The Life and Times of the Equestrian Dragon

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In addition to his life of wealth, luxury and privilege, Spike Zenith was obligated to undertake responsibilities far beyond those of any normal human man.

He presided over Zenith Enterprises, a multinational corporation that started out as a simple charitable foundation and grew into one of the largest of both in the world. With several thousand branches across all the known nations, they specialized in everything from eradicating plagues to ending starvation. Hundreds of small businesses and thousands of factories once bankrupt—and hundreds of thousands of jobs about to disappear forever—were given a new lease on life thanks to that handsome businessman and philanthropist. As for Spike himself, he was an oil tycoon, an industrialist, and the owner of Equestria’s largest gold, silver and diamond mining operations. He owned buildings all over the world, model agencies, the Miss Equestria Pageant, jetliners, golf courses, casinos, and private resorts.

But his first action as head of Zenith Enterprises was changing the name of his charity organization to the Zenith Foundation—which was created to help those less fortunate (mostly single fathers who needed financial support).

When Spike was a much younger dragon, he got separated from his parents when he was helping them save the citizens of a small village from an attacking army that burned their homes to the ground. Spike’s mother, Barb, kept on fighting while Spike and his father, Locke, got the children of the village to safety and drew the monsters away so that the humans would live. On that day, Spike vowed revenge against all who chose to wish others harm. He worked to fulfill this vow by travelling the globe, learning various skills and trades from the world’s most renowned fighters, visionaries and heroes.

After his visit to New Canterlot University, Spike drove to an airbase located in the heart of the forest. A private jet displaying the purple and green logo for Zenith Airlines was taxied on the tarmac while a tall, stately Trotishman in a black suit and two Trotish Special Forces signet rings (one on each hand), with slicked back blue hair and a thin moustache, stepped out of a shiny black limousine. He buttoned his suit jacket as he waited patiently by the vehicle parked in front of the aircraft hangar. A tractor pulling luggage carts stopped next to him and the driver glanced at the airplane.

“Zenith, huh?” he asked. “Must be a real bigshot.”

“You would be surprised how big,” the man in the suit replied.

Still wearing his helmet, black leather jacket, jeans and boots, Spike drove his motorcycle down the long runway, towards the hangar, and stopped.

“All this for him?” the tractor driver asked.

The man in the suit nodded.

“Geez,” the driver replied.

With a broad smile, the man at the limo waved and strode over to Spike and Spike smiled back as he got off his motorcycle.

“Glad to see you, Mister Zenith,” he said.

“Glad to see you too, Fancy Pants,” Spike replied.

Zenith Industries’ Chief Executive Officer and Senior Vice-President, Fancy Pants was one of the very few people in this world that Spike thought of as more than just an acquaintance or employee. He was Spike’s ally, loyal counsel, trusted friend and steady right hand. Throughout his life, he had been a servant with varied skills, from valet to personal chef, tailor, repairman, and army field medic. Now, he mostly helped with enforcing Spike’s boorish persona, even going so far as to organize his boss’s social calendar.

But Fancy Pants was much more than Spike’s extra eyes and ears within the company. He was the Equestrian Dragon’s behind-the-scenes jack-of-trades, tending to the numerous high-tech computers, vehicles, and gadgets at Spike’s disposal (which he had a tremendous understanding of--for both operating duties and repair purposes). He even executed fake Equestrian Dragon sightings when Spike was out of the country. But most importantly, not only did he keep tabs on their allies and enemies, Fancy always lent an ear to his old, dear friend.

As the two men approached the hangar, the big doors slid open to reveal to a massive cargo plane parked inside. They lifted their gaze to the back of the aircraft as it opened, descended and unfolded into a ramp. Under their watchful eyes, a vehicle slowly backed out of the plane and onto the ramp.

It was a modified military vehicle—one of Zenith Industries’ latest creations.

