Green Pastures, Southern Residential Block, Equestria
50 Years after the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War

The old pegasus stallion sat on his front porch, sipping his glass of lemonade slowly as he watched the quiet neighborhood go through its daily life. Young colts and fillies played along the streets, neighbors greeted each other as they trimmed their lawns with care, and the sun shined brightly as cotton-white clouds lazily drifted through the sky on the warm spring breeze. The stallion’s lightly wrinkled grey face bore a contented smile as he sighed. It was paradise.

The old stallion frowned, his warm brown eyes narrowing with concern, as the peaceful calm of the neighborhood was broken by the sound of young voices arguing angrily. He turned to look inside the house. His son was working on preparing dinner, his daughter-in-law was still at work, and his sister and her husband were asleep on the porch swing in the back yard. The stallion turned his attention back to the sounds of arguing, which had grown more heated in the time he’d checked inside the house. His eyes widened as the argument cut short and he heard a sound that he’d not heard in years: the sound of fighting.

Moving with seemingly impossible speed, the old stallion flew from his chair toward the sound of the conflict, not even hearing his glass of lemonade spill and clatter to the floor. He found a ring of foals chanting “Fight” as two pegasi colts tussled in the middle. A light grey colt with gold eyes and jet-black mane was repeatedly striking a blue colt with an orange mane and green eyes, who returned each blow with equal fervor. The old stallion’s eyes flashed with anger as he recognized the light grey colt and the blue colt as his grandson and his grandson’s best friend, respectively. The grey stallion’s voice cut through the chanting with overwhelming clarity and authority.

“STOP!” bellowed the old stallion, watching as the spectators froze in fear.

The two colts ignored the command, too engrossed in their struggle to pay it any mind. The old stallion marched forward, the foals parting to allow him to pass, and pulled the two colts apart. They struggled fruitlessly against the old stallions grip, but froze as the old stallion spoke again.

“I may be getting on in years, but I believe these busted old ears heard me tell you to stop,” hissed the stallion, his voice leaving no room for defiance.

“But Grandpa Broadcloth, Kingfisher-” began the grey colt, before being cut off by his grandfather.

“We will discuss this at home, Cold Snap,” Broadcloth interrupted sternly before glaring at Kingfisher as well. “And you’ll be joining us in this discussion, Kingfisher. I can’t imagine your parents will object when they’ve seen this.”

Broadcloth turned to the small crowd in front of him. “I’d advise you all to clear out and head home, before I decide to inform your parents that you were encouraging your peers to sort out their problems with violence,” barked Broadcloth.

This dispersed the crowd instantly, at which Broadcloth’s glare told both combatants one thing: march. They made their way back to the house, where Broadcloth’s daughter-in-law had just returned from work at the post office. Muffin took one look at her son and his best friend and instantly realized the situation.

“I’ll call Blenheim and Willow Wisp and let them know to come over,” assured Muffin, setting her empty mail bag by the front door before going inside.

Broadcloth sat the two colts down in front of his rocking chair. He then sat down slowly, his weary body aching in protest at its sudden and unexpected exertion. He then turned to the two colts, his stern glare returning to his face.

“Now, I know for a fact that you two have been friends since your very first Flight Camp,” stated Broadcloth, “and I know that the either one of you would gladly take a punch for the other in a heartbeat. So, here’s what I can’t seem to figure out: what in the name of Luna’s glowing blue mane would cause you to fight like bitter enemies?”

The two colts remained silent for a moment, shooting glares at each other when they looked up. Eventually, Kingfisher spoke up.

“Cold Snap can’t handle the truth, sir,” answered Kingfisher.

“I can handle it!” yelled Cold Snap, “You’re just telling a bunch of lies!”

“I am not!” argued Kingfisher. “You heard today’s lesson! What else could the Shadowbolts be but a bunch of treasonous, murdering thugs?”

“Ah, now it makes sense,” thought Broadcloth, as the argument continued.

“They saved Equestria and fought for the Princesses!” snapped Cold Snap, as Kingfisher rolled his eyes.

“Those were the Renegades,” countered Kingfisher, “and they were led by ex-Wonderbolts. Besides, the Shadowbolts were a bunch of mercenaries that did countless unspeakable things long before the war even began!”

“Enough,” interjected Broadcloth, halting the argument. “Kingfisher, look at me and tell me honestly: what do you think of me?”

Kingfisher frowned, not expecting this question. He looked at the old stallion in front of him, considering the fading scars that marked the stallion’s body and finding nothing out of the ordinary before answering.

