Anarchy in the Equestrian Nation

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."