Green Pastures, Cloak’s Front Porch, Equestria
50 Years After the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War (2 Weeks after the First Story Session)

Cloak closed his eyes and sighed as he listened to the trees sway gently in the breeze. After Cloak had concluded his story, Cold Snap and Kingfisher were told that their punishments would be decided in the morning, as even the adults were starting to get bleary-eyed. When the morning came, both colts learned that they would be grounded for two weeks. However, much to the adult’s amusement, the two bemoaned the absence of Shadowbolt stories more than the grounding itself. Unsurprisingly, Cold Snap promised Kingfisher that he’d wait until their punishment was over to hear the rest of the story.

And so the next two weeks for Cloak were back to the same quiet routine of sitting quietly on the porch in his weathered rocking chair with his glass of lemonade. However, Cloak found himself to be no longer at ease with the peaceful neighborhood, as memories of wingmates and battles long past flooded his mind. The memories he recalled were not always unpleasant, with some of them being the happiest of his life, but they still drew him to a time he’d thought long-forgotten. That night was the first time he’d told anyone about those days, and it had been decades since he’d lived them.

The old stallion found that every glint of metal from barbecue grills and garden shears to be the gleam of armor and weapons in the sun, every spring gathering of friends and family to be revelry after another successful mission, and every shadow cast by the weather team to be another comrade in the sky. The lazy afternoons he spent in his chair relaxing now failed to bring the same tranquil joy that they used to. He was restless, longing to share more of his comrades in arms to a new generation. It seemed that after several decades of keeping silent, the stories of Cloak’s past life could remain silent no more.

“Grandpa?” a familiar voice asked.

Cloak opened his eyes, expecting to see Cold Snap and Kingfisher sitting in front of him, awaiting the next part of the story they had waited weeks to hear. To his great surprise, Cloak found that the young colts were not alone. Five other foals, two colts and three fillies, were also present. He noted that two of the foals, one pegasus and one earth pony, had distinct rainbow streaks in their manes, giving a slight hint as to why they were present. The others, another earth pony and two unicorns, were impossible to guess.

“Afternoon, you two,” greeted Cloak, addressing Cold Snap and Kingfisher. “Who are your friends?”

“Well, after you told us the story, we kinda couldn’t stop talking about it,” admitted Cold Snap sheepishly. “A few of our classmates overheard us, and they decided they wanted to tag along.”

“I see,” replied Cloak, amusement glimmering in his eyes. “I assume that you brought them up to speed on the last part of the story?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Kingfisher.

“Well, I don’t see any logistical reason why they can’t join us,” said Cloak, before turning to address the newcomers. “However, I must warn you all. The story so far has been fairly innocent and mild in comparison to later parts. There will be moments of laughter and joy, but the life of a mercenary is not a pure and honest one, and the story will get darker from this point on. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

“We aren’t little foals, Mr. Broadcloth,” replied the rainbow-maned filly. “Besides, hearing this stuff from someone who was actually there is at least twenty percent cooler than listening to our teacher drone on and on about it.”

The other foals laughed and nodded at this. Cloak couldn’t help but chuckle at the filly’s brash dismissal of his warning. It wasn’t hard to guess who she was related to, given her mane.

“Alright, if you say so,” replied Cloak. “Still, there will be points where I will skip over details that I feel are unnecessary to telling the story. It’s not that I think you aren’t able to handle them, but more that I feel you shouldn’t have to handle them.”

The foals formed a half-circle around the old stallion’s chair. Cloak took a long draught from his glass of lemonade, before turning back to the group and resuming his tale.

“So, after his arrival on the Cirrus, Rat proceeded to train for a number of years,” began Cloak. “Years of malnutrition and poor living conditions made his progress much slower than it normally would be. However, after five years of hard work and dedication, Rat was finally deemed ready…”
The Cirrus, Training Room 58, Equestria
11 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War

The young stallion shook sweat from his brow as he sprung back toward the training dummies, swerving to avoid the weighted bags that soared toward him. The bags filled with steel balls clattered harmlessly to the floor as Rat struck the first target with a clean blow to the face. The rubber head snapped back with an audible crack as the wooden neck support snapped cleanly, signifying a “kill”. Rat then made his way to a second dummy, using it to block three rounds from the launchers and earning another “kill” as the weighted bags collided with Rat’s makeshift shield. Three more “kills” were earned in quick succession as he moved from dummy to dummy, striking quickly and cleanly. He then concluded the exercise with a solid strike to the final target, crushing the “ribcage” and snapping the “neck”.

