“We really should not be worrying about prisons that much. When somepony gets in, we know they aren't gonna get out easy. What we need to worry about are the trips to those prisons, 'cuz anypony with a decent bit of sense would know that that is where the escapes need to be made.”

-Sheriff Polished Silverstar

“Your family is made up of troublemakers, isn't it Timmy. Can I call you Timmy?” says an earth pony stallion with a cheerful voice that quickly grinds at the patience of anyone he is talking to. It sounds condescending more than anything else. The suit he is wearing does not make the situation any better, either.

Unfortunately for Time Turner, his hooves are cuffed to the table and floor, and the table is bolted to the floor of a completely sealed room, so he is not going anywhere. Despite the irritating nickname and the equally infuriating tone used to deliver it, Time Turner keeps his stature calm and collected. Not even a muscle twitches under his coat. All he does is keep his eyes staring straight ahead at the mirror, lazily meeting his reflection with his cool blue eyes.

“No, you cannot call me Timmy,” says Time Turner evenly. “Where is Derpy and Dinky?”

“Who?” asks the stallion, Special Agent Hush-Hush McGee.

Time Turner looks at the stallion keeping his expression neutral. “My wife and daughter.”

“Oh. Well, we aren't here to talk about them, even though they are fine. We are here to talk about you and your excellent family.” Hush-Hush slides a folder in front of him and casually flips it over. “In fact, it looks like the only good pony in your family was Tick-Tock, but it looks like he died in Bernese a very long time ago. Tragic.”

Time Turner's eyes go to the folder, but with his distance and the fact that it is upside down, all he can see are scribbles that his brain processes as nothing but a mess.

“Thank you for reminding me of the father I barely remember,” says Time Turner.

Hush-Hush chuckles and moves next to Time Turner. “You know, I am actually surprised by you, Timmy. Our records show you to be quite the juvenile delinquent, but I am seeing a robot.”

Time Turner remains silent and his posture steady, and Hush-Hush waits patiently for him to show any signs of life, but when the cuffed stallion refuses to break, he clicks his tongue and looks at the file.

“You and your brother, Meriaclock, were quite the troublemakers in your younger days,” continues Hush-Hush as he goes through the list. “A favorite for the late mob boss, Toolbox, it seems. In fact, when you think about it, us separating you from your family is a form of protection for them. After all, with your-” He squints his eyes at the file “-violent history I am surprised Derpy and Dinky didn't end up disappearing entirely.”

Time Turner stops his eye from twitching, but even he cannot stop the heated blood from rushing to his face and neck, thickening the veins in his neck and temple. He is certain Hush-Hush can see the change, though, due to the stallion shifting in his spot in ways he has seen too many times from others that try to remain calm when his old self confronted him.

“But, enough about that!” says Hush-Hush, forcing his careless tone out. “Tell me, Timmy, when were you and good ole Jackie gonna start your killing spree with the Lunar Society?”

“I don't know what you are talking about,” responds Time Turner. “I make and fix clocks and occasionally help schedule events for a living, nothing more.”

“Nothing more? I doubt that. Your history shows that beneath your goody four-hooves appearance is a menace. A menace that would love to set some buildings on fire or detonate some bombs so Miss Country Flank's protests can get some steam.”

“I had nothing to do with that, neither did Derpy, and I highly doubt Applejack would condone violence. If you want to look into the threats, you should look at Lucky Clover on thirteen twenty three Laughter Lane, apartment fifteen. Breaking things is a hobby of his.”

Hush-Hush sighs, moves to Time Turner's other side and gently places his hoof on his shoulder, speaking into his ear so his warm, minty breath can torture his ear drums. “Oh, Timmy, do you really think we are that negligent? We already got him. In fact, the CDA and EIB have already crushed your rebellion in Ponyville before it could even happen. All of your friends, all of your allies in Ponyville County are gone. They are ours now, and you will be joining them. Your wife and child will be taken somewhere better, but you?” Hush-Hush shakes his head and pulls away, tsking. “No. Your crimes, your... desire, your uncontrollable drive for chaos is what has brought you here. Not that you can help it since it is in your blood, but precautions must be taken.”

Time Turner narrows his eyes and turns to look at Hush-Hush as the metal door sealing them inside opens to allow four unicorns to enter. The unicorns are wearing dark vests, carrying slender rifles in their magical grip and carefully approach him. Time Turner ignores them for the most part, for his focus is on Hush-Hush.

“Special Agent McGee, I promise you that Derpy and I had nothing to do with the threats,” says Time Turner, his calm tone faltering to a taste of panic.

Hush-Hush hums and steps back slightly, casting a cheeky look at the guards, who remain stoic in kind. The agent forces a chuckle and looks at Time Turner as his hoof brushes the wrinkles from his suit.

“Well, Timmy, the thing is, is that I don't believe you.” Hush-Hush closes the folder and drags it closer to him, taking a deep breath. “Your history and the fact that you were close with sweet Jackie in these protests when the threats were made has determined your bleak future. Derpy, unfortunately, will hold a similar fate for being close to you. Look on the bright side, though, Dinky will get a nice, new home with some great parents. You can count on that.”

A low growl rumbles in Time Turner's throat and his muscles flex in their chains as Hush-Hush grabs his folder with his mouth, then makes his way to the door.

“Now, if you'll excuse me, I got a date with a cutie,” says the agent quickly, his voice muffled from the folder in his mouth. Hush-Hush is about to leave, but stops, puts the folder in his blazer's inner pocket, then does an about face with his hoof raised to look at the guards. “You should probably tranquilize him. Just to be safe.”

Time Turner wants to say something to them, something snappy or defiant, but the four darts in his chest come rather quickly, and the heavy drowsiness comes even quicker. In a matter of seconds, his world is blurry, his limbs feel nonexistent, and the table becomes an excellent pillow. His eyes drift shut another few seconds later, and that is the last he sees of Hush-Hush and the sealed room.

Time Turner strains his neck to look out the window of his cage, just barely seeing a sign marking Loyalty Line- 505 zoom on by with the blurring landscape. That is all the excitement he sees, and the most he can hear is the metallic rattling and clanging and the chugging of the train's engine. They have been traveling for hours and have entered a barren wasteland of dead grass being bathed under the rose and orange hue of the setting sun. He doubts they will see any form of civilization for quite some time, and with that thought, he sighs and sits down by his corner, pressing his back into the bars and lowering his eyes to the floor. He feels resentment towards Hush-Hush for using his past against him when he has worked tirelessly to right his wrongs and make his life better after he met Derpy and Dinky. He also resents the EIB for not doing a proper investigation, and he really despises the royal government for creating such an agency and choosing to go after honest ponies like him and his family rather than the real threats. But here he is, separated from his family and on his way to a prison in the middle of nowhere because time has refused to forgive him of his past deeds.

