We Are Vengeance. We Are The Night. We... Are... Batmare!
Soft And Take Heed, Subjects.
Our full moon cast its brilliant light down upon Canterlot's bustling city streets. We stood sentry at the edge of a towering brick-and-mortar edifice, peering down at the ponies who walked up and down the concrete pathways. Echoes of a merchant advertising her wares reverberated from the distance, in tandem with those of flutes from a nearby tavern. The lunar rays peering down from above covered the alleyways in stygian shadows – it was here that we had made our eye most keen.
We took a glance back at our wardrobe to examine our equipment. Our black cape hung down over our costume, a gray jumpsuit held secure by a yellow utility belt around the waist and emblazoned with a bat upon the chest. A black cowl rested upon our head, giving our countenance a resemblance to the creature imaged upon our uniform. Verily, we were prepared to do battle against any rapscallion who would dare harm our adoring subjects. It was then that we heard the cries of such a victim from an alleyway to our left.
“Help!” cried the damsel. “Help! Robber! Thief!”
We snapped our gaze over yonder, in the direction of the commotion. Nary a second was wasted as we whipped ourselves around and ran across the roof at full gallop. When we had reached the edge of the building, we made a mighty leap over the alley, watching as our momentum carried us aloft to the other side. Our hooves then landed squarely on the other building.
“Help! Please help!”
We increased the vigor of our gallop. After one more leap between roofs and one more second of running, we stood above the source of the shouting. And forsooth! There, down below, was a mare who laid battered and bruised on the concrete floor, tears running down her cheeks, and clear distress expressed in her eyes. We swore within our own mind that we would find the perpetrator of this dastardly deed – nopony harms our loyal subjects and escapes our holy retribution!
We spread our wings, then let ourselves drop from the edge of the building to glide down and speak to the victim of the atrocity. Once we made touchdown, we stood face-to-face with her, a unicorn whose pink mane draped smoothly over her white coat.
“Art thou unwell?” we asked.
“Yay. I am, for my purse hath been stolen from me.”
“Worry not,” we beseeched the mare. “Your vigilant guardian of the night comes to bring ye justice. Point us to the perpetrator so that we may exact retribution upon this brute and return your purse to ye.”
The mare took a shaky breath before looking upon us with a smile. “I give ye my thanks, brave heroine. The thug gallopeth down the street of Gerard’s Way, to your left. If ye would taketh flight, then surely, ye would find him in scant time.”
“We have no need for thy thanks, citizen. Only the knowledge that we doeth good is enough to salve our heart.”
With that, we spread our wings, then lifted ourselves aloft. We spun in the air as we gained altitude, then performed a loop to carry our momentum forward. Once we were sufficiently swift and high, we zoomed across the city block in the direction of Gerard’s Way. Soon enough, we observed the suspect, a slovenly earth pony stallion who held a pink purse in his teeth by its cloth handle. He had just entered one of the buildings through a door etched with foul graffiti before slamming it shut behind him.
We pointed our front hooves down at the door as we retracted our wings halfway. Our descent in the door’s direction was swift; our momentum built up as the distance shrunk. The air whooshed past our countenance the further we went. In short order, our hooves made contact with the door. With an echoing clang, the metal door broke off from the brick wall by its hinges, dragging itself halfway across the floor with a large dent at its center.
The building we had entered was a warehouse stocked lightly with empty wooden crates along its walls. Cobwebs covered the corners and the broken windows, the latter allowing our moon’s light to illuminate the room, if only barely.
“Come hither!” we shouted. “Come out from thy shadows and engage us in combat, so that we may doeth justice… unless thou art a coward.”
But soft. A sinister cackling – no, multiple sinister cacklings – filled the room from all directions. We looked around; emerging from the shadows were no fewer than fifty brutish thugs. Our eyebrows shot up in surprise, but only for a second, for it quickly donned on us that the trap was all too obvious in hindsight. We cursed ourselves underneath our breath for our impetuousness. As we finished, we caught a glimpse of a large, white form approaching us from our right. Once there, we caught a sight that we had, for the briefest of moments, found unbelievable. Our own sister, Princess Celestia, approached from amongst the sward of vile wretches, shooting at us a devilish grin that bubbled with mirth.
“How now,” she said. “I see thine impatient nature hath brought thee into yet another pickle.”
“Celestia! Thou dare to enact treachery upon thine own kin? Wherefor?”
Our sister chuckled. “Surely thou jest, unless ye play the fool. Thou knowest exactly my purpose for entrapping thee.”
Those words struck our heart with dread, for verily, we did. Our mouth went agape, and our eyebrows shot up, at the reminder of what we had been avoiding for a fair while. “No… surely, thou dost not mean…”
“I do.” Our sister’s horn then glowed with its golden aura, along with some form in the distance which was obscured by shadows. The form brought itself closer, until it appeared in the light in front of our traitorous kin. There was a small gold-rimmed plate, with three tiny capsules that emanated a sickly green glow from their purple exteriors resting upon it. “Thou hast need to take thy medicine, Luna. Thou art unwell. If ye do not do so willingly, I will be forced to take more drastic measures.”
“Ye dastardly villain!” we shouted at the top of our lungs. “Ye lowly traitor of kin! We shalt never consume thy repugnant concoction!”
With renewed vigor, we pushed ourselves aloft with our wings, circling in the air around the warehouse’s interior in search of the purse. As we did so, our treacherous kin sent shockwaves in our direction from her horn, clearly to throw off our balance. Yet, our own magic had the strength to counter; we shielded ourselves from the attack. Our vision became a slight blur between the deflected shockwaves and our own speedy flight. We were covered in a haze of gray and brown. One would assume such a vibrant color as pink would be readily apparent in such a drab deluge, yet this time, it was not. However, we faltered not in our search for the purse of the distressed damsel over yonder.
Fatigue had soon set in; we were shaken to the bone by our sister’s persistent assault upon our person. Our eyelids grew heavy over our vision as the want for rest threatened to consume us.
“Give up!” our sister called out. “Thy search is for naught. The purse was a decoy. Surrender to mine evil wishes before y- “
“Soft!” we interrupted. We had nary the stomach for the cruel mare’s taunting.
The time was approaching for us to give up hope, as our energies were soon to wane. Yet, a lining in the cloud, for we had spotted the purse atop a crate in the darkest corner of the room!
Our focus centered upon mine objective as we whooshed in, charging our horn to demolish the wall which stood between the purse and the outside world. With nearly the last of our energy, we unleashed a mighty magical beam at the wall, observing as it crumbled before our might. The way outside opened just in time for us to clutch the purse in our teeth, then soar up into the air, escaping our would-be assailant.
“Curse ye, Luna!” we heard our sister shout from behind us. “Curse ye and thine infuriating penchant for selfless heroism!”
Satisfaction swelled within us as we steadied our climb, bringing ourselves to sufficient altitude to turn back to the crowd and return the purse to the damsel over yonder. There hath never been a more glorious feeling than that of thwarting a dastardly villain in service of the common good. And indeed, every villain to the last whom had sought to get away with their grimes hath been thwarted, for we are vengeance. We are the night. We… are… Batmare!
