Teamwork iS Awesome

by FestOfAmerican

CANCELLED

FimFiction.net presents

Written by FestOfAmerican

Based on the characters created by Lauren Faust, and the show “My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic”, owned by Hasbro Incorporated.

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Final Chapter: CANCELLED

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Before we begin, a penny for your thoughts…

“Acts of government are not choices between good and bad. They are between two evils – the lesser of two evils. Someone is always going to get hurt by a decision of government … absolute morality, absolute ethics just does not exist in affairs of the state.”
~George Kennedy Young

10:50 AM PST (T-minus 00:45 hours until departure)
Saturday, January 7th, 2012
Los Angeles International Airport, California, U.S.A.
Terminal 2, Third Floor – Security Checkpoint

“Bag check, lane two!” the X-Ray operator bellowed for the third consecutive time, his fatigue exemplified in how tighter he strained each verse.

His volume was well above what was needed to overcome the thick ambience of talking ponies, running machinery and wailing alarm bells, but still no help came. Hitting the "STOP" button on the suspicious image appeared to have concurrently placed the last few minutes of his shift on hold.

The officer leaned back in his chair and looked left through the angled wall of glass to see if time had indeed paused, only to be flashed with intense midday sunlight reflected off the metal framing.

“Gah!” he gasped, clenching his eyes shut and yanking his head back behind the X-Ray monitors.

‘Well that was a bright idea,’ he thought facetiously.

A semitransparent vision of the light burst had imprinted on his retinas. After gently rubbing his eyelids with a hoof, he blinked them furiously to encourage tear production.

Among the features that made Terminal 2 such an unfavorable post was a deep slant in the floor towards the boarding gates that allowed the sun to pan farther in through the windows, blinding everypony and upsetting their equilibrium. By the end of the week, you’d find yourself perching 45 degrees over the steering wheel on the drive home. Call-offs were noticeably more common here than in any other checkpoint.

The glimpse did inform the screener that it was a gorgeous winter day outside, but it would be wasted as he mostly planned to sleep in after getting home, and then reporting for duty tomorrow at 4 AM. Peeking through the gap between the X-Ray’s dual monitors, he could see officers from the afternoon relief crew trickling in through the exit.

In response to the continued neglect, he hunched over the control panel and placed his head in his forehooves, only to shoot back upright moments later when a foghorn’s blast roared up from the second floor staircase on the terminal’s public side. Passengers and security personnel alike looked around in confusion, then reacting once more to a loud traffic accident from the same unseen point of origin. The next disturbance that followed was a rolling thunderstorm, but everypony had become desensitized by this point and screening activities gradually returned to normal.

‘Meh, they’re probably filming another loud and dumb popcorn flick for the summer,’ the blue-uniformed pony at the X-Ray thought apathetically.

“Sounds like another wonderful day in La-La Land,” a coworker cheerfully offered his opinion as he stood waiting beside him.

“Sure, I’ll agree if you’ve got this,” the first employee said, pointing right away at one of the monitors that displayed the clearest image.

“What do we have?”

“It’s probably soup; pretty chunky stuff too. If the owner’s lucky, it’ll be solid food, canned fruitcake or something.”

“Eww, you mean like that nasty dessert what’s-her-name brought for the holiday potluck?”

“Yeah, Patty Cake’s latest pudding attempt. Remember when it kept giving off false positives to the bomb detector dogs?”

“I’m surprised we didn’t get a hazmat complaint after chucking it. Hopefully we’ll be in different terminals before this year’s recipe,” the second screener laughed while pulling out the suspect bag through a hole in the exit tunnel caging, allowing the conveyor belt to start moving again.

As he walked down the lane, several passengers impatiently ducked their heads to look inside the tunnel for their property, paying no attention to the duffel bag he was holding by the handles in his mouth. The badged official lowered it onto the floor and yanked at the paper identification tag for a clue.

‘Heh, that’s a cute nickname. Okay kid, I’ll humor you.’

“Sprinkles? I’m looking for somepony named Sprinkles,” he called out with a smile.

At the very end of the X-Ray lane, a gray-pelted colt reached both forelegs into a security bin, retrieving a helmet with jungle camouflage printing and placing over his brown and wildly overgrown mane hair. After fastening the strap under his chin, he put on a red clown’s nose at the end of his snout and a pair of dark sunglasses that completely obscured his eyes.

“Over here, buddy,” he waved a hoof, speaking in a slight nasal tone attributable to the comedic adornment. “And the name’s Sergeant, actually; Sergeant Sprinkles.”

The officer took note of the passenger’s cutie mark: Three stacked black bars bent upward, delineating the appropriate rank.

‘Okay, so he’s not a kid and it’s not a nickname. I hope that’s what creeps me out,’ the employee assessed from the guttural discomfort upon first contact.

“Mr. Sprinkles, you have something in your bag I need to take a closer look at. If you’ll just follow me to the inspection table over there, we’ll get this done in no time. Make sure you have the rest of your belongings before you do.”

“I’m all set, so after you.”

“Thank you.”

The duffel bag was set upon the worn steel surface. A tall cornered divider prevented the party clown on the opposite side from touching the bag.

“Do you have anything sharp or dangerous in this bag I need to be aware of, such as a knife or needle for medical purposes? I got to know about that second one especially, because I’m scared of those,” the screener poked fun at himself as part of his routine to alleviate each passenger’s concerns about these searches.

“Nah, nothing like that,” Sprinkles answered after giving it a bit of thought.

“Alright, here we go.”

Tugging the main compartment’s zipper open with his teeth, he pried both halves apart and began digging through the layers of material with his forehooves. Within moments he found what he was looking for and procured it for the owner to acknowledge.

“Aw, crap!” Sergeant Sprinkles exclaimed as he slapped a hoof towards his forehead, generating a loud clap when it stuck the helmet instead.

“We have a strict limit on liquids, gels, and aerosols for carry-on baggage, which is 3.4 ounces or 100 milliliters, and unfortunately this item is well over the size limit. Exceptions can be made for what’s necessary during the flight; medicine for instance. But given this is a regular consumer product, I’m afraid it can’t go,” the officer explained.

“Hey wait a minute, that’s not a liquid!”

“Liquids, gels, and aerosols, sir,” he repeated. “Basically any substance with a certain degree of viscosity is applicable. If you would like to keep it, then I can escort you back outside. You’ll have to check this duffel bag underneath the plane and then proceed through checkpoint screening again.”

“Go through all this again?! Come on dude, give me a break! The last airport I went through let this pass!”

“This isn’t ‘the last airport’, sir.”

Eight and a half hours a day, five days straight, it was always the same back-and-forth with travelers, right down to the argument of what exactly constituted a liquid, and riding on the apparent ineptitude of other airport screening forces. He was not unsympathetic, as the seemingly inconsistent procedures would infuriate him as well. But what the other side will never understand is that an organization this big and fast-changing is bound to have discrepancies across its numerous chapters.

‘LAX is one of the biggest, but we don’t always get the newest policy rollouts,’ the officer considered as he turned the can over in his forelegs, the paper label marking the product as vanilla-flavored cupcake icing. ‘Maybe I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.’

Setting it down on the table, he used the edge of one hoof to carefully peel the frosted plastic lid off.

“What are you doing? Don’t open that!” the red-nosed passenger abruptly shouted.

“You’re not willing to give this up, right? Well I need to verify the nature of its contents.”

The cover popped open and the screener raised his upper body over the workstation to look inside. His eyelids and lower jaw instantly snapped open, irises jittering in place and mutely choking on the nauseating stench. He quickly pressed the lid back on the container and turned his horrified expression on the mildly embarrassed Sergeant Sprinkles.

“It’s not what it looks like. I can explain.”

“Sss-Suh-SUPERVISOR!!!”

Soon after the clock struck Eleven, Los Angeles Airport Police officers were dragging the gray colt out of the exit in hoofcuffs to their curbside squad car.

“Officers, please, you’ve got me all wrong! It was cherry icing in there!” Sprinkles yelled hysterically, his hind legs scrabbling uselessly against the floor.

Enter Time Runner

From an eastern perpendicular approach, the last Transportation Security Officer on Terminal 2’s PM shift emerged from a distant escalator and was galloping forth at breakneck speed. The earth pony possessed remarkable agility for his girth, squeezing through gobs of airport activity. Eyebrows pinched in concentration, his exhales rushed through bared teeth holding an overloaded lunch bag that rattled with each footfall; a fearsome portrait of a badged official that ponies were only too happy to make space for.

‘Almost there, keep going!’ he urged internally. ‘You can’t help being late already, so now it’s just a matter of degree!’

From the outskirts of his conscious mind, he registered a loudspeaker announcement regarding Air Canada, and on the other side of the terminal, among a large and jubilant group of ponies, he thought he could see-

‘Alicorns?! It can’t be!’

“HEY, WATCH OUT!”

The miraculous sight was interrupted as the two police officers and their arrestee stepped into his path. One of them had shouted, holding up a forehoof in a signal to halt. The TSO slammed down all four legs, wobbling slightly due to thin gaps in the tiled surface, but he barely managed to avoid a disastrous collision.

“Sorry!” he hissed, the bag swinging wildly from his mouth, before turning right and charging up the staircase to the checkpoint.

Then, in full view of passengers waiting in the adjacent line, he tripped and fell as his legs failed to keep pace.

“OOF!” he coughed as he landed on his stomach, releasing the bag handles, the food containers clattered when they too made impact.

‘Argh! No way, not today! Nothing’s broken, and pride heals faster than flesh, now move!’ he yelled at himself, patting the inflamed kneecap that hit the steps hardest, seizing the lopsided bag and heaving himself back up.

With the artificial mountain conquered, he limped towards the exit, aided slightly by the downward slope of the floor. Ignoring warning signs meant to deter unauthorized entry, he stopped at the threshold of a booth where a colleague sat, waiting to verify his ID. The tardy officer held up a leather display case worn on a ball-chain around his neck, his new airport SIDA badge visible through a clear plastic film. Nodding gratefully upon clearance to proceed, he jogged past the screening area and into the small alcove of the concourse where the daily pre-shift briefing was held. He was relieved to find a circular gathering of his fellow blue-shirts there, meaning he hadn’t entirely missed out.

The TSO walked briskly into the group huddle, trying to remain low-key, despite his shortness of breath and sweaty complexion. It was all for naught, however, as one particular coworker spotted him, instantly breaking into his racing announcer skit and interrupting the briefing.

“Arrround the final bend and down the stretch, it’s the dark maiden, dead last and washed out again folks! He’s not much of an earner, but the crowd loves his spirit!” he beamed, patting the late arrival on the back, much to his cringing humiliation. He hadn’t yet gotten to know all of his coworkers’ names and personalities, but this one certainly went out of his way to distinguish himself.

“Thanks, Eggs. Your sincerity and subtlety overwhelms me,” the exhausted officer said plainly. "You sure you didn’t miss the true meaning of your cutie mark? TV or radio might be more your vibe.”

“Not a chance, Timey! From this place, I’ve got it made: A fresh live audience every day, with no contract to sign, agents or union dues to pay! And best of all, Hollywood could never dream up an awesome supporting cast like you guys,” Officer Ham concluded with another dazzling smile.

“Oh, really?” Time replied after a brief pause. “Well I guess it’s true after all that public service is its own reward for everypony.”

As crass and uninhibited he’s proven often to be, Eggs n’ Ham was equally unabashed of the warm sentiments he reserved for his fellow officers, regarding them as extended members of his family, especially during the holiday season. His antics on the checkpoint floor were simply his way of coping with the monotony of the job. He’d learned eventually, through many disciplinary actions, when not to cross the line of professionalism.

“Don’t mind him, dear. He just likes to mess with all the new ponies,” Eagle Eye, an older female screener, said with a friendly wink.

A former U.S. Navy sailor, she exuded confidence and wisdom that was tangible in practically everything she did. Having attained a managerial position, she grew bored of administrative work and accepted a voluntary demotion to the checkpoint. It was the dream of many TSOs –and the realization of daring few– to cast aside the blue uniform once and for all. Yet Eagle Eye’s return to the floor served as proof that the grass isn’t always greener on the other side, earning her admirers amongst peers and higher ups alike.

“He also left out the part about the FCC permanently revoking his technician license, on account of breaking every last rule in the book,” Visionary elaborated mirthfully while using the opportunity of EnH’s interruption to work on his latest sketch.

He was a part-time officer balancing work with a BFA at the University of Southern California.

“I heard they were getting complaints on him from broadcasters on each continent, and several planets!” Ultraviolet Bright, a Criminal Justice major and Secret Service candidate, enthusiastically burst in.

