Green Pastures, Cloak’s Front Porch, Equestria
50 Years After the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War

The next few days after Cloak concluded his story were tense for the entire neighborhood. Every evening, Cloak would be asked if they could continue the story, and the stallion would gently refuse. The exact reasons were varied: The “wind was too gentle” or “the stars were too bright” or the “air was too warm”. Whatever the exact reasons were, he would always say that the “night wasn’t right” and tell a different story for the evening.

They were always good stories, about another Shadowbolt clan known as the “Outsiders”. They were a Recon crew led by a stallion named Matchstick, and they spent a good number of hours with the Pack during their downtime. Cloak smiled brightly as he recalled a friend named “Impulse” and the work they did to perfect the art of something called “Breakfast Nachos” or how a blind filly named Oracle basically had the entire Cirrus wrapped around her hoof without her knowing. Still, the story of the Rat Pack lingered over the group.

Finally, on a moonless evening with a cold wind from the east, the answer to the nightly question changed.

“Yes, I think this evening will do quite nicely to continue our previous story…” murmured Cloak.

“So what happened after Dante died?” asked Cold Snap. “Why was it so difficult for you all?”

“I would suppose the hardest thing about this time frame was the ‘Quarantine’,” mused Cloak. “When a Shadowbolt or Shadowbolt team became publicly exposed in an undeniable fashion, they would be marked for ‘Quarantine’ aboard the Cirrus or at a Waystation. They’d make their living out of sight for anywhere between one to two years, at which point, they could take contracts again.”

“Only a year or two?” frowned Kingfisher. “That’s not great, but it doesn’t seem that bad.”

“You forget, young one, that Nightshade was a particularly vindictive bitch,” chuckled Cloak bitterly. “For the Pack, our ‘quarantine’ lasted for four long years, just because of how close our group was to Dante. She would only offer us ‘wetwork’ jobs that she knew that Rat would never take, to try and force Rat to bend to her whims. But Rat didn’t back down. In fact, if it weren’t for the way things ended up, our quarantine would have lasted for a decade or more.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Flare Glider. “What happened?”

“What Nightshade feared would happen, but not from us…” grimaced Cloak. “Mutiny.”

The Cirrus, Top Deck, Equestria
2 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War

Rat sighed as he leaned against the bulkhead. The time following Nightshade’s rise to power had been a rough one for the Rat Pack. In the wake of Il Corvo, the Pack had been virtually relegated to support missions with no shore leave after their Quarantine. Cruelly, Nightshade had posed a number of high-paying wetwork jobs to “prove their resolve”, but the Pack had refused.

One of the few things keeping them alive was their reputation and Hawk’s “steely” retort to a particularly vocal critic. A metal spoon to the neck was more than sufficient to take down that cretin. As far as keeping themselves afloat, the Pack was making a decent amount for planning operations for other groups.

Still, Rat was concerned. Mutterings had only gotten worse, and it only took one lucky hit from a dumb grunt to cause the whole situation to collapse on itself.

Rat stretched lightly before catching sight of a familiar stallion and rolling his eyes.

“Cloak, you’ve got to stop doing this…” sighed Rat.

Cloak froze, turning slowly toward Rat. The stallion wore his full unmarked flightsuit, a small drawstring bag on his belt, just like every night prior to this.

“Hey, uh, Boss…” chuckled Cloak evasively. “Nice night for a moonlight stroll?”

“One of these times, it’s not going to be me who catches you down here,” sighed Rat. “And if that happens, I’m not going to be able to save your ass, so I’m going to lock you down if it comes to that. Please don’t make me make that choice.”

“I can’t…” sighed Cloak, looking down at a worn, velvet lined box. “I just can’t take it anymore, Boss… I want to see her, even for just a minute.”

“She waited for you before, Cloak,” reassured Rat. “She’ll keep waiting until it’s time.”

“Doesn’t make it hurt less,” sighed Cloak.

“Come on, Cloak. Matchstick and his crew should be ba-“ began Rat before flinching as a scream of anguish split the night air.

Rat was already moving to the primary Landing Deck to where the cry had gone up. Four Shadowbolts had hit the deck in a rough landing, a stallion with a perforated wing the source of the screams. Rat slammed his hoof on the Alert signal even as he moved to help Matchstick.