Fancy Pants handed Spike a remote control device and the pair stepped back from the vehicle. Spike flipped a switch on the controller and the vehicle turned in reverse. He flipped another switch and the vehicle moved forward and sped off. Then he started making the vehicle do doughnuts on the runway before it accelerated back into the hangar.

“Excuse me, Master Zenith,” Fancy Pants interrupted, “but it’s time for your weekly visit to Zenith Industries.”

Spike groaned. “Do I have to?”

“Sir, a schedule is like a house of cards: take one away, and they all come tumbling down,” Fancy Pants said.

“All right,” Spike said as he put his helmet back on and remounted his motorcycle.

As he cruised through the countryside, Spike traveled along a paved road bordered by trees. He passed Fancy Pants’ limo when they reached the heart of New Canterlot City and they pulled into the parking lot of Zenith Towers--a pair of sprawling, high-tech steel and glass skyscrapers that towered above everything surrounding them, and served as the corporate headquarters of Zenith Industries.

Built in 1909, the Twin Towers of Zenith Industries were built on 51 acres of volcanic soil, rich in deposits of quartz, silver and iron, and stood no less than 100 stories high, making them New Canterlot City’s highest structure. Needless to say, the building had had many upgrades and renovations since its construction, most notably the entrances above and underneath the main structure which Spike had personally installed so the Equestrian Dragon could get in and out without being seen. As the decades rolled by, more floors were added as the company expanded. Its chief exports were wheat, corn, potatoes, oil, cotton, textiles, pottery and many varieties of weapons. Each floor housed the administrative offices of one of Zenith’s sub-divisions, everything from mining to steel, and Fancy Pants, as C.E.O., oversaw ALL of those assets. The board of directors handled most of the business, but Spike was still the owner and majority stockholder, meaning his approval was still needed before any major decisions could be made. If ever in doubt, he always went to Fancy for advice, as he was familiar with the company’s inner workings.

The two men entered the dome-shaped lobby, which bustled with activity. Spike shrugged his black leather jacket off his shoulders and tossed it toward the nearby coat rack, where it landed perfectly on one of the hooks. Then he approached the reception desk, where Fleur de Lis—the woman in white from the previous night—now wearing a very revealing skirt suit, was answering the phone.

“Good morning, Zenith Industries, please hold. Good morning, Zenith Industries, please hold,” she said into her headset over and over. “Zenith Industries. Please hold. Zenith Industries. I’ll connect you. Monsieur Zenith is on vacation. Would you like his voicemail?”

“Spike, are you still growing?” a sweet voice suddenly called out to him. “You look taller than you did last year.”

He turned and found himself nose-to-nose with an attractive young woman with eyes like sapphires and matching dark hair.

“Minuette?” he asked.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you,” she said. “You’re not busy tonight, are you?”

“What you talkin’ about?” he asked.

“Moon Dancer’s birthday party?” she replied. “You arranged the whole thing, remember? You are going, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because sometimes you say you’re going to go to stuff and then you turn into Major No-Show,” Minuette answered. “I’m just saying, you know how sensitive she is. You missed her last party and she got really upset.”

“I promised her that I would be there, and I will be there,” Spike stated.

“Well, did you get her that thing that you were going to get her?” she inquired.

“I was just about to put the finishing touches on her gift,” Spike told her. “You didn’t get her another book that she already owns, did you?”

“No, I made her a mix CD to listen to after she studies,”

“Great. Hey, why don’t you call the elevator and I’ll take you down to the labs?”

Minuette sighed wistfully as she sauntered across the lobby to the elevator bank.

Spike’s plan would be to show her what he’d been working on then he would devote the rest of his afternoon to a little research work.

“Damn it!” he cursed once she was out of earshot. “I completely forgot.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Fleur asked as she reached under the receptionist desk and produced a small box wrapped with red paper and a bright yellow bow.

She had even written “Happy Birthday” on it in her best cursive handwriting.

“You are not just a saint, you are an angel,” he said. “I should get you something nice.”

