//------------------------------//
// Gotta Go Fast. 
// Story: Aces High. 
// by Mandroid 
//------------------------------//

	Equestria.
The city of Cloudsdale. Practically the pegasus capital of Equestria and home to the weather factories. Weather from Drackenridge Mountains all the way down to Marehiem was produced in Cloudsdale. The pegusi here were a jovial type who worked hard and played harder.
So it made sense that they were big fans of racing.
You are Anonymous and you are a Wonderbolt. First human to be one, first alien too. You had landed in Equestria a few years ago with only your baby to your name, it had just made sense to get a job flying, you didn't expect it to lead to you becoming a celebrity.
Not that everyone was happy about that... The idea of an alien not only being considered to join a national treasure of a team not to mention PASSING their rigorous enrollment process had been less than well received. Especially considering how you were able to do it.
"Cheating" they called it. "A technicality, nothing more."
It annoyed you. Mostly because you trained your ASS off at the Academy to even pass the fitness requirements. A little recognition for that kind of work would be appreciated, a guy couldn't get along on his flight suit making his butt look good forever.
"Yo Anon!" a voice calls.
You look up and see Soarin' and Fleetfoot, both dressed and ready for the race hovering in the air.
"What's up, Soar?"
"We can't find Spitfire! You seen her?"
Christ, that mare. She could turn Stalliongrad into Las Pegasus inside four hours if she put her mind to it.
You think back to that party she threw on the Albatross last night and get an idea. "Shit...Soar, go get to the track and warm the others up! I'll get our esteemed leader!"
Soarin' nods, salutes, and flies off to the stadium as you make your way to the docks.
The Albatross was The Wonderbolts touring ship. It stores all your gear, equipment, and basically serves as all of your home during the time spent going between locations.
Spitfire however, gave it a different name when it was docked... "Party Boat"
Her huge parties on the damn thing were legendary, and also loud enough that they sometimes convinced the rest of the team to reside in a hotel on shore when they were going on.
You step onto the deck of the ship, finally giving your enchanted boots a rest. Not being able to walk on clouds was nothing that an enchanted set of boots and track shoes couldn't fix. Still couldn't interact with them, though. You walk past deckhands and crew members as you make your way down to Spitfire's cabin. As team captain, she had a bigger room than the rest of you, even had an office in it
And as you got closer, you saw that today, as with many other times, it smelled like cheap booze.
"Uhg..."
You rap your knuckles against the wooden door twice to get her attention. "Spits! It's Anon! Race in twenty, get your ass in gear!"
You hear clinking glass and groaning come from behind the door. You twist the knob and let yourself in, doing your best to ignore the smell.
The room looked like a tornado went through it. Papers were strewn about on the floor, some of the curtains were pulled down, the ground was LITTERED with empty bottles and laying in the middle of the floor was the yellow and orange captain of the Wonderbolts, Spitfire.
"Spits!"
"Five more minutes..." she groans.	
"No more minutes! The race is starting soon and we need our captain!"
Spitfire winces and brings a hoof to her head. "Who's the bucking moron who keeps scheduling these this early...?"
"The fans and the demand, Spits."
You pick up a bottle and toss it into a large pile of them in the corner. "Now get up and let's go!"
The bottle hits the pile and elicits a groan from it.
You sigh. "Hi Scratch..."
"...Hey Monkey Guy." comes from under the pile.
You help Spitfire to her feet "Jeeze...could you not even get to the bed?"
"Captain Maregan said the floor was comfy..." she says. Spitfire trots over to her desk and pulls a bottle of rainbow goo out of it.
"How much Liquid Rainbow do you have?"
She pops the cork off and spits it out. "I'm an alcoholic Anon, I'll never have enough."
Spitfire looks at the pile of booze and DJ. "We'll hang out again after my race, kay Vinyl?"
A tired. "I'll be here." comes from under the bottles.
