Far away from Canterlot, bordering the Griffon Kingdoms, lied a powerful city, its energies practically soaring into the skies. It has made its mark on the world in which Equestria resides, and as such, major precautions had been made to protect it. A revered organization has just received a call from none other than Princess Celestia, the living Sun goddess, herself.

STALLIONGRAD

11:43 A.M.

"And topping local news today, one of the busiest buildings in the city of Stalliongrad this time of day, the Central Information Analysis And Processing Agency, has just received what they considered to be a 'death ticket.'

A call from Celestia has just ended inside, warning them of a very sensitive package that is to be transferred through the CIAPA to an undisclosed location in the Griffon Kingdoms. The reason that this is so upsetting for the CIAPA is because--"

An earth pony sat at her cluttered desk, which had various wrappers from food and packages strewn across it, conveniently covering up the larger mess of pens, pencils, and half-finished reports underneath. A single name plate was kept perfectly at the end of her desk, in the center. The name on it had long been scratched out, and a paper was taped over it reading, in all capitals, 'ISABELLA.'

Her appearance was fairly unique, even for Stalliongrad. Her body was a mess of shaggy, but clean, coat that of a light blue hue. Her mane was long and of a light brown hue. It was more well-kept than her coat, but so long that it forced her to comb it harshly back, making it a straight line down the middle of her back, which never stayed in place but had helped with keeping it out of her face, ending at the base of her tail, which was considerably shorter than her mane. She had a cutie mark that of a icy-blue check-mark. She was staring at the now blank television screen with a mix of depression and contempt. She groaned, and drooped her head down.

"... we have to cancel every other order going through here for it." She hated-- no, despised times like this. They were rare, but it seems their oh-so-caring deity decided it was about time they got a kick in the ass, and what a kick it would be.

Normally, cancelling one or two orders wasn't a big deal, just tedious. But cancelling EVERY order was a nightmare. Most of the orders were handled via the computer systems they had set up, which were very capable of cancelling an order with ease. But the problem was that half of Equestria's manufacturing and processing were located right there in Stalliongrad. This meant that the ponies/Dragons/Zebras/Griffons/what have you in charge of handling orders from any company decided it would be easier to just go to the building and handle it in person.

It's never easier. Everything that came into the building to handle an order in person almost ALWAYS fought when either:

A: An order was cancelled, and they have to do all of the order-handling paperwork again,
B:They did an order-handling sheet completely wrong and the entire paperwork was destroyed,
or C: They have trouble understanding how to acquire said paperwork.

And already, two or three dozen of the things out in the lobby were already up in arms about A, B or C. Having to walk out there, shove her way through that demonic crowd, telling them to shut up, and THEN tell them that all of their orders were now cancelled? She would rather go walk into a Manticore's cave covered in barbecue sauce than do that. Luckily, before she would have to do that, she needed to fill out the classification forms for the package, whatever it was. That always bought her at least one or two hours worth of time to muster the courage and strength to do the truly dirty deed.

Just before she was able to start with the classification forms, the telephone rang. She checked to see what brickhead was calling now, and then promptly steeled her mind. It was from the Royal Castle, but it wasn't Celestia or Luna. She picked up the phone, and brought it to her ear, wondering what it could possibly be.

"Yeah, what's it now? Do you royal ones got any more special deliveries for us?"

"I assume this is Isabella we're speaking to?"

"Yeah, 'ya got her."

"Well, get ready for the assfuck of the century, ma'am. Pardon the language, but it's the only way we can get the point of it across. We're truly sorry for this, but..."

The colt on the phone paused for a moment, obviously not wanting to continue his sentence. Isabella held her breath, waiting for whatever was going to come out of his mouth, listening intently. She managed to make out in the background of the call, on the colt's end, what sounded like sirens.

"...we have lost the package." Several silent seconds later, the colt hung up.