“Who are we!”

“Soldiers!”

“What's our Cloud!”

“Five-oh-five!”

That is the chant that the trainees of Cloud 505 have been reciting every day for the entire twelve weeks of training at Neighvaho for the Wonderbolts. It has been that way ever since Blueblood's assassination and Shining Armor's plan to modernize Equestria's military.

As part of Shining Armor's military modernization plan, the pegasi of the Frontier Watch began assisting the Wonderbolts in training to create the Royal Air Guard's special forces branch. The reasons for choosing the Frontier Watch are fully just, too, since it is the only branch in the Royal Guard that faces constant combat against terrible creatures in inhospitable terrain all over Equestria.

Another round of chanting passes and Thunderlane finds himself in disbelief that he has let his father provoke him into signing up for this elite fighting force. He can't believe that he has become so desperate for his father's love and to be a proper Hurricane that he has willingly given up his life for a uniform he has never cared about. Every day for the past twelve weeks, with every rise and fall of the sun, through mud and exams, and the pain of boundary breaking exercises to the chaos of the Discord Course, he feels a strong hatred eating at him for this. His home, his old life, all gone and replaced by concrete buildings, cheap cots and stallions he has yet to feel a connection with, and for what? To finally feel like he has a place in his father's heart and for his mother to smile at him without feigning joy?

The Cloud hollers a their chant, and their Military Training Instructor, Staff Sergeant Burnside, speedily goes up and down their line, shouting for them to get louder. The group gets louder to where the walls shake and Thunderlane's ears ring, forcing them by instinct to fold against his head. Bad move on his body's part, since that brings the attention of their gray furred, dark brown maned Tirek spawn directly towards him.

“ARE WE TOO LOUD FOR YOU, HURRICANE!” screams Burnside right in Thunderlane's ear.

“No, sir!” says Thunderlane, his voice barely considered to be a shout above the earth shaking chants of his cloud.

“GET LOUD, HURRICANE! I CAN'T HEAR YOUR PATHETIC VOICE!”

“YES, SIR!” screams Thunderlane, bringing a tearing pain to his throat.

“NOW THAT'S A SCREAM, RIGHT THERE!”

Then he goes off to torment the rest of the pegasi, and reminds Thunderlane of another reason why he hates this place. His old life and job was not nearly as stressful and he actually enjoyed himself at times with his humble living. Here, though, at the barren region of Neighvaho, he has been in the First Ring of Tartarus for the past twelve weeks, completely miserable without a single letter from home to get him through it. At least with his old life as a Weather Patrolpony he could come home every day to Rumble and hear Flitter and Cloudchaser talk about how he was sweet and cute and fluffy and all other things related to a pony made out of joys and glitter.

Here?

No privacy. No one to go to. And a bullshit “nothing personal” claim to fight against an MTI whose soul purpose is to make Thunderlane's life a living Hell. Thunderlane would not be surprised if his father somehow played a role in his torment just to toughen him up to be a real Hurricane, and he has surprised himself by not quitting already.

At least if he quit, he could go back to his old life and enjoy the humble things and not worry about the troubles of the world.

The Cloud goes through yet another round of chants, and in a feeble attempt to get rid of the negativity swirling in his mind, Thunderlane blinks his eyes quickly. Despite his well contained wrath telling him that he has forsaken everything for an unappreciative coot and a mother who clearly loves Rumble more than he, he sees light at the end of this madness. Once Friday of Week Twelve rolls around, he will graduate as a Wonderbolt and finally be accepted as a Hurricane. He will finally be accepted into his own family, and he will have all the perks of the military he can take care of Rumble better than what a Weather Patrolpony's salary can provide. That alone makes abandoning his old life worth it.

The chanting dies down and Burnside speaks again. He is still shouting, but now it is a regular shout where ears are not bleeding. “Alright, boys, today is the day! Today, I want you to scream so loud that nopony can hear Lightning Dust and her girls, clear?”

“Clear, sir!” barks all the trainees.

“What was that!”

“CLEAR, SIR!”

“Trainees! Ten-Shun!”

Thunderlane snaps at attention in unison with the other pegasi, and when the trumpets from outside pierce the cold morning air, everyone storms out, roaring with the other stallions and mares that pour out of their dorms. Hooves bang on metal, and the battle cries of stallions and mares alike bounce off the concrete walls, but as soon as Thunderlane goes out the dorm door there is nothing. Not a single pony or brick or light to be seen. All there is is a white void with a colt no more than five sitting with something on his lap.

