Author's Note

Hooray, a chapter!

This one was surprisingly long, considering it did not want me to write it. It was pleasantly surprising to see it make it this long.

I hope you guys enjoy!

Interlude- Spitfire's Surprising Saturday

Spitfire, Captain of the Wonderbolts, started her morning at five AM.

Every morning at five, she would wake up, and do exercises in her backyard. Then, after stretching, she would fly twenty laps around her yard, always adding extra flair to it. Circles, loops, dives, flips- anything she could think of. This time always fostered the best from her regarding ideas. She devised some of her best flight choreography sequences from it. She’d switch things around, try things in the air. The movement always did something for her. She always came up with her best ideas in the air. When she flew up, the ideas sank in.

Grogar had wanted very much to have Spitfire under the effects of The Mist, but he knew it wasn’t wise. Taking her fliers was good enough. He had to maintain some of an illusion of normalcy, and the captain of the Wonderbolts absent meant a lot of media coverage he didn’t need. Some sacrifices had to be made- no matter how much he did not want to make them.

Today she awoke and did the same thing she always did. She did stretches, she flew in the backyard, she did her laps, and she got her creative juices flowing. She considered switching the Icauranian Sun Salutation with one of the series of barrel rolls in the routine. As she did, she noticed a lack of something, but she wasn’t sure what.

When Spitfire went inside to eat breakfast and drink (at minimum) a half-gallon of water, she realized what that lack of something was. A lack of buzzing from wings.

Certain sounds in a home or out of it were so customary that it became too quiet without them. The low hum of an air conditioner or refrigerator, the almost nonexistent, barely there sound of gas on a burner. One of the sounds that was a staple of Cloudsdale was the sound of Pegasi buzzing by. It happened at all hours of the day and night. All day, every day, without fail, wings would buzz. It didn’t matter if it was for a second or for three hours nonstop. It was something she expected and grew accustomed to. And in all the time she’d been outside- at least a solid hour and a half- not a sound was heard.

This perturbed her greatly. After an egg white veggie omelette, a wheatgrass smoothie, and some more water, alongside a bit of orange juice (She did, after all, need to keep her energy up), she still couldn’t get it off her mind.

She cleaned up from breakfast, grabbed her saddlebags, and began the flight toward the Wonderbolts grounds. All the while, she kept an ear out for that comforting sound, that buzzing which told her life was happening around her.

Having a birds eye view of certain things really tended to come in handy. It prevented ponies from being hit by rocks or unsavory things, it prevented thievery if the pony flying was brave enough to confront it, and it gave an overview of the world around them. Normally, she’d see things like children playing, ponies grocery shopping, or others flying off to work not unlike herself.

Today, unfortunately, was not a normal day.

As she flew over Cloudsdale, no hum of wings greeted her, not even a slight whisper of one. No ponies were headed off to work as per usual- though that may have perhaps been because she herself was going to work on a Saturday and it was admittedly early in the morning. Still, to not see one pony out was… highly suspect. Her perturbation quickly blossomed into clear anxiety. For a moment, however briefly, she wondered if this was some odd sort of dream about being the last pony in Equestria. But she was able to shake that when she saw that far below on the ground, there was one pony working.

It was a slight- very, very slight, really- comfort to her. Okay. So she wasn’t the last pony in Equestria. But then just where was everypony?

She didn’t have time to pursue the course of thought further as she reached the grounds. She flew straight for her office, fumbling with the keys as she tried to open the door. She was typically very precise in matters of dexterity, but her nerves had been shot to Tartarus by this strange day. She felt paranoid, suddenly, as though a shadow might grab her somehow. This jumpiness wasn’t ever shown in her face, but it was shown in the tenseness of her muscles as though she were preparing for a fight, and in the tautness of her facial features. She tried to project calmness and sternness, but that was, unfortunately, countered by her fumbling with her keys.

She got the door open at last, and chucked her saddlebags aside, for once uncaring of the order that usually permeated her office. She took her microphone in hoof that would project her announcements across the grounds, and spoke.

“All Wonderbolts report to the Captain’s office immediately!” She thundered.

Then, afterward, in the silence so heavy one could hear a pin drop, she waited.

She waited, and waited, and waited.

Not a soul came. There was no Blaze, no Thunderlane, no Rainbow Dash, and even no Soarin- and that stallion only ever missed practice if something was broken!

That was it. It was time for action.

She left her bags in her office, taking only the key with her, and flew to Soarin’s home. She’d come over there several times in the past- to see how he was doing after an injury, to talk about work, occasionally even to just have lunch and hang out- but never for a panic-induced reason like this. It didn’t take more than ten minutes to fly there, and she banged on his door, somehow already knowing this was a lost cause but desperate to be wrong.

“Soarin! It’s me, Spitfire, open up! Soarin!” She called. She glanced in every window, but there were no signs of life. The only sign was the unmade bed, but she knew Soarin well enough to say that that wasn’t exactly a clue. While he always held to Wonderbolt standards at work, at home his standards were… well, lax.

Spitfire was incredibly frustrated. She started running down the list of ponies who could have seen him. If she could find him, maybe she could find everypony else. She shoved the names of other Wonderbolts aside for the time being, and finally remembered that he’d pointed out his mother’s home to her once. She’d never met the mare, but she was certain that concern for Soarin’s wellbeing would go over well. So, without missing a beat, she flew there.

The twenty minutes it took to get there from his home seemed to move so slowly. But at last, thank goodness, she made it. She landed in front of the cloud home with blue trim and knocked on the door.

Okay, she banged on that one too.

Her ears flicked when they caught the sound of something happening behind the walls, and it made her feel relieved. Somepony was here. Thank goodness.

A blue mare with a brown mane answered the door, looking terribly exhausted.

“Can I help you?” She asked, a faint trace of annoyance in her voice.

“Ma’am, my name is Spitfire. I’m-“

“Oh yes, Spitfire! Captain of the Wonderbolts! I’ve heard of you. But… What brings you knocking at my door at this hour?” She asked, confused.

“Well ma’am, I’ve been looking for-“ A clatter sounded from inside the house.

“Soarin!” Her voice called sharply. “You get down from there right now!”

Spitfire felt relief flood through her. “So he is here. Is Soarin okay?”

“Of course he is. You know how foals get when they’re starting to fly, they just knock over everything."

“Yes, I-“ Then she caught what had been said. “Wait, what?”

A crash resounded, so loud it hurt Spitfire’s ears, and his mother looked at her with concern. “I’m terribly sorry dear, but this will have to wait for another time. I’ve got glass to clean.”

Before Spitfire could protest, the door was shut, and the sounds of wings flapping came from inside.

Determined to get her answers now that she was so close, she flew to the nearby window and was shocked by what she saw.

Soarin sat in a playpen, clutching a stuffed animal, and wearing was clearly a diaper as he sucked on one hoof. And judging by his mother’s reaction, it was supposedly normal.

As she looked through the glass at her friend, the only thing that went through her head was one phrase:

What in Tartarus is going on here?