“Do you think that was smart?” Isabelle asked, cranking down her window. They had just dropped Pip off at a local, all-night supermarket, armed with enough cash for a new set of clothes and extra for a bus ticket to Mansfield. He seemed reluctant to leave them, but Jack knew it was for the best. Having him around while they were still ‘on the clock,’ as it were, wasn’t the best idea. At least that’s what she told herself as she drove down the empty streets of Old Camelot, heading towards the group’s designated meeting point at the city’s outskirts.

The farmer tightened her grip on the wheel and shook her head. “When do I do things smart?”

That gave Dash a small snort of laughter. “Never.”

“Damn right.” She glanced around, then after a moment, continued. “Honestly, Dash. I dunno. It felt like it was the only call I could make, ya know?”

“We could have told him to deal with it and just dropped him off somewhere.” Isabelle shrugged, propping her feet onto the dash and leaning back, putting her hands behind her head.

“I guess...”

“But that’s not your style. I know, I know,” the wiry woman concluded, taking off her mask and brushing back her short-kept hair. “Big ol’ softie.”

“Maybe I am,” she admitted. “I couldn’t jus’ ditch him though, sug. He looked so pitiful, ya know?”

“I know whatcha mean.” With a grin, she nudged Jack’s shoulder. “Kid’s got nothing on us, though.” Laughing quietly, she stared out at the road. Her smirk faded. “Shit…the hell happened back there? Things should’ve been so much simpler.”

“My hands are still shakin’, Izzy,” the farmer said, her voice cracking. She opened her mouth, but clamped it shut quickly.

Dash raised herself, giving Jack a stern look. “And? Sounded like you were gonna say something else there.” Her expression softened. “You doing okay?”

“Workin’ up close like that… It’s worse than a gun.” She glanced down at the odometer, then back up to the road. “With a gun, it’s easy to disconnect yerself, y’know? But this… This was somethin’ else--somethin’ intimate, in a way. Too personal.”

Isabelle shrugged, saying evenly, “It’s us or them, hayseed. That means whatever it takes sometimes.”

“Goddammit, I know that, but… How are ya so calm?” She quickly gestured behind them. “That place was hell on earth, an’ ya’ve bounced back already!” Gripping the wheel tightly in her fists, she practically whispered, “My heart’s still beatin’ hard enough that I feel like pukin’, I--” Jack trembled, forcing herself back to driving. She slapped the wheel. “Fuck, man.”

“You remember after the first one?” Dash asked. She shuffled even lower in her seat. “What I was like?”

Jack morosely nodded, dryly swallowing. “I do. An’ I remember the night a bit after it too...”

“Yeah… You helped me a lot back there. I mean it.” Running a hand through her multi-colored hair, she let out a quiet sigh. “I guess after that, I learned how to keep that, that part of my brain in the back of my mind. I can feel it now, trying to kick up a fuss, but I ain’t gonna let it.” She folded her arms, sitting back in her seat. “Not until we’re not out of this for keeps, anyways.”

“That’s the problem. We ain’t never out of it. I feel like a damn house of cards that keeps gettin’ layers put on it. All it’s gonna take is one strong breeze…”

“Yeah, but--but--” Dash fumbled with her words, then spat onto the dashboard. “Shit, I’m not good at making fancy metaphors and all that crap. But what I’m trying to say is that we’ll feel better once we see the others.”

Jack reluctantly nodded. “I hope so, darlin’. I really do.”

“Mmhmm.” Dash scratched her nose, sniffing. Silence quickly fell. After several minutes, she gazed towards the radio, then at Jack. “You wanna play some tunes or something?”

She slowly nodded. “Yeah, alright, but none of that rap crap while I’m drivin’ unless you wanna walk, sug.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know the damn rules.” Isabelle rolled her eyes, then took to running through the channels, twisting the knob across dozens of frequencies. Three second sound bites ran into each other in an endless stream as she kept moving, grumbling to herself. She was about to give up, when she stopped at the sound of a chipper, whistling tune, accompanied by a piano in the background. She froze, letting her hand drift back from the knob.

