>Be Russian Air Force pilot in MiG-29
>Circa 2008
>During South Ossetia War with Georgia
>You are stationed at Nal'Chik Air Base, near the Russia-Georgia border
>There is a chain of mountains separating you from the enemy airbases, Kutaisi and Tskhakaya
>Today you're flying CAP along the border of Georgia, with your wingman
>AWACS will be covering you, callsign 227
>On the ramp, shortly after mission briefing
>Ground crews scurry away after loading pylons with R-73 and R-27ER Air-to-Air missiles
>You put your flight helmet on, and flip down the visor like a boss
>You climb the ladder into your glorious aircraft
>You can smell the jet fuel in the cockpit, carried by a calm morning breeze
>Today will be a good day
 
>You spool up the engines, flicking switches and pressing buttons as usual
>You test the controls, everything looks good, and you have full freedom of movement
>After a few minutes, oil pressure and temp, as well as engine RPM are in the green
>You switch to various weapons systems, testing their functionality, and verify your ammo loaded in your cannon
"Nal'chik, 717, request taxi to the active."
>"717, Nal'chik, taxi to runway 24, surface winds 230 at 2 meters per second."
>And with that, you ease the throttle forward, and the aircraft lurches forward onto the taxiway
>Your wingman follows close behind
>After navigating to the runway, you hold short, and lower your flaps
"Nal'chik, 717, request takeoff, runway 24."
>"717, Nal'chik, cleared for takeoff, runway 24, climb 300 at QFE 762.3."
>You taxi onto the left side of the runway, your wingman takes the right side
>No matter how many times you do this, it never gets old
 
>You briskly push the throttle forward to 100%, and your two powerful engines roar
>You are pushed into your seat as the MiG sprints forward
>Your wingman speaks up
>"Two, rolling."
>A pair of small annunciator lights turn green, signifying that your afterburner has kicked in
>Raw jet fuel is currently being sprayed into your exhaust, leaving a cone of pure fire and hell behind you
>Jesus fuck this is awesome
>In mere seconds, you reach 250 km/h, and slowly pull back on the stick
>Your nose gently lifts off the concrete runway
>A little more pulling... and...
>Airborne.
>You pull the landing gear lever up, and a corresponding annunciator light shows that your gear is up
>"Two, gear up."
>Almost as one organism, you and your wingman form up and bank in the direction of your assigned route
 
>You engage the autopilot and select the "waypoint" navigation submode
>Your aircraft is now flying itself
>You glance back over your right shoulder, and your wingman is right next to you, aft
>Your HUD says you have another 80km to go before you reach the next waypoint
>You think of what you may encounter today
>Nothing much, probably some F-5s or F-4s
>Fucking Georgians and their ancient hand-me-downs
>Eating out of the toilet that America shits in
>The F-5s were the easiest to kill
>Usually they were only armed with AIM-9s
>Short-range IR missiles
>They can't track targets more than 6km out
>You lol in your head
>Just stay out of range and pick them off with your superior R-27ERs and ETs
>They drop like fucking flies
>Now, the F-4s, ancient as they are, are still a bit more dangerous
>They are armed with AIM-120s, and can hit from a distance
>But, Georgians still can't shoot for shit
>So no fucks were given, no jimmies rustled
>You call up AWACS anyway, to double-check threats that weren't on your briefing
"227, 717, say contacts."
>"717, 227, clean."
>Huh, kinda odd
>No enemy aircraft
>Still, no fucks given
>Until your SPO-15 Radar Warning Receiver emits a passive, low-frequency "boop" into your headset
 
>"Two, spike, 2 o'clock."
>Dafuq
>Someone sees you on their radar
>You glance at the SPO-15 (pic related)
>Another boop
>You see an ? (Russian character) illuminated on the SPO-15
>This means it's another aircraft radar
>Your jimmies are starting to rustle, very slightly
"227, 717, say contacts."
>"717, 227, clean."
"227, say again...?"
>"717, 227, I say again, no contacts."
>What the fuck is going on here
>boop
"Two, you copy that spike?"
>"Roger, lead, I have the spike on the RWR."
>Your jimmies went from 0 to rustle in a half second
 