Thunderlane looks over his shoulder to see more white, and when he looks back he sees a patch of grass growing from underneath the colt. He squints his eyes and steps closer, coming to a stop when he realizes that the colt is him.

A tree sprouts from behind the young version of Thunderlane, and it rapidly becomes thick with healthy leaves and fully bloomed flowers. The colt smiles, but the toothy grin that he has sends a chill up Thunderlane's spine. Then the area around him darkens with black and red, and the tree and grass begin to simmer with flakes of gray and orange peeling off to be carried away by the wind.

Thunderlane shields his eyes from the blades of grass and embers carried by the wind by squinting and holding up his hoof, and through his squinting eyes he sees the younger him raising a knife. It glows with the flames now consuming the white behind him, and even with the choking smoke polluting the air with its darkness Thunderlane can still make out another figure standing behind the colt.

“No,” whispers Thunderlane when the smoke clears just enough for him to see the figure is the stallion in a full body painting suit. With tears in his eyes and teeth gritted, Thunderlane stomps forward, coughing out smoke in his lungs. “What are you doing here!”

The Painter remains silent, as does the Young Thunderlane, and as the fire intensifies Thunderlane can make out stone structures with fire bursting out of their windows and wooden skeletons collapsing on top of each other. Over the crackling flames and snapping wood, screams of the dying and injured fill his ears, carried by the wind and the fire's heat.

Thunderlane steps back, hyperventilating with tears in his eyes from the searing smoke. He collapses and coughs painfully into his hoof, and seconds later the Painter's goggles flash green and everything becomes still. The crumbling buildings, the silhouettes of those fleeing the chaos and the burning tree all become like a terrible painting on a canvas. The only one who is breathing is Thunderlane, and his breaths are loud enough to echo clearly in the destruction.

Thunderlane swallows and looks back at his younger self. He is still smiling wide and the knife is still in his grip. But then he gradually extends his free hoof and holds the knife above it. Thunderlane's eyes bulge and reaches out, shaking his head and finding it hard to find the words to tell the kid to not do it.

“No, don't it,” begs Thunderlane after a few seconds of faltering. “Don't do it. Put the knife down.”

Young Thunderlane giggles and the Painter continues staring at the present Thunderlane.

“Watch me bleed,” whispers Young Thunderlane.

“No!” shouts Thunderlane.

Young Thunderlane slams his knife straight through the hoof and-

Thunderlane snaps up, panting and sweating, and when he looks at his shaking hooves he does not see a scratch on them, but this still does not stop him from trembling. Even his pupils shake with his ragged breaths and he jumps when Rainbow Dash puts her hoof on his shoulder.

“You okay?” asks Rainbow Dash.

Thunderlane looks at Rainbow Dash, she is pale like him and has bags under her eyes.

“I'm fine,” croaks Thunderlane as he wipes his mane back. He is quick to clear his throat so he can speak in a less scratchy, but still tired, tone. “Really. I'm fine. But what about you? You don't look so good.”

Rainbow Dash shrugs and offers a worn out smile of her own. “I'm okay. I just never slept on a couch with somepony before and you got a little clingy, so... yeah. Oh, and you snore.”

Thunderlane sits up and looks at Rainbow Dash with a raised brow. No one has ever told him he snored, and if he did then Rumble would have used that to his full advantage in sibling torment. The clinging claim he is uncertain about, though, since he doesn't know what he does when he is in a pill induced slumber, but he knows he doesn't snore and it is obvious that Rainbow Dash is hiding something.

His scrutinizing stare breaks down Rainbow Dash's confident smile into a nervous one and she slips off of the couch to the kitchen.

“I gotta feed Tank,” she says quickly.

Thunderlane watches her until she is in the kitchen, pouring food in a bowl for her pet, who is crawling towards her at snail's pace with that lazy smile of his. After looking away from the Element, he turns on the radio for the morning news.

“...It has been reported that Captain of the Royal Guard Soarin Pansy has confronted Princess Celestia about temporarily revoking the Special Talent Act for military use to better implement Equestria's first mandatory draft in history,” says a bored stallion over the radio.

It then cuts to Soarin's determined voice; it sounds like it is a clip from a speech. “Equestria has not faced a war in a thousand years, and we are going against a nation that prides itself in warfare. Their allies hold the same mentality which puts us and our allies at the illusion of a disadvantage. But we can and will win if we all pull our weight. We have the resources, the evolutionary benefits of natural flight and magic, and we have superior knowledge. The time is now to put our knowledge and our benefits to work to end this conflict before it spreads. If everypony, regardless of their cutie mark, is able to fight for Equestria then we will overcome any and all challenges that come against us. This war effects us all, and only cooperation of every level will make our victory and power resurgence absolute.”

