With a single trembling hoof, Spitfire folded her sunglasses closed and lowered them to her desk. She kept her eyes trained like gun barrels on the stallion standing in front of her, shifting his weight between his hooves like he had just barged into a washroom unannounced, as opposed to her office.

“Soarin,” she addressed the stallion. “Do you know why I gave the entire academy a day off today?”

Lieutenant Soarin shook. “Uh… No, Captain. Why?” He shook harder when she put on a smile.

“The building inspector’s coming through today,” Spitfire explained, “and I wanted him to walk through a nice, upstanding, empty building to avoid any hiccups.”

“…Okay.”

Spitfire crossed her hooves. “And I’d like to make one thing clear.”

Soarin gulped.

“The last thing I’d like to be doing on building inspection day, is helping you hide a dead body.”

Soarin tried to make a noise of offense, but it came out as just a squeak. “Hey, I’m not asking you that! I just thought you should know,” he turned away, “that there’s a body. And that I need your help.”

The phrase, ‘I need your help to hide a dead body’, indeed did not show up in Soarin’s story of his morning. But of course, it was a Soarin story, so the request was hidden inside a mess of nonsense that Spitfire had to parse to find it.

The story went something like this:

“So, Captain… You know how sometimes I like to take some of the new cadets on a personal tour of the academy? You know, let them spend some quality time with a real, bona fide Wonderbolt?”

To which Spitfire replied: “I don’t want to hear the rest of this story.”

But Soarin continued: “Well, I figured today would be the perfect day since the academy was empty, right? So I invited one of the cadets on a tour, and she” – because of course it was a she – “said she wanted to do something fun and dangerous. And what’s more fun and dangerous than the Dizzitron, right?”

He continued to rationalize this decision for a time, but Spitfire’s mind was already spinning in circles of rage for her to hear it. She only came back for the long story short:

“So… long story short, she got launched right into a solid wall,” he finished, slapping his hooves together with a sad smirk on his face.

Spitfire’s mouth shook. “…Huh?”

“Yeah, it was awful. Her whole body kinda folded in on itself. And the sound she made… phew!” Soarin shivered. “Really uncool.”

Spitfire frowned. “That’s impossible. The Dizzitron is stationed a mile away from any walls. And it’s designed to only launch ponies upwards.”

“The new one is, sure. But not the old one. You know, the one that's stored in the gym?” Soarin put on an impressed frown. “Turns out it still runs!”

“…You used a Dizzitron indoors?!”

“Hey, she just wanted to go fast! It was perfectly safe so long as nopony hit the release lever.”

“So… what happened?!”

“I slipped.”

Spitfire’s hooves came within an inch of smacking her forehead. But that might have broken her sunglasses, so at this point she removed them, which catches us right back up to where we should be.

She stood up from her desk and walked around to her antsy guest, which didn’t help him calm down. For several minutes now, she hadn’t broken eye contact. “Soarin, you’ve done a terrible thing. You know that, right?

Soarin dropped his head. “Yes, Captain.”

“I should haul you out by your tail, give you to the authorities and make sure they give you a prison cell with a nice window where that poor girl’s family can come see you rotting in prison whenever they please. Understand me?”

“…Yes, Captain. Only fair, Captain.”

Spitfire pulled her lieutenant’s head back up to her level. “But I’m not gonna do that, Soarin. Do you know why?”

Soarin’s eyes glistened. “Because I’m your best flyer and the Wonderbolts would be nothing without me?”

Spitfire laughed softly and brushed off both of Soarin’s shoulders. “You’re my second-best flyer. No, I’m gonna help you, because your little stunt has now put the entire Academy in danger.”

Soarin shrieked. “Second-best…?”

Spitfire almost paused to remind Soarin – for the hundredth time – that Fleetfoot was her best flyer, because Fleetfoot was a goddamned professional. But there were more pressing matters at hoof.

“Soarin, focus. This isn't about you or me. This is about the little boys and girls all over Cloudsdale who have a reason to smile, thanks to the Academy. A goal to aim for. The chance to join a team of heroes. And if the inspector decides to shut down the Academy, then it’s no more smiling faces. And we can’t have that. Understood?”

An irrepressible grin had grown onto Soarin’s face. It almost made Spitfire crack her own smile, but the fake one was a pretty good imitation.

