The Conversion Bureau: Stormriders

by Silvertie

Rating: teen
Tags: Dark, Alternate Universe, Human, Sad
Length: 6260

The fastest way to call a storm: Kill a weatherpony.

"Strike down a weather pony, and the weather shall strike you down in turn." – that's how the old saying goes. A warning to any who would dare to consider harming one of Celestia's little ponies.

Nobody told the Human Liberation Front, and the Stalliongrad Stormriders work the weather like nopony else can. A storm's a brewin'.

A story of revenge and vengeance set in the Conversion Bureau universe. Uses Aegis Exemplar's Equestria for Equestrians.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-09-24 12:04:01 UTC

Thunder Rolls

The Conversion Bureau: Stormriders

By Silvertie

Part 1 of 3

“Who are we?!” A mare demanded loudly.

“STALLIONGRAD STORMRIDERS!” a chorus of voices responded loudly, on reflex. “HOO HAH!”

“Thank you,” the slight mare said, sitting back down. The trick had worked, and her teammates had stopped their chattering to respond to the time-old team shout. “All yours, Hailstone.”

A stallion got to his hooves; a shade of off-white, the pegasus had patches of light grey across his coat that made him a challenge to spot in a snowy environment -- natural camouflage. “Thank you, Snowflake,” he nodded to the mare, who smiled. The rest of the Stormriders, finally paying attention, stayed silent.

Seven pegasi sat around a round table in a restaurant-slash-bar; around them, tables were filled with all sorts of folk, from Gryphons to other ponies, to the native humans. The other patrons were, by contrast, quiet and reserved. But on the other hand, none of them had a tall, obsidian statuette sitting in the middle of their table, a golden pegasus posing on the top of the relic. The base read, simply: “Equestrian Weather Team Of The Year”. On the sides, the names of past winning teams covered the obsidian, almost covering it entirely.

They could have saved space if they’d just put one plaque reading “Stalliongrad Stormriders” and marked a tally on it; if they had, this year would be the one where the Stormiders’ plaque got it’s twentieth notch in a row.

“Right,” Hailstone said. “I’ll start with the obvious - you all done good out there. Two decades of weather-working, and you’re all still proving that Stalliongrad’s weather team is the best weather team in all of Equestria and beyond.”

“Hey,” one of the pegasi, a calm blue stallion by the name of Frostbite chuckled. “To be fair, that Ponyville team came damned close this year; that rainbow one could wrangle a cloud with the best of us. Just a shame that wall-eyed one couldn’t wrangle her way out of a paper bag. If she had, they might have placed second, not sixth.”

“Rainbow Dash,” muttered another Stormrider, a pale green stallion named Icicle. “Holds the title of “Best Junior Flyer”, and can rightly claim the title of “Fastest Pegasus Alive”, thanks to her breaking the sound barrier three times.”

“What I wouldn’t give to get a mare like that...” sighed a yellow pegasus named Wind Chill. He coughed when he realized he’d left the sentence hanging, and finished it. “I mean on the team, on the team!”

The Stormriders laughed, and an ice-blue Blizzard wiped his eye, chortling. “Yeah, sure, on the team, Chill.”

“She wouldn’t go for it,” dismissed Sleet, a rich-blue pegasus that, along with Snowflake, could lay claim to being one of the few voices of reason in the otherwise male-dominated team. “Rainbow’s also the Element of Loyalty, if you’ve forgotten. She’d never ditch Ponyville to ride with us.”

“Pity,” Frostbite shook his head. “Chill’s bedroom fantasies aside -- it’s okay, bro, there’s no shame in clopping to that -- she would make an excellent addition to the team.”

“Alright, alright,” Hailstone said, grinning. “Shelve the mare talk, and save it for your hotel room, you two. You can swap material later.”

The ‘riders all had a good laugh at that, to the mock horror of Wind Chill and Frostbite.

“Alright, chief,” Blizzard broke first. “We did good. But we did good for the last twenty years running, ten if you don’t count the years when Twister rode with us. What’s the deal?” Blizzard waved a hoof at the restaurant. “All expenses paid trip to Earth? Luxury suites?” Blizzard poked his plate, which had all but been licked clean. “Tiny meals that cost a fortune? Since when did we have this much money in the team kitty?”

“Chill’s clop jar,” muttered Icicle, completely failing to keep it at a low enough volume that the table couldn’t hear it, and they broke into laughter again.

