"E-Eight... e-eight y-years..." The grip on Rainbow's neck loosened slightly, if only as a show of mercy for her windpipe. The glorious air came back into her lungs in a rush, taking as many deep breaths as she could. Her hooves fell away from the arm as her eyes turned to Spike's face, perceiving his horrific expression as the one Scootaloo wore only fifteen minutes before. "Eight... years... I've been killing for the Corporation... to p-produce rainbows so everypony could be happy."