“Medical emergency!” barked Matchstick as he helped a mare with a profusely bleeding head wound onto the deck.

A familiar young mare bolted onto the deck, immediately administering care. Corrie had grown in the past few years into a brilliant trauma medic. Her anxiety did still get to her, but it never got in the way of her work.

Nightshade stepped onto the scene, her mouth a thin line of barely suppressed rage. Only Starry Skies betrayed any additional emotion, swearing under her breath.

“Get them stabilized and down to sick bay!” barked Nightshade. “Reconvene down below in ten minutes! MOVE IT!”

The Cirrus, Medical Bay, Equestria
2 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War

Rat frowned as he glanced at Matchstick, feeling a greater amount of unease than he had in a long while. Over the past few months, teams of Shadowbolts had seen a much higher failure rate for contracts, but nothing on this scale.

“Report,” ordered Nightshade, her face impassive.

“Sireberia was a bust. Client was dead when we got there, and seemed to have been for some time,” stated Matchstick. “Hekate was waiting for us, though. It was a perfect ambush. Banshee, Inque, Goblin, and myself were the only ones to make it out.”

“Dammit,” swore Nightshade. “That’s the fifth operation in as many weeks. Get Hox to scrub the scene. You wore the unmarked suits at least?”

“Yes, but we have a bigger problem,” replied Matchstick. “HTB was using weighted and electrified weapons for blunt impacts and to take advantage of our suit’s inherent weakness. They were Shadowbolt killing weapons.”

“What the f-” began Starry before being thrown into the wall.

The Cirrus lurched violently, a dull roar of shrieking steel and rumbling machinery echoing through the bulkheads. Rat tumbled across the ground in a well-practiced roll and took to the air, hovering as hell broke out around him. Alarms blared as the ship went into a brief freefall before lurching to a halt as the auxiliary lift drives kicked in. Nightshade limped over to a comm-box and slammed a hoof into the active button.

“Nightshade to Engine Room! What the hell is going on down there?!” barked the mare.

“We’ve got a pressure release failure on our primary lift and propulsion drives, and our auxiliary propulsion is out as well!” replied Gremlin. “Damn things nearly cooked themselves to oblivion! We’re limping with our auxiliary lift drives right now!”

“How long until it’s fixed?” asked Nightshade.

“We’re gonna need to find the problem first, but we’re checking everything right now!”

“You have one hour,” ordered Nightshade. “Blade, Void, Angel, and Descent, I want you to take some scouting teams and check our surroundings. I don’t want anything catching us by surprise while our ass is hanging out.”

And with that, Nightshade turned to leave before being nearly bowled over by a Kelpie stallion that ran past her, sprinting into the medbay to where Arclight was stitching up the mare Inque.

“Shade?” asked Inque in bemusement as Arclight cut the last end of the monofilament for her stitches. “What are-“

Not another word was said as Shade captured Inque’s lips with his own. Rat smirked and looked away. Inque’s crush on Shade was the mare’s worst-kept secret, but apparently it wasn’t as unrequited as Inque thought. Of course, Inque didn’t seem to be thinking much as Shade made his true feelings known. Quite enthusiastically, if it wasn’t too bold to say.

“...So… I know it’s a bad time, but who won the bet?” asked Cloak

“Cloak, this is hardly the-” scolded Rat.

“I have fifty thousand on the outcome of this, Rat,” interjected Nightshade. “Let our bookkeeper talk. It’ll be a welcome diversion.”

“Can’t say anything yet,” argued Hawk. “It would tamper with the outcome.”

“Well, let me know when it’s finalized, Bookkeeper,” smirked Nightshade. “We could use a bit of good news. Rat, I want you in my office in an hour. Your skills are… required…”

The Cirrus, Captain’s Office, Equestria
2 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War

“Scouting Teams, what have you to report?” asked Nightshade.

“Angel and Blade located seven squads of HTB mercenaries, all armed to the teeth, south of our position, along what would have been our current trajectory,” reported Descent. “We’d be able to fight them off, but it would be a tough fight, especially if our home were to drop out from underneath our hooves…”

“How… convenient that HTB would be waiting for us…” hissed Nightshade, her eyes blazing with barely suppressed rage. “Now… Someone explain how my ship nearly dropped out of the sky in the first place...”