“Figures only here would he have access to transmitting equipment again, where he’d be harmless,” scoffed Patty Cake.

A daily hard worker and annual overachiever in her PSE and IMA exams, her dry sense of humor sometimes rubs others the wrong way and has undercut previous attempts at a promotion. An undying rumor within LAX circles is that she deliberately botches her holiday puddings as payback.

“Oh, oh, you think I can’t take what I dish out?” Eggs n’ Ham asked openly, laughing off the jabs taken at him by his compatriots. “Do your worst; it only makes me stronger! But Patty-honey, if you tried that with your dessert, you’d have to call out sick for the next 3 years!”

Patty Cake’s face boiled red from a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, what? You said you want to try my pudding? Well just close your eyes and open wide!” she advanced menacingly on him with a rumbling forehoof in the air.

“That’s enough, ponies. The morning crew’s waiting on us to tap them out and we’re falling behind,” a female Supervisory TSO sternly interjected to get today’s mission back on track, quelling at once the jocular mood that’d hijacked her briefing.

As a retired Lieutenant from the San Francisco Police Department, Minestrone Soup knew how to silence a squad room. Because of differing operational guidelines, the forced partnership between local police and her current agency can be doubtful even in the best of times. Minestrone’s approach, however, manages to achieve the right balance with LAXPD that has since made her one of their favorite counterparts to work alongside.

With both Patty and Eggs self-minimizing from her gaze, STSO Soup turned to directly address the subordinate whose tardiness had been the catalyst to the entire sideshow.

“Officer Runner, when the briefing finishes, we need to have a discussion in private. But for now, do you self-certify that you are fit for duty?”

“Y-yes, ma’am,” Time Runner answered with a spreading sense of fear in his heart.

STSO Minestrone Soup finally broke eye contact with him by magically levitating a clipboard between them and began to read aloud from it.

“A heads up if this is your Monday: Our scheduling still shows a lot of officers on leave well into next week. During the shift overlap, the AM folks will move over to lanes 3 & 4 while we take over 1 & 2; that’s all we’ll be using once they’re gone at 1630 hours.”

The small company of TSOs listened attentively, each of them wondering to themselves how they were expected to survive the hours, let alone days, ahead with only a token force. The lack of confidence projected onto their faces regardless and the supervisor took notice.

“Look, we’ve all been in worse setups than this. Remember the Swine Flu in ’09? One vendor coming through with a sniffle caused half the shift to call out. I’ve haven’t logged that much time on the X-Ray since I was a one-striper too,” she smiled wearily.

She pointed her right forehoof at one of the black shoulder boards buttoned to the left sleeve of her uniform shirt. It bore the letters “TSA” and three stripes on the bottom edge in silver stitching, delineating her supervisory rank. Her subordinates laughed and nodded in concurrence.

“Passenger forecasts from the airlines don’t look too bad, plus backup’s always a phone call away when we start hurting. Anything else you want to add to that, Caesar?”

Now finished, STSO Minestrone Soup turned her head to look at her male Pegasus counterpart who immediately stepped forward into the circle.

Caesar Salad was approaching a decade’s worth of government service. He was a veteran of TSA’s federalization that began in 2002, jumping ship from a private contractor. Intimately familiar with LAX from both employment sectors, he had a more tepid approach to his role as supervisor. Running a checkpoint was organized chaos, a view he analogized to a game of Jenga. When equipment broke down or screeners called out, that was his opponent pulling out individual blocks, so his next move was deciding how to fill those newly-created gaps while maintaining the structure’s overall stability.

In fact, he sometimes referred to others as “blockheads”, a term used interchangeably in moments or endearment or exasperation. In return, he allowed his officers to call him a “dinosaur”, and more recently, “Pterodactyl”, due to his combed-back and sharp-ended mane.

STSO Salad cleared his throat to speak, ending in what was similar to a bird-like squawk. Some of the officers laughed as they recalled his new nickname. Age hadn’t yet dulled his hearing, so he kicked off his statement in usual fare.

“Alright, blockheads,” he said in a gravelly yet cutting tone. “Let me and Minnie worry about the line. The rest of you take your time and follow the SOP. Remember: Everything’s worth a second look. Utilize your team members, and follow your Lead’s cue to rotate on time. If you’re not rotating positions when you’re supposed to be, then say something. Our team is small, but we all know and work well with each other-”

Then Caesar’s eyes fell on the late-arriving officer, taking in his disheveled appearance and heavy breathing.

“Except, of course, for this new pony joining us all the way from Florida. What’s the matter, son? Is it that hot over there that you sweat in winter too?”

Time Runner groaned, shifting away from his supervisor’s lightly teasing smile and those of his colleagues. He hated getting called out or put in the spotlight for the wrong reasons.

Caesar Salad knew how short the line was drawn for STSOs to play around, so he stepped forward and offered a hoofshake in apology to Officer Runner.

“Take it easy now, I was just joking. We’re all really glad to have you on board. Let’s make this a great first week of 2012 and set the bar for the rest of the year, right everypony?”

For the first time in public this morning, Runner smiled and extended his own foreleg to meet Salad’s.

Yes. Thank you, sir.”

The screener and supervisor shook hooves, and the rest of the PM shift made their approval known with small claps and cheers. The center of the huddle was then passed to the Lead TSOs as they called out the names of the ponies assigned to their particular lane.

“Okay, lane one begins with Ultraviolet Bright on TDC, Visionary on X-Ray, Luck Ringer on MAG. Magic Hooves and Eagle Eye, you’ve got the floor; assist with bag checks, bin refills, and pat-downs as needed,” LTSO Ice Water said, pointing at the officers she addressed, then taking a pen between her teeth to write their names down on the lane position rotation worksheet.

“And on lane numero dos, Loupe Lens, you’re sharing the TDC booth with UVB. Double Check, take the X-Ray. Eggs n’ Ham, you’re DO for the AIT-” LTSO Buttered Bread made his first selections when he stopped in mid-sentence.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw STSO Soup unlocking the supply cabinet where the whisper radios were kept charged and ready. The delinquent officer was rushing forward to be the first in line.

“And try to keep the knock-knock jokes to a minimum, would you please?” the lead screener called after him.

A sudden burst of crackling static in his radio earpiece made him flinch, followed by Eggs’ voice coming in loud and clear.

“Knock, knock!”

‘Just get it over with,’ Bread told himself with a sigh.

“Who’s there?”

“Imin!”

“Imin who?”

“I’m in your head, picking your brains!”

TSO Ham clicked his tongue over the transmission several times, grinning at his wincing superior.

“Yup, works just fine! Thanks, boss!” he waved as he walked past to his assigned post.

‘One of these days, I’ll give you a radio check you won’t forget!’ LTSO Bread thought viciously before returning to lane assignments.

“Monitor and Drill Sergeant, you’re SO team #1 on the AIT. Patty Cake, you’re on SO team #2 with EnH. In the meantime, you’re on the floor with Free Floater.”

“That’s a wrap, ponies. Go see Minnie for your radios, then take your starting positions. Passengers are waiting,” STSO Caesar Salad concluded the briefing with the order to scramble.

Time Runner slipped into the employee break room and placed his food in the refrigerator. He exited back out into the checkpoint and waited in line for his radio.

“I bet it’s annoying, having them point out where you’re from all the time, right?” Ultraviolet Bright said, looking over her shoulder at him with a sympathetic smile.

“Nah, it’s cool. I’m proud that I made it all the way out here, and so is everypony back home,” Officer Runner replied, smiling back. “Besides, you have to expect that kind of treatment anywhere as the new guy.”

“Ha ha, true, so true. I came down to Los Angeles from Chicago to get away from the brutal winters, so they were giving me the same routine for weeks. I’m just happy not to be newest swabbie on deck anymore.”

“Same here,” Drill Sergeant said from further up the line, shaking his head. “When I tell ponies I’m from Texas, they want to know where I keep my cowboy hat. I reckon they’ve seen too many movies.”

“Didn’t you know? LA has a reputation as the fakest city! Nobody’s been born out here since the ‘40s! People just move in from every other state!” Lucky Ringer said with a laugh.

“My family and I moved around a lot when I was just a colt, even overseas,” Free Floater reflected serenely. “I’ve only been as far south in this country as Fort Lauderdale. South Florida is indeed very humid, but beautiful year-round."

“You probably didn’t have water shortages when you’re surrounded by it on three sides. Here in Cali, we’re shriveling up like a raison,” Monitor said, her snarky gaze obscured by thick glasses.

“Why did you really want to leave Miami, anyway? It can’t just be this job alone. I wouldn’t even cross the county line for this,” Magic Hooves bluntly asked Time Runner as he clipped a radio onto his belt and inserted the wired earpiece into his right canal.

The transfer employee stared at the floor and rubbed his chin with his left forehoof, considering how thoroughly he should answer this question. Finally, he looked back up.

“Why?” Runner repeated. “It’s simple: Why not? Miami is the greatest city in the world; everypony else just doesn’t know it yet. But I’ve lived long enough in paradise. It was overdue for me to get out there and see what the rest of the country, the rest of the world, really, has left to be explored. California is only the beginning. The next adventure’s coming soon, I just know it.”

There was a long silence as Time continued to stare determinedly at Officer Hooves, who broke out in laughter and elbowed his new coworker’s side good-naturedly.

“Man, get outta here, you talking crazy! Adventures, sure! I see you’re fitting right into LA already!”

“Yeah, you got me! I was only kidding!” the screener chuckled, engaging in the gleeful chorus around him.

TSO Runner was the last one to receive his radio, a circumstance made even more uncomfortable by the fact that STSO Soup had to help him put it on, lacking the dexterity or magic to do it himself. After conducting a radio check to assure its functionality, the supervisor beckoned to follow her, away from the bustling checkpoint as the morning shift moved over to lanes 3 & 4. The dreadful anticipation was worsened by the floor’s downslope in, giving his world a disorienting tilt.

Minestrone Soup stopped by the checkpoint exit, where the last AM TSO looked towards them as his salvation, only to be coldly denied when she turned to face the late-arriving officer with her most scrutinizing expression yet.

“Officer Runner, please explain why you were late again,” she said.

Our unusual earth pony protagonist has an almond-colored pelt that was streaked and matted by droplets of cooling sweat. His deep brown eyes were darkened further by heavy eyebrows. Finely-etched circles beneath them were an indication of chronic restlessness. A small mole was affixed away and above the left corner of his mouth. His black mane was cropped close to the skull in a fade cut. His tail had also been trimmed within agency grooming standards. From the very day he was born, his life has been a race against time, an eternal struggle epitomized by his cutie mark of a clock with its face blown out, hands crooked, glass shards and the numbers 3-6-9-12 rising to envelope the observer.

Joining the Transportation Security Administration soon after high school was Time Runner’s first foray into the realms of public service and safety. Empowered to forge his first career from it, he distinguished himself from rank-and-file screeners through exemplary performance and an unyielding dedication to the job. Concluding that he’d seen enough promotions elude him at his home airport, Runner made the unprecedented decision to transfer his current position to the west coast. Three months after the move to Los Angeles, he was still hoping to make a good impression with a brand-new team. What’s become painfully obvious though was that some of his old habits came along on the cross-country journey.

‘With little savings and a pocket full of dreams, I took a leap of faith by coming to California, and it looks like I’m about to blow it with a write-up for tardiness,’ the voraciously ambitious officer foresaw unpleasantly.

“I-” Time stopped abruptly when his throat squeezed shut from the stress. Swallowing hard, he continued.

“I was working on one of my video editing projects. You know, my, my hobby. I just recorded some new material this morning to work with. I was so excited by the possibilities that, I guess I sort of lost track of time,” the screener’s last words spilled out all at once before his windpipe failed him again.

‘Please don’t ask me about the project, or the source material,’ Runner pleaded within. ‘If the others found out, I’d have to resign in embarrassment.’

“Time, Time, calm down! Goodness, you’re shaking like a leaf!”

He was surprised to find out that she was right; although his four hooves stood rooted to the spot, the legs were vibrating spastically and on the verge of collapse. He’d also been closing his eyes and holding his breath subconsciously.

‘What terrible sway unchecked fear has over the body,’ he noted.

“I’m happy for you that you have fulfilling activities outside of work, but there’s a time and a place for everything. It’s obvious you cared enough about the job to show up late anyway instead of calling out.”

“But of course I couldn’t do that!” TSO Runner said before he could stop himself. “My coworkers, my friends are counting on me to be here!”

“And that’s the kind of team spirit LAX saw when they accepted your transfer. But if you want a promotion, you have to show some punctuality, and that your life’s priorities are in the correct order. If I started putting more care into my begonias and less into my role here, you wouldn’t find me worthy of your respect now, would you?”