Thunderlane rolls his eyes and changes the channel to one that is talking about weather, which it will apparently be another cold day in Canterlot. Not that Thunderlane is surprised because according to the newspaper the weather schedule is supposed to be cold for another two months, as planned last year by the Canterlot Weather Patrol. He continues going through the channels, longing for the days when DJ-Pon3 ruled the air channels, and only stops when a tune catches his attention.

As the music plays Rainbow Dash walks back to the living room, leaving Tank to munch on his meal by his lonesome. Thunderlane stays still on the couch, listening to the words of the song, with that particular verse striking a harsh cord in him that leaves a lump in his throat. He can only think about failing to protect Rumble and Rainbow Dash and the vow he has made to make things right. Thinking about them and his failure brings back the memory of the shouts and the flash from the stadium. Then comes the aftermath of the thick cloud, the torn up bodies and all the blood covering the ground, and Rumble's crippled state.

The image of Rumble lying on the cot, bandaged with no face, hooves and wings send Thunderlane hunching forward with his hooves pressing against his temples, trying desperately to keep himself from shaking. He has no idea how he is going to fix his mistake. His career puts him on a tight leash, and unless the military grants him a personal mission to hunt down the ones responsible, he sees no way he can defend the honor of the Hurricane Family, much less become an accepted member of his own bloodline.

Thunderlane sighs explosively and runs his hoof through his mane, listening to his thumping heart more than his thoughts or the music. He is completely lost and instead of finding his way out, he is seeking comfort in a mare that survived two terrible events with him. And speaking of the one and only Rainbow Dash, her calling Thunderlane snaps him out of his trance.

“I'm going to take a shower. Is there anything weird that I should know about?” asks Rainbow Dash.

Thunderlane shakes his head. “Not really. The pressure is a bit high, but other than that it is perfectly fine.

“Cool. Thanks.”

Thunderlane nods and watches Rainbow Dash slips into the bathroom, and after the door clicks shut, the charcoal stallion sighs and looks at Tank.

The tortoise has finished his meal surprisingly quick for something that does everything at the speed of molasses, and now the reptile is staring at Thunderlane, inadvertently leading to a staring contest between the two

“What are you looking at?” he says after a strange five seconds. Tank blinks and a sly smile stretches across his wrinkly face, prompting a frown to grow on Thunderlane's muzzle. “Don't look at me like that. We're just friends.”

Tank's staring remains constant and Thunderlane turns his head away to escape the unnerving smile Rainbow Dash's pet is giving him. Seconds later, the sound of spraying water resonates from the bathroom, but it does nothing to alleviate the a odd moment between the pegasus and the tortoise. Thunderlane tries to keep his eyes on something other than the Element of Loyalty's pet, but when he feels his cropped mane crawl, he looks out out of the corner of his eye and sees the tortoise is still looking at him with the same strange smile.

Thunderlane's golden eyes widen as they shift side to side nervously. He then grabs the arm of his couch and pulls himself to it for shelter when Tank's droopy eyelids seep down over its eyes for its blink. It is at that moment that he realizes how much he hates tortoises and finds himself wishing Rainbow Dash would hurry up with her shower so the freak of nature will stop looking at him.

Thick steam and sprays of hot water shrouds Rainbow Dash's body in the shower. With the combination of the moist air and the hot water dancing across her fur and relaxing her muscles, her mind nears a void where nothing exists. Not her thoughts; not her memories; it is a pure blank slate with only the wet tile and strands of soaked, rainbow colored hair dangling in front of her eyes for visual.

Rainbow Dash closes her eyes and sniffs the moist air, then presses her hoof against the tiled wall and exhales with her wings spreading out. The water pounding the spot between her wings sends a tingling feeling that makes her shudder, but the pleasant feeling doesn't last. Her mind wanders to the events of last night, from seeing the rage and sadness eating at Thunderlane in the hospital, all the way to the bodiless voice warning her that she will get him killed.

The more Rainbow Dash thinks about it, the more clear it becomes that the voice belongs to the Painter, who she knows is Fuller. If the bombing and the break-in at her apartment isn't enough, then she doesn't know what is. And what is more concerning is how her new nemesis is able to speak to her without being in the room. A psychic talk, if she remembers correctly from one of Twilight's random ramblings during the happier times of Ponyville, can only be achieved if the speaker has a visual on the subject. But it is a difficult spell for anyone to use and has been banned by Celestia for centuries.

