Rainbow Factory

More Failees?

“Now, let me tell you a story. Cloudsdale is where the weather is made. Without us, the rest of Equestria would starve, freeze, drown, and generally be a not-very-happy place. That gives us a special honor, one that can’t be tainted by, er, incompetent foals like you. How could the world look up and trust us if pegasi like you are flying around wearing the Cloudsdale name? No, no, we needed to do something with all of you. And then we got a delicious idea, one day, over a thousand years ago. Those were some smart ponies back then, I’ll say. You don’t find too many of them these days. But I digress, ha ha. Here, now, through these doors, quickly now, before more encouragement is supplied.” Dr. Atmosphere opened a heavy looking door in a cramped corridor, and offered a hoof inside.

Scootaloo stared up at him. He glanced at a suited pony. Scootaloo and the others walked inside, as he laughed again. “Enjoy the rest of your pitiful life.” And with that, he slammed the door closed.

They all turned, and looked at the big room they had been lead too. It was fairly open and empty, almost like an theater room. At one end of the room, there were six square vats, each one nearly full with individual Spectra. Above them was a peculiar looking machine. From a central stack, six hoses broke off and lead above each of the individual vats. At the top of the stack was a single opening, red with rust despite the rest of the machine to be shiny and clean. Even further above that was a fairly complex looking object, with chains and gears hanging off of beams and pipes loosely. Running even higher than the whole machine was a length of scaffolding, with doors on either side leading out of the room. Down on the floor, a small collection of defeated, crying ponies sat, chatting quietly.

“Those suits there, those are from that other flight school across town,” Aurora informed, sounding shocked. “And... those other ponies, sitting over there, see? I remember a trip we went on once with Levitating Acres private school. I remember them from that trip.”

“So... this is where all the failures go? Not deported, but forced to work forever?” Orion sobbed quietly. In exchanging for helping someone, he had doomed himself and his good friend to a life of servitude. Scootaloo reached a reassuring wing over, and lifted his chin. She smiled at him, understanding his depression.

“At least we don’t have to go through it alone,” she cooed softly. Suddenly, there was a commotion in the group of ex-students. One pony from an unidentified school took off, headed towards one of the doors on the scaffolding. Immediately, two suited ponies launched at record speed and both clipped the fly-away with their tasers. The pony spasmed in air, and then dropped like a stone. With an audible crack as he landed, and a violent burst of twitching, all the other ponies walked back, staring horrified at their friend. They watched, hopefully, for a long time. He didn’t move. Some cried softly, most others turned away, too far confused to feel any more emotions.

“I guess that option’s out,” Aurora said to no one in particular.

“But, you can’t fly right now, anyways,” Orion questioned. “That medic guy, Patches or whatever he was called. He popped my wings back into their joints and bandaged up where my skin tore. I won’t be winning any races, but... I can fly again.”

They slowly walked forwards and joined the group of ponies, looking at each other with understanding sorrow.

“Eyes front and center, you inept mules,” one of the suited ponies shouted. After the previous display, no one challenged that order, and stared at the scaffolding, just as one of the doors opened.