ÜBER HAMPERING

It was (at long last) Summer in the Land of Equestria.

This meant a LOT of things, which I will NOT list up, because I'll have to have my mind clear and sober for when I reach the actual story.

Anyways...

For the railway, summer held countless things: Long-hour work, heatwaves, holidaymakers, vacationing foals, and did I mentioned heatwaves?

Passengers and loads arrived on time, and everything was going like clockwork, despite it all...

But EVERYONE (well, the engines, anyway) was complaining!

"OW! Oh, for God's... FIFTH time I get my buffers burned on one of the trucks!" Diesel growled.

He was growling for several reasons, by the way, one being the heat, the other being the solution to it...

Usually, through the course of this season, most of the engines (ESPECIALLY Derek) overheated at LEAST a couple of times - apart from him...

Despite having a dull, completely black paintjob, which quite literally SOAKED the heat of the sun's rays in, he had never broken down even AT ONCE due to overheating.

However, on the first day of the first heatwave, Twilight collapsed out of his cab, suffering from a sunstroke or ten. This prompted the yard management (Dr. Whooves, basically) to give him a different, lighter color of paint for the time of the heat waves.

As a result, Diesel was painted silver gray all over, and received a cab A.C.. The others teased him relentlessly for this, knowing it very well how he HATED to be repainted, especially 'Arry and Bert, who had been painted yellow all over, including their traction rods, with the back and the front of their cabs (well, those thing stripes on either side of their engine block we could refer too as front) receiving hazard stripes, the livery they wore when they first arrived to the Other Railway, escaping from the saccharine purgatory of Sodor.

Meanwhile, Twilight soon recovered, and found the upgrade a great relief.

The others had been painted over as well, receiving lighter colors (Derek was painted white all over, but he still had to spend most of his time in the repair shed).

The engines were pleased with their new coats, especially Pip and Emma, who were painted InterCity Swallow gray and black with silver gray roofs, and teased Old Stuck-Up (who didn't got his paintjob changed, as it was already lighter than the standard) to no end. Bowler was the other one, being even more smarmy and smug than usual, as he was painted old BR Apple green.

"Well, well, well..." he chuckled now "I thought you shunters were capable to do your work, even in... "Extreme" conditions, like the heated buffers of trucks..."

"Oh, smag of, you aberrant can of paint!" the shunter growled, then eyed up his colleague "Where's your driver candidate, anyway?"

"Not yet present..." Bowler replied, starting to look puzzled "Control said I'll have to wait for... Her to turn up..."

"Huh... Wonder who is she..." BoZo chuffed from the other siding, his chroming he received for the season blinding anyone in sight for hours on end - nothing compared to Bowler's buffers, though...

That afternoon, Old Stuck-Up returned with the early express, feeling exhausted. Coughing, wheezing and spluttering, he reversed into the cool shadows of the carriage works, not even bothering to roll back into his spot in the main sheds.

This caught the others attention, quickly - what caught it even more when a half boiled Rarity staggered out of his cab, calling out for a fitter (Spike, respectively), before collapsing, which made the express engine yell for a medic, before going out with a BANG! and a cloud of smoke!

As it turned out, that little record-breaking with the High-Speed Twins had worn out more than just his bogies (read Episode 4: 'Enterprising Mares' for more info). The Class 40 needed a complete overhaul, which made the other engines worried...

Oh, don't think they were concerned about their "dear friend" - biggest lie of the year THAT would be. They were simply worrying about the increasing workload.

Bowler had to carry the express from then on, whilst some other engine was needed to take HIS passenger trains. Pip and Emma couldn't take another load, they were already carrying as many coaches as possible, all full.

Spamcan vehemently refused to take passengers, and Applejack supported him - neither of them wanted to risk lives, if not others', their own, facing the fact neither of them knew even the basics of passenger duties.

Shunters weren't allowed to take trains, and CoBo was too busy with his own goods runs. Derek, BoZo, and Juggernaut were, of course, out of question, and neither Cromwell, OR the Brakefather would've been able to jump in.