Time Turner has tried to keep his troubled history a secret from everyone in Ponyville, especially Derpy and Dinky, and has gone as far cutting off communication with his family and old friends. He has not even attempted to make friends with anyone else ever since he married Derpy, and now his wife and step-daughter are his family. They are his responsibility and sitting in a prison car on its way to Hell while his family has been broken apart is leaving him feeling hollow from helplessness. Inside that shell, though, is an antsy little monster scurrying around and clawing at his shell, demanding he find a way to escape and get his family back.

“We're almost at the Badlands. I just know it,” mutters the only stallion in the cage with him.

Now out of his thoughts, Time Turner looks at his cellmate, a light blue earth pony with a dark blue mane, now greasy and disheveled, much like his. His cellmate's name is Noteworthy, and like Time Turner, his hooves are cuffed to the wooden floor, and his chains scrape against it every time he moves.

“Do you think we'll get out?” asks Noteworthy, his terrified gamboge eyes meeting Time Turner's pale blue orbs in search for any signs of hope.

“Not easily,” replies Time Turner.

Time Turner lowers his eyes to the worn out floor, noting all the scratches and rusted bolts holding it down. He thinks it is just a ploy to give them false hope, though. There might be a slab of metal underneath the floor for all he knows.

“Do you think they got Lucky?” asks the Noteworthy, figuring he will not get an answer for his previous question.

Time Turner looks up. “Pardon me?”

“Do you think they got Lucky?”

Time Turner raises a brow. “Why do you care? Lucky is the reason we are in this mess in the first place. If he hadn't placed those threats then none of this would have happened.”

Noteworthy frowns. “No, Applejack and our stupidity are the reasons we are here. If we had just ignored her calls for protest and lived our lives, then we would not be on our way to the Badlands. Maybe somepony else, but it would not have been us.”

Time Turner sighs. “I guess you have a point. The only reason I actually got involved with those protests was because Derpy insisted on passing out the fliers.”

Noteworthy snorts. “Yeah, and the only reason I joined up was to keep Lucky from doing something stupid. Now here I am, on my way to another prison just because I was his roommate.” He stops, scowls from his epiphany, then curls up on the floor, seething. “That son of a bitch. This is all his fault.”

Time Turner can't help but smile thinly at this, but refrains from making a backhanded comment.

“We'll get through this,” he assures.

Noteworthy snorts. “Sure, keep telling yourself that.”

Not wanting to indulge Noteworthy's snide comment, Time Turner looks at a unicorn guard passing his cell. He is wearing the golden armor of the royal guard and has a radio pack attached to his battle saddle, which extends to have an ear piece resting on his head. From the looks of it, the battle saddle is a shotgun model, and it has a large ammo drum. The guard is stone faced, and the other prisoners that are near the cells scurry away to the back wall or far corners of their cells when he passes.

“I wonder how Mac feels about this mess,” muses Noteworthy halfheartedly, his eyes following the patrolling guard.

Time Turner cranes his neck to look down the hall at a door guarded by two more unicorn guards. They are also equipped with shotgun battle saddles and radio packs, and the door is a pure slab of metal with massive bolts and a cranking wheel that controls a pair of bars that go vertically across the door.

“I'm sure he is upset about it, too,” says Time Turner.

Inside the sealed car, Big Mac stares at a young, pudgy unicorn guard standing in front of him. How the guard passed his physical training is a mystery to him, but now that the sandy brown unicorn with the brown mane is in the military, he has been assigned to guard the one and only Macintosh Apple. And he won't stop staring at him. It is honestly starting to get on his nerves since this has gone on for almost six hours.

Is it due to his size?

Is is due to the fact that his hooves are bound with thick, steel cuffs and and chains to a metal floor and has a muzzle that covers the lower part of his face?

Or maybe its the scars that cover his body?

He's not sure which it is. He knows he is bigger than the average stallion by at least a hundred pounds, and not with fat, either, but with pure, awesome muscle. The mares and occasional stallion swoon over his titanic build, and they always ask how he was able to drag a house. He does not remember ever doing that, and on the day that happened, he only really remembers working, sharing some fruit punch with Cheerilee, then finding himself in a pit, sitting on a mattress with her dressed as a bride. He never touched fruit punch ever again.

With that day, he apparently dragged a house, which is why he is held down by thick cuffs and chains that are laced with glowing gems. He reckons that they are to keep his energy in check, which he knows is working since he has been feeling faint enough to feel powerless ever since they put them on him. Not that he has been able to resist much since the government agents has been blasting him with fatigue spells every chance they get. This does not stop his eyelids from falling, though, and, quite frankly he is getting sick of unicorns and their cheap magic. Scratch that. He is getting sick of magic in general.

It is an affront to all things natural, and so far all it has managed to do was poison him, wreck Ponyville more times than he can count, turn him into a burrowing dog, ruin Winter Wrap-Up and nearly kill him and Applejack. He and Applejack have the scars to attest to that, too, with his more obvious than his sister's.

Most of his scars are around his face, hidden underneath the metal muzzle, but past the uncomfortable head-wear, onlookers can see the jagged paths of the pale skin revealed from his removed fur. It looks like his face is cracking apart from how his fur has been seared completely off by the black magic he barely survived that night when Roar Shock attacked him and Fluttershy. From his face, the exposed skin trails down his neck, shoulder and chest, with their exposure getting thinner the farther they go from his face. He still feels the pain and the electric shock that tore apart his skin and shattered his bones, and the feeling of the incredible surge of energy from that demented pegasus' hoof is still imprinted on his face. He doubts he will ever get over it.

“This guy does not blink!” complains the young guard, named Burn Bag, bringing Big Mac out of his thoughts and selecting to focus his eyes on him instead of staring off into space. That should get the newblood's tail tucking more than it already has.

“Its a male dominance thing, and you already failed at it so stop trying,” says the older guard crankily. His name is Ali Clacky, and he is also a unicorn, but older with dark fur and a white mane, and he has resorted to reading a newspaper from the comfort of a stool instead of staring contests to kill the time. On the front page of the paper he is reading has a picture of a walled off facility on fire with its title being: 'Deadly Grizelda & EIB Shootout!'. The guard sighs obnoxiously and turns the page, muttering: “How come I always get the boring jobs?”

Not too far from the train, a lone motor-wagon speeds across the prairie, leaving a cloud of kicked up dirt and chewed, yellow grass in its wake. But this is no ordinary, clunky, block of wood, metal and steam pipes. This is considerably smaller, is sitting on a raised platform with four enormous wheels attached to the platform via an intricate network of shocks that keep it relatively steady despite the bumpy terrain.

The vehicle's platform is built like a rolling cage with metal plates welded on it, and it has a tattered, brown and tan tarp tied to various spots using a mix of ropes and bungee cords. In front of it is an exposed steam and gem powered engine spewing a mix of exhaust and sparking magical residue, and on the front is a pair of oversized headlights covered by cheap grates.

