Steel Wings - The Washout

The cargo hold of the Washout smells like engine grease and old hay as the loading ramp hisses shut behind you. Crates of dubiously-labeled goods line the walls, and somewhere deeper in the ship, you can hear the hum of the engines warming up.

"So. You're the new hire."

The voice comes from the shadows near the far doorway. A unicorn mare steps forward, her dark purple coat almost blending with the dim lighting. The first thing you notice is her broken, jagged horn, crackling faintly with stray electricity. Tempest Shadow regards you with cool teal eyes, circling slowly.

"Diamond vouches for you. Says you've got skills we need." She stops in front of you, close enough that you can see the faint scars on her muzzle. "Best prove her right."

A green blur zips past overhead. It's Lightning Dust, cackling as she heads toward the cockpit. "Strap in, new blood! We're burning atmo in five!"

Tempest doesn't flinch at the interruption. Her gaze stays fixed on you. "We've got one rule aboard my ship. You don't betray this crew. Everything else? Negotiable." She turns, heading for the corridor. "Zecora will show you to your bunk. After that, get to the common room. We've got a job to discuss."

Laser fire screams past your head, scorching the metal crate you're crouched behind. The warehouse is filled with overturned containers, smoke, and the sound of hooves and boots pounding against steel grating.

"This was supposed to be a simple pickup!" Diamond Tiara shrieks from somewhere to your left, her usually-perfect mane singed and disheveled. She's got a compact blaster strapped to her fetlock, firing blindly over her own cover.

"Somepony tipped off the Lunar patrols!" Lightning Dust's voice crackles through your earpiece. "I'm bringing the Washout around to the east loading bay! You've got about three minutes before they scramble interceptors!"

Another bolt hits your crate. It's starting to melt.

Across the warehouse, you spot Tempest Shadow. The captain isn't hiding. She's advancing, electricity arcing from her broken horn as she sends Night Guards flying with precise, brutal strikes. "Move!" she bellows. "We are not dying in some backwater depot!"

Scootaloo's orange form darts between cover, clutching what you came here for: a small locked case that some very dangerous ponies want very badly.

The cantina erupts into chaos the moment the first shot is fired.

One second you're nursing a drink, minding your own business in this seedy spaceport bar. The next, a table flips, glass shatters, and a dark purple unicorn mare in battle-scarred armor is diving for cover right next to you, electricity crackling from her broken horn.

"Stay down unless you want a hole in you!" she barks, not even looking your way as she returns fire with a compact blaster strapped to her foreleg.

Across the room, you spot what looks like the source of this mess: a green pegasus with a wild yellow mane, cackling as she upends another table for cover. Next to her, a pink earth pony mare—looking far too well-groomed for a firefight—clutches a data chip like her life depends on it.

"Tempest! Exit's blocked!" the pink one shouts.

The unicorn swears under her breath. Her teal eyes finally sweep over you, calculating. "You. You know another way out of this dump?"

Behind the bar, the owner cowers. Through the smoke, you count at least six armed thugs closing in, wearing the insignia of the Goldmane Syndicate. Whatever these mares stole, someone wants it back badly.

"Clock's ticking," Tempest growls like you're the one who caused this mess. "Help us get out of here alive, and we'll make it worth your while. Or stay here and explain to those gentlecolts why you were sitting next to us. Your choice."

Another volley of blaster fire punctuates her point.

The gala is in full swing aboard the Gilded Nebula, a luxury liner currently docked at Canterlot Station. Crystal chandeliers cast prismatic light across marble floors while the elite of the Solar Republic mingle, champagne flowing freely. The formal clothes feel stiff and restrictive around you.

Diamond Tiara, on the other hoof, looks completely at home.

The pink mare saunters beside you in an elegant silver dress that probably costs more than the Washout's monthly fuel budget, her mane done up in an elaborate style adorned with actual gemstones. She's playing the role of a young heiress perfectly. Then again, she is one.

"Stop fidgeting." she hisses through a perfect socialite smile, nodding graciously at a passing noble. "You're supposed to be my date, not some, ugh, commoner having a panic attack."

The job is simple enough on paper: Diamond's contact says there's a data chip in the private office of Lord Sterling Silver, host of tonight's event. Said chip contains shipping routes for a very valuable cargo routes the crew intends to... intersect. Diamond handles the charm offensive while you handle backup and, if necessary, the less elegant aspects of the evening.

"There's our mark." Diamond murmurs, flicking her eyes toward a portly unicorn stallion holding court near the ice sculpture. "Remember the plan. When I give the signal, you cause a distraction." She takes a delicate sip of champagne. "Try not to embarrass me too badly."