“Too late, you already did,” she replied, showing him the silver watch on her left wrist.

“I always do the classy thing, don’t I? Phone calls?”

“Davenport closed the Vanhoover Deal,”

“Good. Call Balboa and Sons and have them begin development as soon as they have access to the site,”

“Miss Inkwell has things in hand with the Rolling situation, but requires an additional hundred thousand to tie up loose ends,”

“Wire her two hundred thousand,” Spike said. “Those loose ends are to stay tied up.”

“Miss Still Sky hasn’t returned our calls,” Fleur went on.

“Is she even in Quilina?” Spike asked.

“The phone we gave her is,” Fleur replied.

Spike sighed.

“Cutting Edge has decided he wants more for the facility in Maredrid,” she went on.

“I thought Stoker had that under control?”

“Word is that Mr. Edge learned that Stoker’s company is a proxy of Zenith Industries,”

Spike wasn’t sure if he should be irritated by or in admiration of Cutting Edge’s corporate intelligence people.

“What’s he hiked the price by?” Spike asked.

“Fifty percent,” Fleur said.

Spike was definitely irritated.

“Message to Stoker: walk away,” he stated. “We’ll build our own factories and drive Cutting Edge out of business.”

“Oui,” Fleur replied as she escorted Spike to the elevator. “Mr. McManely phoned to confirm your meeting tomorrow.”

“Call back, tell him I’m swamped. Dinner’s looking iffy. What’s going around now?”

“Germane measles,”

“Of course, even though it’s been over 50 years since the war ended, nobody shies away from taking shots at Germaney,” Spike growled.

“And Filthy Rich,”

“How many people are going to try to suck my dick before they realize that Zenith Industries and I do not need business partners?!” he groaned. “Tell his secretary something came up at the last minute and I had to be taken out and shot.”

“What if the governor calls again?”

“Take a message. Any other business?” he asked as followed Minuette and Fancy Pants into the elevator.

“Those were the highlights. The daily reports are in your mailbox. But other than that, it was a quiet night,” Fleur concluded.

Spike thanked her as the elevator doors closed and the trio descended into basement levels of Zenith Industries; an apparatus so vast that it staggered the imagination.

Zenith Industries was a vast assortment of machine shops and immaculate experimental laboratories where most of Equestria’s state-of-the-art technology was developed. With a series of gadgets, security guards, and other protective measures that made it a perfect safe haven for potential young inventors and investors.

In one of the multi-level underground labs, some of the company’s stockholders—a group from Canter Zoom Studios—were looking at the scientists’ latest breakthrough: a new substance ten times stronger than the strongest adhesive known to man. Spike, Fancy Pants and Minuette passed a group of men in pinstripe suits, Itailian mobsters, also checking up on their investments, with a few of them cashing in and cashing out.

They then walked past a mustached man hammering glowing iron in the metal shop. At the moment, he was making hand grenade paperweights. Every third one would be live.

“How nice of you to join the party,” he told Spike.

In another room, scientist Joy Rider, a microphysicist who specialized in molecular fusion, busily moved about as other women in crisp white lab coats worked around a series of giant mixers. One of them carefully added a beaker of green liquid to a purple concoction that would genetically adjust women’s bodies to maximum attractiveness, thus transforming them into “super beauties” cute enough to attract men like Spike.

Two flasks bubbled and a centrifuge spun as different colored chemical powders flowed through glass tubes from wall-mounted tanks and into clear jars below. One woman scooped powder from an evaporating dish onto a balance scale while another (wearing protective goggles and a breathing mask) added inky liquid from a test tube into a beaker of clear fluid wafting vapor, and a third woman stirred an orange mixture in a mortar with a pestle.

“Lookin’ good, ladies,” Spike said. “Keep up the good work.”

“Hey, Spike,” Joy Rider smiled in reply.