The screener’s world paused as he took in what he’d just heard; his supervisor, a tough-as-nail police lieutenant, a gardener in her off-time. It was just so difficult to envision, even for a creative mind such as his.

“Well?” Minestrone pressed on for an honest answer. Her subordinate shook himself once back to reality, and then again when he registered the question.

“N-no, no.”

“Good. Now the officer behind me has been waiting patiently for somepony to tap him out. I’ll leave you to it. That way, you can also relax and catch your breath from the run up here.

Then STSO Soup smiled in reminiscence of her days as a beat cop up north.

“Chasing perps uphill was always a pain in the flank. But oftentimes when we diverted them in that direction, they’d give up. Back then, the hard way was my only way.”

“Me too!” TSO Runner agreed earnestly. “There’s no fun to be had on the easy path! Show me a stairway, an escalator, and an elevator; 9 times out of 10, I’ll take the stairs!”

“And on the 10th, you’d take the escalator only if you were late, right?”

“Right!”

“You’re getting off with a verbal warning this time, Runner. But if I catch you late again, I will write you up, got it?” the supervisor said as she resumed her usual self.

“Yes, ma’am!” the screener nodded curtly.

“Now get going.”

Time Runner was just about to walk past Minestrone Soup when something urged him to yank the tiger’s tail and ask the last, most pressing thing about their conversation.

“Is it just caring for begonias or-?” But his insolent query was cut short by his supervisor’s laughter.

“You don’t know the half of it; I’m from San Francisco! Not a word to anypony or you’ll be wearing flowers in your hair too, if you catch my drift,” STSO Soup said half-heartedly, winking her eye.

TSO Runner winked back and moved towards the exit booth, tapping out the last of the morning shift officers for a well-deserved rest. He leaned back in the chair and stretched all four legs out. Immediately, a hoof reflexively went for the pair of Mont Blanc prescription glasses dangling from his shirt collar, but then decided against it. The exit booth had excellent standoff distance from anypony who might wander in his direction.

And so his impaired eyesight prevented him from recognizing the first several actors from the “Friendship is Magic” cast beginning their journey into the security gauntlet at the TDC booth.

‘Man, we caught ourselves one lucky break today,’ he thought, sighing in relief. ‘No LOG, and nopony knows what I’ve been working on.’

When the show first premiered in October 2010, he hadn’t seen it coming. The talent behind it was familiar enough, but when years had gone by without any significant output, they’d simply fallen off his radar. Then, five months ago, he’d made the startling discovery by accident while following hilarious internet memes. Despite the disdainful reputation of the franchise, he was respectful of those spearheading this new production and was going to give it a try. Binging on all of Season 1’s episodes within a few weeks, he realized he was hooked. Then in the following month, Season 2 commenced and he was watching each episode’s premiere, enthralled by the writing, the acting, and the music.

After months of inactivity, his creative will was going into overdrive because of the show. New ideas for videos, pictures, and stories sprung forth almost weekly, it’d had been impossible to realize them all, so instead he focused his energy on the projects within his level and realms of artistic skill. And beyond that, the moral and values that the characters discovered had permeated into his outlook on life, filling him with hope and other wonderful feelings that had long became dormant in the face of this drab and monotonous world we live in.

‘Five months ago, if you told me what I’d be watching, what’d be inspiring me; I would’ve called you crazy. I’m still not calling myself a brony. I’m just not that brave yet. Perhaps someday, far far away, that might change…’

Time Runner was suddenly revisiting what Minestrone Soup had said to him earlier, that his dedication to the mission invoked one of TSA’s three core values; team spirit.

He wasn’t ex-military or police, but he’d been a part of bigger things than himself in his adolescent life. Joining this line of work was easily an extension to those experiences.

‘One pony can’t be a marching band, and one pony can’t screen a plane full of passengers. Teamwork is everything to this place. Teamwork is trust. Teamwork is success. Teamwork is…’

Then he paused, smirking, and pulled out his iPhone. Punching in the passcode and going into the photos app, at the very end of the camera roll was a crudely-done photo edit. It featured a .PNG cutout of Rainbow Dash from the episode “Applebuck Season” against a solid white background. The pony was doing her meme-morialized “So Awesome!” face on top of Mayor Mare’s podium. As a random act of deferring from another late-night video project, he’d traced the lines and colors of the TSA officer uniform over Dash’s body, paying unnecessarily close attention to details such as the badge outline, red TDC pen, nametag, shirt collar and tie. Obtaining the round seal of the U.S. Department of Homeland Security off Google Images, he added his own text alongside it in blue, Times New Roman lettering.

“Yes it is, Rainbow. Yes it is,” Time Runner said aloud to himself, smiling at the stupid little picture on the screen.

11:01 AM PST (T-minus 00:34 hours until departure)
Saturday, January 7th, 2012
Los Angeles International Airport, California, U.S.A.
Terminal 2, Second Floor – Approaching the Checkpoint Queue

With far more exerted effort than necessary, Mrs. Fyre-Flye magically tore open her purse, the zipper derailing from the metal interlocking strip on one side.

Oh, shoot! And this was my favorite one!

With no time to mourn the ignoble demise of a beloved accessory, the garnet-haired, white pelted alicorn concentrated her magical power once more to retrieve within it her silver pocket watch and a thick rubber band-bound stack of U.S. passport books. A quick bit enchantment had the watch now tracking its owner’s eyes so that it followed her movements just off to the side.

The rubber band was strained and snapped as the passports pulled against it, the individual blue-covered documents darted out to their appropriate holders.

“Make sure everypony’s got the right ones now!” Mrs. Fyre-Flye said as she led the way towards the entrance queue and pyramidal staircase leading up to the checkpoint.

A quick flip to the main picture page confirmed as much for Twilight Sparkle, a female purple unicorn and the main star of “Friendship is Magic”. She stuck her Air Canada boarding pass in between the pages and willed it into one of her saddlebags.

“Ugh, I gotta show this picture for the next 3 years? It’s embarrassing that you had to hold me, Twilight,” grumbled Spike, a male purple-scaled, green-eyed baby dragon and Twilight’s on-screen personal assistant, as he shoved his open passport in her face.

On the leftmost edge of the page, next to the printout of biographical data, a portrait of a newly-hatched Spike was being held in the frame of the shot by a pair of purple hooves. The infant dragon was wearing a wide-eyed and happily distracted expression, looking away from the camera.

“Ohhh, but you look so adorable, Spike!” Twilight cooed, easing the passport away with a forehoof and giggled at the pouting, slightly older dragon before her.

Realizing that his costar was short on sympathy, he irritably tipped his black bowler hat forward, opened his briefcase, threw the accursed document inside and snapped it shut.

“Don’t start putting them away! You’ll need them soon enough!” the former executive producer advised, still trotting briskly ahead.

“What are you complaining about, kid?” Rainbow Dash asked harshly as she drifted over Spike’s shoulder. “Have you seen mine, or Pinkie’s? You can’t even smile, and we’re stuck with those for another EIGHT years!”

“Rainbow Dash,” FBI Special Agent Tipped Scales, an older female mare wearing a brown trench coat, hissed dangerously between her teeth. “Stop that flying this instant.”

“It’s not flying, Mom! It’s called gliding!” the tomboy drawled in a petulant tone. “If you had wings, you’d know the difference!”

“I don’t care, now get down here or I’ll make you.”

The six-color maned, blue pelted Pegasus mare touched down into lockstep with the agent, apparently doing so just to silence her.

“Pfft, make me what? Apologize to the air for hurting its feelings? Great job protecting America from one crazy Pegasus, Clarice!”

Behind them, the Apple family, consisting of Applejack, Big Macintosh, and Applebloom looked on worriedly as Scales' movements became rigid with anger from their costar’s constant antagonizing.

“She’s asking for it. The dummy’s just asking for the bad cop to show herself,” Applejack, a blond-haired, orange pelted earth pony, whispered to Big Macintosh.

“Eeyup,” her older brother, an orange-haired, red pelted earth pony, replied grimly.

“That was an awfully mean thing of her to say,” Applebloom lamented.

The red-haired, amber-eyed earth pony filly turned to look at Scootaloo, a fellow member of the Cutie Mark Crusaders, who had recently been the target of a prank by Rainbow and Discord. She was startled to see the orange Pegasus youngster’s cheeks bulging as she unwrapped yet another piece of chewing gum and dropped it into her mouth.

“Gosh, Scootaloo, does the takeoff bother you that bad?” the youngest Apple Family sibling asked.

Jumping as though she’d been caught doing something wrong, she rushed forward to catch up with her friend.

“Oh yeah,” she nodded and replied thickly, taking a moment to mash the gum flat before continuing. “It really hurt my ears last time, so I’m using more gum.”

“Okay then. Save a piece for me once we’re on the plane.” Applebloom smiled naïvely before facing forward and coming to a stop with the rest of the cast.

Before them, the towering presence of Mrs. Fyre-Flye was off to one side of the entrance to the stanchion maze, glancing at her floating watch, giving them a pointed nudge of her head to urge them along. Fidgeting briefly with her broken purse, she withdrew a California Driver’s License and crumpled rectangular card that looked like-

“Ma’am, are you-, are you coming with us to Vancouver?” Twilight asked incredulously.

“Sorry, Twilight, but this is just a gate pass,” she explained as she levitated both documents to the airport representative at the entrance. “I insist on going through security as well to see everypony off at the gate.”

“What? No, you don’t have to do that! This is our fortieth trip; we’re experts at this by now!”

“That’s what you told me on the 22nd trip. Then Princess Celestia’s pet, Philomena, decides to finish her molting cycle. Inside the plane,” the red-haired alicorn recalled painfully, massaging her head with a forehoof. “I hadn’t seen that much legal trouble since Rainbow’s Alaska excursion.”

“Mea culpa, my bad, all right?!” the tomboy called out indignantly, as she once did in court. Next to Rainbow, her FBI keeper gave a satisfied smirk.

“Well, yeah, the TSA did ban phoenixes and their eggs from commercial flights afterward,” the studious unicorn admitted meekly.

“Talk about a trial by fire!” Pinkie Pie, a pink-on-pink earth pony, said in amusement. “Remember when Fluttershy tried to sneak a parasprite out of Canada?”

A pink-haired, yellow pelted Pegasus mare uttered a scoff of disbelief so low that it was more of a sigh.

“You encouraged me to after bringing home that Poison Joke plant,” she mumbled in an accusatory tone. “Plus you’re always packing your jokes and party supplies to try and cheer those security ponies up.”

“Duh! Have you seen how unhappy those guys look? A good party always brings me up when I’m feeling down!”

“They made you check your party cannon into cargo,” Ditzy Doo, AKA Derpy Hooves, said sadly.

A Pegasus mare with yellow hair and a gray pelt, her stratospheric rise within the fandom began as a background pony in Episode 1. Her crossed eyes gave her a unique presence in a show that was breaking all the rules in girl’s entertainment. Episode 40, “The Last Roundup”, that they were set to film this week would be her first speaking role.

“I couldn’t believe it either! It wasn’t even loaded!” Pinkie Pie replied with a defeated expression.

An incalculable tremor was building within Tipped Scales in the midst of all these self-incriminating statements. Without any hard evidence, about all she could do was stare from one guilty face to another.

‘My, my, they’re all a bunch of little felons, aren’t they?’ the trench coated mare assessed coldly.

Mrs. Fyre-Flye sensed the disturbance and abruptly cut in through the chatter.

“Look, ponies, it’s really no trouble at all to go through with you. We can have a proper goodbye before boarding,” she said with a pleading, maternal look in her eyes.

“Thanks for the offer, Mrs. Fyre-Flye, but we’ll be okay, really,” Twilight reassured her. “Besides, Mr. Stew’s still waiting for you.”

The main star raised a forehoof to pat the shoulder of the former executive producer and smiled brightly.

“It’s not nice to keep your special somepony waiting.”

The alicorn laughed as her cheeks flushed in a bright shade of pink. Then she lowered her head and embraced the unicorn with her long neck.

“Be safe; all of you. And call me as soon as you get there, deal?”

“Deal,” Twilight nodded.

Swelling with confidence as she assumed her imbued role as the leader, she turned to the rest of the “Friendship is Magic” cast.

“Alright ladies…and gentlemen,” she added, nodding at Angel, Big Mac, and Spike. “Let’s do this.”

11:06 AM PST (T-minus 00:29 hours until departure)
Saturday, January 7th, 2012
Los Angeles International Airport, California, U.S.A.
Terminal 2, Third Floor – Security Checkpoint

“Um, Rarity? Your jewelry looks nice and everything, but you might want to take it off for security,” Sweetie Belle suggested as she and her older sibling were taking their first steps up the staircase.

