Chapter 14: Discoveries and Realizations

Staring out the porthole in the Officer’s private dining room, Grace watches the world below the airship pass by slowly. They’re traveling at full speed, but at the height they are at Grace cannot help but feel the land below her is traveling at a snail’s pace. Perhaps it isn’t the height that is doing it though, perhaps it’s the thing that has been bugging her since they had departed the ruins of Janus Security’s Headquarters.

Steel Strike, or Epic Prose as he is properly called, was somepony she knew. It had bugged her since the defeat in Canterlot, when he had asked her to take off her helmet, and she had found herself unable to say no to the gentle voice and the warm smile.

It had bothered her, tickled at the back of her mind like an itch she couldn’t quite reach. But she had pushed it aside, her training and conditioning making her comply and not think too hard on it even after she had signed the pardon he had produced with Twilight’s name and seal. She had signed it without a second thought, her messy hoofwriting a rare talent among the Jaegers, but something she had been taught what seemed like a lifetime ago.

And thinking back, she can see the pride that had been in Prose’s eyes as he had watched her sign her name. She had assumed that it was simply joy at seeing somepony freed from JSS’s control, but with the realization from deep in the bowels of the burnt out ruins they had just transversed, she knows better. He was proud of her, because he had taught her how to do it in the first place.

A knock at the door draws Grace’s attention to the door, which had been left open so that anypony who walked by could see who was currently in the room and hopefully leave her alone. Everypony except the one currently standing in the doorway, his head held high even as his eyes shine with a look of guilt that Grace does not quite understand.

“So, should I close the door?” Prose asks, his eyes never leaving hers.

Nodding, she lifts her hooves and wings, singing ‘Yes, this is private, and I do not wish to bother others with this.’ Prose nods silently, and closes the door, the clicking of the latch sounding oddly loud in the silence that descends over the room.

“So, where do you want to start?” Prose inquires, coming over to the table and sitting across from Grace.

‘At the start,’ Grace signs, her heart beating a little harder for some reason. ‘I want to know how you ended up where you did. I need to understand how you were involved with JSS.’

“Alright,” Prose sighs, settling down in his seat and putting his hooves on the table. He looks down at his hooves, his eyes growing distant for a moment before he speaks again. “To understand that, you have to know I’ve been a Shadowbolt since I was young. I won’t bore you with the details of how I joined, but I was one when I graduated college.” He takes a deep breath and continues in an absent voice. “JSS approaching me shortly after I graduated, they were recruiting ponies with my skills for a new project they were starting, and needed fresh blood to help pad out the ranks. I blew them off at first, stating that I had other obligations, but that night I got a visit from a fellow Shadowbolt, who took me to our fortress and put me in front of the Captain… I was told to infiltrate JSS and find out what I could.”

Tapping a hoof against the table to draw Prose’s attention back to her, Grace signs again. ‘And you followed orders?’

“I did,” Prose nods. “I found the recruiter the next day, and told them I’d thought it over and I actually wanted to do it.” He pauses and shivers. “I didn’t know what I was getting into, if I did… perhaps I would have said no to the Captain, but I wanted to please them, show them I was willing to do what I could to help my… my family.” He puts his head in his hooves and sighs. “JSS trained me, not quite telling me anything useful at first. Then, half a year after I infiltrated their ranks, I was pulled aside by the director of special projects, and informed that I was showing promise. He told me that they needed me to train some new soldiers for a project they’d just started that had just entered its first test run. I agreed. They took me to a facility near Vanhoover, and I was put in a room with a bunch of other combat specialists. We were told if we spoke a word of what we were about to see outside of that room, no pony would ever see us again. We signed documents stating we’d keep quiet, and I signed the false name of Steel Strike.”

‘That's when you met the Jaegers?’ Grace questions.