They walked past a huge arsenal of rockets, rocket launchers, missiles and guns while other liquids were poured into giant vats, hunks of rock on conveyor belts were carved into statues. Men in hardhats piloted pods with rotating bases that dispensed empty metal shells onto a circular counter, which emptied into a central hole. A flatbed truck carrying four missile shells drove up to a row of dragon-shaped dispensers, and a woman worked the control panel for the dozens of mechanical arms that filled each of the shells with explosive payloads.

On another assembly line, four men used the robotic arms of four large machines to fill several rocket launchers. They fitted the rockets into the launchers, which a crane claw added to a much larger launcher. A spring-powered plate on a machine bearing fifty nozzles pumped out batch after batch of lead-filled bullets. One of the bullets almost tipped over but a mechanical claw kept it upright as a man inspected the bullets with the most advanced electron microscope in the world. Then the bullets were loaded onto the back of a truck, which drove away.

An aerial lift carried weapons past a display of spiders in a series of transparent plastic cages. Only they weren’t real spiders; they were perfect lifelike listening devices with tiny microphones and built-in super-powered transmitters.

Finally, they approached a thin, mild-mannered young man with a mop of vivid red hair and a matching goatee, standing near a conveyor, operating a mechanical arm with a clamp. He was wearing a white lab coat, which was dirty and covered in various stains, and a pair of round glasses rested on the tip of his nose. Originally a slacker and a bum with almost no goals or ambitions, Sunburst Flare was the head of the head of Zenith Industries’ Research and Development Department and Covert Operations. With his computer expertise as an information broker—and being one of the foremost experts on nanotechnology in the world—he provided Spike (and the Equestrian Dragon) with a constant stream of data in the field to help him in his battle against evil.

Spike had mainly given Sunburst the job as a favor to Sunset Shimmer because, like his sister before him, he had shown great promise. He excelled in programming and electronics; theoretical sciences and physics were also strong points. He was smart. His mother just wished he’d apply himself.

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It was one night, almost a year ago, when Stellar Flare looked down the table, to her lanky, scruffy, shaggy-haired son, and asked him, “How did that job interview go?”

“Oh, I totally tanked it,” he replied.

Sunburst’s mother gave a nod to Sunset Shimmer, who nodded in reply.

“Sunburst, you need to do something,” Sunset told him. “You need to get on with your life, you need to get a job, and you need to move out.”

“I did move out. And I had a job!” Sunburst shouted. “Are you going to tell me that it’s my fault the company downsized?”

“That was over a year ago,” Stellar Flare said calmly.

“Now, that’s just crass,” Sunburst answered.

He would have stayed with his mother, but she became furious at his lack of motivation and kicked him out.

“Sunburst, wait--” Sunset attempted as she followed him out of the house.

“You knew about this, didn’t you?” he asked her.

“And what if I did?” she retorted, as if to add, “What are you going to do about it?”

“Of course you did,” Sunburst stated. “I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t have quit. I mean, you’d never just give up like that. Would you?” he asked.

“You’re darn right, I would! You should’ve ditched that dead-end from the get-go! No brother of mine is gonna flip burgers! It’s demeaning!” Sunset replied. “Now look, the rules of this intervention state that I am not allowed to help you, so you can’t tell Mom what I am about to do. It’s not much, but I can get you a meeting for an entry-level position at Zenith Industries.”

Sunburst’s eyes widened and he gave her an open-minded shrug.

He knew that Sunset kept Spike company while he worked... she had also once said she’d enjoy working under Spike, no matter what her position.

Ignoring the obvious double-entendre that brought to mind, Sunburst said, “Okay, I’m not gonna lie, that does sound cool. All right, if it means that much to you, I will be there.”

“No, you won’t just ‘be there,’” Sunset stated. “It means that you shower, you shave and you show up. Sunburst, you have got to start your life.”

“You know what? You’re right. In a couple of years--a couple of months, you are gonna see a whole new me. By the turn of the century!” he promised. “The year 2000 is a little over two years from now. By New Year’s Day 2000, I am going to have a job, a house and a life.”

