September 11, 2015
12:58 AM
Atlanta, Georgia
A clap of thunder and a thrash of lightning rolled across the night sky. Soon, sheets of rain began to drench a concrete jungle, making for a dangerous situation to any brave motorists attempting to traverse the city streets in this downpour.
Even though the city had shut down for this stormy evening, the Atlanta Police had their hands full. The street racers that had been plaguing the city of Atlanta; endangering the lives of motorists, illegally gambling fortunes, and costing thousands in labor to remove their burnout stains and tire tracks from public roads; were finally on the run.
True, the APD had more important things to worry about than a few idiots racing on public roads for cash. But when race crews began turning into organized crime, playing a part in drug trafficking and other atrocities, it became a priority to snuff them out.
So far, sixty-two arrests had been made since several popular racing spots were raided earlier in the night.
A police helicopter assisted with their efforts, reporting the positions of any suspicious motorcyclists or drivers with a blinding spotlight, while units on the ground maintained roadblocks and kept a lookout for more fleeing racers.
While the chaos erupted across the city, three motorcyclists tore away rapidly from the heart of Atlanta's industrial district.
"Someone tipped off the cops about that spot!" Reese, a member of Dreads's crew, grumbled through Patrick's Bluetooth helmet. The rain splattered against his helmet, making it difficult to see ahead of him.
"Nobody told the cops, you squid," Patrick lifted his visor, easing the condensation fogging up his line of sight. "We've been going to that spot for years, it was only a matter of time before they finally started cracking down."
"Yeah, fo'real," Dreads rasped, the sounds of his engine drifting from the background. "Pat, what's the move? I'm on the other line with my crew, most everybody's gotten busted now."
Patrick, Reese, and Dreads rode in a staggered line, avoiding main streets and staying under overhead cover when available. It was incredibly disorienting riding in the rain, and the slippery roads only made it worse.
"Just got a text," Dreads paused for a moment. Patrick assumed his phone must have been mounted to his handlebars.
"Yeah, they got a roadblock on Peachtree and Piedmont, they have lookouts on 75. I don't know about Ponce, but I'm not chancin' it."
The police helicopter remained high in the sky, about a mile from their position. An overpass near a park up ahead would cover them from the chopper's sweeping spotlight.
Patrick pulled over under the overpass, Reese and Dreads in suit. Soon after, the police chopper moved on, oblivious of the street racers hiding within its vicinity.
The racers killed their engines, but ready to move again at the first sign of approaching headlights. Patrick shuddered as cold water had seeped through all his gear, chilling his bare flesh.
"So, whats the move, army-boy?" asked Dreads.
Patrick dismounted his Honda CBR, and glanced at Reese's bike, his lights still shining brightly.
Although DOT regulations required all motor vehicles to be equipped with running headlights and taillights, it wasn't uncommon for racers to wire a switch that disabled them, making for an easy getaway at night.
However, Patrick was smart enough to already have this done, and would be practically invisible under the cover of night. Reese and Dreads still had their stock wiring, they'd stick out like a sore thumb. Riding with them would be as good as getting arrested.
Patrick spied a discarded piece of metal pipe amongst some other trash, and stood in front of the gleaming headlights of Reese's Suzuki GSXR, handing it to dreads with his wet gloves.
A flash of lightning briefly illuminated the surrounding landscape. Dreads looked from the rusty pipe to his bike and nodded, understanding what Patrick implied.
Dreads raised the metal pipe and brought it down on each of his headlights, effectively shattering them both.
"Woah man, what are you doing?" Reese cried in surprise.
"If we got no lights," Dreads busted out his taillight. "They can't see us."
Dreads handed the pipe to Reese.
"Go on."
"No way man, I'm not doing that to my bike!" Reese frantically paced back and forth, until Patrick grabbed him by the collar, water dripping from their waterlogged gear.
"You either bust out your lights, or you're on your own."
Reese froze in fear, writhing in Patrick's grip.
"A hundred bucks for new light bulbs and lenses is better than having your bike crushed and five years, isn't it?"