“I said… Understood?”

Soarin nodded. “Okay, so what do I do?”

“You’re going to shut your mouth and do everything I tell you.”

Soarin nodded. “Okay, so what do I do?”

“You’re—”

Spitfire broke off to growl at her lieutenant. After a huff, she continued.

“The first thing we have to do is draw as little attention to the gym as possible.”

“Okay. So... I’m guessing we don’t call for an ambulance?”

Spitfire shrugged. “Well, if she’s dead there’s no point. That just makes us look bad with no benefit to her.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“Right. Now—” Spitfire trailed off when she noticed Soarin’s mouth hanging open, a habit of his that came out whenever he had something he felt he should say. “…What?”

The lieutenant bit his lip. “In theory…”

“Soarin, you didn’t!”

“…If I told somepony to call for an ambulance on the way to your office…”

“You perpetual—!”

Suddenly, Spitfire choked on a thought that hit her like six glasses of wine. She stumbled to the side. Soarin tried to help, but she smacked his hooves away.

She recovered for a moment, and carefully asked, “Who did you tell to get an ambulance?”

Soarin scratched his chin. “Guy with a clipboard. He a friend of yours?”

Another six glasses came crashing down on Captain Spitfire. She nearly heaved, but she kept her composure. Slinking over to lean against her desk, she slowly re-applied her aviators to her face. With a deep breath in through her nose, and a deeper one out through her mouth, she straightened her neck up high and declared, “Soarin, I have a plan.”

Soarin smiled in relief. “Oh, thank Celesia. I am dry over here.”

“If you trust me, we can make this work.” Spitfire approached her lieutenant again, got nice and close, and saluted as tall as she could.

Soarin did the same, pressing the tip of his left wing to his forehead. “I trust you, Captain.”

“Good.”

Without warning, Spitfire snatched at Soarin’s wingtip and yanked on it.

Three noises followed. The third was an agonized scream that was borderline masculine. The second was Soarin’s body crashing towards the floor. The first was a distinct ‘pop’.

“Captain!” Soarin wailed, “That’s my wing!”

“Stand up, soldier! You said you trusted me, right? If an ambulance is coming, someone’s gotta be there for it! Might as well be the one who got us into this whole mess!”

Soarin sniffed and sat up. He shuddered at the sight of his wing, hanging limply by his side. He nudged it, and recoiled as lightning struck him at the joint.

Spitfire stamped a confident hoof. “Once this crisis has been averted we’ll pop it back in place, right as rain!”

“But…”

“I can’t HEAR you, soldier!”

“But… I’m the one who asked him to get the ambulance! Why would I be the one who’s hurt?!”

Spitfire bared her teeth, and then stopped. “Oh. That’s a fair point, actually.”

“If anyone should get their wing pulled out…!”

“Soarin, don’t do anything DRAST—!”

Pop.

Crash.

Scream.

---

The journey to the gymnasium proved challenging. Normally a quick flight of less than twenty seconds, the two beleaguered Wonderbolts were forced to shuffle there over five minutes with perfectly straight legs to minimize body-shake. Their outside wings dragged two parallel lines along the hallway.

Shortly into the trip, they spoke about the victim, Celestia rest her soul, in between all the Ooh’s, the Aahh’s, and the Ow-ow-ow’s that they mumbled to themselves.

“Which Cadet was it, anyways?” Spitfire asked pointedly.

Soarin squinted. “Uh… I think her name was Ruby? Ruby Eyes?”

“Oh. Really? Well, so long as it wasn’t Lilac Storm. She’s our best Cadet.”

Soarin inhaled sharply, like he'd just been stabbed. “Wait, sorry... Lilac Storm. Her name was Lilac Storm.”

Spitfire resisted the urge to tackle Soarin into the wall. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, turns out she’s crazy. She actually cackled when she was spinning in that thing, and I don’t say ‘cackled’ unless I mean it.”

“That’s because the best ones are always crazy…”

They arrived at the gymnasium and creaked open the doors to the great expanse inside. The floor was littered with mats, punching bags, and climbing ropes. Every piece of equipment was in pristine condition, as if they had simply appeared there, and the room had never been entered before now. Even the floor had only one or two skid marks on it. Truly, the gymnasium was a shining monument to the Wonderbolts’ efforts to not have their municipal budget lowered in the new year. It literally shined, in fact: the exterior wall was a window extending the full height of the room – glazed with speeding-pegasus-proof glass. And it was an admittedly nice day outside.

