Aces High.

by Mandroid

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, Wonderbolts, Human, Spitfire, Anon, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Second Person, Soarin, Alternate Universe, Rainbow Dash
Length: 40560

Anonymous the human races with his fellow Wonderbolts to try and take the international cup.

Anonymous is a human who's been in Equestria for a few years, normally he'd have no job and no prospects but thanks to a unique piece of engineering, he's now a part of Equestria's finest sky racers. But new rules and new revelations about his teammates may cut his time short. If he doesn't end up splattered on a mountainside first.

Published 2013-12-10 10:30:01 UTC
Last updated 2015-05-04 03:04:06 UTC

Name of the Game.

-Music-

"Come along! Come along! Everypony up at at'em!"

You groan and clutch your head at the sound awakening you. The bed you feel yourself laying against lurches to the left a bit, shifting the contents of your stomach. That meant the ship was already moving.

You roll over and paw at the spot next to you: Empty.

Good. That meant that any possible mistake you made last night had gotten off the boat before it shoved off. Kicking someone off the ship while it was in mid air was always awkward.

"Come along now! We've business to attend to!"

"I'm up, Fancy! Relax!" you shout.

"Team meeting in ten!" he shouts.

Oh brilliant...

Fancypants was many things in Equestria. Socialite, Philanthropist, eccentric millionaire, and to you; proprietary investor and manager of the Wonderbolts, thus making him your boss's boss.

If he was calling a meeting, it was more than a bit important. You hear a groaning of equal annoyance from the room next to you, that'd be Soarin'.

"Anonymous...what the hell is this about?" he asks through the walls.

"I don't know Soar, did you wake up with some underage girl in your bed again?"

"That happened ONCE and her birthday was two weeks away, thank you very much."

You chuckle as you dig through the drawer beside your desk for your liquid rainbow stash. Nothing better to cure a hangover.

You down the brew and endure the momentary magna your veins have transformed into along with the sense of vertigo before you let out a loud burp, releasing the last of the alcohol from your system.

"Six out of ten." Soarin' says.

"Always a goddamn critic..." you mutter.

The Albatross came with a moderately sized meeting room for team members in the event of a long journey. Five of you plus Fancypants sit around the round table, all passing time until you could begin.

Fire Streak sits next to you on your right. "Did this meeting really have to happen onboard at this hour? We're what, two hours out from Canterlot?" he asks rubbing his light orange mane.

Soarin' stretches next to you. "Relax, Streaker. We're up no earlier than we are for drills anyway."

Fleetfoot folds her hooves behind her head and elbows Fire Streak. "Yeah relax man, this is all part of the whole "Being famous" thing."

Misty Fly rolls her eyes, eyes that look the least messed up out of all of yours. "Not to mention it's a part of your JOB, Fire Streak. You could at least do it for the bits."

He raises his hooves. "Alright! Celestia, lay off."

Fancypants raps a hoof on the surface of the table and smiles. "Oh come now team! Let's not all start fighting until we've heard the news, yes?"

You chuckle dryly.

"Not exactly filling us with confidence, sir."

He chuckles as well. "Now there's no reason to be so formal, old bean. Just call my Fancypants."

You nod. Fancypants may be your boss, but at least he was cool.

The door at the back of the room opens and a fire maned head wearing dark aviator glasses pokes in. "Hey, am I late?"

Fancypants smiles. "Not terribly Spitfire, take a seat right there." he says as he gestures to a vacant seat next to you and Soarin'.

Spitfire sits down and rubs her head as Fancypants prepares some things.

You lean over to her. "Rough night?" you whisper.

"Used my last liquid rainbow..." she mutters.

You cant your head. "Constant partying might do that to you."

She laughs. "Been my style for years Anon, can't teach this old dog any new tricks."

Ol-

Fancypants clears his throat and makes you shoot back into your seat. "Good morning, everypony." he starts. "I see you're all still with us after that little humdinger of a do last night."

A chorus of somewhat weak cheers echoes back to him.

He chuckles. "One day I'll take you all to Neighpon to show you a -real- good time. But! Onto work then!"

Fancypants sits down at the far end of the table and smiles, like always. "I'm sure you've all heard about the re-organizing the RRF is doing."

RRF stood for Royal Racing Federation, the group started a bunch of years back that basically organized all the races in every kingdom in the world.

Fire nods. "Safety regulation issues, right sir?"

Fancy nods. "Indeed. And it's come through the pipe that we're to re-organize a bit as well."

The chorus of groans grows louder now.

"Now now team, no need to fret. This is for your safety."

It was too early for this...

You rub your face. "Just tell us what the damage is, Fancy..."

He floats a bag onto the table and brings some familiar looking gold and pins.

"Trainee pins?" Fleetfoot asks. "Haven't we outgrown these?

"Afraid you just grew back into them, dear. The RRF has designated that from now on, every flier needs to operate as a team."

Spitfire groans. "Is this because of that Gryphon who flew off on his own and got himself eaten?"

"That dragon -did- make international news."

"Yeah, and now we're all dealing with the fallout from his rookie mistake."

Fancypants raises a hoof. "Enough." his face softens. "I'm sorry chaps, but my hooves are tied here. This comes down from RRF heads themselves."

You sigh and pick up a pin.

"So who are the partners?"

Fancypants smiles again. "We've got analysts going over all your times and numbers from ever race, stunt fly, and practice for the past year. They're going to put those together and give us the absolute best combinations! Really cutting edge stuff."

Misty raises her own hoof, staying silent until Fancy nods to her. "How will the effect races?" she asks.

Fancy nods again. "Ah, an excellent question, dear!...One to which I don't have an answer yet. We're apparently the final rounds of re-organization and the Federation is still working on the new rules."

Everyone rolls their eyes.

"Is that all?" Soarin' asks.

Fancy nods. "That it is, my boy. All of you simply have to relax while the rest of us do our jobs and we'll reach out to you."

You and everyone else nod as you all get up to leave. Tethered to another while you fly...great.

The Albatross usually spends a goof few minutes parked above Canterlot as it waits for clearance to dock, but any crewman worth their salt can tell you what happens when you put six speed addicted stunt flyers in the air over home after a long trip.

They jump ship, of course.

You take your bag with your pack on your back up to the deck just in time to see Fire, Fleets, and Misty fly off to different parts of the city with Spitfire jumping off behind them, leaving just Soarin' left.

"You ready, dude?"

"I've just been waiting for your slow ass." he shoots back.

You roll your eyes and leap off the side of the boat, igniting your jets and flying down into the city. You hazard a glance back to see Soar right behind you.

Like most national celebrities, you lived in Canterlot most of the time, keeping a residence on the upper reaches overlooking the wharfs.

It's there that you direct your descent and land on your balcony, Soarin' touching down next to you.

He must have noticed the face you were making because he speaks up. "Bit for your thoughts."

You rub your face. "Ah, just this partner crap. Buncha bureaucratic nonsense that'll screw with our game."

Soarin' shrugs. "If it stops me from being a dragons lunch, I'll consider it."

Overhead you hear the roar of high speed flight and see a familiar smoky vapor trail.

"So who's gonna be our esteemed leaders partner?"

"You mean "Who hasn't already been"?"

You chuckle. "Low blow."

"Only a bit." he says grinning.

The two of you yawn practically in tandem.

"...Gonna go home and go to bed?" you ask.

"You know it. Seeya, Anonymous."

"Later Soarin'."

With that he flaps his wings and flies off over the city. You on the other hand waste no time walking inside, dropping your bags and pack, collapsing on your bed and passing right the fuck out.

Going Downtime.

"Okay, that goes there and this goes here..."

You tighten a bolt and secure a pump on your pack as your hands flutter about in the routine motions of maintenance. You wanted to shape a few things up, you felt a bit wobbly in the race the other day... The rest of the Wonderbolts may have wings and bodies that they train to keep themselves in top shape, but you were lucky enough to need something additional.

While you had to keep yourself in shape to be able to resist the air pressure and withstand the G's you were pulling, you also had to make sure that your equipment was in top shape.

And that meant staying inside most of your first day back.

You lean back and wipe the sweat from your brow, looking out the window of your penthouse. Canterlot bustles and moves below you as the sun hangs high in the sky, unobstructed by any clouds for miles and miles around. The thermostat on your wall read a comfortable 68 degrees. A shame to be stuck inside on this perfect day...

You reach back into your pack and connect some wires from the power source to the main engines.

The pack had been trashed when you first arrived in Equestria, but a smart little unicorn who was a...friend of a "friend" helped you fix it back up.

The main generator was a crystal lattice made by magic that functioned like a sort of super-battery. That powered the engines which used Rosestone actuators to achieve thrust. But literally almost no one understood that when you said it, so you just stopped explaining.

A knock comes at your door, a rhythmic knock that follows a familiar tune. He always used that tune.

"Come on in, Soarin."

The door opens and Soar trots in, wearing a flight jacket and his goggles resting on his head.

"Hey Anonymous." he says.

You grunt an affirmative as you fine tune your ignition circuit.

"Still playing with your toys?" he chides.

"This "toy" got me a better time than you at the last race, I wouldn't judge."

"Most of the fans who come out to our races expect a meat headed athlete, not some alien who knows about engineering." he says.

"Most of our fans who come out to our races don't expect to see a flying singer, either."

Soarin snaps his mouth shut and stares off to the side. "I don't know what you're talking about."

You lean back and tap your chin with your sprocket.

"Really? Because I seem to remember one of the Wonderbolts putting out an album a few years ago..."

"Must be imagining things."

"What was it called? "Something Vengeance" or some crap?"

"Wouldn't know, never heard of it."

"Ah well, it was probably shit."

"No way, it was probably awesome."

You smirk and get back into your pack, you hear Soarin look over your shoulder. "That thing okay?"

"Yeah she's fine, just a bit of fine tuning. Think I can coax some more speed out of her."

"Have you been at it all day?"

"I have, but...I'm just about-" you tighten one last screw and close the casing. "-done!"

You lift it up and check the weight. It felt a little bottom heavy, but you liked it like that.

"Good! Wanna do something?"

You cock an eyebrow. "Don't you have other friends? Why you gotta bother me?"

He jabs you with a hoof. "Hey new blood, I got seniority so don't be giving me any lip, you hear?" he says with a smirk.

You roll your eyes and throw your pack on. "Let me get my gloves."

-Music-

"Okay go!"

You take a running leap over the guard railing of your patio and enter momentary freefall. That'd usually be enough to make any neighbors you had move out, an ape jumping from that height, but they were used to it. You clench your fists and release after a few seconds, igniting your jets and letting you climb into the air.

Soarin takes off from your patio just after you do, his smoky trail tailing behind him as his freakishly huge wings carry him just as fast as your pack.

The two of you soar over the city, waving to the ponies who waved back down below on the ground. You show off your synchronized flying skills by weaving in and our of buildings as you keep formation, sometimes even intertwining your trails and eliciting a few gasps from down below.

That was a publicity stunt. The tabloids had gotten a hold of pictures of you and Soarin hanging out together so much and were CONVINVCED that you two were an item. It was unfounded, but you were told it was good publicity.

You had even come across some amateur fiction of the two of you. That stuff was...weird.

Passing under the shadow of a flying carriage, you look up and squint at the golden reflection coming off it. Gold? Flying? that can only mean one thing. And those who dare, win.

You arc yourself up and come up on the side of the carriage, coming eye to eye with Princess Celestia herself and also meeting eyes with several of her surprised guards.

Before you get tossed off into the dungeon or something, you throw off a salute and smile. "Princess."

Before anyone can react, you pull away and pull a hard right over the rest of the city and high tailing out of there.

Soarin comes up beside you shaking his head. "You're a braver guy than I, Anon."

"Oh it's cool. She was totally smiling."

You and Soarin' snagged some ice cream and resigned to chilling at your usual spot. On top of the Canterlot City Stadium.

You were just regaling him with tails of past exploits.

"So I wake up after her and I don't even -know- what's going on. All I know is that she's made breakfast and speaks a language I can't understand."

Soarin licks his cone. "Nice deal. So what happened to her."

You scratch your cheek. "I uh...think she's with Fancy now."

His eyes bug out of his head. "Shut. Up."

"I think so, yeah. I mean, I don't see Fancy much out of work, but when I do, she's there."

"Is it awkward?"

"It was at -first-, but I mean, I'm not gonna say something if she's not. Besides, this was a while ago."

You finish off your cup. You'd always liked your ice cream in a cup.

"So how about you, Saorin. Any crazy stories to share with your old buddy?"

He keeps eating and looks over the city. "You know me, I've got my fans."

"Any fans who are inexplicably tied to our manager? An ex? A cousin? Perhaps a long lost daughter?"

Soarin just bites away at his cone silently.

"Aw come on, man!"

"No way! That's how you never see someone again, kissing and telling."

"As if there'd be that much kissing with you."

"I kiss enough people, Mister Cuckold."

"Oh shut it."

You both sit in silence for a minute before he speaks up. "That does remind me though, Fancypants said where he's announcing the new rules."

That got your attention. The announcement of the new rules would be a big deal.

"Oh yeah? Where is it?"

He sighs. "You're not gonna like it..."

Oh no...

"Not..."

He nods.

"No..."

"Yup...Ponyville."

You put the palms of your hands in your eyes and groan. "Of all the places..."

Soarin pats you on the back. "Can't run forever, man."

"I can sure try."

"Will it be that bad?"

"She hates me, man."

"She can't -hate- you."

"Ooooohhh yes she can."

"Can't you just ignore her? You have other friends there."

"All of -my- other friends are also hers, no way I can avoid them."

Soarin is quiet for a bit. "...Sorry man, I don't know what to say."

You groan again "Neither do I."

You weren't looking forward to a return trip to Ponyville. You had come there first and stayed there for a while before you went off to the academy.

Leaving wasn't on the...best of terms.

You sigh. "What am I gonna do, Soar...?"

He shrugs. "Just gonna have to deal, I guess."

You look out over the city, dreading the announcement tomorrow.

"Yeah...deal."

Here's hoping.

Joint Proceedings.

"And heeeeeere they are, your Wonderbolts!"

The six of you zoom over the announcer and pull a high-G turn straight up. You climb and climb to the agreed altitude before you break formation and start your roles. You had the simple role, making the boarders. It wasn't glamorous, but it needed to be done. The four corners take shape as the rest of the team performs high intensity close quarters flying in the center of the shape your smoke trails were making. All at once, at the twelve second mark, you all cut your trails and fly away from one another, letting the smoke trail visage of Equestria's national flag hovering in the air.

Just as practiced.

The crowd erupts with applause and the six of you wave as you slowly lower yourselves to the ground. As you lower yourself, you scan the crowd for any sign of her. So far nothing, that was good. You kill your jets on the ground and security lets the crowd swarm you in what Fancypants calls "controlled mayhem".

Most of them asked for the same stuff, "Sign my photo!", "Sign my wings!", "Sign my son!". You kept an eye out for ponies who might try to propose to you, but that hadn't happened in months.

"Yes yes, thank you."

"Thank you for coming."

"Of course I remember you."

An important part of being a celebrity was fan relations. A lot of famous ponies would just go through the motions to appease people but you find yourself unable to be like that. Maybe it's because getting to where you are despite being an alien was an uphill battle, but you felt you needed every advantage you could get, so you committed the names and faces of as many people you could to memory.

You had just sign a picture for Indigo Brisk who you met in Cloudsdale. Nickle Prickle, someone you wingman-ed for once as a favor was over by the punch seemingly in dire need of another one. Wild Cherry Spice was off bouncing around by the back of the crowd.

"It's you!"

And -there- was the voice of the face you wished you could forget.

You lean over to your security guard, Diggle Daggle his name was. "Digg, give us a minute."

"You got it, sir." he says.

Diggle ushers the crowd away from you and you take the momentary reprieve to collect yourself.

"Hey Dash..."

You turn around and your field of view is flooded with blue, magenta, and a hint of rainbow.

"You got a lotta nerve showing up around here." she says.

You take a step back and lift your flight goggles up. "I go where the tour takes me, Rainbow Dash. Believe me, I didn't want to come here."

She huffs and turns away, crossing her hooves. "Yeah I'll bet! Not after what you pulled."

You groan and rub your eyes.

"YOU left ME Rainbow, and for as stupid a reason a-"

She zips back over and sticks her face right up to yours. "Not. Another. WORD."

The air is tense for a second before you back away. "Fine, whatever."

You weren't looking for a fight, especially in front of fans.

"Did you just come down here to yell at me?"

"I wanted to see if you'd show." Rainbow says.

"Okay, why -wouldn't- I?"

Rainbow shrugs and glares at you. "I dunno, maybe you had some common sense?"

One of you here had to have it. \

You grumble and wave her off. "Listen, Dash, I wish I could say it's great to see you again after all this time, but then I'd be lying. If you can't separate -me- from -my job- then that's your problem, not mine."

You can practically feel Dash's glare boring into the back of your head, but you don't face her. "Yeah, yeah okay Anon, real classy." she says before you hear the sound of fluttering feathers.

You turn to see her gone and sigh.

"Friend of yours?"

You turn back and see Soarin' walking past Diggle, if there was one person who he'd let past, it's Soar.

"Nothing just an...old friend."

Soarin' nods and jerks his head behind him. "Well come on, it's time for the announcement."

You and Soarin' head up behind the small stage they set up and join the others on stage.

Fancypants taps the microphone. "'Allo? This thing on?"

The crowd chuckles.

Fancy smiles and levitates the microphone into his grasp. "Good afternoon Ladies and Gentlecolts, you all know me and I know a good handful of you so let's not stay hung up on pleasantries, huh?" The crowd chuckles again and Fancy goes to the podium. "Announcing the teams for the Wondebolt's for this year's RFF racing circuit!"

This was mostly a formality, pretty much everyone knew who'd they'd probably get pared with. Your money was on Fleetfoot for you.

"Fire Streak and Fleetfoot, with Fleetfoot as lead flyer!" Fancy calls, signaling for the two of them to trot up on stage together so Fancy could pin the pins on them.

Really? Would you be lucky enough to get paired with So-

"Soarin' and Misty Sky, lead flyer Soarin'!"

Wait, but that mea-

"And finally, our team captain Spitfire and our most known member Anonymous! With Spitfire as lead flyer!"

What. WHAT.

Your legs move on autopilot and carry you up to Fancy, he pins the silver pin on your chest and whispers "Give them a wave, everypony.".

You do as instructed and wave to the crowd next to your new "partner" as she glares daggers at Fancypants to the roar of the crowd.

...WHAT.

It's after the press conference, members of the team and crew are taking individual questions and the fans are milling about. You, however, are running around to the back of the stage.

You need to find Fancy, like, now.

"Fancy! Yo Fancypants!"

You clear a corner and see Fancy and Spitfire down the path talking, a rather heated discussion by the looks of it. Oh well. You half run up to them.

"-old me that we'd run out this season and I'd be able to-" Spirfire is saying.

Fancy interjects. "Spitfire, if I've told you once, I've told you a hundred thousand times, sometimes my hooves are tied by the committee."

"Yeah? And where the buck does that leave -me-, Fancy? I've given the best years of my life to this team and this is how I get paid back?"

Fancy's face hardens. "The "team" is more than just "you", Spitfire. I suggest you think on that."

It's by luck that his eyes drift over to you. "Oh, hello there Anonymous." Spitfire stifles a jump of surprise and turns her head away from you at mention of your name.

"Uh...yeah, hi Fancy, I was looking for you."

He puts his smile back on. "Of course, old bean. What can I do for you?"

You rub the back of your head. "Are you...sure about these match-ups? I mean Soar and Spits are the two senior members."

Spitfire extends a hoof towards you. "See? He agrees."

Fancy's smile fades and you find yourself nervous that it's fading at you this time. "You two, I told you, our analysts have run the numbers and YOU TWO are the best matchup."

"I literally can't wrap my head around -how-." Spitfire says. "Me neither." you mirror.

Fancy rubs his head. "Well...it's the reality of it, the teams are already submitted to the RRF." Fancy trots past you and a broiling Spitfire. "I suggest you two work this out...you really don't have much other choice."

You watch Fancy leave and turn to Spitfire, she's still pissed.

"Hey, are you-"

"Drop it." she interrupts.

You drop it.

Spitfire takes a few deep breaths and finally meets your eyes. "Right, so, looks like we're partners."

You nod. "Looks like."

"I dunno what races we'll be running, but we need to put some time in together. Where do you train?"

"Usually in the mountains around Canterlot, sometimes in Ghastly Gorge."

Spitfire rubs her chin. "I usually pull mine up at the Academy, I like to make use of the stuff there. You wanna meet me up there in a day or two and we can see where we stand?"

Who are you to deny a request from team captain?
"Yeah yeah, sure, I can meet you up there."

She sighs. "Cool. Look, it's trainee season so we gotta put on our dress blues, you still have those, right?"

You nod. "Keep 'em pressed just in case."

Spitfire chuckles and shakes her head. "Such a coltscout...Alright Anny. I'll see you then, then."

She starts to trot past you and lightly punches your shoulder. "Now c'mon, we got a town that's just BEGGING for a rager to light up the night and we're the most qualified."

You follow. "Didn't we just have a rager, like, two days ago in Cloudsdale?"

"Well yeah, but you can never have too many, amIright?"

"Uh..."

"Now come on, I need a drink in me..."

You follow your new partner along back to the gathering and silently wonder just what you got yourself into.

Bold Claims.

You slip your arms through the sleeves of your jacket and hike it up, buttoning it tight and flattening any creases out of it.
"Yeah...yeah that's nice." you say, the reflection in the mirror mimicking you.

Bit tight around the shoulders...but it -had- been a while. You strike a few more poses in your dress blues, standard regs whenever an active team member was at the Academy.

Had to keep appearances for the hopefuls.

The medals you'd accumulated over your career glisten in the morning sun on your chest, making you feel good. Getting the custom jacket job wasn't that hard. After a seamstress had figured out your flight suit, a looser fitting jacket was easy-peasy.

You pocket your things, your keys, some jerky to much on, and some gum and grab your pack and goggles. The goggles go over your eyes as you look over the readouts on the rear of the pack.

"Fuel lines are good, ignition is solid, turbines to speed..."

Everything a guy needed to rip across the sky.

You throw on your pack and slip on your control gloves as you head out onto your balcony, the whistling of the birds playing over your ears.

One particular song stops. "Y'all headin' out now, Mister Anonymous?"

Eh?

You look over the rail and see your gardener, Mr. Greenhooves working on a bush. You liked Green, he never let his lack of a cutie mark keep him down.

"Mhmm. Got called into the Academy by the boss."

Greenhooves whistles. "So that's why y'all got that fancy geddup, huh? Well ya have a good day now and I'll get this place lookin' good fer ya when ya get back."

You squeeze your hands quickly and flare the engines of your pack.

"Heh. Thanks Green, see you in a little while."

You thrust your hands down and kick in your afterburners as you shoot off into the sky. You orient yourself and get comfortable as you steer yourself towards the Wonderbolts Academy.

The flight's not long, an hour tops, but after that you see the mountaintop runway of the Academy and the clouds that orbit it, serving as lodgings.

The main building itself, a big number with marble roofs and tall columns supporting it sits at the edge of the runway. You kick on your exhaust as you come in for a landing, the sign that you were a Wonderbolt and you had permission, and angle yourself towards the runway.

As you skirt the ground, you spot two officers standing in front of a group of recruits, their form fitting suits setting them apart. You slow yourself down and drop your legs, running along with your jets a bit as you slow down.

Just as planned, you stop right in front of the group.

"Ace on the field!" one of the officers shouts, snapping a salute.

The recruits snap off the same salute in staggered unison.

You chuckle. "At ease, all of you."

They drop their hooves. One of the officers heads over to them while the other approaches you. "What can I do for you today, sir?"

White coat, side burns, no mustache. This was Manerick, a vet from a few years back who took a shine to the academy over active duty. Spitfire may be ranking officer on here, but Manerick kept the place running.

"I'm just looking for Spits, Mane. She wanted to meet up after we got assigned to one another."

Manrick nods. "She's probably in her office overlooking things, you know where that is."

You nod back. "That I do, thanks Mane."

The two of you exchange salutes and you head off towards the main building, the sound of jumping jacks starting behind you.

You head through the main hall and pause outside Spitfire's door. This seemed remarkably familiar...

You knock thrice.

"Please tell me that you're not in various states of undressing in there."

"Oh har har." comes from behind the door. "Get your butt here."

You twist the knob and walk inside Spitfire's office. There are filing cabinets on either side of her oak wood desk with a large bay window behind it. A couch is on one half of the room with a projector next to it pointed at the screen on the other half.