Inside, a pair of ponies sit in their seats, their brains and bones bouncing around from the bumpy ride. Both are wearing goggles and thin, tattered scarves with one wearing a mask and the other rejecting it.

The one without the mask is in his late thirties has a dark gray mane and a coat of bluish gray with blue eyes and three four leaf clovers as his cutie marks. He also has a wicked grin and is using his hooves to jerk the steering orb and adjust the vehicle's speed with sharp movement.

His partner sits in the back, cursing under her breath as her seat belt barely holds her in place from the crazy driving. The mare is in her twenties, has a dark orange coat, bright blue eyes, and a blue mane with her cutie mark being a purple shield with a yellow fireball inside. She is scrunched in her seat next to a crudely made weapon resembling an eighteenth century cannon with a back that slides open, complete with a wick for the flame. She also has her wings pressed against her body, if only so she has room to maneuver to use the cannon, even though she wants to fly away from the psycho as fast as she can. The situation is only made worse because she can barely see anything from her visual slots, and half the time a tarp is beating against the window, blocking her view of the zooming world of orange tinted colors.

The pegasus lets out a particularly loud shriek when the driver speeds up on a hill and takes off into the sky. The weightless feeling is something most pegasi do not fear, but when that weightless feeling is inside a metal box with a one ton cannon in front of them and a box of explosives beneath their seat, then there is a cause for concern.

“WOOOOOO-HOOOOOOO!” cheers the stallion over the mare's shrieking as they fly through the air with the grass and dust behind them, and when the vehicle tilts and begins its nose dive, he cackles madly.

The augmented motor-wagon impacts the ground nose first, kicking up dirt and grass in a thin cloud that speeds through the cabin, clogging the stallion's lungs enough to get him to cough. During his coughing, the vehicle fishtails and bounces to near flipping, getting more terrified and somewhat painful yelps from the mare. The stallion appears only concerned about the dirt in his mouth, and when he is done spitting out dirt and grass, he spins the steering orb, commanding the vehicle to turn in the grass to create a donut of tracks. As quickly as the pattern is made, the vehicle stops, shaking the ponies inside, with the mare trembling in her seat, her blue eyes staring straight ahead and her strained breathing coming out muffled because of her mask.

When the stallion chuckles and runs his hoof through his dusty mane, though, she turns her head to him, eyes narrowing and an angry growl rumbling in her throat. When said stallion whoops proudly, she yanks off her mask and slaps him on the back of the head, forcing his head to jerk forward. Much to her annoyance, he only laughs about the slap.

“Lucky, you're crazy!” scolds the mare. “You're crazy! Why did Burnt Oak put me in here with you!”

“Aw, cheer up, Flare, you get to use the cannon!” laughs the stallion, Lucky Clover, as he straightens himself out. “Besides, you know you love it! Pegasuses love all that flying stuff, anyway!”

“Not that kind of flying, jackass! And it's pegasi not pegasuses or whatever the hell you said!” yells the mare, Flare Warden.

Lucky snickers and restarts the vehicle by pushing a key into its slot, causing the vehicle to hum and vibrate to life with a jet of black, sparkly exhaust billowing from the back. He then shoves the speed lever forward and the force pushes Flare back into her seat, and they resume traveling across the prairie.

Another few minutes of uncomfortable driving later, and Lucky's vehicle comes to a stop on the crest of a hill, overlooking a train speeding down the tracks, leaving a trail of black smoke in its wake.

Lucky grins and Flare frowns and folds her hooves on the cannon as she squints her eyes through her slot.

“I thought there'd be some pegasi flying around,” she says.

“Silly female thinking she can think,” says Lucky shamelessly, and when he looks over his shoulder at Flare, she makes sure her glare is burning straight through his eyes to cook his brain. He is not nearly as affected by this as she wishes he was, and to make it worse for her, he says snobbishly: “The guards are low on numbers because of the Special Talent Act, and since they are low on numbers we get to swoop in, do our thing and leave with no problems at all.”

“You do realize that this is a prison train we're going after, right?” says Flare. “Its armored and it has almost two dozen guards inside, all of which are unicorns with their magic on top of their saddles, and all we got is our dune wagon and whatever Burnt Oak cooks up.”

“But you forgot the best part of Burnt Oak's plan.”

Flare arches a brow. “Oh, and what is that?”

“You got my luck!”

He suddenly slams the speed lever at full throttle and zooms down the hill, laughing all the way while Flare screams his name and begs him to slow down. All she can do is watch with her coat becoming paler as the wind rushes past her drooped ears and the blurring world zooms past her eyes. She can't even hear her own heart or barely hear herself scream from how intense the noise is, and she almost looses her afternoon sandwich when the vehicle takes a sudden sharp turn and nearly slams into the metal plates of the train.

Flare's suspicions are confirmed about the shield when she sees a translucent, shimmering, purple shell on top of the metal plates, and she finds herself surprised that the wagon is keeping speed with their target.

“Load up the fire ruby!” orders Lucky, having to yell over the clanking wheels and chugging engine of the train.

Flare nods and slides her cannon open, then puts in a round, red gem with archaic symbols painted in gold around it. After she puts the gem inside the cannon, she locks it shut and braces herself as Lucky pulls away to give her a better shot.

“Do you have a shot?” asks Lucky.

Flare strains her neck and eyes for her target, but sees nothing but more metal plates. The plates blow bright purple for a moment, then the shell becomes a solid crystal layer that shoots out sparks towards them. One of the bolts hits the cannon and zaps Flare, leaving her heart speeding tenfold and her mane, fur and feathers standing and black at the tips.

“Jeeze!” shouts Flare painfully. “They boosted their magic shield!”

“So?” says Lucky.

“So!? I got zapped by a shield! And it freaking hurt!”

“The cannon will take care of it! Just shoot already!”

“I don't have-”

The shield zaps them again and Lucky yelps and pulls the vehicle away from the train, covering them in a cloud of dust. Flare grips her cannon harder as Lucky speeds away from the train, which is now shooing more lavender colored bolts of electricity that send up chunks of burnt ground wherever they hit, and the ones that strike the dune wagon burn off pieces of the tarp and leave streaks of black along the metal.

“Oh, man! What a lovely day!” cackles Lucky.

Flare looks at Lucky, eyes wide and mouth clamped shut as she stares at the laughing stallion. His fur and mane is black like hers, but unlike her, he does not seem to be in pain. He actually looks like he is having fun being burnt by magical purple lightning. That brings her to question who this guy is and why Burnt Oak brought him along to their entourage.

“Eyes on the prize, cutie!” says Lucky, taking another turn to avoid a particularly powerful bolt of lightning that shakes the vehicle from its near miss.