But there was one part of the shining room that didn’t exactly sparkle: the old Dizzitron. The giant wheel and its out-dated three-gear design was the only thing that showed a little bit of use. Some peeling paper and some loose metal here and there. The machine sparked fear in Soarin for obvious reasons. But it sparked fear in Spitfire because a stallion had just walked out from behind it. A stallion with a cheap red pen in his mouth and a clipboard in front of his face.

He lowered the board and noticed that he wasn't alone. His eyelids fell half-closed, and he pushed his circular glasses up his nose. Clicking his pen with what could only have been his tongue, he began striding over. The Wonderbolts froze.

“You know what?” the inspector said as he approached. His voice sounded like it was coming from his nose instead of his mouth. “I had a feeling that you were playing the old get-the-inspector-to-call-an-ambulance-so-that-he-kills-time-in another-room trick on me. I’ve been in the business far too long.”

“You must be Mr. Signage.” Spitfire choked out, grinning from ear to ear. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Sorry about the… prank, sir.” She extended her hoof out to greet him.

“Psst.”

Mr. Signage eyed the hoof disapprovingly. “What happened to your wings?”

“Captain.”

Spitfire’s eye twitched. She politely drew her hoof back. “They’re resting, sir. Secret… Wonderbolt yoga technique.”

“…Uh-huh.” Mr. Signage – whose first name was Exit – began to leave the room. “I’ll go ahead and continue my tour now… If that’s alright with you two. Is there anywhere I need help getting access to?”

“Captain, her body isn’t here.”

“I’VE NOTICED—!” Spitfire screamed at Soarin, before turning back to the departing inspector, “—that all the doors have been unlocked for you.” She grinned wider. “You can go anywhere you like.”

“Hmph.” Mr. Signage turned around just enough to maintain eye contact with the Captain. “…I’ll be the judge of that.”

When he turned away, Spitfire stuck out her tongue. And when he was out of earshot, she muttered, “Freaking municipal workers.”

Soarin, meanwhile, took the first chance to sprint towards the lightly used Dizzitron standing parallel to the windows. He inspected a particular purple mark on the wall next to it, and the empty space on the floor below it. He scratched his head and gradually turned his attention to the windows. “Uh… Captain?”

“And you!” Spitfire whirled around, whimpering in pain as her wing brushed her face. “Is this your idea of a joke?! I should have you—… Oh, Sweet Celestia on High.”

Spitfire limped to the windows to join her lieutenant. They had a perfect view of the main entrance to the building: a long and wide set of stairs leading out to the edge of a cloud, and a steep drop to the runway far below where they trained the Cadets. Between the last stair and the cloud was a mare. Both of her wings hung at her side – specifically her left side. Her right hindleg dragged behind her, making a trail in the clouds. Her left foreleg hugged her opposite shoulder. She limped towards the edge of the cloud, and the aforementioned sheer drop, at a guaranteed pace.

“She… survived?” Soarin said. “That’s…”

Spitfire and Soarin looked at each other. “Ambulance,” they said in unison.

“You go!” Spitfire ordered, pushing Soarin towards the door. “I’ll stop her from falling! And don’t let the inspector see you!”

Soarin crouched backwards to take off, and then watched his wing spool next to him. “Aw…”

“Wait!” Spitfire called back to him. “Look!”

The risen cadet stood two paces from the edge, or perhaps four paces in her condition. The hoof around her shoulder was now stretched forwards, as if trying to touch the face of god. Her head tilted slightly, and the weight carried her all the way over to her side. In hindsight, she couldn’t have asked for a nicer surface to land on.

Spitfire wiped her brow, though she wasn’t sweating. “Well, that’s a relief.”

Soarin did a double-take. “…What part?”

---

As if mimicking a funeral procession, the two injured Wonderbolts stood on either side of Lilac Storm. She was a pretty, if mangled mare. Her body was a pale purple, and her flowing mane was a deeper purple with unnatural blue highlights. Her eyes were closed, her mouth was open, and her tongue was hanging out. She slowly sank into the thin cloud beneath, tongue-first.