"Swanky digs."

"Comes with the status." Spitfire says.

She flips a document over and reads it.

Uhhh...

"What's that?" you ask.

"The numbers the eggheads crunched that put us together. They got your moves down here as well."

You cock an eyebrow. "You're doing research?"

She cocks her own. "Yeah...why?"

You shrug. "Uhh...nothing, just never saw this side of you before."

Spitfire sighs through her nose and looks back down at the paper. "Yeah, well, everyone sees what they want to see, and it's my job to let 'em."

That...what?

"What do you mean by-"

"Looks like you're slow on the right turns..." Spitfire interjects and stares at you.

You instantly forget your previous line of thought.

"Uh, yeah. It's probably because of all the circuit races, I'm not too used to turning right." you say rolling your shoulder.

Spitfire puts the file back in the folder it came in and gets out of her chair. She throws on her aviator glasses and trots past you. "Well that'll be the first thing we work on, come on."

"Right now?" you ask.

"It's either that or stay inside and memorize academy records all day."

The two of you exit the main building and Spitfire shields her eyes for a minute.

Jesus...

"Are you -still- hungover?"

"Stow it Anon, it's just bright out here..."

Sure...This couldn't be from the party, it had to be recent. But why'd she drink here?

The two of you pass by the Dizitron, the class you had run into beforehand is there testing its metal. You throw a wave as you hear them gossip amongst themselves at seeing two true blue Wonderbolts on duty. Spitfire just keeps her eyes front.

"New meat?"

"Every month like clockwork. Half of 'em won't make it to tryouts."

"Think they'll come back after?"

"Here's hoping. If we can't make the flyers better, what's the point?"

That was a part of the Wonderbolts very few people knew about. The point of the organization wasn't entirely to just entertain and astound, the Academy was there to teach flyers how to fly safely and well, it was to motivate all the pegusi and gryphon kids out there to want to learn all they could about flying and then do it -right- so they didn't get hurt, and the Wonderbolts stunt and sports team was the public face of that, you were the ones selling the t-shirts.

It was kinda like being a teacher, a lifeguard, and a rock star all rolled into one.

Spitfire leads you to the edge of the mountain where a single switch rests. "This is what I use for my turning drills."

She flicks the switch and down in the canyon below, great fans spin up to speed. In moments about ten twisters swirl in the sky.

You release a dry laugh. "You're joking, right? When did we get THIS?"

Spitfire smirks. "After you got laid up for that broken leg. You gonna go or what?"

You pull down your goggles. "Let's get this test started, teach."

Music

-Five minutes later-

You cut the power to your jets and enter into a freefall, angling yourself straight down to get the lease wind resistance as you fall through the center of the twister. If memory served, the twisters formed about three meters off the fans. If memory didn't serve, you were about to become shredded meat.

But fortune favors the bold.

You raise your hands over your face to protect form the wind as you near the bottom of the cyclone. The second you clear it, you thrust your hands down and pull your upper body straight up, igniting your jets and rocketing away from the whirling fan with scant feet to spare. You zip between the other twisters and pull your second 90 degree turn up the side of the cliff.

The smoke you're trailing gets sucked into the tornadoes behind you and colors the lead one a dark shade of gray. When you clear the top of the cliff and see the shade of orange and yellow you know to be Spitfire, you cut your jets, land on your feet in a crouch, and throw your hands up.

"Tadaaaah!"

Spitfire rolls her eyes but claps her hooves together regardless. "Alright, you got some moves. But you're still slow on those turns."

"Whaaaaat? I probably set a new academy record with that downwind compensation."

She rolls her eyes. "Anny, this is -my- course. You're a long way off from beating any records."

Behind her the class Manerick was leading claps at your display, you wave and Spitfire sighs. "Right, good moves out there Anon, keep it up and we'll make a partner out of you yet."

She floats up into the air and gets to eye level. "Stick around for the day if you want, have some of our world class lunch."

She flies higher up into the air and heads back to the main building, you think you hear her mutter something about hard cider.

There that was again...what's up wit-

That's the extent of the thinking you're allowed as the class that was watching swarms you, some asking questions while others beg for pictures or autographs.

Manerick shrugs. "I kept 'em busy as long as I could."

Yeah you bet...

Running Low

"Alright people, let's go let's go! We are go in minutes!"

Shit shit.

"Yeah yeah, cut me some slack, Mane!" you shout back.

You run down the hall of your hotel looping your pack on. You shield your eyes as you step out into the too-bright lands of Zebrica.

"Yo, Anon, let's go!" someone above you calls.

You look up, Soarin hovers in the air tapping his hoof against nothing.

"I'm comin' I'm comin'!"

The pack on your back ignites as you clench your fists and fly up to meet Soarin, the two of you zoom towards the racing area. After a long flight across Eternity's Crossing and a brief stop in Cervidas, The Wonderbolts had finally made landfall in Zebrica, a first for the team and the nation.

It was sort of a big deal.

Spectators from all around the country had come to see the race, between The Wonderbolts and the Black Panthers, Zebrica's premier ceremonial running team.

When you first heard that, you almost laughed, but held it in.

"Down there." Soarin' says.

You both angle yourselves down towards the racetrack where Spitfire and the others were idling, the Zebra team nearby as well.

On either side of the starting line, hundreds and hundreds of zebras, camels, deer, and even a few younger and smaller dragons sat in the stands.

Spitfire slaps you on the back. "Ha! 'Bout time you showed, you find some nice Zebra-girl bedwarmer?"

"I don't think these beds need it."

Seriously, they were like sleeping on heaven. You had to get one back home.

Fancypants trots up to the six of you, a headset on. "Alright team, let's not dawdle. We've a race to race. Double up!"

You join Spitfire and walk out onto the field to the roar of the crowd. The Zebra team walks from the other way, their bodies covered in gold and brass piercings and jewelry, and takes their positions. You get positioned next to one.

"Good luck to you, my biped friend. I hope to see you at the end."

You nod. "Race well."

A horn sounds and a King T'challa steps away from the box seats with the Princesses and other politicians onto a platform in his golden regalia.

"Friends from near and friends from far! I welcome you to the first in a race without par! The Wonderbolts, of Equestria will race our Panthers through forests thick. They will race around this city of Zevera, with speed that must rival the mighty Cheetah. I, King T'challa, do ordain this race, and wish to the speeders luck so they may do so with haste! Now let this momentous. event unfold, as we hold the greatest race known round the globe!"

Huh. So the rhyming thing was cultural, you take it.

-Music-

The race officials wave their flags and clear the track. Cameras focus in on the starting line and the world goes slower.

The announcers come over the system. "Here we are in Zevara, about to start the first race in the International Grand Cup! Today we have the Equestrian Wonderbolts going up against the mighty Zebrican Black Panthers! I'd like to remind everypony that today is the first race after the recent restructuring the RRF and its partners have gone through so be prepared for thrills, spills, and a whole new sport!"

The checkered flag is waved and held as the lights countdown. All the racers tense, gathering up all the potential energy they could before the big moment. You can count your heartbeats, the world is so slow.

1

2

GO!

"And they're off!"

The flag is waved and both teams dash off the starting line, your fellow Wonderbolts flapping their wings and taking to the air while you kick up Ol' Gold Booster and rocket ahead to the rest of your pack.

Down below you, the zebras run with an incredible speed built up from years of running the long flat planes that made up the whole of Zebrica. The race rules stipulated that the Wonderbolts had to fly in a path mirroring the path the zebras were taking to make the race fair. You squint your eyes and see a streak of orange and yellow near the front of your pack.

That'd be your partner, alright. Time to catch up.

"Looks like Anonymous is making a move!" the announcer says.

You clench your fists and throw them back, kicking in your afterburners and pushing yourself forward as you angle yourself below the pack. Your burners carry you under the rest of the team and closer to Spitfire. Staying close to your partner was probably important.

You inch ahead under the rest of the team and come up underneath and behind Spitfi-

Spitfire flaps her wings and blasts you in the face with a massive gust of air. You spin end over end and feel yourself start to descend. Ahead of you, you hear Soarin' yell "Dude!"

"Oh no! It looks like Anonymous was blown off course!"

Shitshit. Compensate, compensate Anon.

You spin around once more before righting yourself. You're alone in the air, the Bolts are pinpricks in the distance and the zebras obscured by a cloud of dust.

SHIT.

"I DON'T BELIEVE IT." The announcer starts. "Anonymous has been blown from fourth to last place by a distance almost indescribable in a matter of seconds, turning the course of the race!"\

OH NO YOU FUCKING DON'T.

You clench your fists so hard you swear they're bleeding as you try to catch up. The massive pack that once was the racers has changed to a stagnated line now as each of their flying and running patterns make themselves known.

You've kicked in your second set of afterburners now, making the pack on your back shake like a thing possessed and belch black smoke behind you.

Come on...COME ON.

You had to retake position, this could be catastrophic. On the horizon appears a vast forest of long wooden cylinders grouped closely together.

This was where your roles would reverse.

The Forest of Spears was an obstacle that the committee dreamed up as a way to spice things up. The Wonderbolts were to drop altitude and weave through the pikes while the zebras were to bound along the flat tops.

Right, let's do this.

You soar over Streak and a zebra jockeying for position and enter the forest. This was a -lot- like playing chicken and the rule of chicken is to never shut your eyes, so you fight through the pain of keeping them wide open as you dart between the wooden pikes. One on the left, two on the right, one fallen over, you bob and weave through every obstacle you get thrown and try to avoid anything that would slow you down, contorting your hands in every possible way to steer your thruster flame.

Nothing can distract you...nothing at al-

"That's quite a face you have there."

"GAH."

You lurch, almost crash, and swerve to narrowly miss a pole before you look up. A zebra, the one you saw earlier, skips, flips, and pushes off the poles above you.

"You almost crashed me!"

"If you are to blame me, also you should blame your partner who almost threw you into the Golden Sea." he retorts.

Golden Sea was the name of the long stretches of grass they had along this course.

You-

"What?"

"Your flier of the fire mane, she was the one who cut your team in twain, or is this exercise perhaps a feign?" he ponders, hoof to his chin as he does a single hoofed launch into the air and back flips through the air.

You grumble. "No...I'm willing to bet she-" You dodge a pike. "-missed me there."

"A team and partner must operate as one, there is simply no other way it can be done."

You roll and fly under something, looking him in the eye "What's your name?"

"To-bei is my name, Buckswanna is from where I came."

You nod and kick in your burners and rocket out of the forest. "Thanks for the talk."

You spend the next 10 miles and most of the marathon race with fists clenched pushing ahead. From here, you could see the frontrunners. Looked like two zebras tailing Spitfire as she lead the race with a few more racers between you and her.

Come on, you gotta catch up...

The announcer talks over your headset "Things are neck and neck here in the final stretch! We can see the pack leaders here from C'omt'n stadium and it looks like a close one!"

Come on...

You squeeze harder and feel yourself accelerate faster.

"It's Spitfire and Kintei as they get closer and closer to the finish line! It's neck and neck!"

Come on, Anonymous...

"I think we may have our le- what's this? Anonymous is pulling in closer to third!"

COME ON, ANOYMOUS!

You grit your teeth and streamline yourself as much as you can physically withstand. You can feel the chill of the air you cut through in your bones and the razor talons of the wind tear at you. You shut your mouth for fear that the speed would suck the oxygen from your lungs, forcing you to scream in exertion inside your head alone.

"HE'S CLOSING IN ON THE PACK!"

YOU CAN DO THIS. YOU JUST HAVE TO GO A LITTLE BIT FA- You lurch as your thrust gives out momentarily and your pack hiccups.

"NO!"

Not now!

What you prayed was just a stall wasn't the coughing continued and you lost both speed and altitude fast.

"What's this!?"

No dammit n- Your thoughts are cut off as you skip like a rock over the surface of a lake and plunge underwater.

Your anger at the situation subsides as your thoughts turn from that to not drowning. You swim up and greet the surface with a gasp for breath just in time to hear the announcer.

"OH! IT LOOKS LIKE ANONYMOUS HAS HIT TECHNICAL TROUBLES! That's an ill omen for the Wonderbolts!"

You squint and see your name on the scoreboard change from "pending" to "DNF".

Did not finish.

"...FUCK!" You slap the water and dig your pack off as other racers soar over you and dash past you.

The gauge on the back of your pack reads E, empty. You'd pushed yourself so hard trying to catch up to everyone that you ran out of gas.

And you can't help but go back to -why- you had to catch up. You swim to shore and flop back onto your back, staring up at the sky while you wait for the med crew.

"...Ah poodoo."

Dammit Spitfire...

Afterburn.

The ambulance ride back to the stadium was pretty normal as far as they go. They checked for concussions, check blood pressure, looked for bleeding and broken bones, and, most importantly, asked you a lot of questions. All of which you were able to answer with great ease, this wasn't your first wreck.

No you hadn't been seeing spots before you went down, yes you could hear out of both ears, no it didn't hurt to stand and your birthday was October the second so your memory was fine. You know it was procedure, but that didn't mean you had to like it.

The ambulance lets you out back at the stadium and you try to slide off.

"Hey hey hey! Let me finish!" an EMT says before cutting the bandage he wrapped around your head.

You don't know why, you weren't bleeding, but you can allow for some cartoonish logic in a world of colored equines.

"Anonymous!" someone shouts.

You look up and see Fancypants galloping towards you at top speed.

"Hey yo Fancy!"

You walk up to greet him and he starts to look you over. "Are you okay? You're not hurt, are you? How many hooves am I holding up? Speak to me, man!"

You chuckle and lower his hoof. "Relax Fancy, I'm fine. I landed in a lake, that's probably why I'm still among the living."

Fancy lets out a deep breath he was probably holding. "Good..."

All is well...Fancypants then socks you in the crotch.

WHY GOD?

You cup your jewels as Fancy trots around you. "Anonymous, what in Tartarus was that stunt!? You went down like a rookie trying to reclaim your position after that idiotic spill you had at the start of the race! You would have been better off on the sidelines!"

You can't respond, but someone does for you. "Don't blame him, boss. It wasn't his fault." Soarin' lands next to you and folds up his wings. "I saw what happened, Spitfire's wings threw Anonymous off course."

"And why was he in a place where he could be thrown?" Fancy asks.

"Figured...that I needed...to be with my partner, but she shot off..." you gasp out.

Fancy mulls that over and looks around. "Soarin', Anonymous, get yourselves patched up and washed down and then get the others onboard the ship, we have a team meeting."

You and the rest of the Wonderbolts sat around the conference table aboard the Albatross while Fancypants paced around it. Gone was his normal jovial smile, in its place was a sort of...you couldn't place the face, but it was one of quiet consideration of the day's events.

He stops at the back of the table, right behind Spitfire, and looks the team over. "Well team, I reviewed the footage of the race...

His eyes drift over everyone gathered. "...Fire Streak, Fleetfoot, good race. You two were together for a good portion of it and you had solid times, very well done."

Fire streak gulps next to Fleets. "Uh...thanks Fancy."

"Yeah, thanks sir..."

His gaze continues to shift. "Soarin, Misty, you two were together for a lot, but Misty, you need to remember that Soarin' can't handle turns as well as you can, you were lost in the bends a bit."

Spitfire chuckles. "That's what happens when you got wings the size of-"

"Not right now, Spitfire." Fancy says over her.

His eyes drift over to you and you find yourself sinking in your seat a bit. "Anonymous, I talked to you prior to this meeting but I think I speak for all of us when I say that we're all simply happy you're alright."

A chorus of agreement echoes from your teammates and Soarin' pats you on the back.

"Uh...yeah, thanks everyone. I'll be fine in a few days."

Fancy trots around. "And that brings us to...our leader." he says.

Spitfire has her hooves crossed and a leg up on the chair. "What? I won the race, didn't I?"

Fancy looks like he's about to burst a blood vessel for a moment before he rubs his head. "If you had looked at the documents you were given about the new racing structure, you'd see that your score, OUR score, depends on both partners placing well, not just one."

She looks him in the eye. "Well Annie crashed into the lake, hard to pull a win when-"

"Oh do not start with me, little filly." Fancy says to a hushed room. If there was one pony who could talk like that to a celebrity, it's the one holding the purse strings.

He gets right in Spitfire's face. "YOUR down-draft is what pushed Anonymous off course and in an effort to catch up to your showboating flank, he expended all his fuel. THAT is why he did not finish, and THAT is why your duo was disqualified!"

Whoa what?

"Fancy, we were disqualified?"

Fancy looks back at you. "If one partner DNF's, the other's score is invalidated." He looks back to Spitfire. "In case I have to remind you, Spitfire. Our points are determined both by your standing in the race as well as how close to your partner you finish. And the zebra team not only finished in second through fourth, but did so with two partners in the lead. Do you want to guess what their score was compared to ours?"

Spitfire rubs her head. "ALRIGHT I get it, me and Annie will run some more drills OKAY? We'll figure this out and you can keep earning your money and keep the ball and chain happy, alright? In the mean time, I'm not sitting here and taking this."

Spitfire gets up and walks to her cabin.

"This isn't over, Spitfire!" Fancy shouts.

Spitfire slams the door and loud electronic music pulses out from underneath it.

Fancy just sighs and shakes his head. "Team dismissed..."

When times get rough, everyone has their coping mechanisms.

Some like Spits blasted music until the ship went deaf while Fleetfoot for example liked to go out to eat. Fire streak fished, and Misty cooked but Soarin' and you had always been on the same wavelength and this wasn't different, you two just went for a fly.

It took some doing but you finally got your pack gassed up and went out with Soarin'.

"You know I'm kinda surprised we can still show our faces here after today's race." Soarin' says.

You sigh. "Yeah, what Spitfire did isn't going to help either our press or our team dynamics."

"I'm more talking about one of our star members getting a DNF." Soarin' jokes.

"You got your fair share of DNF's in your early days, Wide-wings."

"Yeah but I didn't eat a mountain of shit when I did it."

You wince and rub your head as the two of you land on a mountaintop. "Did I really eat it that bad?"

Soarin chuckles and lands next to you. "Anon, you ate it, thought it was too cold, sent it back, got it again, and then ate it with more gusto."

You roll your eyes. "Gee, thanks best friend. Where would I be without you?"

"Probably hanging with Fancypants and hearing him complain."

You rub your head. "He seemed pretty damn livid."

"I thought he was gonna crack his monocle."

You sigh and look down over the city of Zebrica. From here you could see the King's Palace, the Temple of the White Tiger, and the lake where you crashed still with emergency crews around it.

"What're we gonna do, Soar?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Whatcha mean, Anon?"

"I mean about us. The team, Spits, Fancy. We got -murdered- today."

He slowly nods. "Thaaaat we did..."

"We're a part of this team and we're responsible if it crashes. No more lone wolf stuff."

"So what do we do?"

You shrug. "You been on the team longer than I have."

Soarin rubs his chin. "Well...lead by example has always been the 'Bolts MO."

"So we...what? Drag Spitfire out back and beat her with soap until she plays well?"

Soarin looks horrified for a minute. "W-what?"

Right, different place.

"It was a joke, from a movie."

"Right...and no. We gotta show the others how it's done, show them a way that works."

"What do you suggest?"

Soarin looks out over the countryside. "Meet me at the Academy the day after we get back, we'll get our theorycrafting hats on and see if we can't figure out how to get a working team out of this."

You mull it over. It made sense, the nest race wasn't for a little while and you had to do -something-.

You sigh and shrug before joining Soarin' at the edge.

"Not much else to do..."

The Zebrican air comes by on a breeze with the smell of harvested crops and fruits. This really was a magical land, even if your time in it was metrically fucked from the race and the crash.

"I'm glad I can remember this trip..." you say.

"Better than Saddle Arabia. huh?"

"Oh please don't remind me. Concussions are hard enough without their regional doctors."

You and Soarin share a laugh at the top of the country, all while your mind races at the thought of what the two of you could possibly do.

Wingman.

-Music-
"Alright Soar, go for the corkscrew!"

Soarin' banks hard and angles himself straight down, rocketing towards the ground below and rotating his body. Twin contrails of smoke spin around in a helix pattern and shoots out towards you. As Soarin' nears, you ignite your boosters and take off, moving off to the side for the trick to work. The two of you had been at the academy all morning working on techniques, the place to yourselves while the recruits were off on a flight through Ghastly Gorge.

Soarin' had defended that you should probably be doing this with Spitfire, but you weren't ready to race with her after the crap she pulled in Zebrica...

"Right side, Anon!"

No time for that now. You speed up a bit as Soarin' pulls up next to you. With a small nod from both of you, you begin.

Soarin' flaps his wings harder and pulls ahead, you fall in behind him. As Soarin' tears through the air, you make your body as streamlined as possible, letting him break the air ahead of you. "Okay...3...2...1...now!"

Soarin' pulls away and you ride the slipstream ahead...A whole hundred and thirty feet before you have to boost yourself.

"Oh god DAMMIT!" You extend your legs and skid to a halt while Soarin slows himself down

"No good?" he asks.

"Not what we need..."

Soarin sighs, you rub your head.

"This damn resistance barrier is going to be the death of me...

"C'mon, let's head back and see if the eggheads have any ideas for us."

Soarin' and you had gathered some of the flight technicians to watch you both go and record any data.

"Hopefully it'll be good news..." you say walking next to him.

But considering your morning so far...? You kinda doubt it.

You and Soarin' make it to the sidelines where the two technicians you managed to grab are sequestered. What were these two's names again...ah.

"Hey Bunsen, Beaker. Get any good information?"

Bunsen hurries over to a anemometer and jots some numbers down. "Oh yes, Anonymous! We recorded those trials a myriad of different ways and gathered some interesting data."

Soarin' peers. "What'd you find out?"

"That Anonymous was going about two thirds as fast as he normally does!" Beaker exclaims.

What. Two THIRDS?

Your face falls. "Uhg..."

"It's okay, Anonymous. We think we have the answer as to why!"

The two of you perk up. "Well don't keep us hanging!" Soarin' says.

Bunsen points at Soarin'. "Your wings are huge!"

Soarin' and you are left speechless for a minute while you mull that over. "Uh...what's that got to do with anything?"

"Oh it's simple." he starts as he checks another instrument. "Soarin's wings are large and generate lots of thrust for each flap, that's his strength in the field, being able to outlast so many other racers because of the long periods he can accelerate at."

Beaker pokes his snout into a book on aerodynamics. "But it also means that his wings cover a bigger surface area and encounter more wind resistance! And for the maneuver you two were trying to perform out there, that area was too big and Soain' too sluggish to achieve the trust you need."

Soarin' winces. "Sorry Anon..."

You pat him on the shoulder "Don't worry about it, if we can't go fast, we can go precise."

You jerk a thumb towards the obstacle course with its hoops and tubes and spinny-bashy-bits. You never knew why those were there.

"What say we try some of our techniques out in a more complex way?"

Soarin' smirks and starts to amble over. "So long as you promise not to get me crashed again."

You follow and elbow him in the ribs. "You wouldn't crash if you could keep your eyes off the cheerleaders."

Bunsen perks up behind the two of you. "We'll be hear recording! And if you crash, we'll be able to figure out how hard in newtons!"

You suck your teeth. How comforting...

"Okay! Three! Two! One! Go!" Beaker shouts. You and Soarin' rocked down the track towards where the obstacle course was located. The important part of this exercise was to get as much of the course done in tandem as humanly possible.

Easier said than done.

"Go for th-"

"Top hoop!"

You have to break and fly straight up through the uppermost hoop as Soarin' glides through the lower one. Dammit, have to speed it up.

"No looking at cheerleaders now!" you jeer.

"It was -one- time!"

"One time too many!"

You dodge some trainees tossing clouds at you and roll while you descend, coming up on Soarin'.

"Shake and bake, you ready?"

"What does that even -mean-?" Soarin' asks.

"Just follow my lead!"

You pull ahead of Soarin' as you enter the Pole-yard.

The Pole-yard was a lot like the obstacle in Zebrica; a forest of poles the width of a tether-ball poll spaced short distances apart.

"Stay together!"

"Hard to see back here, fatass!"

Shit.

"I'll call them out! Three, left side!

You tilt your body and whizz past them.

"Follow my movements! Two right!"

You contort and weave through the yard and come out on the other side moments later.

"Clear! You okay?"

You look back and see Soarin' righting himself. "I'll live!"

Damn...

You and Soarin' weave through more hoops and take the vertical drop straight off the Academy's ledge to test your G's. The two of you break through the clouds and head back to Bunsen.

"How'd we do, guys?"

"You came in last!