“You were a veteran of the war,” replied Kingfisher, “a brave soldier who put everything on the line for Equestria when we needed it most.”

Broadcloth said nothing. The old stallion reached into one of the side pouches of his chair, searching for something. After a few moments, he tossed the object in front of Kingfisher, the colt’s eyes widening. Both Kingfisher and Cold Snap stared in shock at the object in front of them. A pair of flight goggles now rested in Kingfisher’s hooves. The angular yellow lenses scratched and cracked, the straps frayed and ripped along the edges from years of use, the goggles were unmistakable: They were Shadowbolt goggles.

“How about now, Kingfisher?” asked Broadcloth.

“T-these must be a trophy,” stuttered Kingfisher, “a souvenir from the war.”

At this, two more objects fell to the ground, silencing the colt’s rationalizations. Another pair of flight goggles with rounded red lenses and a worn red headband now sat before the colts. Both looked up in shock at the older stallion, their disbelief slowly waning. These were the mark of the Renegades, a group of ex-Shadowbolts that fought alongside the Wonderbolts during the war. There was only one way that Broadcloth would have Shadowbolt and Renegade equipment.

“I could go upstairs and get the flight suit if you still don’t believe me,” quipped Broadcloth. “I went by the name ‘Cloak’ back in those days, if you want to argue that the names don’t match.”

“Grandpa, how?” asked Cold Snap, “Why?”

“Kids, let me clear up one thing right now that the history books fail to mention,” began Broadcloth, or Cloak. “We don’t live in a perfect world. The Princesses can’t be everywhere at once, so there are things that slip through the cracks. Greed, corruption, hatred and all other manner of nasty things lurk in our society. The Royal Guard and other law enforcement are bound by the law, which is by no means perfect. This allows some groups to lurk in the shadows or hide in plain sight, taking advantage of the ponies that can’t fight back, and all the law can do is watch.”

“Are you saying that mercenaries are good?” asked Kingfisher incredulously.

Cloak laughed bitterly. “Not by a long shot, son,” replied Cloak, “but there are times where they are necessary.”

“When would a band of thieves and killers ever be necessary?” demanded Kingfisher.

“Have you ever heard of the Elysium Corporation?” asked Cloak.

“No,” replied both colts in unison.

“That’s a good thing,” replied Cloak. “Out of all the industrial firms out of Manehattan at the time, they were one of the worst.”

“What happened to them?” asked Cold Snap.

“We did,” interjected an older mare’s voice.

Cloak grinned as his twin sister Dagger walked in with her husband Arclight. The old stallion proceeded to tell a tale of years past.

Elysium Industrial Colony 001, the Old Market District, Saddle Arabian Coast
16 Years before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War

The young pegasus colt raced for his life through the cramped alleyways of the city that had been home and prison for most of his life. Behind him, his fellow “street rats” and rival thieves were hoping to capitalize on his success with little to no effort on their parts. They called him Runt, given his size, as he was much smaller than a colt of ten years should have been, though his ribs were barely visible on his dark grey frame. Strands of his unkempt rust-colored mane got into his eyes as he flew without stopping, his lungs burning and wings aching.

Daring to glance behind him, he could see his pursuers: two pegasi, a unicorn, and three earth ponies. All of them were bigger than him, and were better fed through mutually successful thefts. Death threats, threats of pain and suffering, false promises of mercy, and general insults involving the Goddess’s “Divine Left Flank” and manure all fell on deaf ears as Runt analyzed the situation, as he had every time they’d tried before this.

“The pegasi need to go down first, followed by the unicorn, and then it should just be a simple matter of outpacing the earth ponies,” thought Runt, as he turned into the next alley.

His eyes scanned ahead to see a much wider and longer alley, moving slightly uphill with several clotheslines strung between buildings. Several wine casks were being lifted up on a small dumbwaiter-style lift near the end of the alley, the ropes straining under the weight. Runt checked his belt quickly, finding the lucky “knife” that he’d made years ago from a jagged piece of Guard Armor plate and the last surviving strip of his foal blanket. He smiled.

“Perfect,” he muttered, as he set his plan into motion.

Runt stayed still enough to allow the unicorn to get a fix on his position, folding his wings when the mage fired his spell. The blast proceeded to knock out the closest pegasus pursuer, causing him to crash to the ground and take out one of the earth ponies pursuing him. Runt extended his wings back out, gliding downward and pulling back up sharply towards the highest clothesline. Gripping it in his hooves as he past, Runt snapped the cord back towards the second pegasus, who proceeded to drop like a stone. Runt drew his lucky knife, ready to cut the straining support rope and complete his escape.