“Venue’s real classy, too,” Frostbite pointed out. “All polished wood and warm lights, not a greased firepony’s pole anywhere. A few steps up from the usual dress clubs, no?”

“Dressclub?” Sleet hissed. “You... muffins, you said you went bowling!”

“No, no,” wheezed Hailstone, blushing momentarily at the mention of the dress club visits, making a mental note to exclude Frostbite from future sojourns. “This one is on me. Or should I say, me and Snowflake.”

The bit dropped for the rest of the team.

“You dog,” Sleet muttered, before turning to Snowflake. “When did he pop the question?”

“Right after the finals,” she giggled. “It was so adorable. Should have seen him. He had this big icicle hanging off his nose and everything, I couldn’t take him seriously.”

“Went down on one knee and everything, too,” Hailstone muttered good-naturedly. “Shows how much old-world class gets you these days...”

“You shyster,” Snowflake punched her fiancee in the shoulder with a hoof. “You collapsed onto one knee because of the cold, darn it. Told you to wrap up warm, didn’t I?”

“Congrats,” Wind Chill brought his hooves together. “Can’t tell you how long we’ve waited for this to happen.”

“I can,” Icicle said, thinking for a moment. “And no, Chill, you don’t win the pot. I believe that goes to... Blizzard. He was closest, he said “finals”.”

“But I picked “after the finals”!” protested Chill, turning to Icicle. “Come on, don’t cheat me, bro.”

“Technically,” Blizzard pointed out, “The finals were still going - we were just the first team finished.”

Hailstone coughed, clearing his throat. “If you’re all done arguing who makes money off my declarations of love, I’ve got a toast to make.”

Chairs squeaked as the team all rose as one, grabbing their drinks; Hailstone raised his mug of cider, looking around at the faces he’d known for most of his life; you couldn’t ask for a better or closer-knit group of friends.

“To the best darn team manager we’re ever going to have, and the love of my life,” he said, his eyes coming to rest on the small, white pegasus mare at his side. “To Snowflake!”

“To Snowflake!” the Stormriders chorused, and tankards of cider all extended to meet in the centre of the table as one.

======

For the Stalliongrad Stormriders, the premier weather team as proven by contest and time, the night was a big one, filled with carousing and good times. Numerous toasts had been made, and a party of sorts had grown into being, drawing in other ponies, a good few humans curious about the weather-working contest and how such things could be judged, as well as a pair of Gryphons celebrating an event of their own, a fledgling’s First Hunt.

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end. And the Stormriders’ evening came to an abrupt halt as another well-known team crashed their party.

The Human Liberation Front. Dedicated to keeping humans human by any means necessary, from persistent, peaceful protest to full-scale armed assaults on bureaus and other prominent equine gatherings. Sometimes both in the same day, by the same people.

Today, the instruments of protest were not placards, but compact SMGs, nine-millimetre affairs more designed to fill the air with lead than put a single bullet through any sort of cranium at sixty paces.

As the doors swung to a gentle halt, the leader strode in, cradling a shotgun. He raised it, addressing the restaurant's patrons. “We are the Human Liberation Front! By us, humanity will survive! Death to ponies!”

Chairs squeaked rapidly as people made to rise up from their seats. The Stormriders moved as one; they were a little sloshed from the one or two drinks harder than cider that they’d ingested over the evening, but even so, they were undivided.

The five stallions of the team stepped forward, moving to protect the mares, despite protests from said mares.

Next to them, the gryphons were also rising. While the HLF had no problem with gryphons, gryphons had beliefs regarding codes of honor and how battle should be waged, and it was rare to find any gryphon who would sit idle as ponies they had recently drunk toasts with and to were slaughtered. These particular gryphons were bereft of weapons, having apparently acquiesced to human culture and it’s intolerance for swords being worn in public, and they looked like they were a little upset about that. On the other hand, it just meant the gryphons would have to do things the traditional way -- beak and claw.

All over the restaurant, ponies, humans and gryphons were rising and making their stand. Many humans retreated from the scene, having no desire to get caught in crossfire or be witness to slaughter. One or two sat frozen, unable to decide what to do.

Things got messy, fast. Bullets began to fly, magic flared up as unicorns did what they could to defend themselves, and bullets found homes in bodies, equine or otherwise.