“Ya do know that’s jus’ a commercial, right?”

“Duh. But it’s only for the most awesome stunt team in the world, hayseed. Keep up.”

“Keep up? Sug, I’ve heard ya say bits of this commercial in yer sleep. I’ve kept up,” Jack said dryly.

Dash held up her index finger, waggling it towards Jack. “Sh-shut up! I’m tryin’ to listen.”

It was Jack’s turn to roll her eyes. She started mouthing the words as soon as a man began speaking.

“You hear the word ‘world-renowned’, whaddya think of?” a man’s voice smugly asked.

“Celestia and Luna?” a woman’s voice responded. Jack flinched slightly, but said nothing.

“Not what I was going for, Spitfire. How about ‘death-defying’ and ‘aerodynamic?’” the first replied.

“Now that’s more my language, Soarin’!” Spitfire enthusiastically agreed.

“They sure do give ‘em weird names. Spitfire. Soarin’. Guess it’s a better stage name than Daniel Pendownski, though,” Jack commented.

“He can’t help his parents were idiots,” Dash huffed. “And it’s a play on his middle name--now shhh!” She returned her attention to the radio, catching Soarin’ in the middle of a sentence.

“--a look! Chills! Spills! Air-defying thrills in our patented ‘Wondersuits!’”

“I need one of them,” Dash quickly said, tapping the radio.

“I’ve lost track of how often you’ve said that.” Jack gestured towards her, not even glancing at the woman. “Next I tell ya that the only way yer gettin’ one is if yer a Wonderbolt. Then ya say--”

“--That’s why I’m gonna be one of ‘em!” Dash finished, cocking a thumb at her chest. She paused, then seemed to deflate slightly. “...after all this shit is dealt with anyways.”

“We all got a lot ta do after this shit’s dealt with,” Jack agreed. She did her best to smile. It came out a fraction as bright as it usually was, but it was still something. “Like supportin’ a future Wonderbolt.”

Dash gave her a weak grin in return. “Thanks, hayseed. Besides,” she said, moving her hand towards Jack and lightly stroking her arm with a thumb, “even if I don’t get in, I think I’d rather stick by you. Not even the Wonderbolts are as badass as you, Missy.” She snickered lightly.

“Well that’s good, ‘cause yer stuck with me, sug, like glue.”

“S’good thing I loved it as a kid.” She blinked, processing what she just said. “Shit--no! That’s not what I meant! Shut up! I wasn’t a glue sniffer, okay?!”

“Oh,” Jack said, holding back a laugh, “so you ate it instead, didya?”

“No! Just--f-fuck off!” She looked away, pouting.

Jack reared back and cackled, laughing so hard she started to eventually hiccup. “Yer such a damn kid sometimes--I love it.”

Dash just looked out of the window, grumbling to herself as the advertisement ended and a song began to play. It was some modern, dime-a-dozen pop song; it filled the silence, but was ultimately relegated to white noise.

“Hey, sug…ain’t we near where you an’ Chylene grew up?” Jack nodded her head towards one of the streets up ahead.

Dash kept looking out of the window. “Yeah, we are.”

“I, uh, guess we don’t have time ta stop by or nothin’...”

“Keep driving,” the athlete said, yawning. She went back to her reclined position, crossing her arms and closing her eyes. “Not worth it.”

“Ya sure, sug?”

“It’s moved on. Me too.”

“Alright. We’ll skip it.” Jack nodded, whipping past the road and continuing on.

About five minutes later, the farmer pointed out her window at a secluded park. “An’ here we are.” She turned into it, driving slowly deeper inside. The trees were thick overhead, which gave the road below a dense layer of early fallen leaves. The path gently curved to a large cul-de-sac, with parking spaces along the edge next to picnic tables and paths leading deeper in. Parking, Jack said, “I’d bet this’d be pretty in the day--ya used ta stomp ‘round here, Izzy?”