"Can't I just take the bulbs ou-"
"There's no time, squid!" Dreads shouted angrily.
"Squid" was a term that bikers used to talk down newer bikers, or those that had no clue how to ride in an acceptable manner.
Dreads grabbed the metal rod and darkened Reese's bike himself.
"Mhmm," Dreads admired his work. "This'll help. Just try not to crash."
Patrick remounted his bike, spotting car headlights approaching. There was no way to tell if it was heat, but there was no reason to stick around, anyway. After pressing a crudely wired switch zip-tied to his handlebars, any source of light coming from the CBR between his legs was disabled. Patrick turned the ignition as he restarted the conference call between their Bluetooth helmets.
"We just gotta get out of the city," Dreads complained. "But I ain't going to jail tonight, or shot by the 5-0."
"Dreads, they wouldn't shoot us," Patrick shrugged.
"Y'all are white, whatchu' got to be scared of?"
"Yeah, good point."
They agreed on a route. If they could get through the roadblock, they could take off from there, use the main highways, and vanish unopposed before the helicopter could follow them. After breaking the line of sight, simply changing directions would render frantic police radar chatter useless.
"And what do we do if we end up getting chased?" Reese asked unconfidently.
"Drop a gear, disappear," Patrick flipped down his visor, following Reese as Dreads led them from their pit stop.
It was difficult, riding with no headlights in the pouring rain. Several times, Patrick almost rear ended Reese, or ended up off the road.
All they had to do was make it around Peachtree Street, using the back roads, and get past the roadblock. All major highways were under watch, but it was their only way of escape. And with wet pavement and a helicopter in the air, it only made things worse.
The chopper seemed to be preoccupied searching another area of the city. Patrick, Dreads, and Reese found themselves surrounded on all sides by towering skyscrapers, streetlights, and concrete in the heart of downtown Atlanta. Police could be anywhere, anticipating the racers' every move.
They rode in a staggered formation, weaving between what little traffic remained at this hour, bolting through red lights, and being pelted by rain the entire way. Dreads tapped his helmet with his clutch hand, indicating that he had spotted a cop, and slowed his advance.
It was too late. A lone, undercover Ford Mustang roared to life, flashing blue lights and blaring a siren.
"Shit, y'all on your own, peace!" Dreads gunned the throttle, taking off down a side street. Reese had just barely made it past the squad car, and disappeared off into the distance. It left only Patrick, still barreling down the street and unable to swerve in time.
The officer driving the squad car lurched forward, threatening to send Patrick crashing into its side panel and flailing over the hood. The biker jammed his brakes, his tires squealing in agony as they hydroplaned across the wet asphalt. Using his hips to angle his bike, he slid to a stop mere inches from the hood of the police cruiser.
Before Patrick could make a break for it, the driver reached into the passenger seat, grabbing a long, black object, and threw open the door.
"Put your hands up!" the officer barked. "Don't fucking move or I'll put a bullet in you!"
This couldn't be happening. His first night racing since he was arrested, and it ended just like before.
Patrick stared down the barrel of an AR-15 assault rifle, raindrops illuminated by the Mustang's headlights dancing in mid air. It was unnerving to be on the wrong end of the civilian carbine he had become so familiar with.
The handgun on Patrick's waist was clearly visible, and this officer was not playing any games tonight. Patrick hesitantly raised his hands, the bike beneath his legs still purring gently. He put the kickstand down and dismounted, easing himself away from muzzle of the rifle held only two feet from his face.
With that, the APD officer kicked him in the chest, throwing him to the ground in a greasy puddle. The officer yanked the helmet off of his head, getting a good look at the street racer. His gaze shifted towards Patrick's waist.
"Packing heat, huh?" he snatched the Glock 23 out of Patrick's holster, setting it on the hood of his car. The officer kept the barrel of the rifle pointing straight at Patrick's head the entire ordeal.
"Identify yourself!" the officer demanded.
Patrick shook his head.
"I plead the fifth," he sneered.
Patrick cringed as a steel-toed boot made contact with his chest again. The officer clasped a radio handset on his vest.
