//------------------------------//
// Chapter 6 - Machine 
// Story: Sensation (SFW Version) 
// by Vivid Syntax 
//------------------------------//


* * * * *


Soarin's eyes dart around the room. "It was pretty dumb."

I stop jotting down notes and pause. I wait for more and tickle my chin with my quill. Soft spot, I guess. "Dumb?" C'mon, Syn. Open-ended questions. Try again. "Why do you say it was dumb?"

He stretches his neck and rolls his head around. "Eh, ya' know. One of those stupid dreams you have from time to time."

"I've had those. One time, I dreamed everypony was running away from this giant pink blob monster, but he turned out to be super friendly. We ended up playing Prance Prance Rebellion in our underwear." Soarin' snorts as his lip twists up, and he chuckles quietly to himself a few times. "Hey, it's not that stupid." Am I sure about that?

"Yeah, it kinda is." He shakes his head a few times. "Had a nice ending, though."

"Yours didn't?" Here we go.

"Well, not so much." His voice has some bounciness to it again, like when I first walked in. "I was somewhere in a big city and there were all these ponies around me, but I couldn't see their faces–" He's speaking too quickly. "–and then every time I blinked, BAM! Another one would be missing until there was just one left and it started cuddling up to me. And it felt nice, but out of nowhere I just punch it." He jabs the air in front of him. His leg brace squeaks. "Then I can kinda see the face and I see it's got a black eye annnnnd..." He looks down and shakes his hooves in the air like he's got a giant snow globe. "I can't make out if the other pony is supposed to be Braeburn or me."

"Wow. That sucks."

Soarin' slouches back into the couch with a deep breath. "You're tellin' me."


* * * * *


I woke up sitting bolt upright and sucking in air. It felt like I was in a tailspin, completely disoriented, and I had to examine everything in my room to calm myself down. I bounced a little and felt the softness of my king-sized cloud bed under me. 'Good. Good, not falling.' In the dim morning light, I could see that the blue door out of my room was right where it was supposed to be, and my dresser sat across the room with a bunch of my stuff on top: awards, hair gel I didn't need, a set of Wonderbolts bobbleheads, my camera, and some dusty old trinkets that I told myself I'd clean up eventually. There was also a picture frame on there, but I had it turned down so I couldn't see it. I hated that picture, but I couldn't bring myself to throw it out.

Thinking about it made my stomach churn, but I kept telling myself that I was safe. My two light blue bedside tables sat on the floor on either side of me. I kept the left one full of high-quality booze – never know when you might need it – and I peeked into the one on the right. All my toys and "trophies" were still there, and I caught a glimpse of myself nearly falling off the bed.

My closet's doors are made of mirrors. It's great during sex, yeah, but that's not why I like them. I keep my bedroom pretty bare - no posters, no wall-hanging pictures, just one window on the opposite wall, and everything is white or light blue. When you're sitting on the bed and you look in the mirror, you feel free. You feel like you're floating past all your problems, and there's nothing that can weigh you down. Looking into the big, open space helps me ease into the morning.

Eventually, I glanced at the alarm clock next to me and realized I'd slept through the rest of Sunday afternoon and all night. Between the hangover and how bucked up my sleep schedule had been those days, I wasn't really surprised. Most ponies dread Mondays, but then again, most ponies don't have a week full of stunt flying to look forward to.

I rolled out of bed and gave myself a pep talk as I walked up to the closet. "You made it, Soar. You can get back to your old self, rouse up the team, and be over Braeburn by lunch. New week, new start. Smooth winds from here on out, and all you gotta do is smile and look sexy." I licked my lips and gave myself a leery smile. "You can handle it, right, stud?" 

Sliding the closet door open, I saw my uniform: a crisp, dark blue shirt with gold buttons, patches of merit, and those shoulder tab things that make you look badass. It was perfectly pressed, just like the other three uniforms that hung next to it. Say what you will about me, but I know how to iron a shirt and make it look immaculate. I took it with me to the bathroom, took a quick shower, and slipped it on. I looked good.

I felt good, too. The putrid smell of the day-old hayburger I'd left in the kitchen killed my appetite, but that just got me out the door faster and into the morning sun, where I tossed the bag in the garbage bin.

"Morning, Soarin'!" My neighbor Dazzling Sundrop waved at me as she grabbed her paper.

"Goooooood morning, my dear! You're looking ravishing today." She did. Her yellow mane shimmered in the sun, and her coat looked very well groomed, just like always. Sometimes I think she puts on makeup just to get the mail.