So Sunburst showered and shaved, and he showed up at Zenith Industries just as Spike was concluding his business with Panasonic, the “King of the Big Screen.”

“Timing’s perfect,” he said. “Three new contracts, it’ll be great.”

Spike had been making his weekly inspection. He’d spent half of it on the phone.

Turns out, Sunset had not only convinced Spike to meet Sunburst, she had explained the situation to him in advance.

“Spike, my brother has been looking for a job,” she had said. “I was hoping you could help him out.”

Sunburst let out a sigh as he entered Spike’s office and Sunset introduced them.

“Sunburst Flare, may I present Mr. Spike Zenith?” she began.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” Spike said. “Sunset tells me you’re quite the genius.”

“A great honor to meet you, sir,” Sunburst replied. “I read your research on nanotechnology, really brilliant.”

“And you understood it?” Spike asked.

“I wrote a paper on it,”

“Impressive. Your mother must be very proud,” Spike replied. “Let me start off by saying that a young man willing to work and maintain a degree of integrity, sobriety and honor has a bright future in Zenith Industries. I need a few like you here. I hope you’re ambitious.”

“Yes, sir,” Sunburst replied. “I’ve even heard that in New Canterlot a job in Zenith Industries is a step towards government positions.”

“A good thing to keep in mind,” Spike told him.

“Look, I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me, but couldn’t accept this,” Sunburst said. “I like to earn what I get. I can find my own work. I’ll be fine.”

“You want to make it on your own steam. I respect that,” Spike said in understanding. “But it’s no problem. I’ll at least make a few calls.”

Before Sunburst could reply, Spike had another idea.

“How would you like to be my apprentice at Zenith Industries?” he asked.

At Sunset’s urging, Sunburst agreed.

“You won’t start for 48 hours,” Spike said. “Until then, have a look around the company, familiarize yourself with it.”

“It was nice to meet you, sir,” Sunburst said again. “He didn’t seem so bad,” he whispered to Sunset on the way out.

“Yeah, well, it helps that you’re a genius,” she whispered back.

.

Now, as Spike stood beside him, he watched as Sunburst flipped a switch on a remote control and rows of small robots with spidery legs, which stood on a nearby table, came online... and they proceeded to destroy the table. In time, those robots could be programmed to destroy anything from vehicles to the world’s most vital communication and military infrastructures: boats, tanks, airplanes, missile guidance systems, even biological weapons.

“So, Sunburst, you got anything down here that actually works?” Spike asked.

“Follow me,” he said, and he led them past a tour group listening intently to one man’s lecture on the pathetic medieval obsession of trying to turn ordinary metal into precious metal.

“Since the Dark Ages, humanity has tried to alter the molecular structure of metal and transform it into gold...” he was saying.

The first thing Sunburst showed Spike was a tri-weave battle suit (version 8). Flexible titanium-dipped mesh plates over a layer of MR fluid-based liquid body armor designed to move faster, hit harder, and look scarier while doing so, the Zenith-Tech MR-fluid hardened in response to impact. With that kind of shock absorption, the wearer would be able to put more force into counterattacks and use the maneuverability to take out multiple foes in quick succession. Minuette wondered why Spike didn’t put it into production and Sunburst told her that Spike wanted to but couldn’t because the majority of the company’s shareholders didn’t believe that the average soldier’s life was worth half a million dollars (which was the absolute least that a single suit would cost to manufacture).

The second project—and the one that Sunburst was most proud of—was a set of clothing made entirely out of nanobots. Microscopic robots that could disassemble themselves into a stream of nanites, enabling them to fit into and travel through extremely small spaces and reshape themselves almost instantly, they were designed by Sunburst to serve as an alternative to battle armor. He had the mechanical part figured out, but he still needed to work on the biology; more specifically, putting in safety measures that would prevent the nanobots from gaining sentience and going rogue and/or taking over humans’ bodies.

