't, but there's no being sure around that guy). I put on my best fake smile and leaned out to look at him in turn, only to realize my smile wasn't as fake as I'd thought.

After a few more minutes of shivering and shuddering, I felt weight slowly fall onto my left shoulder, where Turntable had evidently set his head. His mane tickled the side of my neck, coaxing a fully-genuine smile, something that seemed to happen a lot more since I'd started hanging out with the Outcasts. For the first time in a long time, I was truly and utterly happy. Happier than I'd been even since I met Jack and the others, happier than I had been hanging out with any one of them solely.

"You know, if you're uncomfortable here, Red, you can leave and I won't mind." Turntable muttered, looking up at me.

"Who ever said I was uncomfortable?"

-[Union Jack]-

I tried my best to ignore the two stallions, who seemed happy enough for me not to worry about them. I grabbed the concert setlist from my coat pocket and set to reading what was arranged for the evening, the paper in my hooves taking my mind off of the possibility that Red might just be faking. Pitch-Perfect had apparently caught on to my thoughts, and gave me a concerned look.

"What's got you troubled?" she asked politely, leaning closer to me.

"Just concerned that Red's faking that he's happy. He does that too often for his own good." I stated, laying my head down and staring at the setlist once more. All of my favorite Streetlight Maneifesto songs, and a number of them that Red loved.

"I don't think he's unhappy in the slightest. He looks like... I dunno, like it's Hearth's Warming Eve and he just woke up to a giant pile of presents."

"I doubt it."

"See for yourself, Jack." she replied, nudging me and flicking her tail to gesture that I look behind me. Upon doing so, I noticed that Red Tear was indeed actually happy. When he was faking, that twinkle in his eye was gone, but here it was brighter than ever.

Red Tear was truly happy.

-[Red Tear]-

My mouth split into a huge grin as Turntable nuzzled me a bit more, a gesture of affection that I hadn't felt since I'd had my last marefriend about three years ago, and a welcome one to be sure. Something about it just kind of made my heart flutter and...

I sound like such a sissy.

Anyway, once the initial onset of the warm and fuzzy feeling had made itself known, I had a sudden compulsion to do the same. I nuzzled Turntable in return, his mane tickling my muzzle as I did so. I don't know why I did it, I just sort of did. Followed my instinct.

Turntable's head settled across my forelegs as the concert began, the trombones, saxophones, trumpets, guitar, bass, and drums all giving me a general mood of happiness and excitement.

Something big was going to happen.

Turntable looked up at me in the lull between the first song and the second. "Red?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

I was struck silent, not sure of what to say. On one hoof, I wasn't in love, not yet, but on the other, I couldn't just leave him hanging.

"I..." I started before stuttering. "I, uh..."

"Don't, do you?"

"It's not that. I can't say 'I love you' yet. The feelings haven't gone that far."

"That's okay." he comforted, snuggling in closer to me. "Even if you never do feel the same, I'll still love you."

"Turntable..." I began, "You're not the light of my life. Your smile isn't what I wake up for each morning. Making you happy isn't my greatest goal. Both of us have our own things going on. But you're strange and fascinating, and I've never met anyone like you. I want to give you everything, just to see what you would do with it."

Turntable lifted his head from my forelegs. "I'll tell you. This is what I'd do." And with that comment, he locked lips with me in what was undoubtedly the best kiss of my life. It was also my first.

Yep. my mind pointed out. You're in love.

Chapter Thirty-Two: Come As You Are

The workers strained to lift the first part of the scaffolding for our stage lights, which was being held upright only by the magic of several unicorns.

"About two feet to the left... Ten inches to the right... Perfect! Good job guys, go take a break." I said, giving each worker a pat on the back. "We still have two days before the show, so take your time."

Turntable trotted up to me from the left, a smile on his face. "We might have two new performers on the set, just need your say-so. There's a local band called The Chiptones that wants to open the show, and Trottingham's Celestian Church has a band they'd like to send out."

"Yes and yes. Contact them both and tell them we'll need all the help we can get. And how's that collaboration group you were assembling?"

"It fell flat, but I can handle the set alone." he answered with a brisk, confident nod. "Though you might want to check the sound threshold on your speakers, I don't think the Mareshals will be enough to handle Bonfire."

"Okay, I'll have Six-String sound-check them to make sure they can handle the bass. How's Red feeling?"

"Well, to say he's happy would be the understatement of the day. He's exhilarated to say the least." Turntable replied.

"Get him out here real quick, we need to perform a sound check on his guitar and amp."

Turntable nodded and trotted back inside, discreetly snatching a banana-nut muffin from the plate on the table by the entrance as he did so and taking a large chomp. Red Tear practically bounced out a few moments later, his Telecaster slung around his neck and chest. "What was it you needed me for? Sound check?" he asked politely.