“Yes,” Prose states calmly, taking his face out of his hooves and looking at Grace, a cold steel to his eyes. “I met the first generation of Jaegers. And I was appalled at the depths JSS would go.” He sighs, leaning back. “I don’t remember how many survived in that first batch, it’s been so long. I recall that one of them was Tank, who is now a Shadowbolt. They wanted to kill him for being uncontrollable.” He looks up at the ceiling. “I watched them shoot his twin, and then I watched him break loose and kill all the guards we threw at him. Poetic justice, really.” He looks back at Grace and shrugs. “After that, they tightened security, refined whatever the hell it was they did to make you all, and unleashed the ones who’d survived onto the foes of whoever paid them the highest amount of bits.”

‘And you reported all of this to the Shadowbolts?’ Grace signs.

“I did, and the information and other tidbits I passed on was used to undermine JSS operations whenever it was needed,” Prose agrees. “You see, Shadowbolts and JSS work for the highest bidder, but unlike JSS, we had morals. They’re twisted and convoluted at times, and quite a few toss them out the window altogether, but as a whole I like to think that we at least our code gave us the moral high ground.” He sighs and leans forward. “You, and your siblings, were born in the third generation of Jaegers. Like the two generations before you, I helped train you all… but…”

‘But our generation was different.’ Grace states simply. ‘How?’

“The first generation they used the DNA of a couple famous Wonderbolts, most of it coming from the big green one who’s name escapes me…” He clears his throat. “I’m not sure what they used for the second, but the results were better than the first as more survived. The third, though, they decided to try mixing in the DNA of some of the more outstanding employees, mostly the combat specialists and the higher ups, something about rewarding loyalty.” He looks up at Grace, staring her in the eyes. “I wasn’t informed until after you all came out of the vats, but I was among the ‘exceptional’ employees they decided to use as a base for the experiment.”

A cold feeling forms in Grace’s gut as she listens to that last part, she knew how she had been ‘born’ from a vat, but she had never known who exactly the donors had been. Blinking slowly, she raises her hooves and signs. ‘So, you were used as a part of the base for my generation?’

“Not the entire batch,” Prose admits, scratching the back of his head. “Different training sergeants were used for each group. The one assigned to me, including you, had me as a part of the base. They figured doing it that way might… I don’t know make you more loyal? As if being raised and trained by one of the chief donors would make the whole conditioning process easier, since you’d instinctively want to do what your ‘parent’ asked.” He pauses for a moment, looking past Grace as if to peer into the past. “They didn’t account for how each of the sergeants would handle basically becoming a parent against their will. Only a few of us, myself included, took to it better.” He looks to Grace, his eyes blank. “I remember being reprimanded over it, by both JSS and the Shadowbolts. They told me I was growing too attached to the assignment. JSS because they saw you all as nothing more than numbers on a spreadsheet, and the Shadowbolts because they thought I was losing sight of the reason I was there.”

‘Were you?’ Grace asks, the cold pit in her stomach growing harder to ignore.

“I was,” Prose responds, a soft smile on his face. “And I knew it, but I didn’t care… not at first anyway.” He blinks and his eyes come back into focus. He snorts and shakes his head. “Then I took a few days paid leave, and the training sergeant they got to cover for me slit your throat.”

Grunting, Grace puts a hoof to her throat, the memory of the searing pain flashing through her mind. For a moment, she is a young foal again, singing a lullaby to one of her siblings. She can remember the shouting for her to be quiet, and her talking back, shouting that the drunk old stallion wasn’t her father.

The feeling of a hoof against hers draws her back to the present, and she realizes she has been breathing heavily as her heart raced. Looking down at the hoof against hers, she follows the arm attached to it until she is looking Prose in the eyes, her mind reeling as she tries to figure out why he has tears in his eyes, and why she herself feels like crying.

“Grace, if you want me to stop,” Prose says slowly, causing Grace to ask herself if she really wants to keep hearing this.

Slowly lifting her wings and hooves again, Grace signs shakily, ‘Why did you leave?’

“When I got back, I was furious at finding out one of the other sergeants had harmed my children,” Prose states bluntly, barely refrained fury and outrage clear in his voice. “I wiped the smile off his face, made sure he’d never do it again.” He clears his throat and looks away. “The director of special operations decided I was a liability, so he told me he was moving me elsewhere.” He looks back at Grace, his ears back against his head. He sighs, closing his eyes and looking down at the table. “I reached my breaking point when I found out what the new project I was going to work on was called. Project ‘Ascension’, the project that spawned Dee-Seven, was appalling. I downloaded all the information I could find on it, where it was located and when it was going to start… and I burned Steel Strike from existence.” He sighs once more, opening his eyes and looking up at Grace’s as he sits back. “Is there anything else you wish to discuss with me?”