“Should we… do something about her?” Soarin asked.

Spitfire scowled. “What, you were just gonna leave her here?”

“I know we have to do something about her,” Soarin shot back. “It’s just… I don’t do so good with zombies. I dunno what I’ll do if she gets back up again.”

Spitfire rolled her eyes and cocked her head forward, catching her sunglasses as they fell. She placed them a couple hoof lengths away from the cadet’s mouth. Soarin watched her carefully, frowning in concern.

“There,” she observed, flicking her shades back on. “No fog. She’s not breathing. Happy?”

Soarin gave his captain an incredulous look. “I can’t believe you just asked me that.”

“I didn’t mean—“

“This is insane!” Soarin squatted down in the cloud and held his hooves and one wing over his head. “We’re going to get shut down… We’re going to go to jail. We should just confess to the inspector.”

Spitfire grabbed her lieutenant by the shoulders and lifted himself back to standing. “Pull yourself together, Soarin!” she spat in his face. She slapped him repeatedly until he was looking at her. “We’ve gotten her this far without the inspector seeing us, and he’s busy in there!”

Soarin rubbed his jaw. “She got herself here.”

“Regardless! We just gotta stick to the plan.”

“Oh yeah?” Soarin protested. “And what’s next, huh?”

Spitfire released Soarin and began circling the body. “We can’t just get rid of her. That's too sinister. What we have to do is put her somewhere where somepony will find her, but where it looks like it was an accident.”

“It was an accident!”

“A non-incriminating accident, Dingus! Something that’s completely her fault and not at all yours!”

Soarin huffed. “Or yours!”

“None of this is my fault,” Spitfire stated, rubbing her chin.

“Uh-huh…”

Spitfire held up a hoof. “Hold that insurrection.” She hobbled to the cliff’s edge, ignoring the collective clench of all her muscles as she approached the drop. It had always been oblivion, but for the first time, it actually felt like it.

She peered down at the runway below, to the staggered clouds leading down to it, and at the far end of the runway, the state-of-the-art Dizzitron in the grass.

“I’ve got an idea.”

Soarin whimpered.

---

Spitfire dug her hoof into the machinery behind the Dizzitron. Where the front side had only one colourful wheel and two innovative gears meant for flinging ponies, the back side was a mess of gears, belts, weights and counterweights, and other miscellaneous pieces of metal.

“I don’t understand what you’re doing,” Soarin said, standing next to the controls. He listened to the sounds of Spitfire’s mechanical work, but his attention was really on the cadet’s body strapped in to the larger gear, making sure that the only movements it made were from the jostling of the machinery behind her.

“I’m removing the safety!” Spitfire explained.

“…Is that really such a good idea?”

Spitfire tossed a black piece of metal from behind the towering machine, which landed in front of Soarin and left a divot in the dirt. She slammed her hooves on top of the Dizzitron. “This is the only idea.” She landed next to her lieutenant and put a reassuring hoof on his shoulder, which he cringed away from. “We have to do this. For the smiling children, remember?”

“I don’t think what we’ve done is gonna make any children smile,” Soarin observed.

“That’s because—”

“I think they’d just scream.”

“That’s because you’re too busy looking at the small stuff. See, I’m the one looking at the big picture. And the important thing about the big picture is that the children aren’t gonna see this part. You trust me, right?”

Soarin swallowed firmly and stood up straight. He had yet to take his eyes off the body. “Okay… Remind me again what we’re doing?”

Spitfire glanced up at the body and nodded approvingly. “It’s simple, really. Normally the Dizzitron needs two things to happen to launch its passenger. The lever needs to be pushed, and the wheel needs to hit the point where ponies will be flung at an optimal direction.”

“…Okay…”

“Now that this is out of the picture,” Spitfire paused to kick the small piece of metal down to the runway, “only the first thing needs to happen. Once you pull that lever, she'll be on her way.”

Soarin broke his gaze from the body to look down at the lever. “Goodie…”

“What we need to do is fling her right into the dirt. Just straight down, Soarin. Understand?”

“…How will I time that?”

“I’ll do it for you, okay? Count of three. And once we’re done, we hightail it out of here, our inspector sees the body on his way out, and all there is to say is a daredevil cadet came, broke the safety off of the Dizzitron, and pancaked herself.”