“That means you, Gremlin!” snarled Starry Skies. “What the fuck were you thinking?! I ain’t an engineering type, but I know enough that the engines need to be powered on to lift us up!”

“We had no choice, dammit!” swore Gremlin. “With no pressure release, we had to shut everything down on our steam engines! What would you prefer? A few bruises from a brief drop while we switched over to the methane engines, or half the crew shredded and the other half flash-fried from the boilers ripping the damn fecking ship apart?!”

“You’ve made your point, Gremlin,” sighed Nightshade. “However, that doesn’t explain why we’re no longer able to move.”

“Drive shafts failed on our auxiliary propulsion,” explained Gremlin. “Probably snapped a few after our brief freefall. Again, unusual, but not impossible-”

“GREMLIN! DĚNGDÀI! (WAIT!)” bellowed a familiar voice as a red and yellow blur kicked in the door to Nightshade’s office. “WǑ FĀ- I FOUND EVERYTHING!”

The only sound that followed was that of Patch breathing heavily as everyone froze in a mix of shock, bemusement and oncoming dread. Meanwhile, Rat did his best to stifle his laugh at Patch’s antics, knowing that what would follow next would require all of his attention. Patch’s face twisted from an expression of enlightened fervor to exasperated rage.

“Did you not hear me?! I said-” shouted Patch.

“No, no, dear Patch, we did hear you,” replied Nightshade sweetly, even as her eyes flashed with irritation. “We’ve simply turned the floor over to you. Please continue…”

“Ok, so to start off, all of the damage we suffered was deliberate,” explained Patch. “I started by investigating our pressure release valves on the boilers. Most of them were deliberately sealed using the heat activated resin that we use to make emergency repairs on steam conduits and bulkheads. Not all of them, but enough that it would gradually raise the pressure to the emergency shutoff point within a fifteen minute window…”

“You actually figured that out?” asked Void, scoffing. “Wasting time as usu-”

“Please ignore him and continue, Patch…” prompted Nightshade while Void wheezed in pain from a rattled stallionhood. “Not to say you wouldn’t do so anyway…”

“Next, I investigated the drive shafts on the propulsion methane engines, and found that most of them were sheared through with small demolition charges. Thankfully, our auxiliary lift drive was mostly untouched, but we’ll need to replace most of our lift drive shafts for the steam engines.”

“And how would you know there were demolition charges?” asked Angel. “Wouldn’t they have destroyed any trace?”

Patch rolled her eyes and muttered something disparaging about ignorance and bliss. “Bombs always leave their components behind, so they’re easy to reassemble if you know what to look for… And I did, because there was one that didn’t detonate, and a drawing of our schematics with places marked for all the points of sabotage,” explained Patch, producing said diagram.

“Well, that answers most everything, but it’s odd that they’d cripple the steam engines twice over…” mused Gremlin.

“Exactly!” pounced Patch, flailing her arms - and the schematic - wildly. “Why go for the drive shafts on the primary engines, which we would obviously be shutting down from the overload, instead of…” Patch suddenly trailed off and looked at the diagram again, then suddenly flipped it one-eighty.

“It’s upside-down…” murmured Rat in realization just as Patch rotated the diagram.

“You have something to add, Rat?” asked Nightshade over Patch’s fluent and inventive Vietmanese cursing. “I didn’t realize you had experience in engineering.”

“It's a simple deduction,” explained Rat while Patch lost herself in a world of tirades against idiocy. “The culprit knew they were on a time crunch after sabotaging the steam engines, so they had to work quickly to mount the charges, and in doing so, mixed up the diagram. A flip of a coin could have seen us on the ground and at the tender mercies of HTB. Am I right, Patch?”

“Retarded child of ince- What? Oh! Yes… Quite…” confirmed Patch, before grumbling in her native tongue that anyone with half a brain cell could see the drawing was upside-down.

“Captain, we still have a saboteur on board,” observed Descent.

“Obviously,” groused Starry Skies. “And it could be anypony on board!”

“No, that’s not true,” interjected Rat. “Only anypony with contact with the outside.”

“And how do you figure that?”snarled Blade. “For all we know, you’re the saboteur!”