Just as he approached, a second spell from the unicorn blasted the knife out of his hoof, sending it spinning upward through the air. Runt froze, eyes widening with fear. At the speed he was going, there would be no way to recover the knife and still have time to cut the rope before he passed it.

“Unless…” thought Runt, rethinking his tactics.

Runt put all of his strength into a final burst of speed, directly at a clothesline in front of him. The cord strained under the force of the impact but held for a full second before snapping back. Runt flew like a javelin, straight towards a glint of light slowly falling back towards the alley. Catching the knife in his hoof, Runt sped past the rope with the blade outstretched, severing both exposed ropes facing away from the building. As he glided past, he indulged in a gesture he’d seen some stallions in the market square use, extending the middle feather of each wing as he passed his attackers at a dizzying speed before angling his wings upward to soar far above the little alley. Had they been given time to comprehend what was happening, they would have realized that staring dumbfounded at your opponent as he flees is not the best idea while dozens of very full, and very heavy, wine casks are falling to meet you.

Of course, time and the sudden cessation of gravity had failed to bless them with their presence.

As the casks rolled toward them, the young rogues indulged in one last shout of fury before they were overwhelmed. Runt sighed with relief as he glided away, not believing his luck. He checked the stolen saddlebag to see that his prize of a Baker’s Dozen of assorted cupcakes and muffins had survived the ordeal without much squishing. While he inspected his loot, Runt failed to notice the large dark grey Pegasus with the blue mane, gold eyes watching the young colt with curiosity.

“That’s what you think will save us from this catastrophe?” asked Starry Skies incredulously, “A scrawny foal?”

Descent merely nodded. He’d kept an eye on the young thief since their arrival, even before the snafu of last night. The colt was impressive in his abilities: a strong flier and a resourceful fighter despite his malnutrition, but more importantly a cunning mind that enabled him to think his way out of situations that left him severely outclassed. With their most recent losses, they needed somepony like that. Starry broke Descent out of his contemplation with a loud sigh and an eye roll.

“Look, big guy,” began Starry. “I get it: lonely kid on the streets, fighting to survive each day because the world doesn’t seem to give a damn? With our background, it’s hard not to sympathize with that.”

“This isn’t about sympathy,” growled Descent. “This is strategy.”

“Strategy?” repeated Starry incredulously. “How is sending a scrawny little cutpurse, whose voice hasn’t even dropped yet, against an army of trained private security guards ‘strategy’? Let me remind you that we’ve only got four available from our original team of ten, and two of those members are rookies! We’ve already got two dead, one of which was the original team leader and strategist, and four more are held by the enemy, slated to be executed! We’ll have to break the others out, and then-”

“If you have a plan to break the others out before their public execution this afternoon, I would be very interested in hearing it,” interrupted Descent, with only his icy tone betraying his frustration.

Descent didn’t look back at Starry, instead continuing to watch the young colt as he ate part of his ill-gotten gains. Starry’s frustration at Descent’s counterargument was amplified by the stallion being right. Starry didn’t have a plan, and wasn’t likely to come up with one in the next few hours that wasn’t completely suicide. There was no way to complete the mission by themselves, not even making it a suicide mission. With an exasperated sigh of acceptance, Starry spoke up again.

“Alright, what’s your plan, since you clearly have one?” asked Starry.

“Food spoils quickly, especially in this climate,” stated Descent. “Coin, on the other hand, doesn’t have an expiration date.”

“And that has to do with the price of chocolate in Canterlot how exactly?” snapped Starry.

“That colt is not the sort of thief to live day by day,” explained Descent. “No doubt he steals bits as well as food.”

“Sure, but how in the name of Discord’s saggy eyelids is that going to lead us to him?” snapped Starry, getting very frustrated at this point.

“Pickpockets work best in crowded areas where most ponies will be distracted,” replied Descent calmly. “Can’t you think of somewhere that fits that description perfectly?”

“What the hell are you talking about? The only crowded place in this backwater hellhole is the marketplace, and they closed that for the-” ranted Starry, pausing as she realized what Descent was suggesting.

“For the executions this afternoon,” finished Descent. “The overseer made it mandatory for all, under penalty of death on sight.”