For some mysterious, plot-twisting reason, NONE of the back-up engines at Trottingham Junction were available (then again, it WAS summer, so that was sort of half-expected), which left Dr. Whooves with one option...

He didn't like it...

And he knew the engines wouldn't like it, either...

But there was no other choice.

Later that night, two steam engines arrived from Manehattan, a red LMS Jubilee Class with golden stripes, called Conrad, and a maroon and golden Coronation Class locomotive, Beatrice.

When Stuck-Up heard of his replacement, he was FUMING (despite having his motors removed).

"BEING REPLACED?! BY STEAMIES?! BLEBLEBLEBleblebleble...!" and he scatted into the night.

The others were angry, too.

Having one of their engines (the chief express engine, no less) replaced by a steam locomotive was MOST unpleasant. They didn't mind Beatrice, though. The Class 40 has spoken highly of her, and the others welcomed her warmly... Well, lukewarmly, anyways...

Conrad, on the other hand, gained the dislike of the yard as soon as he arrived.

The red Jubilee Class saw Diesel and Steamie move the last trucks of the day to their respective sidings, and was quick to make himself noticed.

"OI! YOU TWO!" he yelled across the yard. The two engines looked at him with the mixture of disdain (from Diesel's side) and surprise (from Steamie's side).

Twilight Sparkle and Pinkie Pie, their drivers, were also puzzled.

"Who's that?" Pinkie asked.

"Uugh... That's Conrad, one of the replacement engines..." Diesel uttered in a manner like he really wanted to spit "We oughta' watch out for him. He's trouble from what I heard..."

Diesel was right. Conrad was quick to criticize and order them about.

"You! The green puffball!" he shouted at Steamie "Get movin', and put my passenger train together for tomorrow!"

"Can't it wait 'till tomorrow morning?" the tired tank engine asked.

Conrad saw red.

"I SAID "NOW", YOU SMARMY LITTLE GIT!" he roared "I WANT YOU, AND YOUR PINK PUFF DRIVER TO HAUL ASS OVER THOSE SODDY COACHES...!" he shouted, glancing at some nearby carriages "...AND ARRANGE MY PASSENGER TRAIN!"

"But... But... We just finished with..." Pinkie tried, before being hollered down:

"I WANT NONE OF YOUR BULLSHIT! GET MOVIN'!" Conrad roared, and wheeshed scorching hot steam all over the small tank engine.

Coughing and weeping, Steamie and Pinkie rushed off to arrange the big engine's coaches.

Conrad then looked at the other shunter.

And for a short moment, he felt... Confused? Puzzled? Disoriented?

Diesel was giving a patronizing look, filled with disdain, loathing, and utter disrespect. For him, it seemed, Conrad was a hunk of scrap.

However, the big engine soon got over the momentary lapse of reason, and, even more infuriated, he began to roar at the Class 08.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOIN', JUST PARKING THERE! GET OUTTA' MY SIGHT, YOU SLIMY GIT!"

Diesel didn't move or even reply. But he looked even more unimpressed.

The tender engine lost whatever little patience he had.

"I'M TALKIN' TO YOU, YA BLACK, SMIRCH-COATED GREASEBALL! PISS OFF!"

The shunter finally seemed to react, as he took a deep breath, and...

"No."

A vein became visible on Conrad's forehead.

"WHAT?!"

"Are you deaf or retarded or something?" Diesel grunted "This is OUR yard, not yours, you egocentric cunt. You don't just go around, ordering us about like we were your slaves. YOU stay put where you are, WE arrange your trains IF we have the time and IF we FEEL like it, and you take 'em, being grateful that we didn't tore you apart in your sleep and fed you to the shredder. Capiche?"

The red engine was speechless, his mouth agape and quivering, as his blood-shot eyes twitched, locked in a glare of disbelief and fury.

"We know you, Conrad." Twilight spoke up coldly, leaning out of Diesel's cab "You're just a self-centered, pompous, xenophobe git obsessed with keeping your own yard "pure", being the superioritist twat you are. Full of hot air, but with NO content, whatsoever..."