Suddenly, the fight was over as quickly as it had begun; of the Stormriders, only two had contrived to escape unhurt -- Snowflake and Sleet. The stallions were all down for the count, groaning in pain as they nursed assorted bullet wounds, acquired in the course of assaulting the shooters, blocking lines of fire with their own bodies. The two gryphons lay nearby, sporting their own wounds from similar tactics, although the blood coating their foreclaws and beaks, along with the eviscerated corpses not far away told a tale of “you should see the other guy”.

“Grab those two,” the leader wheezed, nursing his own arm as he pointed a gun at the larger gryphon; luck had been on his side, giving him a chance to put the elder gryphon in a tactical corner with a gun to his head, the gryphon’s junior not willing to risk his mentor’s life.

HLF thugs moved forward, and without hesitating, grabbed Snowflake and Sleet. Hailstone grunted in pain, crawling towards them as they were dragged out the door, screaming, and the leader motioned for a thug to check Hailstone with the butt of his gun.

“It’s nothing personal,” the human said, breezily. “Just gotta make an example of ‘em. Put the word out.”

The HLF leader chuckled at that, and motioned towards the exit. Like a well-oiled machine, the terrorists retreated, and soon, the restaurant was empty once more, the double doors of the entrance swinging shut behind them.

The last thing Hailstone saw was the smug grin of the leader.

Lightning Strikes

The Conversion Bureau: Stormriders

By Silvertie

Part 2 of 3

Hailstone came to as he felt the wounds in his torso being knitted together with a prickling sensation, and grunted in pain as bullets were pushed out of his body by a green glow.

“Stay still,” the EMT said, waving the handheld medical wonder-device over the pegasus’ body. “You’re gonna be alright. No major damage.”

“Snowflake!” Hailstone wheezed, feeling another round claw it’s way out of his gut.

“Talking to the wrong guy,” the EMT said, holding up a hand in defense. “You wanna talk to the cops.”

The moment the last bullet wound was sealed, Hailstone got up, pushing the EMT aside as he staggered towards the human policemen loitering near the entrance. The EMT protested, citing wounds that needed rest, but was ignored.

The policeman in charge of the investigation was interrupted mid-conversation as something butted him in the hip; it was considered extremely rude for an Equestrian to get anyone’s attention with a gentle headbutt, but Hailstone wasn’t feeling particularly polite today.

“What is it, sir?” the officer choked back a snide response, putting on a polite smile.

“What’s going on?” Hailstone cut to the quick. “Where’s Sleet and Snowflake?”

“The kidnapped ponies?” The officer shook his head. “We don’t know, sir.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Hailstone pressed. “Haven’t you humans been able to find them with your fancy satellites yet?”

“We, uh,” the officer coughed. “We haven’t started yet.”

“WHAT?!” Hailstone exclaimed. “What in Celestia’s name are you doing, then? Get started!”

“We haven’t got the authorization yet,” the officer argued. “If we start searching now, and find them, they’ll walk because we don’t have a warrant.”

“You-” Hailstone closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “I don’t give a flying feather about that. I just want my friend and wife-to-be back!”

“I’m sorry, sir,” the officer apologized. “But there’s a book for a reason. We work by it.”

“Then the book is stupid!” Hailstone stamped a hoof. “You’d better pray this delay doesn’t cost Sleet and Snowflake their lives, human, or there will be hell to pay.”

======

The truck rocked to a halt, and muffled bangs of doors and shouting filled the air outside. Sleet and Snowflake instinctively whimpered in fear a little.

"We're going to die," Snowflake wept. "It's all my fault -- Hailstone wanted to go to a local restaurant, but I insisted on coming to Earth, and-"

"Shh," Sleet whispered, giving the smaller mare a hug. "It's not your fault. It's the HLF. Besides, I'm sure we'll get out of this. We always find a way, don't we? We're the Stormriders -- if anypony would know about dancing with danger, it'd be us, right?"

"Heh." Snowflake sniffled. "You're right."

"Besides," Sleet smiled in the half-light of the truck. "Stormriders stick together. No pony left behind. The worst mistake these chumps made was to leave Hailstone and the colts alive, they'll move heaven and hell itself to get us back."

Snowflake nodded. "You're right. As usual. What do we do now?"

"Now?" Sleet laughed. "We make Hailstone's job easier and escape!"

"How?" Snowflake asked. "We're tied up!"