That process would include having to link the nanites directly into one’s nervous system, which would allow them to control the robots via their very thoughts (as well as magic), much like Spike already did with most of his tech. To put it simply, the nanobots would become an outfit that could change into literally any form of attire their wearer could think of... for virtually any occasion. And because the nanobots were capable of self-cleaning, there would be no need for new clothes, laundry soaps, drier sheets, OR washer-driers. But until then, Spike would have to settle for his wardrobe full of extraordinary clothes that had been made by his Elven tailors.

“That’s fantastic!” Minuette said.

Sunburst then led them past another group of scientists and a chain of assembly lines for guns, handheld automatics as well as rifles and other weapons, and showed them a piece of clothing boasting a small arsenal of miniaturized gadgets, gear, weapons and deterrents to help Spike battle his foes and survive a range of hostile environments.

“Now pay close attention,” Sunburst told Spike. “Your new belt: black leather with pure silver buckle, notch, and utility compartments outfitted with all the latest features: antitoxins, handcuffs, first-aid kit, gas pellets, micro-camera, rebreathers, wireless transmitters, lockpicks, stop-glue, helium-neon laser, grappling hook, and cinnamon-flavored breath freshener. The grappling hook has a 75-foot rappelling cord built into the buckle. Fire, and out shoots a piton followed by a high-tensile wire designed to support your weight.”

Spike smiled as he put it on.

Whether he was reaching for a piece of gum or the antidote to a lethal poison, he never went anywhere without his trusty accessory strapped around his waist.

“Now, you see the shoes that I’m wearing?” Sunburst asked. “To the normal eye, a pair of ordinary Oxfords, but in actuality...”

He clicked his heels together and a flat knife blade shot out from the tip of the right shoe.

“That. Is. Sick,” Minuette replied.

“It’s coated in Komodo Dragon venom, one of the deadliest natural toxins known to man. Makes quite a handy weapon,” Sunburst said.

He clicked his heels together two more times and the blade retracted back into the shoe. Sunburst then picked up an aerosol can of what looked like ordinary insect repellant and walked up to a crash-test dummy that was wearing a suit and standing up against a glass wall on the far side of the chamber.

“Now this makes any fabric instantly impervious,” Sunburst said as he sprayed the dummy. “Dirt-proof, stain-proof, waterproof, fireproof, puncture proof and... Micro Chips!”

The group looked toward another young man with thick glasses, purple eyes and a bird’s nest of hair. A tech specialist working on a cold fusion reactor, Micro Chips aided the Zenith Industries team in testing their newest inventions.

Micro nodded as he walked over to a cluttered workbench nearby and picked up a machine gun that was lying on top of it. Spike, Sunburst, Minuette, Fancy Pants and everyone else moved out of the way as Micro Chips took aim and fired at the suited test dummy.

When Micro Chips stopped shooting, Sunburst approached the dummy and unbuttoned the suit to reveal that none of the rounds had gone through the fabric. It wasn’t dented, or torn, it wasn’t even scratched.

“Bulletproof!” Sunburst proclaimed.

“Remarkable,” Minuette breathed.

“Speaking of ‘bulletproof’...” Sunburst said as he moved to the Plexiglas wall behind the dummy. “Four-inches thick... one seemingly-ordinary ring... twist like so...” He pressed the palm of his hand against the glass, shattering it. “And voilà, one ultra-high frequency sonic agitator unit. Now, the cuff links I’m wearing... Each one fires a single pin-sized dart coated with sodium thiophene; works almost instantly, knocks out your victim for 12 hours, but does no permanent damage. Why don’t you take a pair, Spike?”

“Now that you mention it, I could use a new set,” he said.

“Blades in shoes, bulletproof spray, sonic rings, cuff link darts... What else have you got?” Minuette inquired as they moved on to another myriad of high-tech gadgets, including a new type of lightweight explosive hidden within the hem of a lady’s skirt.