"Oh, stop, you," she called out. Before heading back indoors, she threw in, "Have a great day!"

"I will." I said so mostly to myself, and it felt natural. It felt right.

My flight over to the academy was easy-breezy. The winds were in my favor, the sky was mostly clear, and the whole world had this lightness to it. I took extra time to drink it all in. I even did a few quick loops and barrel rolls whenever I passed another pegasus. Got a few cheers and brightened up the day for a few fans. Why not, right?

But as I landed on academy grounds and walked towards the Green Room for my first meeting, something buzzed in the air, something off-putting. The breeze caught my mane from a weird direction, the clouds under my hooves felt crunchier than usual, and all the 'Bolts I passed gave me this overly-friendly smile.

I bumped into Fire Streak just outside the building, and he trotted up to me, all smiles. "Morning, captain!" He punched me on the shoulder. "Didn't think you were into older dudes. How'd it go?"

"Eh, not great." I cast a glance at the Green Room doors. "Wouldn't recommend it." I half-closed my eyes and smirked at him. "Though I suppose you're pretty desperate."

"Ha! Buck off, dude. I scored with that hot unicorn. Made her moan all night." He flashed a smile back at me.

"Ah, so she got a good look at your face, then." We shared a quick laugh. "Thanks for taking care of Cloudhoof after the show."

"Yeah, he had a rough night. He almost cost me my score, but it didn't take too long to dump his ass at this local hotel. Newbies. What can you do?" I like Fire Streak. We've always been on the same wavelength.

Spitfire passed behind me, wearing an outfit that matched mine but with a few more decorations. "Hurry up, Soarin'. The roster's not going to fill itself out." She was surly and direct. It put me at ease.

I gave her a nod and turned back to Fire Streak. "Gotta go, Two." I gave him a bro-hoof. "Work on your stability today."

He gave me a quick salute. "Sure thing, One. Have fun sitting in meetings and filling out rosters all day." He winked in a way that made my skin crawl. "And give me the lead sometime. I’m ready whenever you need a break."

My chest tightened, and my teeth ground just a little. "Yeah, sure." He fluttered away to practice, leaving me by the door. I took a deep breath and told myself, "It's okay. He's just eager." But why did it always have to be so competitive? Every bucking conversation! I mean, I wanted to give him a shot, but every time he made one of those little comments, it made me want to bump him down the roster another space.

I stepped into the Green Room and saw Spitfire waiting for me. She jerked her head towards a door. I always slow down when I'm approaching the dark, metal entrance with the words "Bottom Line – Manager" burned into it. I don't try to. It just happens. "Hey, Spitz. Got the new routine all worked out?"

She nodded as I caught up to her, and we headed inside, ladies first. 

Bottom Line's office was cold and dim. The sun wouldn't shine into that room until the afternoon, and I got chills as I stepped through the door. It wasn't from the temperature. Maybe it was the weird symmetry, like the two identical gunmetal filing cabinets on either side of a dark, wooden desk. Bottom Line's grey coat blended in with the walls, and he ran a hoof through his white, tightly cropped mane as he furiously scribbled something on a piece of paper.

Spitfire spoke up first, even and clear. "Good morning, sir."

Bottom Line's eyes didn't leave his work. He just shifted a bit in his heavily starched, khaki-colored shirt. "Morning," he barked. "Sit down."

We followed his instructions, taking a seat on the cool, metal stools. They weren't comfortable, which I'm sure is just what he wanted. They gave him an advantage when it came to negotiating, and it left me feeling like he was going to pounce. To keep myself calm, I stuck with my usual strategy: pretend he was wearing a fluffy pink sombrero with little fuzzy balls dangling from it.

Setting his pencil down, Bottom Line crossed his forelegs and looked up at us with those dark, weary eyes. "Let's not mince words." He never did. "I'm busy." He was always busy. "And I've been observing. We need to make a few structural changes. Shake things up. Cut the fat."

I spoke up, trying not to snicker. "Yes, sir. We need to make the roster for Friday's show anyway, so why don't we–"

"Roster's done," he interrupted, slapping a hoof on the desk with more force than he needed. He slid the piece of paper towards us, turning it around for us to read with two quick, jerky motions. There were two columns – one for the mare squad, one for the stallions. 

I glanced down my column, which looked the same as the last show's with one minor change: Fire Streak wasn't on it. I thought, 'Poor guy. Really needs to get that stability under control. At least Windskipper's getting a chance in the big leagues.'