The magical attack strikes near the dune wagon's back and kicks up a small mushroom cloud of burning dust that blows inside the cabin, getting coughs and watery eyes from the two ponies. Flare can feel the electric charge inside the dirt, tingling her all over and making her feel like a statically charged sock. However, through all the blackened dust, the uncomfortable tingles going through her body, and the tears muddling her vision, she sees her target at last!

The connection between the main engine of the train and rest of the carts is blurry, but she can still make it out, and with that she adjusts the cannon, then slams her hoof against a lever on the cannon's back. The lever scratches against a slab of flint to create a spark, and immediately the cannon jolts with a thunder that blows out Flare's hearing and sends the vehicle sliding as a red cloud covers them.

The ruby's scream is short as it tears across the landscape with a tail of shimmering gold, and right as the projectile strikes, the dune wagon is hit by one of the defensive enchantments. There are two simultaneous explosions, one green and one red, and carnage takes over both sides.

Flare's world turns into a blur of colors and her scream is lost in the explosion and the chaos of metal and wood snapping, and the heat of the flames gives her the feeling that she is being cooked alive!

As her vision becomes a terrifying blend of colors, and her ears become filled with the screeches and screams of breaking metal and rushing wind, all she can think is: No! No! No! No! No! No! No!

Then the dune wagon slams the ground and a burst of pain goes through Flare's shoulders, wings and abdomen with a jet stream of dirt and grass assaulting her face, blinding her and filling her mouth with moisture sucking junk. Her ears press against her head, and she squeezes her eyes shut and grinds her teeth as churning dirt wrestles with screeching metal

“Ah-ha-owwwww!” moans Flare, then she glares hatefully at Lucky. “You're a dick, you know that right?”

“I know I got one,” remarks Lucky as he unbuckles himself, releasing a loud yelp when his head lands on the barred roof of his totaled vehicle. “I'm okay!”

Flare unbuckles herself and lands on the roof of the cabin, wincing in pain as the metal bars greet her back and neck with an unpleasant feeling. After taking a moment to recuperate from the pain, she wiggles out from the vehicle, having to give the bent door a few hard bucks to break it loose, and she flops out onto the dead grass. The scratchy plants cling to her coat and poke at her with dozens of itchy spots, which she tries to remove by using one of her hind legs to scratch at her side. It worked a whole lot better in her head.

Huffing, and flapping her wings and flicking her long tail, Flare removes her goggles and scans the area, listening to the buzzing bugs and escaped steam hissing. Smoke rises from where the spell hit them, which is at least three hundred feet away, and thin haze rises from indents and gashes in the sand, marking where their vehicle hit, and debris litters the field. Most of it is small, jagged pieces of wood or metal, but she does spot one of their tires still attached to what's left of the axle lying out not too far from them. The cannon is also gone, and it does not take her long to spot it entrenched in the ground with only its back end showing.

Flare steps away from the vehicle when she realizes that scorching hot water is nearing her hooves, turning the ground almost black and carrying with it, tiny bits of coal and glowing gems. Afterward, she looks at their target and sees that the train is somehow still upright, but derailed. Its steel wheels have dug into the ground, the tracks they were on have been mangled, and car that was behind the main engine has been blown halfway to hell and has almost tipped over. She can actually hear the metal groaning as the connectors struggle to keep it upright.

As for the front end carrying the main engine? It is dead, to put simply.

The back of the engine car is nothing but a blackened mess that looks like a metal eating giant took a bite out of it, and it rolled a fair distance, leaving its frame dented and hanging loose in parts with its wheels barely hanging on and loose pieces scattered across the field with broken parts of the track.

“Wow, are we lucky or what?” says the blue-gray stallion cheerfully while inspecting the wreckage of their dune wagon.

“How is this lucky? Our vehicle is wrecked in the middle of nowhere and we're next to a bunch of guards we just shot at!” says Flare, giving Lucky a cross look.

“We're still alive, and when you think about it, that is pretty lucky.” Lucky then giggles at himself. “Heheh. Lucky.”

“I swear, if I hear that 'L' word one more time...”

Flare does not finish her sentence, though, for she hears multiple vehicles approaching. She recognizes the engines to be heavy duty from how loud their rumbling and revving is, and when she and Lucky turn to the source, they both smile with relief at the sight of a rapidly approaching dust cloud behind a dozen dots of distant vehicles.

“Oh, good,” sighs Flare.

That smile of hers does not last, though, when a bullet rips into her shoulder and knocks her to the ground, bringing her to cry out in agony and clutch her wound as Lucky gallops towards her, narrowly avoiding a bullet himself.

Flare whimpers and flops on the ground, flapping her wings madly in a desperate attempt to stand as the blood pumped from the hole in her shoulder drenches her dark orange coat in sticky crimson. Lucky slides next to her, and quickly burrows his head underneath her abdomen and rolls her on his back, completely calm as can be as the bullets whiz past him to strike the earth or bounce off the wreckage. The stallion then trots to the other side, humming, and sits down so she slowly slides off his back and hits the overturned vehicle, grunting on impact.

“Sit back and relax, milady. Help is on its way!” says Lucky, his smile as insanely confident as his voice.

In spite of all the pain and suffering Flare is going through, she still manages to give Lucky a flabbergasted look, and a growing part of her wonders if the stallion is just plain insane.

Time Turner sits against his corner, watching the guards respond to whoever is out there. The guard that has been patrolling their car has taken a sturdy stance in the middle of the car, his horn glowing bright gold and ejecting a translucent beam into the ceiling. The spell splatters against the metal roof and spreads to encase the whole car I a glittering shield, which bleeds into purple, soon after.

The train's interior rattles with the increase of speed, and when Time Turner peeks out his window to see what's going on, he sees absolutely nothing but the same colors behind a transparent wall of purple. The train suddenly rattles with the swift travels of a white line that goes across the roof, connects at a point down the car and disappears with an electric crackle and roll of thunder.

The unicorn operating the shield spell grunts with the phenomena, and the other two guards gallop to elevated positions leading to slots in the wall, with one ordering the other to check the other side. The guard nods, but before he can reach his spot, there is a distant thud, followed by a tremble that knocks everyone to the floor. Metal screeches and lights flicker as prisoners and guards alike scream and swear in fright and confusion. As the terrified clamoring shakes Time Turner's bones, there is a loud, metallic snap that shakes car even more and throws everyone against the bars and walls.

Ponies are reduced to flopping dolls, and dust blows into Time Turner's cell as the massive wheels of the train rip apart the ground. Time Turner wraps his hooves around his cell's bar and pulls himself tight against it, squeezing his eyes shut and grinding his teeth as everything shakes back and forth with deafening thuds.

“The train's derailed!” yells the shield guard, clutching Time Turner's cage as his horn glows bright to grab the whole cart with his magic. “Help me stabilize it!”