"227, 717, reporting unknown contact, 40km out, off our 2 o'clock."
>boop
>"717, 227, I am negative on that contact... what are your intentions, 717?"
>Why the fuck would he have to ask?
"227, 717, request permission to engage unknown contact."
>boop
>"717, 227, unknown contact is presumed hostile. You are cleared to engage."
"Copy, cleared to engage, 717."
>You glance back down at the SPO-15
>Fuck, the thing's getting closer, 30 km
>You disengage the autopilot, and enter BVR (beyond visual range) mode
"Two, set ECM and Radar on."
>You instananeously do this as soon as you tell your wingman to
>You check the annunciator panel, and see the green ECM light flashing
>Good, it's warming up
>boop
>"Two, ECM and Radar on."
>Whatever this thing is, you're going to make sure it becomes a fireball
 
>You slam the throttle to its most forward position, and you jolt back into your seat
>Trying to get within missile range as quickly as possible
>Boop
>Your wingman is trying to keep up
>You're really hauling ass, now
>1,100 km/h and still gaining speed
>It's as if an angel was pushing you
>boop
>You check the SPO-15
>A "B" and "H" are illuminated, the thing is about the same altitude as you
>20 km out
>Just outside missile range
>Then, you see the contact on your HUD, picked up by your radar
>It's just one green dot
>Your radar measures things with green dots, the more dots, the bigger
>F-5s are usually at least two dots in size
>Whatever this thing is, it's small
>And fucking fast
>You lock the contact
>A round circle now envelops the green dot
"One, engaging bandit."
>One more second of waiting, for good measure
>You press the pickle button on the stick
 
>An R-27ER falls off the left inner-most pylon
>Then, it shoots forward, emitting a white trail, with a distinctive "WHOOSH" (pic related)
>The onboard radar guides the missile to its target
>The missile's one goal in life
>Its only purpose of existence
>Is to kill the enemy
>You wait a few moments
>Nothing
>Fire another one, just to be sure
>WHOOSH
>More waiting
>What the fuck
>Still nothing, no fireball
>Your SPO-15 tells you that the contact is 10 km out
"Two, engage bandit!"
>"Two, engaging bandit"
>There is some serious fuckery going on here
>Your jimmies are rustled to the max
 
>Your wingman fires both R-27ERs at once
>This... "thing"... will die
>You are sure of it
>More waiting
>Nothing
>If your jimmies weren't rustled before, they sure as fuck are now
>Your SPO-15, booping along as it were, is now screeching into your headset
>BEEEEEEP
>Then
>DITDITDITDITDIT
>OH SHIT
>Your wingman frantically calls out
>"Two, missile launch, 12 o'clock!"
 
>You idiot, you let the damn thing get withing IR range!
>Fuck, you're a dumbass
"One, engaged defensive!"
>You break formation and barrel roll to the left, dumping flares as you do so
>You dive toward the ground, and roll to the right, and fly almost vertical
>You try anything to shake the missile
>Your wingman was trying the same, albeit in a different pattern of maneuvers
>The missile flies past you, and, realizing it had been duped for the flares, it explodes
>Fucking Georgians and their outdated seeker heads
>Then, you see the aircraft turn toward you
>"You wanna fight, I'll show you a fight!" you say to yourself
>You switch to your cannon
>Your closing speed exceeds 2,000 km/h
>Putting the pipper on the target, you squeeze the trigger
 
>BRRRRRRT
>30mm rounds fly forward in an orange arc
>It was in vain, as none meet their target
>Suddenly, the enemy aircraft flies past you
>Time seems to slow down
>You can see the aircraft in detail
>...a rainbow paint job?
>all of your wat
>Time resumes, and you instinctively pull back on the stick for an Immelmann maneuver
>The enemy continues its path toward the ground
>You strain against the forces of gravity, trying to keep the blood from pooling in your extremities
>Your G-suit inflates and squeezes your lower body
>Completing the turn, you are now on the enemy's six o'clock
>You fire one of your R-73's, a short-range IR missile
>After about a second of travel, the missile is briefly wrapped in a strange purple aura
>What...
>The actual...
>Fuck...
>It explodes, completely missing its target
 
>Instantly, your aircraft is enveloped in the same purple aura
>There is a strange sound coming from it
>Almost like your ears are ringing
>Then, your MiG-29 crumples in half, jet fuel exploding in a huge fireball
>You have no time to react
>You pull the ejection handle
>Small explosives detonate the canopy off of the fuselage
>You are thrown outside the burning wreck by rockets
>The earth tumbles before you
>Sky, ground, sky, ground
>You fall for what seems like hours
>You cannot hear anything because of the wind rushing past your head
>Not even the roar of the aircraft above
>Suddenly, your parachute opens
 