A loud thwap on the desk nearly made me fall out of my seat. Spitfire's hoof had slammed onto the desk, and my head jerked to look at her. Her face scrunched up then went wide. "Wait... what?!" Her eyes darted all around the paper.

I looked down her side of the paper. Nothing had changed from the Saturday show, so I spoke to her in a calm voice. "Spitz, it's fine. Fire Streak will get over it."

Spitfire whipped her head toward me, eybrows furrowed and lips slightly parted. She had this dumbfounded look on her face, like I was the one with the sombrero on. My throat sealed up, and I figured she was going to yell at me for something. She didn't yell, though. She just said, barely above a whisper, "Soarin'... First line."

I stared at her for a second. I hadn't seen her like this in a long time. It didn't make any sense until I took a closer look at the underlined names at the top of the sheet.


Mare Squad          Stallion Squad
Lead – Spitfire           Lead – Fire Streak


My heart stopped. 

My muscles seized up. There was a ringing in my ears. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't blink. 

I kept staring at that paper, mouth hanging open, trying to see where he'd put my name. I kinda... blacked out, almost. Spitfire stood up and raised her voice, but I couldn't hear her. I think she tried talking to me at some point.

That paper had a small tear on the corner. I started breathing heavily when I saw it was also ripped a bit on one side, where Bottom Line had erased some of his notes. I hated that paper. For a second, it was the only thing in the universe that existed. I kept thinking, 'He didn't even use a clean sheet of paper. Why didn't he use a clean sheet of paper?' I kept staring, but my name didn't appear. 'He didn't even use a clean sheet of paper.'

"Soarin'!" Spitfire jabbed my shoulder. "Say something!"

Bottom Line jumped in before I could. He spoke rigidly. "Think of it as an opportunity. Take some time. Get your head on straight."

I tried to argue back, but I couldn't tear myself away from the roster. "My..." There were a few smudge marks. "I'm fine."

"Wrong. Don't think I didn't hear about your incident with Fleetfoot." He cleared his throat. "Or your little pep talk."

Bottom Line was questioning my leadership. My head snapped up, and my eyes locked on his. He sat there, unmoving, with a frown on his face, like a stone statue. He didn't get it. He didn't get me. 

Suddenly, everything in my body felt like it was on fire, and my eyes were trying to kill him. "Sir!" I stood up, knocking the stool over, and slammed a hoof on the desk. "It's my job to motivate the team and critique their performance!" I spat the words out through gritted teeth. Who the buck was he to tell me how to do my job? "I'm the best flyer on my squad, and my team is always flawless!" I pounded my chest. "What do you think happens without me around, huh?!"

He smirked. "Everypony can finally relax."

I froze again. My head was throbbing, but my aggression had evaporated. "Wha... what do you mean?" 

Bottom Line didn't budge an inch. "Several things have been brought to my attention. These aren't isolated incidents from a few complainers. Right now, the team would be better off without you."

I zoned out, numb to everything. For a second, I couldn't even move. My expression went blank, and my cheeks felt hot and wet. Slowly, I turned my head towards Spitfire and thought, 'Bottom Line's wrong. I'm a great captain. Spitfire doesn't think I'm…' My eyes met hers, and for the first time since I'd met her, she couldn't manage to make eye contact. "…oh."

My eyes burned, and my voice was weak. "I'm... I'm sorry. Please excuse me." It didn't sound like my voice. It felt like somepony else was using my mouth to talk.

I pushed myself away from the desk, and my wings folded in tightly. Spitefire said something to me, but it didn't register. Nothing really registered, and I found myself outside the office, walking slowly away as Spitfire shouted from inside. It was something about, "...said he had one more week!"

The wind bit at my ears as I stepped outside. I pawed at my chest, trying to find the hole that I knew was there, and I kept staring downward.

My mind was blank, but I felt foreign on the academy grounds, like a magnet that's flipped the wrong way against another magnet. So I walked. I didn't even stretch out my wings at all. The white clouds crunched under my hooves as I walked past one of the training areas. It sounded like the stallion squad was almost done with their morning stretches. I think one of them called me over, but my neck refused to move. My mouth stayed shut as I trotted along. I don't know if I was even blinking.

"Morning, Captain! You sick?" Was that one of the guards? I didn't respond.

My legs kept lifting and dropping. I didn't think of anything. I'd breathe in for two steps, then out for two steps, over and over. In and out. Never breaking the pattern. Step, step, in. Step, step, out. My tail hung limply behind me.