You and Soarin' glance at each other. "Last?"

"Yeah, as in, last in the Academy."

"Worst time ever!" Beaker finishes. "That's an Academy record!"

You slap your palm on your face and drag it down.

"Uhg. We were like rookies out there...sorry Anon."

"It's not your fault, Soar...I'm gonna try something else."

You cue your pack and take off, heading south. "Wait, what are you gonna do?" Soarin' calls back.

You sigh.

Nothing pleasant...

Ponyville was a bit of a flight from the Academy.

You'd arrived in Ponyville when you first came to Equestria so long ago. The citizens of the town called you their Bipedal Blue Bolt. You've had to work hard, but you were able to keep a casual relationship with everyone here.

The last thing you wanted was to let the fame go to your head.

You greet who you can on the way in while more gather around you as you land."Hey Thunderlane, hi Flitter, looking good, Blossom."

You sign a quick autograph for Scootaloo and then book it to Sugarcube Corner.

"Pinkie! You around?"

You hear a gasp from the back. "Is that my favorite human!?"

Pinkie flies out in a blur of magenta and wraps her hooves around you. "'Nonie! I missed you!"

You hug her back and take in the sweet confections smell that was seeped into every atom of Pinkie. "Hey Pinkie, just here for a little business, I'm afraid."

She pops back. "Oh! Is it for the Wonderbolts? Do you need a special order of Pinkie Pies Perfect Peace-Pot Pie?"

You chuckle. "No, but thanks. I was actually hoping you could tell me where Rainbow Dash is..."

Pinkie winces. "Oooooo...are you -sure- that's a good idea?"

You sigh. Of course she was still pissed...

"I'm still in the Wonderbolts, Pinkie, and that's not changing soon. Rainbow Dash was the one to break off what we had when she heard that, I'm not gonna blame myself for her choice."

"Yeah, but...what if it gets worse?"

You shrug. "I'll just have to deal with it..."

Pinkie points out the door. "She was down by the duck pond last time I saw her."

You nod and wave. "Thanks Pinkie."

"Good luck, Anon..." she says waving back.

You head down to the duck pond and, wouldn't you know it, there's a familiar sky blue pegasus in one of the branches.

"Don't you have a job to do?" you ask.

Dash perks up and looks around for the source of the noise and narrows her eyes as soon as she spots you. "I dunno, do you want to do it? I'm sure you could do it better."

"That's not fair, Rainbow."

"Yeah, I'm learning life isn't fair a lot around you."

"Uhg..."

You faceplam twice today. "-I- trained my butt off, -I- worked on my pack, the reason they picked me over you is because you just hang around in trees all day!"

Rainbow gets an indignant look on her face. "-I- was the top of my class at flight camp and had the natural talent to get first flyer rank at the Academy!"

"Talent is cheap."

"So is using a fancy saddlebag to fly."

Ouch.

You sigh. "I was -hoping- we could put this past us so I could get some help from someone who's moves I know."

"Help -you-?"

"And the Wonderbolts, Dash."

She folds her hooves behind her head. "Yeah, pass on that."

"Nice display, element of loyalty."

"Everyone's got their limits, Anon."

"Yours just seems to be as low as your flight ceiling..."

That did it. Rainbow dash flutters off the branch and glares down at you with the hatred to spark electricity. "You know what? I can't deal with you right now."

"What's -that- mean?"

"It means shut up, is what!" she says before shooting up into the air and flying away.

You almost start up your pack and give chase, but... "Oh what's the damn point..."

There went your last non-Spitfire lead.

You were screwed now.

Flight Check.

Your alarm clock blares and makes you pry your eyelids apart. You feel your pupils contract in the morning light. Today was the day, no putting it off any longer. You had to talk to Spitfire if the Wonderbolts were going to stand a chance this season.

You reach over and shut off the clock, ending the alarm right before you had to hear Soarin' start singing, he must never know that you bought his shitty album.

You stumble out of bed and make your way to your kitchen, deciding that a healthy breakfast of eggs and bacon was the best way to start what could potentially be a painful and annoying day. The eggs cook in one pan as the bacon fries on another and you wake up more. Eggs were easy enough to get when you had first arrived here, but decent meat might as well be like trying to find the Holy Grail for all the difficulty involved. A protein high diet wasn't easy in a land of herbivores. You had to get the meat delivered from the more carnivorous kingdoms after you had started making a name for yourself and had some money in your pocket. You had even gotten to the point now where ponies didn't look at you with masked nausea anymore, another perk of fame.

While you ate, you thought, there wasn't much else you could do in a condo on you lived in. Spitfire and you had never been at odds or anything over the course of your tenure as a 'Bolt, but she had also never grandstanded and gotten your head smashed open. You sigh. You suppose that you couldn't -totally- blame her for that, it's not like she did it intentionally.

But still it pissed you off.

You rub your head behind your ears. It was still a bit sore, but it'd do. You keep thinking as you eat.

Hmmm...Spitfire was nothing if not proud of her accomplishments as a Wonderbolt, and anyone could see that she took her job seriously. She ate, slept, sweat, and lived the Wonderbolts since she took over as captain.

That pride and that devotion to the team might be your in...

“As good a plan as any...” you say to yourself.

You clean your damn dishes, you weren't an animal, and make your way into your shower. A quick rinse and a brushing of the pearly whites later and you threw on some clothes, pants and a bomber jacket, and got ready to head out. Your eyes linger on your pack, set up on it's maintenance stand in the corner for a few moments before you shrug and decide to leave it. You weren't bolted to the damn thing, you could go for a walk now and then. And besides, Spitfire was staying at her place in Canterlot during the season.

Heh. “Bolted”. You were funny sometimes.

You locked up and started down the road that would take you into the city proper from your residence at The Heights. Along the way on the path, you see a young gold colored pegasus practicing his loop de loops in his family's front yard.
“Practicing hard, Thunderstrike?”

Thunderstrike was your neighbor's kid, and a fan, so you always tried to put on a smile. You see his youthful grin grow a mile wide when he sees you and lands. “You bet Mister Anonymous! I'm getting to where I don't even get rutting dizzy when I go upside down no more!”

“Thunder, who in Tartarus taught you to talk like that?”

The boy's face scrunches. “My uncle, why?”

Some people...

“Nevermind, seeya 'round, kid.”

Thunder takes off and flutters next to your head excitedly as you walk past his fence. “Oh! Oh! Are you gonna go talk to the rest of the Wonderbolts!?” he asks.

“Not all of them, but one in particular.” You glance over and see the expectation in his eyes “The Boss Lady.”

Thunder gasps. “Spitfire! She's so cool, all the kids at school say that my coat looks like hers!”

You chuckle as you come to the turn. “Not far off, kid.”

You wave back at him as you walk away. Thunder waves back. “Don't crash, Mister Anonymous!”

You turn back and chew on your teeth. He was a cute kid. Really.

You leave your neighborhood and cut through the center streets of Canterlot on your way to Spitfire's.

”NEIGHborhood”. You were on a roll today.

Spitfire lived on the opposite end of the city from you, really close to the Royal Raceway and stunt stadium. She said she liked to live there so she could wake up each morning to watch the sun catch the stadium bleachers. Meaning she liked to not have to walk far to train, if you had to wager a guess.

You knock Shave and a Haircut onto her door and wait for the intercom to buzz. ”Captain Spitfire's residence, do you have an appointment?” a voice asks.

“It's Anonymous. Can you tell Spitfire I'm here and need to talk to her about something?” you ask holding the button down.

”Do you have an appointment?” she asks again.

“I'm her race partner, I don't need an appointment. Let me in, please.”

You could hear the mare on the other end grumble as she buzzed the door onto Spitfire's property and let you in. Deal with it lady, there's a pecking order to this stuff.

The door lets you into a small courtyard in front of Spitfire's white-stoned home with a small pond in front of it. The last time you had been to Spitfire's house had ended with you eight sheets to the wind and going home with a model friend of Spit's so your memory on the layout was a bit strained. You head into the house and call out “Spits? It's Anon. You got a minute?”

...Silence.

You begin searching your way through some of the rooms in the house, finding a bathroom, two closets, a weight room, and the office of who you assume to be the lady who buzzed you in. You don't stay there long, lectures suck.

Eventually you hear the laughter and cheers of your captain coming through an open window. You peer out and see her flying through some trees in her backyard, seemingly racing some bluejays.

“As if there could be any other place...” you mumble to yourself before heading downstairs and towards the race-pony.

Music

You walk out onto Spitfire's back porch and stand by her music player near the picnic tables while she clears a tree pulling a turn that would pull your arm out of it's socket. Spitefire shoots past a birdhouse and screeches in the air to a halt, pumping her hooves in the air. ”Aw yeah! Who da bes? I'm da bes! Spitfire's da bes!” she boasts.

“Congrats boss, you beat some birds.”

Spitfire looks down at you and smiles. “Anny! My favorite monkey.” she flies down and lands in front of you, switching off the music player. “And you know that birds are only one half cat from being some of our best competition. How's the head?” she asks, a bit of concern touching her eyes.

“A bit sore, thanks for asking.”

She reaches up faster than you can react and rubs the top a bit. “Aw, shoulda known that a spill wouldn't take out the best rookie I've seen in a while.”

Jesus that was fast. You were in shock at how fast Spitfire could move, let alone race. Her entire body seemed like one lightning bolt ready to strike. Did she just say “best rookie”?

”So what can I do for ya, Rook?” she asks.

You re-muss your hair and rub the back of your neck. This was the hard part... “Right, I'll come out and say it. The team is getting murdered in these races and if we don't do something, we're gonna get knocked out or someone's gonna get hurt. I've been working on some moves with Soarin' up at the Academy but we can't get them to work.”

Spitfire grabs an apple and chews as you talk.

“The technicians put us together for a reason, Spits. I don't know what that reason might be but I trust those eggheads up there. I'm asking you to level with me and help me maybe get these co-op moves down so we can actually stand a chance in these upcoming races.”

Spitfire swallows as you brace. “Sure, when do you wanna go?”

Whoawaitwhat.

You cock an eyebrow. “Wait, that easy?”

Spitfire tosses her apple core over her shoulder for the birds. “Uh, yeah? It's for the team, right?”

“Uhh...yeah.”

Spitfire mimics your dope face and snickers. “Then of course I'll help you pull it off, dumb dumb. Gives me something to do here besides work the garden.”

“You got a garden?”

Spitfire extends a hoof off to the side and directs your view to a well tended and lush garden of fruits, vegetables, and flowers off to the side of the backyard, away from prying eyes and possibly parting guests. ”Sorta a hobby of mine.”

“I can...tell.”

You swallow a lump in your throat. “You're taking this way cooler than I expected, did you hit your head or something?”

Spitfire rolls her eyes. “Pssssh. You talking about out there in the public? Come on Anny, you been in this game long enough to know what parts of the act the crowd eats up.”

“Act?”

Spitfire shoots up a few feet into the air and spreads her forelegs out. “It's all for them, Anny! We're entertainers, our job is to keep the masses entertained as much as we can for as long as we can. And responsible racers with gardens aint what sells tabloids.”

You stand staring. “You're telling me that you've been putting on an -act- all these years?”

Spitfire lands and rubs her chin. “Maybe not an act so much as...hyperbole.” She elbows your ribs. “Ol' Captain Jack's as good a friend of mine as he is anyone else's.”

Hyperbole may be the biggest word you've ever heard Spitfire say.

You blink a few times. “Uh...yeah, I think I get it.” You sort of did, anyway.

“So...how about this Sunday? You and me up at the academy? We'll work some drills out.”

Spitfire winks. “After the weekend block party? It's a date, Anny. You sticking around? I was thinking of throwing a kegger tonight. Gotta give the people what they want, eh?”

“Thanks Spitfire, but I gotta rain check. Working on the pack and don't wanna push the head injury, you know?”

Spitfire nods and smirks. “If you change your mind and want me to break out the safety helmet, stop by and lemme know. Till then, seeya Sunday, Anny!” Spitfire says as she takes off and flies into the second story window of her home, electronic music thrumming out shortly afterward.

Yeah...

“Seeeee you Sunday, boss.”

You head back inside and let yourself out, heading home after the weirdest but most productive and oddly fulfilling meeting you've had with Spitfire in a long time.

Pit Stop.

-Music -

You and Spitfire fly just above the clouds over Equestria on your way to the Wonderbolts Academy. It's a few hours long flight and the two of you had been talking the entire time, it was actually kind of fun, Spitfire had a ton of questions about Earth and was way cooler than you gave her credit for when she was in her off hours.

”So they all raced usin' the thing you use?” she asks.

“Kinda, it was more these...well, they were these big engines that were connected to pods behind them with cables, and they raced through the desert with them. When I saw it, I thought it looked like they were trying to drive a rocket with their feet and no eyes.”

Spitfire laughs a single sharp laugh. “You guys got some weird movies over there, Anny!”

“And I didn't even tell you about the Midichlorians...”

”The what in the who now?”

You chuckle and shake your head. “Something I try every day to forget about. I think I see the academy.”

Since the last time you'd been at the Academy, the fall semester had started for new recruits. Dozens of fliers fly around the outside of the grounds, either in new classes and learning the ropes or taking tours with eager parents before they send their child off to school.

Wait till they see the mess hall food...

“Do we want to make an entrance or are we gonna be subtle about this?” you ask your wingman.

Spitfire “tch”'s “What do you think, Anny?” she says before shooting off towards the densest cluster of fliers. You follow right after.

”Hey there!” “Nice ta meetcha!” “It only gets cooler from here, kids!”

“Hi, nice to meet you.” “You can call my Anonymous.” “Welcome to the Wonderbolts Academy.”

Public relations never stopped for a Wonderbolt, even in transit to places. Once you got past the masses, you both bee-lined to the elite locker rooms.

You had flown in in your flight jacket but for aerial maneuvers training, it behooved you to switch to your flight suit. You were the only one in the locker room at this hour considering it was the start of the semester and you can only assume that Spitfire was in the same situation over on the mares side judging by the fact that she left the service door open to keep shooting the shit.

”So was that spill in Zebrica the worst injury you ever had on the job?” her disembodied voice asks.

“No. And thanks for that, by the way.”

”I said I was sorry...” she says meekly.

She did at that, and you'd been in a good enough mood since finding this common ground with Spitfire that you were willing to let it slide.

“My worst injury? Thaaaaat's a toughy...” You think back through your career of bumps and bruises. “Well there was this one time when I was training with 'Dash that I ran into a water tower face first.”

You can practically hear Spitfire wince. “Not looking where you were going?” “I was gloating because I was ahead of her, found out I was only ahead because she veered to avoid it three seconds later.”

”So -that's- why you're such a boyscout, eh?”

“I'm sure it's something to do with it.”

You begin squeezing your torso into the suit.

”Rainbow Dash...you mean the Element of Loyalty?” Spitfire asks.

“Very same one.”

”I've seen her up here, she broke a few academy records when she showed.”

“I'm aware, I've seen the plaques.”

Talk about awkward sightings. ”What's the deal with you two?”

You sigh as you get your arms in.

“It's not a new story. We both went out for the team, I got in, she didn't, she didn't take it well and broke up with me.”

"That blows. You ever try and patch it up?”

“Would if she'd talk to me.”

Spitfire whistles and you hear her slap her goggles on. “That sucks Anny, royally. Remind me one day to tell you some of my shit breakup stories.”

You zip up and put your own goggles on, tugging at your control gloves. “Let's worry about that after we get these moves down. Are you ready?”

”I've been ready since you made me apologize again. Let's go!”

You pull up hard and clench your fists to get some boost from your pack, coming up right in front of Spitfire's face and requiring her to flap back.

”Whoa! Easy Anny!” she calls out, clearly annoyed.

“Sorry! I was trying to catch that slipstream you made!”

Spitfire's shoulders slump a bit. “-I- was trying to go for your contrails.”

You drag your palm down your face. “Goddamit.”

Spitfire sighs and flaps up to where you're hovering. “Come on, let's land and see what the techies gotta say.”

“Got it, on your left.”

You fall in behind Spitfire as she flies over to where Bunsen Burner is messing with his instruments.

”Gimme some good news, man.” Spitfire says.

Bunsen Burner taps his anemometer and writes some things down. “You and Anonymous were going an average of 80% your normal speed!” he announces.

Spitfire releases an utterly disgusted sigh and sits on the bench nearby.

“Hey, at least it's better than Soarin', that was barely over half.”

”Two thirds!” Bunsen announces.

“What he said.”

Spitfire sighs and rests her head on her hooves still. “Two thirds or 99%, it's not our best, and that's what we need for the next race.”

You sit down next to her. “Who's our next race against?”

”Buncha punk-ass dragons who cobbled together and made a crew. They may not be the smartest, but -damned- if dragons aren't fast.”

“Mmm...is it gonna be that bad, you think?”

Bunsen pushes his glasses up. “A margin of error is natural in these early stages!”

”We need to pull something out of our asses if we're gonna pull off a win against those speedsters.” she laments.

Spitfire waves her hoof. “Anny and I are gonna take five, Bunny. Go get yourself something to eat.”

Bunsen nods and trots off. As soon as he's out of sight, Spitfire rolls off the bench and lays flat on her back on the ground.

“Uhh...”

You sit down on the grass next to her. “Are you okay?”

”If you could race anywhere, where'd you wanna go?”

You blink a few times while that goes through your head. “Hello non sequiter fairy, how are you?”

”I mean it, anywhere in the world.” Spitfire says, looking at you through the bottoms of her eyes.

You lean back a bit.

“Well...I've always liked the water, so maybe someplace near that?”

”Like a beach or somethin'?”

You shake your head. “Not like a beach, like -over- the water. Something about riding over all that blue as fast as I can is cool.”

Spitfire nods. “I'd wanna race through a volcano.”

You cock an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”

”Hell yeah!” Spitfire says, pointing up at the clouds. “You know how much of my life has been spent lookin' down at those big wads of marshmallow? Lemme see a course where everything's goin' to Tatarus at least -once- before I kick it.”

“Racing like that'll make you kick it a bit sooner than expected, boss.”

Spitfire smirks. “Pffft. Come on Anny, you know Wonderbolts don't die.”

You wish you could have her level of confidence. You knew you were good, but Spitfire had a way of being confident enough to make everyone around her follow suit, you just couldn't help it.”

“Oh I didn't know immortality came with this gig.”

”Only if you're one of the aces, Anny. 'Bolts haven't lost an ace of ours in five hundred years.” she says, rather proud of herself.

Yeah...

“...Any of them going up against dragons?”

Spitfire frowns. “One or two, but they came out alright.”

“I dunno. Aren't dragons to proud to lose? Won't they torch half the countryside if we beat them?”

Spitfire's smile returns quickly to her face and she slicks back her mane. “Well then the RAF will just have to take care of it.”

You frown, unamused. “Spit's, we're the head of the RAF.”

”Exactly! And 'Bolt Aces can't die, we're golden!” she says.

You sigh and shake your head. “Maybe I'm overthinking it...”

”Would it be the first time?”

“Heeeeell no.”

Spitfire lightly punches your arm. “Then lighten up, dude! We got the best job in the kingdom and we're the best there is at what we do! We'll figure something out.”

You look at her in disbelief. “Something'll just...come to us?”

Spitfire sits up and taps your forehead. “Anny, we're not the best because we're the fastest or the ones with the biggest wings or the ones who put rockets on our backs, we're the best because of our instincts.” She smirks. “And there isn't a place or time out instincts are most pure than in the middle of a race!”

You...guess that made sense.

“I guess that makes sense.”

Spitfire pumps her hoof. “Right on! Now follow me, let's see if we can slipstream this time!”

With that, Spitfire shoots up into the air.

“Right behind you, boss.”

You ignite your pack and take after her, seeing if these instincts could pull something off for the two of you before these dragons pummeled your team.

Under the Hood.

The Albatross: Race day plus one.

Day "you and Spitfire pretty much saved the team" plus one.

You’re standing in the kitchen buttering some bread. The ceremonies back in Alpalcia wrapped up late last night and Fancy had you flying home before the sun rose up. He probably wanted to do the press circuit to capitalize on your win. You reach down to the silver medal around your neck and thumb it. You’d won a lot of medals in your time on the team, but this one felt special. Like it had the most weight.

And what’s a silver medal without the gold?

You hear the clopping of hooves and someone singing form the door. “The roof! The roof! The team is on fire!”

”We don’t need no water let the mother bucker-“

”Spitfire, I swear to Celestia, if you don’t stop singing then all my interviews over this will be on how I’m shocked you won with the pudge in your belly” Soarin says, walking in the other door.

Spitfire sticks her head in the front door and glares.

“Burn.” You say chuckling.

Spitfire walks into the kitchen, a gold medal on her neck. “Yeah yeah, laugh it up, Bigwings.”

“Don’t be mad, Spitfire. Soarin’ can’t control the size of his wings.”

Spitfire puts her hoof on her forehead and swoons. “Oh dear Soarin’, perhaps one day you’ll have matching medals like ours.”

Spitfire leans in to you and you instinctively kneel down and mirror her, holding up your medals and giving your best photo-op face for Soarin’.

”Nice, Anny.”

“It felt right.”

Soarin’ rolls his eyes. “How you two went from how you were before to now, I’ll never know.”

”We totally did it.” Spitfire says.

Silence fills the kitchen.

“…”

Spitfire elbows you in the gut. “Anny, that’s your cue.”

“You gotta give me some warning before you pull shit like that.”

Now it’s Spitfire’s turn to roll her eyes. “Uhg.”

A few hours later after a hearty noon-breakfast, Fancy comes over the intercoms. “Mares and gentlecolts, we are twenty minutes out of Canterlot docks, please gather your belongings so that you can jump ship before we safely dock like you always do.”

He was a good boss, cheeky.

You throw your away bag over your shoulder and zip up your flight jacket, heading towards the deck. The rest of the team had already assembled on the deck before you, all conversing as you got closer to the city.

“How’s the view?” you ask, walking over

”Bright.” Soarin’ says squinting. “Weather controllers must’ve cleared the sky of every bit of shade there is today.”

“It’s not that bad, stop complaining.”

You look over the side of the deck as you pass over the rivers and fields just outside the side.

“You wanna get together tonight? Hang out?”

Soarin’ winces. “Sorry, can’t. I have plans tonight.”

“Another night in re-arranging your stamp collection?”

”I’ll have you know that I have a date tonight.” Soarin’ says matter-of-factly.

“What’s his name?”

”I saw that coming, buck you.” Soarin’ says.

You begin to chuckle and Soarin’ joins in. It’s all good, and it’s all in fun.

“Who with?”

”That Prench model.” Saorin says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“It might help to learn her name first, Cassanova…”

”You know Soar likes to live dangerously, Anny.” Spitfire says, trotting up behind the two of you. “What’s more dangerous than a pissed off Prenchmare?”

”An irritated teammate who’s gonna toss you over the edge?” he says.

Spitfire shakes her hooves. “Oooooooo…spooky.”

Soarin’ rolls his eyes. “And on that note, I’m out. Sorry we can’t hang out, Anonymous. Maybe another time.”

“Another time, Soar.”

”Another time what?” Spitfire asks.

“Huh? Oh, I asked him if he wanted to hang out.”

”You got the afternoon free?”

“After I hang up my medal? Yeah.”

Spitfire tugs at her strap and secures her saddlebags. “Lead the way.”

“Wait, you’re coming?”

”Well it’s only fair if you went to my house. Come on, let’s hit it!”

You shrug and tug at your belt strap before hopping over the edge of the deck.

You open the door to your place and usher Spitfire inside. “Welcome to the casa, don’t worry about wiping your hooves.”

”Never do!” Spitfire says heading inside.

“I can tell. Lemme toss these somewhere and I’ll get you a drink or something.”

You head down the hallway towards your room, Spitfire calls from the living room. “You got Captain?”

“I got beer.” You call back as you throw your bag on your bed.

“S’it good beer?” she asks.

You walk back into the living room. “It’s beer.”

”Hell, I’ll take it.” Spitfire says.

You grab two bottles out of your fridge and hand her one, both of you cracking it open at the same time. Spitfire raises hers. “To first place wins.”

“I’ll drink to that, boss.”

You throw back your drink, but Spitfire holds. “Ya know you don’t have to call me that when we’re off duty.”

“You’re the boss, boss.”

She punches you in the shoulder with her hoof and you snigger.

”Ass.”

“That hurt my feelings, now we’re both in the wrong.”

Spitfire leans back and sips her beer, shaking her head. “Guess we’re even then…” She looks around the room. At your tv, your shelves of books or pictures or medals, a few statues of races past “Nice place you got here, Anny.”