Soarin squinted at the lever, and then at his captain. “But then who… pulled the lever?”

“The important thing is that it wasn’t either of us!”

Soarin lifted his hooves and shrank back. “Okay, okay!”

Spitfire’s eyes sparkled in desperation. “This is the best solution I have, okay? I’ve never had to deal with a dead body before.”

“Could have fooled me…”

“What was that?”

“Nothing. I’m… ready when you are.”

After a shaky, uncertain breath, Soarin pressed down on the lever. The cadet’s body slumped from one side to the other, and the machine started to rotate. Soon, Lilac Storm was nothing more than a blurry purple circle rotating in place.

“Alright…” Spitfire breathed. She moved her head forward in a large circle, like she was feeling out a spinning jump rope. “1… 2… 3…!”

Soarin threw the lever.

Spitfire bit her tongue.

Time stretched to infinity.

In the endless seconds between the lever pull and the launch, a hundred memories flooded Soarin’s thoughts. Memories of his time with Spitfire, back when they were first in the academy together. Those important, formative years as Wonderbolts.

All the manouvers they completed, effortlessly. All the leg-grabs, the turnovers, and the half-in-halfs that they practiced during all those endless mornings. Everytime they needed a countdown, Spitfire did it herself, without fail. But it had been a few months now since they had done any duet flights together. Spitfire was so busy now, after all, being captain. And in that long stretch of time since they had worked together, Soarin had forgotten that she had a very consistent way of counting to three.

She said ‘1’.

She said ‘2’.

She said ‘3’.

And the last part, which was very important:

She always said ‘now’.

As time compressed back down to normal speed, Soarin looked on in horror – much the way Spitfire looked at him – as Lilac Storm was released straight up into the air at a considerable speed.

Spitfire screamed. She spat. She stomped her hooves. But Soarin didn’t hear her. His ears were ringing too loud. In his trance, he could only try to read her lips, but he there was only one word he could read, which she was using a lot.

Now.

Now.

Soarin, you’ve screwed us now, Soarin. Soarin, you perpetual motion machine of screw-ups and bad decisions, I always say ‘now’.

Perhaps he could read lips better than he thought.

When Spitfire tired herself out, Captain and Lieutenant gazed up at the sky. The cadet’s body soared almost completely vertically, angling slightly back towards the academy. They thought of flying after her – even if they were both short a wing – but an oppressive, defeating air washed over them and rooted them to the ground. So they simply watched, their heads slowly turning in sync as they followed the body’s journey through limitless atmosphere.

At the top of her arc, just about as high as the office building, Lilac Storm vanished out of view.

Soarin’s hearing returned to him. His mouth fell open, and he exhaled. “Well,” he said, his voice cracking twice in the span of one word. “You wanted it to be an accident.”

---

Thirty minutes passed. Soarin and Spitfire didn’t move. Eventually, Mr. Signage came down to greet them. His clipboard was under his foreleg, and his pen was snug behind his ear. He flew down to the runway, landed deftly and walked over, but the Wonderbolts continued watching the sky.

“Afternoon, you two. Er…” he glanced up in the direction of their gaze. “Uh… Whoa!”

When he looked back down, the Wonderbolts were staring at him, mouths agape yet still, like those of petrified zombies.

Exit Signage cleared his throat. “Er… Okay. Um… I dunno if you two know this, but as I was finishing up on the roof, I saw somepony taking a nap on a cloud.”

Soarin and Spitfire inhaled as if coming up for air.

“…Rrrriiiight. Anywho, the girl looked so out cold I had to go make sure she was even breathing!” He took off his circular glasses and gave them a wipe on his shirt. “Used the ol’ fog-on-the-glasses trick and sure enough, she’s breathing.”

Soarin and Spitfire both squinted. They looked at each other, and then slowly back to the inspector. “…Whaaaaat?” they drawled.

“I dunno if she’s trespassin’ or something. I mean, I figured she was a Wonderbolt since her wings are both ‘resting’ like yours are. A couple of her legs might be too. But I thought I’d let you know either way.” Exit Signage clapped his forehooves together. “Anyways! Inspection’s done. All looks good for the most part.”

Spitfire coughed herself back to the present moment. “…Really?”

“Yep! But you’re being shut down.”