The elder of the white pelted unicorn sisters had luxurious purple hair twirled into massive curls. She was wearing all sorts of fanciful clothing and accessories, most of them of her own Carousel Boutique label. Rarity dipped her head and gave her sister a puzzled look through her sunglasses. The lilac and puce puffy-haired filly retracted momentarily from that patronizing expression.

“Oh don’t be silly, darling,” she chortled nonchalantly. “These bracelets are nothing less than 23 karat gold. Only lesser quality alloys would set those machines off.”

“You don’t know that for a fact, do you?” Sweetie Belle asked rhetorically. “Better to be safe than sorry, sis; just take them off and put them in your bag.”

“I most certainly will not, now that everypony else’s heard you! They may try to steal them!”

However late in the morning it was, there were remarkably few passengers in line outside of their group. The Cutie Mark Crusader scanned their faces and believed they weren’t paying them any mind. The fashionable unicorn lowered her sunglasses and eyed them suspiciously nonetheless.

“But you were the one who said how much gold’s in them!”

“That will do, Sweetie Belle! I’m not taking off any of my jewelry! Security will just have to work around me!”

With an upturning of her nose and a resolute “Humph!”, Rarity climbed a few more stairs when the ponies ahead moved up, her dejected younger sister in tow.

“Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Sweetie Belle muttered.

Meanwhile, Rainbow Dash and Scootaloo were cutting through the empty roped labyrinth to catch up with the others. Back at the entrance to the queue, Tipped Scales was giving the duo one last, tender admonishing.

“You two look after each other. Let bygones be bygones,” she said specifically to Scootaloo.

“Okay,” the orange filly muffled in a reprieve from her incessant chewing.

The veteran special agent raised an eyebrow curiously before rounding on the blue daredevil that had been the bane of her existence for the better part of an hour.

“If I have to clean up another one of your messes-” she started in a voice calmer and clearer than any shout.

Rainbow’s retreating back shuddered, but kept moving away. In an unexpected pang of empathy, the trench coated mare left her sentence unfinished. With a final irritable snort, she turned and headed for the nearest elevator. She’d hit the coffee shop on the first floor before returning to her cubicle inside the Bureau’s airport resident agency.

‘I was probably just as big of a smart aleck at her age. No, worse even,’ she admitted grudgingly. ‘Hopefully she’ll grow up and make something respectable out of herself.’

“Whew, free from Lady Liberty at last!” Rainbow Dash quipped ironically after risking a peek at the departing Scales.

“She was a worthy opponent, but both of us had to know I’d come out on top!”

Another glance at the agent’s deliberate striding, and the sense of triumph ebbed away. It was the brash delinquent’s nature to treat every obstruction in life as a challenge. But in this case, it hadn’t been a match of strength or wits. The older and wiser opponent didn’t break from her tirade of insults. Instead she stuck to her guns and saw a not a game, but a job, through to the end.

‘Alright, we’ll call it a draw,’ Rainbow thought, sheathing an imaginary sword.

Her pink eyes fell on Scootaloo as she moved forward. She was painfully reminded of the “big mouth” jinx Discord did on her command. That was an unfair fight to say the least.

“Hey, Scoot?” she said tentatively, reaching out with a forehoof to tap her shoulder.

The younger Pegasus turned towards her at once.

“Hmm?” she hummed, edging away slightly from the hoof. Rainbow pulled it back in and commenced her heartfelt statement.

“I’m really sorry about what happened earlier. Sometimes I’m too prideful for my own good.”

Scootaloo’s face remained neutral, betraying nothing, and continuing to chew on the massive wad of gum in her mouth, an action which gave Rainbow fresh inspiration.

“Let me buy you a second breakfast after security! Derpy said she kind of made you lose your first after some crazy stunt for the fans,” she tittered nervously at the regalement.

“Nuh-uh, it’s okay, it’s okay!” the muted filly voiced in polite refusal, shaking her head and a forehoof up at her.

“I didn’t hear a ‘no’, so I guess that’s a ‘yes’, Rainbow volunteered slyly. “Anything you want on the plane, it’s on me, and that’s final!”

Smiling brightly, the spectrum-maned Pegasus nuzzled Scootaloo’s mane with her snout and trotted ahead towards the stairway. Once out of view, the juvenile’s appreciative look morphed quickly into a very sour one as she readjusted the special package, tucked beneath a wing, she was saving for the tomboy.

‘Oh no, you don’t! There’s no bribing your way out! This next one’s going to be on you alright!’ she thought sarcastically.

Nearing the summit and leading the pack were Twilight Sparkle, Spike, Princesses Celestia and Luna. From the wicker bassinet dangling from Fluttershy’s mouth, Angel Bunny pushed open the lid, leaped onto the floor and scampered through a forest of pony legs. He spotted a dark blue one belonging to his target, grabbed hold of the pelt and climbed onto Luna’s back.

The regal pony whipped her flowing, semitransparent cloak of a mane and turned her aquamarine eyes to look at him. The snow white rabbit squeaked and rubbed his stomach with a pained expression.

“Oh, he must be hungry again, you poor thing,” she acknowledged in concern.

The midnight alicorn ignited her horn, magically undoing the strap on one of her saddlebags and pulling the flap open. Within the pouch, a bright orange carrot with fibrous strings of root on the end floated out and into Angel’s outstretched paws.

“Aww, he looks so happy with you,” Fluttershy observed warmly as he munched on the carrot enthusiastically. “You must’ve really earned his trust.”

“Wait a cotton-picking minute! That carrot didn’t come from my-” Applejack rushed in.

Narrowing her eyes at the carrot’s long, green and bushy stems, she spotted the small paper tag around them bearing the initials “AJ”

“My garden!” the farmer exclaimed.

Angel froze in mid-chew, registering the earth pony’s disapproving stare. He gulped the down the mush and futilely tried to hide the rest of the vegetable behind his back, the stems poking out like a bad hairdo.

“Calm yourself, please. It was I who picked them,” Princess Luna said at once, about-facing to shield the timid animal. “And only a few while tending the entire patch in your absence. Angel likes their texture just before they ripen.”

“And what’s wrong with the ones stocked in the fridge?”

“They’re practically inedible; they give him toothaches.”

A picky eater, that little rascal? I don’t buy it!”

As their quarrelling continued in the background, Spike was once again bemoaning his passport picture. Even one security pony making a side-by-side comparison was too much for him to bear. He had to do something to improve his living image. Taking up the hat and briefcase had been a good start, but he felt like he was still missing something.

Gasping excitedly when he remembered what that was, he yanked on Twilight’s tail. Wielding the Episode 40 script notebook and her travel documents simultaneously, the main star threw the latter into the pages of the former to mark her place and made them disappear in a puff of smoke.

“What, Spike?” she asked, pulling her tail free out of his grip, annoyed by the interruption.

“Twilight, can you do the mustache spell on me again? You know, magic trick number 25?” the baby dragon requested eagerly.

“What, now?”

“Yes, now, please!”

“Any particular reason why?”

“Just, uh,” the baby dragon faltered, groping for a logical explanation. “Just trying to complete the look is all.”

He held his bowler hat out in one clawed hand and the briefcase in the other to emphasize his point. Twilight Sparkle knew him too well and saw right through his charade.

‘It’s just a passport picture, Spike, not a senior class photo-’

The studious unicorn pulled the brakes on that train of thought. Unsavory memories of foalhood photos were flashing before her eyes, including the aforementioned high school portrait. Groaning, she conceded that her assistant’s worries were valid.

“Okay. It’s been a while since that episode. I don’t know if I remember the spell correctly, but here goes.”

The main star’s horn glowed to life, a shimmering, sparkling aura encompassing it. Another aura materialized just above Spike’s mouth. Closing her eyes and grunting with exertion, the auras began to brighten, with miniature arcing bolts of lightning dancing between them. With a final popping burst of noise and light, a long and bushy black mustache unfurled itself and drooped over the corners of the dragon’s lips.

“Ha-ha, sweet! Thank you, Twilight!” Spike said, leaping up to hug her around the neck.

“You’re very welcome, Spike. Ooh, watch those whiskers!” she recoiled slightly from the pinching bristles.

“Heh, sorry,” he said, stroking his facial hair down his cheeks.

Emerging from Applejack’s grilling no worse for the wear, Princess Luna rejoined her older sister. Back within the sanctuary of Fluttershy’s bassinet, Angel Bunny gave her a grateful wave before allowing the lid to slap shut.

“Were the negotiations productive?” Princess Celestia asked amusingly.

“I agreed to help her family cultivate the orange seeds she brought from Florida,” Luna said, nodding. “It’ll be at least 3 years before we see any fruit, but I’m looking forward to getting my hooves dirty again.”

The midnight alicorn lifted a forehoof capped with an ornately-designed slipper. She could still see traces of brown earth against her ankles, beaming in delight

“That’s wonderful to have discovered a new hobby, my sister. I sense that you’ve grown in more ways too. You’re not even nervous about traveling without the guards anymore,” the daylight alicorn remarked impressively.

“Indeed. The circumstances leading to their absence were imposed by the powers that be, as was your trip to Miami. But I chose not to give in to fear without reason. It is the decisions we make in the face of adversity that define or defy who we are.”

“An invaluable lesson worthy of chronicling, alongside any of the Main Six’s letters,” Celestia said contentedly. “And it is through absence that makes the heart grow fonder.”

The royal pony sisters embraced, wrapping their necks around each other, for the second time since their reunion. Even four days apart had been too long.

“Celestia,” Luna began with tears welling up in her eyes. “Doesn’t this remind you about our trip to the capital? About the lesson we taught to another pair of sisters?”

Time often plays a critical factor in art, as it does in other aspects of life. Its march into the finitude of our celestial existence is an immutable force; the one true non-renewable commodity. Once time is expended, it can never be replenished. The right idea that emerges into public view, within the optimum conditions, has the capacity to achieve immortality. The idea’s founders and perpetuators may fade into a vestige in recorded history, but their idea will endure the ages to come, timeless and everlasting.

When “Friendship is Magic” premiered fifteen months ago, the new president’s daughters were entrenched in a pithy yet terrible feud. However, when the younger sibling beheld the joyous reunion of Princess Celestia and Princess Luna after a millennium of heartbreaking exile, it emboldened her to make amends, and even invite her older sister to partake in this wonderful show together.

The president and first lady were elated beyond measure to witness their daughters return with a bond that was stronger than ever. The following month, both alicorn princesses were mailed formal written invitations to the White House in Washington, D.C. Mrs. Fyre-Flye had accidentally ripped the mailbox’s door off with her magic when she saw the return address.

Within the hallowed walls of the Oval Office, in a private ceremony to which select few were privy, the first family greeted and commended both actors for their captivating performances. Having not been long after Halloween, the two presidential sisters wore elegant dresses and even hosted a splendorous tea party in the Rose Garden.

Prior to their return to Los Angeles, Celestia and Luna had been presented with honorary diplomatic credentials, produced by the Treasury’s Bureau of Engraving and Printing, and recognized by the State Department. The documents registered each bearer as an “Emissarius Phantasticus”, or ‘Imaginary Emissary’, and as the ruling heads of state of the ‘Republic of Equestria’.

As merely symbolic gestures of gratitude by the president and his family, the credentials would not grant them any official services or protection afforded to real dignitaries. One of the benefits it did carry, however, was an exemption from airport checkpoint screening, as they soon discovered on the return flight home.

Using magic, Princess Celestia extracted a black leather wallet from her saddlebag. The great seal of the United States of America was embossed upon the top cover. Flipping the wallet open revealed the portable, laminated version of the EP certificate and supplemental photo ID card.

“I still can’t believe you and Luna met the president!” Twilight Sparkle gushed, recognizing the wallet instantly.

Were it not for these marvelous documents, I myself would think it had only been a dream,” Luna admitted as she held up her own wallet.

“Next in line, please,” an aging Pegasus stallion called out and beckoned to them with a wave of a forehoof.

Sitting attentively on the left side of a sheet metal podium that was plastered with the rotund DHS seal, the stallion wore a short-sleeve, royal blue uniform shirt. Black shoulder boards, the letters “TSA” spelled in silver embroidering, were threaded on buttoned-down epaulets on the sleeves. A gold-plated badge and silver nametag strip were pinned to opposite sides of his chest. The nametag read his surname as “LENS”, then “OFFICER” beneath in smaller letters as his title.

“Good morning, sir” the daylight alicorn said pleasantly, lowering her boarding pass and ID wallet into his hooves. “My sister and I hold special permission from the Department of State to be exempted from screening.”