Spitfire downs the contents of the rainbow bottle and makes several faces as it courses through her veins. She eventually releases a stiff burp followed by a laugh.
"Ah~! Always hits the spot! Wait outside, Anon! I'll just be a minute!"
"What? Why?"
Spitfire gets a wry grin. "Because I'm a girl and I have to change."
You roll your eyes and head outside.
"Fine, but hurry up, drunky."
You only have to spend a few minutes leaning up against the wall outside of Spitfire's office before the door opens and she walks out in her suit. "Alright Anon, shouldn't you go off and get your baby?"
Spitfire was always okay with you using your pack, she was even the one to defend it when it was asked by the Wonderbolt's management. "If we let Soarin' and his big freaky wings in, then we should at least let this guy and his doodad have a chance." she had said.
"Yeah, better strap in, see you out there?"
Spitfire smirks. "All your gonna be seeing of me is my toned butt during that race, Anon. I ought to charge you."  Spitfire winks and walks past you and heads to the upper deck while you lead down to the lower decks where you keep your gear.
You open your locker and lay eyes on it.
It was a small pack weighing in at about fifteen pounds with two pointed cylinders making up most of the body, charred black exhaust vents at the bottom and a small fuel gauge in the center were the only other notable features. You slip it onto your back and secure all the harnesses the techs said you needed. You slip on your controller gloves after that and flex your hands for a test.
Although you can see it, you can hear the vents shifting around behind you in response to your commands.
Satisfied, you grab your goggles and head out.
You and your jetpack had a race to win.

You fly over and find the rest of the team stretching near the side of the track, Spitfire sitting on the bench nearby.
"Anon! Glad you could make it!"
"Yeah yeah, screw you boss, I had to suit up."
Soarin' flexes his large wings. "Your contraption all ready?"
You flex your hands and rev up the engine.
"Ready and able."
Fleetfoot looks across the track. "Think we can beat 'em?"
You follow her gaze and see a quad of griffins doing similar stretches to the rest of you. The Asgardian Annihilators were your current opponents in the race today. Known for their intricate flying patterns and team cohesion. Today was gonna be a good race.
"Alright racing fans, are you ready!?" the announcer shouts.
Spitfire calls the team into a huddle. "Alright guys! I've never been good at these speeches, so let's just get out there and kick some flank!"
"Woohoo!" Soarin' exclaims.
"Soarin'! Watch your surface area and tighten your goggles. Fleetfoot! Don't do as much weaving, you almost got hurt last time. Anon!" Spitfire looks right at you. "Stick close! We're gonna control the front of the pack."
You nod. Control duty was big time.
"Who's like us!?" Spitfire shouts.
The four of you clap. "Damn few! And they're all dead!"
You and the griffins take your places side by side at the starting line.
You're put next to a particularly large griffin as you get into position. He laughs. "I didn't know apes could fly!"
You roll your eyes and ignore him as he eyes your pack. "Nice toy. Are the Wonderbolts so desperate that they let monkey's with saddlebags into their ranks?"
Your eyes are on nothing but the refs flag.
"Pay attention, Kitty Cat, you're about to find out..."
The ref waves the flag and starts the race.

-Music-
Time slows down once the flag falls and you start to notice everything. All the racers break from their starting positions and get a running start.	
You can see Soarin' getting ready to jump high and let his wings carry him on the wind, you can see Fleetfoot preparing to go low and use her smaller size to her advantage, you can see the griffins already starting to get into formation, and you can see Spitfire running ahead to secure the front, the position you should be helping with.
You stretch your hands to start up the thrusters, letting them get as hot as you could before clenching your hands hard and exploding after Spitfire.
The first instant of the race started, you fall into position behind your team leader, securing the first two spots of the race.
The wind beats against your goggles as you accelerate and turn down the track, making your gut want to ease off a bit before you power through.