“Wait, you want the kid to figure out a plan to save our friends from being executed during their execution?!” exclaimed Starry. “That’s cutting it way too close!”

“It’s the only way,” replied Descent. “There will be some time since we know that they will be the last ones executed, but it’s the only time that they’ll be accessible.”

“For Nightshade’s sake, I hope you’re right about this,” said Starry in uneasy frustration.

“That makes two of us,” muttered Descent.

Elysium Industrial Colony 001, the Market Square, Saddle Arabian Coast
16 Years before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War

Runt slipped through the crowd unnoticed, knife at the ready as he cut bit purses free from their ties. He tried to ignore the execution that was taking place in the background, grateful that it wasn’t him standing up there. Elysium did this sort of thing regularly enough that the event wasn’t surprising. However, the number of prisoners was enough to leave the crowd shaken. The first worker revolt failed late last night, and now thirty poor souls were about to meet their deaths.

Runt kept moving through the crowd, his knife making quick work of several more bit purses. He spotted a dark grey stallion with a blue mane and a very hefty bag of bits hanging from his saddlebag. Runt smiled to himself at his luck, moving silently through the crowd toward his new target. Reaching up slowly with his trusty knife, Runt moved to cut the bits free from the saddlebag. He nearly dropped the knife as a voice like polished granite spoke only loud enough for the colt to hear.

“You’d be better off with the saddlebag, son,” the dark grey stallion murmured. “The gemstones and bearer bonds alone would be worth at least ten times more than that paltry sum of bits.”

Runt’s blood turned to ice in his veins as his knife hovered over the cord that held the bits to the stallion’s belt. Every fiber of his being told him that he should run, but the thief knew that the ensuing scene would draw the attention of every single pony, including every guard, nearby. That would mean instant death for him. Fortunately, the grey stallion spoke up again.

“Relax,” commanded the stallion in a tone that left no room for arguments. “I’m not here for your head. It better serves my goals if it remains attached to the rest of you. Step up where you can see everything and don’t make eye contact.”

Runt did as he was told, putting away his knife. His ill-gotten bits jingled lightly as he sat next to the strange stallion. The colt’s heart was pounding in unease, but he tried to keep his expression calm. He could now see the execution platform more clearly, where the overseer stood ranting with his long-winded speeches on loyalty and obedience and the consequences for faltering. Two heavily-armored guard stood with four pegasi prisoners bound in chains. Between them, prisoners were being led in groups of four to the gallows set in the middle, where the executioner and two guards worked in tandem with deadly efficiency. It was hard to watch.

“I have a problem, and I believe you can solve it,” began the stallion without looking at the colt. “Do so, and I will give you this bag of bits and three more. Once you have your bits and my problem is solved, you’ll never have to hear from me ever again. Are you interested?”

The colt nodded quickly, hoping to be rid of this situation as soon as possible.

“Good, now I’m sure you can see the four pegasi bound in chains?” asked the stallion.

Again, the colt nodded. Runt had a feeling that he knew where this was going.

“I need them alive,” continued the stallion, “preferably all of them, and I only have three other pegasi. How would you do it?”

The colt considered the question. He glanced around the area, counting the guards quickly and carefully. In total, there were fifteen unicorns stationed on the rooftops, twenty-five pegasi circling the square, and a staggering forty heavily-armored earth ponies standing guard at various places around the crowd. Ten of the earth ponies were guarding the prison wagons and leading the prisoners up to the platform, leaving thirty to stand watch over the crowd that had to be over two hundred ponies, easily.

“It would be nearly impossible,” replied Runt.

“Why?” asked the stallion. “What would stand in the way?”

“First, a very large distraction like a riot or a building falling would be required to provide enough time to reach the four prisoners in the first place,” began the colt. “In addition, the unicorns and pegasi would need to be disabled, at least temporarily, to prevent them from killing the rescue team before they reach the platform. Additionally, the two earth ponies closest to the targets would also need to be disabled to prevent them from killing the prisoners. An escape route would then need to be cleared to allow the eight to fly to safety before the guards reorganize themselves for pursuit.”

The stallion nodded thoughtfully.

“And what if such a distraction were possible?” asked the stallion.

“Send the strongest to break the prisoners out and the second strongest to clear a path,” replied the colt. “If you can somehow take out the unicorns on the rooftops, you should be mostly clear to escape.”

The stallion nodded again. A purple pegasus mare standing next to him moved away from them. Runt sighed in relief.