“Whoever did this is clearly in touch with HTB. The discarded instructions and the waiting strike team are clearly evidence of that. As you all know, my team has been in quarantine for the past few years,” explained Rat. “Plus, if my team had decided to break ranks, none of you would be breathing now…”

An uneasy silence fell as the rest of the Shadowbolts considered his words.

“What do you want, Rat?” asked Nightshade.

“You need hooves on the ground that you can be sure had nothing to do with this,” began Rat. “My team needs work, but more than that, they need somewhere to focus their anger. This is our home that’s been threatened. This is our fight. Let us loose, Captain, and the traitor will have no way to hide.”

“...You have four days…” replied Nightshade. “Do this, and we’ll talk about what missions you can take going forward…”

The Cirrus, The Pit, Equestria
2 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War

“So, in short, we need you to create armored clothing for us that looks like normal formal wear,” concluded Rat. “Can you make that happen?”

Patch grinned, an almost manic glint in her green eyes. “Can I make that happen, he asks,” she repeated with an almost exasperated roll of her eyes and muttered oaths in Vietmanese invoking the names of several unknown deities. “Rat… I’ve been dying to use these plans I’ve been making for years!!!” In a brief flurry of saffron feathers and titian braids, Patch returned, holding up a book with multiple sketches of rather elegant formal attire, complete with diagrams for the tactical reinforcement and notes on how she would integrate armor into the linings of suit coats and dresses, even less formal outfits like blouses, polo shirts, slacks and skirts. “Unfortunately, I’ve never gotten to make these before, since all anyone here wants is flight suits… Always flight suits…” she groused petulantly, closing her design book and clutching it to her almost like a foal would a favored stuffed animal.

“Now hold on a minute, Patch!” protested Rat. “We ran that job in Las Pegasus before the Quarantine, and that had us in normal clothes!”

“Well no one came to me for them!” retorted Patch with a disdainful sniff. “I would know if I had and I wasn’t.”

“But I specifically asked Cloak to place the request before-” replied Rat before freezing, remembering the exact reason why he’d delegated to Cloak all those years ago and how that would have been more than a little distracting. Daring had decided to bring the unmarked flightsuit that night...

“Cloak…” began Rat, frustration rising. “I thought I asked you to consult Patch for our disguises on the Lone Digger job, did I not?”

“Not my fault!” protested Cloak, raising his hooves. “Patch was scarier back then!”

“And I’m not scary now?” asked Patch with an almost dangerous gleam in her eyes as her hoof slowly moved towards one of her forge hammers.

“OH SHI-” exclaimed Cloak as he dived into an empty steel quenching barrel, covering his exposed backside with a bucket.

Patch considered this spectacle a moment before she smirked and then wound up. With a huge, arcing swing, she slammed the forge hammer into the side of the barrel, ringing it like an ancient Wyvern gong. The barrel shuddered as it tipped over, depositing the rattled stallion onto the deck.

“MAWP!” articulated Cloak, working his jaw in an attempt to clear the ringing from his ears. “MAWP! I CAN’T HEAR YOU GUYS! MAWP!”

“You do realize I need him?” smirked Rat.

“Oh he’ll be fine…” Patch waved a hoof dismissively as she tossed the hammer back where she’d gotten it. “Eventually…” she added in a half-mutter.

Rat would have laughed and responded, but was stopped by a sight that his brain could not comprehend. Hoxton marched into the workshop, without being stopped by Patch, went to a nearby cabinet of tools, without being stopped by Patch, grabbed a soldering iron pack, without being stopped by Patch, and marched out of the room, without being stopped by Patch.

“Gonna borrow this right quick,” interjected Hoxton without looking back. “Rat, swing by my side once you’re done with our armorer. I have some toys for you.”

“BRING THAT BACK IN THE SAME STATE YOU GOT IT!!” yelled Patch to Hoxton’s retreating back.

“YOU KNOW THAT I ALWAYS DO!” hollered Hoxton.

“Doesn’t mean I won’t stop reminding you…” grumbled Patch, resorting to her native tongue even as she dismissed the matter entirely.

“....When did this become a thing?” murmured Rat to himself.

