Once there were two princesses who ruled over Equestria.

Once there were six heroic mares who formed ministries to save the world.

Once there was a war.

Once there was a final day.

Then all of Equestria burned away.

Once there was a wasteland.

Once there was a mare. A mare that came from a little hole who fled safety and sacrificed soul for a world right, a world whole.

Once there was sun and rainbows and bursting clouds.

And as the present fades to the past - once there was me.

Prologue:

“Final perseverance is the doctrine that wins the eternal victory in small things as in great”

I drifted slowly. Serene.

Alarms screeched. Metal groaned deep as the wreckage folded under its own weight. Somewhere, an engine failed and whined. Its complaints grew louder until, with a wrending of steel and a final, mechanical roar, it exploded. Its shrapnel pinged as it pierced the interior around it. Oil dripped steadily in a near rain, mixing with the fetlock high water to make abstract twists and twirls.

My breath was ragged. I had long stopped feeling the rebar spearing through my chest, nor did I feel the engine’s debris as it dug into my flank and halted deep within the flesh. Every sensation was faint. Muted. The rebar glistened with my blood in the sunlight. Its warped metal twisted through my left wing and reached towards the sky. Towards that beautiful, blue horizon.

I had done it. I had succeeded. My friends, New Pegasus, the NCR, all of it. Seven long years since Sunshine and Rainbows and now Equestria was finally free.

The water lapped at my sides. Lake Stead was consuming the last remnant of an empire. The last piece of technology harnessed to kill. To hurt. Somewhere below, deep within the recesses of the lake, there were the remains of the mangled tower.

A smile, bloody and beaten, curled along my muzzle. I could feel my life leaking, tinting the water scarlet, mixing with the oil in macabre patterns.

Tired. I was so tired. It didn’t matter. I could rest now. Sleep forever. I had earned it.

The water was rising. It engulfed my ears. The dull sounds around me became garbled. I was laying on my back. I watched blood spray up the rebar in time with my heartbeat. My smile, it dared not drop. It grew wider.

I closed my eyes. Let out a slow breath. A shadow loomed against the lids of my vision. Distantly, I thought I heard the sound of wings. Lake Stead enveloped me.

I only prayed that history remembered me fondly.

Act 1: Enclave

Chapter 1: Tennis Ace

Omnium rerum principia parva sunt sicut mendacium gentis

“The beginnings of all things are small, as are the lies of all nations.”

–Cicero, Roaman statezebra.

The sun beat down upon me with little mercy. My eyes narrowed in careful consideration. We were evenly matched. My opponent had skill and knowledge; I had wit and agility. I adjusted my stance in anticipation. No way he was going to win this fight.

The clouds below me puffed as I reared skyward and pushed off. Wings flared, teeth clenched, every inch of me screamed with exhaustion and exhilaration. My skull throbbed and my lungs gobbled air in quick, staccato bursts.

My wing curved. Loose black feathers fluttered to the clouds. My hoof held in front of me for aim, gaze thinning in calculation. A growl of concentration slipped my lips as I made a few adjustments. Tilt my wing, add some spin, make it fast.

This was it.

I swung.

THWAK!

The tennis ball cracked as it met contact with the space just below the tip of my right wing. Follow-through sent it ripping across the court with an audible buzz. My muscles pulsed. The green ball cleared the net by an inch and smashed onto the other side, scarcely touching the cloud before rocketing off towards the pegasus waiting just past the boundary line.

He didn’t move. There was a small grin on his face. I knew, even this far away, there was that twinkle in his eyes and that confidence that crackled around him like a storm. My heart thudded. I wiped the sweat from my brow.

With an ease and grace only he could manage, he spread a wing, stepped back, and effortlessly returned the ball. It skimmed the net and flicked high into the blinding glare of the sun. Its speed sent it spinning like a small planet; if I didn’t meet it in the air it’d be unpredictable.

I saw it. A wings length above me, falling fast. No time to think. I smashed it down, expelling a grunt. The effort translated into pure energy and the ball landed like a bullet just barely in the singles line. With that speed he’d have to play it safe.

But he had no trouble at all. He watched it approach as if it was nothing more than an annoying gnat to swat away. There was no way he could get it. He was too far, too slow, but I watched with awe and a teensy bit of frustration as he moved like lightning. One second in the middle of the court, the next an inch from the ball.

Buck! I should have known!

The return was equally fast.

I retorted with a sky-high, playing it safe.

He returned it with a smash.

I backwinged.

He hit with a killer forewing.

I surged forward. My wing clashed against the ball. Momentum sent it screaming back across the court. And like Celestia herself with all her grace and calm, my opponent simply popped it back like tossing an apple.

I watched it fly in its high arc. It slowed as it reached its summit, drifting almost tranquil, like it was caught in a spell. Reflexively my back legs coiled. I flared my wings to their full span. Every nerve stung in tandem, the sweat in my eyes burned. The clouds did more than just plume as I pushed off. They exploded in a shower of mist and vapor as the sheer strength of my jump and the force of my wings catapulted me upwards.

I must have been a sight, body uncoiling like a spring, forehooves speared upwards, wings tight against my sides, eyes on nothing but the ball and its descent. I wondered if I looked like a superheated round of artillery, hurling into the air all red and angry and made for devastation.

One Maressissippi.

Two Maressissippi.

Three!

I angled my right wing and swung my entire body left. The impact of the ball recoiled through my spine and clamored about my skull. Pure exhilaration met with endorphins and cocktailed into this indescribable crash of...of… well, I’m pretty sure I started getting a wing-boner because of it.

It was that awesome of a shot.

And it was short-lived.

“Fuck yeah!” I shouted, probably far too loud for the suburban neighborhood that hugged the courts. Gravity dragged its greedy hooves across me as I plummeted back first. I offered a lazy glance down and the net was right there. My wings flailed. The net reached up to greet me as my spiral threw me into it. I let out a yelp, tumbled over, and with an unceremonious thump landed in a tangle of my own limbs.

There was a sound like somepony punching a pillow and a short squeak I adamantly refused to believe was me. A blush ambushed my cheeks to the tune of a drifting laugh as I struggled to untangle myself.

“Ha, hooo, oh sweet Celestia, that was awesome!” My opponent was curled around himself on the court clouds, fighting for breath between ridiculous, totally not adorable spouts of laughter.

I brushed a few thin vapor wisps off my chest and fluffed my wings in indignation. “Was it at least in?” I tried to hide the sheepishness creeping from my tongue. Muddled and a tad jarred, I peered around. Nothing. I knit my eyebrows. The ball was nowhere to be seen.