"Hey, isn't that Soarin'?"

"Nah, he'd be at practice." The hole in my chest grew bigger. My heart ticked on, but it felt rusty, like it would fall apart at any second.

Something deep down told me that it was a nice day, that the sun was shining and the air was fresh, but I couldn't feel it. It all seemed so overcast.

"You sure? He's got that uniform on." Were these two mares or stallions? Young or old?

"Huh. He looks sick. Maybe he's not doing well." The hole got bigger. I kept staring down.

My wings felt heavy. I thought about trying to flap them, but I didn't feel like it. I didn't feel like anything. My trance held, and I kept walking, like I was a machine that only knew how to get home.

Blinking and looking up after who knows how long, I saw my front door a few meters from my face. My first lucid thought was, 'This doesn't feel like home.' I opened the door, and my shadow greeted me from the inside. It stared back at me, and I cringed. I suddenly felt exposed, so I dashed in and slammed the door behind me.

But I didn't feel safe. Nothing in my condo seemed familiar. Nothing except the lingering smell of old hayburger. I thought, 'Am I in the wrong house?' 

I made my way into the parlor, and I found one thing that looked the same: my favorite picture. I trotted over to the small table and grabbed it. I was looking for... something. Happiness? Something to tell me I was doing a good job? I studied the photo: my dad and me on the day I graduated from the academy and became a real Wonderbolt. He had his foreleg around me, every one of his teeth showing in that goofy smile of his. His chest was all puffed up. Mine was, too. With my new jacket on, I didn't look like a colt anymore. For the first time, I looked like a real stallion.

I've never taken much pride in my accomplishments. Yeah, I'm one of the best, but it's always been natural for me to win. Never gave it much thought, I guess. Graduation day, though. Wow. I'd passed every test they'd thrown at me and come out on top. I stood on that stage with the other four who'd graduated. We kept our excitement inside as we looked out at the sea of ponies. My heart wouldn't stop pounding, and my wings itched to let loose. We kept up appearances, though, just like we'd been trained.

It was time. An elderly Former Commander Skystorm took to the mic. I wish I could remember what she said. Dad filled me in later, but I was too focused on not losing my mind to notice. Skystorm's voice boomed, and I felt the cheering strike me in the chest before she even finished saying my name. "Soarin' Windsong! First Rank!" 

I hesitated. 'Dammit! Am I supposed to pivot on my right hoof or my left?!' I started screaming in my head, 'Oh buck oh buck oh buck oh buck.' I went with right. 'BUCK BUCK BUCK BUCK BUCK!!!' Naturally, I played it cool, and talked myself through all the steps that I'd spent hours agonizing over.

Right hoof, left hoof, one-two-three-four.

Four steps. Nod head. Hooves together.

Back straight. Eyes up. Right hoof straight out.

Salute. Pause, pause. At ease, soldier.

I didn't miss a beat. She presented my new jacket, which I put on with the same precision. Another salute, and I marched to my spot on the opposite side of the stage.

Right hoof, left hoof, one-two-three-four.

Perfect.

Somepony knocked on my door, and I snapped back to reality to find that I was holding onto the photo very, very tightly. I fumbled with it a little before setting it down flat on the table. All the pride and joy drained from my body, and I slumped. The hole in my chest came back, and everything felt heavy.

The pony at the door knocked louder. A twinge of anger flashed through me, but all I could muster was a weak, "What?" that was too quiet for them to hear. I shook my head and trotted to the door.

I opened it. Spitfire stood there, rigid and completely expressionless. Her eyes were hidden behind her wide, dark sunglasses, and I had to squint a little at the sunlight behind her. She took a few breaths before speaking up. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." My reflection stared back at me in those lenses.

"No, you're not."

I snorted. "Well, then why did you ask?" It came out way harsher than I wanted.

Spitfire matched her tone to mine. "Because I'm not very good at this!" She lifted a hoof to take off her sunglasses, but left them on and set her hoof back down. "I talked to Bottom Line. The others have been tense around you lately. I know you've noticed."

I nodded.

"You aren't off the team, Soarin'. You didn't even lose your co-captain status." Her words were stiff, and I figured she'd been practicing this little speech on the way over. "This is just a break."

"It's always just a break." She twitched at the acid I was spitting, but my guilt overtook my anger. "Sorry, I..." I didn't finish. It felt weird there, talking on opposite sides of a doorway. I wanted to let her in, but she wasn't going to tell me what I wanted to hear. "Bottom Line always does this." My voice got louder as I kept talking. "Sure, I'm just missing one show for now, but I'll be gone by the end of the season!"