“Now… let’s see…” mused Patch, seemingly oblivious to anything beyond her book of sketches. “I imagine Phantasm and Clover won’t be wanting actual dresses, so I’ll figure out something appropriately formal for them that’ll stick closer to what they’re comfortable with…” And with that, Patch was lost in a flurry of papers, scissors and fabric lengths, vanishing back into her sewing corner.

“I MUST HAVE BEEN HIT HARDER THAN I THOUGHT!” shouted Cloak, still rubbing his ears. “I THINK I HAVE A CONCUSSION BECAUSE THERE’S NO WAY HOX-”

“Yes, yes, let’s go ask him about it!” replied Rat, dragging Cloak out of the room to visit the other side.

Hoxton was at his desk, putting some finishing touches on what appeared to be newer versions of the comm units that he provided the Pack with previously. The rest of the Pack was nearby as well, picking up various gadgets and weapons they’d need on the mission.

“Just wanted to give you a little bit of Intel before you rush off to the Den of Sin,” explained Hoxton without looking up. “HTB, unlike Janus, has no qualms about the Princess disapproving, hence why they have such a strong presence in Coltenhagen. Thankfully, they are not the main source of order in the lawless city. That would be the Olympia Hotel and their shadowy council.”

“So, what’s going to be our play, then?” asked Rat. “Where do we start in this mess of a city?”

“Thankfully, we do have a contact inside the city, and even more thankfully, we’ve had them there for quite some time,” replied Hoxton. “Cloak should be able to recognize them, at least when he’s no longer rattled.”

“Good, at least we-” began Rat before his brain broke for the second time that day.

Patch strolled in, completely at her ease, and made a straight line for one of the many cabinets. She briefly rummaged around in the drawer before extracting a micro torch. Smiling with her success, she nodded briefly to Rat, smirked at Cloak and then sauntered back out, tool tucked under her wing. “Need this. I’ll be done with it in three hours,” she called over her shoulder as she exited, leaving the door open.

“...What the hell was that?” asked Dagger.

“WHAT’D SHE SAY?!” yelled Cloak. “I WAS HALLUCINATING THAT PATCH WALKED THROUGH HERE WITHOUT DECLARING WAR!”

“...Godsdammit…” sighed Hawk as he glanced at his little black book. “...How did that old bastard know…”

“Is that why the door was open?” asked Arclight.

“I repeat my earlier inquiry: When did this become a thing?” asked Rat.

“When did what become a thing?” asked Hoxton, confused.

“You know… this…” gestured Rat as he indicated the open door and the borrowed soldering iron.

“....I don’t-” began Hoxton.

“FOR FECK’S SAKE, TWAT! WHEN’D YA STOP GOING TO BLOODY WAR EVERY FIVE MINUTES, YA FECKIN’ QUACK!” bellowed Clover in frustration. “I CANNAE REMEMBER THE LAST TIME THE TWO OF YE WEREN’T GOING OFF YER NUTS AT EACH OTHER, SO WHY ARE YE NOT SCREAMIN’ AT EACH OTHER LIKE ALLEY CATS!”

“Oh... That…”

“YES, ‘THAT’, YA TWAT!!” shouted Clover.

“Well… it just kind of happened…” replied Hoxton. “Can’t say exactly when-”

“WHADDEYE MEAN ‘IT JUST HAPPENED’?! FECKIN HELL FREEZES OVER AND YE SAY ‘IT JUST HAPPENED’?!” howled Clover before Tank sat on her.

“...Is this what it looks like from the outside?” asked Hawk with a frown. “Gods, it’s so weird to see this from the outside…”

“Nevermind that,” ordered Rat. “Pack your gear and be ready to move in three hours. We're bound for the City of Sins.”

To Be Continued...

Author's Note

AND WE ARE BACK!!! 2 Years, 6 Months, and 2 weeks later. Honestly, I have no excuse besides "Life" and "2020". But I do have some good news.
First, during that time, I wrote the entire arc. Yes, Arc 5 is fully written and ready to go. I just need to make sure that there aren't any glaring issues, but once that's confirmed, I will roll the chapters out like clockwork.
Second, more details will be in a followup blog, but during the time that I was working on this, I was busy working on another project with another VirtueVerse author, which we hope to have published soon.
Cheers, and thanks for sticking with me thus far.