"Yeah. Hop up there and, I dunno, play a solo or something so that we can see if your guitar and amplifier are still in tip-top shape."

"No prob, Jack!" he answered, playing a high-pitched and powerful sol o that sent chills up my spine with every note and chord, but ended with an angry and cacophonous jumble of notes.

"When did you write that?" I inquired once Red had gotten off the stage.

"A few years back, during a REALLY bad time in my life. It was three days after I'd attempted suicide, and I didn't want to cut again. So I stood on my second-floor balcony, plugged in the Strat, and let 'er rip to the night sky." he explained, a mixture of pride and sorrow in his voice. "That was a night I'd rather forget."

"Hey. Don't worry about it." I reaffirmed, and his melancholy expression gave way to a smile, slowly but surely. "That's the Red I like to see!" I said, giving him a short bro-hug. He trotted off to join his coltfriend over at the sound booth, where Turntable was checking measurements and such for the speakers. "Uh, OK. Next. Vagabond, are your drums good to go?"

She gave a series of taps, kicks, and crashes to affirm it. "Yeah, they're ready."

I set the checklist down on the bench I'd been seated at and hopped up to my mic. "Speaker check, left side." Six-String shut off the right speaker so I could test. A little fuzzy, but otherwise good. "Speaker check, right side." Vice versa, and the speaker was still in perfect shape. "OK, how's the threshold on the speakers, Turntable?"

"They'd burst under the second song on my setlist. We'll need to get my mom to send out a set of her club speakers."

"OK, call her and let her know. Did you get a hold of The Chiptones and that church band yet?" I asked.

"Yeah. The Chiptones are going to be showing up shortly to lend us some extra equipment, and the church band hasn't responded yet." he affirmed. "Hopefully they don't get too preachy."

"Amen to that." Six-String quipped sarcastically, eliciting a giggle from most of us.

"And where's Pitch-Perfect?" I inquired, concerned. "She was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago."

"Did I miss something?" a familiar voice responded from behind me. I turned and lo and behold, there she was. She was dressed in her usual purple track jacket and jeans. "I had a little bit of a mane problem today, so that took longer than intended. Sorry I'm late."

"It's all right, I was just worried." I wrapped my marefriend in my forelegs and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek before returning to my duty. "OK, so the only problem we're having right now is Turntable's speakers, right?"

"That's not even an issue. My mom's coming down to see the concert anyway, so she'll bring the spares when she gets here." Turntable pointed out. "We're set to go, aside from the Chiptones and that church band."

"What about our stage lights?" Red queried. "We still haven't set those up."

"Dude, it'll get done. Trust me." I confirmed.

After a brief bit of practice to make sure everything was correctly calibrated and perfectly placed, we retired to the main room of the Muffin Factory, whiling away the hours with small talk and jokes.

------------------[Warning: This next bit contains some adult humor references.]-----------------

"Wait... If we use 'buck' as a synonym for... you know... then doesn't that make Applejack's job a LOT weirder?" Red Tear asked playfully. Six-String spit out the piece of apple muffin he was chewing and immediately pushed his plate off to the side.

"Thanks, Red." he remarked sourly.

"Sweet Apple Acres. We put ourselves into every bite!" Turntable wisecracked, leaving most of us in stitches and Six-String quite peeved. I still remember the gloomy and irritated expression he had, like someone had starched his bedsheets by mistake. "In all seriousness, though. Don't make jokes like that. There's a fine line between funny and offensive."

Red gestured to his face in a somewhat circular motion. "This is me. Not giving a damn about offensiveness."

I don't think I've ever lauged so much in my life as I had that night. But for all the guffaws, one doubt persistently pecked at my conscience.

What if we don't raise enough money to keep the Ravine from going bankrupt?

Chapter Thirty-Three: The Sound of No - Part One

The sky was exactly the color of sky that the high-noon sky never was. The sun was beginning to drop below the horizon, its warm light partially masked by the mountains surrounding the Ponyville area. Vagabond, Manga, Turntable, Red Tear, Pitch-Perfect, and myself sat at the edge of the stage, all of us staring up at the clear golden-orange expanses above us as the Muffin Factory's employees, decked out in Ravine Cafe T-shirts, set to work putting together the outdoor buffet. An hour until the concert that may or may not save the Ravine. I thought, before taking a quick look at my friends and rising to my hooves, calling attention to myself.