I hopped the net when he wasn’t looking. “It wasn’t that funny,” I muttered to myself as I extended a hoof. He took it without a fuss, fighting little giggles as he got to his hooves. “It wasn’t that funny, Thunder.” I repeated lamely. My heart melted a little at the goofy grin that made his eyes shine. Curse him.

Thunder was on the small side for a pegasus. He was the buck you’d think was a complete nerd, only to find yourself face first in a cloud bank the moment you insulted him. To his credit most of the time he would attempt to disarm the situation diplomatically if it went that far. He was a rules and regulation pony. Sometimes a little too much.

Me on the other hoof? I was usually the one that put ponies into cloudbanks.

His mane was cropped short to officer standard but it shone gloriously gold under the bright sun. On his flank were two thunderclouds billowing with electrical current. Each cloud had hoof-prints plodding across them. His fur was black and he had a beautiful set of gem green eyes that a pony could get lost in. If they did they would probably end up face first in a cloudbank.

My eyes only kind of deal.

I let him giggle fatuously as I hunted for the ball. It was the third one I’d lost today, and the club would have my hind if they found out. They had a three strikes out policy and I wasn’t about to incur their wrath by fessing up.

“Ace,” said Thunder eventually. There was a tickle of astonishment in his voice. It lapsed to a quiet awe as he said again, “Ace.”

“Yeah?” I glanced over. He had this wide-eyed look to him as he gazed down at his hooves. I rolled my eyes as he kept staring. Didn’t even look up at me. What the stars was so crazy to make him-

“Woah,” I said to nopony in particular.

Thunder said, “yeah.”

“Was that...was that me?”

“I think so.”

“Holy buck.” At his hooves, the size of a tennis ball, was a hole punched through the clouds. Clouds that were at least a wing length thick. Clouds designed specifically to withstand the continual impact of ponies and...and yet the hole was still there, even as I blinked. Perfectly circular and smooth.

I had done that, I thought.

“Damn.”

Through the tear and far, far below, I spied the ruddy colors of the Marjave desert. A few mountains and hills crowded the edges. A massive, dry lake bed stretched as far as the eye could see and a faded black road wound like a snake through the sand. In the distance, the offensive construction of an old city shone.

I remembered the name Las Pegasus from a history lesson as a colt. Below the safe clouds lay the ruins of Equestria, scattered and far-stretching and ever desolate, ruined by balefire. Above was the new, more prosperous, greater world of the Grand Pegasus Enclave. A world clean and perfect. Well, was, would be the operative word.

“Take note foals! We are the last great bastion of a ruined world! The majestic detritus of a golden but fallible age. We must not make the same mistakes! Echoed an old memory of Miss Clip, my school teacher as a foal. She pointed a wing at an emblem of clouds and wings with a pair of eyes gazing from an arch of green and purple over black. What do you think of the Enclave children?”

We had all mumbled, antsy and energetic for school to let out, “The Enclave is all-seeing and all-caring. We are safe above the clouds.” Miss Clip had frowned. Her eyes fell over each and every one of us. She was looking for something, I didn’t know what. And as her eyes passed my form and onto the next foal I finished quietly, the way my dad did the day I had proudly belted out the new mantra I had learned, his face suddenly solemn and forlorn: “--because the truth is hidden far below.”

I had looked up to Miss Clip staring. She had asked me to stay after class.

Even with the distance, I could gaze upon the skyscrapers and perimeter walls. I saw buildings like clumps of dirt and a net of roads scattered from the city. Dimly, I was aware of an air-ship port on the outskirts but it wasn’t what caught my eye. What caught my eye was the thin spire-like building spearing the sky. It must have been almost a hundred stories tall and attempted to gut the clouds. It took my breath away.

“Guess we’re not getting that tennis ball back,” I said absent-mindedly.

Funny how life has a penchant for irony.

Thunder grunted. His wings fluttered. He said, “move.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Why? Nopony’s gonna see.” As if to add theatrical emphasis a low gust toppled an empty tennis ball canister. It rolled noisily along the court.

“Move,” Thunder said, a little more forceful. He looked like he’d seen a ghost.

I understood why, really. Destruction of cloud cover was a punishable offense. But didn’t he share the curiosity? The wonder? There was only so much somepony could do up here. Only so much somepony could see. It was all whites and clouds and boring.

He glared at me. I watched him try to hide the lick of anxiety that must have spurred within, but his wings fidgeted and he started to whinny.

I rolled my eyes. Thunder, always the diligent do-gooder. “Fine,” I huffed and stepped back. He kicked his forehooves like he was trying to raise a dust cloud. A few wisps of vapor lapped at his fetlocks. He looked at me expectantly. “Fine,” I grumbled again. It was my mess, I guess, and I was supposed to fix it. But if he hadn’t hit so hard this would have never happened.

As I worked to fill the hole, shoveling clouds into my hooves from the corners of the court, I kept glancing at Thunder. He was sitting over the hole, hoof tapping, eyes darting, head turning, searching anywhere and everywhere for somepony to pop into existence and see what we’d done.

My eyes flicked to his. They were looking at me. I offered a goofy grin. His lips perked, his eyelids fluttered. I winked. His eyes widened. I started to smirk at the thought of leaving him flustered with my sexy, sexy charm.

And ran muzzle first into the fence.

I nickered in surprise, stumbling back as my pile of clouds puffed into mist. Thunder laughed again. Luna's ass, my luck today! I glared at him and went about gathering more cloud fluff.

It didn’t take long to patch the hole.

“You’re clumsy today,” Thunder teased.

“Hey, your hot flank distracted me!” I scowled at him and gave an indignant snort. It wasn’t my fault he was cute, or that he hit a return like he was trying to kill me. He rolled his eyes and chuckled. He was a hard stallion to make blush.

“Did I now? Sure you weren’t tired from getting your flank kicked?”

Oh he did not!

“Hey, that last ball was in! If I remember correctly that means I won!” I narrowed my eyes at him, it didn’t really have an effect. Thunder dealt with Enclave officers and officials after all, kind of hard to be intimidated by the buck who forgot how to use his wings and ran into a fence.

He deadpanned, “It fell through the ground.”

“Well the court lines extend from the ground to space, and the ball fell through the clouds sooooo.” I stuck my tongue out at him. The hole looked like it had never been there. Well, besides the scraped-off portions of cloud at the edge of the court. But nopony needed to know about that.