Diesel began to roll away, blowing a cloud of thick black exhaust fumes into the engine's face.

"You have been warned, steamie. This is our yard, an' YOU don't make orders. Appreciate what you get, or FUCK OFF!" the shunter growled, and reversed to the sheds, where the others have been waiting, having witnessed the whole thing, but out of earshot.

Later, when both Diesel and Steamie were already in their berths, chatting with the others after their drivers have left, they heard the sound of hissing...

Out of the shadows came Beatrice and Conrad, the latter tailgating the former and cutting in front of her on the turntable. He took the longer turn around, eyeing up all the other engines sternly, before reversing into Old Stuck-Up's berth, with Beatrice following him quietly, parking into another empty siding ('Arry and Bert have moved onto one siding to make place for an extra engine, and the shed has fifteen places... Wait, does that ad up? Whatever...).

No sooner than he hissed to stop, he didn't even waited for his crew to leave before he began to banter.

"Look at you all!" he wheeshed "Distorted oil drums, that's all what you are, hogging up this shed that was made for steam engines!"

The diesels glowered.

"Hmph. Doesn't matter, though!" he sneered "Soon enough, Manehattan's service will prove to be more useful and take over the region. THEN this yard will be ours, and all of these frauds will be turned into what they are: generators on wheels!"

He gave a dark chuckle.

Had he said any more, the diesels would of killed him then and there, just like that.

Trust me, they would've been capable of it.

But then, Beatrice called out to him.

"Oh, shut the Hell up, Conrad!" she scoffed "These engines have been working hard through rain, snow, wind and the blazing sun for decades! You have been rotting in a shed in pieces, and haven't worked a single day in your life before we came here!" she went on, indignantly "Besides, this is a LARGE railway, and I doubt that just ONE region would be able to change the rules, let alone bend them. We ARE overlooked by deities, after all!"

"That may be..." the red engine hissed, though far from impressed "But as soon as they see what us REAL engines could do, they'll think twice about wasting efforts on these fakes!"

"Fakes, huh?" Bowler growled "At LEAST we're not some sort of deformed heater on wheels. You call US frauds when you haven't done CRAP before you even came here! We've worked through our life faithfully, and what did you do? Nothing!"

We all know that the "faithful" part was the lie of the century, right?

Anyway, Conrad only smiled...

"Hmph... Seems the tables have turned, oil drums. WE steam engines have ALWAYS been the more reliable ones, NO MATTER our age or the scale of our malfunction!" he smirked "Now I'M the new deal, and you're the scraplings!"

The diesels exchanged looks over this confusing remark, but Diesel, 'Arry and Bert seemed to understand it, and we're infuriated!

"Scrapling!? WHY, you sordid little prick!" the jet black shunter growled "You were put together from salvaged parts cannibalized from scrapped steamies trough'bout Britain, and you call US scraplings?! No wonder why lot were all withdrawn: with MENIAL efficiency compared to the TONS of fuel you consume, precious water wasted away, and with your INSUFFERABLE arrogance and stubbornness."

"Ya call yersel'es "su'vivo's"..." Bert muttered "Bu' in reali'y, yer th' fu'kin' livin' dead!"

"Ya oughta' be prayin' tha' ya won' find yerself burried in SHI' a' th' smel'e's!" - 'Arry added.

"How vulgar!" Conrad puffed.

"Just shut up!" Beatrice snapped at him, as she (and the others) finally submitted to their tiredness...

The next week passed, and Conrad's presence was getting increasingly unbearable for everyone, but, sadly, as expected from such an arrogant and antagonizing git, he did his work excellently, and none of the passengers complained.

They did took notice of the engine's unruly behavior towards his colleagues, which they mentioned to the stationmaster each case they became eyewitnesses of it.

And THAT wasn't a few:

He constantly argued with the big diesels (Bowler, Old Stuck-Up, Spamcan and Cromwell), insulted the older ones (the Brakefather, Juggernaut (though the old timer rarely took notice any of it, as he rarely took notice of anything, anyways), and BoZo), and was lashing out on Derek and High-Speed Twins more and more vehemently. Beatrice tried to stop him at times, but she wasn't able to be around for too long most of the time.