“Is that so? Well, ask her to come up and present her creds too,” Officer Lens said, readjusting his glasses and taking a closer look at the certificate and ID.

Princess Luna bounded forward and levitated her Emissarius Phantasticus wallet towards him. After spending seconds checking both alicorns against their photos and tickets, the screener sighed and scratched his head.

“Sorry ma’am, but I’m not familiar with these IDs. They look genuine, but I’ve never even heard of this title before. It’ll be up to the supes to make the final call.”

Placing one foreleg on the desk and leaning up from his seat, the TSO pointed with the other all the way to his left.

“You can wait over there by the side door on the far end. I’ll notify them over the radio.”

“Thank you, officer, and have a good day,” the midnight alicorn said curtly as she retrieved both pairs of wallets and boarding passes from him.

“I can help the next pony over here!” A unicorn mare TSO said with a smile, after a large family had moved off.

“See you on the other side,” Twilight said good-naturedly. With a final wink at the royal pony sisters, she stepped forward to the booth.

Twilight Sparkle & Spike versus the Travel Document Checker (TDC)

“Good morning, ma’am,” Ultraviolet Bright began their transaction with a luminous greeting.

“And a good morning to you, too,” Twilight Sparkle returned with a smile.

“May I see your boarding pass and a valid photo ID, please?”

“Yes you may.”

The main star’s horn flared with magic energy and the left saddlebag pouch opened automatically. Instead of her U.S. passport book and Air Canada boarding pass to Vancouver, however, a thick paperback novel floated out and wafted towards the screener.

“Hey, you’ve got same the book I do!” Officer Bright said, taking it in her hooves albeit politely puzzled.

“Oh, do you? What an amazing coincidence,” the studious unicorn said sheepishly. “I guess that’s what was on my mind rather than my passport and ticket!”

“Don’t sweat it; happens to me all the time when I travel,” Ultraviolet said, laying the book to rest on the podium. “How do you like it so far?”

“Great!" Twilight offered quickly, smiling widely, before unintentionally pulling out another book from the right pouch this time. “Just, great!”

Meanwhile, Spike approached Loupe Lens on the other side of the podium and handed over his travel documents.

“Hello,” the screener said before getting to work.

“Good day to you, sir!” Spike replied with both an exaggerated voice and swinging hand gesture.

Seeing how taken aback the aging stallion was, the baby dragon reverted to gently stroking the left side of his mustache. When Officer Lens then opened his passport to the picture page and leaned back slightly, the stroking intensified.

“It says your birthday was October 10th, 2010, but you’re already sporting a mustache?” Loupe asked, turning his head to look at Spike, his hand freezing in place.

“This picture would look like you, except for the facial hair. Did somepony put you up to a dare or something?”

‘Oh, man, did I overdo it?’ Spike asked himself. ‘I better come clean before this gets any worse.’

“Not really, sir,” he began slowly. “I sort of asked my friend Twilight over there to put it on me. I just wanted to look different. Right, Twi?”

The unicorn wasn’t listening. She’d completely dropped the notion of using magic anymore. Slipping the saddlebags off, she was now hunched over and digging feverishly through them for the elusive documents.

“I said, ‘Right, Twi?’” Spike repeated louder.

“WHAT?!”

The main star’s head popped up in whirlwind of loose-leaf paper sheets. Strands of her mane were pointing out in odd angles and her right eye was twitching from stress.

The baby dragon nudged his head at the TSO waiting for confirmation to his story.

“Oh, right, the mustache! Yeah, I did that!” she rushed through her confession while giving Officer Lens a disoriented stare. “It’s because he hates his picture. I should’ve fixed that too!”

And with that, Twilight resumed searching through her bags, unaware that her last words made Officers Bright and Lens turn towards each other, the alarm bells in their heads going off almost simultaneously. The unicorn mare mouthed something to the Pegasus stallion, who nodded in agreement.

“Did you check your script yet?” Spike asked her, missing the visual cues.

“Of course!” Twilight agonized. “Why didn’t I do that first?!”

“Heh, because you would’ve stopped looking and holding everypony up?” the baby dragon said in amusement while crossing his arms.

The script notebook reappeared in a smoky burst, and right away a rectangular white stub was visible from the top. Flipping through to the correct page, the passport and boarding pass were freed from their confinement and made a beeline for the officers’ podium.

“There you go!” the studious unicorn said with an exhausted smile.

With a tenuous grin of her own, Ultraviolet Bright pried the passport open. Possessed in her own magical grip, a small, dark gray flashlight hovered over it. With a click of a button, a beam of purple light poured onto the picture page, revealing hidden security features in the printing that verified its authenticity.

Turning the UV flashlight off and replacing it in the utility pouch attached to her belt, the TSO checked off the boarding pass’ key details with a pen before adding the last four of her shield number in a blank space on the paper.

“Thank you, Ms. Sparkle,” the screener said before willing the documents back to their owner. “Have a nice trip, see you next fall.”

“You too-” Twilight paused. “’Next fall’? But we’re in the middle of winter.”

“Oh, that’s, that’s a just a saying we have up in Chicago. You know, the ‘Windy City’ and all? Yeah, that’s what I meant.”

Now looking uncomfortable, the unicorn officer rolled her shoulders to adjust the fit of her uniform shirt.

“Oh-kay. Well, thanks again and sorry for the mess.”

The main star faced the sizable pile of books and papers strewn about on the floor around the saddlebags. With a little more magical effort, all of it had stacked themselves neatly and returned into their proper pouches. Twilight then slipped on the bags, gave Ultraviolet one last smile before proceeding towards X-Ray lane #1.

Next door, Loupe was furtively whispering instructions into the microphone clipped to his shirt collar, watching Spike on lane #2 as he placed his briefcase into one plastic bin, the hat in another. After a verbal confirmation, he faced forward again and asked the next pony to come forth.

Princess Celestia & Princess Luna versus the Very Important Pony (VIP) Side Door

Far off to the side door entrance by lane #6, Princesses Celestia and Luna watched as the purple unicorn and dragon proceed at last into parallel rows of steel tables. Behind them, Rarity and Sweetie Belle jointly approached the female officer, while Pinkie Pie saluted the male one loudly that it carried over in a faint echo.

“They’re making good progress,” the daylight alicorn said mirthfully.

“Better than we are, ironically,” the midnight alicorn added in slight jealousy.

Just as Luna finished, a male Pegasus trotted up from the other side of the door. He wore the same blue uniform shirt as his fellow officers, but with full-length sleeves and a long black tie, dangling freely from his closed collar. The younger princess sibling also noticed the three silver stripes on the shoulder boards.

“Morning, ladies,” he addressed them cordially, coming to a stop at the gate. “I’m Caesar Salad, one of the checkpoint supervisors. Loupe back there said you had some kind of authorization that exempted both of you from screening?”

“Yes, we do,” Celestia smiled brightly, magically volunteering her EP credentials to within a comfortable reading distance of the supervisor’s eyes.

“Emissarius Phantasticus,” he read aloud, his pronunciation rough around the edges. “It’s got the Secretary of State’s signature on it, but I’m plum stumped as to where you got it.”

“They were personal tokens of esteem from the President of the United States,” Luna elaborated, holding up her own wallet case to Supervisor Salad.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, subsequently regarding the elder sister’s documentation with greater reverence. “That’s impressive. If you’ll permit me to bring them to my office, I should have you cleared to enter in a few minutes.”

“As you will, officer,” Celestia nodded.

Tucking both wallets under each wing, the senior Pegasus walked down, turned right and ascended into the “crow’s nest”, an elevated workspace shared by the supervisors and had a panoramic view of the entire checkpoint operation.

“Need any help with them?” Minestrone Soup asked, pulling her eyes away from the hypnotizing fluidic motion of both ponies’ manes and tails.

“I might,” Salad said hesitantly, loosening a wing and allowing the first of the wallet cases to flop onto the desktop in front of her.

The former policewoman inquisitively studied the gold U.S. seal imprinted on the cover before willing the case open by magic. After a few seconds of scanning the laminated certificate and ID card on the inside of each flap, she delivered her assessment.

“Never heard of it, never seen it before. If it’s a counterfeit or forgery, it’s a darn, good-looking one.”

“My thoughts exactly,” her male counterpart returned, pulling a reference binder out of a cabinet. “I’ll go over the list of approved creds again. If I can’t find it, then we’ll have to make a few calls.”

Twilight Sparkle & Spike versus the Selectee Referral

“Step right up, fillies and gentlecolts, step right up!” Eggs n’ Ham pitched to his captive audience. “The future of security is here! Just come inside and you’ll be that much closer to your plane!”

The art of the sale is in the showmanship. A finely honed performance that overwhelms the senses can bedazzle even the most skeptical buyer into plunking down on a jar of dirt. Officer Ham knew that was the secret to getting the results his superiors wanted, even if they’d publicly disavow his measures.

Relinquishing his grip on the security bin containing his briefcase as a motorized belt pulled it into the X-Ray tunnel; Spike soon found he was gaping silently in awe of the imposing gray, circular tower rising up behind the screener.

“Buenos Dias, my dapper little dragon!” Eggs beamed at him.

“That machine looks so cool!” the mustachioed youngster balled his hands into fists, arms trembling in excitement. “Can I go in?”

“Apologies, friend, but the future of security has a height requirement. My lovely colleague right next door will see you through the metal detector.”

Nodding over to Lucky Ringer, the female earth pony TSO smiled and waved invitingly through a plain, rectangular portal. Spike groaned in disappointment and reluctantly walked towards her.

“And now, miss,” Officer Ham turned his attention to Twilight Sparkle. “If you would be so kind as to enter the device, the procedure will be over in seconds.”

The studious unicorn peered at the construct’s multifaceted design, attempting to glean some insight as to what exactly it did. She’d seen them utilized by security on previous trips, but had never been directed to undergo it herself. A lone stanchion next to the machine’s entrance held up a small informational sign in a glass display case.

‘Millimeter Wave Technology,’ Twilight read. ‘Use of this technology is optional. Alternative screening measures may be employed upon request.’

Generally despising knowledge gaps, her lack of awareness on the scanner’s effects left her cautious, and that disclaimer was the perfect grounding needed in her refusal.

“No, thank you, sir,” the main star shook her head. “I want to elect your alternate measures if that’s fine with you.”

“You got it,” Eggs n’ Ham acknowledged, titling his head closer to his radio microphone without skipping a beat. “Female assist, female assist for an opt-out selectee on lanes 1 & 2.”

“Your loss, Twilight,” Spike said indifferently, having cleared the metal detector and noticed her sitting down on her haunches to wait at the side door.

“Just grab my bags and wait for me in the back, okay?!” she barked, glowering at his retreating back through the clear plastic sheet of the door.

Knowing where his priorities lay, the personal assistant hurried and squeezed past anonymous passengers. Lying on the exit rollers were numerous plastic bins, the bulbous form of his bowler hat rising out of one. Spike gratefully took hold of its brim with both hands and pulled it over the fins atop of his head until snugly in place. When he went for his briefcase next, he was shocked to find the adjoining bin empty.

“Pardon me, young man, but does this belong to you?” Free Floater asked from the other side of the rollers, holding up the briefcase in his forelegs.

“Yes, thank you!”

He reached out to the officer, expecting him to pass it over. When he didn’t, however, a twinge of unease manifested in his stomach.

“And is that purple unicorn there traveling with you?” the TSO asked in a tone implying that he knew the answer.

“Y-yes.”

“I regret to inform that she and you have been referred for additional screening,” the blue-shirted Pegasus said before sharply nodding over Spike’s shoulder.

At that moment, a wisp of displaced air against his scales indicated movement behind him. The baby dragon turned his head to see another uniformed earth pony mare trotting past, a tagged door key clutched in her mouth. About-facing a complete 180 degrees from Officer Floater, he spotted a third badged official at the opposite lane, lifting Twilight’s saddlebags out of their bin.

‘Uh-oh, this isn’t good,’ he thought.

Rarity & Sweetie Belle versus the Walk-Through Metal Detector (WTMD)

“There,” Rarity exhaled in satisfaction when her purse disappeared behind the weighty lead curtains of the X-Ray chute. “Off you go, Sweetie Belle. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Good luck, you two,” Twilight gave them a wearisome smile as she sat waiting nearby.

“Thanks!” the younger unicorn sibling replied, turning to face screener and the unassuming metal frame between the two.

“Just walk on through when you’re ready, kid,” Officer Ringer said, winking down at her.

Her timidity hardening into intense concentration on the last real obstacle from getting to Canada, she embarked into the gateway.