“Ace, I was the captain of the tennis team while at the academy, that is not true at all.”

I gasped, feigning surprise, but I couldn’t stop the coy grin tugging at my muzzle. “Did you just,” his eyes widened a tinge, “oh you did!”

Thunder started, “I didn’t.”

“You did! You totally just bragged about being the tennis captain! Dude, do you know how lame that is?” The grin grew. “Totally lame!”

“It’s not!” It was his turn to be indignant. Unconsciously, he straightened his shoulders and spread his wings. I almost, almost burst out laughing at the display.

“It totally is. Lame. It’s totally lame, Thunder.”

“It is not!” He repeated. Lamely.

I snorted and joked, “You’re telling me that lording your captain's status on the tennis team to your coltfriend, isn’t the least bit, totally, really lame?”

Thunder’s face dropped. His eyes narrowed and his brow cinched. His jaw clenched so tight I thought I could hear them grind. A pang of guilt and realization clawed at my chest. Regret swept over as I watched his wings press tight against his sides.

“Don’t say that out loud,” he hissed, heated and fast.

I cringed, ears twitching, and held up a hoof in apology. “I’m sorry, I forgot. It just slipped out.” His eyes narrowed further as if he was surveying me, evaluating me, trying to determine if I would slip up again. “No C-word.” I promised, and after a moment his jaw loosened and he relaxed. He looked around warily. Nopony was there.

“Sorry, I just-”

“No, no I should apologize,” I said. We’d had this conversation a thousand times.

He said: “No, I shouldn’t have snapped. It was mean.”

I said: “I get it.”

He replied: “It’s just-”

“No fraternization between service members of different ranks,” I parroted. I had it memorized by heart by now. I tried to hide the disappointment in my voice but the wounded look on Thunder’s face told me I didn’t quite have the act down.

“I’m sorry, I know it hurts but it’s just for our safety! I want you to be my...y'know, and you are, we just can't show it in public or we'll lose our jobs or… worse!” The way he paused made my teeth clench. It wasn’t his fault. I knew why he insisted on it–stars I knew–but it still made me angry at the thought, at the hollow realization that I couldn’t call Thunder my own simply because he was a higher rank.

“Nopony’s around,” I grumbled sourly. It was unfair.

“I know,” he said softly. He wanted to say more, his mouth opening reflexively, but he shut it and blew out a deep sigh. “Let’s clean up."

The Grand Pegasus Enclave didn’t hate coltcuddlers or fillyfoolers. They encouraged it. Between the overpopulation and constant food shortages why not shack up with a stallion and show him a good time?! You’re doing Celestia’s work by doing your fellow buck! That’s what the Enclave advertised, maybe not in so many words and with a dull, boring insistence on prudishness. Even anecdotal rumblings here and there from academics argued that fighting alongside your mate made you work faster and stronger, some zebra spartan logic I didn’t quite follow. There were tax breaks and benefits!

Orientation wasn’t the issue. Regulation was.

Enclave fraternization doctrine allowed for interpersonal relationships with pegasi above and below your rank with a disallowance between an officer and enlisted. Should fraternization occur outside the selected boundaries, the blame, and therefore consequences, would fall to the pony of a higher rank. Which was total bullshit. I was a captain in a completely different unit and Thunder was a lieutenant-colonel. A single. Damned. Rank. Separated us from the acceptable limits.

But since those limits existed, it was a point of contention and stress for Thunder. Plenty of pegasi disobeyed the doctrine, and the Enclave didn’t care. As long as you weren’t some three-star general plowing some grunt’s plot they did buck all! Thunder believed that if anypony found out he was with a captain the stars would explode and the clouds would evaporate, especially a Molder. End of the world for him. Which it wasn’t, duh, but he claimed because he was young and his superiors disapproved of his age (he was 23 with top academic marks, it was a wonder he didn’t rank higher), they were all gunning for some dirt to throw on his sexy, shiny black coat.

Looking back and knowing what I do now? I would have tore at that hole in the clouds and wriggled through to spare him the mountain of dirt I ended up creating.

The tennis courts were part of an officer’s club meant for the upper echelons of the Grand Pegasus Enclave. It was situated in the middle of a large suburb west of Neighliss and Grand Pegasus. There was a small cafe and rec room nestled next to the entrance but hardly anypony actually went there, let alone used the courts. It was too hot most days for tennis and there were closer venues for officers. Or they're lazy and old, I thought as we passed a paunchy senior pegasus with his wife. He was wearing a uniform with a general’s insignia and Thunder and I snapped our hoofs together and gave a winged salute.

He waved his wing back lazily and smiled. It didn’t quite reach his eyes and he spent a moment staring at Thunder. His fur was a creme color. His mane was gray with age. His eyes were a steely, piercing brown, nearly black in the bright sunlight. “Right,” said the name on his chest.

I didn’t have the energy to fly. My wings were sore and my mood was sour. So I walked and Thunder glided quietly beside me. Neither of us spoke. I felt another wrench of guilt that grew deeper as I realized how much my silence must be hurting him. I was torn between stubbornness and the need to apologize.

“Ace,” Thunder said. His voice was low and there was a touch of nerve there.

“Yeah?” I asked.

“I’m sorry.” I lied, but there was a half-truth within, “It’s okay. I forgive you.”

He blew a sigh of relief.

“But only if you buy me a drink.” I grinned and offered a salacious wink. “Free drinks are the best way to earn forgiveness, at least that’s what my ma says!” She didn’t. The only advice she ever gave was the kind veiled within an insult. I fought off a disparaging frown at the thought.

Thunder rolled his eyes and shook his head, “Uh-huh, and what drink would that be?”

Wide(r) grin? Check! Creeping excitement at the thought of getting sloshed? Check! A coltfriend and free drinks? Check, check! “Oh you know, the hard kind. I’m thinking…” I tapped my chin with my hoof, feigning thought, “good ol’ whiskey! And I know just the place!”

“How about we have something without whiskey?” He said.

Without the whiskey? I feigned an uncomfortably inordinate amount of thinking. Eventually, I said, cocking my head: “Water?”

He face hoofed. “You’re a complete dolt y’know that?” He fluttered his wings and stretched his shoulders. I traced an eye along the strong, taut muscles that outlined his perfect fur. Who am I to turn down a little eye candy?