"Come on, Snow," Sleet grinned. "You're the brains of this outfit, the organizer. I just provide femininely-toned muscle."

"I guess... we start with untying ourselves?"

"Sounds good," Sleet smiled. "Turn around, I'll bite through your ropes first. Then you can get my ropes off."

Snowflake obliged, and Sleet snickered as she bit the ropes off with ease. Clearly, the HLF hadn't thought this abduction business through properly. No gags, no muzzles.

With a quiet thump, Sleet's ropes followed Snowflake's to the floor, and the two looked around. The truck was less a prison than they'd thought -- the walls, roof and rear of the truck were made of a thick canvas, and the rear wasn't even locked down or anything.

The two mares listened to the muffled conversations outside -- from the sounds of things, it was an argument about themselves. Specifically, how and when they should die.

To their horror, the method of execution hadn't been finalized, but the argument for execution to happen ASAP was gaining a distressing amount of momentum.

"Now or never," Sleet breathed, and Snowflake following behind, the pair burst out of the truck.

Canvas flapped in their wake, as the two pegasi sailed over the rear of the truck. As they fell, they scanned their environs with reflexes born of managing some of the most unruly storms known to ponykind.

They were in a multi-story car park; a concrete and stone affair, on the ground floor -- evidenced by the painted letter G on all the concrete pillars. Behind them, a semicircle of trucks and cars was parked, humans huddled nearby, cradling guns as they discussed what to do next. Ahead of them beyond a sprinkling of parked and abandoned cars, the exit, revealing the snow-coated night-time street outside. Freedom. Once they made it out there, they were home free -- not many land-creatures could keep up with a pegasus in the air, much less catch them.

Eight hooves hit the ground, and the two mares ran as one, shouts ringing out from behind them as the humans realized their prisoners were escaping. Sleet watched her speed, keeping pace with Snowflake, who was already starting to huff and puff with exertion. She wasn't the strongest athlete in the group, but her theory knowledge of weather-working made her an excellent team coordinator, which was why she had a place in the Stormriders.

"Come on," Sleet encouraged. "You got this, Snow. Just a little further, and we'll have one hay of a story to tell the guys!"

"I-" Snowflake gasped for breath, "I can't!"

"Fuck the plan, kill 'em!" a voice shouted behind them, and Sleet gritted her teeth.

"Bonus round, girl," she grunted. "Bob and weave!"

The two broke into a desperate slalom, bodies criss-crossing as they wove back and forth, the crack of guns and the whiz of bullets all around them. With a heave, they approached a car, an old one that had been abandoned by the owner as they went to a bureau, evidenced by the dozens of parking tickets still stuck under the wipers and the large, red X on the bonnet marking it as having had it’s engine stripped.

A shot rang out, and Snowflake screamed in pain as she started to clear the car; with a stumble, she fell and landed on the concrete behind it. Sleet skidded to a halt on the concrete, and without missing a beat, ran back to her.

“Got the bitch!” a voice whooped. “Drinks on me, boys!”

Red blossomed on Snow’s otherwise white side, over her wing, and she cried in pain as she tried to move her wing. Sleet quickly dragged her behind the car, and Snow looked at the injury, and smiled weakly, trying to put a brave face on.

“It’s... it’s nothing, right?” Snow coughed, and a trickle of red, bright against her white muzzle, trickled out of her mouth. “Right?”

“No, it’s not nothing,” Sleet guessed, kneeling down and squeezing under Snow. “Come on, stay still, I can’t put you on my back if you squirm.”

The sounds of running humans were in the air; the pegasi had been swift, and the exit was a scant hundred metres away, the humans equally close behind. Between the car and the exit, there was no cover, no protection.

An uninjured pegasus could probably make it, with a bit of luck. A pegasus carrying another one, though...

“No,” Snow wheezed, pushing herself away from Sleet, before pointing with a hoof. “Go that way.”

Snow was pointing to another exit from the car park; five time as far away, it had marginally more cover, by way of pillars and more parked cars. Sleet frowned.

“Ain’t no way I can make that fast enough. Not with you on my back.”

“That’s... the idea,” Snow gasped. “You go that way.” She pointed again at the long way, before shifting her hoof to the nearest exit. “I go this way.”

“Snow, that’s- that’s suicide! You’ll never make it!” Sleet begged. “Come on, I’ll try harder, I’ll carry you!”

