Dash's Ruminations

Equestria awoke to another faded morning. The rising sun lit the sky to a blue-gray. It was not particularly overcast; that was the schedule for Tuesday. The grass was green, apples were red; every color was where it should be, but they were dull and desaturated. It was as if light itself needed to drink some coffee and wake up.

"Coffee" came in the form of rainbows. From Cloudsdale's edge and numerous other strategic outlets, these rivers of radiant spectra poured down and impacted the ground with a shimmer and a flash of warmth. All around the area where they fell, health and vibrance seemed to well up from the ground.

Far above the ground in Cloudsdale, in the facility which was the source of this glorious display, mountains of geared mechanisms and pressure valves sat shrouded in gloom, ready to awaken.

WHOOSH

The dark jungle of pipes rushed past. The upside down landscape of the ceiling continuously reared up and disappeared, pushed behind into the distance by rapidly beating wings. Rainbow Dash flew through a hallway like a bullet from a gun, signaling another lap of her own private "Weather Factory 500". She came out into a dimly lit work floor, then dove back through the machine's upper components. Obstacles closed tightly around her at dangerous speed, but she knew they would never touch her.

She had flown this route hundreds of times at twice the speed, without accident. She closed her right eye habitually as she entered the fluorescent glow of the more clinical office and lab spaces at the south end. She made a series of impossible turns at ninety-degree hallway junctions, buzzing right over the heads of the workers as they clocked in for the day. They all wore the same gray work jacket. Her own blue-gray jacket was streamlined for flight, but still flapped sometimes during her intense maneuvers. MANAGER: RAINBOW DASH was stitched across the front next to the Weather Factory logo.

The other ponies claimed she was so fast that they would still feel the wind of her first lap when she flew by on the second. Or that they could turn all the fans off and she would keep the whole place ventilated by herself. Dash knew—with no small satisfaction—that both claims were true, when she was pushing herself. Today she was just cruising, thinking.

She pulled out of the green-tinted light, turning back to more industrial areas. She opened her right eye, prepared to go back into the darker environment. The last office she passed was her own. Being the manager, she was centrally located in the hub of activity for the whole facility, between the offices and the machine operating halls.

Though it only briefly flashed by her, she was still inhabiting the snapshot. Flying was her way of observing, concentrating, meditating to a trance-like degree. And her mind was stuck in that office.

The light was off, but the morning sun cast slanted rays across the room. This was the only window in the factory, reinforced of course. It was the only luxury she allowed herself. Hours earlier, she had been sifting through piles of paperwork. She had always found it tedious, but in recent years she had come to see it as a break. If the job involved running or flying or lifting weights, she would disdain sitting on the sidelines, but with this job…

She had scanned over and over these reports as if she was a young flier studying for an exam. Even now she could see each report she had laid on her desk, placed in a way that helped her think about them, something Twilight had taught her.

As she raced through the concourse, she fixated on that one glimpse of sunlight. She could stare into it forever. Its yellow hue stayed the same even through the dimming years. It was so bright, it seemed it could wash away the other colors which stained her memory. This morning, however, it occurred to her; what if it HAD changed? What if it had faded slowly, and only seemed bright by comparison?

She scowled, speeding up as if to outrun the thought. Most thoughts which were that depressing turned out to be true these days. Whatever. She decided that she needed it to be undimmed, and that's the way it would be. Was that her therapist talking?

Besides, could it really reach all the way up there? Officially it was "deficiency" or "depolarization" or a host of cover words, but she knew what it was. She had seen it before. She had felt it when she and her friends had been changed by Discord.

Which was shit, she was the most loyal pony ever. Loyal to Celestia, no less, and to the way of the pegasi. It had to be the right thing, it had to. She was so fucking loyal she wanted to kill herself. But she couldn't. She wasn't supposed to, and she couldn't let everypony down.

The paperwork made more sense to her at high speed than sitting and staring at it. She had opened up the output reports as well as her own file, preparing to make her case. There was a rumor that the department was due for an audit—she had thought it was too classified for such a thing, but apparently oversight is magic.

If somepony was coming to question the way things were run, they were coming to question her ability. There was one particularly condemning report on her mind. She had left it out deliberately, front and center. There would be no avoiding it, so she wouldn't bother to hide.

Months ago she had caused a riot among the captured fillies. One of them had almost broken out, which could have exposed the whole operation. The whole thing was so sloppy. Yes, it was a particularly feisty batch, but she had needlessly pushed it farther when she should have been containing them. Sure, somepony she knew was being processed that day, but nothing dangerous would have happened if she hadn't had her psychotic break—which she almost didn't come down from.

A lot of employees in the Rainbow Factory had to go through one. If they made it past that point, either coming back towards sanity or settling into an occupationally functional psychosis, then they were keepers. Some of the ones that didn't make it through had to be processed, though it didn't do much good for product.

Dash had come through hers into what her therapist had termed "compartmentalized, relative sanity". She almost wished she had gone the other way. In any case, most ponies' breakdown didn't generate paperwork like this. Most ponies weren't the manager, and they weren't the best. Dash was supposed to be the best.

Now she knew that she would have to cover her own ass. The inspector would surely use this file against her, but that's why she had put a case together to prove why she should be there.

And it was solid.

As Dash zipped back through the offices, she realized she hadn't thought about flying at all. She had completed half the circuit without even looking where she was going. On a nagging suspicion, and a reckless urge, she closed both eyes. She powered ahead, twisting, turning, acting on instinct. She tuned out, purposefully releasing herself into autopilot, pure muscle memory. She thought of nothing... Warm past the steam pipes. Clanking on the work floor. Droning hum by the generators. Brighter again.

She had completed another circuit. She smirked briefly at her achievement, but it soon faded to a frown. She shook her head, murmuring, "I've been here too long." There was no more thrill of flight, no exhilaration.

She put on the brakes, slowing to a smooth stop in front of her office. The metal grating clanked under her hooves as she touched down.

She realized that she could actually refrain from defending herself, and let herself be quietly removed from the position. She was tempted for a moment. But only a moment.

She wouldn't chicken out. That would only bring another manager in to do the same job. And, she knew, she could do it better than anyone. Now that she was on the proper medication and cursedly sane, she had made everything more efficient and eliminated the possibility of another incident with better procedures. It may be a sinking ship but she was its captain.

She knew from her adventures with Twilight that she was a hero, and she would be the one to save the world this time. She was dying for it to be over but she would die before she quit. She wasn't a quitter. Quitters are inferior.

She slipped in the door and headed for the desk to face the paperwork again. This time she was more certain and centered. She would prove her right to be here, just like she always did. No sweat.