Somepony cleared their throat from across the counter. A green mare with her pink mane in a ponytail eyeballed us. She looked like she was pushing her forties and didn’t want to be there. Frankly, now that she was neither did I. She looked familiar, uncomfortably so. My eyes flickered to the name tag on her chest that read “Paper”.

There was usually an old mare behind the counter, I could never remember her name, but I guess she was out.

“Hello!” I said, she stared at me blankly. Thunder snorted in reaction; her eyes flicked to his. Ah, fake coughing fit, good save, Thundy.

“We’re here to return the canister,” I said as I placed it on the counter. She picked it up with her wing and began to slide it towards her before she stopped. Her head turned slowly to regard the empty tin mysteriously lacking its three tennis balls before looking back at me.

Phooey, I almost thought that would work.

“Where are the contents of the canister?” She tapped the plastic cap with a hoof.

I chuckled sheepishly. “They’re uhhhh, they are-” I licked my lips. “Somewhere?”

She sighed. She wasn’t even mad, just tired of my existence. Somehow that stung. “Do you see that sign behind me?” She thrust her hoof at a chalkboard.

“Uh, yeah,” I said, squinting at it. Luna, that old mare had had bad hoofwriting. It said something about losing balls. I didn’t really understand why she had put her plans for her husband up there but I guess it was as good a place as any.

With little patience for my antics, Paper stated: “Each player is allowed a loss of three tennis balls”–in poorly erased chalk was (these things happen!) Perhaps a lost relic from a happier time–” before receiving a fine of 5 bits per ball.”

I blinked. 5-perwhatnow? I turned to look incredulously at Thunder who mouthed gay. I scrunched my brow and my confusion must have translated well enough to my face because he said, “Ace. Pay.”

So I did because curse Thunder and his power over me! Always making me do good things.

“I’ll need your address,” Paper scraped the bits off the counter into a little tin underneath it. It clinked and clanked as she mouthed out the count quietly. “For the receipt,” she said when I asked why.

I nodded and signed the small slip she slid forward.

She withdrew it and stared, head cocked at my writing. That sense of unease grew. It swept up my spine and gathered on the back of my neck. I hadn’t a clue why.

After a moment of consideration her ears dipped and she huffed out a long, “I’m sick of your shit” sigh and leaned close like my ma would when she got fed up. It was the kinda sigh that resonated in your bones and told you she was about to say some real aggravating shit. I began to sneer.

“The hoof-off will be at 0600 hours Wednesday.”

And the sneer dropped. My ears twitched a few times. My feathers ruffled as I adjusted my wings without thinking. Okay. I was not expecting that. In the strange silence that lingered I gazed at her, really studied her. Her coat was a dark green, her pink mane was mussed and glistened with some mane-care product. She had a cutie-mark of a stack of papers held together by a paperclip. Faintly, I thought I smelled the cloying scent of dirt and earth, the kind that stuck to my dad’s fur after a long tour on the scavenging teams. Her eyes, while gray, had this lightning spark to them.

We held each other’s gaze for a flick then she thanked us for our patronage, assuring me she would send the receipt to my home as soon as possible.

I nodded dumbly.

“What was that about,” Thunder whispered as we trotted away.

“I...I have no clue, dude,” I said.

I didn't tell Thunder until it was far too late. I should have, I know that now, but then, gliding a fair distance above the clouds, I didn’t want to worry him with cryptic remarks from a receptionist who worked at an officers’ club damn near abandonment.

Suburbs rolled out below us. In the distance were the buildings of Grand Pegasus, white and blinding. Pegasi flitted around like ants, flying about their duties and lives. Air carriages hovered over the roads and the occasional sky tank buzzed by far above. I watched a few as they took off and landed from Neighliss Cloud base. The sprawling, towering military complex, bristling with weaponry, glinted in the evening sun. A few raptors drifted here and there, and a thunderhead floated, moored to the base. The impressive Neighvada territory SPP tower hugged the Northern edge, cloud farms sprawling for acres around.

Our wings dipped low as Thunder and I spun slowly into a street full of cookie-cutter houses. The same two stories, blank cloud lawn, cloud mailbox, cloud door, cloud window frames, cloud, cloud, cloud sprawled for miles. Cloud everything. It was military housing; a pegasus couldn’t expect anything different.

We landed in front of one that differentiated itself only with the numbers ‘222’. There was a stack of mail on the steps and a fake cloud plant by the door.

I had stayed remarkably silent most of the journey. I was too focused on the puzzled, pulsing thoughts that pinged around my skull like bullets. What the buck did she mean hoofoff?! Who was she? Why did she look so familiar? Thunder kept glancing at me from the corner of his eye, muzzle twitched to a frown and brow furrowed. I was too caught up to notice.

He broke the silence as he scooped up the mail. His hoof was inches from the door. He asked, “Would you like to come in?” He nodded towards it for emphasis.

After another lapse of silence, “Ace?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it, then blinked as my thoughts caught up to me. They threatened to fry my brain. Too much. Fuck, too much. There were uncomfortable memories surfacing now: a flash of a mane as a stallion fled into the night; dim rays of sunlight glinting off of the ruined buildings of Las Pegasus; my mother sobbing quietly at the dinner table, a drained bottle of wine and a picture held in her hooves–it was the only time she cried. The hoof-off will be at 0600 hours Wednesday.

Through the storm of thoughts, like a bolt of lighting up blackened clouds eager to drench the world in rain, one question tumbled. With a million volts of electric power it found its mark on Thunder.

“They suspect you, don’t they?”

And there it was. Out. Of all times the question found itself it was now, pulsing up from miles of walls and dirt and attempts to bury it. There it was. What a strange time to ask. Standing in front of his home, sweating from a hard tennis game and reeling from the unexpected.

Thunder stared. His eyes caught mine and held. For a moment, neither of us moved nor said a word. To anypony he would have looked like he was studying me. But I knew Thunder and all his little reactions. His left eye twitched and he took a hitched breath ever so often as if he had to remind himself to breathe. His back hooves made grooves in the clouds. His whole body held in anticipation.

“Thunder?”

His jaw locked. There was little in the way of indication but his chin pulled slightly taut, and the muscles of his neck bulged ever so lightly. He didn’t answer, but the gears of my brain, however rusty, turned steadily on.

His eyes narrowed.

I ran a hoof through my mane, fascinated by the way the porch clouds looked exactly the same as the path, the walls, the pot and its plant, the clouded floor, and on and on and on until I ran out of places to look. The heat of his gaze burned holes in my feigned interest, leaving nothing but an acute discomfort.