“If you carry me, we both die,” Snow whispered, getting up to four unsteady hooves. “Know when to fight the storm, know when to let it blow. Gotta let it blow.”

“We’re Stormriders, Snowflake,” Sleet said, pleading. “We ride together, we fly together. We escape together.”

“No,” Snowflake said. “You’re a Stormrider. You escape alone, or neither of us will survive.”

Without waiting for a counter argument, Snow ran for it, hobbling on three hooves. The humans whooped when they saw the thick red trail running down her side, and Sleet had no choice.

In a flash of movement, the pegasus ran fast; she’d really been holding back to allow Snow the chance to keep pace, but now... she was free to go as fast as she could. Very fast, indeed. Like blue lightning, she shot out from around the car almost running into a HLF thug going contrariwise to her, and sending the human spinning with her passage. In an instant, the HLF’s attention was divided; the easy catch limping towards the closest exit, or the harder catch sprinting for the far exit?

Greed weighed in along with malice, and while a few rounds were fired after Sleet, the pursuit’s sole focus became Snowflake, who was almost in the street, covered with her namesakes.

Sleet ducked her head, but what few bullets that gave chase to her hit pillars or cars harmlessly. She skidded to a halt outside, hooves ploughing up small furrows in the snow, as she looked back. The humans were all gathered around a small object. Sleet choked back a sob, and saluted as the mare began screaming in pain.

“I’m so sorry.”

With a rustle of feathers, Sleet was gone.

======

Two hours passed, and the roar of engines filled the air. Flashing red and blue lights strobed off the surrounding buildings as police disembarked from their vehicles, guns ready. A quartet of pegasi also followed by air; one dark-blue mare, and three stallions, off-white, yellow and ice-blue.

The guns weren’t necessary. After Sleet had led them to where she’d left Snow, there had been precious few questions about what had happened. Bullet casings by the dozen all throughout the carpark. Bullet craters in cars, concrete pillars and walls. White snow, marred by a trail of red.

Sleet, Blizzard and Wind Chill had stony expressions on their faces; Frostbite and Icicle were on their way to hospitals for their more complex wounds. They had no idea how they were going to break the news, words couldn’t do it justice.

Hailstone didn’t say anything, just sinking to his knees with a crunch in the snow, steps away from the body that lay in the middle of the car park’s entrance, blending in with the snow, save for the rapidly freezing claret staining the whole sordid scene.

A choked sound escaped his mouth, and the police officers present holstered their weapons, and took their hats off in silence. Nobody, equine or otherwise, should have gone like that.

Hailstone’s tears began to flow as he knelt next to Snowflake’s corpse in the cold winter night, her head looking down upon him with a vacant gaze from it’s perch atop a spike driven into the concrete.

======

The weather lacked any of it’s usual zing. For the last week, the weather had been as forecast by the Equestrian Weather Service, but Stalliongrad’s skies lacked a certain spring in their formation, sunlight weak, winds lackluster, rain sporadic.

And on the eighth day, despite a scheduled day of clear skies, the skies of Stalliongrad were black with clouds, and nopony dared to complain to the weather ponies. Not today.

The dark clouds began to drip moisture, the soft plack of rain hitting wood as the casket was lowered into the earth. The only sounds in the cemetery.

The Stormriders, what was left of them, stood in silence, suits black and their tears long since spent, the weather doing the crying for them as it mourned the loss of one of their closest friends.

The rain waited until the service was concluded, before evolving into a fully-fledged downpour. Ponies gave their condolences to the six, before rapidly retreating to drier environs. The freshly shovelled earth began to sink, the rain making it more fluid, until the surface of Her grave was smooth.

“Hailstone?” Frostbite wheezed, his missing half-lung making itself evident. “What... what now?”

The elder pegasus stared at the grave, eyes running over the name and the pitifully close-together dates beneath, as rain ran down his own face.

“Boss,” Icicle said, “We’re with you all the way. You know that.”

“Wherever you go,” Sleet vowed. “We’ll be there.”

“We’re Stormriders,” Wind Chill said.

“We ride together,” added Blizzard, cradling his leg, still in a cast.

“We fly together,” finished Frostbite.

Hailstone nodded slowly, then closed his eyes.

“They called for a storm,” he said. “Let’s give them the storm of their pathetic, miserable lives.”