"As all of you know, us and several other bands are the only things standing between our favorite cafe and its bankruptcy. In times like these, we all need somepony to lean on, and if I was able to pick anypony for that job, it'd be all of you. You've been nothing but supportive of me, Pitch, and Red, and I don't think it's possible for me to be any more thankful than I already am for you guys, for giving us friends to lean on. Now, we need to be the ones leaned upon. To say Espresso is going through a rough patch involving this would be a severe understatement, and we need to be there for him. He's depending on us above all others. Our philosophy is that no Outcast is truly alone, and this is our chance to show that that extends to everypony. Our chance to make a difference, to be remembered, and most importantly to show that we care." I finished my speech, the rousing words met with vigorous stomping from Outcasts and bystanders alike. I drew my friends into a group hug. "Now, who's ready to go out and kick some flank!?"

"WE ARE!" they roared in unison, the deafening shout raising my spirits, that little nagging doubt that we wouldn't earn enough to keep the Ravine from going out of business vanquished by my newfound courage and vigor. With friends like them, there was just no losing.

The party dining room served as a makeshift backstage area for us and our fellow bands, a cunning visual pun cast by the green light thrown about the room by lamps with green paper shades. A literal green room. Clever. I thought, chuckling. Six-String had added more tables to the already-huge square of surfaces the bands seated themselves at, multiple variety platters of muffins before them for their perusal and inevitable munching. The Chiptones sat nearer to us, dressed casually and sitting in a rather odd manner, slouching in their chairs a bit. Celestians 28, in comparison, looked far stuffier, dressed in fine white suits and sitting normally, bodies perfectly poised. Kind of hard to believe they're a rock band. I silently remarked, looking once more at my friends and remembering something important.

"Wait a minute guys, I knew I missed something. Be back in a few minutes." I darted away from the table, vanishing into the kitchen, where Muffin Top waited, telekinetic grip holding up a large box. "Thanks, MT. Getting Rarity to design these must have been tough." He nodded, chuckling a bit.

Against my own curiosity, I decided not to peek at the jackets inside, but rather simply carried it to the table. I set it upon the polished hardwood and flipped the lid open. Inside sat a stack of what appeared to be meticulously folded squares of black cloth, but upon unfolding the first, I was entranced by what it really was.

The black track jacket that was held before my eyes was so much more than I'd expected. I'd thought that as busy as Rarity was that maybe she'd just embroidered the jackets or even just ironed-on some designs, but no. In front of me, beautifully rendered in miniscule gemstones and high-quality thread upon the back of the coat, was our logo. I was struck speechless, and cast my current coat upon the chair.

"Well, I recently put in an order for some custom jackets from Rarity, but I didn't expect this." I stated blankly as I unpacked the other jackets, all bearing the same logo upon the back in the same gemstone patterns. Vagabond and Red Tear donned theirs in turn, wide grins across their faces.

"Now, who's ready to go save a cafe?" I asked my friends and the other bands, smirking.

"WE ARE!" was the collective roared (or in Celestians 28's case, firmly stated) response.

I stood behind the curtain, grinning like a madstallion, Rickenbucker slung around my chest and hooves frantically pawing at the ground in excitement. "I can't believe it, guys. Our first real gig. The talent show was chicken scratch compared to this. This. Will. Be. AWESOME." Night had since fallen, and the moon was just cresting over the mountains to the west, a perfect backdrop for the rock that would soon commence. I took a peek at the setlist and stepped forth from behind the curtains, the stage lights not yet on but the kerosene lamps from below illuminating the crowd well enough. Ponies of all three species, not to mention a few griffins and donkeys, even a buffalo. It extended far beyond the courtyard well into Mane Street and even to the next few shops over. Didn't expect this kind of turnout. I remarked in my mind. Six-String tapped my shoulder with a hoof, and I craned my neck around to face the kindly white pegasus, who held in his other wing a beaten five-string bass guitar.

"Take this. It plays well, but it's old. Do what you please with it." He winked during the last part of the phrase as I set the Ric upon the stand it usually sat upon and took up the five-string, slinging the weathered and worn strap around my withers before making a cautious step upon the stage.

Chapter Thirty-Four: The Sound Of No - Part Two

“We can do this.” I muttered to myself, staring at the darkness in front of me, interspersed by spots of lamplight shining my gas mask’s signature red, white, and blue pattern upon the tables at the far edges of the mostly-unoccupied, fenced in space I knew to be the designated mosh pit. As if you can actually restrain a mosh. Heh heh. I snarked within my mind before flicking my tail to the left twice, Vagabond’s signal to slam on her low tom and stomp the kick drum twice in quick succession. Boom, boom!

Almost subconsciously, my hoof found its way to the straps of my gas mask, checking if the brightly-dyed piece of leather and rubber was still attached to my face. A quick rustle amongst the semi-hardened spikes of my mane revealed a comforting feeling of leather straps and brass buckles. A feeling I didn’t need anymore. I began frantically undoing the straps, the rubber edges unsealing themselves from my face, and tossed it to the ground.