Dash opened the door, but hung back in her seat, shrugging. “Sometimes, I guess.” She dug into her pockets, then cursed to herself. “Got any cigs?”

“Dry, sug.” Jack gave a half-shrug. “Sorry about the questions. Things we’ve been doing, guess it’s made me more curious than I used ta be. I jus’, well…don’t know too much ‘bout ya ‘fore we ran inta one-another in Manhattan, ya know?”

Isabelle sighed, getting out her lighter and watching with disinterest as she flicked the flame on and off. “‘Cause it ain’t a story worth telling. Or repeating.”

“Reckon’d you an’ Chylene’d have some good ones,” Jack offered, then frowned. “Nevermind. I’m bein’ too nosy.”

Dash rubbed her face with a hand, then looked at her. “Look, Jack. I’ll tell you one day, but…not now, alright?”

“Ya don’t have ta tell me period. Not if it’ll hurt ya, Isabelle,” Jack drawled out, the regal name carrying a tone of reverence on her lips as she hopped out, but kept the door open. “That’s the last thing I wanna ever do ta ya.”

“I want to tell you. Really, man. You deserve that much. Hell, you deserve a lot more than what you have. But I’m not…” She clenched her fists. “Ready. Y’know? So much shit is happening around us that now doesn’t seem like a good time.”

Closing the door, Jack crossed around the vehicle to stand in front of Dash. “I’ll wait fer ya, sug,” Jack quietly said. “I always have, an’ always will. One of my few good qualities.” She smirked, quickly thinking of something to break the somber mood. “Well, that an’ a pretty nice lookin’ butt.”

“Nice lookin’? Heh, I’d say it makes for a pretty good thing to smack now and then,” Dash shot back, her eyes lingering on said body part.

“An’ here I was believin’ ya thought of me as jus’ boobs an’ a hot voice. Glad I’m the whole package ta ya,” Jack replied, grinning.

“‘Course you are.” She peered away from the van, scouting around, before leaning towards Jack. “Looks like we’re alone for a bit. You wanna…?”

“Keep yer pants on, sug.” Jack leaned in and gave the athlete an awkward kiss on the cheek. She looked over, taking a step towards the path they wanted. “When we get back, though…damn right, I wanna.”

“Uh, Jack?”

“Mmm?”

“I meant do you wanna chill?” She smiled a little sheepishly. “You know, like the old days.”

Heat flooded Jack’s dark skin; she scratched at an earlobe. “O-Oh.” She cleared her throat, feeling a bit foolish. “Y-yeah. We can do that.”

Heading back to the van, they moved to the hood. Dash hopped herself up onto the hood, wincing slightly as her injured leg landed on the metal.

“Any better?” Jack asked, sitting down, then scooting closer to the woman.

“Running on the fucker didn’t do it no favors,” Dash said. “Gonna hurt like hell come morning.”

Jack grunted, leaning her back onto the glass as Isabelle did the same; Jack placed her arm under the athlete's neck. The warmth of the engine below them, combined with their own body heat, did well to stave off the chill night air. Neither spoke, the closeness of their bodies and years of being together leaving nothing that needed being said. Finally, after several long minutes, Jack broke the tranquility.

“Ya know…even with everythin’ that’s happened, uh, I still think I’m pretty lucky.”

Isabelle spared a small, quick glance towards the woman. “You think so, hayseed?”

“I know so.” She flexed her arm just a hair, enough to move Dash’s head. “Anyone with an idiot like you taggin’ along jus’ ‘bout has ta be.”

The woman smirked, moving until she rested under the crook of Jack’s shoulder. “You’re an idiot too.”

“Guess that’s why we get along.” Jack held the woman tightly against her. “Been forever since we jus’...ya know, sat on the porch an’ looked up.”

Dash grunted in agreement. “It’s one of the reasons why I’m doing this. I mean, the country is important ‘n’ all, but, well, I wanna secure a good future for us both, y’know? Make sure we don’t get fucked over like we already have.”