"Dispatch, I have one suspect on the corner of Peachtree and Luckie, over."
Patrick sat on the ground, seething in anger and disbelief. This wasn't supposed to happen. This smug piece of shit was bringing him in, and there wasn't anything he could do about it. His mind raced on what was going to happen.
He was a repeat offender now, being arrested twice for street racing would probably ensure he'd never get to hold a driver's license again. Not only that, he was armed. Maybe they'd go easy on him since he's a veteran, who knows? But jail time was definitely in his future.
Before the officer could receive a response from his radio, a bright red Yamaha R1 flew past them, the rider standing on its passenger pegs as he executed an impressive wheelie.
"Fuck the police!" Dreads let a hand off one of his handlebars, flipping off the cop, and smacked his front tire down, nearly slipping on the wet asphalt. He did a quick burnout, and took off as a trail of steam followed with the scent of burnt rubber.
"What the fu-"
Patrick didn't hesitate. He lunged forward and grabbed the officer, fighting for the rifle in his tight grip.
Surprised by the sudden force against him, the officer attempted to heave the barrel in his face and blow his head off. Unfortunately for him, he was wearing a hefty, bulletproof vest, with assorted tools and weapons attached to his belt. It limited the officer's mobility significantly.
And Patrick was not just some typical thug the officer was used to pushing around. While he wasn't a Ranger, or part of some elite, special ops unit, United States Army infantrymen are thoroughly trained in military hand-to-hand combat. The combat exercises he practiced almost everyday consisted of this very same situation.
In one swift movement, Patrick plucked his hands down over the officer's thumbs, a standard disarming procedure. The thumbs are the human hands' natural weak points, going for the space between the thumb and index finger is always a priority. Angling the muzzle away from them both, Patrick ripped the weapon from the officer's grasp and flung it away from the struggle.
BOOM!
The officer pulled the trigger in a last-ditch effort to subdue the street racer as the rifle was removed from his grip. Patrick felt a rush of air as a bullet whizzed past his side, the gunfire crackling down the city streets and making his ears ring. Windows along a nearby apartment complex suddenly lit up, the people inside beginning to look on curiously.
Patrick tackled the disarmed officer to the ground. They rolled around in the grimy, wet pavement, throwing punches and slamming each other's faces to the street.
With all his might, Patrick heaved himself on top of the officer, and let his fist collide with the police officer's temple.
The officer's foot shot forward, leaving a brown boot print on his face. Patrick flew backwards, but immediately jumped to his feet.
Before the officer could withdraw his sidearm, Patrick grabbed his helmet and rushed forward.
"Should have handcuffed me!" Patrick swung his helmet across the officer's head, knocking him out cold.
He stood over the officer, breathing heavily as blood dripped from scrapes on his face. Patrick wiped a mixture of blood and grime from the officer's boot onto his sleeve.
A red sportbike rolled back into view, coming to a stop just next to Patrick.
"I thought you said we were on our own?" Patrick gasped for breath.
"You are," Dreads's t-shirt absolutely drenched. "No need to thank me, just get fuck out of here!"
He revved his engine, screeching away from the scene.
Patrick marveled at the situation before him for a moment. A loaded AR-15 lay in the gutter, as a police Mustang, with its driver's side door open and lights still flashing, lay next to an unconscious police officer. This was definitely his cue to leave.
The biker quickly strapped the helmet back to his head, grabbing his Glock 23 off the hood of the officer's car. He mounted his bike and bolted from the scene, as approaching sirens increased in proximity.
Darkening his lights, he jumped onto the freeway, the Atlanta skyline in his mirrors getting farther and farther away as the rain flowed over his visor, making any source of light wavy and distorted.
"Okay," Patrick thought as a streak of lightning lit up the sky. "Can't go home, maybe I can just get a hotel somewhere for a few days."
Laying low outside the city for a little while would be the smart thing to do. Getting a hotel room up north with his winnings was starting to sound attractive; in fact, it would even be like a mini-vacation. Right now, though, he just needed to get out of this storm before he hydroplaned to his death.