Having a mechanical aid to flying evens out, you had learned. While you didn't have to pump your wings to gain speed, only rely on your pack, you soon found that your body was not as conditioned to the air pressure as your team mates was. Pushing yourself too hard was your one way ticket to liquefied insides.
You keep the speed constant and hug the inside with Spitfire as the two of you enter the precision flying portion of the race.
A series of hoop gates pockmarked the track and you were required to hit every one.
You break off from Spitfire and start some fancy handwork to order your pack into the proper maneuvers. You twist and bend and weave and turn and intertwine your way through the dozens and dozens of hoops.
Each team was required to hit all the hoops as a whole, meaning that you had to have a strategy going in to ensure you hit them all, a single missed hoop could cost your team the race in points.
Your team's strategy was simple enough. You go right, Spitfire goes left, Soarin' goes high and Fleetfoot stays low. Not the best plan, but you didn't miss any.
A squak behind you makes you look back, Behind you, you can see the Annihilators entering into the hoop course with Soarin' and Fleet right behind them.
However that griffin precision kicks in. As soon as they enter the hoop course, the Annihilators break formation and fly into the rings.
Each movement is practiced and perfect, they dive through each other's flight paths and never once stop moving forward.
What took you ten hole seconds took them barely three. And they just passed you doing it.
GAH SHIT.
You fly through the last ring and rocket towards the reforming griffin pack.
You clench your fists and coax a bit more out of your pack, pulling up alongside the pack of griffins. The five of you race neck and neck, lagging a bit behind Spitfire as she leads the race several meters ahead.
The Annihilators eye you as you keep pace with them, daring you to try something.
Dammit, you wouldn't have to if you had the inside.
The griffins on your side start to edge their way closer to you, letting large wings flap in your face in an attempt to throw you off.
You angle yourself down and roll underneath the griffins before blasting forward a bit and pulling slightly ahead. 
Ha. Eat it, bird brains.
The griffins don't let up however. They wordlessly break their phalanx formation and line up in a straight line, the burly motherfucker who laughed at you taking the lead and their leader taking the rear.
The griffins extend their talons forward and lower their heads, beginning to reel you in.
As they get closer, the lead griffin breaks off and falls back the one behind him taking his place. He repeats this process and so does the one behind him until only the leader is left and he flies forward seemingly unimpeded.
Using your teammate to gain speed and avoiding the air pressure...clever.
But that couldn't slide for you.
You bring your arms forward and flatten yourself out, kicking in your packs afterburners. You break the air in front of you as best you can with your hands as you pull up beside the griffin.
His friends were way behind now, all that mattered was getting ahead of this guy.
A few inches more... You clench your fists and straighten out as best you can, trying to coax every inch you cou-
The sound of an air horn goes off and the griffin peels off into the center of the track.
You look past and see the checkered flag behind you...You had apparently finished the race.

The judge puts the medal around your neck. Bronze, not bad, but not too good.
"You raced well, son." he says.
"Yeah...thanks."
As he walks away you look to your right and see the Annihilator captain return to his squad, the silver medal hanging from his neck.
Meanwhile, Spitfire trot up to you proudly displaying her gold medal.
"Nice race, Anon! Let's hope the crew didn't clean too much of the party supplies up, we've got a lot of celebrating to do."
You run your hand through your hair. 
"Eh...I should have been faster. It'd look better with both gold and silver on our necks."
Spitfire rolls her eyes. "Don't sweat it, Anon. One silver medal isn't going to make up for the rest of their team finishing last. We've got this race in the bag."
"Wish I could share your optimism, boss."
Spits flies up and puts her hoof around you. "Well I know the cure for that! You're not a two drink chump, are you?"
You laugh. "Do you ever slow down?"
"Wouldn't have this medal if I did!" Spitfire says. "Now come on! We9 got a party to plan and daylight's burning!" she says before flying off.
Yeah...
"Coming Spits!"
You cue your jets and take off after her, making way for the Albatross.