I flicked my tail to the left twice more. A second pair of booms signaled the stagehands to activate the lights, revealing the entire band, plus Turntable and Six-String off to either side to supplement our opening piece before the concert proper began. I gave fleeting looks to all of the band members, a smirk upon my face, and my hooves set in place along the fretboard and strings of the worn, beaten bass guitar Six-String had loaned me. I rose to my hind legs as I always did to play, looking out at the semi-darkness as more of the attendees filed into the mosh, ready for the rockin’ off of their socks. (OK, none of them were actually wearing socks, but still.)

Turntable and Six-String threw in their efforts with a few synth chords and a strongly accented opening note, respectively, and I joined the fray with a simple but fun bass riff. Six-String continued his lead, while Red hopped in with distorted, angry power chords that lent a more aggressive undertone to it, with Vagabond supplying a powerful drum beat. The overall tone of the song was vaguely wintery with a bit of adventurous (I don’t know how to describe it, kay? I’m not a music critic.) mixed in. Once we’d concluded the song, I did the next logical (or rather, insanely illogical) thought that flew into my head: I smashed the five-string.

I hoisted the old bass over my head and brought it down on the stage over and over like a hammer hitting a wedge in a tree trunk, and it took a solid ten strikes or so before the body flew into the air, separated from its neck and headstock, the bolted metal neck plate coming undone and flying to the right. The body also separated itself from the strings, which snapped off of the neck and curled backwards, wrapping themselves around my forelegs in a motion that left my jacket torn open along the sleeves and gave me a few shallow gashes. I let go of the neck of the bass, the wood making a loud thump as it fell from my hooves to the floor. I stared out at the audience, who had gone totally silent.

“We are Forty-Two Pickup, and this is the Rock for the Ravine!” I roared, and the silence immediately gave way to cheers as the Chiptones took our place, winking at us as they struck up Densmore, the audience cheering even louder as the opening notes rang out. Densmore faded out to Airbrushed, and as the final notes faded from the ears of those present, they passed the (entirely figurative) torch to Turntable as the stage went dark once more.

Turntable’s “serious shades” (Remember those?) lit up with a bright crimson, casting a dim red glow across his synth equipment. “Fillies and gentlecolts...” he called out into the mic, purposefully deepening his voice, “I understand that you have come here tonight to bear witness to the sound of what you call ‘electronic music’. I regret to announce that this is NOT the case, as what I bring you tonight is the sonic recreation of the end of the world.” He cackled evilly, his sunglasses displaying various patterns, first my gas mask’s signature design, then the keys of a synthesizer, and finally a flat green line. I was curious as to what it was until he queued up Immunize, at which point the line started gaining peaks and valleys, representing the sound of the song as he scratched and twiddled, leaning towards the mic to provide the lyrics, some points screamed and others spoken. The audience thrashed and danced, ripples in the pit clearly evident from the stage top. The line slowly began to shift into a lower range, then finally flattened once more before violently spiking up as the beginning of Bonfirebegan to blare across the crowd, sampled lyrics and bass drops washing over the delighted masses. Animal Rights followed suit, and soon Turntable’s set appeared to be over... until the notes of a song everypony knew started kicking up. The huge gathering of ponies below began to dance, singing only the chorus, which remains stuck in my head to this day (Heeeeeeey, sexy laaadayyy!). “Okay. Buck it. I lied. It’s electronic music. What you gonna do?”

After Turntable, Celestians 28 was the next to step up with a powerful set that didn’t seem religious until the third song, at which point they became promptly booed off the stage in the most hilarious way possible (eggs were involved, let’s just leave it at that). Six-String stepped up to help out the PHS Jazz Band while they set up, pulling up a single stool and sitting down, adjusting the microphone calmly.

“This song is called Hurt. It was written by a student of mine years ago. I’ve never actually played it the whole way through, so forgive me if I make any mistakes.” Red Tear’s eyes had widened at the mention of the title.

“I wrote that song.” he said, shocked and stunned in equal measure, “I wrote it four years ago for his birthday, but he put it in a folder and I never saw it again.” He paused. “I didn’t know he practiced it.” The slate-coated pegasus fell to his knees, tears of happiness streaming down the sides of his face. “I can’t believe he finally got it out.” The song’s rawly emotional chords and Six-String’s mournful voice drove almost all of us to the point of crying, even Six-String himself, the worn-down fretboard of his acoustic staining dark with tears. Once the song had drawn its metaphorical curtains, the alabaster pegasus gave a respectful bow and tossed his sunglasses into the crowd before vanishing behind the literal curtains that framed the stage, sending the previously silent crowd into a frenzy as the Ponyville High Jazz Band finished their set up. Ivories stood at the helm, hooves on the piano and the other musicians rallied behind him, instruments at the playing position.