Shaking her head, Grace signs, ‘No, you have given me much to think on.’

“Alright, I’ll take my leave, then,” Prose says softly, reaching out to gently pat Grace’s shoulder. “I’m glad we were able to talk. I’ll see you later.” he then rises and starts for the door, Grace following him with her eyes until he reaches the door.

“W-wait,” Grace rasps, causing Prose to look over his shoulder as she raises her wings and hooves again. ‘Thank you.’

Smiling warmly, Prose signs back, ‘You’re welcome.’

-----

Fiddling idly with a piece of paper on the desk in front of her, Twilight wonders exactly how she had gotten into the place she was now. Logically, she knows that she hadn’t specified which study she would like to use, and thus the staff had just assumed she would feel comfortable using the study of her former teacher. The emotional side of her, however, can’t help but panic slightly, causing her to stop fiddling with the piece of paper (which as she looks at it closer has doodles on it next to Celestia’s prim and precise script) and quickly put it back where she had found it.

The fact is, that honestly she would have prefered sitting on the throne to sitting in the seat behind the desk her mentor should rightfully be occupying. Being on this side of the solid oak desk feels wrong, as if she is invading Celestia’s private sanctum, a fact constantly brought to the forefront whenever she looks anywhere in the room and her eyes land upon one of the many sun motifs that decorate the walls, or even the carpet.

Laying the bottom of her muzzle on the desk, Twilight sighs heavily as she silently prays there is good news being brought to her from the team that she was about to talk to.

A knock at the door makes Twilight sit up straight, albeit reluctantly, and call out.

“Enter,” Twilight’s voice is calm, if weary. The door swings open, and Twilight smiles warmly as the ponies file in. “It is good to see you all again, my friends. I trust your mission was a success, Prose?” She looks to a grey stallion wearing a dark purple and gold uniform for a moment before looking at the others who had entered with him.

The other companions are three mares, and two stallions. All of them visably relaxing as the door is closed by the larger of the three mares.

“It was,” Prose replies with a sigh. “As reported, the JSS base was in ruins, all defenders having been slaughtered previously.”

“It smelled to the high heavens, too,” Daring, who is one of the mares, states from beside the large glass door to the balcony. “It was worse than the streets of Canterlot after we ended the riots… I’m going to need to shower for a week straight to get the smell out.”

“I’ll join you,” Leaf, who is one of the other stallions, groans. “I feel oily.”

Clearing his throat, Prose continues. “As per my plan, the former Jaeger, Grace,” he looks over to the largest of the three mares who is wearing heavy looking purple and gold armor, “led us through the hallways, helping us avoid any latent traps JSS might have laid down to deter their attackers.” He pauses as Grace taps him on the shoulder, bringing his attention over to her as she makes some motions with her wings and hooves that Twilight doesn’t quite understand. “Grace wishes me to inform you that such traps were extensive within the perimeter,” he pauses again as she makes more signs, “and that she advises against sending any further teams into the area unless they are with someone skilled at knowing how to disarm explosive devices.”

“I shall take that into consideration,” Twilight says with a frown, which garners a nod from Grace who steps back and sits down.

“Once we were in the basement of the facility, we were able to navigate swiftly to our objective, which was the computer core,” Prose continues his narration, his voice flat as if sneaking into the instillation has been nothing out of the ordinary. “There, I gained access to their records and uncovered the ultimate culprit behind the Canterlot uprising.”

“And who would tha-” Twilight starts to ask, but is cut short as a knock comes from the door. Sighing she looks to the door and calls out, “Enter.”

The door swings open and a dark blue pegasus stallion wearing a reservist uniform walks in, saluting sharply to Twilight.

“Princess, I was instructed to inform you that the work ponies at the power station have run into another problem,” the reservist states, his manner stiff.