“You think? Soarin’ said it was too cramped.”

”The open sky’d be too cramped for bigwings.”

You snicker again.

“Can I get you anything else? I can start an early dinner, if you’d like.”

Spitfire titters. “Ooohhh~ wining and dining me eh? Whatcha making?”

“Pasta I guess?”

Spitfire sets her drink down and kicks back on the couch. “I like mine with cheese on it, chef.”

You adopt a Prench, snooty accent. “Qui, right away Madame.”

Now…where did you put your apron?

”And put some dang music on, will ya!”

-Music –

You spin your fork in your pasta and gather as much of it up before plopping it in your mouth and leaning over your coffee table. Spitfire sits next to you and does similar, looking at the splayed out parts. Tubes and screws and bolts and plates sat spread all over your coffee table. Spitfire and you had tossed back a few and she’d convinced you to crack open your pack to show her how it works.

”What’s this bit?” she asks you.

“That’s the controller. See, it’s hooked up to this radio receiver that picks up the signal from my gloves, that’s how I control the pack.”

Spitfire nods. “Ahuh…keep going.”

“The controller measures the output from the main battery which stores electricity, it feeds through the actuators and powers the thrusters which are the result of ionized Bloodstone.”

”And that makes the fire?”

“Sort of. Bloodstone releases a lot of energy when you run a current through it, but I have to replace the caps every so often.”

Spitfire sips her drink and giggles. “Radical…this is one hell of a backpack, Anny. Who built it?”

“I had it when I came here, but an egghead friend of mine in Ponyville helped me fix it up just right.”

”That was when you were trying to get into the team, yeah?”

“Aw, you know me so well, boss. Yeah, that was before I joined up.”

Spitfire nods slowly, taking in what you said and sipping. “Time flies, huh? I remember when you joined up?”

That catches your interest. “Wait, really?”

”Hell yeah! Big hairless monkey with a rocket on his back passes the entrance exams and wins some races? How couldn’t I remember?”

You rub the back of your head. “Honestly, the exams and trials were so grueling that I don’t remember too terribly much about then…just that I was happy to get in.”

Spitfire cocks and eyebrow and smirks a devious smirk while sloshing her drink. “So…you didn’t hear about Blaze showboating?”

“Uh…no?”

Spitfire adjusts her seating. “Settle in, rook. It’s time for a story.”

Evening passes into night when the princesses change the sky and Spitfire continues on.

”And then Soar goes WHAM! RIGHT INTO THE PRINCESSES BOX!”

You lose it. “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Ooohhh…that sounds like classic Soarin’…”

”Guy always pays too much attention to the cheerleaders, one of these days it’s gonna bite him in the ass harder than that.”

“Ending up with your ass on top of Princess Luna’s head isn’t the hardest it gets?”

”If there’s one guy who can top that, it’s gonna be Soarin’.”

“Here here.” You say, downing some of your beer.

Spitfire looks out your windows and notices the hour. “Sheeeeiiiit…it’s late, my housekeeper’s gonna think I’m dead or something.”

“Is that a common occurrence?”

Spitfire hops off the couch and shakes out her legs. “I’ve lost three damn housekeepers to them thinking I’m dead and bailing, I am not losing another one!”

You begin gathering the refuse of your get together and taking it to the kitchen.

“Well good luck out there, I had fun tonight.”

You return to the living room to find Spitfire smiling back at you. “Yeah…had a good time here Anny, even learned some stuff. Stay cool, eh?”

“Cool as ice, boss.”

”And stop callin’ me that! Damn!”

"No."

Spitfire chuckles and heads out onto your porch before leaping into the air and flying away.

Nitrus Boost.

You look into your tall mirror in your room at your back. You’re in a nice pair of pants and a coat jacket as you stand there, modeling for yourself.

Hmmm…nah, that looks stupid, she’d yell at you for that. Back into the closet you go.

It’d been a few days back in Canterlot since your last race, mandated team R&R so you didn’t burn out on the road, and tonight you were headed to the club. Spitfire had flown by early morning while you were getting your paper to tell you that she’d convinced the owner of Maisonette 9 to let the Wonderbolts in for free if you’d agree to keep his business cards on deck of the Albatross to get consumed during Spitfire’s keggers. He thought that’d be good for business.

Spitfire said she’d work it out later.

So like that, your evening was decided. Not like you cared, you didn’t have much else you planned to do except maybe hang out with Soarin’ or see a movie, and the rest of the team would already be there.

You’d shat, showered and shaved and all that was left to do was find an outfit to wear. Which turned out easier said than done since it seemed your entire wardrobe of “clubbing clothes” had been out of season.

No wonder you’d had a hard time getting laid recently.

You settle on a short collared shirt and tie that was as close to “business casual” as you could muster when someone at the door knocks Shave and a Haircut.

You walk out of your room downstairs and quickly open the door. “We don’t want any.”

You try to shut the door, but for the pony on the other side. “Good, more for me.” Spitfire pushes her way through the door wearing what can only be described as biker shorts, pink tank top, glow in the dark ankle bands, and a headband with the team symbol on it pushing her mane up.

You can’t help but release a single laugh.

“Nice get-up, did you get it from an old man in a time machine, by chance?”

”Har har. I like this outfit! A friend of mine from my graduating class got me into this stuff way back when.”

That raises an even bigger question.

“You graduated?”

She was educated?

She elbows your waist. “Momma Spitfire didn’t raise no dropout. You ready?”

You grab your keys off your table and straighten your tie. “Ready, let’s not keep the public waiting.”

You and Spitfire walk to the club sticking to Canterlot’s backstreets until you reach Downtown. The line at Maisonette 9 was usually long, but tonight it was out the door, around the corner, and back along the street a block down.

“Damn…that’s nuts.”

”Yeah, knew it’d be crowded, that’s why I scored us the free entry.”

“What’s the occasion?”

”Ah, I think Neon Lights is playing tonight.”

Neon Lights…the DJ who wore the leather jacket.

“You know him?”

”Know he’s got a small dick.”

Ha. There’s one for the gossip rags.

”Hey! Spitfire! Anon!” you both hear.

You turn towards the club and see Fleetfoot waving at you with the rest of the team, all fabulously dressed. At the same time you notice a change in Spitfire…she inhales sharply and her features become sharper and her eyes light up from the calm burn they had to a raging inferno, her calm and serene smile becoming a cocky grin. “Hey hey hey! Who’s ready to get CUH-RAZY tonight!?” she cries, fluttering over to the team.

You follow along pondering what you just saw, taking your place next to Soarin’ in his navy blue blazer jacket and tie.

“Hey Soar.”

”Hey Anon.”

“You look like a jiggalo.”

”You look like a math teacher.”

Good old Soarin’.

Spitfire grabs you and Soarin’s wrists and pulls you along. “Soarin I wanna see you actually dancing tonight! None of that lone wolf wallflower crap! And Anny! I gotta get you to try this drink called the Celtic Kick? It will knock you on your ASS!”

You flash a look to Soarin’ in universal-bro-nonspeak-language saying “Where the hell did she get all that energy?”

It’s apparently not-so-universal as Soarin’ nods towards the opening act poster.

God dammit Soarin.

Spitfire clusters the entire team up near the bouncer, a Diamond Dog, and flashes him her award winning smile. ”Heya! I’m Spitfire, but you prolly knew that. I got an arrangement with the management here that says I can get in? These guys are with me. I know, I know, they look super lame, but I promise I’ll rub off on ‘em and make ‘em shine like a diamond in there! You guys’ll pull in peeps just from us, I swear!”

The bouncer looks at Spitfire, then you, then the line, then Spitfire again. Then he chuckles and lifts the velvet rope.

”Enjoy time at Marrionette.” He says with a toothy smile.

-Music-

The club is a hive of pounding beats and writhing bodies on the dance floor. Ponies crowd around tables sipping drinks and talking amongst themselves. Above the dance floor in a private booth, Neon Lights plied his trade on the turntables and made the entire club dance to his tune. A few of the attendees looked your way and talked amongst themselves, you offer them a two finger salute.

Never off-duty entirely.

”Let’s find us a table and get us some dranks!” Spitfire exclaims.

Before anyone can utter a word otherwise, she spreads her wings and ushers you all to a bigger table.

“Whoa! Whoa! Easy!”

You take your seat in the booth and Spitfire grabs Fire Streak. ”Streak! Dance with me!”

”Uhhh.” Was all he got out before Spitfire pulled him onto the floor.

Soarin’ sighs. “Poor little idiot. Waiter! Let’s get some shots over here!”

“Shots? Again? You know how this ends, Soarin.”

Soarin and you always ended up trying to out drink one another when you got shots.

And Soarin always ended up under the table.

”Everyone trips up sometimes, Anonymous.” He says.

You roll your eyes and grab one of the glasses from the waitress as she walks over. You tilt your head back and down the liquid inside in a single gulp, letting it burn the back of your throat slightly and placing the glass upside down on the table.

“One.”

Soarin and the waitress look on in disbelief, Misty rolls her eyes and Fleetfoot pulls down her shades.

“I’m bigger than you Soar, it gets to me less.” You also had a bit more fat on you than Soarin’, but you don’t let him know that.

”Hey hey! What’s going on here?” comes a voice.

You turn your head to see Spitfire trotting up to the table already.

“What happened to Fire?”

Spitfire shrugs. “Said he had to pee, figure I had some time to kill while he sat down. What’s going on?”

Fleetfoot chuckles. “Anonymous and Soarin’ were about to go drink for drink.”

Spitfire cocks an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Waitress! More drinks!”

Huh? Wait.

“What?”

Spitfire gets a cocky grin as you begin to lose yours. “I know how these always turn out! And it’s a captain’s job to help everypony on her team!”

Spitfire grabs Soarin’s drink and downs it the same way you did, slamming it on the table. “So how’s two against one sound?”

You should say no. But-

“Game on, “chief.”

-Music-

Fourteen shots later, you were drunk. That was probably bad, but you didn’t care.

Because you were drunk.

You were also dancing.

Spitfire was in front of you strutting her stuff after your drinking contest. You could see some rose in her cheeks and you -knew- how fucked up you were.

Soarin’ was laying down on the bench at the booth, he tapped out.

Pussy.

You and Spitfire were moving pretty well together, you found. The bigger part of your brain being too sloshed to work probably helped. Maybe that’s why you were thinking in such short sentences?

You dunno.

Either way, Spitfire spins on her hindlegs into you and you instinctively dip her.

“’Ey I think we’re getting’ the hang of this!” you shout over the music.

”What!?” she responds.

You lean closer. “I SAID I THINK WE’RE DOING GOOD!”

”WHAT!?”

Fuckin’…“YOU DANCE GOOD!”

That got the basic gist across.

”Phst yeah! I know!” Spitfire says.

As you right your partner, she looks over her shoulder and gets excited.

Walking across the dance floor is a pony wearing a blazer coat and several glowsticks

”Dude! Dude. Dude? Wait here, I’ll be back in a flsa-back quick!”

“Haha what?”

Spitfire wriggles out of your hands and goes over to the stallion. You see them talking, but don’t hear anything.

But you see Spitfire get handed a small vial before she trots up to you.

”Heeey Anny, j’ou wanna-“

You’re already waving your hands. “Whoawhoawhoa Spitsh, it’s tour season, we can’t get high off club shit on tour season!”

Spitfire pshaws. “Pshaw! Anny’snot drugs! It’s boooooze! Delicious booze all the way from Atilian…supposed to have on HELL of a kick! You want some?”

Oh…

“So it’s not drugs?”

Spitfire shakes her head. “Nahuh.”

Hmm…this was probably not the best ide-

Why are you taking the bottle and throwing your head back.

Spitfire giggles so hard she snorts, but you’re busy.

Having the best. Idea. Ever.

“Spits…spits let’s get…we need a bathtub. NOW.”

-Music-

Maintenance Inspection.

Music

The first thing you feel when you pry open your eyes is unimaginable pain behind them. You cough, sputter, and grown as you reach over your head to slam your pillow on top of it before pawing at your end table to turn off the damn alarm clock.

“Muuuhhhgg…”

How much did you drink last night? Why are your feet wet? Why does your entire body hurt? As more of your senses wake up, you hear the shower running.

Why was the shower fucking running?

“GUUUUUHHHHH…”

You push yourself off your bed and turn over, rubbing your head to get the cobwebs out.

“Please don’t tell me I left the fucking shower on last ni-“

Whatever else you were going to say doesn’t come out as you watch someone trot out of your bathroom. Someone you knew, too.

You find you can do nothing but sit and watch as Spitfire drags her hooves out of your bathroom and along the floor of your room. She slogs her way across the room and opens the door to your closet before stepping inside. A few silent moments pass as the two of you take stock of what just happened before Spitfire opens the door again.

”That…is not my closet.”

“Very astute, Spits…”

"…Spits?”

”Yeah Anny?”

“Why are you walking out of my shower and into my closet?”

Spitfire kicks at the carpet a bit. “Uhhh…thought it was my place…your bath is in the same place as mine from my bed.”

“Ah…”

That still didn’t explain why she-

”Anny, can I ask you a question to?”

“Huh? Sure Spits.”

”How come you’re naked?”

Indeed you look down on yourself past your bare upper torso and at the blanket you were half under, the soft silk rubbing up on your lower half far too softly for you to be wearing PJ’s.

“Gah! Shit.”

You instinctively pull the blanket up over your chest, getting a chuckle from Spitfire.

“Oh, that’s funny huh? Your teammate getting so embarrassed?”

She chuckles once or twice more. “Hehe…yeah?”

You roll your eyes and look around your bedroom. Your clothes from last night were, luckily, still here, just spread all over. Some were on the floor, others over chairs, your pants were hanging from the ceiling fan and your socks seemed to be stuffed in your change jar.

“How in-“

”No idea…” Spitfire says as the two of you look at the fan.

“Well there’s certainly one possibility…but…”

You look around the room again.

Spread amongst your clothes and things in various states of knocked over were more than a few liquor bottles. Celtic Kicks, Stalliongrad Reds, Blitz Blasters.

“Oooohhh boy…”

You risk a peek under your covers again to che-yep, no boxers.

Spitfire giggles while you pokerface. “I think he’s getting it.”

“Last night.”

”Ahuh.”

“You and me.”

”No one else here.”

“Did we…?”

Spitfire nods and smiles her weary smile. “Kiiiinda looks that way, huh. Got any feather in your mouth?”

You absentmindedly pick at your teeth for any feathers before you catch yourself.

Dude, you fucked your boss.

“Oooooohhhh…”

You remain pokerfaced for a few moments as your process the information. You’d fucked your team captain.

”Yello? Earth to Anny? You okay in there?”

You shake your head back to reality. “Uh…yeah, sorry.”

Spitfire laughs. “Thought I lost you for a minute there. I figured I was good but not literally mind-blowing.”

“Oh haaaaar har. Cut the cheese out.”

”If that’s cheese, I don’t want to live in a world that aint” she defends.

You strike back. “That line was so cheesy that I could take it to Prance, slap it on a silver platter, and get applauded by the King for my culinary expertise.”

”Oooohhh.” Spitfire says wincing. “Harsh burn.”

“Call a medic.”

Spitfire chuckles again. “Still…wasn’t expecting this! Don’t even remember how I got here which is saying something with how much I drink.”

“Alchy.”

”Damn straight.” she says with a grin.

You laugh once and rub the back of your head, going into thought.

Spitfire senses your concern and comes around to your side of the bed. “Anny? S’up?”

“Huh? Oh just…wondering if this was allowed.”

Spitfire hops up onto the bed and sits down. “Whatcha mean?”

“I mean are there like…rules against fraternization among teammates?”

You and Spitfire quiet down as you both mentally recite the Wonderbolts handbook looking for the appropriate passage.

Getting into the Wonderbolts were a lot like getting your license back home. You studied hard and became an undisputed –master- for the entrance exam...buuuut there was a knowledge dropoff once you didn’t need to know it anymore.

”I don’t…think there’s a rule that says we can’t…” Spitfire says.

“How comforting to know that I might not get kicked off the team.” You chide.

”He who dares”, Anny.”

Cheeky shit.

“So…what exactly do we do not?”

”Well normally this is where you make me breakfast…”

“You know what I mean.”

Spitfire sighs and shrugs. “I dunno man…this hasn’t really happened before.”

A group of specimens at the height of their physical prowess stretching back generations that were forced together to forge the bonds of friendship and sportsman comradery never resulted in any of them bumping uglies?

Yeah, you believe that.

“…Hey, I got a question?” you say.

”I got an answer.”

You’d laugh, but-

“Why me?”

”Huh?” Spitfire asks, eyebrow arched.

“You heard me, why me? I mean, it’s not like the numbers of beautiful people is particularly lacking in our social circle.”

”Is this one of those “I’m a weird alien” things?”

Words used aside, you see some truth in them. “Mmmmmaybe? I mean, I’ve been around the block a few times here but I’ve found ponies are a bit turned off by…”

”What, the hands? The weird head? The silly ears?” Spitfire teases.

You toss a wet sock at her.

“I was going to say feet, jackass.”

”Seriously? They’re weirded by feet?”

“No hooves is weird, apparently.”

Spitfire rolls her eyes. “Friggen racists…”

She shuffles a bit. “You asked why? I ask “Why not?”. You’re my friend, you’re my teammate, and hell, right now you’re my partner. “ Spitfire turns to you. “Plus you scratch my head so good.”

Ponies may be weirded by feet, but hands speak for themselves.

Spitfire shrugs again, this time more relaxed. “So why not? You’re a part of my life, you make me feel good, and you were right there. Them’s all the checked boxes I need.”

“Huh…so circumstance is enough, eh?”

”Only live once, Anon.”

She’s right about that…Fuck it.

“Do this again sometime?”

Spitfire turns around and arches her eyebrow. “Did you just ask to fuck me?”

“Nooo, I asked if you wanted to let circumstance steer us again in the future.” You say with a smirk.

Spitfire catches your meaning and smirks back. “We’ll see if you get lucky, cowboy.”

You chuckle and rub your head.

“I’m terrible at making breakfast but did you wanna head out? Fit in some practice drills and then maybe grab some lunch?”

”Uhg! Some guys! Throw ‘em a pity fuck and then they think they can ask you out! I’d love to, where’s my goggles?”

You reach behind your alarm clock and toss Spitfire her goggles as you swing your legs out of your bed.

“Get my pants?”

You catch your pants being thrown at you behind your head and slip them on.

The two of you help one another get changed and set up in record time before you step out onto your patio as it’s lit brightly by the noon sun.

”One hell of a thing to see with a hangover…” Spitfire says.

“Yeah…let’s get closer.”

You kick your engines and shoot into the sky, Spitfire right on your tail.

Author's Note

I liked Redbone before the movie.

8I

The Danger Zone.

Music

“Ahg, dammit.”

You hold your face under the water streaming from the showerhead and wash the errant soap out of your eyes, rubbing away any it doesn’t get.

Behind you, out of sight, Soarin’ washes himself off as well and turns the stereo down.

Streak had long come and gone so it was just the two of you trying not to be awkward around each other. It wasn’t the fact that you were two guys standing naked in a shower while water washed over your toned, Olympian bodies, you’d been on the team long enough that any discomfort about that had long since passed. This awkwardness was because you’d been dodging Soarin’s inquisitive stares after Spitfire smacked your ass at the end of practice today.

Ever since that night, you’d kept things on the DL as best as you could, but today was the first team practice you and Spitfire had had since sleeping together.

You hadn’t talked over with Spitfire at all about even if you –should- tell the rest of the team so you’d kept your mouth shut. But it was getting harder to do that.

”So…Anonymous.” Soarin says.

“Yeah Soar?”

Keep it casual.

”Good practice today.” he says.

“You think? I thought I was a bit sloppy on my turns.”

”Nah, you were good. You and Spitfire both.”

“Yeah, she told me she’d been practicing.”

You scrub harder.

”…You and Spitfire seemed like you were really pushing it.”

Fuckingshit.

“Yeah, well, she’s lead flyer. I go where she says.”

”Mmm. You two been getting extra practice in after hours?”

Shit, does he know?

“Uhhh…yeah, we talked that night at the club and hit up the track the next day, worked on some new moves.”

”Yeah I’ll bet.”

“What’s that mean?”

”I dunno. You tell me?”

Shitshit. You reach forward and turn off the water, grabbing your towel and walking back to your locker. “Nothing to really tell, Soarin.”

Soarin follows soon after and the two of you change into your street clothes. This was good. If you could just keep him in the dark until you could talk to Spitfire, you could sort this out.

You and Soarin walk from the lockers out to the common area and-

”-nd you’d think that because he’s so much different than a pony, it’d be all weird, right? But no way! It was sorta like one of those weird clams from the…market…” Spitfire is in the process of saying as she slowly turns to look at the two of you, her hooves several inches apart from one another.

You’d say something, but your mouth doesn’t work. Luckily Soarin’ covers for you.

”Nothing to tell”, huh Anon?”

“Oh Christ, here we go.” You get out.

”Wait wait wait wait.” Misty says, rubbing her head. “You’re telling me you two are RUTTING?”

Spitfire holds up a hoof. ”Rutted, Misty! Singular. Only the one time…so far~.” She says with a wink.

”Damn Anon, I didn’t know you had that kinda play.”

You rub your forehead. “Yeah, sure, thanks Streaker.”

Why does he sound so sur-damn-prised?

”Oh sure he is! Get him to tell you about the Prench model, why dontcha?” Spitfire says.

Fleetfoot simply reclines in her chair and chuckles. “Lifestyles of of the rich and famous, eh Anonmous?”

“Yeahsuresomethinglikethat.”

Soarin walks past you to the rest of the team. “Fancy is going to freak when he finds out.”

“He’s not going to find out if I can help it.” you say.

This makes Spitfire whirl around in her seat to face you, eyebrow cocked. “Why not?”

You point at Soain’. “Because, like he said, he’ll freak? Probably.”

”Two of his star racers are doing it, this is either a PR blessing or a performance nightmare.” Soarin’ adds.

Spitfire crosses her legs and turns her nose up at you. “You’re just ashamed of me, hmph!”

“Oh don’t be a diva.”

”I’m not! You hurt my womanly feelings.”

“Both of them?”

”Low blow.”

“You were spilling info about my dong, I can go as low as I want.”

Fleetfoot guffaws in her chair. “Listen to you two! You sound like my parents.”

Spirfit smirks. “I bet he aint even buy a ring yet.”

Fire Streak stands up and grabs his bag. “Anyone care to continue this informative and hilarious line of thought at Five ‘Quines?”

”I’m down for some burgers and fries.”

”Same.”

”Count me in!”

You walk past the team towards the door to the balcony.

“I’ll catch up.”

Times like this, you needed some air.

You push out the glass door onto the balcony of the training center and take a deep breath. You drink rich the scent of the city before you, the clouds, even the trees on the mountain before you release it all in an explosive sigh.

“Gooooood dammit.”

”I dunno about your human or whatever god, but I’m willing to bet they can’t help you here.”

You look over your shoulder, Soarin walks out the door and joins you on the balcony.

“Hey…” you say with a sigh.

”Hey.”

A long silence passes between you both.

”So the team captain, huh? Are you gonna move up to Fancy next or try and work your way through the team.”

“Oh come on, Soar.”

He walks over to the railing next to you and rests his head in his hoof, whimsically playing with his other hoof. “Because I just don’t think I can be with someone like that without getting to know them, you know?”

“Uhg, look, I get it, you’re irritated at me.”

Soarin looks over at you. “Irritated? Me? That my best friend and oldest friend are screwing and one was going to keep it a secret from me? That’s just silly, Anon.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sorry. Can you blame me?”

”Could. Won’t. That’d make me an asshole.”

“Yeah it would.”

”And ethics aside, you have enough assholes to worry about.”

“Ethics? What ethics?”

”Ethics like it Spits likes you then she might go easy on you, dunderhead. She’s supposed to be an impartial figure.”

“Yeah yeah…” you nod.

”I’m just saying it’s a slippery slope, Anon. You gotta be careful in this line of work. More than a few ‘Bolts in the past have been done in by their sex life.”

You drag your hand down your face. “I’ve barely even thought about the worst part…”

”That being?”

“What if Dash finds out?”

Soarin’ winces for his friend. “She’d…be pissed.” He says.

“She’d be REALLY pissed because on top of breaking up with her and stealing her dream job, I’m railing her idol.”

”What is even her deal? That’s not normal behavior.”

“She hates losing. A lot.”

Like a LOT a lot.