Soon the warm sounds of lounge swing were settling upon the crowd, inciting them to dance in a more civilized manner, bobbing and waving to the saxophones and trumpets, some even indulging in a little swing dancing. I found myself bobbing my head to the drum beat and thumping a hoof to the standing bass line. One pat on the back and a rather uncomfortably tight brotherly hug later, their set was up, and Ivories wished me luck, smiling warmly. “Thanks for letting us play here, Jack. We haven’t played an actual gig in years.”

I nervously stepped up to the microphone, lowering the stand to my height and fiddling with the tuning heads and volume knobs on the Rickenbucker. I turned to my bandmates, smiling and ready to take home the cash necessary to keep our home away from home from going bankrupt. “What do you suggest first?”

Manga opened his mouth to toss a suggestion in, but he was cut off by Black Bell showing up again, piping up “Miss Murder!” I thought about the prospect for a minute before turning to Manga.

“Actually, I was about to say the same. It’s got one hell of a bass line, and it’s perfect to show off your new skills. Just play the instrumental.” He floated a sheet over to me, which quickly made itself known as tablature, something that thankfully I’d learned to read. A few tries on an unamplified bass and I’d gotten a passable hang of it, spinning around dramatically to step up to the mic.

“We are 42 Pickup, and this is Miss Murder!” I shouted, pumping a hoof into the air, cueing Vagabond to signal a ‘1-2-3-4’ with drumstick taps and for us to launch into the song. My hooves danced across the flatwounds to provide the tone-heavy bass line, the pick tapping at each string just audibly enough to me to know I was hitting the notes as I’d intended, and if ever I strayed the tablature was quick to correct me. After finishing to the crowd’s applause, I wiped my brow and kicked the gas mask (which was still where I’d left it) backwards towards the stage and the other Outcasts before settling my hooves on the bass again. I launched into Streets of Nowhere, after dedicating it to Ponyville itself (the town, not its occupants), Teenagers and Over My Head for the Outcasts and myself, respectively, A Better Nothing and Paper Wings both for Red Tear (who actually ended up singing the first and insisting the second be left out, me adamantly denying his wishes).

We thought our set was over. We were wrong.

I’ve never loved being so wrong before.

As soon as we’d finished, a demure figure stepped up to the microphone beside me, the stage lights’ absence cloaking her form in shadow. A single spotlight shone upon her, and I quickly forced myself out of its bright circle.

It was Pitch-Perfect. She was wearing the band jacket, with the addition of a small bandanna around her neck bearing our emblem, smiling. Her hair was tied back rather than hanging in her face as per usual, and her back hooves were adorned with a pair of what looked like the sneakers I’d seen many punk rockers before us wear on theirs. Her soft, shy voice was replaced, almost as if it was a different pony. “My name is Pitch-Perfect... I’ve decided to sing for you tonight, for all of you. This song I wrote a few months ago, a week or two before I met Union Jack.” I thanked Celestia I was in the shadows, because I felt the blush on my cheeks escalate to something I imagined was akin to blood-red, even through my fur. “It’s called Help, I’m Alive.” Turntable backed up her voice with synthesizer, deliberately kept low volume to showcase her voice, which rang out with a beautiful, warm sound much like her speaking voice, Red Tear hopping in with some surprisingly undistorted guitar and Vagabond with a quickly improvised drum beat, my bass not really needing to be used except to back up Red’s chords, allowing me to slip off and stand in the back of the stage much like a bassist really should. She finished, the final echoes of her singing fading into the crowd, who unlike previous songs simply stood dumbstruck, and the near-silence allowed me to hear a faint sound that sounded almost like a sparkle looked, effervescent and ringing. My coltfriend sense kicked in and I galloped over, the Rickenbucker flapping on my chest, and took a look at her to see what the noise had been. A quick look at her flank (no not like that you perv) revealed what had made itself known.

Her Cutie Mark. A microphone, twined around the stand, accompanied by a music note.

“Um... Pitch. Your flank.”

She spun around, eyes immediately focusing on her now decorated hindquarters, practically squealing. She wrapped her forelegs around me in another one of her uncomfortably bone-shattering hugs and gave me what is undoubtedly the greatest kiss I’ve ever had to this day before running off, thanking the band members and no doubt heading down into the crowd to talk to her parents.

Something that wasn’t her caught my eye. In the front row, Six-String was holding a small box, Derpy sitting at the table, paying almost sole attention to us. I knew what was happening, and held out the microphone stand, letting the metal tube slide to full length. I mouthed “do it now, Six.”

He tapped his longtime marefriend on the shoulder, opening the box to reveal a shining gold set of wing rings. His voice was going to be broadcast to the whole crowd, and he knew. He loved that.

“Derpy Hooves, will you marry me?”

The crowd erupted in a unified “aaaawwww!” before applauding, quieting down to hear her answer.