That thought brings a concern to her, though. If they were watched last night then why weren't they killed?

No matter how hard she thinks, she cannot come up with a clear answer. Instead she gets the returning visual of Thunderlane hugging her tight that night and never letting go. Admittedly, that part has Rainbow Dash on edge, and his constant whimpering adds fuel to her uneasiness.

Never has a stallion done that to her before. Out of all the flings she has had over the years, it has always been a quick late-night tango, then leave a fake number and address and fly off. The few times where it has been a sleepover, though, their holds have been loose, but Thunderlane's hold resembled a protective one. With that in mind, she wonders if her panic kiss at the Card Casino and her plea to spend the night in his company has given the timid stallion the wrong ideas. Or worse...

With those words returning to torment her, Rainbow Dash grinds her teeth and presses her trembling hoof against the tile, letting the hot water roll down her face, washing her tears and what little remains of yesterday's dirt away. Those words are Fuller's declaration of war, and now she is hating herself for turning Thunderlane and Rumble into targets.

Her paranoid mind goes into overdrive as suspicion surfaces of Fuller somehow convincing the ibexes to bomb the stadium, then getting Thunderlane and Rumble in the same area just so she can see them hurt if she survives the blast. The plot is a little farfetched, but having her and the Hurricanes so close to each other in a bombing is too much to be a coincidence for her. But no matter how hard she thinks of how the plan worked, she always returns to thinking about how Rumble got a taste of Hell because of her.

Rainbow Dash eyes snap open and her shrunken pupils watch the rushing water swirl into the abyss of the drain, with her hyperventilating and shaking despite the heat of the water. Her hoof slides down the tile, and she falls to the tub with a wet plop as her drenched mane goes over her misting eyes, leaving her body to be bombarded by the endless barrage of scorching water.

Rainbow Dash's body completely collapses in the flooding tub and she cries quietly into her hooves, quivering and suffering from the suffocation of the wet lump in her throat and the condemning truth of her role in what has happened. Her body scrunches up tighter and her tail curls around to her face as she hugs herself, trembling more with her tears bleeding through her tightly closed eyes. She gulps for air to break the lump, but all she can make is a pained whimper and her shoulders buckle as the crushing guilt makes her weep harder, only for her cries to be left unheard by the shower.

Thunderlane is reading from his notebook that has all his notes regarding the number “505”. Really, most of what he has found so far has been pointless information, such as the address to the Celestial Spire being on Magic Boulevard, the bombed stadium being located on Kindness Street, and Rich Apartments located on Generosity Avenue all having 505 as the marking numbers. None of this is useful to him and frankly the repetition makes his head hurt.

However, Thunderlane has more than just addresses with weird numbers. He also has many articles that he has taped on the pages, and one such article is about Trixie Lulamoon -a.k.a. the Amazing Mare-Do-Well- speaking at a drug rehabilitation center. She mentions the exact same stalker number, which she blames on a mix of coincidences and drug abuse that created her numerical based paranoia. But Thunderlane thinks she is downplaying it for fear of it costing her her renewed fame. After reading the article he scribbles a note down to have a word with her about the strange number the first chance he gets.

Once he finishes writing his note, Thunderlane turns the page to a news report he found way back when his digging brought him to the historical archives of the Royal Library of Equestria.

505 KILLED AT LULAMOON MONASTERY! WHERE'S THE OUTRAGE!?
Editorial By: Ink Pen
Der Tal, Bernese- It is no secret that Princess Celestia does not want to drag Equestria into a war, much less a foreign war. It will, after all, ruin the millennial long Ippasías Eirí̱ni̱, and who would want to go to war when the Equestrian Games are in full swing?

I know a good majority of us do not. None of us want to send our sons and daughters off to fight and very likely die for a war that does not threaten us in any way. But I ask you this:

What would you want if a foreign power attacked us and killed over five hundred of our own in cold blood to get to a coal vein? Or even a gem deposit? You wouldn't want somepony to turn their backs on us, would you?

The sane answer would be “No.”

You would want somepony to help us from a threat so ruthless and uncaring of life.

But that was not what happened. Barely two weeks ago, on May 5th, the griffin army under the orders of King Czar XXIII killed five hundred and five ibexes and ponies alike seeking refuge from the war within the walls of the Lulamoon Monastery. And for what?