There was a rush of wind, and the six were gone, six black garments drifting down through the rain-soaked air to land in the mud, where nopony would find them for days.

The time for grieving was over. It was time to go to work.

The Storm Rides

The Conversion Bureau: Stormriders

By Silvertie

Part 3 of 3

Daniel Garde gripped his wheel tightly, frowning as the winds and rain outside buffeted his car, focusing on the road as he cursed the forecast. The metservice had said it’d be a fine day today, and they’d been wrong, as usual. Someone was playing with the weather.

It was probably those fucking ponies, getting their damn, dirty hooves all over Earth’s weather systems. He’d raise a motion to go and hunt down more pegasi at the next HLF meeting, he was sure it’d go down a treat. After all, hadn’t it been his idea to go to that restraunt and make an example of those ponies?

He chuckled to himself. That had been the best idea ever. The HLF’s mission had been plastered all over national TV, and everyone knew that the HLF meant business. Ponies would never take Earth for their own, not while he and his friends still lived.

Another gust of wind rocked his car, and he cursed the weather once more. His daughter’s costume for the play tonight was going to get ruined, after all the time she and Daniel had spent on it, too. It just wasn’t fair.

He pulled up to his driveway, and popped the handbrake on as he prepared to make the sprint from car to front door, making sure he had his keys in his right hand and his briefcase in his left. No matter how quick he ran, though, his suit was still going to get soaked through. He hoped his wife had gotten around to cleaning his spare.

With one swift motion, Garde levered his slightly overweight mass out of the car, and with a flick of his hip, nudged his door, where it slammed shut, pushed by the wind and rain. He ran to his door, and stopped.

With a gentle thwack, the door swung on its hinges, the wind blowing it open and shut slowly.

“MARIE!” Daniel yelled. “LUCY!”

“Don’t bother,” a cold voice told him, as the door to the house proper was caught by a gust of wind and slammed shut. “They can’t hear you.”

Daniel turned around, to see a single white pegasus standing on the path behind him, mane blowing in the furious wind, face like stone.

Daniel’s face curled into a rictus of a snarl. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he reached under the back of his shirt, where a small handgun sat, riding in his belt in case of pony killing emergency. Like right now. “Where’s my wife and kid?”

“Oh, they’re hanging around,” the pegasus said, flatly, no hint of joviality in his voice. “I trust in my team to do what I ask them to do. What’s left of them, at any rate.”

Daniel was confused. “The hell is your problem?”

“My problem,” the pegasus said, looking Daniel in the eye, “Is that my weather team is one pony short, thanks to you.”

“Oh,” Daniel grinned. “You’re the ponies from the restaurant. How’s life? Good?” Daniel’s fingers curled around the grip of the gun.

“It’s been better,” growled the pegasus. “Our locker room is one voice short, there’s a desk that will never be filled again, there’s a space in our hearts, and a wedding ring I’ll never get to present to the love of my life.”

“Cry me a river,” sneered Daniel.

“We considered that,” the pegasus tilted his head. “We decided a flash flood was too vague, we might hurt people we didn’t need to hurt, and you might escape retribution. Can’t have that.”

“Shoulda’ just gone with the flood, you little shit,” Daniel spat, whipping his gun out. To his credit, the white-collar HLF man was quick on the draw, safety toggled and gun aimed in the blink of an eye.

The wind was faster. With a jackhammer blast of wind, the fury of the storm was focused squarely on Daniel and the gun in his hand. He staggered backwards, blinded by rain, the gun flying out of his hand, discharging as his finger caught on the trigger before it fell to the side of the path.

Daniel wiped his eyes quickly to see the pegasus hadn’t moved, and didn’t seem to be perturbed by the weather about him. He raised a hoof, and like a switch, the wind suddenly stopped dead. The rain ceased, and the sun came out. All around, the rain still fell, but here... all was calm.

“Eyes of storms are funny things,” the pegasus said. “You’ll be shouting to be heard one moment, the next...”

“DADDY!” a shrill voice screamed, clearly audible, now.

“LUCY!” Daniel shouted back, and he choked back a scream of rage as he saw what the pegasus had wanted him to see. High above them, two pegasi carried two humanoid shapes that were squirming and struggling in their hooves, one large and one small.

“Oh,” the pegasus said, a mock expression of surprise on his face. “Are those... is that your family? The love of your life and your legacy in this world?”