Rat clicked the stopwatch around his neck, checking the time. One minute and thirteen seconds, from start to finish. Rat had shaved eight more seconds from his previous run. In his time training, Rat had grown into a healthy young stallion. While malnutrition in his early years had robbed him of the potential for a much larger frame, he’d managed to fill his body with a healthy amount of muscle over the past five years.

Rat remembered that first training run he did the morning after he arrived at the Cirrus. Throughout every lap, every set, and every exercise, Descent had Rat recite what he read the previous night, answering Descent’s questions as he moved through each position. For every incorrect answer, an additional set or lap was added. The physical training probably would have gone faster if Rat was less diligent in his studies.

Rat wiped the sweat from his brow, exhausted from his routine. He reached for his water bottle, undoing the cap and preparing to take a drink. The soothing sensation of cool water flowing down his throat never came. Rat swore briefly as he set down the empty bottle.

“You’ve improved,” a deep voice interjected.

Rat turned around to see Blade standing by the door. Over the past five years, Rat had gotten to know the stallion better. Whenever Descent was away, Blade and a few other Shadowbolts that Descent trusted would work with the young stallion instead. Of course, after two years or so, Descent trusted his pupil to keep on task. A water bottle flew through the air toward the exhausted young stallion.

“I’m guessing your mission went well,” grinned Rat as he caught the water bottle.

“Fairly,” replied Blade with a grin to match. “Sin has now decided that he hates fishing wharfs.”

“Oh?” asked Rat, realizing there was a story behind this. “Why’s that?”

“The poor bastard got himself caught and tossed into a fishing net by this huge earth pony thug,” laughed Blade. “It took three of us to bring that beast of a stallion down while Sin struggled to gain traction in a pile of day-old fish. I swear, he’s taken three showers since we’ve gotten back, and the smell still hasn’t gone away.”

Rat laughed as he took a long draught from his water bottle. Blade’s expression darkened for a brief moment, but when Rat looked again, it was back to normal. They sat in silence for several minutes. Finally, Blade broke the silence.

“So, you’re reaching the end of your training?” asked Blade.

“Yep,” answered Rat, taking another long swig from the water bottle.

“I see,” replied Blade. “Has Descent said anything about when you’ll be made a full Shadowbolt?”

“Now that you mention it, he hasn’t,” replied Rat, frowning slightly.

“Good,” replied Blade, moving to face the other direction. “At least he’s following that part of the plan.”

“Plan?” asked Rat. “What do you mean?”

Rat stood up to move next to Blade, but suddenly found himself unable to do so. His vision was blurring rapidly, and he found his muscles getting weaker. Rat stumbled, struggling to regain his balance and form words. Both efforts were fruitless, as Rat tumbled to the ground. Blade turned to look at Rat, his expression unreadable even without Rat’s impaired vision.

“Sorry, kid,” apologized Blade. “Wasn’t my idea to do it like this. If I’d had my way, I’d have taken you down in an honest fight, but Dante said the casualties would be too high.”

With that, Rat’s vision faded to darkness.

“WHAT?!?!” exploded the crowd of foals.

“Are you serious?!?!” ranted Kingfisher. “We waited two weeks to hear more about Rat, and he ends up dying like a complete wimp?!”

“Grandpa, I thought you said that Rat was important!” yelled Cold Snap. “You said that he became a Shadowbolt!”

“You better have a good explanation for this!” shouted the rainbow filly, completely ignoring the fact she was yelling at an adult.

Cloak laughed at the young foal’s reactions. He’d been planning this moment for two weeks. The fact that he had a larger audience only made the moment that much sweeter.

“Remain calm,” said Cloak, still chuckling lightly. “The story isn’t over yet.”

“How?!” asked the rainbow filly. “Rat died! What else is there to say?!”

“I never said Rat was dead,” grinned Cloak.

“But Blade poisoned him!” protested Kingfisher.

“Now when did I ever say that it was poison in that bottle?” retorted Cloak.

That got the foal’s attention. With that, Cloak resumed his story.

????, ????, (Most Likely) Equestria
11 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War

The next thing that Rat felt was the feeling of a hoof across his face.

“Wake up,” snapped an unfamiliar voice.

Rat opened his eyes to find that he could not see. The room was pitch-black, so Rat could only feel the chair to which he was tied to and the metal floor beneath his hooves.

“How many Shadowbolts are there?” asked the voice.

Rat froze in utter fear. They knew. Whoever these ponies were, they knew. Rat took a deep breath and prepared his response.