Before Patrick could find an exit on the desolate interstate, there was a distinct change in the atmosphere around him. The wind picked up, threatening to blow him into the median.
Lightning lit up the world in blinding, rapid bursts, white-hot thunderbolts piercing the sky unnaturally. Patrick could see a lightning bolt strike something only a quarter-mile away from him, and they seemed to be drawing closer. But the lightning that struck closest to him was different. While the ones off in the distance were white or yellow, the lightning that struck closest lit up the sky in bursts of colors, almost like tye-dye or rainbow streaks.
He battled with the wind, the unrelenting rain, the decreased traction, just trying to keep himself from crashing into the median. It was then that Patrick felt static electricity in his hair.
His eyes widened, suddenly feeling a tingling sensation come across his body. Patrick's face went white as a sheet, knowing what was about to happen. He squeezed the grips of his handlebars tightly, uttering a single word.
"Shit."
There was a flash, and a crack. It was incredibly bright.
But then, it got dark. Very dark.
And nothing happened.
That was all Patrick could remember before he was struck by lightning. There wasn't a doubt in his mind now that Celestia was responsible for him being here. How was she supposed to deny it, when a rifle bearing his serial number is hidden away in a secret museum of human history?
The Royal Guard watched the human cautiously as he stormed the halls with a strange, rusty object in his hands. Even they knew something was up, but since he was the princess's esteemed guest, they couldn't bureaucratically touch him.
Maybe he would regret going about it this way later, but it's not like they didn't give him a choice. His days of running round Equestria, blissfully unaware of what the purpose of him even being here was, were about to come to an end.
As Patrick made his way there, the morning sun's rays crept through the elegant stained glass windows of Canterlot Castle's throne room. The two royal sisters waited patiently along with several of their guests.
"Maybe they overslept?" Luna shrugged.
"Naw," Applejack shook her head. "We checked their rooms before we came down here. We thought they were already up an' at em'."
It made Celestia anxious. She was powerful, but not all-powerful. Anxiety and uncertainty were emotions she didn't feel often, but when she did, they hit hard. She composed herself, staring towards the towering double doors of the throne room.
Suddenly, they burst open. A lone human marched forward, his hand behind his back.
"Hey, Patrick! Where were you and Twilight all night? You missed all the fun we had downtown!" Pinkie Pie skipped forward, but Patrick paid her no mind. He stopped just before anypony would be able to see what he held behind his back from their angle.
"Hello, Patrick," Celestia examined the human's disgruntled expression. "Where is Twilight Sparkle? Is something wrong?"
As if on cue, a purple unicorn came galloping into the throne room.
"Patrick, wait!" she cried. "Don't do it, we can talk about this!"
"A-about what?" Rarity stammered, exchanging a worried glance with Rainbow Dash.
"About this!" Patrick removed his hand from behind his back, clutching an ancient firearm. He tossed it forward, clattering against the pristine, marble floor as it slid toward Celestia and Luna. Crusty specks of dirt and rust broke off upon impact, leaving a trail of small debris.
"Would you mind explaining to me what MY rifle is doing here?"
Celestia's eyes widened, but Luna seemed to be calm about the situation. She collected herself, and cleared her throat.
"I see," Celestia frowned. "You found the artifact room."
"Artifact room?" Fluttershy whispered.
"Princess…" Twilight murmured. "You… You've been lying to us?"
Celestia hung her head, her student's words felt like a knife to the heart.
"Yes."
Fluttershy, Applejack, Pinkie Pie, Rainbow Dash, and Rarity gasped simultaneously.
Patrick still stood there, his eyes fixed on the white alicorn, his hands balling into tight fists.
"You need to tell me what's going on," Patrick took a step forward. "NOW!"
His voice boomed across the vast chamber. Everypony was silent for a moment.
Finally, Luna looked expectantly to Celestia and nodded.
In the back of Celestia's mind, she suspected Luna may have something to do with this. She'd address that later, it was time for the truth to come out, and much sooner than she'd hoped for.
"Yes," Celestia replied hesitantly. "I am responsible for bringing you to Equestria from the past."