>The ejection seat plummets to the ground
>You groan and wince against the straps now holding your body weight by your groin and armpits
>You look up and see your burning aircraft plummet toward the earth, pieces occasionally falling off
>You realize you had no time to warn your wingman
>You look up, past your parachute, and see your wingman suffer the same fate
>There is no ejection.
>You are overcome by a sudden urge to throw up
>And do as such
>You look down, and see the earth rushing up to meet you
>In the same instant you hear an explosion
>Tall Georgian pine trees are just below
>You are sure you will get tangled
>The sound of the enemy jet roaring away fills your ears
>You had never been this scared in your entire comabt career as you were these last few moments
 
>You are truly, really, in fear for your life
>You look down again, just in time for you to be caught in the the thick branches of some tall pine trees
>Branches whip your face very hard
>You get small cuts and scratches all over your body
>Suddenly, you are yanked to a stop
>Your parachute has caught on the canopy of one of the pines
>Fuck, there has to be a way out of this
>You are a good 8 or so meters off the ground
>Then, you remember your combat knife
>You never thought you would ever use it
>You unzip one of your flight suit pockets and pull out the knife
>You start cutting at the left strap
>More cutting
>Almost... there...
>Your body is now hanging on the chute by one strap
>Cut through the other one and you're free
>You start cutting
>Again
>You're almost done, when the strap breaks under the weight of your body
>You fall to the ground, dropping the knife
>More branches whipping your face
>Your head hits the cold, hard, ground
>In the moments before you black out, you thought you could hear
>Helicopter rotors
 
>You wake in a musty, dark room
>Your head is throbbing with pain
>You reach to grab it, and notice your flight helmet is missing
>Your green flight suit is still on
>Without your sidearm, or the knife you dropped
>You look around
>The floor, walls, and ceiling are a dark blue rock
>Metal bars block the only entrance
>Screams of pain and moaning echo in the distance
>Where the fuck are you
 
>Your concern of your location vanishes when the metal bars creak open
>Something enters
>it's not human, it's walking on all fours
>ohfuck.jpg
>clopclopclopclop
>huh
>wat
>???
>you blink
>something hard hits you in the head
>blackout
 
>Fucking hell
>Your head feels like a watermelon ran over by a Sherman
>You open your eyes
>Blinding light everywhere
>what the fuck
>You involuntarily shut your eyes
>You try to move
>And fail
>You're chained up on a wall
>Suddenly, a booming feminine voice nearly crushes your eardrums
>"WHO ARE YOU?"
>You don't respond
>What the fuck is happening
>Suddenly, the same aura wraps around your body
>Instead of being purple, it's a light blue
>Then, a pain more intense than a thousand suns
"AAAAAAAAGGGGHHHHHHH"
>You would double over in pain, had you not been chained to a wall
 
>The same voice asks again
>"WHO ARE YOU?"
"ughhhh"
>You try to gather your thoughts after that insane torture
>Who knows what's coming next
"My name...."
"My name is Anon Anonovich"
>"WHY ARE YOU HERE?"
>Gee, why the fuck ARE you in a dark fucking dungeon
"Orders..."
*cough*
>"WHAT ARE YOU?"
"I'm a human..."
>Wait, hold the fuck up.
>Seriously.
>Something that can fucking speak Russian doesn't know what humans are?
>Then, a white horse comes forward from the blinding light
>Its mane is a cascade of blue, pink, and green
>It is flowing through an unseen wind
>It has a horn... and... wings?
>You're in a fucking fairy tale
>Either that, or you've had too much vodka
 
>"A...human?"
>The white alicorn asks
>It has a golden crown on its head
>You desperately want to say "OH SHIT YOU'RE THE QUEEN OF NAMBY-PAMBY LAND" or something to that effect
>You remember that brutal pain you experienced earlier
>You refrain
"Yeah... a human"
>The horse gives you a quizzical look
 
>"Hmmm... I've heard of these 'Human' abilities..."
>wat
>"Maybe I'll set you free if you work for me."
>what the fuck
>For the shortest instant possibly fathomable, you think you've just become a sex slave for a horse
 