‘Be brave now, Sweetie Belle,’ she willed herself, closing her eyes. ‘Have no fear, have no doubt.’

After what felt like an eternity of tiptoeing through the darkness, Ringer’s friendly voice broke in.

“Good job, you’re good to go.”

“I did it, I did it!” the filly gasped.

Opening her eyes in in a wide grin, she hopped giddily past Lucky before rounding about to await her older sister.

“Your turn!”

Stifling a giggle at the adorable display, Rarity regained her composure and strolled gracefully into the walk-through metal detector, only for that composure to be shattered when a bleating ring emitted overhead. The officer shot up a forehoof, preventing her from going any further.

“You alarmed the detector, ma’am,” the earth pony recited this passage of instructions flawlessly from memory, marching forth as she did so, prompting the fashionable unicorn to shift into reverse.

“I need you to step back outside, remove any excess metal objects on your person and place them into a bowl for the X-Ray before trying again.”

Now standing within the device herself, the screener pointed to uneven stacks of plastic bowls located on top of the X-Ray chute before backtracking to her regular position.

“Your bracelets, Rarity,” Sweetie Belle reminded her from the other side. “You need to take them off!”

“That’s absurd,” the older sibling said, staring down at her jangling treasures. “Surely the culprit must be something else!”

Lifting the sunglasses away from her eyes, she started patting down the pockets of her coat, coming across a hoof file and some spare change. Smiling confidently, she magically summoned one of the bowls to her, placed the scapegoat objects into the container before tossing it into the X-Ray.

“Okay, ready for take two!”

Staring at the manic unicorn in bewilderment, Lucky Ringer beckoned her forth.

*RING-RING-RING*

“Try again,” the officer said, spinning a hoof in midair, signaling her to turn around.

The sideshow that followed had made TSO Ham put his routine on hold to watch in amazement and take notes. An increasingly despondent Rarity was now sticking individual legs and leaning headfirst into the metal detector, freezing instinctively even when the bell didn’t sound.

“It’s not working, Rarity,” Twilight sternly concluded just as the side door was opened for her by another female TSO. “Just send your bracelets through already.”

With cheeks brightly flushed and faintly growling, the white unicorn glared impotently at the innocuous-looking doorway that had been become her new arch-nemesis.

“Ma’am, just step inside the holding area,” Officer Ringer sighed, moving over to reveal a steel and glass corral with a one-way door at the end. “We’ll put in a request for a female assist.”

Smirking delightedly at a hard-earned victory, a disheveled Rarity proudly walked into the transparent box, purposefully bumping her flank inside the metal detector, relishing the ensuing racket.

Pinkie Pie & Derpy Hooves versus the Advanced Imaging Technology (AIT)

“Well she was a fun little distraction,” Eggs n’ Ham said in earnest, continuing to stare at the confined unicorn. “I gotta hand it to a pony to stands by her principles.”

“Oh, you have no idea!” Pinkie Pie replied, snickering. “You should see her during a department store sale; she goes right for the jugular!”

(Play this background music before continuing)

Facing forward, the Pegasus saw a bright pink, springy-haired earth pony mare staring interestedly at him. In what could only be aptly described as an alignment of the planets and stars, the jokester’s impervious façade was cracked as her baby blue eyes delved into his soul.

“Y-yeah, jugular,” he stumbled after recognizing the joke. “Ha-ha, good one.”

His peripheral vision was becoming lost in a milky haze, the seductive melody of a saxophone and exploding fireworks filled his ears, and for the first time in living memory, Eggs found himself at a loss for words.

“Hey, Ham, What’s the holdup?” Drill Sergeant snapped at the dumbstruck screener through the open chamber from the other side of the scanner.

Seconds into her stare seemed to drag on for an eternity. In slow motion, the mare threw her head back, the hook-like curl in her mane bouncing off to the side of her face, before moving in even closer.

“Well?” she began, her voice throaty and alluring, her bright, glittering eyes expectant.

“Aren’t you going to…let me in?”

“Wh-what?!” the stallion yelped, his heart beating so fast that it felt ready to burst out of his chest.

(If the music's still going, pause it now)

“Aren’t you going to let me in?” Pinkie repeated in the real world and in a normal speed, pointing past the red-faced officer at the towering device behind him.

“Oh, um, of course!” Eggs said, giving his wings a sharp flap and standing aside. “G-go ahead.”

“Gracias!” the party mare said, giving him one last smile before walking into the machine.

Shaken to the core at having just met his match, the TSO engaged in deep breathing exercises for several minutes in self-recuperation, paying no mind to Derpy Hooves as she waited patiently undergo scanning after Pinkie Pie.

“Howdy, miss,” Officer Sergeant welcomed the exuberant passenger. “Are you familiar with the process of Millimeter Wave detection?”

“Nope,” Pinkie shook her head, her mane whipping about.

“Don’t worry, it’s simple. I need you to stand on those hoofprints and face that direction.”

The screener gestured at yellow impressions of horseshoes pasted on the metal platform, pointing in a perpendicular direction from which she had entered.

“Two prints?” she observed. “Does that mean I have to-“

“Stand upright? Yes,” Drill finished. “If you have a physical impediment that prevents you from doing that, Officer Monitor can give you a pat-down instead.”

“It’s no problem, look!”

With a grunt, Pinkie demonstrated by heaving her upper torso and forehooves into the air. Jutting her hind legs into the floor diagrams, she completed an elongated “X” shape with her entire body.

“Ready!”

“Great, now just hold still,” the Texan unicorn said, his hoof tapping the green SCAN button on the touch screen.

“EEYAAHH!” the prankster shrieked.

Losing her balance, she slammed backwards into a curved plastic wall of the inner chamber, her rump sliding down to the freezing platform. An error message with the word “INVALID” appeared on the operator control panel. Drill Sergeant poked his head in.

“What’s wrong? Why’d you move?” he fired off in quick succession.

“Because s-sss-something else moved!” the earth pony replied, pointing a forehoof at a long, dark cylindrical mass hanging motionless off to one side of the machine’s interior.

“That’s just one of the scanning bars. This barrier separates you from it,” he proved by rapping a hoof on the transparent shield before offering it to Pinkie.

“What do you say we it give another try, partner?” he smilingly asked in a calmer, more paternal manner. It befitted his days as a ranch instructor than at Lackland.

“Sure!” she grinned back, seizing the hoof and was helped back onto her feet.

Once more, Pinkie Pie assumed the upright position necessary for the scan. Seeking a distraction from the physical exertion, her wandering eyes traced a life-size cutout of a pony silhouette mimicking her current pose. At the center of mass where its heart would be, there was an illustration of a stopwatch, a thin red slice cut into its round face. The words “Please hold pose." and "3 sec.” were printed over and beneath it.

In the flash of an instant, the free-spirited mare was whisked back in time to the dance studio Mrs. Fyre-Flye had signed the “Mane Six” up for lessons. During each warm-up session, the instructor made them hold a roughly similar starting position, taking turns in placing her stopwatch around each of their necks.

‘Ignore the pain, just focus on the watch,’ she always said. ‘Feel the ticking rhythm; let it synchronize with your heart. Then, after three seconds, DANCE!’

Closing her eyes, Pinkie took a deep breath and tensed her muscles for action. When Drill Sergeant’s next words of ‘Here we go’ drifted into the solitude, she nodded.

‘One, two,’ she counted the “lub-dub” pulses from within.

With a grinding electronic rumble, the two scanning bars surged forth, revolving in opposing directions around the captive pony inside the chamber.

‘LUB-DUB!’

The prankster centered her weight onto a single foot and went into a dizzying ballerina twirl, ending in a humble bow to the TSO.

“Uh,” Officer Sergeant moaned, completely befuddled when Monitor elbowed past him.

“Ugh, first Eggs, and now you?” she said testily, her glasses flashing when they caught the light. “What’s gotten into you boys today?”

“I hear you, sister. It seems like we’re doing all the work,” Patty Cake commented in passing, motioning to Twilight, whom she was escorting.

The bespectacled unicorn was now face-to-face with the defiant earth pony passenger, still bowing in place.

“Let’s take this once more from the top,” Officer Monitor commanded, tapping the touch screen to dismiss the latest error message.

Comprehending the words her own way, Pinkie Pie nodded with eyes still shut and resumed the X-shaped form. And with every attempt at a scan that followed, she performed another dancing sequence, each one more complex than the last. After her fifth and equally fruitless trial, Monitor finally surrendered.

“Just come with me, miss,” she said and beckoned miserably to her.

Beaming without a care in the world, the party mare did so, bounding out of the machine. Drill Sergeant took point again when Derpy Hooves walked into the chamber with a misaligned but happy look on her face.

“Hiya!” she said.

“Howdy,” the Texan unicorn said with a weak smile as he summoned all of his willpower to carry on.

To his significant and wonderful surprise, the gray Pegasus mare turned out to be a model passenger by following his instructions and clearing the scan in a single pass. Officer Sergeant happily opened the stanchion cordon, allowing Derpy to exit. Pinkie, in the midst of a pat-down by Monitor, congratulated and tried to high-hoof her, but aborted at the screener’s objections.

‘Oh, the things we do for America,’ he surmised to himself.

Applejack, Applebloom & Big Macintosh versus the Bag Check

“Well that wasn’t so bad now, was it?” a hatless Applejack said optimistically to a bowless Applebloom.

Fulfilling the passive sweep for metal one at a time, the earth pony sisters trotted together to the end rollers of X-Ray lane #2. To either side, they had passed some pretty stark alternatives on display; to the left was a quarantined Rarity, still awaiting a pat-down and watching helplessly as her baggage slid to the very end of the opposite lane; to the right had been Big Macintosh going in for a Millimeter Wave scan after Derpy, his forelegs crashing back down with a reverberating clang when finished.

“Definitely not,” the Cutie Mark Crusader reaffirmed, waving supportively at the suspended Pinkie Pie.

Merging into a short line of ponies by the exit tunnel caging, Applejack grabbed her trusty brown Stetson out of a security bin, gently pushing the crown until it was against her skull. Next she scooped up the large, pink clip-on bow and lowered it onto the back of her sister’s head.

“Sure feels good to be back,” Applebloom said affectionately as the bendable metal fastener snapped into place against her red hair.

A big red, fetlock-covered hoof burst in between them, forcibly tipping a bin holding a sturdy workhorse collar. Its owner arched his head upward through the hoop, shaking his neck until the collar was fully in place.

“Eeyup,” Big Macintosh agreed, smiling down at them.

The reunited Apple Family shared a quick three-way hug before getting back to retrieving their divested property. It didn’t take long to realize that something was missing.

“Where are my saddlebags?” the cowgirl asked, looking frantically down the rollers then into the tunnel before receiving an answer she dreaded less than it being stolen, though not by much.

“Bag check, lane two!” Double Check’s voice called out from behind the dual-flat screen monitors.

Having no free screeners left, LTSO Buttered Bread stepped up to the plate. The blue-shirted, dual-striped unicorn levitated the connected bags in front as he walked towards the trio.

“Do these belong to anypony?” the screener inquired.

“Yes, they’re mine, officer,” Applejack nodded uneasily.

“We have to take a look inside for a suspected prohibited item,” he explained with ambiguity in order to gauge her reaction. “Please join me on the other side of that table once you’ve picked up everything else.”

Laying the saddlebags down on the same surface that’d been painstakingly sanitized from the previous incident, The Apple siblings gathered curiously behind the divider.

“Is there something in here that can hurt me during the search? A pair of pointy scissors, maybe?”

The advisement was a redundancy, as the unicorn didn’t intend to lay a hoof on the bag. It spilled out of him nonetheless due to countless rehearsals.

“Not that I’m aware of,” the Stetson-crowned mare stated confidently.

Enveloped in the same-colored aura as Bread’s horn, the saddlebags dually flipped open and a range of personal effects from all three family members emerged to form a ring surrounding their conveyance; a basic-designed cellular telephone; an address book; a mini first-aid kit; apples; an issue of "Seventeen" magazine; a paperback copy of "Sophie’s World"-

“There it is,” Lead Officer Bread said at last, holding up a reused glass jar filled with a rich brown liquid, fibrous sediment lurking on the bottom and the screw-top lid was covered in a plaid square of cloth fastened with string.

“Oh no, that’s Granny Smith’s homemade, hoof-crushed, 10-apple juice!” Applejack identified in dismay.

It was the Apple Family’s trademarked annual recipe for the holiday season, a delicious blend of ten separate apple varieties that accentuated each other, waltzing harmoniously across one’s taste buds. As the years took their toll on the elderly matriarch, she switched to a rolling pin, but the name, and more importantly the taste, went unchanged.