“Before you run off, I have another offer, if you’re interested,” began the stallion. “You’re living on the streets of a very dangerous city, and what my associates and I are about to do will increase that risk tenfold. However, I can provide you with another option; another life, in essence. Be aware that it won’t be an easy life, nor is there any guarantee of your survival. However, it does provide stability, and you will never have to go hungry searching for your next meal or freeze as you search for a place to sleep at night. All you have to do is follow me when I give the signal. Are you interested?”

The colt nodded, hesitating only briefly. While the offer was suspicious, it wasn’t a difficult choice, considering that all hell would be breaking loose here. Runt would be lucky if he lasted a week if he stayed under conditions like that. If it turned out that this stallion was lying, he could escape and find a new situation somewhere else. He broke from his thoughts as the stallion spoke.

“Get ready,” commanded the stallion.

Runt readied himself to fly only moments before the ground shook and the sky roared with flames and debris, knocking him to the ground. The three rooftops where the unicorns were stationed exploded in quick succession, sending the guards flying to the ground. The crowd burst into a frenzied panic as burning rubble fell to the square below. A large brown pegasus stallion dropped down behind the prisoners and slapped the two guards’ heads together with a sickening crunch. Runt suddenly found himself face to face with the dark grey stallion as he lifted the thief to his hooves.

“GO!” bellowed the stallion, his gold eyes flashing with bloodlust as he took to the skies.

Runt quickly followed, keeping close behind the stallion as the purple mare from before joined them. He watched as the grey stallion and purple mare plowed through the still-disoriented pegasi guards, causing each of them to drop out of the sky like stones. Runt tried not to think about the fact that these guards were dead upon landing. As they cleared the smoke, six more pegasi joined their formation, but Runt didn’t take time to look at them and risk falling behind. He was barely keeping up as it was, carrying his bag of bits.

Eventually, the group made their way outside the city, slowing their pace and eventually landing on the other side of the adjacent mountain ridge. The grey stallion then spoke up, addressing the purple mare.

“You overdid the explosives, Starry,” stated the stallion calmly.

“Stuff it, big guy!” snapped Starry. “Dagger and I don’t use explosives, and do you honestly expect Tank to know anything besides punching?”

“Merely an observation, not a judgement,” replied the stallion.

“Both of you be quiet!” commanded a sea-green mare with a blue mane. “We need to evaluate our situation.”

“Agreed, Nightshade,” nodded the stallion before turning to a light grey mare with a black mane. “Dagger, did you reach the target?”

Dagger simply nodded. Runt decided not to look too carefully at that exchange. A light grey stallion with a black mane and goofy grin then spoke up.

“And there’s no need to worry about the corporation restarting its activities,” added the stallion with a goofy grin. “The locals seemed like they’d had enough of Elysium’s shit! They were beating the living piss out of those private security douchebags!”

“…Thank you, Cloak,” replied the older stallion with a sigh.

Dagger proceeded to roll her eyes and slap Cloak upside the head. The large brown stallion, who Runt presumed had to be Tank, chuckled softly, jostling the injured stallion on his back. This caused the last stallion, clearly a medic of some type, to glare at the hulking pegasus as the medic’s patient moved up and down rapidly. Finally finding his voice, Runt addressed the dark grey stallion.

“Who are you?” asked Runt, drawing the attention of everypony present.

“Who’s the pipsqueak?” asked the injured stallion.

“That ‘pipsqueak’ is responsible for your continued breathing, Hawk, so it would be prudent for you to show a little respect,” replied the grey stallion before turning to face the colt.

“To answer your question, I am Descent and these are my comrades,” answered the stallion.

“Be ready to fly, kid,” advised the medic. “Our pickup will be here soon.”

“Pickup?” asked Runt, thoroughly confused.

“He means that,” Descent explained, pointing at the horizon.

Runt’s eyes widened as what appeared to be a small fortress with propellers flew toward the group. He felt his knees grow weak as his legs gave out, overwhelmed by this new development. The group took off and flew toward the behemoth, clearly not alarmed by the arrival of a flying city. Runt felt the medic lift him up over his shoulder and take off without another word. As they flew toward the fortress, Runt began to wonder anxiously what he’d managed to get himself into.

To be continued…

Author's Notes:

And... WE'RE OFF! After having this concept bouncing around in my head for months, it's finally here!

First off, I'd like to thank WitchingHour13 and Sylvian for pre-reading this story, and Calm Wind for making this wonderful universe that I shall be playing in over the next few months!

Already over 3K into the next chapter, so there should be an update soon!