“There was that general, dude. He looked familiar”–Like Paper.

“Stop.” he interrupted.

I looked at him expectantly. I was going to babble. I had planned on it.

He sighed, “You have to come in now, I suppose.” His ears drooped. He turned, swiftly stepped inside. I peeked through the open door. If this was anypony else I would have joked about an unsaid ‘I have to kill you’. Between his strange attitude and my idiotic bumbling, I figured it would be best not to exacerbate the situation.

The main hallway was little in the way of unique. There was a room a few hoofsteps from the front. A staircase climbed up to the first story above. Familiar pictures greeted me as I crossed the threshold and closed the door gently behind me: a young Thunder, flank as blank as the clouds, with a big wing wrapped around his little form–his dad smiling wide beside him; a photo of two colts, a familiar red and a familiar black; a more recent picture of the stallion in front of me, clad in his fine dress uniform, cap adorned, gazing stoically ahead–his gold mane glowed almost luminescent against the sky blue background. I could faintly read the tag on the uniform’s chest.

“Sit,” Thunder grunted as he turned the corner and trudged to the suspended cupboards within an island kitchen. I sat upon a sofa in a small living room opposite. Its clouds felt soft against my coat, and part of me was tempted to lay my head on the arm and doze off. It would kick two clouds with one buck–I’d get a nice nap as an aftergame treat and avoid whatever the hay was coming. I suspected I knew exactly what the latter would be.

Thunder shuffled around the kitchen. The clinking of cups and the low gurgle of a teapot drifted over the backrest. I closed my eyes, huffing a low sigh. This was awkward. Stars, why did I even ask that question? It was pointless, and now he was being cagey. Congratulations, Ace, always know how to make a scratch a deep gash. Call it one of my talents.

“You look like a dog,” he said eventually. He padded by the sofa and settled in a hoofchair. I stretched with exaggeration, feeling my back crack as I mimicked a canine. When I planted my flank back on the couch it was with an exaggerated ruff and a goofy grin.

Thunder rolled his eyes, “Whoa now, boy. Down.” He placed the steaming mugs on a coffee table that faced the fireplace. There were mementos on the mantle–awards, ribbons, military decorations, commemorative objects, photos and a pale-mist colored urn. I lingered on the last one for a few moments.

We sipped on our tea. Neither of us spoke. I tried to enjoy the silence, the comforting warmth spreading through my stomach, the presence of Thunder. Try as I might, it all seemed moot. He could tell I was waiting. I could tell he was waiting. It was a game of chicken. I didn’t like it. But I held my tongue; try as it might to rectify that squirrely feeling in my chest..

He broke first. No, broke would be the wrong word; it would imply he was free-balling. What Thunder said next was practiced, and the silence in the interim was the moment when he tasted the words; pieced them together until they shaped perfectly. He set the mug down on the table and turned his head to me: “You’re aware of Operation Cauterize?”

I nodded slowly. Who didn't? “It was…” I paused, I couldn’t find the words. It hadn’t been fresh news for a while and yet it still stung. It still left a pit in my stomach. “...it was the biggest failure we’ve ever made. But that was years ago, we weren't even adults! What’s that gotta do with you?”

“Nothing,” Thunder said. “But there are pegasi who want a scapegoat to pin the consequences on.” He massaged his neck, rolling it back and forth as if to take the strain from his voice. It didn’t work.

“So that general, the one who kinda glared at you-”

“That was general Forthright, he’s one of the ones looking,” Thunder finished. He picked up his mug and downed the rest. I wondered if alcohol would be better than herbal tea but said nothing. The mug in my hooves felt cold. Maybe it was me that felt cold, the growing sensation as the dots connected. The dawning that followed was no pleasant thing.

“So...so they don’t just suspect you. They want to blame you! Why the buck do they want to do that? Cauterize was seven years ago! You weren’t even a part of it!” My ear twitched. I wanted to punch something. The rising anger in my throat, the tightening in my chest, I really didn’t like where this was going. I knew it wasn’t about Cauterize. It was about something else. Something recent. It hurt to know that they could be connected.

He said, “They don’t care about the operation. After the counterattack, command restructured and resettled.”

“Nieghvarro, yeah.” Enclave base of operations. It was assaulted and utterly destroyed. This ‘Lightbringer razed everything. Erased all the progress Equestria had made in an instant. All except for the Neighvada territories. The survivors, our remaining leaders, our remaining troops, those who could, moved to Grand Pegasus in the aftermath.

Thunder nodded. “There’s been a security breach recently. I”–he sighed, long and hard–“I didn’t realize the rumors were so far spread until you asked. I should have told you earlier, it would’ve alleviated a lot of this tension, eh?” He laughed, this time it was awkward and didn’t attempt to hide its true intent. He was stressed beyond belief. I joined him out of consolation.

“Yeah, I’d heard.” Truthful.

“Can’t remember where from.” Lie.

“I don’t know much, probably just a little more than you. But I know that it wasn’t just a data breach. It was...” He looked for the right word. I leaned in. Sure, I wanted to know where to direct my anger and why, but a small part of me was curious. Overwhelmingly curious.

You know what they say about curiosity and the colt.

He continued, “it wasn’t just data, it was code. It contained the schematics of the augmented SPP matrix that allowed our engineers and scientists to consolidate the functions of the control tower in Neighvarro to Grand Pegasus. I’m sure you don’t need the briefing I received to know what that means.”

To say I went pale would perhaps be an understatement. It felt as if the air stilled, as if my heart stopped and then began beating in reverse as if the clouds had indeed evaporated and I was left in free-fall. It was in the news before, a long time ago. The slow trickle of refuges and retreating units that came from the East, carrying their stories of horror and destruction. Disturbing reports–cloud cities, towns, massive gaps torn into the cloud layer all over Equestria. We were being hemmed in.

We needed some good news. We needed hope. We needed a reason as to why we were the only ones left, an island amongst a sea of fire. As if with Celestia’s blessing and her own damned chariot, it came; command released declassified info, something about eggheads cracking the Neighvada SPP and allowing its control to be consolidated to Grand Pegasus and away from the battered control tower. If whoever had this data escaped, there would be no telling what hell would break loose. They could destroy Grand Pegasus at the flick of a wing. End the only remaining hope for Equestria.

The minute dip of his muzzle confirmed all I needed to know.

I swallowed. My throat hurt. My mouth was dry. “And they, they want to blame somepony, want to blame you instead of doing something. Mobilizing,” I growled through gritted teeth.