“An’ I wanna take care of ya too. Family first, hon.” She leaned into her partner, running her free hand over Dash’s bangs.

Izzy closed her eyes, simply enjoying the closeness for a few moments. “God I’m glad I met you.”

“I’m thankful fer it every night.” Jack squeezed the woman once more, then, after a beat, rose off the van. “Not ta interrupt our lil’ tender moment, but nature calls.”

“Only you,” Dash grumbled, gesturing with a wave of her hand towards the distance. “Pee somewhere I can’t hear you at least.”

“That was kinda the plan,” she replied, stepping through the grass, walking behind a tree and into the dense foliage. She reached to the zipper on her pants and undid her belt, then froze, quietly redoing the belt with her off hand and pulling out her empty revolver with her strong arm.

“You alright, hayseed?” Dash called out.

But Jack didn’t register. Her attention was elsewhere--specifically at the van parked not forty feet in front of her and the man leaning against it. The park’s lights barely gave her enough to see by, but slowly she started making out details.

He was no one she recognized. Older, probably late thirties. He was standing, a lit cigarette casting a harsh red glow on his tough and tanned face. His black hair was cut short, in an obvious military crew cut.

The military angle was backed up by the body armor strapped to his joints and the assault rifle slung at his side. Something was off to the get up, but she had seen enough.

They were busted.

“Shit,” Jack hissed out. She held her gun steady and slowly backpedaled deeper into the brush, crunching hard on a root as she tried to withdraw. The man heard it; Jack could tell by his slight flinch. She couldn’t back away now--she didn’t have a doubt that he could get a bead on her, despite the foliage. Worst of all, if Dash decided to move in now, he’d probably react on the assumed threat and cut her down before she knew what was happening.

But she couldn’t stay still either--it was a miracle she hadn’t drawn his attention coming in. No, there was only one thing she could do: intimidate and bluff.

Pushing hard with both legs, she leapt forward, erupting from treeline with empty gun held tight, aimed straight and true.

“Hands up! Hands up, ya fucker!” she shouted, taking long strides towards him and jerking the piece in her hands upwards, towards his skull. “Drop the gun!”

Immediately there were shouts and screams from the crowd, followed by the sounds of movement and cries of pain as the guests shifted in distress, knocking a few to the ground. There was a chorus of, “What’s going on?” and “Get away from me!”, amongst others.

Though he had initiated the blackout, Spike had no idea why Twila wanted it. All he knew was that she was alive and well. Even better--she had a plan. He could only hope it lasted long enough for whatever she wanted.

“Guys!” he hissed, trying to speak loud enough for the girls to hear but quiet enough not to arouse suspicion. “Books has a plan--don’t move.” He didn’t add that if they tried running, one of the guards might start opening fire at random.

“What? You heard from her?” whispered Rarity behind him.

“Over coms, keep quiet,” he instructed, fighting back every urge he had to turn tail and run. Pinkie clenched her teeth, practically twitching, while Chylene ironically seemed a bit calmer than she was before, despite all the chaos.

Through the darkness, Blueblood’s voice called above the clamor, a slight tinge of nervousness to his tone, “What’s going on here?! I demand answers!” A muffled oof! “Guards, make sure they don’t get away!”

Whatever you’re doing, Twila, do it fast, Rarity thought to herself, feeling her pulse speed. It was difficult to stay still--especially when she could sense movement not too far all around her. She tried to listen, but the crowd was creating just enough noise to make it impossible.

It didn’t help that no one’s eyes were adjusting to the darkness. The room was central in the mansion and completely without windows to provide even a miniscule lightsource.

Spike had tried keeping a count of the time. How long had it been? Three minutes? Four? Shaking his head, he thought about taking his phone out--then decided against, knowing the light would make him a clear target. He, and the others, would just have to wait and see. And hope.

Rarity was about to risk asking Spike if they shouldn’t attempt something when there was a sharp, painful screeching. Covering her ears in pain, she could feel the others do the same as the sound went on and on for seconds unknowable. It made her head feel like it was cracking in two, seemingly coming from everywhere.