The other guards clamber to their hooves with great difficulty, and they light up their horns without question. All three grunt and scream through their teeth as their muscles are strained to near ripping. The chaos of screeching metal and churning earth

The metal groans and Time Turner hugs his cage tighter, praying that the train stays upright as it tilts. His prayers are answered when it seems as though a mystical hoof pushes the train back on its wheels, kicking up more dirt and breaking the tracks as a thud echoes in the prairie.

The train's sudden movement slams everyone to the ground or against their bars, and Time Turner grunts with the unpleasant feeling of his jaw cracking against the metal. He falls to the ground, groaning and clutching his throbbing mouth with his hoof, tasting copper, then pushes himself up to see other ponies groggily getting back up.

“Hey, Noteworthy, are you all right?” asks Time Turner, giving his cellmate a worried glance.

Noteworthy winces with a nod. “Yeah, I think so.” He stretches out his back like a feline, groaning when a series of cracks and pops run up and down his spine. “Oh, wow. My back feels weird.”

Time Turner sniffs and watches as the guards move up and down the car, with the Shield Unicorn barking into his radio demanding to know what is happening on the other end. Another guard approaches Time Turner's cell and peers inside, noticing the blood coating the side of the brown pony's face.

“You okay?” asks the guard.

“I'm fine,” replies Time Turner.

The guard nods and looks at Noteworthy. “How about you?”

“I guess I'm okay,” says Noteworthy.

The guard nods again and moves down to the next cell to check on the others, but suddenly crouches and swears when a distant gun shot cracks the air.

“Everypony down!” barks the Shield Unicorn. The prisoners duck down and he waves at the other two guards and orders them into their positions while his horn glows to activate his radio and bring the firing bit of his battle saddle to his lips. The glow is considerably dimmer and it looks like he is straining himself just to perform the simple tasks. “Teams, report!”

Still lying on his stomach, Time Turner's ears perk and he turns his head to the thick wall when he hears multiple vehicles screeching to a halt. Judging from how close the sounds of rubber and dirt clash, he thinks they might have stopped barely thirty feet from them, and the closeness of the barking orders only enforces his blind observation.

He ducks down further when more pops of gunfire are exchanged down the train, and he looks at the guards for just a moment to see them take defensive stances, aiming their weapons at the doors, all worn out from their magic exertion. He then looks at Noteworthy to see him huddled in the corner, shaking with his ears pressed against his head and eyes shut tight.

“This can't be happening. This can't be happening. This can't be happening,” mutters Noteworthy, barely giving his words a chance to separate as he babbles on and on with the other prisoners trying to figure out what's happening.

Time Turner tries to crawl to Noteworthy, but the chain forcefully tugs him back in place. He quietly curses in pain as the cuff digs past his coat and grinds against his skin, and he gives the piece of metal a cross look before putting his attention back on Noteworthy. The blue stallion is still shaking and muttering, and Time Turner extends his hoof and calls out to the terrified pony, but Noteworthy does not answer.

“Noteworthy, you need to stay calm,” says Time Turner.

“Calm? How can I be calm when there are ponies shooting at each other!” says Noteworthy.

“Panicking will not help us through this!”

There are a series of thumps on the door nearest to Time Turner, and he and the guards stare at the door, with the armed unicorns aiming their weapons and the captured pony's ears drooping. He does not know what that sound is, but the crawling feeling in his mane and the stone plunged in his stomach tells him that it is not good.

“Uh oh.”

As soon as those words leave Time Turner, the door near him is blasted inward by a flash of light that is strong enough to launch it towards the cage on the other side. The explosion fills the room with pale gray haze that burns Time Turner's lungs and leaves his ears ringing and his vision swimming. He blinks and coughs, and holds his ears to keep out the ringing. His bulged eyes desperately try to blink the colors away as ghostly ponies hop in, guns blazing, and the screams and gunfire are muffled and drawn out from the painful ringing. As the seconds tick by, he sees the figures becoming more solid and appearing to be earth ponies with cheap, most likely home made battle saddles outfitted with basic rifles.

Their muzzle flashes have no comparison against the guards that shoot back. It is like twinkling stars against supernovas, and banging pots against roaring thunder as the gunfire is exchanged. Seconds in, and a couple of the breaching ponies drop dead in front of Time Turner and Noteworthy's cell. The blue pony yells and scrunches himself impossibly tight in his corner as one of the bandits takes a bullet to the head, and Time Turner finds himself following his lead, except without the screaming. The shocked expression is still there, though, and the assaulting ponies keep flooding in like mindless grunts ready to die for their obscure cause.

In seconds time, only the Shield Unicorn remains, and despite him sweating and trembling and panting, he still manages a war cry and charges the attacking horde with a knife levitating next to him in a thin aura. He stabs the first pony in the neck and pushes him to the floor, then, as the mortally wounded pony gurgles underneath him, he places two more shots into the nearest target. One in the chest and one in the head, killing him instantly. The last guard gets off another shot that blows out another pony's heart before he is gunned down, dying in the middle of the floor, surrounded by six dead attackers around and his two brothers in arms.

The one that killed the shield pony is an earth pony, and he pulls down his bandana to use his mouth to get the keys off of the corpse, and then he tosses it to a unicorn. The said pony catches it with his magic, unlocks Time Turner's cell, swings the door open and unlocks the cuffs on their hooves. After that, he quickly moves to the next cell, getting cheers and applause from the other inmates, with some banging on their bars, hollering their demands to be freed next.

Time Turner, however, does not move. He stares at the bodies, wondering if what he is seeing is real, or if he is having a crazy dream. Noteworthy seems to be in a similar, if not worse, state. His eyes dart between the bloodied bodies, and his lips move, but no words come out.

An earth pony bandit steps forward, wearing a bandana with Celestia's sun over his muzzle and a dark brown duster underneath his battle saddle. A double barrel shotgun variant from the looks of it. He extends his hoof to Time Turner, and at first he is reluctant to take it since he has no idea who this pony is or what they want. All he knows is that they killed a bunch of guards, and judging from the gunfire down the way, his friends are doing just the same. That being said, he gets an idea of what they want- or who they want- when a team of masked ponies aim their weapons at the bolted door sealing Big Mac on the other side.

“It's okay. We're allies,” says the masked pony, his voice muffled and his hoof motioning Time Turner to accept his help.

Time Turner and Noteworthy exchange looks, and after taking a nervous breath, Time Turner extends his hoof and he is helped up. The same happens to Noteworthy, and the two are escorted outside, where more freed prisoners are being gathered by the disguised ponies.

As the duo hops out, Sun Mask nudges them further back while other masked ponies form a blockade to the train, giving just enough space for three more ponies to enter the crashed vehicle. The blockade files in behind them as soon as they enter, and Time Turner watches the newcomers with great interest. They three ponies leading are different. They are not afraid to show their faces, and while all three of them have varying expressions, they are all determined and committed to their goal that they will see done, no matter what.