“What the hell are you talking about, man?” lied Rat, using his actual fear to make his voice tremble convincingly. “Who are you?! Where am I?!”

“Very funny, son,” growled the voice. “You’re a regular Grouchy Marx. But let me make myself completely clear here: We know about your little band of psychopaths. We know what you’ve been doing. Hell, we found you dumped on a hillside in full Shadowbolt garb. The Princess herself said that she doesn’t care what it takes to stop you all. No one knows you’re here. Legally speaking, you don’t exist. I’ve lost some really good friends chasing your little group, so I’m not my usual generous self. So can we dispense with the bullshit?”

Rat remained silent. This situation was far worse than he feared. There’d be no talking his way out of this one. Escape didn’t seem likely in this situation either. Rat’s fate was sealed. There was only one course of action left.

“Alright,” replied Rat. “You’ve caught a Shadowbolt. I won’t say a damn thing, though, so it’s a waste of time.”

“Son, I don’t think you were listening to what I was saying just now,” barked the voice. “The Princess doesn’t care what happens to you. You legally do not exist. I can do whatever I want to make you talk, and I have plenty of motivation to do so.”

“Do your worst,” spat Rat. “Whether there’s only one or one hundred Shadowbolts, I’ll carry that knowledge and everything else I know to my grave.”

There was a long silence. The voice sighed in disappointment. The sound of a blade being drawn sent a chill down Rat’s spine.

“Alright, then,” replied the voice.

Rat braced himself for the worst. He breathed deeply as the hoofsteps moved behind him, taking in the smell of fish-

“Wait, fish?” thought Rat, quickly remembering what Blade had told him.

The sound of a knife descending broke through Rat’s thoughts. Rat found he was no longer tied to the chair. Several bursts of flame ignited in the room. Shadowbolts in full uniform stood in two lines around Rat, sustaining the flames between their hooves to provide the only illumination in the room. With the added illumination, Rat could also see that he was wearing a full Shadowbolt flightsuit. At the head of the group stood Dante, standing on a slightly raised podium.

“Step forward, Rat,” said Dante.

Rat did as he was told, still in utter shock. He glanced behind him, where he could see Sin gripping the dagger that cut him free. He looked at the faces around him, spotting the twins, Razor, Blade, Clover, Arclight, Gremlin, Moon, and even Starry Skies. Turning forward, Rat finally found the face he was looking for.

Descent was in full Shadowbolt garb, goggles glinting from the light of the fires around them. His face was impassive and unreadable, but Rat knew better. Rat turned to face Dante.

“The life of a Shadowbolt is one of great joy and great pain,” began Dante. “Our lives are harsh and brief, but never are we alone. We answer not to any master or laws but our own. We hold allegiance to no nation or government. Our loyalty rests with each other and our Code. We devote everything we have to these two things, living and dying by what we believe in most.

“Over the years, you’ve grown stronger and have learned the Code well,” continued Dante. “You know what it means to be a Shadowbolt. Your actions just now have more than shown that. So, with that knowledge, do you swear to uphold the Code to the best of your ability, even in the face of the most agonizing death?”

“I swear it to my last breath,” replied Rat, his voice shaking slightly as his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. Dante smiled.

“Then join our ranks,” replied Dante. “Claim your place among us in this open sky, where we shall stay until the bitter end.”

Descent moved forward and placed a set of goggles in Rat’s hooves. The dark grey stallion said nothing, staring directly into Rat’s eyes and giving a slow, but deliberate nod. As the dark stallion turned away, Rat couldn’t help but grin. To anyone else, it seemed to be a cold and formal interaction. However, although it had never been said, Rat knew from five years of training what the stallion meant. He was proud of him.

Rat glanced down at the goggles that now rested in his hooves. They were lighter than he expected. The angular yellow lenses glinted in the light of the flames as he stared into them, his own face reflected back at him in the dim light. He moved a hoof over the headband where his name was stamped on a small steel tag. With trembling hooves, Rat put on his first set of goggles for the first time. It was a perfect fit.

“That was a dirty trick,” the rainbow filly grumbled petulantly.

“Perhaps, but it was important,” replied Cloak. “Just like the Wonderbolts, the Shadowbolts put a strong emphasis on practical tests.”

“Wasn’t talking about them!” snapped the filly. “I was talking about you!”

“Me?” asked the old stallion in confusion.

“You could have told us he was going to turn out alright!” scolded the filly.

“I liked it, Flare,” her brother interjected unnoticed.