As sudden as it had started, it stopped, though the pain didn’t recede right away. But as it faded, she--and nearly everyone else--began opening their eyes, lowering their hands.

The lights clicked back on shortly after.

Rarity stopped in shock as the room lit up. As ordered, the guards that had been closest had managed to get in a rough, near-complete circle around them. They each held their weapons tightly, most aimed at the group, though some had to fix their aim when they could see.

However, they began stopping short as they came to realize that they too were surrounded by five heavily armed figures. A quick glance up towards Blueblood showed another new arrival next to him as well.

But that wasn’t what made the breath catch in Rarity’s throat. It wasn’t as professional as the pair she had made for Jack and Dash, but the newcomers were dressed in a mixture of finer, black suits and armor pieces. She loosely recognized them as pieces often worn by SWAT or maybe soldiers. They were all armed with assault rifles, bearing them on the guards.

All this made the plain white masks they wore all the more noticeable. With a gasp, Rarity realized the figure standing next to Blueblood was wearing a mask marked with three starbursts on one cheek. It was Twila’s mask!

Twila raised an arm, pointing a pistol directly at the side of Blueblood’s head. Muffled, with perhaps a little electronic distortion, a voice declared, “Surprise, Blueblood!”

“What--but--what?!” Spike exclaimed, his mouth so open his jaw might as well have been unhinged.

“You can say that again,” Rarity said, breathless. She looked towards Spike. “You had no idea…?”

“I know I didn’t. She really pulled a fast one on Blueblood, not even I expected that!” Pinkie rubbed her chin, letting out a thoughtful noise. “I gotta up my game.”

Louder, Twila continued, “Attention, everyone! This party is over! So let’s just behave and no one has to get hurt.” Without lowering her weapon, she nodded to the guards. “Drop the guns or we’ll make you drop them.”

Spike caught the twist in her words. She’s been listening...this whole time?

With a few encouragements from the military figures near them, the guards roughly tossed aside their weapons, raising their arms in capitulation. Blueblood himself hadn’t moved nor said a word. He just stared at the lethal barrel pointed his way, sweat dripping down his face.

“You may recognize us from the news a few months ago,” continued Twila. “So you know just what we’re capable of. Try anything and…well…” She raised her gun to the ceiling and let loose a round to make her point, then pointed it back at the now-shaking Blueblood.

“Y-you worthless criminal…” Blueblood managed to say through clenched teeth. “How dare you come here!”

“Oh we dare alright. I mean, how could we resist?” She gestured toward the crowd with her other hand. “You gather some of the wealthiest, most well-connected people all in one place? Under the name of that woman? That Tyrant? You bet your ass we’d come here.” Turning her gaze to Spike and the others, she said, “We even used one of them to do some of our dirty work. Funny how useful threats of violence can be. Thanks for being such a star player, Miss Hutchinson”

Spike quickly followed her, giving a small warning glance at everyone else to play along. “Should have figured,” he said. “You’re like maggots to shit.” He looked towards the crowd, frowning. “Human shit.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Twila said, bored. She snapped out, “Gems, Mouse. Help those fine people over there with their donation. Quickly.”

Two of the masked figures nodded, shouldering their weapons and pulling out a large mesh sack each. They headed over to the crowd and began demanding wallets, jewelry, and anything valuable they could fit in the bag.

With more spine than Rarity thought he had in him, Blueblood spat, “You damn common thieves! Traitors! The Queen will see you all hang for this insult to her loyal right hand!”

Twila let out a roaring laugh that none of the group had ever heard before. She was playing her part as the violent, psychotic criminal incredibly well. “A sniveling bitch like you isn’t even worth her scraps. Let alone her right hand. Then again, considering how low she’s brought herself, maybe you’re just perfect for eachother. But don’t think she can protect you. You see, I was a right hand sort of girl not too long ago myself.”

Confused, Blueblood asked, “What? You’re not saying--it couldn’t be!” He looked at Rarity, Pinkie, Chy, and Spike. “But they’re there! They couldn’t be--no! I won’t believe it.”

