The air was thick in the pre-processing room of the 421st Royal Equestrian Calvary, C-company. The heat and sweat that came off of two hundred and ten assorted earth ponies and unicorns was far too much for the hastily installed fans to take care of. They stood in three lines of seventy, all facing three sets of double doors at the far end of the room. Above the doors dimly lit red lights told them that despite having stood in place for ninety minutes, their time had still not come.

The only movement in the room was an older earth pony walking throughout the ranks. He was a light shade of grey with a silver mane and a finely groomed mustache, and on his flank he bore a painting palette. He looked up and down lines of ponies before him, before finally stopping before a tan earth pony with thick blond mane and a solitary red apple on his side.

“What’s your name, son”, the grey pony said, his voice carrying across the room over the incessant whirr of the fans. Everyone could hear him, but none dared to turn to face him.

“Sir, mah name is Braeburn, Sir.”

“You don’t need to call me sir, son”, The grey pony said with clean diction. “Not yet anyway. So what do you do Braeburn? Something with apples I assume?”

“Uh, yessir, Ah run an apple orchard down in Appleloosa, just ta the east of Dodge Junction.”

“Ah, an apple orchard. Well Braeburn, my name is Portrait Painter, and I run a studio in Canterlot. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Portrait Painter paused,” Do you know why you are here Braeburn, and not in Dodge Junction tending to your apples?”

“Yessir, because those unicorns from Unicornia attacked us and took Vanhoover and Tall Tale, and now we gotta go fight ‘em.”

“That’s right.” Nodded Portrait Painter “and you are going to help us do that. So Braeburn, have you ever killed another pony?” Braeburn started back, looking surprised.

“No sir, never.”

“I didn’t think so.” The grey pony turned and looked to two tall, near identical unicorns standing behind Braeburn. He looked to their flanks. “You two, I assume you’re in the apple business as well?”

“That’s right. “ Stated the first, the second chimed in “we’re traveling salesponies in the apple cider business.”

“Do you have names?”

“Flim and Flam, sir”, the two answered simultaneously.

“Have you two ever killed another pony?” Portrait Painter questioned.

“No.”

“That’s too bad, because to fight a war, I need killers, not farmers.” He looked to the pony behind the two, a short, thin ultramarine blue unicorn. Portrait Painter leaned in close to him, looking down on his diminutive frame. “How about you kid, what’s your special talent?”

“I don’t have one sir.” The unicorn replied, staring straight ahead.

“You don’t have one?” Portrait Painter looked surprised. He quickly checked the unicorn’s flanks, which were as blank as could be. He looked back to the unicorn, still a little thrown off by the lack of a destiny, but managed to recompose himself. “Well, you do have a name, don’t you son?”

“Yes sir, Static Sparks Sir.” The unicorn said, still staring straight ahead.

“Have you ever considered that your special talent might be killing other ponies, Static Sparks?”

“No sir.” As Static Sparks answered a harsh buzzer rang out from the front of the room, and the middle red light flashed to green. Portrait Painter turned and walked to the front of the room, just in front of the three large double doors. All eyes in the room were focused on him, and aside from the fans all was silent.

“That’s the problem; in this room of 210 I have farmers, artists, bricklayers, and even ponies who have no talent, but what I need are 210 killers. It isn’t your fault; ponies are not designed to kill. Your hooves do not kill, your teeth do not kill, and most importantly your brains do not wish to kill. If I had a room of 210 griffons, who are designed from the ground up to kill, I could liberate our land in a matter of hours.”

“But what I have is you, and I need killers. Braeburn!” Braeburn jumped at his name being yelled

“Yessir!”

“Do you want to be a killer!?”

“Naw sir, Ah’ve always tried my hardest ta never even hurt anypony.”

“Does anypony in this room want to be a killer?” the electric hum of the fans was the only response. Portrait Painter nodded. “That’s what I thought.” He stiffened up,

“Well Braeburn, I’m going to make you the same deal that I will make to every pony in this room. When these doors open, I want you to leave who you are behind, in this room. The Equestrian Calvary will take away everything that makes you special. We will take your talent, we will take your coat, we will take your mane, and we will take your name. By the time you leave this building you will be entirely new ponies. You will earn new destinies, you will earn new fighting names, and these new ponies will be killers.” Portrait painter paused, and looked to see if this information had sunk in. “These ponies will go to war, and these ponies will kill until such a time that the war ends.”

“And when this war is over, and you come home, the Calvary will give you back your talent, your coat, your mane, and your name. You will walk back into this room, and you will leave the killer behind, pick up the pony you left here, and you will exit as pure as you entered, having never hurt a soul.”

“And so Braeburn, in this way neither you nor anypony else in this room will be killers. Do we have a deal?”

“SIR, YES SIR”, 210 ponies replied. Portrait painter turned and trotted to a small intercom box mounted next to the doors, he hit the transmitter with his hoove.

“They’re ready.” The buzzer sounded again, the red lights all changed to green and with a loud knock the locks on the double doors disengaged and swung open. Two hundred and ten ponies followed Portrait Painter through the double doors, and they left the old world and their old selves behind. Static Sparks looked behind him to the dusty waiting room as he followed the 210 forward, and he kept looking at his old life until the double doors shut with incredible finality. A chapter in his life had ended, and a new one had begun. The only way back was forward. He turned and faced front, and marched into an uncertain future.