It was only a few hours past midnight when Starry Skies crept into Charger's room.

"Charger?"

The drunken pegasus rolled over and sat up, holding his throbbing head in one hoof. As the magical drink began to wear off he felt as though he'd been hit by a freight train. Groggily he inquired, "Why're you up so late, Star?"

Gently, she knelt down beside him. "I wanted to make sure you were alright."

"Well, that's sweet of you. Any particular reason why?"

"You're my friend, dear. And in all honesty, it was a bit unsettling to see you being so emotional. I'm used to you and Stratus being personal symbols of bravery, chivalry, power." She laughed. "Ironic, isn't it? A mare from Uptown Cloudsdale finds her shining examples of bold gentlecolts in the company of ruffians like our little group?"

Charger reclined in a more comfortable position, indicating that Starry Skies could sit on the cot next to him. "You're from Uptown Cloudsdale? I didn't know that. You know, you never told me much about you, Star."

She smiled. "There's not much to tell."

The silence hung heavy on the room. Starry Skies, more perceptive than she appeared, quietly asked, "You loved her, didn't you?"

Charger sighed. He explained his history with Sharkey. When he finished he rolled over, facing away from Starry Skies. "It was a long time ago."

Starry Skies rested a gentle hoof on his shoulder. "I understand. I know how long those wounds can take to heal."

Suddenly interested, Charger faced Starry Skies again. "I never picked you as the sentimental type."

Starry Skies chuckled. "I was before all of this. Would you believe I actually saved myself for a colt I thought I was in love with?"

"No way", Charger laughed. "Really? I gotta hear this story."

Starry Skies laid her head on her crossed front hooves and started her story from its beginning, when she left her father's house.

***

There were two things that appealed to her from the start: material things and the idea of being the center of attention. These two things were all that Starry Skies had in mind the day she had her father arrange for her to meet with the Wonderbolts to discuss the possibility of her joining their group.

The athletic flight crew sat somewhat uncomfortably in the posh living room. Starry Skies, wearing her best dress, eagerly awaited her father's signal for her to enter the room. As the aging stallion dropped her name she glided gracefully into the room, landing silently on the expensive rug and giving a dainty bow.

"How very nice to meet you all", she said, adding the slightest hints of additional refinement to her moneyed voice.

"As you can see", her father added, "She's very graceful. She's also fairly quick in the air, and has received formal training in aerial ballet. My daughter would add to the team an element of sophistication and beauty that would no doubt draw a crowd with more selective tastes."

Doc, the captain of the team at the time, shifted in his seat. "Well, she seems to be quite the talent, sir, but we ARE first and foremost a stunt flight team. She would have to be able to fly exceptionally fast and with great coordination. She would also have to fit into the team dynamic. We can't agree to allow her to join without at least seeing an audition."

Twenty minutes later, Starry Skies breathed deeply as she began her routine over her father's lake. Speed and coordination; not exactly ballet, but I can do this!, she thought to herself.

She was wrong.

"Miss Skies", Doc said, trying to be gentle, "We simply cannot accept your application. While your determination and perseverance were… interesting, you simply lack proper coordination at higher speeds. And you never accelerated to the speeds we normally fly at. And if you were to crash into an actual crowd like that, you risk killing somepony. I encourage you to train hard, practice daily, and never give up, though; maybe one day you'll fly with us."

Doc and his team walked out, hastily pursued by Starry Skies's father.

"Mr. Doc", the stallion stammered, "You don't understand. My daughter, this is her dream-"

Doc cut him off. "Sir, we realize that. But somepony who flies as slowly as your daughter and is entirely incapable of clearing an obstacle at AVERAGE flying speed will never be a Wonderbolt."

The stallion lowered his voice, his face serious. "Listen. Your group could profit by having my daughter in it. I'm a vey powerful businesscolt, I could have you perform at the best venues, you'd get the best endorsement deals… You simply can't lose."

Doc shook his head, tossing his graying mane. "Sir. No amount of money can buy your daughter the skill she needs to join. Good day."

The team turned and left, taking the few aspirations young Starry Skies had with them.