Someone tapping on the window behind the both of you draws your attention away. Spitfire leans out of the balcony door. “Hey, are you two gonna hurry up and kiss already? Because if not I can take my bits and go stuff them down somepony else’s pants.”

Soarin’ immediately gets into form. ”Ho no, I graduated college, I don’t have to do that no more.”

”B-but my money! It’s good!”

”Take it elsewhere, harlot!” Soarin’ teases.

Spitfire chuckles and holds the door open. “But for serious, come on guys! We’re all gonna go get some grub and it’s not a team without you two.”

”Sure you want a third, fourth, fifth, and sixth wheel on your daaaaaaate~?”

Spitfire cradles Soarin’s jaw. “Oh Soarin’ the Borein’, you’ll always be my number…seven? Yeah. Number seven guy.”

Soarin’ chuckles and walks past Spitfire leaving just you and Spitfire.

”Sup, loverboy? You two get your real talk taken care of? Jokin’ aside, looked sorta heavy.”

Do you tell her about the ethics violations? Do you tell her about your concerns? Do you tell her that Rainbow Dash will be at at least once of the the upcoming races and to cut back on the ass slaps so she doesn’t see?

Nope.

“It’s nothing worth worrying about, not with a race on the horizon. We gotta work on our technical skills of we’re gonna beat those fuckers.”

Spitfire laughs after a brief silence and heads in. “HA! We’ll floor ‘em, Anny.” You throw your bag over your shoulder and follow the rest of your team on autopilot, lost in thought.

Concerns aside, the best thing you could do right now is focus on the team and your job in it, you reckon.

For as long as you can, anyway.

Ring of Fire.

Race Day.

The team locker room.

Suited up, strapped in, pre-race bathroom break done, the team was bouncing off the walls on adrenaline as the seconds towards race time ticked down.

”Who’s ready!?” Spitfire shouts.

”We’re ready!” you all repeat.

”Who’s like us!?”

”Damn few!” the five of your chorus.

Spitfire nods. “Damn straight, and they’re all dead.”

These times for a team were important, confidence could make or break you on the racetrack. A door at the back opens up, momentarily letting in the cheer of the crowd in the stands as Fancypants slips in.

”Okay ponies, we are less than three minutes out! Are we ready?”

Spitfire salutes to Fancy as he approaches. “Locked, stocked, and ready to rock, boss-man!”

Fancy puts a hoof to his earpiece before nodding. “Good…good. Huddle in, team.” The six of you mass around Fancy who removes his mic and looks you each in the eye. ”Now, look, I don’t think I need to tell all of you our need to impress out there.”

The team nods all around, Fancy continues.

”Our last races…haven’t shown our best. So let’s go out there and show them why –we- are Equestria’s premier flying team, eh?”

The race partners around you grin and nod, playfully nudging their partners.

”It’s all or nothing here, team. We need this win or else…” Fancy goes silent for a moment. “Let’s not thing of “elses”.”

Crap.

Fancy breaks the huddle and heads back outside. You feel your stomach clench up.

Spitfire looks over her shoulder at you, sensing your trepidation ”Why the long face buuuuuuuuuddy?” she asks.

You chuckle once, dryly.

“Oh, you know, fate of the team, fate of decades of legacy riding on my shoulders, no biggy.”

Spitfire rolls her eyes and goes “Pfffffft. Who cares what a bunch of old or dead pegusai think? It’s not like they’ll get on our ass if we screw this up, which we won’t, because we’re AWESOME.”

You knew that talk, you’d known that talk before things became what they were, and you knew Spitfire was trying to misdirect you from your anxiety.

Surprisingly, it was working. You laugh at her bravado.

”Hey. Hey. Anny. Who’s like us?”

“Yes, yes, I get it.”

”Good! I hate repeating myself. Now you gonna help me trash these losers or am I gonna have to show you up again?”

You grab your goggles and snap them on as you make your way to the door, the others already heading out.

“Last one out hit the lights!” you tease as you slide out of the lock room into the stadium.

As the team walks out into the roaring field of the stadium, the announcer begins to speak.

”Ladies and gentlemen, mares and stallions, fillies and colts of all ages! Welcome to the New Saddle Sporting Arena! BuiltbytheRichCorporation.” He says, adding the last part in a single syllable.

”Entering onto the field now, the one! The only! Equestria’s Premier stunt flying team! The Woooooooonderboooooooolts!”

Spitfire shoots into the air and waves to the crowd, soaking in the adoration while the rest of you get to start positions.

”And from Stalliongrad, our second team, born of over a hundred years of service, protecting the Trussian region from dangerous weather! The Valkyries!” The Trussian regional anthem, a throaty chorus of chants fills the stadium as the team flies out from their area and takes positions facing the opposite direction from your team.

”The Valkyries are in their element today, folks! Because the draw for today’s race is weather prevention! Each team will have to stop a trio of radical and weird weather phenomenon! All to meet at the final big blowout finish! First to return to the stadium with all four weather patterns complete is the winner!”

”Are the teams ready?”

Fancypants and the Valkyrie leader both give their individual ready check.

”Racers?”

All of you raise a hoof/fist to the air, the signal that you were each prepared as much as you could be.

”Then on your marks…”

The stadium falls silent.

”Get set!...”

You tense your body, releasing the stored up energy right as a trio of cannons fire.

”GO!” the announcer cries.

Music

The crack of a gunshot echoes like thunder, but barely had the molecules of air even begun to vibrate than they were drowned out by the breaking of the sound barrier. By the time the bullet leaves the barrel you’re confident that to the observers you and your fellow racers are mere specks on the horizon, gone with a speed that no arrangement of words may accurately describe. The howl of the wind whipping past you mixes with the roar of turbines to create a kind of chorus, a super sonic choir that you like to imagine heralds your coming victory.

Dozens of leagues in the distance rages a terrible blizzard, its fury only barely contained by the course handlers. It looms on the horizon as an impenetrable mass of grey and black, inevitable and implacable.

Suddenly your earpiece crackles to life, It’s Fancy.

”Anon! You and Spitfire are headed towards the blizzard course.”

“What’s in store for us there, boss?”

”One moment…” you hear him say among the sounds of flipping through a book. “Ah, the flag course! Anon, you and Spitfire will be racing against the enemy team to find a single flag amidst the snow and win. First team to return to the stadium with their flag is the victor!”

“Copy that!”

You cast a quick sideways glance at Spitfire, her expression unreadable with her eyes so concealed by the glare upon her goggles. For a moment you wonder if she’s in any way anxious or scared. A slight turn of her head banishes the glare from her goggles and for a brief moment you make eye contact with her. In that fraction of a second you feel that unspoken connection with her again and any doubts you may have felt about this race are immediately quelled.

It won’t be long until the real action begins and you savor these brief moments of calm before the coming storm, a stupid grin coming to your face as you recognize the unintentional pun. With a deep breath to calm yourself, you angle your goggles so that the glare catches her eye, any vocal communication being completely out of the picture at your current speed.

A shift of her head and a nod lets you know you have her attention. She nods once towards the clouds, and then again down beneath where the storm rages.

The barest of movement, but the message is loud and clear; she’ll take care of the clouds while you search for the flag.

As clouds black as night fill your vision you angle yourself downwards while Spitfire arcs upwards and disappears into the roiling darkness. Likewise you notice the other pair of racers splitting apart in a similar fashion; one heading towards the clouds and one into the storm with you.

“Oh no you don’t…”

As you decrease your speed in preparation for the storm, you enter a wall of shadow as the sun dips behind the towering mountains of clouds. With the glare of the sun gone you’re able to get a look at the terrain you’ll have to be dealing with. Rocky crags, sheer cliffs, and wicked peaks populate the terrain, all of it covered in a thick blanket of white that makes its features seem to blend together, something that could prove dangerous while moving at the speed you are.

Though the time for thinking soon runs out as you hit the wall of white, winds buffeting you from every direction and threatening to tear you from the air and send you hurtling towards the rocks below. From outside it seemed far less intimidating, but from inside with the snow whipping all around you seeing even your outstretched hands is a challenge. Finding the flag under such conditions will likely prove near impossible, but that’s where Spitfire comes into play.

Though as you ponder the task at hand the wind shifts violently, catching you off guard and veering you off course. In reaction you decrease your speed to give yourself some semblance of control, but while you’re busy trying to right yourself you shift your attention too much away from your surroundings.

For an instant the wind dies and the impenetrable wall of white abates, giving you a clear view of the rocky outcropping you now find yourself on a direct path towards. In alarm you swing your legs down and bring them up in front of you so that your back is facing downwards, gunning your engines as you do to try and slow your forward momentum.

It doesn’t do much, but it’s enough to reduce the collision from fatal to simply painful.

Even as you collide and pain flares through your body your hands scrabble for purchase on the snow-slicked rock. After a gut-churning moment that feels like it stretches minutes, your hand finds a hold and you grab tight for dear life. Struggling to slow your breathing, you simply hang there for a few moments trying to regain your bearings. Chancing a glance downwards, you notice a small ledge a half dozen meters down the rock face where the elements had worn a shallow depression in the stone.

So long as a shift in the wind doesn't angle the storm directly at it, it could provide sufficient shelter until you can plan out your next move. Continuing on in the present conditions will more likely than not accomplish little other than potentially injuring you and taking you out of the race.

You release your death grip on the rock as your pack flares to life, slowing your fall and allowing you to land safely on the ledge below. So sheltered from the blinding snow you’re afforded a slightly better view of the terrain, and off in the distance a glint of light catches your attention. Barely you’re able to make out the other team; one carves a path through the clouds above while the other follows beneath, searching the course in the illumination provided. After a moment you lose sight of them, but they return moments later moving in a different direction. The scene repeats itself a few times and you begin to notice a pattern to their movements.

“Hmm, a grid pattern,” you muse.

Not bad in theory, it allows them to keep up the blistering pace they had coming in and gives them the advantage of covering more ground. However the trench carved through the storm is shallow, only as wide as the racer’s body, and the path soon disappears as clouds move in to fill the empty space. And at such speeds the chance of spotting such a small object are slim, one would need to be nearly skimming the ground to make it possible. Though in such hazardous terrain the only way for the other team to maintain their breakneck speed is to search from a higher altitude.

This puts you at ease, only a stroke of pure luck would allow them to pull a victory out of this. All that’s left for you to do is wait for Spitfire to make her move. She doesn't leave you waiting for long. Scant seconds later a thundering boom echoes through the storm and a great hole rips open in the clouds above sending light streaming onto the course.

The storm abates slightly in the wake of the sonic boom, but for that brief instant you’re granted a significantly improved view of your surroundings.

A small smile comes to your face as you watch the clouds slowly begin to fill in the hole. Her method might not be as graceful as the other team’s, but there’s no doubting the effectiveness. Another boom cracks the skies and another hole opens up further away even as the first one fills in. This time, rather than admiring your partner’s work, you begin scouring the terrain from your vantage point alert for any sign of your objective.

Out of the corner of your eye you catch sight of your partner as she dives in and out of the clouds, her movements timed perfectly so that each time she enters with sufficient speed to break the sound barrier. It appears for all the world that the clouds flee at her barest touch as though fearful of her. Seconds tick by like minutes, Spitfire ripping open holes in the storm all across the sky in a display that at any other time would fill you with awe were you not so consumed by the task at hand. After a time something nearby catches your eye, a glint of reflected sunlight. For a moment you think to dismiss it as ice, but just then Spitfire parts the clouds directly above you, driving away the blinding white of the storm and illuminating the area.

There it is again, that same gleam, but this time you see it for what it is. Not shine of ice, but of a meter long steel rod topped with a triangle of scarlet cloth. Your eyes widen as you see the flag, and for a moment you can’t help but laugh. This whole time you’d been scant meters from it without ever knowing. As the hole in the sky begins to close, you notice to your dismay a path being carved through the clouds directly towards your position, Spitfire’s methods having inadvertently given them sight of it as well. Without another moment’s hesitation you bring your pack to life and leap from the ledge and out into the open air.

Your opponents remain at a higher altitude, keeping away from the hazardous peaks of the course and maintaining their blistering speed. If luck is on your side their attention is too fixed on the flag for them to have noticed you yet. The flag is barely a hundred meters from your position so you can afford to move slower and closer to the ground to keep hidden. If the other team spots you it could make the situation difficult, you decide it best to let them think they’re closing with the flag unopposed.

You fly as fast as you dare through the course, and though you occasionally lose sight of your opponents behind towering rock formations you know they must be moving at least twice your speed as unhindered by the terrain as they are. You push yourself ever faster in your single-minded desire to win, zipping by rocks at such speeds that a single misstep, a single inch of displacement could spell your end.

The journey lasts mere seconds, a bare handful of heartbeats, but to you it feels like an eternity. As you emerge from a cluster of rocks you catch sight of the other team and your heart stops. Either they were moving faster than you had assumed or you had been moving too slow, but whatever the reason they’re almost right above the flag and the one in the storm is angling himself downwards to snatch it up.

With little by way of obstacles between you and the flag you gun your engines, accelerating as fast as the machine will allow, but in the end you know it will not be enough. The other racer is too close and moving too fast. But just as all seems lost another boom cracks above you and another hole opens up in the clouds easily twice the size of all before it.

As high in the air as he is, the other racer is powerless to avoid the shockwave produced by the sonic boom and is sent spiraling through the air like a doll before a hurricane. Seizing the moment, you push your pack to the very limits of its structural integrity. A millisecond later your fingers close around the flagpole, your momentum tearing it from the earth it was embedded in. Almost too late, lost in that split second of euphoria, you notice the sheer cliff face you now find yourself hurtling towards.

Simultaneously you cut the power to your engines and flip yourself around, angling your feet towards the rock. The instant before you hit you reignite your pack’s thrusters, softening the blow as you land on the wall in a crouch. For a moment you stand completely horizontally on the wall before you kick off and take to the air once more on wings of fire.

"Haha! Yeah!”

You wave the flag over your head and get Spitfire’s attention, the two of you blitzing back to the stadium.

A quick pit stop to douse your face in warm water and drink some cold and you and Spitfire are rocketing back out the northern portcullis of the stadium. The trees and forests give way to mountains and you and Spitfire are riding high.

”That was some bomb-ass flying back there Annie! A bit more like that and we got this in the bag!”

You nod as you fly.

“Let’s see what we’re-“

Whatever encouragement you were saying is lost on the wind as you head over a ridge and spy something lighting up the entire area.

”What…the figaty-fuck is that?”

“It looks like a tornado, Spits…one that’s on fire.”

Indeed the infernal cyclone stretched from the ground up to a layer of smokey black clouds high in the sky. It whipped around violently pulling trees and rocks into its wall cloud before hungrily searching for more. And the worst part? It had a twin a mile or two off to the right of itself doing the same.

You cue up your headset.

“Fancy, what in the hell is this?”

A crackling voice cuts through the interference caused by the storm. “That’s the final obstacle, Anonymous. Finish that and get back here and we win.”

You look at the cyclone and feel a coldness in your gut.

“What in the hell are we supposed to do to it!?”

”Stop it.” Fancy says before his line is consumed in static.

“Gah!” you shout as you turn off the mic.

”What’s the sitch?” Spitfire asks.

“Fancy says we’re supposed to –stop- that thing.”

Spitfire looks over your shoulder with concern. “Well we aint the only ones."

You turn around in time to see the Valkyrie team soar over the nearby mountaintop and rocket towards the twin tornado.

“Shit! Did you count them!?”

Spitfire nods. “Ahuh. Four.”

“And no sign of any other ‘bolts…”

You glance between your twister and the oppositions, you can already see them beginning to circle the base of the funnel to slow it down.

“Any ideas, fearless leader?”

Spitfire looks at the top of the twister and then at the bottom, doing math in her head before speaking up. “I got one, but it’s risky as hell.”

“Those who dare, win, boss.”

Like hell were you letting some drunk weather specialists beat a trained racer.

Spitfire chuckles and points to the top. “We gotta get up and over the rotating clouds and fly straight into the center! The diameter will be smaller in there so if we push ourselves hard, we can do cut through and outpace the Valks!”

“What have we got to lose?” you ask.

Spitfire begins listing things off like a smartass. ”Well, our roguish good looks, our charming senses of humor, our careers, our lives.”

“Still better than losing a title.”

”Damn straight! You ready, partner?” she asks as she holds her hoof out.

You wordlessly bump it and the two of you rocket into the air.

Music

Spitfire and you put some distance between you and the tornado before you start your ascent. You take your position behind her and clench your fists to maximize your speed. The two of you climb and climb, breaking through the darker clouds and into the white ones forming above. You anticipate Spitfire’s intention and cut your thrusters at the apex of your climb, hoping you’re right.

Tense moments pass with your heart thundering in your ears before you’re vindicated and Spitfire arcs herself backwards and let’s herself fall directly into the tornado like a bullet. You bring your arms to your chest and follow her. Past the cloud wall there wasn’t as much debris that could knock your head off, but the winds were doing a decent job of that.

Gusts of air so fast they could cut you blew past your head and made it difficult to breathe, but you had to soldier on. That being said, the hardest part was the heat. Sweltering heat that would make Tartarus itself jealous blasted you from all side and made you regret for not the first time that your uniform was a skintight bodysuit.

Spitfire flares open her wings and peels out of her freefall, beginning her counter-rotation on the cyclone and once again you flare your jets and follow. You fall in behind Spitfire as the two of you give it your all and pull as tight of corners as you can inside the cylinder of wind.

Around and around and around you go some more as you block out everything except the sight of Spitfire in front of you blazing the trail.

Through your observations, you notice her wings stuttering occasionally and her teeth gritting as she presses on through squinted eyes.

”She’s pushing herself too hard, she’s gonna black out.” You thought. And as her second, that wouldn't do.

You clench your fists and peel out from behind spitfire, getting a nice smack of opposing wind in your face as you push ahead alongside her.

Spitfire peeks out of the corner of her eye and catches you signaling for her to fall back.

“I’ve got this for a bit.” You mouth, the tornado roaring too loud for vocal communication.

Spitfire acquiesces and falls back, taking position behind you and resting in your slipstream as you angle your knuckles to turn yourself into a blade that cuts through the wind. You reach back and flip a red switch on your pack in an instant, the overdrive switch. Your pack rumbles as you release the flow of fuel into the engine and dump it all into the thrusters.

It was now or never time.

Spitfire sticks on you as you both carve the tornado up.

Either an eternity or an instant passes in that tornado, you couldn’t tell, but eventually you open your eyes and notice you can see out of the flaming shell of the twister, it was quieter too.

Bingo!

Spitfire knows what you’re thinking before you say it. “Let’s bring it on home, Anny!”

Spitfire breaks away from behind you and takes position next to you as the two of you continue flying the same pattern you had been, but this time not combatting the wind but creating it. You spin and spin and spin some more and create a twister of your own, one that sucks the first up into the sky and throws it into the clouds.

Up in the sky with the thinner atmosphere and colder temperatures, the fire of the tornado snuffs out; unable to sustain itself any longer.

Spitfire looks up in awe at the spectacle before she snaps back to reality. ”Come on Anny, back home! Double time!”
“On your six!”

Spits pulls a hairpin turn and zips back towards the stadium, you right on her tail.

The stadium gets comes into view within moments and into earshot moments after that; such was the result when you were hauling as much ass as the two of you were. You enter the stadium in a heartbeat and stop in the center of the field, Spitfire flapping her wings and you pulsing your jets and expending the last of your fuel to do so before you stumble to the ground.

The entire stadium is silent for one brief and shining moment before a loud BANG rouses them to thunderous applause as your sonic boom catches up with you. The stadium is almost louder than the tornado as ponies hoot and holler and stomp and chant your names.

”WON-DER-BOLTS! WON-DER-BOLTS! WON-DER-BOLTS!” they cry.

You take a knee and the necessary heavy breathes as you go over what you just did.

“Hah…nice race…Spits.”

Spitfire takes a deep breath and lets it all out before taking off her goggles and winking. “Fancy flyin’ there, Slick.”

”YOU DID IT!” Behind the two of you from your pit comes running Fancypants along with the rest of the team.

Fancy does what you’d never expected to see form him and throws himself around your neck, hugging you tight. ”I don’t know how you pulled it off but by Celestia you two did it! You saved the team!”

Spitfire punches your shoulder lightly. “Couldn’ta done it without him, I’d be dead from exhaustion if it weren’t for him.”

”This’ll keep us afloat for sure.” Misty says.

”Not to mention give the rags on the shelves a story to run with.” Comments Soarin.

“Pulling off a win is reward enough.”

”I got your reward and your story right here, big guy.” Spitfire says.

If the crowd was loud before, they go absolutely ballistic as Spitfire pulls you away from Fancy Pants and plants one on you for the entire nation to see. In your shock, you can see Fancy’s jaw hit the floor and Soarin cover his face and shake his head.

…Ho boy.

Engine Trouble.

You open the door to your house on a quiet Saturday midday and stick your head out. You look once to the left and once to the right investigating, as well as scanning the nearby treelines for any camera flashes.

“Looks clear…”

You pull the door the rest of the way open and bend down in your bathrobe to pick up the paper. Fancy had instructed you to keep low since the race, total media blackout, but that didn't stop you from having to have dodged paparazzi trying to swarm your house like ants to a hill.

Today seemed, mercifully, quiet. Some noble somewhere must have called someone a zigger or something. However that didn’t mean you were off the hook just yet. You reach to flip through the paper for news but there you are, getting prenched by Spitfire on page one, this time from a new angle with a big headline saying “RACEWAY ROMANCE”.

“Aw jeeze…”

”What’s wrong, mister Anon?”

You look away from your paper and spy Thunderstrike peddling around the street on his scooter.

“Something…incredibly stupid, kid.”

”Huh?” he asks, tilting his head in that way kids do.

You sigh, it’d probably be poor tact to tell this kid about the birds and the bees. “Nothing, Strike. Just remember that pictures are forever, okay?”

You turn around and let the boy have his weekend, shutting and locking the door.

Thunderstrike may be off the hook, but that didn’t mean that someone else wasn’t. If it had been this long and the press –still- wasn’t letting off, you and Spitfire needed to chat. It luckily wasn’t hard to find her these days, you just had to walk through your house and follow the music.

Music

You head downstairs from the door to your living room where Spitfire is sprawled out on a mat contorted into some mind boggling position.

”Anny! Thank Celestia, get me out of this!” she says with her hind hood next to her face.

You have no choice but to cock your eyebrow as you walk over and flick off the stereo. “Do I even want to know?”

”Yoga.”

“You don’t do yoga.”

”I thought I’d pick it up?”

“…Kaaaaay, why?”

”Make me more ~flexible~, lover.” She says, batting her eyelids.

You roll your eyes and kneel down to untangle her.

“Please don’t talk like that, it fills me with dread.”

Spitfire flops onto the mat as she rights herself and stands. “Pshaw, not if you listen to the lame stream media! We’re hot!”

“Yeah but they don’t need any MORE ammo, do they?”

Spitfire trots over to table and pours herself a glass of rum.

“Isn’t it a bit early?”

”It’s happy hour somewhere.”

“Yeah? Where?”

Spitfire is quiet an blinks a few times in consideration. “Stalliongrad.”

“Stalliongrad?”

”City of ice, snow, bad smells and vodka? It’s ALWAYS happy hour there.” She says, gulping her drink.

You sit down on a chair. “FLAWLESS logic.”

”I’m a treasure to my kingdom.” She says, putting a disingenuous hoof over her heart and taking another swig.

“Seriously, cut back on that, huh? For me.”

Spitfire looks at you confused. “Maaaaan, what is with you? You sound like my mom, and step-mom, and step-mom after her.”

You jerk a thumb towards the bay window and bushes beyond it. “I just don’t wanna give those vultures out there any more ammo, you know?”

Spitfire chuckles and takes a swig from the bottle. “They love me for it.”

“Yeah, I worry about that too.”

”Eh?”

You gesture to her. “You, this, all of you. You barely own yourself, it’s all for them.”

You point outside again.

”The heck do you mean?” she asks.

“I mean- look. You give more than anyone else on the team and bust your ass to be captain, working your body and mind so we’re the best, right?”

”Naturally.”

“And off the track you always end up in some rag getting photographed drinking in Appleoosa or posing for some photographer or leaving a club with the entire Trottingham water polo team.”

Spitfire grins and her eyes sorta glaze over, you wave your hand in front of them.

“Spits?”

”Huh, sorry?” she says snapping back. “Sorry, I was still on the water polo team…”

You roll your eyes. “My point is that you’re giving your entire professional life to the team and your entire personal life to the press.”

”Yeah, and?”

“And so when was the last time you did something for yourself?”