Thunder said nothing. His mug sat empty on the table. He was still. I could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the bags beneath them. The way he held himself was a scarcely composed barrier against the stress and worry and loneliness he must have been experiencing. I loathed those that had brought this upon him, I loathed myself for neglecting to notice.

“It’s politics,” he said with a weak shrug.

“It’s wrong!” I shouted. “Why you? Why not somepony else? Why-”

He looked at me. There was a sadness in his eyes, a realization that translated in his gaze directly into mine. He knew why. I...I knew why. He was the perfect candidate. Easy to throw under the carriage for his age; the right rank, not too high, not too low; and...and…

There was a vacuum in my chest. I was going to be swallowed whole.

...And me.

Yet in this vacuum a spark flourished. A darkness within the entropy lit to a flame, then to a fire, then inferno. The new knowledge became air, and with that air, the heat grew, the inferno raged, and so, too, did I. Anger, white and hot, it ate me. It could barely be contained.

His gaze said: You’re a Molder.

His gaze said: Your father’s a dashite.

His gaze said: Why wouldn’t you?

It said: Ace, you’ve made me the perfect one to blame.

I left without a word.

I needed to get away from Thunder, that much was clear. The tumbling realization spurred in me a manic energy that would only fade the further I fled. At least, that’s what I convinced myself.

My flight faltered, my body tensed with anger. “What the buck?!” I shrieked, like a colt refused a cookie. Far below, the lights of Grand Pegasus glittered. The sun mantled the horizon, big and fat and sinking, its shimmering rays a vibrant orange that bruised the sky into purples and blues. A cool breeze tussled my mane. I let out a sigh of defeat. My shoulders sagged and, for a moment, I hovered in the air, staring at the retreating sun.

I’d known about this ‘breach’ for almost a week now. It was all anypony gossiped about. Sure, Pegasus had its fair share of crazy shit happening every other hour, but something as big as this didn’t go unnoticed. It didn’t matter who started it or where it came from, only that I found it (metaphorically) whispered in my ear. I hadn’t even begun to think that Thunder could become a victim of this. It was easier to believe it was nothing more than a bloated mistruth. After all, wouldn’t those in command, those more knowing, more powerful, have done something about it?

Knowing where the crosshairs lay killed the dissonance. I was going to be the bullet fired from the smoking gun.

I passed a casino called Kloud-9, its multicolored cloud walls shaded with the neon lights within. The casino boasted its name in a sparkling, blinding rainbow “9” mantled along its top. I could see the windows on the lower level vibrate with club music. The night was growing alive. The rare sky-tank still flew overhead, but their presence was being replaced with sky-carriages and taxis.

Grand Pegasus, in an act of old-world reflection or purposeful design, kept a district dedicated to its namesake’s debauchery. The titular strip was still a gambling trap and a money-sink through and through. Casinos and clubs, strip shows and dive bars, and anything one could dream of crammed into three cloudscrapers along three blocks. It was heavily regulated by the Grand Pegasus Enclave, of course, and half the revenue of any place went right into their pockets. But it didn’t matter, it was the city of sin after all, and crazy high tax rates were the same as any vice.

Here the air was abuzz and the world was a facade of a 24/7 party. There were spotlights and criers and music blasting from speakers and shops and stores. There were ads that shone brilliant upon every wall and signs pointing this way and that to endless possibilities. It all felt so impossibly vivacious and yet so…fake. Over the years more and more pegasi had arrived along with more and more equipment. We had begun as a city in the middle of nowhere, and with Cauterize a failure, catapulted right up to Canterlot status.

Canterlot if it had been surrounded on all sides by zebras and gone from the capital to a city-state, that is.

I dodged the growing crowds of pegasi as the civilians finished their jobs and the off-duty soldiers arrived to get drunk and find a warm body to fill their bed. An arch with “Grand Pegasus!” and “Welcome to The Strip!” in a litany of bulbs greeted me as I stalked beneath it. I wasn’t here for the strip, I was here for a friend.

We were at a bar a block away. It was cowpony-themed, a close rendition of the saloons scattered about Neighvada before the great war, or so I'd been told. It had the typical Grand Pegasus flare with blackjack and poker tables scattered about and a slot machine hugging the far corner.

It was an easy feat to lure him out with the promises of alcohol and mares. Granted, the latter might have been a slight embellishment, but if I couldn’t get whiskey with Thunder I’d get whisked with my squadmate.

Shock Bolt sat across the lacquered wooden table from me. He toyed with the empty shot glass in his hooves, sliding it back and forth over a slick splash of melted ice. I eyed him, half-lidded and half-interested. He was the ponification of a lightning bolt. His mane was a frazzle of yellow, his coat the color of an endless sky. He looked like a punk or vagrant or rocker-colt.

“You gunna finish that?” He asked, pointing to the bottle of bourbon in front of me. He managed a country drawl and a city clip in a single accent. Through some Celestial grace he pulled it off perfectly.

“This is your third shot. We sat down like a minute ago.” I poured a generous helping into my glass. It dribbled at the cusp where it nearly overflowed.

Shock swiped his wing at me. I went to swat but he slid his hoof forward and plucked the bottle away. I scowled. He laughed, “This’ill be yur’ sec’nd par’ner. Ain’t no way yur’ leavin' 'ere so dry!” His cowpoke impression was good. Not too calamitous.

“Cheers to that!” Our glasses clinked.

“Eyup!”

The burn was pleasant. It boiled my tongue and slid like lava down my throat. A good distraction, and the simmering spread of warmth in my gut made up for the piss poor taste.

“How ‘bout one more for old times sake, eh?” He sighed, content, it seemed.

I rolled my eyes, “Hey now, I ain’t a lightweight, nor are there ‘old’ times to reminisce upon, lieutenant. I could drink you under the table!”

“Them’s fightin’ words, cap’,” he purred.

“Stars-damned right they are!”

That seemed to light a fire under his ass. His eyes narrowed in that playful way that meant he was about to do something stupid. He had been my best friend right through flight school, academy, basic, and a whole slew of other things. I knew him like the back of my hoof. It didn’t matter that he was my subordinate.

“Oh, yur’ on!” There was full shot glass in front of me before I could blink. Shock poured another as he gestured with a wing. Drink, it said, and who was I not to comply? “This n’ the next then we’re equal.”