To get to a coal vein that the griffins could have reached just as easily, probably easier, in fact, if they had walked around. But instead of doing this, they chose to raze a four hundred year old Monastery and kill five hundred and five people. And all Celestia did was slap the King's wrist, reject Bernese's call for aide and encouraged us to resume following the Equestrian Games. Which we did without so much as wasting a blink of an eye while war ravages a country.

-Continued on 5B

Thunderlane browses through the rest of the article, studying all the highlighted parts and having a small map clipped to next page marking where the Lulamoon Monastery lies. He has a note scribbled on the map to visit the site the first chance he gets, though he knows that it will not be for a while due to the current standoff between Equestria and Bernese.

With that aside, though, Thunderlane turns the page to a taped in article from Scientific Equestrian, that has in big, bold letters: COMPOUND 505: The FUTURE or a BUST?

By: Scribble Scratch
Cloudsdale, Equestria- It was another typical day at Cloudsdale. It was bright and sunny, but cold. That much could be expected since the city was built high in the sky and made of clouds. But that cold problem was not too bad and was easily fixed by Dr. Good Strongwind's hospitality and a cup of coffee.

Dr. Strongwind was excited to have me over because I agreed to hear him out after many in the scientific community, including the esteemed Starswirl Society, disowned him for his “unconventional mind”.

In his lab, he eagerly showed me a graph relating to seeds from the White Trees of Roam, the Healing Mushrooms of Macintosh Hills, and a plant in Bernese known to the locals as the Schönen Lilie -or the Lovely Lily.

Dr. Strongwind claimed that his extensive research said that those three plants held healing properties and he had already planned on creating a formula that combined all three of their traits into one compound.

He called this design “Compound 505”, but when I asked him how strong it would be, he admitted that he had no idea and needed to go to Bernese for more testing.

And that is as far as Thunderlane gets before a rapid, obnoxious knocking on his door breaks his reading mood.

Thunderlane's head snaps up, brows scrunched and lips curled to a frown in confusion as to who is coming to his home. When the knocking resumes with a familiar, energetic stallion calling him, he sighs and reluctantly puts his notebook down.

The stallion at the door makes another round of knocks and calls Thunderlane again, which he answers by shouting that he'll be there in just a second. This proves to be fairly accurate since it takes him three seconds to finally open the door.

Thunderlane takes a step back once the door is open to have a better look at Staff Sergeant Silver Lining and the pressed blue uniform he is wearing. However, despite how clean the uniform is, Thunderlane really wants to grab some clipper and trim the loose strands on his superior's patch. The patch on Silver Lining's uniform symbolizing his rank is made up of a cloud with three bolts of lightning and two stars inside the cloud's “W”.

“Hey, Thunder! How ya doing?” says Silver Lining, his hoof raised for a hoof-bump.

Thunderlane awkwardly completes the gesture. “I'm fine, sir, but with all do respect, what are you doing here?”

Silver Lining playfully bullies his way past Thunderlane and whistles when he sees how clean his apartment is. Thunderlane does nothing about it except for sigh and close the door, then watches his teammate walk around his apartment, enviously eying the great care Thunderlane put into his cleaning.

“You clean up nice,” says Silver Lining.

“Thank you, sir,” says Thunderlane.

“But now that I'm here, I get to drag your lazy tail to work.”

The silver stallion pauses when he sees an all too familiar tortoise staring at him. Then his ears perk and he turns to the bathroom with too much emphasis on his comedic approach upon realizing that the shower is running. Seeing this makes Thunderlane shift uneasily in his spot, worried that Silver Lining will get the wrong idea, and his anxiety only gets more fuel when a toothy, suggestive smile is directed towards him.

“Is that who I think it is in the shower?” asks Silver Lining.

“Yes, sir, Rainbow spent the night here,” says Thunderlane, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away from the stallion to hide the hot tint on his cheeks.

“Oh, really? Did you two tango?”

Thunderlane's cheeks flare and his wings expand, much to his horror and Silver Lining's amusement, and to add to the entertainment, his wings refuse to go back down.

“No! No, sir!” says Thunderlane, vocalizing his wing-struggle with a grunt as they fight him every step of the way.

Silver Lining takes a quick glance at Thunderlane's wings, then the smile turns to a wolfish grin. “Thunder, relax, it's not like I'm not going to tell Spitfire or Fire Streak about whatever wild night you two had. Just tell me this... Was she a great lay?”