Spitfire doesn’t answer immediately.

“When was the last time you did something just because you wanted to and not because it’d get you on the cover of some trashy newspaper or because it’d help the ‘Bolts?”

Spitfire makes her best cutie patootie face. “I’m here with you, aint I?”

You drop the paper from this morning on the floor in front of her. “Spits, you know I love ya to death, but forgive me if I don’t totally believe that stunt at the stadium was just you caught up in the moment.”

Spitfire sighs and hangs her head, going over and kicking at the paper. “Didn’t even get my good side.”

“Not really a laughing matter, Spits…”

”Then what –is- it, Anny?” she asks, looking at you with her namesake in her eyes.

You sigh, this was an unpleasant road so you wanted to avoid as much of it as possible…

“Look, I just mean I’ve seen fliers give themselves this much to the sport and it…didn’t end well.”

”Like how?”

“Like it became their life and then it…ended for some reason or another and they were lost. What happens if you get a game breaking injury, huh? What happens if you lose a wing to a razor wind?”

Spitfire recoils slightly. “That’s sorta morbid, Anny. And it aint gonna happen, you know that!”

That pisses you off a bit.

“Spits, don’t talk to me like I’m some press junkie. I’m your partner and I –know- you’re more intelligent than you let on so cut the bullshit.”

That long, tense moment hangs in the air for a bit before Spitfire sighs and lowers her head, closing her eyes.

Shit, now you feel bad…You sigh to and wave your hand.

“C’mere…”

Spitfire trots over and climbs up into your lap, resting her head on the chair arm. You scratch her ears.

”I just never really thought about it, Anny. There was always so much other crap going on like getting in and then winning captain and then keeping us at our best, and it wasn’t always easy.”

She looks up at you. “You know in our worst year with me as captain, ‘fore you showed up, Fancy made me do our finances? Said it was a cost saving measure because we couldn’t spend the bits!”

Spitfire a math whiz?

“Not including endorsements, how much would each member’s pay per race be in a double summer season?”

Spitfire doesn’t even blink. “12,195 bits per racer per race.”

You’re stunned silent.

“…Wow. I don’t-…Wow.”

Spitfire elbows you. “What, you said I was smarter than I let on!”

The two of you laugh.

Once you both calm down, you point to your pack in the corner.

“Look, point I’m making is, see that? Know what happens if I push that thing too hard?”

”You don’t race and we rip on you?”

Oh were it so easy. “It burns out, blows up on my back, and then I go splat from three thousand feet.”

Spitfire winces. “No helmet help there…”

“Yeah, so I gotta be anal retentive about keeping it maintained.”

”So what’s your point?” she asks, rolling onto her back and looking up at you.

“Point is I’m in deeper shit if my partner blows up and THEN I go splat.”

Spitfire rolls her eyes. “I aint gonna explode…”

“No, but you could totally burn out. That wild child party devil reputation exists for a reason and it’ll sneak up on you if you let it.”

Spitfire is silent for a long bit as she chews the inside of her cheek. ”…Know what I think?”

“Hmm?”

Spitfire rolls off your lap and trots to the stairs. “I think I’m hot as balls and wanna cool off. Pool party time!”

You faceplam.

“Spits!”

Spitfire looks back at you and giggles. “But hey…I’ll meet you halfway, huh? If this starts to effect my races, which it TOTALLY won’t, then maybe I’ll listen to ya about this. But you gotta show me some proof, okay?”

You groan. “It’s not like I can –make- you listen otherwise.”

”Damn straight!” she says before winking and blowing a small peck. “Thanks for worrying, handsome.”

Spitfire heads upstairs and leaves you in your chair with your face in your hand. That just meant you’d have to keep an eye out, right?...And make sure that she didn’t blow out during a race.

You sigh and stand, that pool was sounding good for your Saturday. “Hey yo, have you seen my black and red flame trunks?” you ask as you climb up the stairs.

You needed to take a break from the job too once in a while, after all.

Backfire.

Goddamn these bleachers hurt your ass to sit on. You’d chalk it up to being designed for different anatomy but you’d been here years now. Was this what you made your fans sit on?

You’d talk to Fancy about it.

Soarin’ was lounging next to you, both of your eyes trained on the sky. Spitfire soars above you going through cloud rings and loops, running a simulated obstacle course the techs designed.

She was pushing herself hard. All in prep for the big race.

The finale to all of this.

Soarin clears his throat next to you. “So…think she’s ready?”

“Think any of us really are?”

Soarin shrugs. “Get back to me in a few days…”

“After the race?”

”I always bet better after the game is done, don’t you?”

You sigh “At least we’ll know the field…”

”Everyone’s gonna know the field, its bucking Canterlot.”

THAT had come as a surprise, them holding the race IN Canterlot. Streets were being cordoned off and residences notified as the city was turned into one big race track course.

The Princesses certainly knew how to impress.

“You know anything about this mystery team we’re racing?”

Soarin’ shrugs. “Not really, I’ve been so focused on us that I haven’t even noticed competition. Apparently they’ve been making waves, though. Haven’t lost a race.”

“Really?”

”Really really.”

“Great…”

That stunk. The saying in the circuit went “If you’ve never lost once you’ve never played fair.”

“We’re gonna have to keep our eyes open.”

”Eagle eyed, not a thing’s getting past me.”

“There’s a spider on your nose.”

”GAH BUCK.” Soarin’ explains, panicking to get the insect off.

While he does that, the orange streak in the sky rockets to the ground and lands gracefully with a flap of her wings.

”Time!”

You click the watch in your hand. “Uh…Three-fourty.”

Here it comes.

Spitfire takes a deep breath. ”FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK! CELESTIA DAMMIT! SHIT! ASS! FUCKING GODDAMN-“ Spitfire begins to snort and stomp around on the bleachers. ”Three-fourty isn’t gonna cut it during the race!”

She flares her wings again. ”I’m going back up, see if I can knock this down to two minutes.”

Whoa wait what?

“Spits, no.”

Spitfire turns around and glares at you a bit.”-What-, Anny?”

Did you totally forget what we talked about? Let me fill you in, this is that burning out thing I talked about.”

”It not being horsecrap then doesn’t make it not horsecrap now.”

What?

“Spits, that’s totally what it means.”

”Is not!”

“Yes it is! Now chill out and at least take a break first before you dive back into the air, huh?”

Spitfire snorts. “Oh I’m sorry, I forgot I stopped being captain when Anny was worried about me.”

“It’s not like that Spits, come on.”

”Yeah? Then what’s it like, Anny. Cuz from here it looks bad.”

Okay, now you were getting kind of annoyed.

“God forbid I don’t want to see you overcompensate and cost us the race, saw enough of that in Zebrica, thanks.”

”Oh fer, I didn’t see you!”

“Then you failed a spot check because I think I was closer to your ass then than I’ve been since we got together!”

”If this is you two talking, then I don’t want to even imagine what your sex is like.” The two of your glare at Soarin’ who casually sips his orange soda.

“You messed up.” you say turning back.

”-Excuse- me?” Spitfire says, riling up and perking her ears.

“You heard me.” You point up. “Up there, basically the entire time, your wings? They were so angled forward that you couldn’t even get the thrust to outrun an old lady, let alone win a race.”

Harsh but true, if she couldn’t get her angle for her wings right, she’d be dead in the figurative water.

”Bull! You show me!”

“You’d be able to tell if you were capable of self-review during times like this!”

You tug at your hair. “Shit! This is –exactly- what happened with Dash!”

Spitfire rolls her eyes behind her goggles. “Reeeeal classy Anon, comparing me to your ex.”

“Totally apt in this situation and you fuckin’ know it.”

Spitfire sits down and crosses her hooves, at least she wasn’t in the air…

”Oh this I –gotta- hear.”

“What’s to hear?” you start. “This is –clearly- psychological with you hypercompetitive types. How else can you explain a complete and utter lack of ability to notice when you’re at fault for something?”

”Oh and –you’re- so pure, eh Anny?” Spitfire spits, growing frustrated. “You come into our team and what, think you got the ability to throw a bunch of shit around just because you built a pack?”

Ow.

”Need I remind you that the entire REASON we’re here in the first place is because you were too slow to keep up with me in Zebrica!?”

You’re mad. You’re about to go Krakatoa on her when-

”Whoa whoa WHOA! BREAK IT UP!”

Soarin’ steps between the two of you and pushes you apart with his hooves.

”Fuckin’ damn…” he says, chewing on his straw. “I thought my little quips woulda let the steam outa you two, not riled you up more.”

”Psssht. You oughta know there’s no stopping Anny when he’s on his soapbox, Soar.”

Now wait just a goddamn min-

”Spits, blow it out your ass. I saw the same shit angle that he was talking about, I just didn’t say anything. It’s fine if YOU wanna go slow, but some of us don’t have Playcolt centerfolds to fall back on if this goes under.”

“There’s always your music career…” you mumble.

”Shutup.”

”Spitfire grits her teeth. “You –would- take his side.”

“THANK you, Soar.”

Soarin looks over his shoulder at you. “Anon, shut the HELL up. I get that you wanna help but there’s a fine line between helping a partner and being an obnoxious ass about it. Not even gonna mention how you dragged your bullshit with Rainbow Dash into it when it didn’t have a place here.”

It’s your turn to cross your arms and look away.

It’s silent for a bit on the bleachers.

”Look, I get that you two are both too proud to do anything about it on your own, you big fat idiots, but you HAVE to put this shit to bed for all our sakes.” Soarin' says.

Soarin’ gathers his drink and begins to trot off. ”Or else you’ll BOTH end up burning out.”

You and Spitfire sit in silence for too long.

So you do something about it. “He’s right, you know.”

”What?”

“That we’re both too proud to smell our own shit.”

”Oh, so now you admit you shit?”

“Everyone shits, Spits…”

Spitfire closes her mouth and looks away before sighing. “Yeah…”

I mean…

“Well I –hope- they do, otherwise-

”Meant about Soarin, Anon.”

“Oh.”

Spitfire rises to her hooves. “That Celestia-damned idiot has always had his head on straighter than me, still dunno why I’m the leader and he isn’t.”

“Because leaders need to do more than have their head on straight, they have to lead.”

Soarin' wasn't the most ambitious.

Spitfire looks into the clouds away from you. “…You think so?”

“I’ll tell you about Batman and Superman one day, it’ll make sense then.”

Spitfire kicks an invisible pebble off the bleachers and begins to trot down. ”I’m…gonna crash at my place for tonight…maybe a few nights, get my head on straight.”

Fuck…

You can do nothing but nod.

“I’m gonna…go listen to shitty music I liked as a teenager and remind myself of every time I screwed up while my humble pie cooks.”

Spitfire pauses down the steps and looks back to you. “You don’t burn out either Anny, okay? Please.”

You cock an eyebrow.

”I may push it but you can’t be everywhere, keeping every plate spinning, solving every problem. Sometimes…we gotta crash and burn.”

“And what do we do when we can’t do that or else?”

Spitfire shrugs. “Swallow our medicine and drop the excess baggage off the flight, anything to go faster. I’ll see you later.”

Spitfire takes to the sky and heads towards the Academy. You’re left alone on the bleachers looking up at the clouds.

Someone once told you that any problem could be solved in some way by going fast enough. But it was clear you weren’t going as fast as you could be or should be…not with how things were. The last few races were great but…championships were a whole other level. Not being able to pull it off here meant all that would be for nothing.

You had to kick it up a notch, take it to the next level. You feel your stomach turn to steel in determination.

…Now how the fuck were you gonna do that?

Live to Fly.

It’s weird the things you find yourself noticing during stressful times.

Here you were, minutes before the biggest race of your life, casually rolling deodorant under your pits before you put on your suit. You weren’t thinking about the track or who your mystery opponants would be or even that the Princesses, foreign dignitaries, the press, and the entire kingdom would be watching.

No, instead it was how nice your BO smelled.

Around you Soarin and Streak both suited up and mentally prepared for the big race.

Big Race.

Last chance.

Moment of glory…

…You gulp. A bang comes from the door “Everyone out! It’s showtime, people!” Fancy says.

You slip on the top half of your uniform and secure your pack as you grab your goggles.

Okay…you got this.

Every moment this season, every moment of your career, your entire life was leading towards this moment…No pressure.

You close your locker and follow the others.

Fancy has the rest of the team in a huddle which you join.

Your manager looks contemplatively down at the floor, considering every word he was preparing to say in the hopes of inspiring you to greatness.

Or just telling you not to fuck it up.

”Team…” he begins. The team takes a collective breath. ”I don’t have to tell you what’s at stake. Our team, our names, our careers. No matter the outcome of this race, I want all of you to know that you are the finest airmen I’ve ever had the pleasure of serving with.”

Fancy smiles and steps back, raising his hoof to his forehead in salute. The five of you mirror his action.

”Let’s give them hell.” He says, turning on his heel and marching out.

You’re about to follow when you feel someone tug at your leg. You turn around, Spitfire is holding you back.

“Uhh…something up, partner?”

”Need a minute Anny, wanted to talk to you.”

“What’s up?”

Spitfire looks down like a sad pony and kicks at the floor.

”Maybe…after all this…if like, you wanna…”

“Yeah?”

”You and I could...take it easy, for maybe a season. Sit one out and see how the world spins without us.”

You take a half-step back and rest your hands on your hips. “Finally taking what I said to heart, huh? You’re awful slow for a speedster.”

Spitfire playfully throws a hoof. “Scheduling was never my thing. I’d be late to my own funeral if they let me.”

The two of you laugh a bit.

“…Yeah, I could stand for a break after this. Either to let the press die down if we win or for the shame to go away if we lose.”

”Maybe I’ll figure out how you’re so damn bubbly all the time.”

“I’m just bubbly, it’s part of my appeal.”

“I thought it was your fingers and weird alien dick.”

“Well you can tell all the world about my “weird alien dick” later, for now I think we have a race to win, eh?”

Spitfire walks past and slaps your rear with her wing. “Damn straight.”

The roar of the crown in Wonderbolts Stadium was such that you swore they could hear it in Elysium.

”Aaaaaand here they are! Your Wonderbolts!” the announcer says.

Fancy had made a big deal about this being on the radio live this time, had spooked you for a bit. But ultimately it was just a wider audience. As the six of you walk out, soaking up the fame, you each bow your respects to the Royal Box where the Stellar Sisters look down in anticipation for the race. Or for the inevitable crash and burn, but who was thinking about that?

And your challengers! Hailing from all corners of the globe…The Shadowbolts!”

Wait what. That name was-

You spin your head around so fast you hear the air break and scan over the opposing team. Two dragons, a bat pony, a griffin, some mint colored Pegasus an-

“What the-DASH!?”

You shake your head but the vision stays the same, which was Rainbow Dash leading the opposing team. It was sometimes customary for teams to meet in the center to exchange pleasantries, so no one batted an eye when you marched up to Dash.

If they’d heard you talk, however…

“Dash what the hell-ass-balls is this? What are you DOING here?!”

Rainbow Dash rolls her eyes and snorts, the other Pegasus talks over her shoulder. “This guy giving you trouble, boss?”

”No ‘Dust, I can handle him.”

Oh hell naw. “Handle” me? You’re a captain now?”

Rainbow Dash smirks and extends a wing to her comrades. “Eeeyup, put a team together and everything. Finally found a crew who won’t ditch me and stab me in the back.”

”Oh buuuullshit.” The two of you turn, Spitfire trots up behind you. You hear Dash mumble “Oh great, you…” over the roar of the crowd.

Spits apparently did too. “Yeah, me.” She said.

Rainbow Dash, to her credit, stares down her once-hero. “This the part where you tell me you’re unimpressed again “coach”?”

Spitfire remains stoic. “I’m impressed…just disappointed.” She says with a small frown.

Dash buckles just a tad. ”You coulda flown with the best, RD, if you’d given it a bit more. Now you’re with this crew and you’re gonna go down on national radio.”

That’s a cue if you ever heard one.

You wince. “Ooooohhhh…”

”Come on Annie, let’s get set to jet.”

“Aces out.”

You and Spitfire turn and leave Dash grinding her teeth over your otherwise corny diss.

“Are we that confident?” you ask walking.

”Not a fuckin’ chance, Anon.”

But it felt good to say.

-Music -

10, 9, 8...Seconds tick down like minutes, a feeling of hyper-awareness coming over you as the anticipation grows in your gut.

7, 6, 5...Each second seems to stretch longer than the last, drawing the wait out ever more.

4, 3…Your gaze flits to your opposition, both every bit as tense as you and surely feeling just the same.

2…Your attention shifts to your partner and for the barest of moments you lock eyes with Spitfire, that fraction of a second conveying more between you than words could hope to achieve.

1…Time seems to come to a stop, the silence pressing in and weighing heavily on your shoulders as you become acutely aware that the entire crowd is collectively holding its breath. It’s such a strange thing to imagine that so many people gathered together could be so quiet.

Oddly you find yourself fixating upon a moth that’s fluttered just in front of you, its wings moving with an almost surreal slowness. The crack of a gunshot tears through the silence, but is cut off midway, the roar of turbines and the howling of wind moving in to replace it as the starting line vanishes behind you. Idly you note a sharp pain on your left cheek.

The world dissolves into streaks of white and gold as you carve through the air, the buildings of Canterlot rushing by blurring and running into one another. At such speeds thought becomes impossible and impractical, reaction and twitch responses alone guide you through the maze of buildings whipping by.

Every so often you catch a glimpse of Spitfire or one of the others as your paths intersect, only to immediately lose sight of them once again as the cityscape swallows them up.

Left, right, right, left, right, left, left; the actions are all completely unconscious, each snap judgement made in the span of milliseconds and based on nothing more than intuition.

With one last hairpin turn the city streets vanish to be replaced by open sky, Canterlot disappearing behind you and the entirety of Equestria stretcheing out before you. The vast green expanse that makes up White Tail Woods stretches out across the land, starting just beyond Ponyville and reaching to a gorge on the horizon. That is your path.

One by one the other racers emerge from the city behind you, streaking out into the sky hot on your tail. They cover the distance separating you in little time and suddenly you’re all neck and neck, the small village rapidly approaching. Spitfire enters your periphery and for a moment you find your attention wandering over to her. That brief second of distraction, though, is enough for you to be caught off guard when something moving very fast passes inches in front of your face.

You veer wildly through the air and just barely miss another of the objects, straining to maintain your course through the air. Out of the corner of your eye you notice Spitfire and the other team behaving in much the same way, each of them also caught off guard by the sudden assault.

Another deft movement sees you safe from another missile, but as you fly around this one you catch a glimpse of it.

“Skeets?” you mutter to yourself, the word instantly stolen by the wind.

Indeed, a few more near misses reveal them to be what are unmistakably clay pigeons whizzing by. As you draw nearer to Ponyville the density of the skeets increases dramatically and soon the sky is filled with the things.

With the air so dense skeets begin smashing together around you, a pair colliding inches ahead of you and spraying your face with dust and shrapnel.

With your flight goggles on your eyes are at little risk from such detritus, but the action is unconscious and leaves you vulnerable.

When you open your eyes you realize your mistake as Lightning Dust unexpectedly barrels into your path in her own attempts to navigate through the barrage. A sharp twist downward carries you safely beneath her, but right into the path of an oncoming skeet. The clay disc takes you in the back as you pass beneath Lightning, jerking you upward slightly and throwing you off course. Another one strikes your shoulder and spins you roughly around, thoroughly disorienting you. You cut the power to your pack and allow yourself to corkscrew through the air, hoping to slow your rotation.

By some stroke of luck you manage to avoid further collisions and slowly you regain some stability. As Ponyville passes beneath you a streak of rainbow passes you by. Your eye follows your adversary off into the distance where she suddenly erupts into a chromatic nova, a shockwave of shattered sound and light ripping through the air and tearing apart every nearby skeet with its intensity.

In an instant the sky is cleared, though your spin hasn’t yet slowed enough to take advantage of the situation. Once again the ground fills your gaze, but this time it stays, your rotation coming to an abrupt halt with a sharp jerk. The feeling of pressure beneath your arms draws your attention where you find Spitfire’s hooves locked tightly around you. With a mighty flap of her wings she propels the two of you forward at a terrific speed, the very land turning to a blur beneath you. Soon she puts enough distance between you and the town to get you safely out of range of the skeet shooters.

The danger now passed, Spitfire finally allows herself to lose some of her speed and you can feel her panting from the effort above you.

The situation seeming to be finally in control, you give Spitfire a thumbs up and she releases you. Clenching your fists tightly you will your pack to life, flames roaring out from the engines and carrying you onward to the canyon ahead. Trees pass quickly by, becoming ever sparser as your next objective approaches and you angle yourself slightly downward to begin your descent.

The forest fades and the earth splits apart, a great canyon consuming the landscape and as one the four of you dive down into the earthen maw. Scanning the rent in the earth you espy dozens of gold rings held aloft by magic set along its length. However interspersed throughout the rings are hot air balloons filled with spectators; yet another aspect to the challenge. Spitfire, Rainbow, and Lightning fall in around you, the four of you jockeying for position as the first ring comes up.

At the last second Rainbow and Lightning pull ahead, passing through the ring mere feet ahead of you. The four of you scatter immediately after, all corkscrewing away to avoid colliding with a balloon only to converge again in time for the next ring.

Soon you slip into a rhythm; coming together for a ring and then breaking apart and scattering through the crowd of airborne spectators.

After a few rings you notice your opponents taking longer and longer routes through the balloons, the temptation to show off for the crowd evidently proving too great for Rainbow and Lightning. The few times you’re able to catch sight of them lend credence to your assumption, both of them seemingly constantly in the middle of some needlessly complex maneuver for the crowd’s benefit that will assuredly put them further and further behind.

The two of you suffer from no such desires.

Resolving to capitalize on the situation you make every attempt to make your paths between rings as direct as possible, Spitfire picking up on your intentions and mimicking you perfectly. The two of you find yourselves frequently passing within inches of the balloons as you carve through the canyon, leaving yourselves little room for error.

It’s not long before your decision begins to pay off and your team finds itself with a full two ring lead. Inch by inch, foot by foot, slowly but steadily you and Spitfire take the lead, the other team apparently oblivious to the situation as they bask in the crowd’s admiration. What makes the situation all the better is that you don’t have to worry about Rainbow pulling any tricks, a sonic rainboom being impossible with so many bystanders grouped together.

Rings and balloons blur together in your single-minded state and before you know it you’re coming up on the halfway mark; a fork in the canyon. Fortunately the decision of which way to go is made for you by a great red door blocking off the left path. Whatever it hides remains a mystery to you, though you refuse to dwell on it even as the fork and the door quickly vanish behind a wall of balloons. With the greater part of the canyon as well as your competition at your back you can’t help but indulge in a brief moment of optimism.

It’s no secret that you had your worries coming into this race, your competition are some of the most accomplished fliers in Equestria. At this point, though, your chances of winning seem to be steadily increasing with Rainbow and Lightning giving more and more ground. It may still be early in the race, but you feel there’s sufficient reason to hope, that hope becoming even more pervasive as you glimpse the end of the canyon ahead, the walls of the canyon closing in more and more giving the impression that the earth is trying to swallow you whole.

Right now your thoughts only extend as far as the next ring in a mirror of the tunnel that your vision has become. Faster and faster you push yourself, ring after ring you pass, balloon after balloon you deftly avoid. You become so intent on your next ring that everything between becomes blurred and irrelevant. Soberingly quickly yet startlingly slowly the final ring approaches and by now it is the very center of your attention, all else fading into so many streaks of color.

You sail through the final ring with Spitfire at your side, angling yourselves upward as you prepare to depart the canyon. However it’s now that your narrow vision is finally punished as you’ve failed to take the balloons’ mobility into account, one of them having drifted into your path as you clear the ring. Spitfire dodges the obstacle nimbly, twisting through the air and avoiding the balloon by centimeters.

The feeling of hyper-awareness returns and you angle yourself upwards a fraction, passing just over the basket, the ponies within gazing up at you with eyes wide with awe as you clear the narrow gap between the basket and the burner. For a fraction of a second you make eye contact with one of the ponies in the basket and time slows to a crawl. An unconscious smile crosses your face as you pass over them and add a sharp twist for no other reason than to add a little flair to the maneuver.

Having cleared that final obstacle your course to the next leg of the race is completely clear, Spitfire returning to your side just as the canyon comes to an end. A quick glance behind you reveals that your opponents seem to have realized their situation, twin streaks of rainbow and lightning driving through rings and around balloons with frightening speed as they try to recover the ground they’d given.