“Yes. Yes I will!” she cried out, nearly knocking the table over as she brought her now-fiance into a hug and kiss similar to the one Pitch had just given me.

Once the hubbub had died down, the excitement still hung in the air. We started to shut down our equipment, until we heard one unified voice, all of the crowd chanting together...

“ENCORE! ENCORE! ENCORE! ENCORE! ENCORE! ENCORE!”

We knew what we had to do. I called the previous musicians to the stage, The Chiptones taking left, Turntable returning to his rig and flipping the switchboard over to reveal the actual scratching tables, some of the PHS trumpet players standing beside me, and Six-String taking far right, back to back with Red Tear. We’d had this idea before. A massive improv session.

I began with a simple but heavy bass-line, a scratch and a loud, distorted chord, along with a single 8-bit note repeated and slowly dying down, before the trumpets and the Chiptones’ bassist kicked in, along with their lead guitarist, musicians quickly adding to the mix, creating what was undoubtedly one of the most awesome songs I’ve ever taken part in creating, and when it appeared as though it had finished its course, Six-String launched into a blistering guitar solo, one I’d heard him try practicing before, on his Les Pony, sounding like something straight out of a classic-rock song, the audience cheering and roaring with delight more than they had before. When we had finally ended it, we were left wiping the sweat from our brows to the cheers of the crowd.

We weren’t just musicians anymore. We were stars in the making.

Epilogue: The Rascal King

La Cienaga, Equestria

Months in the future (but not many)

(OK, I lied, it's about a month and a half)

It is three PM in the city of La Cienaga, and the stallion named Union Jack is nervous. A greenish aura of magic surrounds the tuning pegs of a red and black Mockingbird bass guitar, tuning it to four notes the teenager is ever so familiar with: C, G, C, F. The yellow nylon pick meets the round-wounds, the split-coil pickups' deep, growly rumble. His hooves settle on the concrete of the rooftop, joined by the hooves of seven other ponies. A pegasus slings a worn, beaten black Telecaster around his neck, his feathers settling into position on the fretboard, a unicorn levitates an extra pair of drumsticks into the air, a hoof hits an overdrive pedal. Union Jack steps to the mic, his red, spiky mop of a mane spilling backwards from his flag-patterned gas mask. The chill breeze ever so slightly ruffles the woolly collar of the green canvas overcoat, and under the dyed leather of the mask, Union Jack smirks. He looks at his companions, the lenses unable to hide the fire in his eyes.

"Red, you ready?"

"I was born ready."

"Vagabond?"

"In what universe would I not be?"

He steps forth, a slight clop emanating from the pavement with each hoofstep. He stares at the gathered crowd below them, probably five hundred strong. Several policeponies watch the perimeter. With a hoof, he taps a button on a tiny remote, and the microphone in his gas mask turns on. The feedback breaks the deafening silence beneath him. He stands on his hind legs, his hooves settling around the fretboard and the strings, the view from here far better. Fifteen feet up, standing on the roof of the local Equestrian Military recruitment center.

Three years ago, the punk-rocker stallion standing on the roof tried to burn the city down, and this day he stands before its populace, hoping for forgiveness. He clears his throat and says but a few words.

"We are 42 Pickup, and we are here to play loud music and be loud ponies! Are you with me!?" The crowd erupts in cheers, thrown water bottles and swung glowsticks, and all is immediately silenced by the feedback of a police radio calling in.

"Last one out of La Cienaga, burn it to the ground."

Chapter Four: Now It Stops Going Easy On You

The sun was no longer high in the sky. Day Zero was drawing to a close, and Union Jack couldn't have been gloomier about the end of his orientation day. Sixth block was Positive Adolescent Decisions class, or PAD for short. It was run by Cheerilee, who used to be an elementary teacher. Union Jack thought for sure it would be some lame class about how drugs were bad and bullying is evil, but he was instantly proven wrong. The current lesson was on how to be more self sufficient, and he had been lucky enough to arrive on the day she started teaching it. He sat down in the only empty desk, which just so happened to be the one next to Black Bell, his new marefriend.

"Hey there handsome. You look sad. What's the problem?" she asked.

"I'm not happy the day is ending. Day Zero was fun. There wasn't any actual learning involved, just learning the ins and outs of the classrooms." He scowled.

"Union Jack, will you please come up to the front of the class? I'd like to introduce you to the class, though it seems you already know Black Bell and Vagabond." Cheerilee said.

His face instantly turned to an expression of sheer panic. "Uh, sure, Miss Cheerilee." He tried to keep his posture as he walked up to the front of the classroom. "Hi. My name is Union Jack. I come from the city of La Cienaga, which as some of you might know, means The Mire. I used to go to Fresh Start Alternative Academy, but my dad transferred me here for a second chance." He was interrupted by Cheerilee.