>"I know of your flying abilities, and I think they can be put to good use"
>"Since I am nice, I'll make you a little deal"
>"If you join the Royal Pony Air Force, I will let you live in Ponyville for the remainder of your career"
>So they're ponies, not horses
>A realization hits you like a ton of bricks
>The aura, the odd camoflage, and she saw you fly
>THEY FUCKING KILLED YOUR WINGMAN
"ARGHGHHHHHH!!! I'LL KILL YOU!!!"
>you thrash at your restraints, but to no avail
>Suddenly pain, pain everywhere
>It's like your entire body is being ground into human-burger
"AAAGHGHGH!!!!"
>"Ah, ah, ah!~ You'll do no such thing"
"Urghhh."
>"So what's your choice?"
>Just about anything is better than this right now
"I'll fly for you."
>"Glad to hear it!"
>Its horn glows, and you are wrapped into a blue aura
>You drift into a deep, calming slumber
 
>Be flying in your MiG-29
>You're over flat, featureless terrain
>The missile launch tone blares into your headset
>You try to turn to evade
>You attempt a left roll
>Nothing happens
>ohshitnigger.jpg
>The missile is getting closer
>Your aircraft does not respond to your inputs
>shitshitshitshit
>You panic, and try to eject
>You yank the ejection handle
>It won't budge
>God fucking dammit
>You can see the white trail of the missile heading for you
>Well, living was fun
>In a most cliche manner, your life flashes before your eyes
>The missile hits your aircraft
>Instead of a rocking explosion, there is now spaghetti seeping into your cockpit
>What the actual fuck?
>It's filling up really fast
>Your wingman's voice starts talking to you
>"Anon, why didn't you save me? Save...me..."
>Then, Celestia's voice
>She is laughing heartily at you
>You drown in the spaghetti
 
>You wake up in a cold sweat
>Are you still alive?
>Better check
>You look around
>It's dark, and you can't really make out any of the features of the room
>You grab your head and feel your own warmth
>Lol you dumbass
>It was just a dream, a big fuckin' dream
>You sigh
>Time to get back to sleep, never know when you'll be needed on duty
 
>It's morning now
>The sunlight shines through a window onto your face
>What action dost thou plan to take, homosexual?
>You stir
>God damn that was some good rest
>Now to get the day started
>The fact that the morning announcements haven't taken place never crosses your mind
>You awkwardly stumble out of bed
>You're not wearing anything except your Standard-Issue boxers
>No socks
>Or... shirt?
>You try to say "What the hell?", but you can only manage a groan
>Whatever, maybe the rest of your clothes are through this windowless door
>It's kinda tiny, though
>It's a closet door, you dumbshit
>Oh yeah, that's where your clothes are
>You attempt to open it
>The door is locked
>Huh
>"Ah, anon, you're awake."
>It's that Horse-Queen-Person's voice
>FUCK! YOU'RE STILL IN NAMBY-PAMBY LAND
>FUCK, NOW YOUR DAY IS RUINED, AND YOUR JIMMIES?
>RUSTLED. WHAT A SURPRISE.
>You whirl around
>She's there, looking at you with a sort of cocky grin
>"I was wondering when you would wake."
>That's not creepy at all
>She watched you while you slept
"Where am I?"
>"Please forgive me, anon, my name is Princess Celestia"
>"You're in Ponyville Air Force Base"
>Is dis nigga serious?
>You remember the little "chat" you had with her before
>Yeah, you think it be like dis
>And it do
 
>Ponyville?
>Fuck.
>You cut the shit and get down to business
"When do I fly?"
>She chuckles
>"Now, anon, don't get ahead of yourself."
>"I am currently having Equestria's finest engineers produce a custom aircraft fit for your...specifications."
"What do you mean?"
>"Our aircraft are too small to accommodate your size, so we must produce a larger one."
>"It should be finished within a month."
>You're surprised
>A month to design, build, and test a fully-functional combat aircraft for a species other then their own?
>As if she was reading your mind, she answers
>"Yes, that is correct. Magic helps the process greatly."
>Oh yeah. Magic. That explains it.
>"Until it is complete, why don't you have a look around your new hometown, hmmm?"
>Sounds nice
>You could use some bacon and pancakes
"Alright, fine."
>"Good. But I must explain some things to you, first, so listen up."
 