“Thank you, Midnight Storm,” Twilight sighs, shaking her head. “I’ll deal with it once this meeting concludes.”

“Shall I wait outside, Princess?” Stormy asks, looking at the others in the room.

“No, I doubt the contents of this meeting will stay private for very long,” Twilight explains, rolling her eyes. “I expect Daring will eventually brief the Reserves on what is said here, so you may as well stay.” She looks to Daring to make sure she is guessing right, smiling faintly as Daring nods to her.

“Of course,” Stormy says slowly as he walks over to sit next to Leaf who is absently fiddling with an object on a nearby coffee table.

“Now, who set the chain of events in motion, Prose?” Twilight inquires, turning her eyes back to her friend.

“Pitch Tempest, a Shadowbolt who has a reputation of being brutal and uncompromising,” Prose answers in a half growl.

“Wait… Pitch Tempest? As in ex-Baltimare cop Pitch Tempest?” Stormy speaks up suddenly, his ears standing straight up.

“Yes, that Pitch Tempest,” Prose answers, turning slightly to look Stormy up and down, his eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Most would call him my father…” Stormy states cooly, his own eyes narrowing. “I usually just refer to him as the reason my mother is forced to work two jobs.”

Blinking, Prose’s professional mask drops and he turns fully. “I-I’m sorry,” Prose says earnestly. “I would not wish that pitiful excuse for a stallion on anyone as a parent.”

“Don’t be,” Stormy growls, “he walked out on us when I was five, so I never really knew him.”

“First Descent, and now Pitch?” Prose sighs, putting a hoof against his head. “Am I the only non-absentee father in the Shadowbolts,” he pauses and looks to Grace who has raised her wings and hooves. “Grace, please don’t answer that.”

Raising an eyebrow at Prose, Twilight decides to file away why he wants Grace to be quiet to be asked later. Instead she leans on the desk and clears her throat. “So, now that you know who it is that introduced the crystals to Blueblood, and set JSS up to join forces with him, what are you going to do?”

“Kill him,” Prose states bluntly as he turns around. “It’s as simple as that. He has done horrific things in the past, but this makes all other past actions pale in comparison.”

The declaration causes everypony in the room, except for Grace, to take a few steps away from Prose. Twilight herself pales slightly as once more her preconception of Prose being nothing more than a loving father and a fellow bookworm is once more shattered. Suppressing a shiver, Twilight once more clears her throat. “I.. Okay, for his crimes justice would demand nothing less, I… I guess.”

“Twilight, I know capital punishment is not something usually done in Equestria,” Prose says softly. “So I will not ask of you to justify it. This is a matter to be settled between Shadowbolts, and I assure you it shall be settled as such things always have been; outside the public eye, and far from the gaze of ponies who deserve not to know the darker side of the world.” He pauses, bowing his head for a moment as if weighing his next words before speaking once more. “I will have to leave tonight, though, if I stand a chance of reaching where I must go in good order. However, I do not think Pitch worked alone, and there are surely agents left behind to continue to cause chaos within the city.”

“We’ll root them out,” Leaf says confidently as he walks up and puts a hoof on Prose’s shoulder. “You go get the head of the snake, we’ll stomp on its body till it stops moving.”

“Besides,” Daring chuckles as she sits down on Prose’s other side. “We don’t have to explain to Foxfire that you’re going into the field again.”

-----

Smiling slightly, Foxfire bends over and gently kisses the top of the head of the foal she is finishing tucking in. Despite the fact that the large amount of foals are not hers, the mother in her can’t help but want to show them all the affection they’d not gotten while being test subjects for JSS.

Turning to leave, she stops as she feels the colt who she just tucked in hold onto her arm as if letting go would mean disaster. Turning back to fully face him, Foxfire smiles lovingly and brushes aside a few stray strands of his mane.

“Don’t go,” the colt whispers.

“It’s okay,” She whispers softly, “I’ll just be in the next room.”