With her other hand, Twila slipped a hand under her mask, slipping it off and throwing it back. Her hair was matted with sweat and she wore a confident grin. “Believe it, Alaurd. You’ll always be second best to someone like me.”

There were more gasps and cries from the crowd.

“It’s Twila Shields!”

“Didn’t she come with her friends?”

“She robbed the First and National!”

“Betraying not just the Queen, but her friends--what a terrible disgrace!”

“What is she doing?!” Chylene whispered to her friends, eyes never moving from Twila. “Doesn’t she know that she’s risking everything?”

“I think…” Rarity started, swallowing roughly as comprehension dawned. “I think she knows exactly that, Chy. Don’t you think so, Spike?”

“I don’t think, I know,” he spoke, chewing at his thumb. “We should take it, girls. I’m sure I have a contact that can help her get out of prison before...” He didn’t finish the thought, instead, he took a step forward and spoke up. “Give it up, scum! This place is loaded with guards! Six crazies versus all of them? Not good odds!”

With an atypical snort, Twila replied, “You forget who you’re talking to, Spike. While everyone was busy in here, we were busy taking care of what pathetic guard Blueblood had managed to scrounge up. We’ve got a clear path, thanks to my infiltration earlier.”

“Books,” said one of the burglars who had been looting the guests. The voice was clearly a man’s. He held up the sack, now bulging slightly. “We’re full up.”

Nodding, Twila said, “Good. Lucky for you, Blueblood, tonight’s more a statement than a true heist. So we’ll settle for a gratuity. This time.”

Chuckling, Blueblood replied, “It’s not my money. What do I care?”

“Oh, right!” Twila said, feigning false surprise. “I forgot to mention we’ve already carted out what little valuables remained in the place while dealing with your guards. It was kind of sad, really. Who knew someone of your ‘station’ would have so many replicas and forgeries around.”

His jaw dropped, then snapped back. His teeth grounding loudly, he growled, “I promise you, you common-bred bitch, I will personally tie your noose myself.”

“Riiiight. Well, you’d have to learn how to tie one first, so forgive me if I’m hardly worried.” To the others, she said, “OK, pick a hostage and head on out. I think she’ll get the message loud and clear now. Stetson, you can take rearguard with me.” Suddenly, she grabbed a fistful of Blueblood’s hair and pulled him down. “Thanks for being such a gracious host, Alaurd. Hate to run, but we’re on a tight schedule.” With a strong blow, she pistol whipped the back of his neck, letting him drop to the ground unconscious.

At the same time, the masked figures each grabbed one of the group roughly by an arm. Weapons held close against them and being covered by the tallest burglar, Spike and the girls found themselves slowly being pushed towards the auditorium’s exit. Twila herself doubled timed it down the steps, taking a place guarding their backs as they pushed a bubble through the crowd on their way to the doors.

“Oooo, are we hostages now?” Pinkie asked. It seemed like a dumb question, but as she went on, it was clear what she was doing. Turning to the one of the guards, she babbled on in her usual manner. “‘Cause I’ve never been a hostage before. Are you gonna tie us up and gag us? ‘Cause I don’t wanna be gagged since I like talking so much! Oh, and don’t shoot us either ‘cause you want us healthy and stuff if we’re gonna be good hostages. And one more thing—”

“Pinkie. Enough,” Spike said. He looked towards one of the men hauling them off. “Who are you?”

With a poke of the tip of his assault rifle, the man growled, “Just call me Party. Now, shut it, brat. No questions.”

His temper rising, Spike looked around his captor to see Twila putting her mask back on. The group stopped, letting the man without a hostage open the double doors.

Twila, with a gracious bow to the stares and glares of the assembled guests and guards, called, “Goodnight, so-called best of Camelot. Remember what you saw here tonight and shake in your beds! We will strike again!”

Slipping through the doors, she closed them with a slam and a loud bang.