“You bastard,” Daniel grunted. “You fucking coward.”

“That’s not very nice,” the pegasus sighed. “Besides. You had first shot, you didn’t make it count. Now it’s our turn. Turnabout is fair play and all that.”

Daniel ignored him, and shouted once more. “MARIE! LUCY! EVERYTHING’S GONNA BE OKAY!”

“You know,” the pegasus said. “That’s what Sleet told Snowflake. You know, right before you and your friends killed her and stuck her head on a spike for the world to see. I think... yes, Sleet’s carrying your wife. And Wind Chill’s carrying your daughter. Hmm, they’re squirming a fair bit, there. I wouldn’t do that, Sleet and Wind Chill are notoriously butter-hoofed...” The pegasus raised a hoof, and Daniel saw what was going to happen.

“NO!”

A shrill pair of screams split the air, before they were cut off with a vicious cracking-splat sound. Daniel’s face went slack, and the pegasi in the sky shrugged to the one on the ground.

“Oops,” the pegasus said. “Their bad. I guess they still haven’t gotten over the death of Snowflake, it’s made their hooves a might unsteady of late. Would you know anything about that, by chance?”

“You... motherfucker,” Daniel wept. “Why me? What about the others?”

“Well,” the pegasus rolled his eyes. “We can’t carry all of them and drop them from a high height just for you. We are a little understaffed, after all, and Snowflake was the one who handled temp hires. I wouldn’t know what to do if we needed more wingpower and she wasn’t around. But we do have another... three. I think you’ll recognize them, I believe you hang out together.”

Three more pegasi hovered into view, carrying three traumatized bundles that struggled only weakly.

“Carl... Robert... Frank...” Daniel recognized them. “W-why are you doing this?”

“Why are we doing this?” The stallion waved a hoof again, and the three men attempted to emulate Daniel’s family. “It’s nothing personal, just gotta make an example of ‘em. Put the word out.”

The pegasus lunged forward, and with a scrabble of shoes on wet path, Daniel backed up to the door, pressing against it as the pegasus reared up, planting his hooves on either side of Daniel’s head, his face right in front of Daniel’s.

“Give me one good reason why you should get to walk away with your life,” Hailstone snarled. “One. Good. Reason.”

Daniel began to weep. “You- I thought Equestrians didn’t do violence!”

“Oh, so you pick on them for sport?” Hailstone countered. “Like a bully? YOU KNOW WHAT WE DID TO BULLIES BACK IN STALLIONGRAD? WE TAUGHT THEM A LESSON WITH SNOW AND ICE!”

“Please!” Daniel sank down, hands raised to shield himself. “I- is this what Snowflake would want?”

Hailstone suddenly recoiled, as if hit by a sudden epiphany, and Daniel sensed a weakness, pushing harder.

“Would she want you to repay blood with blood? Or would she want you to forgive me, to show kindness?”

Hailstone stepped back, looking Daniel in the eye, and gestured with his hoof. The pegasi in the air dispersed, flying above the grey stormclouds once more, as Hailstone addressed the human.

“You’re absolutely right. Snowflake, she’d have us turn the other cheek, give forgiveness.”

Hailstone lifted into the air, backing off as he did, and Daniel sagged, closing his eyes and weeping on his front doorstep. There was a thin whistling noise, the sound of a softball-sized hailstone screaming along at some seven hundred and fifty miles per hour. Daniel never saw it coming.

A red flower of gore was painted across the now vacant house, and it filled Hailstone’s heart with a small amount of satisfaction.

“But Snowflake’s not here, is she? You killed her.”

Epilogue

The Conversion Bureau: Stormriders

By Silvertie

Part 4 of 3

Six pegasi gathered in a courtyard, tall human buildings surrounding them, the midnight sky streaked with smog and pollution. The Stormriders touched down to the damp concrete, and as one, sighed, their bones clicking as they finally earned their first real rest in days.

“Alright, Hailstone,” Frostbite coughed. “That’s the last of ‘em. Now what?”

“You’ve all been good to me,” Hailstone nodded. “You’ve stayed by my side throughout this bloody affair. I couldn’t ask for better friends.”

“Justice had to be served,” Blizzard dismissed. “We had to serve it.”

“We knew what we were getting into,” Icicle added.

“Thank you.” Hailstone sat down. “Truth is, I don’t know where we’re going from here. We’re probably wanted from here to Manehattan in Equestria.”