Allowing yourself a small smile at the lead you hold, you raise a hand in the air to catch your partner’s attention, and as she glances over you clench it into a fist. A sonic boom rips through the air, you and Spitfire lancing over the land on a contrail of broken sound. Your relentless pace blurs the passing land into a carpet of solid green, the mountain range in the distance growing larger and larger.

The range before you curves sharply eastward, arcing around Ponyville and the Whitetail Woods back north towards where Canterlot stands as the last and greatest of its fellows. As you climb through the air the temperature begins to steadily drop, your flight suit barely managing to hold the frigid air at bay.

Likewise as you climb the wind grows ever fiercer, occasional gusts tearing at your suit as though trying to pull you from the sky. Soon the first snowcapped peak of one of the outlying mountains passes beneath you, it’s taller brothers looming menacingly. Passing into the range proper the wind intensifies, escalating from a nuisance to a real hindrance. The wind is such that you’re unable to maintain the blistering pace you’d set coming in, the erratic gusts forcing you slower and slower as you fight to keep control over your path.

As frustrating as it is to be losing so much of your momentum, you are consoled by the knowledge that your opponents will fare no better than you. And though important speed may be, navigating the peaks for more favorable paths is a much more pressing concern. But even reduced you still carry a speed to make the disparate peaks pass by so swiftly it seems as though only meters separate them. Maintaining a stable heading is next to impossible under such conditions and it starts becoming overwhelmingly evident that taking the most direct route the mountains will not be a possibility, the howling wind making it too hazardous.

Spitfire breaks from your course, signalling you to follow along which you waste no time in doing. The wind relents some as you alter your heading and opt for a more circuitous route through the mountains, hugging the white peaks as tightly as possible to seek what shelter you can from the howling gales. Rather than diving headlong through the center of the range as you had been, your course now leads you every which way in an almost zig zag pattern as you seek out the paths of least resistance.

It results in more distance to cover, yet allows you to cover that distance at a much greater rate than previously.

Oftentimes you pass within perhaps a dozen or so meters of mountain faces, the gale you yourselves kicking up sometimes being great enough to destabilize the snow covering them and sending great avalanches thundering down through the valleys below. You’re sure it would be a magnificent sight if you stuck around long enough to watch, but as it is everything is passing by so quickly that there’s no time to enjoy the scenery. Perhaps after the race you and Spitfire can return and enjoy it at a more leisurely pace, she’d probably like that. Or perhaps she’d enjoy a more tropical climate. Either way, after this race the two of you are going to need a vacation.

In your moment of introspection you nearly miss Spitfire diving into a narrow pass between two peaks. As you adjust yourself to follow along a sporadic gust from behind catches you off guard. The unexpected tailwind takes you by surprise and accelerates you far faster than you’d intended and strips you of any semblance of control.

With no real options available you roll backwards, bringing your legs up in front of you and angling yourself away from the mountain face and set your pack to maximum burn in the hopes that it’s enough to keep you from finishing the race as a red smear across the snow. Pure white filling your vision, all you can do is brace yourself and hope for the best. As luck would have it you collide a snow drift at such an angle that it sends you skipping away as a rock over water, cartwheeling through the air as you go. A controlled burst from your pack halts the spinning and rights you in the air, but you don’t dare any more than that being as disoriented as you are. You manage to get your feet under you just before you hit the ground again, but between your momentum and the slick terrain, it does nothing to arrest your erratic advance and you find yourself skidding down the slope.

It takes a moment for you to orient yourself and realize that you’re still alive, but an ominous rumbling suggests that this may not be the case for much longer.

A glance over your shoulder reveals an implacable wall of white thundering down the mountainside in your wake. Wrenching your attention away from the white tide behind you, you’re met by yet another obstacle; a sheer drop into open air rapidly approaching. Caught as you are between two shapes of impending doom it takes a moment before you remember that neither of them pose any real threat.

“Oh right, I can fly,” you mutter to yourself, feeling a bit foolish for having forgotten that bit of information.

Crouching low to minimize wind resistance, you gun your engines and speed forward down the slope, putting as much distance as you can between yourself and the encroaching avalanche.

In no time at all the ground beneath your feet disappears and the sky embraces you once more, wings of fire carrying you safely away from an icy demise. Passing over the sheer drop that would have otherwise been your end, you spy Rainbow and Lightning fighting their way through the wind towards your position. For a moment you marvel at how they’ve managed to regain so much ground taking such a difficult route, it would seem you may have underestimated your opposition. However when the wave of snow plunges over the cliff you’ve just vacated something quite interesting happens. The ever present gale scatters the uncountable tons of snow into the air, whipping it up into a veritable blizzard and carrying it down the very route your opponents are taking where it promptly swallows them whole.

“Huh…” you say as the air turns white.

You can’t really decide on whether to feel guilty or glad over the development, but decide it doesn’t particularly matter. It’s not as though you intended to crash into a mountain. Putting such thoughts from your mind, you concentrate your efforts on returning to Spitfire and continuing on with the race

Spitfire spares you the trouble as she pulls up beside you, evidently having looped back around the mountain when she noticed your absence. She casts a questioning look your way and you wave her off, not wanting to waste any time explaining. With a nod of assent she speeds ahead and you fall in behind her, the two of you speeding away to leave your opponents to struggle through the blinding white.

Again you and Spitfire snake through the mountains, avoiding the headwinds wherever you’re able as you capitalize on your opposition’s misfortune.

You redouble your efforts, blazing to and fro between the towering peaks as quickly as the fickle winds will allow.

One final mountain disappears behind you and all at once the wind dies, a great gap in the mountain range opening up before you spanning perhaps a kilometer before the mountains rise up again in the distance. At the base of the nearest mountain is your destination. A length of train tracks coming in from the east forks in the gap, one way heading off towards Ponyville in the west and the other burrowing straight through the mountain range towards Canterlot in the north and allowing you to bypass a significant portion of the range.

Here you take the lead, pulling ahead of Spitfire as the two of you angle yourselves downward towards the tunnel. Having been at the mercy of the wind for so long this respite is more welcome than you can say and you savor this brief moment of open sky. Then far too soon the moment ends and the mouth of the tunnel swallows you up, the dim light of magical lanterns making you feel as though you’ve gone nearly blind.

It doesn’t take long for your eyes to adjust and all the better for it as the tunnel begins to take an almost serpentine route through the mountains above. There may not be obstacles to dodge or wind to fight, but the twists and turns of the tunnel before you offer a challenge all their own. Odd angles, blind corners, and hairpin turns make you wonder how any train could possibly navigate such a tunnel, but then you remember any train passing through would be moving at a fraction of the speed you are now.

This stretch is made all the more difficult by the passing lights which, though in fact quite distant, at your speed results in a strobing effect which requires your undivided attention to deal with. Wandering thoughts won’t be so easily forgiven in this place as they were in the mountains as the only thing here to cushion the fall is the hard rock walls of the tunnel. Though you do your best to focus on the task at hand, you can’t help the niggling voice in the back of your mind that wonders at what might happen if you were to encounter a train. In such a confined space you have little room to maneuver, such an encounter at this speed would be a challenge if nothing else.

With effort you silence the voice, drowning out any distraction that may hinder your efforts as you speed through the twilit tunnel. Then after you clear one final turn you glimpse a point of daylight, a beacon in the dark, a subconscious desire for open sky urging your towards the literal light at the end of the tunnel. Not a moment too soon you break free of the claustrophobic confines of the tunnel and emerge out into daylight.

You and Spitfire waste no time returning to the sky while the train tracks beneath you meander lazily around the remaining mountains on a more direct route to Canterlot. The path before you, however, lays among those white-capped spears of rock that pierce the heavens in a pale mimicry of the grandeur that is Canterlot Mountain. An unconscious sigh escapes you while relief floods your being at the sight of blue sky before you; beneath the ground is no place for those who make their home in the clouds. As the two of you enter the final stretch of your first lap you’re greeted by a pleasant lack of wind, the only challenge here being the seemingly increased density of mountains.

Though in comparison to navigating the streets of Canterlot this feels to you many degrees easier. But before you’re able to relish the relative ease of the challenge before you an explosion of sound from behind you catches your attention. Rainbow Dash explodes out of the tunnel trailing that familiar chromatic streak of hers, and without the interference of an adoring crowd or howling winds she seems to be gaining on you with a frightening speed.

With an almost contemptuous ease she passes you and Spitfire, darting like lightning between the rocky peaks. Being nowhere to be found. Lightning’s absence alleviates your concern somewhat, but Rainbow’s lead provides enough motivation to prevent you from being complacent.

Oddly enough Rainbow doesn’t press her advantage, seeming content to linger ahead of you rather than pushing forward. The possibility that she only has enough energy to pull as far ahead as she did crosses your mind and spurs you on. Rainbow can sprint to be sure, but whether or not she’s capable of maintaining her lead is another question entirely. The three of you bob and weave through the mountains, avoiding peak after peak as you each jockey for position, your every intent being to put as much pressure on Rainbow as possible in the hopes that she’ll eventually wear out.

As of now, though, she shows no signs of tiring and she matches you move for move, maintaining her lead as Canterlot grows ever closer in the distance, the great mountain towering over its lesser siblings. The mountain city continues to approach and before you know it the roar of the crowd fills your ears, the whites and golds of Equestria’s capital rushing by as the three of you blaze a path through the streets once more.

Music

Lap two begins and it feels like an eternity since the race began, but in actuality it could only have been a matter of minutes. Breaking free of the confines of the city streets for the final time, you find yourself facing the town of Ponyville for the second time. However this time you’re ready for whatever may come. You won’t be taken unawares as you were in the first lap. As the small town grows steadily larger you can’t help but wonder at what will be thrown against you this time. They wouldn’t recycle the same obstacles, whatever they have in store this time around will likely be a far sight more challenging. Almost as if on cue your thoughts are immediately answered in the form a high pitched whistle.

You recognize the sound, but you can’t quite place it.

That is until terrific crack splits the air and a dazzling burst of stars fills the sky.

Fireworks? That’s certainly a step up from clay pigeons. One by one a succession of fiery starbursts light the sky, each one so brilliant they seem to challenge the sun for dominance.

This time you’re ready, making sure to maintain enough distance from the other racers so as not to have a repeat last time. The three of you twist and juke through the air, diving around erupting fireballs and whizzing rockets in your mad dash through the skies.

One such rocket passes within a meter of your position in almost a perfect mirror of your first lap, but any worries you may have had remain unfounded as it soars harmlessly past.

What really catches your attention about that particular bit of ordinance, though is the small pink horse riding it off into the sky, shrieking with glee the entire way.

“God damn it, Pinkie.”

At least now you know who’s responsible for the dazzling fusillade being launched against you. Searching the sky for any sign of your partner, you locate Spitfire just in time to see her disappear into the heart of a truly massive explosion that would have been far more impressive had it not just engulfed your partner. The sight is enough to make your heart skip a beat, but the moment that follows sees your worry transformed to awe.

Spitfire explodes out from blinding light show, corkscrewing with such speed that the erupting fireball is sucked along into the current she creates. Faster and faster she spins, and as she goes yet more rockets are drawn into the expanding cyclone where they themselves explode and add to the brilliant corona about her. In what can be only seconds the cone of fire grows so large that every firework streaking through the sky is drawn in to add to its magnificence.

As awed as you are by the sight you retain the presence of mind to not let the opportunity Spitfire’s provided you go to waste. After a moment’s hesitation you fall in behind her, riding the contrail of pyrotechnics like a turbine powered Apollo through the skies over Ponyville.

And when at last Ponyville fades into the distance and the danger is gone Spitfire flares her wings wide, halting her rotation and dispelling the flames in a single motion. It doesn’t take long to get over the wonder of the spectacle you just beheld and wasting little time you form back up alongside Spitfire. Remembering that Rainbow had pulled a similar maneuver in the first lap, you can’t help but wonder at what she thought of the display. In the end, though, it doesn’t particularly matter.

Spitfire casts a glance in your direction and you respond with a thumbs up, the normally banal gesture carrying a weight of gratitude and respect that words could not possibly hope to convey. Again the canyon in the distance approaches and you dive headlong into the earth’s hungry maw.

This time it’s suspiciously absent of the rings and hordes of airborne spectators from last time, instead it’s a straight shoot to the very end.

Until you reach the fork, of course.

The red door you observed in the first lap now obstructs your original path, leaving only the road less traveled as your only option. Without missing a beat the three of you blaze through the new course.

An ominous rumbling foreshadows this path’s perils, and out of the corner of you eye you note the dozens of holes pockmarking the walls of the canyon.

“Oh dear.”

It’s all you have time to say before a gaping maw filled with teeth like longswords erupts from the hole nearest to you. The quarry eels that evidently infest this route sense the prey in their midst burst from their burrows along the canyon, snapping and biting at the perceived meal. Up and down, left and right you dodge the hungry monsters as they seek to snap you up, all the while wondering if the race coordinators have any failsafe if one of you proves too slow for the great beasts.

Not that you need a backup plan of course. Terrifying though they may be, the monsters are slow and cumbersome. A trifle for one of your skill to avoid. The inclusion of the quarry eels serve as less of a threat than a hindrance to fliers of your skill, each deft maneuver increasing the distance to the end of the canyon, making them more of an annoyance than anything.

As you twist away from the jaws of one of the behemoth serpents, you use the next as a springboard to launch yourself further along. Evidently Spitfire and Rainbow regard the monstrosities with the same disinterest as you, neither of them seeming even the least bit worried about their safety as they are with their position in the race.

Over and downward you deftly avoid horrors that would still a lesser man’s heart, soon leaving behind those monstrous serpents. Exiting the canyon you’re once again greeted by the sight of that mountain range that caused you such grief in the last lap.

Arching eastward through the mountains you’re met by the same howling winds that sought to dash you against the earthen peaks before. This time you dip low through the gales, passing as closely to the mountains a possible in your attempts to minimize the effects of the winds as much as possible.

The blinding snow you kicked up in your last pass now acts against you, your vision deteriorating significantly as you fight to maintain control. This time, rather than fighting her way up the center through the howling headwinds, Rainbow follows your course and seeks out the least resistant avenues along the fringes of the range. When at last the wind dies away and you plunge once more unto the breach in the range Lightning Dust makes her appearance, joining Rainbow once more as the four of you dive towards the tunnel through the mountains encroaching on Canterlot..

Passing again into the twilight of the train tunnel, you’re unable to overcome the feeling of claustrophobia that presses in upon you. The dim lighting and the confined spaces providing an optimal route for Rainbow’s team through the mountains. Then, as though in response to your deepest fears a howling note reverberates through the tunnel: the sound of a train horn. Your own fear come to life.

You and Spitfire hug the sides of the tunnel as the train passes beneath you, Rainbow’s carelessness carrying her further along through the passage as she presses herself against the roof of the earthen mouth. When the train passes by and you and Spitfire fall in behind the other team, you watch as Lightning passes the two of you to take up her position by Rainbow.

The darkened way finally gives ground to the light, a telltale glimmer at the end giving you hope as you speed along the tunnel’s length. The tunnel disappears behind you and only a small stretch of mountains separates you from the finish line.

As Canterlot approaches a rumbling overtakes your world. A shockwave of broken light rips through the atmosphere as Rainbow initiates another sonic rainboom grasping tight to Lightning Dust so as not to lose her again.

Borne of desperation, a path opens up before you. Your jetpack’s maximum speed is artificially set by governor mechanisms within, preventing you from exceeding speeds that would otherwise tear the fragile mechanisms apart.

Thrusting a hand out, you direct Spitfire ahead to provide you with a slipstream. Without question or hesitation she flies forward and you follow behind, disengaging the governor pylons within your pack as you do so.

Closing your eyes, you relish this, that which may be the last time you ply the air with Spitfire.

One by one the governors disengage, the roar of your turbines growing all the greater as you carry on.

At last there is nothing limiting your potential. Following in your partner’s trail you clench your fists tight and demand everything from the miraculous machine on your back that it can provide. It gives back a thousand times more than you could have ever asked, propelling you forward at a terrific speed to challenge even Rainbow Dash.

Closer and closer Canterlot draws, and soon you outstrip even Spitfire, grabbing tight to your steadfast ally as you fly past in the likeness of your rival. Foot by foot, inch by inch you gain on Rainbow and Lightning, and for a while your two teams are neck and neck. Canterot grows closer and closer as your fiery wings grow all the greater, sparks starting to fly free from the machine within as the power it generates exceeds its limits.

Both you and Rainbow reach out, taking advantage of every inch of reach your bodies provide you with. As one the four of you soar over the finish line, you and Rainbow reaching forward as though trying to grasp victory from the other.

Time slows, your heart pounds in your ears, and a flash shines from your right side.

And then you notice the ground coming a bit too fast your way. You rotate your body and fall on your shoulder, going limp and hugging Spitfire close as you skid along the ground. Your pack, however, has different ideas and snaps the straps off your back and skips along the raceway like a rock on a pond.

A sonic boom a second later kicks up a storm of dust and sends you into coughs.

“Shi-*COUGH* Spits, are you okay!?”

”Still in one piece, Anny!” you hear among the roar of the crowd.

”IT LOOKS LIKE A PHOTO FINISH, EVERYPONY!”

Whoawhat?

That fast? That hadn’t happened in-

Both you and the crowd go silent as the image taken by what you guess was the source of that flash is sent to the big screen.

Come on come on…

Both teams hold their breath. The screen flashes to show you, Spitfire, Rainbow Dash, and Lightning Dust crossing the line. With your hand extended a solid two inches ahead of the opposition.

Then the stadium explodes.

Oh. Well shit.

”WONDERBOLTS WIN! WONDERBOLTS WIN!” the announcer booms over you.

Still in disbelief, you point at the screen. “Hey Spits would you look at tha-GAH!”

What you were saying dies in your throat as Spitfire throws her hooves around you and chokes the life out of you. “OH I –KNEW- I RUTTED THE RIGHT MONKEY!” she cries.

You almost have her peeled off when you look towards your pit area and see the crew galloping towards you.

“Nonononononon!Shit!”

You’re barreled over by your friends, confidants, and teammates offering their congratulations.

”You did it, you big idiot!”

”Good show, old boy!”

”The academy will need to make new records for you!”

You shake hooves with each of them and let their words set the reality of the situation in. Holy shit…

YOU JUST WON THE CUP!

HOLY SHIT!

You catch Spitfire looking around. “Hey…where’s Rainbow Dash?”

Eyes to the sky, you search over the roar of the crowd, but find no trace of the cyan Pegasus. That’s…not unsurprising.

“Eh…she’ll show up again. She’s a sore loser.”

”Yeah it shows.”

“Be nice.”

”No.” Spitfire answers.

”Anonymous? Anonymous!” another voice cries. You look past the herd of horses around you, a smaller pony in a lab coat is running up to you dragging your pack.

“Bunsen?”

”Anonymous…I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for-oh.”

Beaker pulls your pack forward and elicits a gasp from Spitfire. The exhaust vents had exploded, and the pressure gauge cracked. Bulbous protrusions in the tanks near the top indicating combustion in the reserves stuck out right behind where your head would have been.

”You’re lucky you disengaged when you did, my friend. Another few seconds could have been…bad.”

You pat your now dead pack.

”I am sorry, Anonymous.”

“Eh…don’t be. I’m sure you can fix her.”

Bunsen’s face lights up.

”Really!?”

“Can’t think of anyone better, champ. And I’m in a generous mood right now.”

That ought to brighten up his lifetime.

You look down at Spitfire. “I might need a ride home…”

She playfully punches you in the arm.

”Anonymous? Wonderbolts? Someone else chimes in.

Oh who NOW?

The Princesses, that’s who now.

You wipe the annoyed expression off your face and stand up straight. “Your Highness’s.”

You bow, as does your team.

Celestia, graceful as ever, giggles and waves a hoof. “Rises, racers. For we are here this day to honor you.” From a box held by an advisor, Celestia floats the royal cup. Solid gold, featuring fliers of all shapes and sizes swirling near the bottom of the base and ending in two crossing thunder bolts near the top.

”We award this trophy to you, The Wonderbolts, Equestria’s own as evidence of your determination, coordination, comradery and…”

”Going fast!” Luna chimes in.

Celestia chuckles. “Yes, chiefly that.”

For a change, A Princess bows to you as she floats over the cup. You hoist it high over your head and bask in the cheers of the crowd. Even the visiting nations, teams who’d been knocked out, and citizens of other realms were unified in their celebration of a great race.

”What will you do now, Anonymous?” Celestia asks, rising.

You’d really not given that much thought…what was there beyond racing?

You shrug. “I dunno…go to Whinny World?”

-Epilogue: Six Months Later-

Spitfire and you soar leisurely through the air together.

”Did you remember to lock the door?” she asks.

“YES I remembered to lock the door.”

”I don’t want the mailman to deliver our mail on out table again, it’s fucking creepy.”

“YOU were the one who forgot to lock that time, Spits.”

”…Still creepy.”

“I thought things were supposed to get less weird after two people move in together.”

”Not in our lives, Anny. That’s the price of fame.”

Spitfire falls back a bit and comes up on your side. “How’s the new pack treating you?”

You flex your fingers and compensate as the rockets on your back follow your instructions. “Responsive but…I don’t think she’ll be as fast as the old one.”

”Give it some time, eh? Break her in a bit. Everyone knows the best gear only becomes the best after six broken bones at least.”

“I’d like to think I don’t need to break the sound barrier in our new profession.”

Spitfire laughs. “I dunno, those recruits can get aaaaawful antsy.”

The two of you break through the cloud layer and lay eyes on Wonderbolts Academy, now expanded and experiencing a boom of activity. Everyone was trying to enroll with the championship under your belt.

"What do you think our illustrious captain is making them do?”

”Who, Soar? Maaaan, that guy’s probably still getting used to finally having a position that warrants a head as big as his.

You roll your eyes. “What would you be doing at this hour with them?”

”Making them run laps while I shook off a hangover.”

You roll your eyes even harder.

Spitfire touches down on the ground at the academy a second before you and flashes a grin back. “Ha! Beatcha.”

“Yeah? Well I won the cup for you.”

Spitfire furrows her brow. “That excuse is gonna run thin one of these days, loverboy.”

“Psssh. No it’s not.”

You smooth out your dress blues and walk with Spitfire over to lines of ponies, gryphons, dragons, and other fliers standing in the center of the main academy track.

The new blood.

”Aces on the field, ten hut!” one of your assistant instructors calls out.

A staccato of hooves and claws striking the ground as every recruit stood at attention echoed out.

Hmm…not bad timing.

“Alright maggots, for todays agenda we-“

”Anon.”

Dammit Spits-

“Today’s agenda is-“

Spitfire pulls you aside a bit. “WHAT?” you yell-whisper.

Spitfire nods her head towards a cyan and rainbow shape waiting by the bleachers looking awkward.

…Oh piss.

“…Let me handle this.”

"If she hits you, Imma clock her.”

“Just let me handle it.”

“Hold here, class.” You say as you walk over.

“Look what the cat dragged back from the dead…”

”H-hey Anon…” Rainbow Dash says

You cross your arms “Hey Dash. What are you doing here?”

Rainbow Dash closes her eyes and gulps, kicking at the ground. ”Iwannaenroll.”

You blink twice. “Come again.”

”I…want to enroll.” She says with a sigh. “I wanna give it another shot.”

“You.”

”Yeah.”

“The ex-head of the opposing team who almost beat us at the championship.”

”…A-huh.”

“My ex.”

A nod.

“Want to enroll here.”

…A weaker nod.

You tap your foot a few times.

“Why?”

Rainbow looks up at you but keeps her head down. “I may have gotten far on my own but…I didn’t get far enough. Not to beat you or satisfy myself. You did. You gotta know something I don’t and…I wanna be better. On and off the track.”

Mhmm…

“What makes you think we’d take you?”

Rainbow looks up at you almost broken, she was probably expecting to you tell her to go jump off the edge.

You were considering it. But…

You sigh.

“You think you can leave that idiot ego on the ground and actually listen to what people have to teach you?”

Rainbow Dash nods like a happy dog.

“And you’re not gonna scream and be a bitch about not going fast enough?”

An equally enthusiastic shake.

“…Fine. Go inside and grab a suit. Your ex-teammates already joined up last week, you’ll have to work through lunch to catch up.”

Rainbow’s face lights up like her namesake and she flutters into the air. “You won’t regret this, coach!”

And then with a boom and rainbow trail, she flies off towards the main building.

You turn and walk back towards Spits. ”What was that about?”

“I’m too nice a guy, probably why I spend time with you.”

Spitfire rolls her eyes. You blow your whistle.

“Recruits!”