Diesel and the Iron Twins found it increasingly difficult to NOT to tear the tender engine apart. However, they draw the line when, after a long banter, the red Jubilee brought Emma, AND Pip down to tears.

To put it shortly, he was put in his place, stuck in the yard with bashed buffers and a cracked cylinder, hid out of sight behind old vans, with an enormous stripe of duct tape covering his mouth (along with several gashes and bruises on his face, and two black eyes).

When he was discovered, Dr. Whooves said nothing. He knew it all.

Conrad was repaired, and a quite... Liberally composed (in formal terms, that is) report was sent to Manehattan, with a vocabulary that would of made even the most foul-mouthed carriage-towing stallion weep in shock and dismay.

Finally, next Sunday came, and the mares returned.

They had all heard about Conrad's behavior, and, after having grown used to the Other Railway's attitude, they decided NOT to act. Some friendships were simply not worth to be tried to made.

On that day, Spamcan and Applejack were returning from the Canterlot/Phillydelphia province borders, after having worked through the whole day there, assisting heavy industrial contracts. For the diesel, it was a good workout, but for the applefarmer, it was a bore. Both were glad to be on their way home, even if it meant putting up with the chivying of the wretched Jubilee Class.

But, after such a long day, they couldn't care less...

On their way home, they had to stop for a red signal.

D199 sighed, trying not to inhale the smokescreen he left behind, thanks to his clagging, as he was travelling arse, I mean, faceless cab first. Looking to the side, he saw Conrad stuck on the sideline near the signalbox. The cylinder that he had "managed to crack" a few days before could only be fixed hastily, and it was obvious that the problem may resurface later, perhaps grow worse.

And, as predicted, it did.

The tender engine had blown his cylinder, and, although he was only carrying a train of empty coaches, he refused to move out of "fatal malfunction". and shrieked for a fitter every five minutes, until his already frustrated-to-frenzy crew told him to either shut up or blow up, which silenced him quickly... For the moment...

Spamcan grinned...

"Oi! Loo' a' tha', A.J.!" he chuckled "Seems li'e Ol' Reliable go' boo-boos... Oh well, nu'hin' will stop 'im, he's STEAM after all!"

"Ah woul'n't be so sure, Sugahcab!" the mare snickered "He looks ready to be scrapped fer me!"

Conrad seethed with fury, when the signalcolt ran out from his box, looking angry as well.

"For Luna's sake, take this hunk of steaming scrap metal out of my sight! The Freighter is due, and he's hogging up the line, the lazy git!"

"STEAMING SCRAP METAL?! LAZY GIT?! Why, the nerve...!"

"STOW IT!" the colt bellowed "Or I'll ask the Iron Twins to take care of your "fatal malfunctions" personally!"

Conrad quivered and shut up to this death wish.

The colt then turned to Applejack.

"Could you move this oversized kettle out of the way? He refuses to move on his own!"

"We'll see what we cun do." the mare replied. Spamcan rolled onto Conrad's line and buffered up to him...

But as he was being coupled up, Conrad was plotting against him (as expected).

"Rescued by a DIESEL! No, I will NOT tolerate this disgrace!" he thought, and quickly figured out just what to do...

He still had some steam left in his pipes...

So when the Class 46 coupled up, he let out a great big WHEEEEEEEEEEESH!!!

Spamcan was covered from buffer to buffer, and from wheel to roof, in a thick cloud of steam. What's worse, as he tried to free himself from the miasma, the vapor leaked through his ventilation grills and air-intakes.

As the miniature fog cleared, all that was revealed was a drenched and pissed goods engine and an equally wet and irate mare.

"Why you li'e twa'!" the diesel swore.

Suddenly, there came a BANG!

A thick cloud of black smoke blasted out from Spamcan's exhausts, and his motor began to cough and splutter, light gray, translucent smoke pouring out from his vents...

"*Cough!* No' I kno' how Derek feels!" he wheezed, as his engine clattered to a halt.