Shaking his head, the colt continues to hold onto Foxfire’s arm. “No, please don’t go… I don’t want to be alone…”

Looking around at the other beds, most of them cots and sleeping pallets the staff had been kind enough to find for the foals, Foxfire’s smile grows a little. “You’re not alone, dear, your brothers and sisters are here with you,”

Shaking his head again, the colt tugs gently on Foxfire’s arm. “I want to sleep with you,” he looks down, ears against his head. “If that’s okay…”

“I’ve got some paperwork I have to do,” Foxfire sighs, causing the foal to frown and look away. “But I won’t argue with you keeping me company?”

Smiling brightly the colt lets go of Foxfire and quickly gets out of bed and leaps into the air, spreading his wings he quietly flies over his siblings and lands at the door where he waits a moment before opening it and going through. As she follows Foxfire hears the colt gasp, then laugh followed by his voice drifting from the other room. “Grace! You’re back!”

Emerging into the next room, she finds her husband standing beside a large mare wearing the imposing and impressive set of armor she had poked at the other day. Clearly, if she was the one wearing it then she was the Jaeger who Prose had said had soundly defeated him during the riots. Currently, she has the colt wrapped in her arms and, unless the light is playing tricks on her eyes, is actually crying slightly as she smiles widely.

“Where’ve you been?” the colt asks, nuzzling Grace’s exposed cheek. “We were so afraid you were killed like the rest of the older Jaegers!”

Shaking her head, Grace puts the colt down and lifts her wings and hooves, and starts motioning with them in the same way Foxfire had witnessed Prose and Daring talking the other day. From the little she knows of Pegasus sign language, Foxfire is able to pick up a word or two, but nothing that helps her make sense of what the large mare is saying.

“I was making sure JSS would never harm us again,” Prose states calmly as he walks over and sits beside his wife. “That’s what she’s saying; I was out making sure JSS would never harm us again, little brother, but it required I stay away from all of you for a while. I am just glad you are all safe, and that we are all free of them now.”

“I’m glad you’re safe too, big sister,” the colt says enthusiastically. “Me and the others have seen so many wonderous things, too! Miss Foxfire, Ember, and Fluttershy took us into the garden earlier today! I’ve never seen so many green things in my entire life, but they told me that gardens like this, and entire forests, are common!”

Smiling brightly, Grace signs again, but Prose doesn’t translate it, instead he sighs and looks to Foxfire, a frown forming on his face.

“Oh no, I know that look,” Foxfire growls, narrowing her eyes. “You’re about to tell me something I’m not going to like.”

“We found out who orchestrated Blueblood’s uprising,” Prose admits softly, hanging his head. “It was a fellow Shadowbolt named Pitch Tempest. He’s a sick, twisted, bastard of a pony. The things he’s done in the past make me, and quite frankly a lot of the Shadowbolts, sick to our stomach, but under our code he’s been well within his right to do as he pleases on a mission.”

“But this is different, isn’t it?” Foxfire asks, frowning.

“This? This violates everything it means to be a Shadowbolt,” Prose whispers, a low growl in his voice.

“You’re going after him, aren't you?” Foxfire sighs.

“I have to,” Prose replies, looking at his wife. “I have to track him down, and end the threat he poses once and for all.” He looks up at Grace who now has the colt on her back as he laughs and she smiles warmly. “I have to protect my family, after all.”

Raising an eyebrow, Foxfire looks over at Grace who lets the colt down and looks to Prose. Opening her mouth, Foxfire starts to ask why Prose would include Grace in the statement ‘my family’, when she catches one of the signs Grace makes with her wings; ‘Father’. Prose replies quickly, his own signs causing the young colt to smile warmly and go over and hug him.

“What’d she ask?” Foxfire inquires slowly, looking to her husband.

“She wanted to know if the foals could continue staying here,” Prose states calmly as he releases the colt.

“I don’t see Twilight removing them anytime soon, she did name them wards of the crown, after all,” Foxfire says slowly. “But, if that’s all she wanted to know, why’d she call you father?”

Flinching, Prose smiles weakly. “Perhaps it’s because I conduct myself in such a kind manner I seem like a father figure to all of the foals?” He looks to Foxfire who is frowning deeply. “What? It’s true, just because I’ve secretly been a member of a mercenary organization doesn’t mean I don’t know how to be a father!”