Thunderlane's wings are uncomfortably stiff now and beads of cold sweat roll down his oven hot face as he stares at his superior with wide eyes and drooped ears. Thunderlane is certain that Silver Lining can hear his bones rattling from how hard they are shaking, and he is afraid that his heart will explode from how fast it is beating. But despite the death that is threatening to take the self conscious stallion, the silver pegasus refuses to back down. His smile actually widens and he leans closer with the inappropriate look in his eyes becoming more intense.

“Well...?” probes Silver Lining.

“Please don't do this to me,” begs Thunderlane. “Me and Rainbow didn't do anything. We are just friends -I mean wingmates! We're wingmates and nothing more, sir.”

Silver Lining raises his brows. “And yet you let her spend the night with you.”

“All we did was rest on the couch, sir.”

“Ooh, kinky.”

Thunderlane swallows. “Kinky... sir?”

The puffy maned pegasus puts his hoof around Thunderlane's shoulder, grinning wickedly, which makes the already insecure stallion more nervous around his extrovert superior. Silver Lining's suggestive giggle doesn't make matters much better for Thunderlane, either.

“Oh, yeah,” says the Staff Sergeant with a slow nod. “It starts off with a simple 'date' as just friends, then comes the couch cuddle, then comes the more sophisticated dates. You know, with all the fancy restaurants, a play or two and a walk? Or fly in our case. And after that, a little smoochy-smoochy on the couch and before you know it, BAM!”

Silver Lining slams his hoof against the floor, creating a gunshot like echo that makes Thunderlane jump in his spot and skip a beat.

“In comes the baby train!” hollers Silver Lining.

“That won't happen, sir,” says Thunderlane, his voice still quivering as he rubs his racing heart.

Silver Lining snorts. “Look, I know what I'm talking about, Thunder, and it is obvious you are new to this whole courting thing. So, if you need any pointers or have any questions, you come to me and I'll give you best of the best answers and advice.”

“With all do respect, sir, I've already courted a couple of mares.”

“Did you, Thunder? Did you really court them? Or did they court you?”

Silver Lining leans in close with his eyes wide and intense, boring into Thunderlane's golden eyes like he is trying to break into the Airstallion's memories using psychic powers. Thunderlane cranes his head back in a feeble attempt to escape the uncomfortable staring, but it only encourages Silver Lining to lean in closer.

Thankfully, the bathroom door opens and Rainbow Dash steps out with her vibrant mane and tail dripping wet. Seeing her multi-colored mane hanging past her eyes and shoulders makes Thunderlane realize just how long her mane really is. However, despite the mane over her eyes, he can still see how red and puffy they are... And they are also narrowed.

“Silver, what are you doing to Thunderlane?” demands Rainbow Dash as she furiously marches over to the two stallions.

Silver Lining pulls away from Thunderlane and offers a sweet smile. “Nothing. What did you do to Thunderlane?”

“What kind of question is that!?”

“Rainbow, he thinks we did...” Thunderlane gulps nervously and tries -and fails- to reenact Ruble's hoof rub from the Stadium. “The... The tango thing...”

Rainbow Dash's jaw drops and Silver Lining snickers.

“What is wrong with you!?” shouts Rainbow Dash. “Can't a mare hang out with a stallion for the night without things getting funky!?”

Silver Lining scoffs. “No. Besides, Thunder told me you two had a nice, steamy moment on the couch.”

Now Rainbow Dash shoots Thunderlane a very dirty, murder by tonight, look, and the poor stallion stammers incoherently as he steps back.

“I didn't say that! I said we cuddled!” says Thunderlane defensively.

Next thing Thunderlane knows, there is a crack, a flash of white and a burst of pain that goes all through his jaw, and then he tastes freshly vacuumed carpet and blood.

Thunderlane stands back up, groaning and tenderly rubbing the throbbing in his jaw as he glares at Rainbow Dash. Not too surprisingly, Rainbow Dash doesn't appear to be apologetic about her action and Silver Lining is too busy grinning stupidly to intervene.

“What was that for?” whines Thunderlane, hoof still to his jaw.

“I told you I would punch you if you told anypony!” says Rainbow Dash.

“Wow,” is all Silver Lining says.

Rainbow Dash growls and turns to him, hoof raised and hot air snorting out of her nostrils while she flaps her wings challengingly. Silver Lining just looks at her with complete amusement, though, all while Thunderlane staggers to the kitchen to grab some frozen beans.

“I should knock your teeth out, too!” growls Rainbow Dash.

“But I'm your superior, so that will be stupid of you,” says Silver Lining lightly.

“Then I'll report you for... for inappropriate talking stuff!”