"Could you please take the gas mask off? I can't see your face, and I can barely hear you." This was it. The moment of truth. They'd see his face, and they would laugh at him, ridicule him for his ugly green eyes, his scarred muzzle, his chipped tooth. He levitated the mask off his face and gave a slight smile to the class.

They all just stared. No laughs, no jeers, no "What's wrong with his face?"s. Just silence, and the feeling of twelve pairs of eyes drilling into his hide. He continued his story. "My cutie mark, which you can observe is a Mareotov Cocktail, symbolizes my special skill, starting revolutions when they're needed." Cheerilee's face was twisted in horror. "Three years ago today, I did something I wasn't exactly proud of. I felt that La Cienaga's government was too corrupt, so I... I tried to burn down the city. Thankfully it didn't work. But I'm a different stallion now. I don't go around burning down buildings. I'm content to finish off my junior year with my new friends and a new life. And that's my story."

Cheerilee's face was back to her normal placid smile, and she asked "And what is the gas mask for?"

He smiled again and said "It's actually quite significant to me. It's the same gas mask my father used to wear to scare me into behaving when I was just a little colt, but it's painted over and the filters are removed. It kind of symbolizes my triumph over that fear."

"There sure is a lot of symbolism in your physical traits. I think that's a very entertaining story. Now, seeing as we just took up five minutes, let's get to work shall we?" Cheerilee replied.

Union Jack sat down in his seat again, listening to Cheerilee drone on about responsibility and hard work. He was listening, but at the same time he was looking at Black Bell. She was drawing Union Jack, but he looked different. More muscled, taller, his mane and coat a bit richer in color. Standing next to the idealized drawing of him was a smaller, sleeker mare, which he soon realized was Black Bell. He looked back at the drawing and realized that's how Black Bell saw her new coltfriend, as a muscular, handsome stallion. He smiled and sat through the rest of sixth block juggling his thoughts of Black Bell and class.

--An Hour Later--

Union Jack walked sluggishly to the gates after saying goodbye to the first people to ever truly accept him for who he was. He was reluctant to leave them behind, but he noticed one was missing as he turned to look one last time before he left for the day. As he turned back around to exit the gates, he saw a pair of beautiful magenta eyes looking into his. He soon realized they were his marefriend's, and he tried to back up a step to get some breathing room. She stopped him with a passionate kiss, and then said "Have a nice evening. I love you." He practically bounced all the way home, until the logic bomb hit. Today was good, but what about tomorrow? Tomorrow there would be less leeway given for Union Jack now that he'd been through Day Zero. Day One was undoubtedly when school stopped going easy on you. He replaced his worries with happy thoughts of Black Bell, and bounded home.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Always Outnumbered, Never Outgunned

I sat at the table, munching happily on a toasted basil sandwich from the Ravine Cafe. Thoughts of the talent show flowed through my head, accompanied by the constant buzz of the schoolyard, the whole hundred by hundred hooves area alight with conversation regarding our victory at the talent show. My thoughts flitted to the news I'd gotten from Silversix the night after the talent show, and I almost dropped my sandwich when I remembered I had to tell the Outcasts about Pitch.

I gulped down my current bite of sandwich and tapped the table loudly to gain everypony's attention.

"Okay, I almost forgot. All of you know about my marefriend, Pitch-Perfect, right?" I got a silent chorus of nods. "Her parents are transferring her here to PHS." The second part of the news was met with shouting and smiles all around, along with ecstatic cries of "We're getting a new Outcast!"

Red Tear walked over to the table, a little happier now that he had some respect. He parked his plot on the bench, staring at his name, which had been carved into the teak, examining every curve of the gouged name. His cold exterior cracked a smile at finally being accepted somewhere. He quickly resumed his original expression and disinterestedly took a bite of his lunch, a tofu burger with a side of chips.

That was, until all hell broke loose. It started simple, with Red's old enemy Rampage trotting up and hassling me. I was used to it by now, so the petty insults didn't hurt in the slightest. Red Tear was visibly irritated, obviously attempting to keep from decking Rampage where he stood.

He hurled heckles at me like tomatoes at Trixie. I brushed them off and simply continued eating, unaware of the fact that Rampage was approaching me. I didn't know he had any intention of physical harm until a hoof hit the back of my head, knocking my face into the table and thoroughly pissing me off. I stood, exactly the reaction he wanted, with one difference from his plan. I wasn't going to fight back.

"Oh, so you want to fight?" I asked with a smirk. Rampage nodded eagerly. "Well, don't hit me with your purse this time." I finished, rearing up to accept any blows he had to throw at me. What came next was unexpected. Rampage dove for my bass and swung at my head once he got a hold of it. I ducked under the blow nimbly, but was shocked to hear the sound of my beloved instrument breaking upon impact with a wall. Now I was really pissed. I growled, slipped my mask onto my face, and the deep throaty rumble coming from my chest broke into a full-on roar. I knew I couldn't take Rampage in a fight, but if I went down trying, then so be it. I rushed towards him and took a swing, only to find my attacker AWOL.