"Patrick's from the past?" Applejack questioned, but her voice went ignored.
"I almost bled to death, I nearly got eaten alive, I'm practically crippled, I got my ass kicked, " Patrick pulled up his sleeve and his shirt, revealing the stitches and bandages over his burnt arm. "Of all the ways to go about it, you struck me by some magical lightning? Look at this! This is your fault, I appreciate it!"
"Please," Celestia cooed. "Just let me explai-"
"I will, and you better have a pretty good fucking explanation for all this!"
Twilight froze, her heart skipping a beat. Did Patrick really just talk to the princess like that? Why was Celestia not striking him down, or throwing him in a dungeon this very moment?
Celestia gazed into the human's eyes, knowing how he was going to react.
"Patrick," Celestia said. "I'm sure you've heard the stories of how the Elements of Harmony defeated Nightmare Moon not too long ago, correct?"
"Yeah, so?"
"Well," Celestia looked at her subjects, those who bore the Elements of Harmony themselves.
"They didn't exactly do that permanently."
"Uh, beg your pardon?" Applejack raised an eyebrow.
"Then whatever was the point of it all?" Rarity asked.
"I was hopeful that the Elements of Harmony, when used by you ponies who shared such a close bond of friendship, would be powerful enough to destroy the nightmare. But it wasn't. Not even when I used them were they powerful enough."
"Why me?" Patrick interrupted. "Why bring me here? What makes me so special?" he asked in a mocking tone.
"It took an entire millennium to thoroughly explore every possibility and every outcome involved with looking to the past for a solution. With the nightmare banished to the moon, I had time to devote all my magic into making sure we would never have to face it again." Celestia stood from her throne and stepped around the firearm desecrating her throne room's floor.
"But there's something…Different, about humans. Your people may be gone, but there is a bond you shared that is even greater, and even more powerful than those who used the Elements of Harmony last." She gestured to the ponies surrounding Patrick.
"Why didn't you just tell us from the start?" Patrick asked. "If you needed my help, you could have just asked, instead of zapping me with lightning and lying in my face!"
"It's not that simple," Celestia sighed. "The Nightmare is still out there, and I'm sure that by now, it knows you're here, too. By pleading ignorance and destroying any trace of my magic that brought you here, it will not be able to determine if I am directly involved, and I've been able to keep you all out of immediate danger while it continues to remain dormant; for the time being."
"I guess that would explain the clearing being fixed in the Everfree Forest," Rainbow Dash interjected.
Celestia turned her head to Luna. Luna gave a sheepish smile, shrugging nervously. She didn't even have to say it, but her expression clearly spoke "toldja' so."
"What does this have to do with me and my friends?" Patrick raised an eyebrow.
"Equestria needed someone who understands the magic of friendship, more than anypony ever could. After observing human history, and searching for hundreds of years, I found you."
"You didn't impact history enough to where it would ultimately prevent Equestria from existing. But at the same time, you weren't quite what was needed to use the Elements of Harmony to vanquish the Nightmare once and for all."
"So…?" Patrick shrugged.
"So…" Celestia took a deep breath. "I made you what we needed. I manipulated the events in your life that would send you down the path I-Equestria-needed. Your father's abuse, and institutionalizing your mother. The people you met, where you went to school. Your… Your military service."
Patrick's chest went stone cold, all the blood draining from his face.
"You… You didn't…"
"I'm so sorry, Patrick," Celestia spoke softly. "There was no other way."
Patrick's jaw dropped. His eyes tried to water, but nothing would come out. He tried believing there was some divine reason Celestia did this to him. Why she toyed with his life. Why she broke his family apart. Why she murdered his friends.
But he couldn't.
Everypony watched as Patrick reacted to this news. Rainbow Dash and Rarity could understand what he felt, but there was no one else in the entire universe that could. He turned his back to Celestia, grabbing the back of his head in distress. He felt numb, like he wasn't even alive anymore. His entire life… It was just a charade. Patrick Wilcox had officially lost all will to live.
"Patrick?" Rarity approached him, as everypony else remained at a respectful distance.