“Wow. You go do that, Dashie, and then I can tell Spitfire and Fire Streak how you two 'cuddled'.”

“We did cuddle!” shouts Rainbow Dash and Thunderlane in unison.

Silver Lining rolls his eyes. “Uh huh, sure. Listen, before we go too far into this debate, I should tell you guys that Soarin is having an emergency security meeting today and we're short on pony power. So, everypony that isn't, quote on quote, hospitalized and in the area must show up to the Royal Guard HQ or face disciplinary action. There is some other disqualification stuff, but we don't fall under it, so chop chop, peeps. Its time to answer our call of duty.”

Thunderlane and Rainbow Dash exchange looks, and put their focus back on Silver Lining when he continues.

“That actually reminds me that Misty went to get you, Rainbow Dash,” he says coolly. “But since you're here, that means I get to take both of you to work today and we get to keep you two's frisky night our nice little secret.”

“Nothing hap-... I hate you,” seethes Rainbow Dash.

Silver Lining gets a cheeky smile. “Doesn't everypony?”

A few minutes later, Thunderlane comes out of his bedroom wearing his spare uniform. It is obvious that he has not worn it many times because of how crisp the fabric is, and when he looks at Rainbow Dash, he is not in the least bit surprised that her uniform is sloppy with painfully noticeable wrinkles and crooked medals of the lowest bracket.

The vibrant mare mutters to herself as she stumbles out of the bathroom on three hooves, with her hat in her moth and the other hoof trying to press a button down. She has to sit down to fix the said button and makes a feeble attempt to iron out the wrinkles with her hoof. After those are done, she spits out her hat and makes the final adjustment before plopping it on her head.

“Are you ready to go?” asks Silver Lining.

Thunderlane looks at Rainbow Dash again and she looks back at him, not needing to say that she is ready. He then turns to his superior and nods. “Yes, sir.”

Cutter sits on a couch in a completely closed off room with six guards armed with basic battle saddles.

All of them are listening to a radio broadcast of the wave of racial violence erupting throughout Equestria due to the recent attack. It sickens him that his race has become the target for mob attacks, lynching, shop burnings, and cathedral bombings. But he is a soldier and Storm Cloud needs its soldiers to push aside all personal feelings for its success. Even if its success comes at the cost of mass bloodshed.

Cutter quietly pulls out a locket from underneath his suit shirt and clicks it open. He smiles to himself at the black and white picture of a female Ibex with her mane long and combed back, smiling with a newborn in her embrace. Seeing that picture always calms him down and makes him remember why he is doing this. The despair caused by the nobles and captains of industry needs to end, and his adopted child needs to grow up in a world where all are truly equal. He needs Perfect Harmony to give his son a better life.

Cutter closes his eyes and bows his head with his hooves and locket pressed against his forehead. To the average eyes it looks like he is praying, but anyone who is in his company knows that he has given up on faith a long time ago. The position he is in helps him think about his wife with all her beauty in her tied back golden mane and silky brown coat, and all the love she carries in her sweet voice and adorable laugh. It also helps him imagine their adopted, pony son, Knackig, with his orange coat and curly, green mane, envisioning what a strong adult he will become when this is all over.

Cutter's moment of peace is interrupted when one of his guards, a twenty year old light brown Ibex with a low cut blonde mane and freakishly blue eyes, named Garten, walks into the room with two more armed ibexes by his side.

“They are ready for us,” says Garten in the Bernese national language.

Cutter wordlessly stands up and Garten steps aside to allow three griffins into the room. Cutter can care less about two of them since they are just guards, but he keeps his attention directed to the leader. The lead griffin is male, has a strong build with a bronze colored coat and the tips of his white feathers carry the same shade.

“Well, if it isn't Mr. Leinen's greatest friend,” says the griffin, his Slavic accent almost unbearably thick. “How was your trip to the Kingdom of Harmony?”

“Nobody calls Equestria that, Sol,” sneers Cutter.

The bronze colored griffin, Councilor Sol Paprsek, grins to display his razor sharp teeth. “That is what the textbooks told me it was called when I was a little cub.”

“Why don't you lead us to the craft instead of trying to be a comedian?”

Sol keeps his smile as he turns to the side with his talons aimed down the hall. “After you.”

Cutter nods to Garten and his guards and everyone follows him down the dirty, narrow corridors, with the ibexes staying on one side while the griffins remain on the other. During their walk, Sol has put his hat back on and seems to be indifferent about the atmosphere of dust that is only exposed by the sun rays peeking through the cracks in the boarded off windows.

