Silverbolt had gone to sleep in his own dwelling to the sounds of a storm the evening before. He hadn't minded too much, having been alerted of the weather schedule. In his normal day to day life, he was a mail-pony that traveled the realm. Never in one place for particularly long aside from his normal routes that had him stationed in Cloudsdale or Ponyville. It all really depended on where the Royal Mail Service needed him most. He had no idea what was to be in store for him after that evening.
He would awaken to the sensation of heavy rain pelting him and something digging into his body. "Did the storm trash my home and leave me atop a pile of rubble? I will need to have a word with those in charge of the weather factory and the Princesses about this!", he'd think to himself while he stood up and took stock of his surroundings. He was now atop a pile of junk and refuse. He was now in a junkyard and none of the objects he could recognize.
The scent of dirty air was carried to him on the winds even as another surprise came rushing to meet him. A greater shadow loomed over him, further obscuring what he could see between flashes of lightning. Fluttering his wings, his cobalt frame shivered under the continued assault from the storm. He looked up and saw a massive airship overhead. "I'm definitely not where I am supposed to be... Is this some sort of prank or magical experiment run amok that I've been dragged into?", he'd mutter to himself as several unidentified objects emerged from the massive vessel.
The objects landed to surround him, and he could finally see what they were. They were ponies in armor that he had never seen before. One of them even raised a hoof and it opened up in a threatening fashion. The voice was robotic and made him think of comics and radio shows related to Sci-Fi. Things were getting stranger and stranger by the minute for the traveled Pegasus.
The voice demanded that he come with them to someplace called the Prismatic or his life would be forfeit. Before he could respond and before the thing could count to 0, a potentially familiar voice spoke from somewhere and admonished the rather heavy handed pony. The mare's voice was enough to cow the thing and it repeated the request. This time in a more amicable fashion. At least in comparison to being killed or worse.
Raising his magical mail prosthetic in response, Silverbolt would let out a soft sigh. "Don't have much choice in the matter and I'd rather not be standing out in this mess. Last time I got caught up in something like this, I was sick for a week.", he'd answer the squad that surrounded him. "Is the Prismatic the name of the thing above us?", he'd ask, his keen mind already going into overdrive.
He didn't have much else to go on and it certainly beat staying in this scrapheap. Perhaps he'd get some answers. At the least he could get out of the rain for a bit. Get a chance to catch his bearings. One thing was for sure, he wasn't in his own world anymore.