Why, you ask? Red tackled the bastard with such force I seriously thought I heard bones cracking. Rampage crumpled under Tear's sudden assault from his side, the hapless unicorn pinned under the livid pegasus' body as Red delivered pounding blow after pounding blow into the bully's skull, eventually ending with a double-hoofed punch to the horn, incapacitating him. Before I could go over to drag Red off of Rampage's unconscious body, he grabbed the KO'd pony by the nape of his neck and dashed towards the gate of school, kicking it open and throwing Rampage out into the street.

The now-calmed pony made his way over to our table before sitting down and continuing his tofu burger as if nothing ever happened.

"Not sure if I'm supposed to be disturbed or grateful." I said, inching along the seat away from him. "On one hoof, you just beat the hell out of him and threw him into the street, but on the other, you just saved my sorry ass."

I thought I saw Red crack a smile, which was short-lived as a certain teacher tapped him on the shoulder. Cheerilee was standing behind him, a scowl crossing her face, accompanied by the school resource officer, who none of us ever had the misfortune to meet. Instead, we all referred to him as Monday, due to the day he was closest to our table at lunch. He had a system. Stay posted at different points at the schoolyard on different days. Obviously, it was a flawed plan, but it worked for the most part.

"You're under arrest." Monday declared, grabbing Red by the hooves. The pegasus hardly struggled as he was hoofcuffed.

I watched, speechless, as the pony who'd come to see me as his only friend was carted off to jail. As he was dragged away from us, I saw small dark spots on the dirt leading to the gate, obviously tears. A rather large stain concerned me, and I realized it was blood from Rampage's broken nose. My eyes widened and then shifted back to Tear, who was staring at us, and he mouthed three words.

'I'm so sorry.'

I sat in Cheerilee's office as she paced back and forth, roughing up the carpet. "So," she began, "Tell me exactly what happened back at that table."

"I was eating lunch when Rampage came up and started hassling me. He's done it for the whole year, so it didn't matter to me that he was picking on me, at least until he punched me in the back of the head. I stood and egged him on. I had no plans of fighting back, but he grabbed my bass and swung at me with it. It hit a wall and broke, which caused me to snap. I was about to take his sorry flank to town on the ass-kicking express..." I cut myself off as I noticed Cheerilee giggling. "What?" I asked defensively.

"Nothing, go on." she denied, still smiling.

"As I was saying, I started to attack him, but Red took him out from in front of me before I hit him." I continued, a little irritated.

"And what did Red Tear do?" she asked, now putting on her best poker face.

"Hit him several times, I wasn't keeping count, hit him on the horn, and threw him out into the road." She grimaced as I recounted the last part of it.

"Seems to me that Rampage was the instigator. But I need a credible source. Your friends are considered biased, so I'll consult the teachers that were on duty who saw it." I nodded gravely and left. My bass was destroyed, my newest friend alone in jail, and no hope of bailing him out. All in all, pretty shitty day.

I entered the music shop for my last shift. After this particular work day ended, I was going to quit. The stress of work, school, and my friends was hard to deal with, so I needed time off to catch up.

What I saw as I entered brightened my day, if only a little. Six-String sat at the counter, eyeing my destroyed bass and taking measurements. "Ah, Jack. I can't save this, and there's no way in hell, heaven, or earth I could get a hold of another 4001 without paying exorbitant prices." he lamented. "There is a new bass in the shop you can keep as compensation." He gestured to where the Ric once sat in the glass display, and in its place was a polished Rickenbucker 4003 in cobalt blue. I turned back to the shattered 4001 and gave it a salute before placing the 4003 in a new case.

I thanked Six-String with a hug, then broke off. "I have bad news, Six. I won't be able to work at the shop anymore. I have a lot to juggle right now with school and friends and recent events..." I trailed off, a tear forming in the corner of my eye.

"Recent events?" Six-String asked curiously. "The hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Red Tear got arrested." I mumbled. "He flipped his lid on some bully who'd been picking on me."

His eyes widened at the mention of Tear's arrest. "I guess I should've seen this coming. Red was always 90 percent explosive and ten percent fuse, and you were his first real friend in a long time. It makes sense that he defended you."

"I wanted to go visit him, but then I remembered it's my fault that he's in there." I replied. "If it weren't for Rampage picking on me specifically, Tear wouldn't have attacked him and gotten himself arrested."

Six-String patted me on the shoulder. "Come back when everything's sorted out. I'll help any way I can."

I smiled a little and left for home.

Author's Note: Sequel!

Guess what's out, broodmares!?