As their trek continues, Cutter keeps his eye on Sol, just waiting for any excuse to end the griffin's life. Even when he looks away to watch a zebra or a pony scamper off to do some obscure form of labor, he still keeps Sol in his peripheral vision.

“You look tense. Was the flight that bad?” asks Sol.

The griffin's bright tone disgusts Cutter, but still he answers. “The flight was fine. I thought you were too busy rigging elections to participate in this operation.”

Sol chuckles and puts his talon on the old Ibex's shoulder as if they are long time friends. “Is it a crime to make sure that an investment takes off properly?”

Sol pushes open a rusted steel door and marches into a large chamber with his grip still tight on Cutter. As soon as the door opens, a rushing wave of mechanical work and shouts fill the halls, and Cutter becomes visibly surprised by what he is seeing.

A swarm of griffins, equines and ibexes clamor and scurry around with tools and blueprints as they make their final touch ups on the large machine he and his team will be using by the day's end. The aircraft is parked in the center of the massive chamber and is surrounded by empty paint cans, worn out tools and scrapped supplies, as well as crushed food containers and soda bottles. When Cutter looks up, he sees that the entire roof is gone and a gray tarp is tightly pulled over to shield everything below from fliers snooping around. He speculates that they must have covered the tarp with dirt and other garbage to make the fake roof all the more authentic. That is what he would do if he wanted to build an aircraft inside the borders of a police state without jeopardizing his prized project.

Cutter is brought out of his observations when Sol pats his should, slightly tearing into his recently pressed suit and skin. The old ibex hisses in pain quietly and stares daggers at the griffin as he leads the group down the rusted stairs. It unnerves him how the stairs groan and creak with each step taken, but he continues following nonetheless.

Once they reach the bottom, they continue walking to the aircraft while Sol talks with a broad grin.

“After months of gathering and construction, the Star Raiser is finally ready. Right in the nick of time, too. Do you have the pilots?” says the griffin.

Cutter watches the pony, griffin and ibex mechanics make their final preparations, with some testing pressures, others making final adjustments to the bolts, and a couple carefully painting TGSR-505 and the Bernese Republican Guard symbol on its tail. He personally thinks they are going a bit overboard, but as long as the craft is able to do its job it will remain nothing more than an easily ignorable offense.

“My pilots need time to practice with this machine,” says Cutter.

Sol frowns. “Am I going to have to remind you that we do not have time for that? Besides, I was told that the pilots you recruited are more than capable of flying helicopters, so I do not understand why you are so sour about this.”

“It is a new machine with no time practicing, that is why I am 'sour'. And for the record, these pilots were recruited by whoever this Painter is, and for the life of me I do not understand why Rotes would trust him. Or you for that matter.”

Cutter and Sol lock eyes, and as Cutter's eyes become more hostile Sol's expression shifts from annoyance to a mocking grin, and he pats the ibex's shoulder before moving to get a closer look at the vehicle.

“You are a funny little goat, Custard,” says Sol, his voice becoming clearer with it bouncing off the chamber walls as the touch ups die down. “We are on the same side and yet you still do not trust me?”

“The reasons should be obvious,” says Cutter, barely keeping his temper in check from Sol's blatant insult of his name.

Sol taps his beak in mock thought. “They should, but I'm not going to think about such things. Instead, I want to think about what kind of carpet I will put in my new mansion once I win the seat of Prime Minister.”

“Are you that confident with the election?”

Sol grins deviously. “Yes, and Rotes assured me that if Altai's election does not go as planned then Storm Cloud will... encourage a recount. But enough about me and politics. Can your pilots perform their duties or not?”

Cutter looks at the Star Raiser hatefully. “They can, but not as well as you and Rotes think since they will have no time to practice.”

“There is a manual taped to the control panel. Will that count as practice?”

“No, but it looks like this will be the best they will be getting.”

“If you are not happy about this then take it up with Rotes.”

“I plan on it.”

Sol chuckles and Cutter turns to his ibexes, getting ready to say something, but he pauses when he hears Sol calling him, this time by his real nickname. Cutter sniffs in aggravation and turns to the griffin, letting his annoyance show clearly.

“What?” says Cutter.

Sol raises his talons in a play on saluting, and with great pride he says: “The Gold Star rises.”

Cutter hesitates. “Indeed it does.”

He then turns back to his ibexes and orders them to get ready for their greatest task in Equestria. Assaulting the Royal Guard headquarters.