”Sir!” you get in unified response.

Now…what pain could you inflict on these poor sods.

…Screw it.

“Take a lap.”

The next generation of Wonderbolts takes to the field, and Celestia help the racing community with you at the wheel.

-End.

Author's Note

Special thanks to mah boi Imp for helping me make the race scene not suck total ass.

Gotta Go Fast.

Equestria.

The city of Cloudsdale. Practically the pegasus capital of Equestria and home to the weather factories. Weather from Drackenridge Mountains all the way down to Marehiem was produced in Cloudsdale. The pegusi here were a jovial type who worked hard and played harder.

So it made sense that they were big fans of racing.

You are Anonymous and you are a Wonderbolt. First human to be one, first alien too. You had landed in Equestria a few years ago with only your baby to your name, it had just made sense to get a job flying, you didn't expect it to lead to you becoming a celebrity.

Not that everyone was happy about that... The idea of an alien not only being considered to join a national treasure of a team not to mention PASSING their rigorous enrollment process had been less than well received. Especially considering how you were able to do it.

"Cheating" they called it. "A technicality, nothing more."

It annoyed you. Mostly because you trained your ASS off at the Academy to even pass the fitness requirements. A little recognition for that kind of work would be appreciated, a guy couldn't get along on his flight suit making his butt look good forever.

"Yo Anon!" a voice calls.

You look up and see Soarin' and Fleetfoot, both dressed and ready for the race hovering in the air.

"What's up, Soar?"

"We can't find Spitfire! You seen her?"

Christ, that mare. She could turn Stalliongrad into Las Pegasus inside four hours if she put her mind to it.

You think back to that party she threw on the Albatross last night and get an idea. "Shit...Soar, go get to the track and warm the others up! I'll get our esteemed leader!"

Soarin' nods, salutes, and flies off to the stadium as you make your way to the docks.

The Albatross was The Wonderbolts touring ship. It stores all your gear, equipment, and basically serves as all of your home during the time spent going between locations.

Spitfire however, gave it a different name when it was docked... "Party Boat"

Her huge parties on the damn thing were legendary, and also loud enough that they sometimes convinced the rest of the team to reside in a hotel on shore when they were going on.

You step onto the deck of the ship, finally giving your enchanted boots a rest. Not being able to walk on clouds was nothing that an enchanted set of boots and track shoes couldn't fix. Still couldn't interact with them, though. You walk past deckhands and crew members as you make your way down to Spitfire's cabin. As team captain, she had a bigger room than the rest of you, even had an office in it

And as you got closer, you saw that today, as with many other times, it smelled like cheap booze.

"Uhg..."

You rap your knuckles against the wooden door twice to get her attention. "Spits! It's Anon! Race in twenty, get your ass in gear!"

You hear clinking glass and groaning come from behind the door. You twist the knob and let yourself in, doing your best to ignore the smell.

The room looked like a tornado went through it. Papers were strewn about on the floor, some of the curtains were pulled down, the ground was LITTERED with empty bottles and laying in the middle of the floor was the yellow and orange captain of the Wonderbolts, Spitfire.

"Spits!"

"Five more minutes..." she groans.

"No more minutes! The race is starting soon and we need our captain!"

Spitfire winces and brings a hoof to her head. "Who's the bucking moron who keeps scheduling these this early...?"

"The fans and the demand, Spits."

You pick up a bottle and toss it into a large pile of them in the corner. "Now get up and let's go!"

The bottle hits the pile and elicits a groan from it.

You sigh. "Hi Scratch..."

"...Hey Monkey Guy." comes from under the pile.

You help Spitfire to her feet "Jeeze...could you not even get to the bed?"

"Captain Maregan said the floor was comfy..." she says. Spitfire trots over to her desk and pulls a bottle of rainbow goo out of it.

"How much Liquid Rainbow do you have?"

She pops the cork off and spits it out. "I'm an alcoholic Anon, I'll never have enough."

Spitfire looks at the pile of booze and DJ. "We'll hang out again after my race, kay Vinyl?"

A tired. "I'll be here." comes from under the bottles.

Spitfire downs the contents of the rainbow bottle and makes several faces as it courses through her veins. She eventually releases a stiff burp followed by a laugh.

"Ah~! Always hits the spot! Wait outside, Anon! I'll just be a minute!"

"What? Why?"

Spitfire gets a wry grin. "Because I'm a girl and I have to change."

You roll your eyes and head outside.

"Fine, but hurry up, drunky."

You only have to spend a few minutes leaning up against the wall outside of Spitfire's office before the door opens and she walks out in her suit. "Alright Anon, shouldn't you go off and get your baby?"

Spitfire was always okay with you using your pack, she was even the one to defend it when it was asked by the Wonderbolt's management. "If we let Soarin' and his big freaky wings in, then we should at least let this guy and his doodad have a chance." she had said.

"Yeah, better strap in, see you out there?"

Spitfire smirks. "All your gonna be seeing of me is my toned butt during that race, Anon. I ought to charge you." Spitfire winks and walks past you and heads to the upper deck while you lead down to the lower decks where you keep your gear.

You open your locker and lay eyes on it.

It was a small pack weighing in at about fifteen pounds with two pointed cylinders making up most of the body, charred black exhaust vents at the bottom and a small fuel gauge in the center were the only other notable features. You slip it onto your back and secure all the harnesses the techs said you needed. You slip on your controller gloves after that and flex your hands for a test.

Although you can see it, you can hear the vents shifting around behind you in response to your commands.
Satisfied, you grab your goggles and head out.

You and your jetpack had a race to win.

You fly over and find the rest of the team stretching near the side of the track, Spitfire sitting on the bench nearby.

"Anon! Glad you could make it!"

"Yeah yeah, screw you boss, I had to suit up."

Soarin' flexes his large wings. "Your contraption all ready?"

You flex your hands and rev up the engine.

"Ready and able."

Fleetfoot looks across the track. "Think we can beat 'em?"

You follow her gaze and see a quad of griffins doing similar stretches to the rest of you. The Asgardian Annihilators were your current opponents in the race today. Known for their intricate flying patterns and team cohesion. Today was gonna be a good race.

"Alright racing fans, are you ready!?" the announcer shouts.

Spitfire calls the team into a huddle. "Alright guys! I've never been good at these speeches, so let's just get out there and kick some flank!"

"Woohoo!" Soarin' exclaims.

"Soarin'! Watch your surface area and tighten your goggles. Fleetfoot! Don't do as much weaving, you almost got hurt last time. Anon!" Spitfire looks right at you. "Stick close! We're gonna control the front of the pack."

You nod. Control duty was big time.

"Who's like us!?" Spitfire shouts.

The four of you clap. "Damn few! And they're all dead!"

You and the griffins take your places side by side at the starting line.

You're put next to a particularly large griffin as you get into position. He laughs. "I didn't know apes could fly!"

You roll your eyes and ignore him as he eyes your pack. "Nice toy. Are the Wonderbolts so desperate that they let monkey's with saddlebags into their ranks?"

Your eyes are on nothing but the refs flag.

"Pay attention, Kitty Cat, you're about to find out..."

The ref waves the flag and starts the race.

-Music-

Time slows down once the flag falls and you start to notice everything. All the racers break from their starting positions and get a running start.

You can see Soarin' getting ready to jump high and let his wings carry him on the wind, you can see Fleetfoot preparing to go low and use her smaller size to her advantage, you can see the griffins already starting to get into formation, and you can see Spitfire running ahead to secure the front, the position you should be helping with.

You stretch your hands to start up the thrusters, letting them get as hot as you could before clenching your hands hard and exploding after Spitfire.

The first instant of the race started, you fall into position behind your team leader, securing the first two spots of the race.

The wind beats against your goggles as you accelerate and turn down the track, making your gut want to ease off a bit before you power through.

Having a mechanical aid to flying evens out, you had learned. While you didn't have to pump your wings to gain speed, only rely on your pack, you soon found that your body was not as conditioned to the air pressure as your team mates was. Pushing yourself too hard was your one way ticket to liquefied insides.

You keep the speed constant and hug the inside with Spitfire as the two of you enter the precision flying portion of the race.

A series of hoop gates pockmarked the track and you were required to hit every one.

You break off from Spitfire and start some fancy handwork to order your pack into the proper maneuvers. You twist and bend and weave and turn and intertwine your way through the dozens and dozens of hoops.

Each team was required to hit all the hoops as a whole, meaning that you had to have a strategy going in to ensure you hit them all, a single missed hoop could cost your team the race in points.

Your team's strategy was simple enough. You go right, Spitfire goes left, Soarin' goes high and Fleetfoot stays low. Not the best plan, but you didn't miss any.

A squak behind you makes you look back, Behind you, you can see the Annihilators entering into the hoop course with Soarin' and Fleet right behind them.

However that griffin precision kicks in. As soon as they enter the hoop course, the Annihilators break formation and fly into the rings.

Each movement is practiced and perfect, they dive through each other's flight paths and never once stop moving forward.

What took you ten hole seconds took them barely three. And they just passed you doing it.

GAH SHIT.

You fly through the last ring and rocket towards the reforming griffin pack.

You clench your fists and coax a bit more out of your pack, pulling up alongside the pack of griffins. The five of you race neck and neck, lagging a bit behind Spitfire as she leads the race several meters ahead.

The Annihilators eye you as you keep pace with them, daring you to try something.

Dammit, you wouldn't have to if you had the inside.

The griffins on your side start to edge their way closer to you, letting large wings flap in your face in an attempt to throw you off.

You angle yourself down and roll underneath the griffins before blasting forward a bit and pulling slightly ahead.

Ha. Eat it, bird brains.

The griffins don't let up however. They wordlessly break their phalanx formation and line up in a straight line, the burly motherfucker who laughed at you taking the lead and their leader taking the rear.

The griffins extend their talons forward and lower their heads, beginning to reel you in.

As they get closer, the lead griffin breaks off and falls back the one behind him taking his place. He repeats this process and so does the one behind him until only the leader is left and he flies forward seemingly unimpeded.

Using your teammate to gain speed and avoiding the air pressure...clever.

But that couldn't slide for you.

You bring your arms forward and flatten yourself out, kicking in your packs afterburners. You break the air in front of you as best you can with your hands as you pull up beside the griffin.

His friends were way behind now, all that mattered was getting ahead of this guy.

A few inches more... You clench your fists and straighten out as best you can, trying to coax every inch you cou-

The sound of an air horn goes off and the griffin peels off into the center of the track.

You look past and see the checkered flag behind you...You had apparently finished the race.

The judge puts the medal around your neck. Bronze, not bad, but not too good.

"You raced well, son." he says.

"Yeah...thanks."

As he walks away you look to your right and see the Annihilator captain return to his squad, the silver medal hanging from his neck.

Meanwhile, Spitfire trot up to you proudly displaying her gold medal.

"Nice race, Anon! Let's hope the crew didn't clean too much of the party supplies up, we've got a lot of celebrating to do."

You run your hand through your hair.

"Eh...I should have been faster. It'd look better with both gold and silver on our necks."

Spitfire rolls her eyes. "Don't sweat it, Anon. One silver medal isn't going to make up for the rest of their team finishing last. We've got this race in the bag."

"Wish I could share your optimism, boss."

Spits flies up and puts her hoof around you. "Well I know the cure for that! You're not a two drink chump, are you?"

You laugh. "Do you ever slow down?"

"Wouldn't have this medal if I did!" Spitfire says. "Now come on! We9 got a party to plan and daylight's burning!" she says before flying off.

Yeah...

"Coming Spits!"

You cue your jets and take off after her, making way for the Albatross.

White Knuckle Tight.

Apalcalacia was a temperate city. Located outside Equestria’s official boarders at the southern tip of the the Tramplevanian Alps where the land met the water, it had –just- the right mix of mountain cold and waterfront humidity to make it feel like icicles were forming in your nostrils when you took a deep breath. So perfect weather to be bracing wind chill in, obviously.

The event coordinators need to have their heads examined. At least they were able to get you heat trapping flight suits.

You pull your suit off your lower back and let it slap back, re-adjusting to a more comfortable position. “Fancy, I think my suit’s too small.”

Fancypants doesn’t turn to face you as he draws notes on the whiteboard with the race’s route on it. “Every suit was custom made to your measurements, Anonymous. Unless you’ve put on weight since the last time we did that, it should fit perfectly.”

Smart ass…

“I also think the paint might be still wet on these…”

You’d caught some yellow on your hands.

Fancypants sets his marker down and turns around. “Yes, these were a bit of a rush job. Please, sit.”

You and the rest of the team sit down, you’ve got Soarin’ and Spitfire on your flanks. ”Good morning team, I hope you all slept well on the way over here.” Fancy starts with a smile.

”We slept like foals.” Spitfire says. She winks to Fancy afterwards. “I checked.”

”Creeeeeepy…” Fire Streak teases.

Fancy chuckles and waves a hoof. “Well, voyeurism aside, let’s go over today’s race…”

”We’re all ears, Fancy.” Soarin’ says.

Fancypants levitates up a photo. In the photo are six young-ish looking, you could never tell with them, dragonlings, all posing to look tough. “This is our opponent, The Desolators.”

“How grandiose…”

”Indeed. They say they hail from the uncharted north, near the landmass closest to the Hooviet Union. They caught the eye of a recruiter up there and…well, he brought them down here.”

”But why did they even come?” Misty asks. “As far as I remember, dragons value their privacy highly.”

Spitfire chimes in. “Those kids? It’s the three G’s. Glory, then gold, then girls. Dragons’re competitive by nature, I’m amazed it’s taken this long to see a few of ‘em in the league.”

”Spitfire is correct.” Fancy says.

"Which is weird for a highschool dropout." Misty chimes.

“Right…what’s the plan then, Fancy?”

Fancypants levitates a pointer up and highlights the starting position and starts tracing it along the generally simple path, no big worries save a few dead end turns. “The race is a three lap race through the mountains and outer-lying cave systems. Each tag team will have their times added together and averaged and the best time wins.” Fancy shoot Spitfire a look. “So stay together.”

Spitfire rubs the back of her head while Fancy continues. “You’ll be allowed one pit-stop for either refuel or re-hydration where the clock will be stopped each, but after that they’ll keep the clocks running, so use it wisely.”

“Anything else, boss?”

Fancypant’s face goes grim. “Yes…dragons are a violent and competitive race and the watcher balloons won’t be able to see you everywhere. Don’t expect them to play entirely fair when pry eyes are blocked.”

Greeeeeaaaat…

A quick huddle for luck and you’re out the door into the stadium.

”AND HERE THEY ARE, YOUR WONDERBOLTS!” the announcer screams.

You engage press mode and wave to the gathered crowd. The stadium was built especially for this race tour and was packed full of spectators.

"It’s like the Equestria Games out here…” Fleetfoot says.

”Easy Fleets, just be cool.” Spitfire responds.

You wave and cheer and throw a few winks to some of the mares in the audience.

The dragons in the center of the field were doing the same, but with far more gusto. They’d single out spectators to high five and egg entire sections on for more, they were eating this praise up.

“Looks like you were right about these kids, Spits.” you say.

”Go around the world as much as I have Anny, and you learn a few things.”

The teams take their positions at the starting line as the announcer tells the six lap, one pit-stop rule to the audience. Next to your team, The Desolator's scoff and jeer. “Check it out, man. The ponies got a pink monkey to help them.”

The other one snickers. “So lame…”

“Hey.”

They both look over to you over the backs of the others.

“When you two are done sucking on my exhaust trails, tell your mom’s if they can mail me back my clothes. I think I left them on the floors of their caves.”

Next to you, Soarin winces in mock pain at the burn. The dragons however, gnash their teeth.

”Why I oughta-“

The countdown clock chimes on with a “Ding!” and signals the last ten seconds before the race starts.

A hush of anticipation falls over the stadium.

”On your marks…” the announcer says.

-Music -

Your muscles tense as the light counts down. In a flash, it turns green.

”GO!” the announcer shouts.

And you do, you and the other racers leap off your starting positions to the roar of the crowd like bullets coming out of a gun. You clench your fists and throw your arms back, accelerating with the pack and watching for the openings to present themselves.

Right…there!

One of the dragons at the front of the pack was going high.

“Spitfire! Low ball on the right!”

You arc your body down and to the right and dip altitude until you’re practically skimming the ground.

”Nice eye, Anny!” Spitfire shouts, joining you in your descent.

You gradually pull closer to the boy, riding his slipstream while avoiding the gusts of wind from his wings. If you can get a bit closer, you- Another wing, an orange feathered one, flaps in your peripheral vision.

“Gah!”

Your reprise in turn almost causes Spitfire to spin out and worse, alerts the dragon. He looks down at you, then up at the press balloon watching the race, then scoffs and rolls out of your path.

Shit, there went that.

”Pull it back together, Anny! We still got this!” Spitfire shouts while pulling away from you.

Good going Anonymous.

”In there Anny, let’s go!”

The pack of you rounds the bend sharp and then rockets down the track to the next bend in the opposite direction. First leg of the race was twists and turns until you reached- The dragon directly in front of you rounded the corner and went splat against a pillared outcropping of rocks from the side of the canyon wall.

Until you reached Pigsticker Pass.

”Break, Anny!”

You and Spitfire break formation and weave through the rocky outcroppings. Grunts of pain and swears of frustration behind you indicate that the trap caught a few of your opponents.

“Looks like that race in Zebrica came in handy after all!” you shout, the two of you pulling ahead.

You dance through the rocks and close in on the dragon in the lead as he clears the obstacle. The boy looks back on you as he enters into the section of the valley with those rocky outcroppings reaching over the lip and casting everything below them into shadow.

As well as blocking the view of the balloons.

The dragon whistles and pulls ahead just as someone roars behind you. Another dragon, a purple one, flies up and starts clawing at your underside.

You bring your arms up to cover your face instinctively.

“Gah-! Wha- Little fucker!”

You feel yourself slowing down trying to fend him off until you both get bapped by a yellow wing.

”Back off, squirt!” Spitfire shouts.

The dragon shakes his head, stunned, and gives you just enough time to kick him in the jaw to send him spiraling back.

As you recover, two more dragons speed ahead of you.

“Dammit!”

”Let’s kick it into high gear, Annie!” Spitfire shouts, rocketing after them.

The remainder of the first lap took you through two more locals, a cave full of fruit bats and a currently dormant geyser field. Through both paths, the young dragons remained far ahead of you.

Spitfire grits her teeth ahead of you and begins reeling the teens in, you clench your fists and do your best to keep up with her. The dragons cross the starting line in quick succession, you and Spitfire right behind them.

You risk a look back to glance at your times on the scoreboard. Whatever it said, all you saw was “Not fast enough”.

“Spits! Go low in the canyon! We’ll dodge the rocks and let them deal with the big ones!”

Spitfire gestures the affirmative with her hoof and cuts around the bend. The dragons ahead of you are already weaving through the rocks as you and Spitfire rapidly drop altitude.

At the bottom of the canyon there were less rocky outcroppings, but space was tight. Right at home for a pair of stunt fliers. Your gamble pays off, you and Spitfire have to slow down less to avoid collisions than the dragons and you escape the forest of rocks within spitting distance of them.

”Ha! We got ‘em now!” Spitfire exclaims as the five of you shoot into the fruitbat cave.

Confectionery bats stream out of the deeper portions of the cave in droves, necessitating some quick maneuvering.

The lead red dragon signaled for one of his wingmen to fly off. The young dragon arced out of his path and shot back towards you, grabbing and snapping off a stalactite on his way as a makeshift club.

”Shit!”

“Split on my mark and get ahead of me!”
The dragon comes closer and closer, raising his weapon high to strike as more bats fly out.

“Now!” you shout once he’s a few feet away.

Spitfire pulls to the side hard and gets out of the way while you curve and bend your body to direct yourself how you want.

You arc your nose over the incoming dragon like a dolphin leaping out of the water. The dragon swings and hits empty air as fruitbats swarm around him.

You rotate yourself around and lift your legs to your chest, you’d only ever done this trick once.

The dragon looks at you in surprise as you clench your fists, fingers in, and send a massive gout of exhaust flame and heat towards him. You rocket forward as the drake tries to pat the fire on him out, the fruitbats around him now avoiding their unfortunately singed brethren and the spinning ball of fire in their midst.

”Haha! Nice one, Anny!” Spitfire shouts as you gain on her.

“It was a trick Soarin’ thought up.” You say.

”Come on, two more to go!” Spitfire says before beating her wings and going ahead.

You enter into the geyser field and notice the puddles rippling as the ground shakes.

“Oh hell, that can’t be good…”

”Eyes up Anny! Deal with that later! We’re gaining on ‘em!”

You weren't entirely sure, but you zipped after Spitfire anyway.

You and Spitfire try to gain on the drakes, but they reach the lap finish line ahead of you.

The two of them land at their tented area and begin throwing back gems by the fistful.

Damn…this could be your chance but with how they’ve been flying…

“Spits! Pit stop! Let’s go!”

Spitfire looks back to you with gritted teeth. “Are you nuts!? Now’s our chance!”

“Spits just listen to me! We gotta land and talk! Now!”

Spitfire groans and peels off towards your pit area, you follow.

”It appears both teams leaders are taking their one allotted time out.” The announcer says.

Once you get on the ground, you wave your pack techs over to start refueling you. Spitfire trots over, using the time to shake her wings out. “What’s up, Anonymous? What’s so important that we had to stop the race?”

You kneel down to her level and talk bluntly. “You and me need to do our team dynamic thing. Now.”

Spitfire cocks an eyebrow. “Aint this not the most opportune time to be experimenting?”

“It’s either that or we lose the race, Spitfire. Our times aren’t good enough to beat theirs unless we pull off some miracle.”

Spitfire bits her lip and looks up at the scoreboard. Behind her, the dragon team takes off again. ”Crap, I hate it when you eggheads are right.”

Your techs pat your shoulder. “All good, sir!” You ignore them.

“We need to do this now. You take lead and I’ll follow, we’ll try a slipstream okay?”

Spitfire nods. “Let’s hit it!”

You and Spitfire run down the track and shoot off into the air. You organize yourself so that you’re right behind her, riding through the air that she breaks a her powerful wings carry her forward.

”How do you wanna play this!?” she shouts back.

“Get me close! I got a plan!”

The two of you zip through the rock outcroppings and through the fruitbat cave with little trouble.

Although you –did- smell roasted fruit on the way.

Once you clear the cave, your worst fears are realized. The geyser fields are erupting. White hot bursts of steam and water shoot up dozens of feet into the air right in your flightpath.

Enough to cook you in this fancy suit if you weren’t careful.

”I see them! They’re about a third of the way through the field!”

“Get us close!”

Spitfire grits her teeth and squints her eyes as she picks up the pace. She hazards a glance down. “We got rumbling, Anny! Follow my instructions if you don’t wanna get cooked!”

“On your six!”
Spitfire continues forward for a bit befor-“RIGHT!” Spitfire rolls to the right, leaving you a fraction of a second to roll with her and keep your slipstream.

”LEFT!”

You both roll left.

”Sideways!”

Whu-You have a split second to react as Spitfire flies on her side and slips between two jets of water that shoot up. She rights herself. “This is your opening, Anny! I don’t have it in me with this turn up ahead!”

You nod. “On your left!”

You ride the slipstream Spitfire’s been making for just a bit longer before you gun your engines and pull ahead.

The dragons ahead of you soar side by side as the watch out for any geysers.

“HEY!”

Their ears both perk up.

“Snot nosed kids!”

The two of them look back at you and scowl and you swear your hands are bleeding with how hard you’re pushing it. How can dragons be so –fast-?

“You know only one of you can win, right?”

The two’s eyes go wide and they look at each other blinking. Come on you two idiots, you can’t keep this up forever.

”…I’m winning!” one says, shooting forward.

”Like hell you are!” the other shouts, grabbing the firsts tail and yanking back.

Bullseye!

You race under the two drakes as they squabble in the air and fall behind, Spitfire shoots past them as well from behind a geyser.

”Ha! Nice going, Anny!”

“Pick it up before they catch on!”

Spitfire pulls ahead of you as you enter into the final straightaway to the finish line.

”And crossing the finish line in first and second place is the all-star duo of the Wonderbolts, Spitfire and Anonymous! Their times together almost guarantee a much needed win for this team.”

You both cross the finish line to the roar of the crowd and the equally loud roar of Fancypants ringing in a win. Your times go up on the board and get averaged out.

“Hah…nice.” You say landing and skidding to a stop.

Spitfire lands next to you panting, you’re out of breath yourself. “Hah…hah…”

“See…? Toldja it’d work…”