“Time to hurry, but don’t let up!” she said to everyone, sounding more like her normal self.

“What is this?” Spike asked, quickly jogging down the hallway alongside the masked men.

“The grand finale!” she replied. “Now go! The van across the street--door’s open!”

With no time to think, Spike started waving his hands quickly. “You heard her, go, go!” the boy called out, moving on ahead.

“Spike! Don’t break character!” cried Twila, who then ordered one of the masked men to take the lead.

“See, Spikey? I did have the right idea!” Pinkie said, waving a finger at him as she followed the men in front.

Chylene came to a stop. “Twila, wait. What about you?”

“Right behind you!”

And they ran.

Passing the occasional unconscious guard or tied up servant, the group made haste down the hall to the foyer, and the escape awaiting them behind the door. The lead man swung the door open wide, gesturing with his rifle for the others to exit.

Outside, Spike and the girls saw the van Twila had mentioned. It was idling across the street, one door open, a few stairs and a street all that stood in their way.

“But what about Jack?” Rarity asked between breaths. “And Dash? They’re still in the vault, aren’t they?”

“Rarity, we don’t have time for that,” came Twila’s slightly irritated reply. “Those two will be fine, but we won’t if we don’t leave, now. I on--I mean, we only get one shot at this. So get in the van.”

“But Twila--” started Spike.

“No buts!” interrupted Twila, grabbing him by the shoulder and shoving him forward. “Talk after we get away.”

The masked men with Twila had already made it to the van, throwing in their weapons and the two bags of loot. Three climbed into the driving compartment, while the other two slipped into the open door. Twila herself was halfway down the steps.

Spike hopped in back, holding a hand out for Rarity, who took it gratefully. Chylene came next, too slow for Pinkie who stumbled into the girl’s backside, spilling them both into the floorboard of the vehicle. “Oopsie. Sorry, Chy,” Pinkie said as she sat up.

“Everybody in?” called a voice from up front. The driver.

Grabbing Pinkie by the back of her jacket, one of the masked figures lifted her the rest of the way, then slide the door closed. “Roger, Guzman--let’s move!” The voice was a woman’s. No sooner had she spoken than the crunch of gears signaled movement as the van lurched forward then was slung into a none-too-tight turn.

Spike glanced over in a panic. “Wait! Twila’s still--”

He felt a light touch to the back of his head. “Did you forget? I got in while you were helping Rarity, ‘Drake’.” She had removed her mask; her teeth shown in an amused laugh. “That was a rush, wasn’t it? And it went perfectly, to boot!”

The young man forgot himself briefly; he threw his arms around her and hugged her tightly, tears welling in his eyes. “Where were you? I-I thought…”

Returning the hug, Twila replied, gently, “It’s OK, Spike, it’s OK. We’re all OK now.” She laughed again. “I just had to make some calls.” The strangers in the backseat gave their own laugh. “Between that and getting the suits and masks together, well…It took a little longer than I thought it would.”

He let go of her, leaning his head back on the cool metal of the van. “I-I haven’t gotten this choked up since the bank,” he sniffed. “Though I probably sounded better during that over the coms.”

“Wouldn’t think he was such a softie, those things he was saying earlier, eh?” said the woman from before.

“Makes me all warm inside,” replied a man from next to her.

“You guys!” Twila chided. Then to Spike, “I’m sorry, Spike. But it’s over. We’re out, safe and sound. Mission accomplished.”

Another pair of arms wrapped themselves around her. “Twila! I’m so glad you’re okay ‘cause we couldn’t find you anywhere and we thought something bad had happened to you—” Pinkie stopped herself, slowing down. “And we knew you wouldn’t leave us and…guess you proved that just now, right?” she finished with a smile.

Spike glanced over at Rarity and gave her a friendly nudge. “Told you. Plan in a plan. She’s all about those lists.”

“Of course not, Pinkie.” She threw her arms around the baker. “How could I ever abandon my best friends? I love you all too much.” To Spike, she said, a nervous blush touching her cheeks, “And thanks, Spike, but this was actually kind of put together on the spot… I mean, I had some vague idea, but the details just sort of...fell into place by themselves.”