Inside the armored chamber, Big Mac stares at the door, wondering and worrying about what is going on out there. The crash already has his heart jacked, and the only reason the train has not tipped from derailing is because the guards used levitation spells to keep the vehicle upright, but their act has taken a toll on them. From just the two guards inside, he can see how much they are sweating and trembling, and the porker is already puking out his lunch from the exertion.

“Keep your eyes on the door, damn it!” barks Ali.

Burn Bag nods, swallowing what's left of his bile and turns to the door, knees buckling and armor shaking as the sounds of gunfire and shouts resonate from behind the metal barrier. Seconds later, the shooting stops, but the hollers of victory and ponies cheering for their release swarm the ears of the three ponies.

Big Mac can see Burn Bag trembling through his armor. So hard are his shakes that the metal plates above his Kevlar clatter together. He thinks he hears a whimper in there, too.

“Steady your aim, son,” says Ali.

“Yes, sir,” croaks Burn Bag.

The thick, metal door starts to glow, and at first Big Mac thinks his eyes are playing tricks with him since it is so subtle, but as the seconds tick, the door shines in a brighter green. Soon, the door is glowing in a blinding, emerald light and Big Mac has to avert his eyes. He really wishes he could lift his hooves to block the light from his eyes, but since they are chained to the floor, he can only turn his head and close his eyes. Even then, the light bleeds through his eyelids and burns his eyes.

In his blindness, he hears metal groan and snap, followed by an explosion and screams of pain. He has to bite his tongue to keep himself from crying out in pain, too, for pieces of hot shrapnel bounce off or slice his hide and scratch at his chains. Next, there is a series of overlapping pops and cracks that leaves his ears ringing from the noise being amplified in the metal container.

When Big Mac opens his eyes, blinking the colorful blots away and pinning his ears against skull to give some comfort, he spots Burn Bag and Ali lying dead on the ground. A pool of blood flows from under them and he lifts is head, his eyes widen from the sight of seeing a line of masked ponies armed with battle saddles aimed at the jagged remains of the door.

One of them peeks inside and says that its clear before the firing squad steps aside to let three ponies in- two earth ponies and one unicorn.

The leading pony is an earth pony with brown fur and eyes, a dark brown mane and a tree cutie mark, and he is wearing an armored vest underneath his duster and a revolving rifle battle saddle. He has an average build and looks to be in his early thirties to Big Mac, but he has never seen him before, so why he is coming for him is a mystery to him. He does not recognize the other two stallions flanking the newcomer, either.

The other two are about the same age as the brown pony, and the earth pony has blue eyes, a dark orange coat and a pale orange mane with a cropped tail. So pale is his hair that it almost looks white, and the cutie mark he has is made up of four dark green emeralds.

The unicorn, whom Big Mac is watching a lot more closely than the other two, has a pale, powder blue coat, blue eyes like his companion, and a rough mane and cropped tail made of dark gray hair. His cutie mark is made up of three stars, is wearing a pair of leg guards on his front hooves and a horn guard with an emerald eye on each, and out of the other two, he seems the most shifty. His eyes are always darting from one spot to another, his pupils are shaking and sporadic twitches force the odd pony to pace around in circles. Big Mac hears the unicorn muttering something and gets more concerned for his safety when the horned pony starts poking at the corpses. When the bodies don't move, he whimpers at the brown earth pony with big, shiny eyes and drooped ears.

“They're dead. They're dead. All dead,” says the unicorn, his sad voice rising in pitch.

“That was the idea,” says the brown stallion. He approaches the unicorn and gently turns him to face Big Mac. “Why don't you free your new friend?”

“Friend? Friend!”

Big Mac's eyes grow wide and his exhausted body strains itself to break free from the chains when the unicorn looks at him with an excited, broad, smile that reveals all of his teeth. The smile is unnerving in every way, and when the unicorn giggles and lights up his horn, causing his eyes and gauntlets to glow bright green, Big Mac thrashes in his chains in a fit of panic.

He will be damned if magic tries to kill him again! He will break out by his own strength if he has to, but he will not let the unicorn's magic hurt him. The tingling feeling of the manipulated energy slithers through his hooves and up his chest and stomach from the chains. It is like electrified worms burrowing under his skin and the metal cuffs and chains holding him down are heating up and cracking, burning through his fur and scratching into his skin.

Not wanting to give the freak of nature the benefit of hearing him scream, Big Mac grunts through his teeth and he tugs on his restraints in a last ditch effort to escape. The weakened chains shatter from his strength, sending him back and nearly falling over if it weren't for the wall directly behind him. He then bangs the four cuffs against the wall, freeing his hooves of the scorching metal and leaving them as glowing pieces on the ground.

Big Mac stomps on the floor, creating deafening thuds and he nearly falls over, panting and shaking from the pain. Thin smoke rises from the singed fur around his hooves, and his sweaty locks hang past his eyes as he glares at the unicorn, wanting oh so much to clobber him for not using the damn keys. He knows the unicorn is afraid, too. He can see it in his eyes and drooped ears. Even the other ponies appear to be nervous, which they have every right to be since he is not in a good mood at the moment. Sure he is free, but he has no idea who they are, what they want with him, why they have a unicorn with them, and why they found it necessary to massacre the whole train. The certainty of that biting them in the butt very fast and very hard is as absolute as the sun rising and setting, and now he will be at the wrong end of whatever gun retribution will be using.

“Macintosh, I know you are nervous, but you need to relax,” says the brown pony. He swallows and carefully approaches the enormous stallion with shaky steps. “We are friends here. We are all friends here to get you out.”

Big Mac is silent, but he does narrow his eyes at the brown pony, really wishing he would not talk to him like he is a dumb hick or infant.

“I am going to take the muzzle off of you, okay?” says the brown pony cautiously.

Again, Big Mac is silent, but he follows the brown pony with his eyes as he moves to his side and stands on his hind legs and uses his shoulders to prop himself. The stranger then uses his mouth to unlock the metal mask and it falls to the floor with a clank. The unicorn gasps and the other earth pony's ears perk with his bulging eyes when Big Mac's bald muzzle and cracks of missing fur are revealed.

The air feels cold on Big Mac's nose, but it has always been that way ever since that pegasus tried killing him and Fluttershy with his black magic, and he has long stopped caring about what others think about his new appearance.

“Macintosh, I am glad we were able to catch up to you,” says the brown stallion, bringing Big Mac's eyes to him. He extends his hoof and offers a friendly smile. “My name is Burnt Oak, the orange guy is Emerald Green and the unicorn is Neon Light.”

Big Mac refuses to lift his hoof, instead he stares into Burnt Oak's eyes. He does not know much about this pony, but he can already tell he will be terrible at Palomino Hold 'Em. His eyes are too shifty, and Big Mac can tell he is studying him, as well, specifically the cracks of exposed skin all over his face originating from his completely bald muzzle.

“I'm sure you're wondering why we came to get you, or who we are for that matter,” says Burnt Oak, averting his eyes from Big Mac's face and putting his hoof down.