“We’ve had a lot of fun with these,” Micro Chips proudly confessed as they approached a rack of writing pens.

“What do they do?” she asked.

“Color-coded for your convenience,” Micro went on, “the sapphire ones are outfitted with electrodes that deliver a shock of 50,000 volts; the silver ones are Class-4 hand grenades.”

“Shut up!” Minuette said.

“Three clicks arms the four-second fuse. Another three disarms it,”

“They always said, ‘The pen is mightier than the sword,’” Spike quoted.

“Thanks to us, they were right,” Micro replied. “But if pens aren’t your style, you can always use one of these cigarette lighters. Filled with a lifetime supply of butane gas compressed inside, the spark wheel acts as a timer. Each notch represents five minutes, so theoretically you can set it for any length of time you want.”

“Of course, the Jockeypanese will copy it and undersell us, but that’s the beauty of free enterprise,” Spike said.

Fancy Pants picked up a golden pen and examined it.

“Reminds me of my old service-issue ballpoint,” he recollected. “I remember when every agent of the Trotish Secret Service would carry a pen that looked just like this. Completely innocent to the untrained eye, but click it twice...”

He did so, which caused the pen to fire a single silenced shot that thankfully didn’t hit anyone. Then Fancy Pants went a little pink in the cheeks as Sunburst took the pen from him and proceeded to show them a number of specialized vehicles parked in the corner, including airplanes, boats, cars and motorcycles, all built from advanced technology engineered at Zenith Industries. And Spike smiled smugly at one in particular: a combination muscle-and-sports car.

“Your new ride, appropriately christened... El Draque,” Sunburst said. “Billions and billions of dollars have been spent, and teams of scientists and engineers have worked day and night, to develop the ultimate in Equestrian engineering and weapons technology. Adaptive camouflage: micro-sized cameras on all sides project the image they see onto a light-emitting polymer skin on the opposite side so that to the untrained eye it’s virtually invisible. Agile with all the other usual refinements: all-points radar, military-grade sonar, GPS tracking and remote control driving systems, as well as the very latest in interception countermeasures; bulletproof titanium armor, smokescreen, oil slick, target-seeking machine guns, rockets, missiles, and torpedoes behind the headlights and tail lights to shoot down mobile objects, four-wheel drive, dual side airbags, a monster sound system and six beverage cup holders.”

Sunburst opened the driver’s door and lifted the armrest between the driver and passenger seats to reveal a panel of buttons inside. He pushed one of the buttons and metal spikes (dubbed “knee-cappers”) shot out of the hubcaps on the tires. Then Micro Chips walked over, this time brandishing an automatic pistol, and fired it at one of the car’s tires, which quickly re-inflated. Needless to say, all of these tricks would give Spike an edge, leaving all the less-than-impressive vehicles in the dust.

“Just try to not hurtle off the road. She’s one of a kind,” Sunburst said. “We should have some more upgrades ready soon.”

“Now, I know what you’re thinking,” Spike said to Minuette. “‘How can you spend Equestria’s tax dollars on toys like these?’ They may be toys to you, but to me they represent hard work, perseverance, Equestrian ingenuity, and good old-fashioned know-how.” Suddenly, his pager beeped, and after glancing at it, he told Fancy Pants, “Cancel the rest of my afternoon.”

“Already done,” Fancy replied.

“My motorcycle,”

“Is idling out front,”

“What’s today’s Garfield?”

“He tells Jon that ‘as the cat of the house, I get to ignore you,’”

Spike laughed. “I love that cat! I’d love to show you around the rest of the place,” he told Minuette, “but I have a schedule to keep. I’ll see you later.”

“You mean there’s more?” Minuette asked.

“It keeps these kids off the streets,” Spike said, “and from smashing in my windows.”

Fancy Pants just shrugged and shook his head as he followed Spike back to the elevator.