Soarin and Spitfire’s shoulders dropped. “Aww,” they lamented.

The inspector suddenly burst out laughing, almost doubling over. “Nah, I’m just messing with you. Kinda. It’s just a temporary thing until you guys get rid of that old Dizzitron in the gymnasium. Thing looks like it could hurt somepony.” He waited for a response, but it didn’t come. He nudged Spitfire playfully on the shoulder. “I know, I know, what are the chances it even runs? Still. Bureaucracy, am I right?”

Still nothing.

The inspector cleared his throat. “Anyway…” he ripped a sheet of paper off his clipboard and passed it to Spitfire, who took it without looking.

“Thank you, sir,” she whispered. “We’ll get right on that.”

Twenty minutes after the inspector left, Soarin turned to his captain and asked, “Hey… Do you think the mare he’s talking about is—?”

“Stop talking, Soarin.”

---

If the trip down to the runway with a dislocated wing was an exercise in withstanding pain, the trip back up was an exercise in not passing out from it. The only rest Soarin and Spitfire had were in the occasional breaks they took on a cloud while waiting for another, higher cloud to drift close enough to use as a platform. And those breaks made for some tremendously awkward silences.

Once they were on the roof, they sat back-to-back – their strong and weak wings mirroring each other. They waited there for a time, and only occasionally glanced at the circling cloud just above their heads – tantalizingly out of reach. For on this cloud slumbered a bright young cadet with several broken bones.

Soarin was the one to break the silence. What he said came to him without surprise or filter.

“You didn’t hold them close enough.”

“…What?”

“Your sunglasses. You didn’t hold them close enough to her mouth. I was gonna say something, but I didn’t question you.” His head sunk low in his chest.

“…Oh.”

“Why don’t I ever question you, Captain?”

“Hold that thought… I think I can…”

Mercifully, the cadet’s cloud meandered just close enough for Spitfire to reach out and grab it. She pulled it in close and lowered it to the roof. Soarin approached beside her, and they gazed down at the sleeping mare like she was their child, just back home from the hospital.

“She looks so peaceful,” Soarin cooed.

Spitfire pulled off her sunglasses again and put them much closer to the cadet’s mouth. Sure enough, they fogged up.

“…Fuck me,” was all she could say.

“Think she’ll sue?”

“Only if she likes money.”

A cough burst from Lilac’s mouth, and her eyes sprang open. Her pupils vibrated in place as she acquainted herself with her surroundings, or rather, failed to.

“Where am I…?” she exhaled.

“You had an accident,” Soarin explained briefly. “Paramedics are on their way.”

Her eyes darted to her superiors, and they both flinched.

“…You launched me into a wall.”

“…My bad.”

A creeping smile formed on Lilac Storm’s face. “That is so awesome. That is...”

The smile gradually disappeared.

“...I can’t move.”

“You really shouldn’t be,” Spitfire said.

“Wait, wait…” Lilac pressed her eyes shut in concentration. All of her muscles convulsed for a split second, and she exhaled in satisfaction. “Nope, I’m good.” The smile came back, and it made the Wonderbolts shiver. “…What a rush.”

Soarin gasped. Then he gasped again.

“…What?” Spitfire asked.

The First Lieutenant of the Wonderbolts puffed out his chest and scowled at the crumpled-up cadet. And then the tirade began:

“That was an incredibly stupid thing you did, Cadet. I’m totally ashamed. You’ll have to miss a year thanks to your injuries, and that’s not taking into account your suspension! What were you thinking?!”

It appears the muscles in Lilac’s eyebrows still worked. “It’s your fault too,” she pointed out.

Soarin waved the accusation away. “Regardless! Wonderbolts must think for themselves, and not put undue faith in anypony else! This is on you as much as it is on me.”

Spitfire blinked rapidly.

“…Sorry, sir,” Lilac said.

“But!” A devilish smile appeared on his face. “I’m willing to let this one slide so long as you promise me one thing.” He got down really close to the Cadet and bared his front teeth. “…You will never mention this to anypony for as long as you live.”

Lilac thought it over, which was only apparent through random eye-movement. “What’s in it for me?” she asked.

Soarin pulled back and winked at his Captain, who watched on in awe.

“I’m glad you asked, Cadet. How would you like an old Dizzitron?”