For the next day or so she wouldn't leave her room. She hardly ate or slept. For the first time in her life, simply being part of the Cloudsdale aristocracy was not enough. It shattered her. A couple of over-dramatic, half hearted suicide attempts later she emerged from her depression a bit wiser and considerably darker. Despite being horribly spoiled, Starry Skies realized she had no future if she couldn't learn to solve problems without relying on her father to solve them for her. However, this change was not entirely positive. With it came a sort of moral apathy; Starry Skies was reborn with enough drive and determination to get what she wanted by her own means, but no qualms about using dishonest means to get it. After a couple of months of selfishly hoarding her father's money she left to pursue her own life with two things in mind. One was finding a steady source of income. The other was somehow, sometime, destroying the Wonderbolts for crushing her dreams.

The days seemed to swirl by as a boring grey blur. Starry Skies had bought a small apartment which she used as a base of operations as she mulled over possible jobs and ponies to rob blind. Finally she took a job as an office worker. The monotonous hell of pushing papers, crunching numbers, and pretending to care about the faceless corporation she stole items and money from daily was only broken when a few of her office friends took her clubbing.

Having been raised as a sophisticated socialite, Starry Skies had never attended a party that did not require formal wear. The food she was used to was small portions of elegantly prepared vegetables fashionable among the aristocracy, not heaping plates of hay fries or platters full of sweets. She had tasted alcohol, but only champagne, and never enough to get her drunk. She had danced, but always in a ballroom setting or as a ballerina, never in a hot, bouncing club where the mares gyrated and grinded upon each other like wild animals. She had never seen so many beautifully liberated ponies, all letting loose and succumbing to such primal urges until now.

And she liked it.

From that first night, which ended around eight the next morning with Starry Skies enjoying a stolen breakfast in the unfamiliar apartment she woke up in, Starry Skies had found her calling in life; hedonism. Every night and every pay check thereafter was spent in a club, drinking, eating, and reveling in the attention paid to her model's figure by the colts and mares. But eventually her father's money began to run out, and her meager pay check couldn't support her refined tastes and horribly unrefined spending habits. Starry Skies found that if she danced a little closer to certain colts or mares, they'd buy her drinks. She took in every little subtle hint of body language she could, using it to earn her more attention. The ponies she danced with, they wanted her. And they were willing to buy her drinks, and food, and give her a ride home when she was too drunk to fly, all just to be near her. All she had to do was pay attention to them, be flirty and fun and use her appearance to her advantage, and they were putty in her hooves. Some nights she would go out and have the time of her life and not spend a single bit. But the ponies she leeched off of wanted more.

She was lucky enough to get away with a dance here, a kiss there, for the first few months. But eventually colts started to hint at the thing Starry Skies refused to give up: sex. Despite her behavior Starry Skies had maintained one last shred of innocence. And she utterly refused to let go of it. The thought of it made her feel unclean. It wasn't that she wished to abstain forever. Far from it. Starry Skies was previously oblivious to dating and the concept of love thanks to her over-protective father. She saw love as it was depicted in the stuffy old ballet stories. She felt she could only achieve true love if she met a beautiful colt willing to give up everything for her in exchange for her innocence and hoof in marriage. That sacrifice was the only way she could ever find a happily ever after.

One night, Starry Skies stumbled upon her prince charming. He was a lean earth pony by the name of Quickstep. His flowing, chestnut colored mane was clinging to his muzzle from perspiration as he glided across the dance floor. He was easily the best dancer in the place. His glistening white coat reflected the lights of the club in a way that made him look like a glowing marble statue. He was confident, good looking, and rich. A perfect target for Starry Skies. She moved in for the kill, drawing him in with a wink. But when he came over and sat next to her he did the last thing she expected: he started an intelligent conversation. No cheesy pick-up lines, no sob-stories, not even the straight-forward, 'Can I buy you a drink?' line. He began to talk to her about the music, which led to a very civilized and engaging discussion about musical theory that brought Starry Skies back to her formal education days.

Starry Skies was so thrown out of her own element that she agreed to see him the next night. And the next. And the next.

Four months later, Starry Skies was head-over-hooves in love. Quickstep was perfect. He was fun and witty. He was a gentlecolt. He was sophisticated, but not stuffy. He was rich, but not opulent or greedy. And most of all, he had no problem supporting her. He truly was her Prince Charming. Finally after weeks of her dropping hints, he asked her to marry him.

