Flurry Heart had a singular destination—the armory. The armor couldn’t just be pulled off—there were machines to do it. She slipped her hooves into the little depressions in the floor, then stood in place as mechanical arms whirred. Once the biggest sections were off, the chestplate opened like a clamshell around her, and she stumbled backward like she was being vomited up by an animal. Even in the undersuit, she felt like she was dripping with sweat.