“So we’re just going to turn ourselves in?” Wind Chill raised an eyebrow.

“I guess,” Hailstone sighed, looking at his hooves. “Twenty seven storms in seven days... that’s gotta be a record.”

“Don’t be so hasty,” a voice rasped, coming from all directions at once. The six pegasi looked around, alarmed.

“Who’s there?” Sleet demanded. “Show yourself!”

“My name is Black Martyr,” the voice declared. “You six, and I, have something in common.”

“Speak, voice,” Hailstone replied, confident. “Or this meeting is over.”

“So impatient...” Martyr chuckled, a dry laugh. “We share a hatred of humanity, you and I. Humans have taken what we hold dearest from us without mercy. And they still seek to partake of our land of plenty...”

“Equestria for Equestrians,” Icicle guessed. “So you’re the Black Martyr...”

“How astute of you,” the voice chuckled again. “The Stormriders have made a name for themselves -- righteous retribution on wings of thunder and lightning. You weren’t very subtle about your killings, but you were very thorough. Our group could use ponies like you.”

“What’s the deal?” Hailstone cut to the quick.

“Safety. Protection. Like-minded allies,” Martyr’s voice left the offer hanging. “Very powerful friends. Wealth. All yours; to have Equestria’s best weather team on our side, no cost is too great.”

“What would we be doing?” Chill asked.

“Naturally, you would work the weather in our advantage,” Martyr elaborated. “Cloud cover to conceal our operatives from human eyes in the sky. Rain and storms to keep innocents inside. You may take on assassination jobs, if you so wish, but I understand that your previous killings were all in the name of clear-cut justice, so I will understand if you-”

“No, we’ll do it,” Hailstone coughed. “Or rather, I will. I can’t speak for everyone.”

“You don’t have to ask twice,” Frostbite said. “I’m in.”

“Same,” Icicle said.

“Got nowhere else to be,” Chill nodded. “I’m in.”

“With you to the end,” Blizzard grunted.

“Can’t leave you lot unsupervised,” Sleet sighed. “Snow’ll kill me in the Great Beyond if I did. I’m in.”

“Excellent,” Martyr said. “A full team. Remain where you are, Hope will guide you to a safe-house.”

A presence in the air suddenly vanished, and the Pegasi looked around in surprise when they heard a hoof splash in a puddle. A cowled pony looked at them, and wordlessly beckoned them with a hoof.

The Stormriders looked at one another, and nodded.

Stormriders rode together.

Stormriders flew together.

Stormchasing

WANTED

Dead or Alive

The

Stalliongrad Stormriders

These individuals are currently at large, and wanted by the Crown of Equestria and EarthGov, dead or alive.

These individuals are known associates of terrorist organizations such as Ponification for the Earth's Rebirth (PER), and Equestria for Equestrians (EfE). Under no circumstances should they be approached.

Hailstone

Male, off-white coat, grey mane, pegasus. Hailstone cutie mark.

Eldest member of the Stormriders. Ringleader, decision maker. Responsible for three hundred and sixteen illegal storms resulting in death or dismemberment.

Alive: 60,000 bits / Dead: 40,000 bits

Frostbite

Male, Light-blue coat, white mane, pegasus. Blue snowflake cutie mark.

Has difficulty breathing occasionally, due to lung damage. Right-hand stallion to Hailstone.

Alive: 50,000 bits / Dead: 25,000 bits

Icicle

Male, pale green coat, light blue mane, pegasus. White icicle cutie mark.

Known talent for statistics and information. Manages contacts for the Stormriders.

Alive: 50,000 bits / Dead: 25,000 bits

Wind Chill

Male, yellow coat, white mane, pegasus. Stylized gust of wind (Three curls) cutie mark.

Known womanizer, quick-tempered.

Alive: 50,000 bits / Dead: 25,000 bits

Blizzard

Male, ice-blue coat, green mane, pegasus. Snow cloud cutie mark.

Exceptionally strong, unexpectedly quiet. Strong build.

Alive: 50,000 bits / Dead: 25,000 bits

Sleet

Female, dark blue coat, purple mane, pegasus. Rain cloud cutie mark.

Very fast. Merciless.

Alive: 50,000 bits / Dead: 25,000 bits

To claim a bounty or report a sighting, please contact your local authorities or your nearest Agency branch.