Big Mac nods slowly, still staying silent.

Burnt Oak returns the nod. “Follow me. I'll explain everything along the way.”

“So, now that you are out, what are you going to do?” asks Noteworthy as he and Time Turner walk through a crowd of prisoners being herded into mini-trains.

Time Turner stares at the ponies being loaded up as he licks the blood from his lips, really hating the sting and taste of copper. He also notices how happy they seem to be about being freed from one cage, only to be stuffed into a smaller, tighter packed box. It makes him wonder if they are just excited about not going to the Badlands.

“Turner?” calls Noteworthy.

“Don't call me Turner,” says Time Turner, now looking at his cellmate and noting the bruises he got from the crash. It looks like nothing a simple rest can't handle. “I'll tell you this. Now that I'm out, I'm going to find Derpy and Dinky and then get them out of this bloody country.”

“Excuse me, but you need to come with us,” says a stallion behind them.

Time Turner and Noteworthy turn around and see Sun Mask staring at them, his hoof pointed at the mini-trains.

“We don't have much time, so you need to come with us immediately,” says the masked pony.

Time Turner and Noteworthy exchange looks, then they look at Sun Mask, both basically thinking the same thing. If they have any hope of escaping the prairie without being caught or suffering some horrible weather induced sickness, then they will need to hitch a ride in one of the cramped vehicles.

“How long is the trip to where we're going?” asks Time Turner.

“Four hours,” replies Sun Mask.

Time Turner scoffs and scuffs the dry grass. “That's fantastic.”

“Hey, Noteworthy!” shouts Lucky suddenly.

The trio look in the direction of the shout and see Lucky waving at the subject with a broad, ecstatic smile.

“Lucky, is that you?” returns Noteworthy with equal enthusiasm as he trots towards his friend with brisk steps and Time Turner and Sun Mask following close behind.

“Yeah, it's me!” laughs Lucky.

“I can't believe its you!”

“I know, right?”

“Yeah, I know!”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah!”

When he is close enough, Noteworthy's smile turns into an enrages snarl and he punches Lucky right in the jaw, getting the pony quickly acquainted with the dirt. There are shouts and orders to calm down, but some of the ponies do laugh as a couple of their rescuers, Time Turner and Sun Mask hold Noteworthy back to prevent him from beating Lucky's brains out. Other ponies escort Lucky away, one of which is an injured orange pegasus mare calling Noteworthy an asshole.

“You son of a bitch! I had a clean record until your stupid stunt landed me in prison!” shouts Noteworthy, his face turning dark blue and eyes engulfed in flames of maniacal rage as he stands on his hind legs in an attempt to climb over the ones holding him.

“Easy, easy! We don't need to be fighting!” says Time Turner while having to stand on his back legs just so he can force Noteworthy down by pressing on his shoulders. “As much as I hate to say this, we do owe Lucky our thanks for breaking us out.”

“See? Line Runner gets it,” says Lucky, smiling just as bright and carefree with blood lining his teeth.

Time Turner scowls at Lucky. “It's 'Time Turner'.”

Lucky furrows his brows. “Since when?”

Time Turner sighs exasperatedly and lowers his head to rub his brow, not even wanting to waste his breath on arguing with a pony about his own name. Noteworthy, however, pushes himself away from Time Turner and runs his trembling hoof through his mane, breathing heavily as his eyes shimmer in the setting sun.

“We owe Lucky our thanks?” says Noteworthy, turning his glare to Time Turner. “I don't owe Lucky anything! If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be here and now we got a bunch of dead guards because his chumps killed everypony! I do not want to be chased across the country for the massacring of a train full of ponies!”

Lucky tuts disappointingly. “There is just no pleasing you, is there?”

“Shut up!”

Time Turner points at the train. “Well, there are plenty of open cells for you to enjoy until more guards arrive. I for one am happy that I got out because now I can find Derpy and Dinky and take them away from this forsaken country.”

“And go to Neighico?” asks Lucky, adding when Time Turner cocks a brow at him: “Every escaped criminal goes to Neighico.”

“A shithole is better than Neighico,” says Time Turner. “And to be honest, I was thinking of taking them somewhere overseas.”

“Oh? With beaches?”

Time Turner sighs. “Yes, Lucky, with beaches.”

“Cool. Can me and Noteworthy come with you?”

“No.”

“...How about just me, then?”

“Definitely not.”

Burnt Oak leads Big Mac past a group of freed prisoners being helped by the armed ponies with the bandanas covering their muzzles. Along the way, he sees Noteworthy slugging Lucky in the jaw, which brings quite a bit of attention to him as a swarm of ponies drag the two apart, with Noteworthy screaming at Lucky and the downed pony snickering carelessly. A particularly obnoxious pegasus mare with a rushed bandaging job limps over, cussing out Noteworthy while she assists the other ponies in helping Lucky up. Not that help was needed in the first place.

Big Mac shakes his head and looks back ahead, briefly thinking that Lucky isn't right in the head. That colt has never been right from the moment he moved to Ponyville, and he reckons that he has never been stable before nor will he ever be. Just thinking about how many times that crazy pony should have died because of his pyromaniac nature and explosive fetish, among not getting himself beat to a coma for saying or doing something stupid, surely points to his lucky talent. If such a thing can even be considered a talent. Celestia knows the picture on his butt says that luck is his talent.

“Macintosh, what do you see, here?” asks Burnt Oak, stopping and turning to face Big Mac.

Big Mac stops, looks at his escorts, peers over their shoulders at the endless field, then looks at the ponies being loaded up in the mini-trains. He looks back at Burnt Oak and shrugs.

“You don't talk much, do you?” asks Burnt Oak, smiling nervously.

Big Mac's impatient frown speaks plenty.

“Right.” Burnt Oak smacks his lips and sighs loudly as he kicks at a clump of prairie grass. “Macintosh, what you're seeing is the start of the revolution.”

Big Mac raises a skeptical eyebrow, and Burnt Oak chuckles anxiously and fidgets a little in his spot, his eyes darting between the massive stallion and his little army.

“I know it's hard to believe,” says Burnt Oak, “and I really can't blame you. I wouldn't even believe me if I were in your hooves. But all the ponies that came with me, we all agreed that if we continue letting this country travel this path, there will not be a shred of Equestria left. We will be Equestria in name only, but our values, our way of life? That will disappear.”

“Why did you bust me out?” asks Big Mac, his suspicious gaze zeroing in on Burnt Oak.

Burnt Oak gasps in playful shock. “He talks!”

The three ponies that freed Big Mac snicker, chuckle and giggle, with the brown pony doing the chuckling, the dark orange snickering and the unicorn giggling. A very unnerving, border-lining psychotic giggle that needs just a dark room with a flickering light to give someone a heart attack. It is a giggle that Big Mac does not want to hear ever again, and all he does to make them shut up is snort hot air explosively through his nose. All three stop very quickly after that, and Burnt Oak clears his throat and scuffs the dirt while the other two shift their eyes to other fascinating parts of the bland scenery.