That night, Starry Skies made a decision. It was time for happily ever after. She anxiously waited in the bed for Quickstep to return with wine. The smile on his face put her at ease, but at his touch the butterflies in her stomach returned. Doing her best to avoid seeming nervous Starry Skies gave the most important part of herself, her innocence and purity, to the colt of her dreams, her true love.

The next day she woke up late; the clock read nearly noon. She sat up, groggy and still sore. Rubbing her eyes, she realized she had a pounding headache and that her body felt considerably sorer than she was ever told it would. I must have had more wine than I thought last night, she thought, because I feel like we made love a million times and hardly remember anything. She turned over in bed. Quickstep wasn't there next to her.

Starry Skies felt her stomach drop. He's probably in the shower or cooking breakfast, she assured herself.

She looked in the bathroom and kitchen. No Quickstep. She began to frantically scour the entire apartment. Upon opening her closet she found that the shoebox containing her savings was gone. So was her jewelry. So were her most expensive outfits. As she sprinted through the front room, something caught her eye. A note. It read simply, "Sorry kid, you're nice, but I'm not about to settle down. Love, Q. P.S., if you feel really queasy and lightheaded, you may wanna call poison control about a medication overdose."

At that moment, something in Starry Skies's heart broke irreparably. She felt so used, so unclean, so filthy and worthless. The room spun. She fell to the ground, unable to stand. She gagged. She vomited. She wept. It took roughly twelve hours to recover from the uncontrollable sobbing, dry heaves, and sickness due to a slight sedative overdose. When she did recover, she found she was incapable of caring. The little part of her that broke opened a gate to purely apathetic hedonism. She now had no reservations about sleeping with anypony; she wanted to embrace physical pleasure, the only kind that couldn't be taken away. Emotional pleasure was a lie. Sex was real. Alcohol was real. Physical pleasure was real. This, and destroying the Wonderbolts, and Quickstep if ever she saw him again, became all that mattered.

***

Charger looked pensively at Starry Skies. "Star, I had no idea. I'm so sorry."

She gave a half-smile. "We all have our baggage, Charger."

"Yeah, but the past is the past, we can live with that." He sat up. "You know what really scares me? The future."

Starry Skies blinked. "You know, I never thought about that. What are you gonna do after this deal with Nightshade is over?"

Charger stood, looking out the window. "I dunno. Maybe spend the rest of my days chasing tequila with spicy food and good music down in Mexicolt City." He turned back to Starry Skies. "Hell, maybe you could come with me. Keep me company."

Starry Skies smiled. "Maybe."

The next morning Nightshade had everypony up bright and early. She stood in front of a cork board full of extraneous papers hastily tacked to it. On the table in front of it was a stack of binders. In the crate next to her were everypony's hoof blades. In a larger crate on the other side of her were rolled up maps, new padded flight suits, and all of the materials required for makeshift explosives.

When Nightshade spoke, her crisp clear voice was considerably darker. Her words were charged, muddied with hate.

"Alright. This is it. We begin training today. Combat, armed and unarmed. Trick flying and aerial attacks. Stealth operations to avoid security. Mixing, assembling, wiring, setting, triggering, and even disarming small explosives. And most importantly of all", she added, sliding a binder to each pony, "We're gonna know our enemy."

Each pony began to flip through the dossiers of the Wonderbolts. First came Soarin', the athletic but loveably stupid second captain. Next came Blue Blazer, Doc, Smokey Trails and a few others, old or unrecognized due to being outshined by the more prominent members. Next came the page that made Nightshade quake with hatred, Spitfire's page. She was now the captain of the team as well as the star of every show. After the Wonderbolts themselves were a few pages on their security teams, tech teams, and various other unimportant ponies. Standard business. The last page featured their newest manager, a tall grey pegasus with a short black mane and a knife through a bit as his cutie mark.

Simultaneously, Charger and Stratus blurted, "Rain!"

Charger turned to Stratus. "How do you know him?"

"Back in my days as an enforcer in Manehatten, he was my first real case. We tried to take down his little racket, but nothing ever stuck to the bastard; he dropped off the radar. How about you?"

Charger made brief eye contact with Starry Skies. "We have history."

Nightshade stepped forward. "History or not, we need to be prepared to face every pony in this book." Her voice dropped, dripping with malice. "We need to be prepared to kill every pony in this book." Silently, she thought to herself, And oh how prepared I am to kill you, Spitfire...