His jaw dropped at her words for the second time that night. He gave a resigned sigh and leaned back into his seat once more. “And that’s why I’m just the secretary, I guess.”

She ruffled his hair. “Don’t sell yourself short, Spike. You did great tonight.” She gave him a sideways, somewhat heated look. “Even though I specifically told you to stay home.”

He kicked the floor. “You did,” he agreed, then shook his head. “But sometimes a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So you’re a man now, huh?” She continued to look at him for a moment, her eyes steel as they examined the young man. Finally, she broke into a warm smile. “I guess you’re right, Spike. You are.”

“Um…” Chylene twiddled with her fingers. “I’m happy that we’re all safe, but aren’t we forgetting about Jack and Dash?”

“They’ll meet us at the rendezvous,” Twila answered. “We tapped into the mansion’s personal systems before starting--seems they set off an alarm, but Blueblood was too prideful to let it leave his personal forces. Anyways, we caught word that some of the reinforcements had shown up, but too late to catch whoever had broken in. Then they came for us, rather than pursuing.” Shaking her head, she added, “I swear those two have Elondrie watching out for them. Either that or some of the dumbest luck imaginable.”

“A little of both, depending on which one you ask,” Spike replied. He paused, a thought coming to him. “Twila… I realized something. The List. The one Blueblood grabbed--what are we going to do about that? We left our primary objective behind in the hands of that slimeball!”

Without a word, Twila reached into her jacket, pulling the manilla envelope and giving it a wave. “I saw that and relieved him of it before the lights came back on. I didn’t say the mission was a success for nothing, you know.”

“Unbelievable,” Spike said with a laugh. “This keeps up and I won’t even need to run coms, as good as you are thinking on the fly.” He glanced once more at the masked characters driving. “OK, OK. One last question for your magic act: Who are these guys?”

“Yeah! I don’t even know them!” Pinkie exclaimed, still latched onto Twila.

Returning the envelop to its place, Twila slid low in her seat, closing her eyes and letting out a long sigh. “They’re soldiers--well, ex-soldiers. Friends of my brother, back from his Academy days.”

“Lew’s a bit stiff, but he’s a good man,” said the woman, taking off her mask. Her light brown hair was cut short, her eyes a matching brown. “A better man than most of us, since he stuck with it when command lost their minds.”

“Yeah, the rest of us quit the guard when the Queen’s policies changed. But we hated being so powerless. When Miss Shields called us tonight, well, it was the signal we were waiting for,” said another.

“Down with the Tyrant,” said one from up front.

Nodding her assent, Twila said, “I knew they were all still in Camelot, eager to do something. The guard are comprised of the best of the best--so I called them in.”

Spike nodded in thought. “Good. They’ll go great with the hired guns we’ve got online. We’re building a nice little group now.”

“Yeah,” Twila said weakly. “I suppose we have.” Setting her mask to cover her eyes, she added, “Should be a little more than a half hour or so until we reach the edge of the city. Jack and Dash should be there, but we might have to wait. So take it easy, everyone. The worst is behind us.” Or maybe, she thought bitterly, maybe the worst is yet to come.

The van descended into silence, save for the smooth sound of the tires on asphalt as it wound its way through the streets, heading for the city limits. Despite the questions she knew they must have, Twila suspected the girls were glad for a moment to relax and recover. At least, that's what she wanted for herself.

Since that day... I don't think I've ever truly relaxed. Twila's thoughts raced from the now to the past. Since all of this started--when I learned the truth. Her eyes burned. When I lost so much and now...? She thought about her dearest, most treasured friends sitting so close around her, and of Jack and Dash who would be joining them soon.

Now to face that terrible truth, alone...? Celestia, I miss you.

In the dark stillness of the van's interior, none of the others noticed Twila's arms wrap around herself or--with the cover of the mask over her eyes--the tears begin streaming down her cheeks.