Operation Firework

The city of Canterlot is attacked by villains quite often. The Storm King and his armada would be the most recent example to join the conga-line of failed attempts. Not for lack of trying, you understand, but for lack of foresight. When you have no friends, sure, it means you don't have to depend on anyone. But that also means, when you fall, there's no one to catch you. Ask the Storm King about that.

A month has passed since that day, and like many other attempts at the royal city, Canterlot has recovered as quickly as ever. It's almost like nothing happened. Sun rises in the morning. Moon rises at night. Rich ponies fritter away in their lavish abodes.

"Help! Somepony, anypony, please help me!"

"Ugh, shut up!"

And selfish creatures hide away from the moonlight.

The mugger, a gruff mule with a face to match his manners, takes one last tug at the elderly mare's purse, prying it from her tired old hooves. With a triumphant scoff towards his sobbing victim, he turns on his hooves and flees the scene.

Behind him, he hears the sound of hoof-steps drawing closer. Metal on cobblestone. The pursuer's wearing metal horseshoes, probably a Canterlot guard!

The mugger takes a quick turn down a nearby alley in an attempt to shake off his pursuer. A few sharp, winding turns later and he finds himself onto a different street, deserted and silent. Looks like he managed to lose them.

"I'm not one for fashion," a mare's voice, as silky as flowing water, hisses from behind the mule. "But that purse doesn't suit you."

"Wh- what the-!?"

Despite every nerve in his body telling him not to turn around, he does so anyway. There, he finds himself face-to-face with a pair of piercing blue-green eyes, and the remains of a horn that cackles with unsuppressed energy. Before the mugger can even draw breath for a curse, a jolt of electrical magic erupts forth, causing him to drop the purse and fall to the floor in a fit of convulsion. A metal-clad hoof, as swift as an autumn leaf in a hurricane, presses against his prone neck.

"N-no! I know wh-who you are! Everyone does! P-please! J-just take it back and leave me alone! I- I-"

The mugger's begging is reduced to a whimper by the mare's stare alone. "Here's what we're going to do," she commands without raising a single note in her voice. "I'm going to return this property to its rightful owner. You're going to come with me, and wait for the guards to retrieve you. Is that clear?"

"I- if you try that," the mugger unconvincingly attempts to snarl, "I'll just g-get up and r-run. Y-you can't make me lie around a-and let some guards-"

SMACK!

The mare's armoured hoof, almost too quick to be seen, drives itself into the criminal's forehead. His skull bounces off the cobblestone pavement, and with a confused squeal, he falls unconscious.

"Yes," replies the vigilante, "I can make you do just that." And on that note, she grabs an unresponsive limb, hoists him over her back, and starts walking.

*******

If there's one thing Tempest Shadow, former commander of the Storm King's army, hasn't gotten used to yet, it's the praise. Watching this elderly mare thank her over and over again for helping in her time of need, calling her such things as "a wonderful dear", "a hero" and even "a guardian angel" is surreal to her.

This time last month, Tempest Shadow would never have even thought about helping other ponies. Worse, if this old lady had gotten in the way of her during the invasion, she would have trampled all over her, and anyone else.

Together, Tempest and the senior citizen approach the nearest group of guards they could find: three of them flying alongside each other, patrolling the city. Closer inspection reveals that the three guards each had the leathery wings of a bat. After a short exchange of words between Tempest and them, with the elderly mare backing up her statement, the three guards set about their business: one offered to walk the victim home, another zipped off with the unconscious mugger, and the third...

"Gimme a second," the bat-guard explains. "The boss asked me to do this if we ever saw ya." And then, he places a forehoof up to his mouth, and blows.

The whistling is almost imperceivable, save for a strange ringing sensation. Many ponies in their nearby homes would never have paid it any mind. The dark figure that suddenly blots out the moonlight from above, however, takes notice.

Gently, the mysterious shadow floats toward the ground, the street lights revealing her as none other than Princess Luna, one half of the two Royal Sisters. Without a word, the remaining bat-guard bows and takes his leave.

"My, you've certainly been busy this past month," she muses. Tempest's eyes narrow, if just by a little.

"If you know that much about me, you know that I've not been hurting anyone who doesn't deserve it."

"I'm aware, and for the sake of clarification, you're not in any trouble," the nightly princess pauses. "Save for the fact you're making my night guards seem rather incompetent at this point."

"Tell them to get better at being guards," Tempest jibes before walking away. It takes a moment for Luna to realise she's just been brushed off.

"Hey, wait just a moment!" a scuttle of royal hooves on the pavement later, and she's trotting alongside the ex-commander, "As I mentioned, I know what you've been doing this past month - sleeping in cheap accommodation by day, and being some kind of vigilante by night - and I also know why you're doing it."

"Humour me, then."

"You're trying to redeem yourself, Tempest Shadow. You suppose if you save enough lives during your time here, you'll balance out all the lives you ruined."

"Great observation, princess. Now I see where the bat-guards get their deduction skills from."

"Ignoring that insult," Luna says, without clenching her teeth that much, "what if We offered you a way to save many lives at once? That way you wouldn't have to aimlessly wander the streets like a lost soul, just waiting for a chance to save one pony at a time-"

"If you're asking me to become a Royal Guard," Tempest cuts her off, "I'm not interested; silently standing around royalty for hours on end isn't my idea of saving lives."

"A Royal Guard?" Luna parrots back at her, "No, Tempest, we're not asking you of that. Not in the traditional sense at least; your skills would be wasted loitering around a throne room."

"Then why are you here?" the unicorn scowls. A flicker of energy sparks out from her broken horn.

"I'm here to offer you a much more suitable role on behalf of both myself and my sister. Perhaps you'd feel more useful with a small contingent of operatives that work all over Equestria, on much higher stakes than the occasional ruffian."

Tempest stops in her tracks. "How much higher?"

"Potentially preventing disasters."

"And how many others will I have to work with?"

"Between one and ten, depending on the severity or secrecy of the task."

Tempest's eyes look to the starry skies above. The unicorn remembers the lights, the music, and the rare feeling of genuine acceptance she felt one month ago. She remembers the fateful night that set her on the first right path in years. "Princess Twilight did say more friends were definitely merrier, didn't she?"

Finally, she turns to the Princess of the Night. "Tell me more about these... operatives."