"Please," Celestia gently uttered, approaching the distressed human. "This is why I hid everything from you. All of you. Because I knew how much it would hurt Patrick."
Applejack, Fluttershy, and Pinkie Pie, her once curly mane deflated, looked on, maintaining an eerie silence none of them had ever felt before.
"You…" Patrick exhaled, bringing his hands down, reaching into his waistband.
"YOU FUCKING BITCH!"
Patrick spun around, feeling nothing but pure rage flare through his heart. The sun princess found herself staring down the barrel of a loaded Glock 23.
He pointed the weapon directly at her head, clicking off the safety.
"Sister!" Luna's horn glowed as she rushed forward.
"Luna, don't," Celestia said calmly. "You don't know how those weapons work. If he moves at all, it could cause him to pull the trigger."
Reluctantly, Luna stood down, her horn ceasing its glowing.
"Patrick…" Celestia returned her attention to the gun-wielding human. "I know you're very upset with me right now."
Twilight gaped in horror, her mentor and Patrick having a standoff. She wanted to do something, anything, to protect her. But Twilight was so confused. Who was right, and who was wrong? From reading the engraving on Patrick's Purple Heart, she knew he had some sort of military experience. But just what was the human military like? What could have caused him to pull a gun on the princess for affecting his military service?
"-But you just need stop and think about this for a moment. Just put the gun down. We can talk about this."
"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU DID?" Patrick shouted. "I watched my best friends burn to death! You killed them! They had families, families I had to comfort at their funeral, after I come back from this pointless war with a bullet in my shoulder!"
Celestia looked into the human's eyes, peering into the broken spirit she created. If anypony were able to see them from the spirit realm, they'd know they spoke only death and vengeance, glowing blood red. After all the effort she put into this; all the meditation, banishing her sister, lying to her most faithful subjects, and hiding the existence of humanity for as long as she could remember; the very situation she had been trying to prevent was beginning to unfold.
"And I've had to live with the fact I'm a murderer! I killed people with that rifle! Because of you!" he gestured to the carbine dejectedly laying on the floor.
"And to top it all off, my life has just been a game for some magical flying horse from the future!" he maintained his aim, the sights perfectly aligned on Princess Celestia's forehead.
"You've got ten seconds to tell me why I shouldn't blow your brains out!" he tightened his grip on the receiver.
"Patrick, think about what you're doing!" Twilight cried. "What do you think would happen to you if you assassinated the princess?"
Patrick was quiet for a moment, toying with the thought of actually going through with this. He'd surely be executed or tortured, for that matter.
However, there was another way out…
"If I shoot her, I'm shooting myself."
"You can't be serious," Rainbow Dash took a step back. She thought she knew Patrick better than anypony here, after they met with Zecora. But he had clearly lost his mind. And as much as she didn't want to admit it, Celestia brought this upon herself.
Twilight wasn't going to allow this to go on any longer. Her horn summoned a powerful ball of energy, ready to be thrown at Patrick and end his own life.
It cast a pale glow across the face of everyone present.
"Put it down, now!" Twilight demanded, willing to take a bullet for her princess, even after all she had done.
By now, the Royal Guard was aware of what was happening in the throne room, bursting through the doors and surrounding the human holding a weapon straight at their princess's face.
"Patrick, please," Celestia said in a dry tone. "Put the gun down. It doesn't have to be this way. We can fix everything. You just have to trust me."
Patrick studied the congregation around him. The guards glaring angrily at him, the ponies that had saved his life helplessly cowering in fear and shock, Twilight standing defensively, a ball of magic emanating from her horn as tears flowed from her eyes.
The entire ordeal, the fact that Patrick could end her life with a twitch of his finger didn't seem to faze Celestia from his perspective. And that angered him.
But the screams he heard in his sleep every night; the screams of those that SHE murdered; would not let common sense ring loud enough for him to hear. After everything she did to him, they would just need to find themselves a new hero… And a new princess.
With the sights still aimed upon Celestia's forehead, Patrick exhaled slowly…
And pulled the trigger.
BANG