Nothing like an imminent drink binge to put the mind at ease and the aching heart to rest. The alcohol was already starting to dull the niggling worries in the pit of my chest. The worry of 0600 hours. The worry that wondered what Thunder was doing right now. The worry that urged me to go back to him and comfort and console and do nothing but offer warmth and support and somepony to lean on.

But if I did that I’d be putting him in danger. Every second spent together was one more moment General Forthright could engineer to damn Thunder. One more moment to use me as a weapon. To use something beyond my control against me and those I loved. I wasn’t going to let that happen.

Two more down the hatch and that put us both at four.

Shock winked salaciously and played bartender with the bottle. Another shot appeared in my hooves. He put the bourbon down, near halfway to empty. “Atta’ boy! We’re ready to rumble!”

Anypony worth their salt knows the perfect equation to a good night. Booze and a shit ton of it. If they don’t know that they aren’t worth the time.

The first round was wretched. By that time my stomach had decided against any more, nearly empty and growling from only tea and exercise. Splashing more alcohol into it wasn’t something it was eager to do.

I forced it anyway, I had had worse things before. Even so, I gagged. Another laugh from Shock spurred me on.

The second round was a little easier.

So was the third.

The fourth.

The fifth.

The sixth? Oh baby, was it heavenly. The alcohol had dimmed my taste buds with its fire, and my stomach was weighed down by its leadened magma. Try as it might to revolt, it was cowed by my stubborn insistence on winning.

“That makes”–Shock belched–“ten.”

“Manners,” I murmured from my place face down on the table. I was staring at the subdued colors of the carpet wondering why this joint had decided on sick as the best pallet. When had the dizziness kicked in?

“What’chu mean manners! Ah’m the manneredest pony ‘round!”

“Country colt.” My chin found the table and slumped there like a beached cloudship. I giggled at the way my eyes tried to focus on Shock. He was attempting to waggle out the last drops of the polished bottle. Whiskey, whiskey everywhere, and not a drop to drink, I thought hazily.

“Ahma’ get more,” he announced, nearly falling from his chair as he tried to stand. The bottle rolled off with him. I caught it in my wing on instinct. Shock whistled and pat me on the back. No, punched me more like. The bottle nearly fell again.

“Yeah, yeah”, I watched him saunter towards the bar. The bottle felt solid in my hooves. It was the only solid thing, really. I put the glass to my eye, peering through it like a telescope.

Everything was shaded in a deep brown. There was the bartender, a stallion with a funny mustache and a wavy mane. There was a pony with a cowboy hat slouched against her friend who nudged her to wake. There were bottles and bottles and bottles lining the back, reflecting bright against a mirror wall. There was my squadmate at the counter. There was a mare sat next to him; the two were talking.

Bored, I roved my bottlescope along the rest of the room. The high ceiling had exposed supports. There were gallon hats hanging from every wall; the front had the facade of timber logs, though I doubted it was real–nopony was going to sign-off on a scav-op for logging. The place reminded me of those cabins in the little camping books my dad would give me. He’d return from trips on the scav team, always with some little knick-knack as a surprise. I loved it.

I frowned. How long had it been? Twelve years? Ten? I wished he was still around, he would know what to do about this whole scape-goat thing.

My frown deepened. This wouldn’t have happened if he was. In a way, it was all his fault, wasn’t it?

I turned my sights on the bar. Shock had better get his ass back here. My thoughts were sobering me up faster than a drunk in the brig. That is to say, if I didn’t get another bottle in me I’d probably end up crying like a foal.

He wasn’t there. Just my luck. Where in the stars did he go? “He better not be necking with some ma-”

“Heya squaddy!”

I damn near flew out of my coat. Shock materialized next to me, slamming a bottle on the table like he was trying to break it. “What the buck, dude!?” My heart was a ricochet, fucking with my spirit-soaked brain, making it feel like everything was jittery and jumpy.

“Shucks, I was hoping to yell timber. Awh well, always next time.” He sat back in his chair. “Say, there was this kind miss at the counter! Bought us a bottle o’ Desert Rose!”

I grumbled. I’d show him what timber was if he tried that again. “Gimme the bottle.” He acquiesced. I grabbed the thing, opened it, and poured another shot before it registered in my sluggish, inebriated brain. “Desert Rose? Two-fifty a bottle stuff? That whiskey?

Shock nodded. He told me about the pony he’d been talking to, and how, when he mentioned me she had turned to glance. He told me how her eyes widened before she turned back. She got it soon after. I glanced around him. The seat she occupied was empty. She was as good as a ghost.

I needed another round. No, more than one. If whoever she was was gonna be mysterious I wasn’t going to question it. I would’ve if I wasn’t near hammered, but at this point I cared little for nuance and wanted to ply myself with as much alcohol as possible. If some mare wanted to play sugar-momma, I wasn’t going to turn it down.

“Seventh round, I’ll beat you past fifteen?” Like he was gonna disagree with that.

Shock stepped up to the plate, “Bet yur’ butt ya’ wont!”

The security mare at her booth acknowledged us with a flick of her ear and a light nod. She held a magazine in her hooves and a coffee mug in her wings. She took a sip as she turned the page. Two pegasi stumbling past ass drunk wasn’t too uncommon for her.

We didn’t run into anypony as Shock and I fell up the stairs of his apartment complex. I couldn’t stop giggling at everything. The blank cloud walls were funny. The identical doors were funny. The dullness was funny. Except for the carpet. The carpet wasn’t funny. It was a nauseating orange and might have had stains in it. I couldn’t focus my eyes long enough to know.

I tried to hover, a foalish insistence on avoiding the gross floor, but ended up twirling around uselessly. It was fun until I nearly fell down the stairs.

Shock caught me, wrapping a hoof around my neck and yanking me back. We bumbled forward right into a wall. He asked what idiot put it there and how they did it so fast, and frankly, I couldn’t help but agree.

We broke into a fit of laughter, resounding and amplified and probably annoying all the neighbors. But with the state of this place, I doubt it was out of the norm to hear a thing like that. “You live here!” I said, wild with wondrous realization only a pie-eyed pony could achieve. It came among a quartet of eurekas–I was drunk, I was dizzy, and Shock had a surprisingly squishy face.

“Leggo!” Shock pulled away from my prodding hooves.

“You leggo,” I mumbled, flailing at the air. With a blink, I realized he’d moved. Confounding! He was like lightning!

There was a stallion down the hall, poking at a vending machine. Brown coat, light brown mane, a cutie-mark of a coffee bean or coffee grinder or a...coffee something, I wasn’t good with fine details right now.