Applejack jumped out from the driver's seat, and tore the door to the engine room open... Smog poured into the cab like a flood!

She quickly opened the cab door now, and jumped for her health!

She landed, on all fours, coughing madly as well, as the smoke cleared away...

Trough the thick plumes carbon-monoxide and soot, they could hear... Cackling?

Now, make a guess who did that?
Got it?

. . . .

Good. No surprises for the next part, then.

Conrad laughed evilly as the diesel broke down.

"If I have to go, I'm taking YOU with me!"

Needless to say, a certain cowmare was cross. She walked up to the smoke box of the engine.

"Just WHAT the Hay were ya thinkin', blowin' out steam like that?!" she snapped at him "Now we're stuck AS WELL! Ya're still blockin' the line, an Ah can't move ya!"

"Exactly what I wanted!" the tender engine declared indignantly "I'm NOT going to be put on parade by that smog tank, an' I'm NOT moving!"

Applejack lost whatever patience she had left.

"Well, consarn it! The Bloomin' Hay is wrong with ya, ya oversized radiator?! Ye're causin' delays, an' giv' this here railway a bad name! CAN' ya think of anypo-... AnyONE else than yahself?! For Celestia's sake, ya also signed that contract! Ya HAV' to work, like any other engine!"

The Jubilee snorted.

"Phuah! What's it to YOU, horse?! I never agreed with THAT contract, it was those pathetic diesels you work with! More importanly, I never agreed to COME into this pathetic world of yours, NOR did I agreed to serve your little Princess! AND, if you think a little pastel colored nag like YOU is going to change my mind, then you have another thing comin'!"

The mare felt the ire rise up in her veins, but kept her cool...

Her answer was short and simple:

A quick, strong buck in the nose!

"OW! Son of A--!!"

"Yah cun continue that sent'nce, watertube, an' yah'll find yahself very dazed an' sa'prised on th' Cuben islands!"

Conrad shut up after hearing that awful threat.

A.J. walked back up to Spamcan.

"Well, we got Ol' Reliable to be quiet fo' th' moment, bu' what 'bout ya?"

The diesel thought for a moment...

"I' doesn' seem li'e any smar' ideas woul' help a' th' moment..."

"So?" the mare asked.

"We'll jus' hav' to use bru'e force..."

She nodded, and climbed back inside the cab, starting D199 engine once more.

The motor coughed and sputtered, black smoke rising from the exhausts, as it tried to get rid itself of the water inside of it...

Another BANG! echoed through the air, as the motor spew out a thick cloud of wet smog, which quickly fell back, covering Spamcan's already splodged body.

Like the others, he was repainted as well, but in a different manner:

Through the course of one afternoon, the Apple family decided to give "their" faithfully working engine some new paint... But it turned out that they've miscalculated the amount required to paint him over (it wasn't Big Mac who did the math, after all), so in the end, they could only paint out all the graffiti and tagging on him. Sadly, the color wasn't exactly right, which left him with darker blue blots on his sides... He didn't mind though, well, not much, anyways...

As a matter of fact, he was getting used to working... Well, working in general, but also, he was getting used to life in the land of Equestria... He wouldn't admit it, but he had... Began to enjoy his stay, even if he had to work. The ponies were nicer than the humans, lived a life far more simple and sober than his creators, and even the air was cleaner - something which he, as a city-running and heavy industry-used engine, felt alien at first.

However, he now rumbled proud and strong, as his motors took in the fresh air, like deep breath...

"Tha' bac'fi'e clean'd ou' my exhaus' pipes!" he exclaimed "I thin' I can do this!"

Applejack wasn't convinced, but trusted the engine - her engine - enough.

"If ya say so, Sugahcab..."

The diesel smiled, and, revving loudly, he reversed a bit, bashing into Conrad's buffers for good measure, then, with a heavy tug, took him off from the sideline, onto a siding near by.

The next train soon passed, with Beatrice chuffing in front, puffing hardly, a train of shiny, chromed oil tankers clattering behind. There was something peculiar about the train, though...