“How long have you been holding onto that?” Applebloom eyed the juice’s shade of brown suspiciously. “It doesn’t look too good anymore.”

Applejack wasn’t having it. She adored her grandmother’s handiwork in any form it took. The cowgirl’s stubborn mindset sank its teeth into the concept that she wasn’t giving the juice up without a fight. On the surface, her eyebrows were slanting into a deep frown.

“This stuff’s past our limit on non-medical liquids many times over. If it means that much, you can go back and check it with your carrier,” the lead rapidly informed, tilting his head at the checkpoint exit and away from that unnerving expression.

The “Main Six” cast member proceeded to glance around, though not for a clock; she didn’t need to check the time to know that suggestion was impossible. The object of her search was some form of backup. Directly opposite her at another secondary inspection zone, Spike was sitting in a chair, idly twiddling his thumbs. A uniformed earth pony mare was busy patting down Twilight Sparkle while a Pegasus stallion colleague was rummaging through her saddlebags.

Seeing the baby dragon and hearing a key phrase spoken by Buttered Bread suddenly clicked together into a brilliant idea. She might yet have her juice and drink it too.

“Please, sir, you have to let me keep it!” Applejack pleaded, reaching a hoof towards the floating bottle that quickly darted out of reach.

“And for what justifiable reason can I do that?” Lead Officer Bread shot back, looking shocked at the brazen attempt.

“I-it’s, it’s for my baby sister, Applebloom!” the element of honesty lied, opportunistically seizing the filly and cradling her tightly against her forelegs.

“She’s got a weak constitution for these long journeys overseas! Natural remedies like Granny’s juice are the only things that keep her from being bedridden when the homesickness sets in!”

The LTSO looked doubtfully from the wide grin of the conniving older sister to the reddening countenance of the younger one. Feeling that his discoursing ability had atrophied from too much micro-managing, he decided to play out this little drama.

“Do you have any medical documentation that outlines her condition?” Buttered asked, the corner of his mouth pinching into the faintest smirk.

“Er,” was Applejack’s dragging reply, no longer rocking Applebloom, still clutched within her forelegs.

“She’s lying!” Applebloom yelled, twisting her back and wriggling all four legs, trying to free herself. “We’ll only be in Canada for a few days, and I’m NOT a baby!”

Their towering brother was not the least bit invested in this spectacle. All he cared about was continuing his previous and very intriguing chapter of "Sophie’s World".

Fluttershy & Angel Bunny versus the Floor

Favorably passing both the metal detector and X-Ray’s judgment, the timid flier was mortified to learn that virtually everypony else had run afoul of the security apparatus’ various components.

“They’re still just sitting there,” Derpy Hooves reported, fluttering back down from her vantage point on the inert princesses.

“It’s never taken them this long to bypass before,” Fluttershy said, anxiously looking down the concourse, but their plane’s boarding gate was obscured from view by the crooked interior layout.

“I’m pretty it wasn’t because somepony decided to be stubborn,” Sweetie Belle opined pointedly as Rarity, apparently succumbing to claustrophobia, pawed agonizingly at her through the holding area door like a puppy.

“What can I say?” Pinkie Pie joined them, perfectly chipper after the pat-down. “When I’ve got the rhythm, there’s no stopping me!”

“EEP!” the yellow Pegasus suddenly cried, making the other TSA survivors jump.

Returning exhausted from his reconnaissance mission, Angel had pulled roughly at the pelt on her leg during a rapid ascent. He then hopped nimbly along her spine up to her neck. Tugging gingerly at a pawful of pink mane, Fluttershy craned her head to listen in to his urgent whispering, her teal eyes widening in unbridled panic.

“Girls, he said the plane is-!” she began, but a stallion’s booming announcement over the public intercom cut in and outmatched her.

Air Canada announces its final call for flight number five-five-three to Vancouver International. All ticketed and confirmed passengers must report to gate twenty-four for immediate boarding. Failure to appear may lead to the relinquishing of your seats for standby passengers. Repeat: This is the final call for Air Canada flight #553 to Vancouver at gate 24, thank you.

The entire “Friendship is Magic” ensemble had heard it, and it greatly exacerbated their predicaments; Spike leapt out of his chair, his feet stamping in place. Applebloom seized the width of Applejack’s tail over her shoulder wrenched it with all her might, its unblinking owner continued to stare down the lead screener. Even Princess Luna took to the sky, filling her lungs to unleash the “Royal Canterlot Voice” at the supervisors until Celestia’s reproachful look defused her.

“They’re going to leave without us!” Sweetie Belle squealed.

“What if they cut my cameo for being late?” the cross-eyed Pegasus slapped her forehooves against her cheeks. “I’ll never get another chance like this!”

It was these moments of sheer hopelessness that a more decisive version of Fluttershy stirred awake. Forgetting that Angel was still perched on her back, the terrified rabbit was clutching onto her mane for dear life as she rose up on her hind legs and brought her forward ones down in a loud synchronized clap, bringing her compatriots’ to order.

“Pinkie, you and Derpy take Sweetie and run to the gate; keep that plane grounded, no matter what!” she roared.

The once timid flier was bearing her teeth at them with the impression of a lioness. Rather than intimidating the trio, her visage rejuvenated them with clarity and focus.

“Aye-aye, El Capitan!” Pinkie Pie raised a hoof in salute, looking pleasingly determined.

“But what are you and Angel going to do?” the unicorn filly asked, nestled within the gentle grip of a now airborne Derpy Hooves.

The white-furred creature angled his nervous face out from behind Fluttershy’s, scared to contemplate what his new master would ask of him.

“We’re going to pick up whatever belongs to everypony else and meet you there,” she answered calmly and with a smile.

Wishing each other luck, the four ponies went their separate ways. The new cool, calm and collected element of kindness strolled back into the checkpoint, heading for X-Ray lane #1.

“You’ve got that lane over there, honey,” she advised Angel while turning to look at lane #2. “Make sure none of our friends’ things were left behind.”

Squeaking in acknowledgement, the rabbit jumped off and hit the ground running, scaling a pushcart stacked high with empty bins and jumping onto a loose train of them lying on the egress rollers.

The energy coursing through her was exquisite, her heart singing. Winking brightly in reassurance, her confidence exuded unto a distraught Rarity, who gave her a tearful smile through the glass in return.

‘Mrs. Fyre-Flye’s going to be so proud of me,’ Fluttershy envisioned amiably, wafting over and picking up Angel’s bassinet by the handle with her mouth.

She’d nearly abandoned it in her preceding state of uncertainty that was now long gone.

‘From this day forth, when the stakes are high and the situation looks bleak, everypony will turn to none other than Fluttershy to save the day!’

The “Main Six” cast member giggled and blushed at such a bold declaration coming from her; it felt so wrong, and yet so right. With Rarity’s purse tucked under one foreleg, she was lifting the unicorn’s suitcase off the rollers when a sharply-toned voice interrupted her daydreaming.

“That’s a lot of baggage for one pony. Are you sure all of those belong to you?”

The Pegasus abruptly looked up and was face-to-face with Eagle Eye, a unicorn with a forehoof frozen on the door handle, ready to let Rarity out when she made her observation.

Visualizing her astral body stepping out of her horseshoes and into those of the TSO, Fluttershy could reasonably perceive her own actions as suspicious; she’d been spotted returning to the checkpoint after apparently leaving empty-hoofed, and was now holding mismatching pieces of luggage.

Rarity was knocking and shouting through the door to explain that they were traveling together, but the uniformed pony ignored her completely.

“COME HERE, YOU!” somepony shouted, followed by a violent cascade of clatters from lane #2 that easily garnered the attention of all three mares.

Angel Bunny had been sifting randomly through the security bins spilling out the X-Ray tunnel, and like Fluttershy, he had earned the officers’ ire. The noise resulted when one of them tried to grab the rabbit but missed, instead colliding with the pushcart, sending bins airborne. Backup soon converged and started chasing him upstream. The pet taunted them by sticking his tongue out at them.

“STOP HIM! CATCH THAT RABBIT!” the pack leader yelled.

“Oh dear,” she muffled through clenched teeth with ears drooping, the hissing lioness within shrinking back into a mewing house cat.

Twilight Sparkle & Spike versus the Coordination Center (CC)

“What the hay is going on over there?!” an agitated Ice Water asked, catching only a fleeting glimpse of the madness next door.

With a lifting shrug of her forelegs, the LTSO resumed shadowing the screening of two TDC-referred passengers. Her subordinates, Officers Floater and Cake, were the ones doing the actual work. Just then, a static-laced transmission entered her right ear canal and she reached up to cover the left one to concentrate on the message.

“Patty, Lucky says she’s got another female assist in the holding area. I’ll wrap things up here while you go take care of that for me.”

The TSO’s head and neck sank in discontent. Scarcely minutes after completing one exhaustive pat-down was she now behind dispatched on another, the dual-striped earth pony interpreted from her expression.

“I’d do it myself if ‘Butters', the other lead, wasn’t still bogged down on a bag check. I need to keep an eye on the whole operation,” Ice rationalized. “I know you’re tired, and you’re getting first dibs when breaks start, now please, go.”

Unsmiling but placated, Patty Cake unhurriedly scraped the used nitrile gloves off one forehoof at a time, dropping them into a small garbage can tucked under the inspection table. She’d replace them with a clean pair after collecting the female assist.

LTSO Water stepped into the space left vacant by the departing screener, looking down at the small, square briefcase that had yet to be opened. A consistent pattering sound drew her attention to the fidgeting baby dragon, staring back imploringly.

“Got a plane to catch, Mr. Spike?” she added his name following a pause to recollect it from his boarding pass that laying on the table.

“Yes, they called for us over the PA just now!” blurted the unicorn labeled as ‘SPARKLE/TWILIGHT’ on her own barcoded document.

“I understand your concern, Ms. Sparkle,” the blue-shirted mare acknowledged coolly. “Fortunately, all that remains is to inspect your companion’s briefcase. You’ll be all clear and on your way momentarily.”

With two sets of three-digit combinations provided beforehand, the latches snapped up when the lead pushed inward on the unlocking buttons. Prying the topside half until the hinges swung into place, the lead was paralyzed to uncover a cache of massive, glimmering gemstones of every variety that had been piled inside, some clinking merrily into the metal table.

Unaware and uncaring that they served only as Spike’s sustenance, Ice Water metaphorically ate her previous words and literally tore the radio microphone off her shirt collar, pulling it right up against her snout for the clearest signal possible.

“So the State Department says they’re ‘A-OK’ then, huh?” Caesar Salad spoke into the telephone receiver against his left ear.

“Affirmative, sir,” the mare on the other end of the line replied.

The Pegasus supervisor looked tired but ecstatic. For the last 15 minutes, he’d been mulling over the legitimacy question of the Emissarius Phantasticus credentials, exhausting every available resource. Now with the mystery solved, his jubilance spilled into his voice.

“Minnie and I really appreciate your help with this thing. Sorry for waking you guys up,”

“Don’t mention it,” she laughed. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

“You too,” STSO Salad said before lowering the receiver back onto its cradle and turning to his unicorn colleague.

“Our princesses are golden. I’m off to let them in now.”

“Roger, I’ll hold down the fort. Holler if they chew you out for the wait,” Minestrone said, levitating the black wallet cases under each of his wings, which folded shut beneath them.

Caesar Salad had just climbed down from the “crow’s nest” when Ice Water’s harried voice barged into both supervisors’ headsets. Waving the Pegasus on his way, STSO Soup listened intently to her junior’s report. As soon as it finished, she snatched up the telephone receiver and hit the “REDIAL” button.

“Coordination Center, Magnet Tom speaking,” a stallion’s voice said this time.

“Magnet, this is STSO Minnestrone Soup from Terminal 2. I need you contact CBP. I have suspected undeclared monetary instruments, exceeding ten-thousand in U.S. currency, going overseas.”

Rainbow Dash & Scootaloo versus the Breach

“I’m telling you the truth, lady; I don’t have anything on me!” Rainbow Dash yelled shakily. “Just give me another chance and I’ll prove it!”

“You’ve had twenty passes through the WTMD already,” Patty Cake uttered with as much patience she could muster. “Even the most lenient observer would be convinced otherwise.”

The spectrum-maned Pegasus was most unwillingly allowing herself to be escorted to an unoccupied secondary inspection zone by the blue-shirted earth pony; the dangling carrots were her own backpack and ZERO Halliburton suitcase. Bringing up the rear was Scootaloo, snickering evilly just out of earshot of either mare. The filly was no longer chewing any gum, but Rainbow had been too absorbed in her inexplicable misfortune to notice.