"Soarin', if you end up like Rapid Gust or Storm Cyclone–" She took off her sunglasses and pointed them at my chest. Her gaze pierced through me. "–then that's on you." She tucked the glasses into her breast pocket. "They couldn't handle the dynamic, so they got cut. Sounds like you need to figure out if you've got what it takes."

I grit my teeth. "Spitz, I'm the best stallion on the squad! You and I both know I have what it takes!"

She stomped a hoof. "Windsong! Why can't you get it through your head that not everything is about YOU!" She took a step through the door, and I shrunk back. "Yes, you can fly. Big deal! But when you bring everypony else down, we have to consider if you're really worth it."

"We? We?" I got up in her face, and she backed off half a step. "If you bucking knew I was getting cut, then why the buck didn't you say anything?"

Her head was down, and her hooves were spread apart. She glowered, and I thought she was going to charge at me. "I did say something! And you reacted by skipping practice that day, freaking out at a squad mate, and embarrassing the Wonderbolts at a public function!" 

That shut me up for a second, but I was too far gone to hold my tongue. I knew the truth, but my brain was scrambling for ways to offload responsibility. "Well, you could have at least told me I was getting cut before the meeting, but I guess you're too cold to care about anypony else! I don't even freaking matter to you, do I!" 

Spitfire's scowl melted, and her eyes softened. She stood up taller. Her eyebrows were furrowed, and she slowly shook her head a few times. A cool breeze blew in through the door.

Spitfire is tough. She's a great leader, and she almost never shows pain. Every once in a while, though, somepony will say or do something, and you get to see the cracks in her armor. You can see the little filly that just wants to have fun and fly fast, and you feel your knees go weak and your stomach drop when you realize you've actually managed to hurt her. The moment doesn't last long, but it's enough. She suddenly spoke very softly. "You really don't think of me as your friend, do you?"

The back of my neck felt hot. I got dizzy, so I sat down. When I looked at her, I remembered that colt I'd clobbered in airball, and of course Braeburn's face flashed across my mind, too. I lifted a hoof and itched my face as an excuse to look away for a second. "Spitz, I... I didn't mean it."

Her moment passed. When I looked up again, Spitfire was back to her professional pose and putting her sunglasses back on. Her voice was calm and even. "I came here to try and help you, Soarin', but you can't seem to get your head out of your ass long enough to see how your actions affect the ponies that care about you." I drew in a sharp breath and choked up. "I've got a team to worry about. Don't come back until you're ready to be a part of it." Spitfire turned and stormed away without a backward glance.

The door closed with a small click before I even realized I'd touched it. Back to autopilot. My steps fell heavily on the floor, and I made my way to the parlor. The room was still. Cold. Quiet.

It pissed me off. Everything felt even more alien than it had a few minutes ago. I started hyperventilating, and everything looked red. My muscles tensed. My back arched up. I lowered my head like I was going to charge. I started shaking, and then it all flooded out.

"AARGH!" I whipped my body around and bucked a chair, splintering the leg. "Dammit!" I ran to the lamp and threw it against the wall. The light bulb popped, and shards of glass and clay fell to the floor. "Dammit DAMMIT DAMMIT!" I kicked the couch. I grabbed the art from the wall and punched a hole through the canvas. Anything I could lay my hooves on, I destroyed. The table, the doorway, the side of the bookcase. I even yanked the photo of me and my dad off the table.

And I stopped. The picture shook in my hooves while I took uneven, quivering breaths, and I heard my dad's voice in my head. It was low and calm, and it sounded hurt. 'What are you doing, Soarin'? You really think wrecking the place is going to solve anything? Is that how I taught you to live?'

I slumped to the floor. The pride in my dad's smile stung me hard in the chest. My head ached. My eyes burned, and I heard myself sob. I have no idea how long I'd been crying. I sniffled. "S... sorry, dad."

His voice became sterner. 'Don't apologize. Just make it right.' I looked around the broken room at all the wood splinters and pieces of glass. 'And make me proud.'

I could swear I felt his hoof on my shoulder again. "I will, dad."

'There's my big strong Stormcloud.' My chest swelled at his pet name for me. It always has. Still does. 'Love you, son.'

My eyes felt heavy. I curled up on the floor with the picture clutched tightly to my chest, and I yawned. "Love you, too, dad."

I miss him every day.