She was visibly having trouble keeping the pace, and soon enough, she wheeshed to a halt. The signalman anxiously walked over to the cab, and exchanged words with the driver and firemare.

He returned with bad news, looking desperate.

"This is not good! That steam engine's brakes aren't working properly! The train's fine, thanks to her injector, but her brakes are jammed."

He then looked exceptionally at the engine.

"Could you...?"

Applejack had heard it all, and leaned out of the cab to reply:

"Oh no we don't! We were just headin' home, an' Ah've alre'dy overtaxed Spamcan with that "throat-clearin'"!"

"I can do i'..." the Class 46 spoke up.

"See? Give th' poor devil some... What?" the mare was perplexed.

"If i's her brakes, all i' nee's is a good biff." Spamcan explained "She can pull afterwards."

"Ah see..." A.J. replied, thinking "Bu' still, movin' TWO slumped steamies AN' their train... Ah don' know, sugz..."

"Leave i' to me!" the goods engine smirked. A.J. shrugged, and got back into the cab.

Rattling as he pushed Conrad's train back on the line, Spamcan eyed up the train in front of him, the chromed tankers nearly blinding him with their reflection of the sun (STILL nowhere near Bowler's buffers).

As they buffered up to the back of the train, they could already see the driver and the firemare walking down towards them, the former turning out to be a hippogriff.

"How come there's no brakevan?" the apple farmer asked.

"These trucks don't need it." the firemare explained, checking a clipboard "A good thing Beatrice has an injector, otherwise, we'd be completely stranded."

"Where ya'll be headin'?"

"To Canterlot, special deliver for Princess Celestia herself!" the driver announced proudly.

"What would tha' be then, if ya don' mind me askin'?" AJ asked. The hippogriff and the mare exchanged looks, then simply showed the clipboard to her.

After reading it, the cowpony felt blood rush into his cheeks...

"Weeeell..." she uttered "Whatever suits her fancy..."

Soon enough, the trains were set.

Spamcan roared his engine, and gave the rear truck a great biff!

The jolt ran down the train, growing stronger and stronger, until it hit the Coronation Class with such a force it knocked it's brakes free, and thus, she could continue her journey. Spamcan trundled right behind him, with Conrad sulking and moaning at the end, his coaches clattering and mocking him.

The strange cavalcade made it's way up the hills towards Canterlot, with the diesel pushing the tender engine's train, to avoid snapping a coupling after they've been put through such harsh treating with that biff.

Finally, they arrived the Canterlot Freight Terminal, Beatrice stopping on one siding, and Spamcan next to her, with Conrad creaking behind him, the sudden stop bashing the coaches into his tender.

The two engines at the front sighed. The long journey was over.

Princess Celestia, who wanted to make sure her load arrives safely, had discreetly made her way to the platform... Only to find D199 and Applejack there, to her deepest surprise...

She was quick to cover up, though...

"Oh! My dear friends!" she smiled "What brings you here?"

"A super rescue." the diesel smirked.

"A what?" the Princess asked, taking a good look on the trains, slowly realizing "Ah, I see... Well, I'd like to congratulate you then for your tiring efforts at bringing these trains to their destination."

"Eh, i' wasn't jus' us, Beatrice helped as well!" Spamcan smiled, and the maroon engine beamed back at him. Applejack, however, wasn't as pleased, as she pointed a hoof at the red engine behind the diesel.

"Bu' this 'ere steam engine is a consarned nuisance! He won' obey even his driver or firecolt, an' he had given us, an' th' other diesels a hard time through th' whole week!"

The Chairmare merely nodded.

"I'll write my reports later!"

Beatrice then went off to get her brakes looked at, towing the still groaning Conrad. It was then when A.J. suddenly asked.

"By th' way Princess... Erm... It's none of mah business, but..."

"Why do ya nee' sev'ral thousan' gallons o' Lube?" Spamcan cut to the point, not wanting to dither about all day.

The Princess' cheeks got into a nice, red shade, as she stuttered:

"W-Well, you see..."

"Never mind!" the cowmare quickly spoke up, climbing back into his engine - she could feel the ground heating up beneath her hooves, and saw it was best they leave.