“I’ll concede that point,” Foxfire sighs, narrowing her eyes. “But, that’s not what she said, is it? You promised not to lie to me, so why are you doing it now?”

Looking away, Prose lays his ears against his head. “Because, there are some parts of my past I’m truly afraid of how you’ll react,” he admits softly. “I’ve told you a lot of stuff, stuff I’m not proud of… but there are parts I am proud of that are not only bloody, but... “

“But what?” Foxfire presses, raising an eyebrow.

“Dark, twisted,” Prose sighs. “Sad, I guess? And are not completely my stories to tell.”

“Then who’s story is it to tell?” Foxfire asks, an annoyed tone creeping into her voice.

“Mine,” Grace rasps softly, bringing Foxfire’s attention over to her. She looks to Prose, who makes a few signs, which are returned in kind before she nods.

“But, it is a conversation for later,” Prose picks up from Grace. “She’ll explain tomorrow, I am sure.” He sighs and shakes his head with a smile. “She always has taken after her father, after all. Can’t resist telling a story to a captive audience.”

“Fine, keep your secrets,” Foxfire laments. “When are you leaving to go chase down your rogue Shadowbolt?”

“Tonight, as soon as I settle some business here in Canterlot,” Prose answers without hesitation. “I’m leaving Grace here with you and the foals, and I’ve sent word to my brother to bring the twins here as well. Celestia knows they should be with their mother right now, and not at home with my poor brother.”

“I’m sure he’s entertaining them with one of his ballads,” Foxfire says off-hoofedly. “So long as he’s not blowing something up. He’s worse than me when it comes to pyrotechnics!”

“Yes, yes he is,” Prose chuckles before turning and pulling his wife into a hug. “I need you to promise to keep the foals safe, ours and the ones you’re looking after here. Just in case-”

“You’re coming home, so don’t even start with that,” Foxfire growls, her heart isn’t really in it though. “I’m not leaving the twins without a father. Too much of that going around as of late.”

“I’ll come home if I have to fight my way through every single corrupt Shadowbolt they throw at me,” Prose promises, gently leaning back and kissing his wife. “I should get going now, I’ll be home before you know it.” Letting his wife go he takes a few steps back.

“I’d say stay safe, but I think we both know you’re too stubborn to follow that advice,” Foxfire shrugs as she turns, gets a few steps away, then stops. “But all the same, stay sa-”

Turning back around, she finds the window in the room open, and Prose gone.

---

The streets of Canterlot are quite, forlorn, and dark. In the wake of the two successive attacks, the streets have, by some unspoken curfew, become devoid of ponies as soon as the sun has fallen beneath the distant horizon. The empty streets serve as both a convenient pathway, and a hinderance, for the two cloaked figures slowly making their way through the ruined city.

Besides the two cloaked figures, the only other ponies on the streets are the Night Guard, their patrols paying no more mind to the pair than their daylight counterparts would a pony in a crowded street. The only exception coming when they reach a checkpoint, and stop to state their business.

“We’re heading out of the city,” one of the cloaked and hooded figures states calmly. “I am on business from Princess Twilight, and my companion is my escort.” Pulling his cloak back, and showing off a grey wing as he pulls out some papers and offers them to the officer who takes the papers and looks them over.

“Very well,” the officer says softly, the oppressive air of the ruins around them making speaking above a whisper awkward. “Please keep to the streets, as Canterlot Airspace is currently reserved for emergency personnel and airships assisting in searching the damaged districts.”

Nodding, the cloaked pegasus takes the papers back, nods to his companion, and walks past the checkpoint.

Once there are a few streets between them and the checkpoint, the pegasus’s companion speaks up, his voice soft so as not to be heard by others who may be nearby.

“Are those papers real?” he asks, looking over at the pegasus.

“Of course they are, Cloak,” the pegasus chuckles. “I’ve known Twilight since before she was a Princess, and while I would not call us close friends, I am a regular face around her library.”

“You know, sometimes I think you take your job of blending into regular society too seriously, Prose,” Cloak chuckles back.