“Sorry,” mutters the brown stallion. He lifts his eyes to Big Mac moments later and straightens his posture. “I actually should have just cut to it instead of dancing around it, but here it is. At our current state we cannot fight Celestia and her government, we would be slaughtered, but the Apples are one of the largest and most powerful families in Equestria! Even your sister is the Bearer of Honesty and-”

Big Mac holds up his hoof. “Nope.”

Burnt Oak blinks. “You didn't let me finish.”

“Ya didn't have t' finish. I know what yer after and I ain't gonna allow it.”

“But you don't understand-”

“I understand that yer lookin' t' mah family for support in yer revolution, but what ya don't understand that the Apples have split apart. Ya got Apples, Tarts, Juices, Oranges, Cookies and Pies, all different with different goals and connections and values. We ain't been a united family since the Lunar Rebellion. We're just a bunch o' clans fightin' for influence, now, ain't nothin' gonna change that.”

“Okay, fine, we don't need the others, but if we can get your sister to act as a symbol for our movement, then we can gain the support we need and get a fighting chance against Celestia's regime!”

Big Mac stomps forward and jabs Burnt Oak in the chest with enough brute strength to make him stumble back, and the smaller stallion stares at the titan of a pony's angered, scarred face with drooped ears and wide eyes. Even his two escorts take a step back, both fidgeting and casting nervous looks to each other.

“Ya ain't gonna use mah sister or mah kin as pawns in yer rebellion!” says Big Mac. “AJ doesn't want anypony getting' hurt, and you goin' around shootin' up trains and talkin' 'bout fightin' Celestia is doin' exactly what she don't want!”

“But you saw first hoof how corrupted the government has become,” counters Burnt Oak shakily. “They already took control of our farms, they are arresting ponies left and right for saying the wrong things, they're separating families and now they are building some kind of super food tower that will make us completely dependent on them! We trusted them to lead us, not control us, and they betrayed our trust, just as the Elements did. Only Applejack stood up for us in spite of the power of Celestia's madness. Only her. Only you. Only the Apples stood by us.”

Big Mac snorts and steps back, glaring down at Burnt Oak. “Find somepony else to be yer symbol for the revolution. Ya ain't draggin' mah sisters into this. 'Sides, ya can't even look at me without shakin' in yer hide, so what makes ya think ya can face Celestia's army if ya can't even face yer equal without being afraid?”

Burnt Oak forces a chuckle, and he looks down at his legs, which are quivering to where dust vibrates off of them. “You know, my grandpa used to say nopony lives without fear. I guess I'm just better at showing it than others.” He sniffs, wipes his nose, and then he looks up at Big Mac, straining himself to stop shaking. “But fear or not, this needs to be done, and I really need you and your sister's help to save this country.”

Big Mac scowls and shoves his way past Burnt Oak and Neon Lights, following the tracks in the direction of the last town they passed. Appleloosa, if he recalls. Not that he wants to see anyone there since the only pony he really knew turned traitor on the Apples and enlisted into the EIB and is more than likely gone. But a town is a town, and he won't get much farther if he ignores it entirely because of a pony that no longer lives there.

“Find somepony else. Ya ain't usin' my kin for anything,” says Big Mac without slowing, and he continues walking as he looks over his shoulder at Burnt Oak. “Thank you kindly for the help, by the way.”

He looks back ahead, knowing that he will have to trek in the dark without rest if he wants to get to the growing town at a reasonable time. As he walks, curious ponies watch him march by them, more than likely curious about the scars or why Burnt Oak is following him, but he ignores them. Even the familiar faces, such as Time Turner, Noteworthy and Lucky, are not given more than a second's glance. He already wasted enough time entertaining Burnt Oak with his presence, and now he needs to find his sisters as quickly as he can, for there is no telling what the new system will do to them.

“Wait! We know where Apple Bloom and Applejack are!” shouts Burnt Oak.

Big Mac stops and looks over his shoulder as Burnt Oak trots next to him, with Neon Lights and Emerald Green following close behind. Big Mac looks around, seeing the faces of others staring at him, with Time Turner looking especially interested. The big stallion huffs and looks down at the dry grass before looking at Burnt Oak critically.

“Ya expect me t' believe you?” asks Big Mac.

“We broke you out! In most cases that will mean a mutual friendship or at least a mutual trust,” says Burnt Oak.

“In most cases.”

Burnt Oak huffs. “Okay, look, we got connections in the Lunar Society and the House of Solaria, and they told us where Applejack and Apple Bloom are being held, and that means we can help you get them back a whole lot better than you ever could. All I ask is that you help me convince-”

“How's 'bout ya tell me where they are right now.”

Burnt Oak breathes trough his nose and runs his hoof through his mane. Like his whole body, his hoof shakes and Big Mac has yet to figure out how or why anyone can follow this weakling. They must see something in him that he does not. Not that he wants to figure it out since the quicker he finds his sisters, the quicker he can get away from this guy and not get shot in the face by the government.

When Burnt Oak lowers his hoof, he takes another breath and looks at Big Mac. “Macintosh, I want to- No, I will tell you where they are, and I will help you get them back, but I really need your help. I need you, I need your sister, every one of us needs you and your family to lead us. We need a symbol to rally behind, to inspire the commoners to retake their lives as theirs to control. We do not belong to Canterlot or to Celestia, and Applejack was the only Element who was brave enough to say that aloud.”

Big Mac refuses to speak once more, and Burnt Oak sighs, making his aggravation for the stubbornness very clear.

“Macintosh, I know you want things to go back to normal, we all do, but we can't go back!” says Burnt Oak, stomping his hoof in emphasis. “Time does not allow us to go back and fix the mistakes that brought us here. All we can do is fight for what is important to us and start in a new direction. But now you have a choice, Macintosh. Come with us and be reunited with your sisters, or stay here and let us get them back alone. I really want to reunite you with your family. It is more important to me than you realize.”

Burnt Oak nods to Emerald and Neon Light, then he makes his way to one of the mini-trains, walking past Big Mac along the way and giving him an angry, disappointed look.

“The choice is yours if you want to stay out here alone, or come with us to get your sisters back,” says Burnt Oak, his somber tone breaking the anger in his eyes. He looks straight ahead and continues walking, saying without looking at Big Mac: “We'll be leaving, soon, so make your choice quick.”

Big Mac turns his head to watch them hop inside a crudely armored motor-wagon, and he snorts and stares down at his hooves. A wet lump looks at what little of the sun remains, and it is there that he makes a decision that his stubbornness and paranoia does not want him to make, but he knows that it is the best chance he has of getting his sister back. With his mind reluctantly made up, he sighs heavily, and then he silently walks after Burnt Oak.