Arriving home, the two were met with a raging applause. Beatrice also returned, and was welcomed as well, as they saw she was different than her colleague.

Conrad, however, was sent home in disgrace as soon as he was repaired. He slipped out of Canterlot in the black of the night, and made his way home. But unlike the small Ponyville Marshalling Yard he passed (uttering curses under his breath), Manehattan Central was still wide awake. The others wasted no time to tease and berate him for his behavior, especially Euston, the green LMS Patriot Class engine.

Bitterly, the engine decided to sleep away from the main sheds, and found the comfort of loneliness in an older goods shed.

He condemned them all, his colleagues, the diesels, AND the Princesses. However, grown tired by his long journey to home, he drifted off into sleep...

He woke up, a few hours later, to a deep rumble...

It was cold, in the middle of the night... In the light of the few yard lamps were still lit, the tender engine could barely make out the shape beside him... And groaned, when he figured out it was a diesel.

"They sure made a fool out of you, those engines..." it stated on a low, cold voice... Conrad merely rolled his eyes.

"Big deal! What's your business, anyway?!" he hissed.

"Oh, nothing..." the diesel said, with a smirk in his voice "I merely wanted to make an offer..."

The Jubilee fell silent.

"...What sort of offer?" he asked slowly...

The diesel chuckled.

"The sort you'll like..." it muttered "For your help, I'll make sure you'll have revenge on ALL of those who made you suffer."

"All..." uttered Conrad, the thought making him feel very content, but also sending down a shiver through his joints...

"And for this... What do I have to do?" he asked, cautiously. He could practically feel his dark companion smirk.

"Stand by my side..." said the other, his voice slowly becoming that of a living person's, rather than a owner-less, silent scream in the night "Soon, I'll have this world under my buffers. The ponies have no clue about is engines, and what the humans wouldn't allow us, they don't even consider denying from us. Join me, and vengeance will be yours, moreover, those who mocked you will be your's to desire with!"

The red engine pondered. His golden stripes weakly reflected the silvery light of Luna's moon.

Conrad was an aggressive, vehement engine, with notable willpower, and knew himself very well, aside all euphemism. But he was also a sensible sort, his many parts, truly taken from many other engines in order to build him, had carried smaller, simpler crumbles of wisdom. To cut it short, he was no fool. The equine society was FAR better than the human one, even if ridiculously utopic and detestably right. He especially hated it because he liked it, despite it's members not being the one who built him, OR any of his class.

But he also hated the humans for naming him after a religious figure, when he was quite openly against any sort of higher power (and was also a technocrat, having faith in electric engines, while also openly hating diesels with the kind of racial hatred familiar, yet unknown to mankind). As a matter of fact, he hated humans for many reasons, while he hated ponies for only one. Thus, the scale worked in favor of the equines. This diesel beside him HAD a notable aura of power around him, but the very nature of this power and this diesel made him shudder in fear inwardly. No. He rather rivalize with Devious Diesel and his gang, than to work with THIS one diesel. Besides, he had a prestige to uphold - the Yard's.

"...And if I don't agree?" he asked in a manner that couldn't be misunderstood.

"...Suit yourself." the other engine replied simply and coldly, rumbling out from the goods shed.

In the moonlight, Conrad could make out the shape of a diesel-hydraulic, and, thanks to a yard lamp, the golden nameplate on the side of the engine was also readable.

He felt the water inside his tanks turn into ice, as glacial horripilation pulsed through his entire being.

He decided, then and there, that he'll believe in the supposed deities that run this railway, this country, this world.

As soon as possible, he'll have to warn the engines of the Ponyville Marshalling Yard, sooner before he could act. He couldn't tell anyone, though... It'll only cause panic...

He suddenly remembered a mantra, which the workmen muttered to their selves on cold, scary nights, when they worked on him.

Shall you fall
from wall to wall,
and loose control over all;
Still, never light fire to tar,
Rather spend the night at the bar,
And stay out of the sight
Of the lights
Of the Western Star.