“Stand on the black-and-yellow mat on the other side of the table facing your baggage, please,” Officer Cake directed as she heaved the backpack and the suitcase onto the worktable, the latter with difficulty that brought respite to the brash delinquent.

The screener launched into her mandated breakdown of the pat-down as she reached into the table’s drawer and fastened a new pair of gloves on her forehooves. Content with being ignored, Scootaloo excused herself and relocated behind the zone’s steel-framed glass rampart to watch the rest of the show unfold.

‘I’ll come clean with Rainbow once we get to Canada. This’ll teach her a lesson that when you prank ponies, expect revenge pranks in turn,’ she thought satisfactorily.

With their preparations evidently complete, Rainbow Dash stood up straight on her hind legs, her forelegs spread out as far she could manage, while Patty Cake trotted up behind her, rising into a similar elongated stance and reached her gloved forehooves towards the tomboy’s mane.

‘Yup, she’ll understand, once she’s calmer.’

“Calm” was the most inconceivable word that could be used to describe Rainbow Dash’s current state. Her haunches ached from the prolonged unnatural pose, her heart pumping at a numbing rate. She was hyperventilating and growing dizzy, her hearing and eyesight were running amok amidst a sensory overload; alarms sounding, machines humming and more amplified a hundredfold.

Beholding her costars, each and every one of them had been invariably entangled in this diabolical rat maze of security, just as she had. Then she looked to the dark globes of cameras hanging ominously from lampposts scattered throughout the checkpoint.

‘Somepony’s watching all of us, watching me. They’re probably laughing, too. What a riot this must be to them,’ she thought savagely.

‘Maybe they’ll record this to watch at home. Maybe they’ll sell it to the tabloids. Maybe-’

The Pegasus’ worst possible fear had now revealed itself, choking out the last semblances of higher thinking. She’d read the sensational rumors and groundless insinuations about her very identity. Unfazed by them at first, their persistence had worn her armor down, and at this precipice of mental instability, they pierced at her like a hail of arrows.

‘Not...gonna…HAPPEN!'

“GRAAAAH!!!” Rainbow Dash screamed bloody murder, her wings shooting open, smacking Patty Cake bodily against the glass, terrifying the living daylights out of Scootaloo and everypony else within the vicinity.

The Pegasus then leapt into the air and bolted into the concourse, fixated on nothing else besides getting aboard her flight and getting as far away from this place as possible.

“Br-bruh, BREACH! WE’VE GOT A BREACH!!! CODE BRAVO, CODE BRAVO!!!” Officer Cake alerted the entire checkpoint.

“BREACH, BREACH!”

“CODE BRAVO!”

“STOP SCREENING, FREEZE AND SEAL!”

The place devolved into pandemonium as the rallying cries echoed throughout the terminal’s cavernous interior. Officers jammed the metal detectors and scanners with their own spread-eagled bodies, while others charged in after the fugitive. Panic buttons for police assistance were pushed; radio and phone calls ceaselessly kept coming and going at blinding speed.

“Subject is described as four feet tall and light blue-!” one TSO began to relay to his colleagues when another interrupted

“Look, look, over there! Is that him?!”

Acting first and thinking second, a quartet of them had aggressively blockaded someone matching Rainbow Dash’s basest description; a door-shaped imaginary friend with two closely set eyes and a wide mouth. He was wearing a gray, black-banded fedora, a floating white shirt collar with a dark tie.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Blooregard Q. Kazoo said, holding up his fingerless hands. “Easy fellas, I had nothing to do with this. Trust me; I learned not to mess with security after last time.”

Applejack capitalized on Rainbow’s distraction by grabbing the homemade apple juice out of Buttered Bread’s magic aura, twisting the top off and downed all of it within seconds.

“Ha, URP!” she belched, slamming the empty jar onto the table and wiping her mouth clean with the back of one forehoof, smiling at the stunned lead.

Caesar Salad had returned the EP credential wallets to their rightful owners and was pulling the door open for them enter when the breach hit. He threw the door shut, inches from Princess Luna’s face, twisted the key to relock it and scrambled back to the “crow’s nest” to help coordinate the incident response.

The midnight alicorn turned her incredulous expression to her laughing older sister.

“You knew we weren’t going to make it to Canada today, didn’t you?” she asked the first question that popped into her head, to which more of Celestia’s laughter was her answer.

From within the bowels of the airport complex, Tipped Scales galloped at full speed towards Terminal 2, having been informed of the breach by the LAXPD.

‘Now you’ve done it, girl!’ the gray-maned agent raged, the fire within growing higher and feeding more steam to the pistons she felt in her legs.

‘If my latte gets cold or somepony eats my croissant before I get back, I’m going to tan your hide!!!’

Bearing her teeth in a demonic snarl, she ducked her head, bit down on the overlapping lapel of her trench coat and pulled it open. Underneath, her FBI badge and credentials were swinging from a leather display case around her neck. Once at the very base of the staircase leading up to the checkpoint, she jumped into the air, the coat falling away and revealing a pair of Pegasus wings. Special Agent Scales soared towards the exit, slowing down enough for a startled Time Runner to adequately register her status as an airport first responder and permit her to continue.

Far down at the very end of the stalled passenger queue, among a long line of grumbling passengers, Discord was looking rather jovial.

“Ahhh,” the Draconequss breathed in and released. “I just love the smell of chaos in the morning!”

Aftermath
(Mrs. Fyre-Flye & Whoopee Stew versus the Inspector)

“We’re pros that this,” she said. “You don’t have to escort us,” she said. Why, oh why, did I ever listen to her?

Half past 8 PM that evening, Mrs. Fyre-Flye was anguishing in silence over this fateful decision. Her husband, Whoopee Stew, was sitting beside her and was rubbing her back consolingly with a foreleg. Outside, the converted Foster’s bus was haphazardly parked at the 1st floor curbside of Terminal 2; the right front tire had jumped the sidewalk, precariously tipping the vehicle upwards.

Night had fallen long before everything had been said and done with regards to the incident, and the former executive producer had been summoned back to the airport to take everypony home. Detained and under fierce watch by an amalgamation of local and federal authorities, members of the “Friendship is Magic” ensemble were in varying portraits of distress. As the red-maned alicorn walked down the lineup, signing their release forms, some of them glanced up before ashamedly bowing their heads.

Twilight Sparkle and Spike were conjoined in a tight embrace, the chain linking a pair of metal restraint cuffs around her foreleg and his wrist rattled with every hiccup as the baby dragon cried his eyes out.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” the unicorn whispered soothingly over and over, brushing the fins atop of his head and dripping tears onto him from her own flowing eyes.

A U.S. Customs and Border Protection officer pony in a navy blue uniform shirt and matching baseball cap stood next to them, holding the gemstone briefcase in his mouth by the handle and trying his best to stay reticent from the tragic scene.

Rarity was trembling and staring wildly from one wall to another, expecting them to close in on her and reform the cramped dimensions of the holding area she’d gotten so intimately familiar with.

“So small, so close, can’t, breathe,” the fashionable unicorn shuddered as she relived her traumatic minutes in captivity, prompting Sweetie Belle to roll her eyes behind her sister’s back.

Pinkie Pie and Derpy Hooves were penalized for reopening the jetway door after it had closed, then jumping onto the tarmac and trying to flag down the taxiing aircraft in the same manner one would do for a bus.

“Well it seemed like a good idea at the time. It was my only idea too!” Pinkie said, laughing.

Applejack was lying flat on her back, her four legs dangling in the air. Her green-tinged face was panting, sweating profusely when the sadistic beast that was her digestive tract decided she wasn’t repentant enough, and gave another horrible lurch.

“HNNNGH!” Applejack yelled through clenched teeth, her head and legs twitching and curving inward.

“I told you that juice looked spoiled,” Applebloom, brutally reminded her, setting aside her issue of "Seventeen" and digging through the first aid kit for another round of anti-diarrhea pills.

“It serves you right for lying, and calling me a baby.”

“Eeyup,” Big Macintosh added sagely, rereading a reverent passage from "Sophie’s World" about the importance of honesty and respect.

Angel Bunny was furiously rattling the barred door of a large, plastic animal cage to no avail. The rabbit had been sentenced to this demeaning incarceration upon capture, and the yellow Pegasus was dealt a police citation for the unruly animal and flimsy bassinet.

And far off against the wall, with the most officers encompassing her, Rainbow Dash’s sharp tongue was brewing up a storm, her only weapon left with her wings tied down with rope and hoofcuffed into immobility.

“C’mon, let the punishment fit the crime! My lawyer’s going to hear about the intimidation and emotional distress you’re putting me through!”

Accepting a portable metal detector wand brought to her by a checkpoint screener, Tipped Scales motioned to two unicorn LAXPD officers to come closer.

“Use your magic to get her off the ground while I sweep her with this,” she said, clutching the wand in her hooves.

Rainbow, still marred by paranoia, saw only an imminent physical threat.

“P-police brutality!” she yelped, struggling to right herself back onto her feet and escape, hoofcuffs be darned. “Police brutality!”

“Oh shut up, you idiot!” the Pegasus said before biting down on the handle bit, the now active detector sticking out laterally from her mouth.

With the tomboy levitated and pulled taut by her uniformed counterparts, Special Agent Scales trotted on a parallel course, running the wand over and under her, from snout to tail. Then the detector beeped and blinked red on the tail. Pinpointing the source of the alarm within the multi-colored hair, the FBI agent dropped the wand and combed through it, uncovering an anomaly that she ripped out without hesitation.

“YOW!” Rainbow Dash exclaimed.

Ignoring her, Scales pawed at the gooey, pink adhesive surface, pulling back its layers to reveal a ball of crumpled aluminum foil.

‘Chewing gum wrappers, rolled up and caked with the gum itself to stick to somepony,’ the agent deduced.

“I wonder,” she said, walking into Rainbow’s line of sight and holding it up to her, “who could, or would, hide this in your tail.”

The livid prankster immediately began to struggle violently against the restraints and magic auras.

“Tell me! TELL ME WHO IT WAS! I’LL BITE THEIR LEGS OFF!”

Special Agent Scales glanced over to Scootaloo, obviously the only pony who could be pegged with the means, motive, and opportunity. Sure enough, the Pegasus filly was curled up into a fetal position, rocking to and fro, and most likely contemplating her own mortality.

‘A mother’s work is never done,’ Tipped Scales thought resignedly.

“Alright, everypony,” let’s go, Mrs. Fyre-Flye said exhaustedly 10 minutes later, thinking that the worst was now officially behind them, until a new voice called out to the group.

“Just a minute, ma’am,” said a fast-approaching unicorn mare wearing a gray windbreaker jacket with an embroidered badge on it.

Leaning over her, the former executive producer could see upside down capital lettering emblazoned upon the back of the jacket that read “TSA INSPECTOR”.

“I regret to inform you that because of your acquaintances’ well-documented history of infractions, the regulatory division has seen fit to recommend each of their names for inclusion into the No Fly List. You will receive written confirmation of this recommendation in the mail within five to ten business days. Bear in mind that final adjudication results will not be released, but the case against them is substantial. You might have to expect an unfavorable outcome.”

Delivered without giving her name, and turning away without a farewell, the inspector’s report left the entire group devastated without precedent. The No Fly List, a permanent and virtually irrevocable debarment from commercial air travel within U.S. boundaries, was now hanging over their heads, and they’d never know when the call was made to let it fall.

Banned from flying, forever? What will happen when Hasbro hears about this? This could mean the end of “Friendship is Magic”, cut down before its prime.

“Ma’am,” Twilight Sparkle looked up at Mrs. Fyre-Flye with eyes that stared the breadth of the known living universe into her own.

“What’s going to happen to us?”

It was a question she couldn’t answer, neither with certainty or speculation. It was excruciating to dwell on the enshrouded future that lay in store for them.

I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. What matters is the love I hold for all of you, and the love you hold for each other. Let it be your guiding light in the years to come. Even if you drift apart in finding you own paths, the light you keep shining will lead you back together.

These wonderful children of her imagination, springing from her mind to take on a life of their own will prevail in the challenges to come. That was the most certain thing in the world right now.

Flaring out her enormous wings, Mrs. Fyre-Flye drew Whoopee Stew and the entire character ensemble into a collective hug.

================================================================================

-THE END-

================================================================================

Story completion timestamp

8:43 PM PST (11:43 PM EST)
Wednesday, January 7th, 2015
An undisclosed hotel room, Daly City, California, U.S.A.
Hungry, sleep-deprived, but feeling happier than I ever would’ve imagined at the end of this long journey

Thank you very much for reading “Teamwork iS Awesome”. I certainly hope you enjoyed it. Stay tuned for two special endings I’m preparing next.

-FOA