"Of course you did, Prism-" snapped Flare, rolling her eyes at her brother.

“Knock it off, you two!” snapped Kingfisher. “I don’t wanna wait for another two weeks to hear this story!”

Cloak chuckled again before returning to where he had left off.

The Cirrus, en route to the Briefing Room, Equestria
11 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War

“So, how do the new duds feel, Rat?” grinned Cloak.

“They feel great,” replied Rat. “Honestly, they’re much lighter than I expected.”

“This is just the standard variation,” explained Clover. “You’ll also have a cold-weather variant and a heavy combat variant.”

“What’s the difference between them?” asked Rat.

“All of our suits utilize a unique polymer weave that’s resistant to magical and physical damage,” explained Clover. “The main difference between the suit you have now and the cold-weather variant is that the cold-weather not only keeps you warm, but masks your heat signature entirely.

“As for the heavy combat variant,” continued Clover, “that one uses a very expensive graphene polymer armor weave, combined with actual plates over vital areas.”

“Chat later,” interjected Dagger. “We’re here.”

Inside the briefing room, four rows of chairs faced a podium with various chalk boards and maps. The front row held a group of familiar faces, even if they were not the friendliest. Starry Skies tapped a hoof impatiently while Blade sharpened his signature weapon in the front row. Tank was hoof-wrestling with Sin, while Devil pretended to ignore it. Descent stood at the front podium, waiting for the rest to take their seats, which they did so without a word.

“Alright, let us begin,” began Descent. “This contract is relatively simple and straightforward. The clients are a pair of charlatans who have contracted us to raid a private caravan bound for Canterlot. The reason why they need us involved is that the Royal Guard are the ones interested in the cargo.”

“What’s the primary cargo objective?” asked Blade. “I’m assuming it’s heavy, since you’ve called in a lot of muscle on this one.”

“Indeed,” replied Descent. “From what I understand, the cargo we’ll be after is the charlatans’ non-functioning prototype of a crystalline engine.”

“Crystalline engine,” repeated Cloak sagely. “Right, of course.”

“I assume it would be too much to hope that you actually are aware of what that is?” asked Descent.

“Haven’t a damned clue,” replied Cloak without flinching.

“A crystalline engine is an engine that is powered by magical energy through the use of specialized crystals,” explained Clover. “A single crystal will last for eons as long as it isn’t damaged from external strain, and it produces no waste when used. It’s honestly an engineer’s dream.”

“So why haven’t I seen more of these crystalline doohickeys around Equestria?” asked Cloak.

“What do you think the Crystal Empire exported?” snapped Dagger. “When the Mad King Sombra made the Empire vanish, the sole source of engine crystals vanished with them.”

“Precisely,” agreed Descent. “For this reason, Celestia has designated that crystalline engines will only be used in the Royal Guard for their various transport vessels and machinery.”

“Which would be why the Guard has taken an interest in the prototype,” deduced Rat.

“Hence the need to cover it up,” replied Descent. “We’ve managed to acquire the route for the caravan, and there is a perfect location up in the mountains from which we can strike. Normally, we could simply smash-and-grab the package and eliminate all the witnesses, but the Guard has set up scheduled check-in stations all along the route at roughly one hour intervals. If the caravan is more that ten minutes late, they will send troops to investigate.”

“How many guards are in the caravan?” asked Dagger.

“Roughly three squads of no less than eight,” replied Descent.

“Doubt we’ll be able to fight off a complement of that size and get the cargo out of there within that time window,” observed Blade.

“Which is where Rat’s group will come in,” replied Descent. “They will silently incapacitate the guards and allow us the opportunity to remove the engine within the specified time window.”

“How the hell are they going to do that?” asked Starry. “From what I can see, they’ve got a fifteen minute window to take out two dozen Royal Guards.”

“Rat, would you care to explain your plan?” asked Descent with a meaningful look.

Rat froze briefly, realizing that he needed to develop a perfect plan in the next thirty seconds. His eyes glanced over the maps and charts, moving with a precision that would make hummingbirds envious. Time slowed as it usually did when Rat utilized his gift. As the countdown reached zero, Rat smiled a brief smile. He moved up to the podium, addressing both teams.

“Here’s the plan…” began Rat.
Ambush Point, Undisclosed Location, Equestria
11 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War

And now they sat on the hillside, watching the armored carriages approach. These self-propelled vehicles were used for high-value cargo that was too sensitive to move by standard air transport and too valuable to move by train. The steel plate that lined the sides of the carriages was treated to deflect magical energy. However, it was still malleable enough for regular tools to break through. This was the crux of the plan Rat developed.