He looked typical and unassuming. Another visitor, another occupant of this haunt.

He glanced as we approached. A bag of corn crisps crinkled in his hooves. There was a jolt of surprise in his movement, and his glance became an unnerving stare. He looked like he’d seen a ghost.

We passed.

“Captain,” he said, the word hazed in a note of anxiety. He snapped his wing in a quick, messy salute.

I said “Yo” and tripped over my own hooves. Shock howled at the hilarity. We had little sobriety for proper form.

I glared at Shock. He stood by the other pegasus. At least, one of him did. I was going a little cross-eyed.

Wait.

The buck was still staring.

‘How...?” I began, then stopped. There was a particularly interesting stain near his left hoof.

He cocked his head. His eyes were wide. Yeah, he definitely looked like he’d seen a ghost. The paleness on his cheeks, the quivering of his muzzle. His ears wobbled. His wings were half-cocked like the hammer of a gun, waiting to slam down and send him shooting off. “Uh, how…” he choked on his words, “how what?”

I peered at my chest, lazily eying the red coat. Nope, not there, but it was fun watching myself sway. With exaggeration, and totally not because I felt sick, my wings met my gaze as I turned my head. Yup, same black wings. Not what I was looking for. I leant my head and found the three aces that made up a triangle. There it was, the ace-of-spades within it, on my flank as usual, bit wobbly but there. Probably on the other side too, but still not my goal.

That was it. Unless there was some cool new egg-head tech that had been slapped on me when I wasn’t looking, I wasn’t wearing my uniform.

“Checking yurself’ out now?” I think Shock tried to say. It came out more like “Chuck yurshelf oot naw!”

The stranger was still nervous, but now he looked more perplexed than scared. The ghost was doing some real stupid shit apparently. Still, I didn’t recognize him, didn’t even begin to match any of the faces I’d served beside. Nada. Nope. Nothing. He was totally unfamiliar. Granted, I was blasted drunk, and if asked to identify anypony I’d probably give the names of the ministry mares, but that didn’t matter. Yeah, totally didn’t.

“Something wrong?” I was being paranoid. Probably. Most likely. Definitely. The alcohol didn't help, but I’d only salute a superior if I knew they were a superior, uniform or familiar face. As far as I was aware, he was a civilian.

He was quiet for a moment–trembling. You would’ve thought he was about to step into a meeting with a military tribunal. I wasn’t that terrifying, was I?

“No.” He murmured, “Is there something wrong?”

Buck, I’d forgotten to add the ‘with this picture’.

I snorted. “Could be, you–oops!” The wall had rushed up to greet me. It was very supportive. A good friend. Dependable.

“Uh, eheh, what?”

“You...uh...yo-uu…” I tried, clumsily, to right myself. I wracked my brain for the words. They were bouncing around my skull, and my sluggish brain was doing very little to catch up.

“You addressed him by his rank.” Yes! Those were the words! Thank you, Shock!

“Did I?” the pegasus asked.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” I hissed, anger rearing ugly and unexpected from its hidden nook. I had buried it, it would do no good alive, but the whiskey had disturbed the dirt and it dug itself free.

He shrunk back.

“I’m! I’m not! I swear!” Lies. He had the gall to look confused.

I narrowed my eyes. A growl burbled in my throat. I almost vomited, but he didn’t need to know that.

He squeaked, fumbling with the crisp packet. He sat on his haunches and shoved the thing in my face. I stumbled back with a whinny. My wings flared, cramming uncomfortably against the walls. With a vexing glare, I tried to right myself, forgetting about my wings. I yelped when they tweaked. Ow.

“Look, I was talking about the snack! The packet! Look! I don’t know what you’re on about!” Indeed the bag had the word “Captain’s” and “Crisps” in arched lettering. There was a pegasus wearing a white officer’s cap. He leant his elbow on a frame, letting his hoof dangle. Captain Crisp, the brand’s mascot, smiled at me.

Well, this was awkward.

“Uhhhh...oh.” Fucking hay, nice damage control, Ace. Real whizz with words, a masterpiece of letters right there. It was my turn to flounder. My brilliant perception had gotten me into this. I had heard some random pony say captain and I went off the rails. I was a real ass when drunk, it seemed.

Shock said, “He was talkin’ to the crisp bag.” I glared at one of his doubles. It phased through the wall. Wrong one.

“I’m drunk,” I said dumbly. As if that was a good excuse.

The stranger offered me the mercy of a sheepish smile. There was relief in his eyes, a relief I wouldn’t realize wasn’t for the reasons I assumed until later. I offered my own shaky grin and backed up a few steps to give him space. “Oh it’s all right,” he giggled nervously, “we’re all drunk these days, what with the brea- with the break coming up! All the colts and fillies are getting out for summer! And we all know the importance of Ace - I mean an ace in a deck! Those foals are obsessed with those flashy casinos, always wanting their own card games to play! No wonder we’re drunk! Good stress relief!”

“Yeah...sure.” Should’a just kept my mouth shut.

Another moment of silence. This buck’s smile was growing forced, or maybe I was getting way too paranoid. I hadn’t a clue. He kept staring at me. It was discomforting. But could I blame him? I don’t think I’d be too far off the mark if I was in his position.

Eventually, he broke away, saying he had places to be but not before introducing himself as a one “Mr. Coffee Bean”. I missed his hoof when he first held it out, skimming along his fetlock. He looked at me funny.

I got it the second time. He apologized again, like it was his fault, and hurried down the hallway.

As we neared Shock’s door I heard from behind me, “Well I wasn’t expecting you here but it was nice meeting you, Ace!”

“Yeah, you too!”

Look, contrary to popular belief, I’m not an idiot, nor am I unobservant. I fly stars-damned sky-tanks for a living. It just so happened that at that moment I was a perfect combination of the two with a nice doping of cluelessness. I blame it on being ass drunk, or maybe wanting to get away from an awkward situation, or maybe I really am a tad bucked in the head, I don’t know. All I know is that I heard a stranger say my name and didn’t bat an eye.

...and so did Shock.

Luna screw me with her horn, we were dumb as clouds.

Footnote: Level up!

New Perk:
Confirmed Bachelor – You do +10% damage against the same-sex, plus unlock unique dialogue options with certain characters! Select factions react negatively to orientation.
First Serve – In an encounter willingly instigated by you, gain +1 luck and +1 perception on your first move!

New Trait:
Match! Set! Game! – The ball’s in your court. You can use your strong wings to hit certain objects with no penalty to accuracy.