“Hey, don’t knock it until you try it, my friend,” Prose smirks over at Cloak from beneath his hood. “And just wait, someday, you’ll be sitting on a porch, reading to your grandfoals, and you’ll not want to trade that for the world.”

“Pfft, yeah right!” Cloak laughs. “I’d have to have foals first, Prose. And I don’t think me and Rosie will be going that far! Besides, I’m not even sure I’m going to live that long anyhow!”

“I’ve survived this long, Cloak,” Prose shrugs, “so don’t sell yourself short.” He then sighs and slows down a bit. “Besides, after all this I’d think a lot of us would want to settle down for a while.”

Shaking his head, Cloak falls silent as the pair make their way around a rather large debris field. They keep to the shadows, as the entire area is full of ponies, civilians, guards and military, picking through the ruins while an airship above provides light via its search lights. Once they’re beyond the active search, Cloak looks to Prose.

“So, is it really him?” Cloak asks in a worried tone. “Is Pitch really the one responsible for all of this?”

“Yes,” Prose states simply, his tone growing cold.

“Rat is going to kill him when he finds out,” Cloak sighs.

“He’ll have to get in line,” Prose growls as he hunches his shoulders and starts walking faster. “Rat’ll be lucky if I leave so much as a shitstain in evidence that that bastard ever existed.”

“Well, don’t rush it if you get there first,” murmured Cloak. “Rat mentioned something about pouring lamp oil, letting him burn alive and dousing him a few times before he dies…”

“Really?” Prose asks, raising an eyebrow as he looks over at Cloak. “Huh, I might actually let Rat go first, then, that sounds like fun.”

“We have to get to him first,” Cloak states with a smile. “But, yeah, it sounds like exactly what he deserves.”

“He deserves far more, Cloak,” Prose growls before sighing and lapsing once more into silence as the pair continues towards the gates of the city.

The route to the city gates is not clear, in fact as they get closer to the walls that mark the boundaries of Equestria’s Capital, the damage becomes worse, more deliberate. Entire city blocks have been demolished in the fighting, some nothing more than still smoldering timbers and twisted steel to mark where once an apartment building had stood, or the empty and shattered windows of corner stores staring out at the pair like empty eyes. If not for the fighting the past few days having left him feeling numb, along with the fury burning within him, Prose would have shivered at the sight of the lower class district. Now, all he can muster is more fury towards the stallion who has caused all of this, and think ahead to when Pitch shall face justice.

Stopping as they reach the front gates, Prose turns to Cloak and pulls his hood back, causing the other Renegade to stop and pull his own hood back.

“Before we go, Cloak, I have to ask,” Prose starts slowly, “is it as bad as I’ve heard out there?”

Shaking his head, Cloak frowns. “No, it’s worse.” He then shrugs and smiles. “But, nothing we can’t handle. Descent has yet to lead us astray, and Rat trusts him.”

“It’s not Descent that worries me, Cloak,” Prose offers with a sigh. “Have our brothers and sisters really fallen so deeply into their own addiction that they’ve truly fallen to madness?”

Pulling off his cloak and putting it in a satchel, Cloak looks to Prose. “We’d best get going, we don’t want to be caught in the mountains at night.”

Sighing, Prose pulls his own cloak off and nods. “Okay, lead the way, Cloak…”

Cloak nods and takes off, Prose half a second behind him as he offers a silent prayer to Celestia and Luna that their journey is safe, and that his family is still there when he gets back.

And then, one more prayer, that he makes it back at all.

Author's Notes:

Prose helped trained the Jaegers! LEGASP!

Anyway, so that's that, Prose is leaving Canterlot to go tell the Renegades that Pitch Tempest, a Shadowbolt they all love to hate, is the one behind Canterlot's current pains!

Also, Stormy is Pitch's son... the poor poor stallion.

Also, say hello to Cloak, he was here for a moment in the chapter and belongs to Jim Hoxworth as a member of his Rat Pack. The Rat Pack is a group of Shadowbolts, and later Renegades, who are led by Rat, a young stallion who has a gift for thinking up unorthidox strategies.

But, you should go read Jim's works, as he writes Cloak way better than I do ;3