Each member of the second team would breach the hull of the armored transport in just the right spot so that sleeping gas could flood the front and rear compartments, knocking out anyone inside. In order to prevent accidents, the carriages were designed to stop if the driver loses consciousness. From there, it would be a simple matter of setting up the frame-up, blaming some minor criminal gang for the theft while the real prototype would be forgotten in the ensuing confusion.

“Ready up,” barked Descent in a hushed tone. “Rat, get your team into position.”

Rat nodded, making wing motions to his team to mask up. The four armored carriages moved along the trail at the same steady pace. Four Shadowbolts glided silently onto the roof of each carriage, sleeping gas canisters in hoof. Hand drills moved in unison, stealthily cutting through armor plating until each carriage had the same bit-sized hole. Hoses were attached to canisters and threaded over holes. Silent hisses. Three. Two. One. The carriages crawled to a stop.

Using the provided keys, each Shadowbolt opened up the armored hatches of their respective trucks. Inside, elite Royal Guards slept like foals, some drooling and some even snoring. Inside the third truck sat a large crate. There was little doubt among the team that this was their target. Rat lifted up his gas mask and gave two sharp whistles, motioning with his right wing. It was all clear.

The second team glided down, carrying the tools that Clover needed to break down the engine for transport. Devil and Tank worked together to lift the crate in question out onto the open ground while Sin began planting the evidence for the cover story. Cloak gave Rat a wide grin.

“And you pulled this plan completely out of your a-” began Cloak.

“Don’t start celebrating yet, rookie,” chastised Blade. “We’re not out of this until that hunk of junk is in the Skyhook for pickup.”

Rat directed his attention to the aforementioned piece of equipment. Descent and Starry were inflating the large balloon that would carry and hold a platform to a set height so that a team of pegasi or a large vehicle could retrieve it. Clover worked quickly to disassemble the engine, loading parts into canvas bags that would be loaded onto the Skyhook. Sin made a brief turn around the corner, planting a few mane hairs and some cigar ash next to a nearby set of hedges. The stallion suddenly froze.

“Oh son of a-” swore Sin.

A loud metallic clang resounded in the clearing as a large wrench struck Sin in the face. From the hedges, an earth pony security guard, most likely from the private security firm that the Royal Guard employed for this job, bolted toward the nearest armored transport. Blade looked up in alarm.

“RUNNER!” shouted Blade. “WE’VE GOT A RUNNER!”

Rat watched as the guard knocked Blade’s gauntlet aside, striking the light grey stallion under the chin. Rat felt the familiar feeling of time slowing down, giving him the enhanced perception he needed to assess the situation. There was only one thing that the guard could be going for: the emergency flare. The only thing that the earth pony needed to do to summon the full weight of the Royal Guard upon them and compromise the mission entirely was pull one cord and fire a single signal flare. There was only one option.

Rat moved with a precision that he’d practiced thousands of times in the Training Rooms, ducking under the security guard and approaching him from behind. With a well-practiced motion and an audible snap of bone, the guard tumbled to the ground. The young stallion, however, remained frozen for several seconds. Rat felt ill. He thought he’d be ready for this moment. He’d practiced this thousands of times until it became a reflex, simple as breathing. He could bring down any opponent from any angle.

It wasn’t the sound of bone snapping or the lifeless body hitting the floor. It was his opponent’s expression of fear as the stallion realized the inevitable fate he faced. The unspoken plea for mercy in his eyes before they slowly went vacant. Rat could feel his hooves shaking as his stomach churned. Blade patted Rat on the back.

“Nice job, kid,” acknowledged the older stallion, rubbing his jaw. “He probably didn’t even feel himself hit the ground.”

“Fly now, praise later,” snapped Starry. “That sleeping gas should be wearing off any minute now, and we need to be gone before it does!”

“Get Sin onto the Skyhook and launch it,” barked Descent. “Once that’s done, we’re taking off!”

Rat moved normally for the next twenty minutes. To look at him, the young stallion seemed fine. No one suspected that there was anything wrong. Back on the Cirrus, Rat was only slightly aware of the praise his colleagues gave him, and accepted it with a brief nod and a few unconscious words, slowly making his way to the locker room. It wasn’t until he was alone in the bathroom that his emotions overcame him.
To be continued...

Author's Notes:

SO! After struggling with it for far too long, it's finally here! No clue when the next one will be ready. Hopefully it will be here soon.