>"You will have a handler by the name of Rainbow Dash, a pegasus pony."
>Fucking great, now you're someone's pet.
>"I have cast a spell on you. Remember your experience from the dungeon?"
>You are hesitant to recall it, but you do
>You put a hand on your gut
>Even thinking about it makes you hurt
>"Imagine that, but worse."
>You really don't want to imagine it.
>"There is a chariot outside waiting to take you into town. Rainbow Dash will accompany you."
>You inhale, and sigh.
>"Anyway, I must be going. Your clothes are in the drawer of the end-table."
"But wher-"
>She vanishes in a cloud of sparkles
"-e do I... use the bathroom..."
>Well, shit.
 
>You sigh
>Today's gonna be a long day
>You walk over to the end-table and open the drawer
>Your clothes consist of a white Tee with pink, horizontal stripes
>With Blue Khaki pants
>Whoever made this is a faggot -
>Wait you're in ponyville
>Gotta remember that
>You slip on the clothes
>They fit perfectly, and are comfortable as hell
>Dayum
>You walk over to the door, your new outfit hugging you snuggly
>You open the door
>No, you don't get on the floor
>But you walk outside to see some freaky shit
 
>The grass is green
>Not like a plant green
>But like
>Cake frosting green, or some shit
>Bright and unnatural colors are everywhere
>What the hell?
>There are flying ponies
>They must be the pegasus ponies
>You look at the house you were staying in
>It's made out of wood
>Who makes barracks out of wood?
>They would totally catch fire if -
>You know what, you don't even care anymore
>Just go with it
 
>"Hey anon, over here!"
>It's a gravelly, tomboyish voice
>You turn around
>Why do these ponies just love to sneak up on you?
>HOLY FUCK I LOVE RHETORICAL QUESTIONS
>okay, back on track
>A cyan pony with a rainbow tail and mane is waiting for you
>In a golden chariot
>"I'm here to take you into town. Hop in!"
"Alright. Sounds good."
>You jump into the chariot, which is pulled by two pegasi with gold armor
>The pegasi take to the air and the chariot follows
"OH GOD!"
>You've flown in open-cockpit Polikarpovs before, but this is just something else
 
>You grasp the edge of the chariot
>You're gonna fall out if you don't hold on
>The blue pony starts giggling and then laughing
>"Hehehehehe, you're not gonna fall out!"
>With some hesitation, you release your death grip
>You look over the edge of the chariot
>OH GOD
"OH GOD"
>Even though you're one of the best fighter pilots in your squadron, you're afraid of heights
>Vertigo gets to you
>You try to avert your attention to the clouds in front of you, and think of a happy place
>Your grandfather's Yak-12
>You immediately feel at ease
 
>You remember him taking you up for a ride each time you visited him
>That's how you found your love of flight
>"So, my name is Rainbow Dash."
>Snap back into reality
"So I've heard."
>You don't wanna sound like an asshole
>Especially to your "commanding officer"
>But you're sounding like one
>"And you must be Anon Anonovich."
"That's me."
>You're hungry as fuck
>Your stomach growls
>"Looks like you might need some food in ya. I know a good place to eat."
>Nothing could be better than food, and a good piss
 
>Your chariot arrives to its destination
>From what you can gather, Ponyville AFB is outside of Ponyville itself
>"This way, come on."
"Alright."
>She trots into what seems to be a cafe
>Ponies go about their business
>Some look up and stare at you
>You feel like a freak
>You walk inside the cafe with Rainbow
>"One hay sandwich with extra lettuce, please"
>You open your mouth to ask for a menu
>"And he'll have an apple."
>Dammit
>Pancakes and bacon will have to wait
>She sits down at an indoor table
>And you join her
>"Alright, let's get down to business."
>"I'm going to be your handler for your entire career as a pilot for the Royal Pony Air Force."
>"Just do what I say, and everypony's happy."
>She said everypony
>This is like some sort of dream
 
>Your food arrives
>"Your meal."
>The waiter says
>He sets the sandwich in front of Rainbow, and gives you your apple
>How can p0nies carry things without hands - you don't care.
>Let's get this shit over with
>You take a bite of the apple
>It's damn good
"MMM!"
>Is all you can manage
>"I see you like that apple. Straight from Sweet Apple Acres."
>Some juice drips onto your shirt, but you don't care
>"Hey, be careful with that uniform! They're hard to make!"
>Make...
>How were they supposed to know how to make clothes for humans?
>They'd need your dimensions... OH SHIT
>you choke on the apple