Great men are forged in ball pits. It is the privilege of lesser men to urinate in them.

The infinite fires of G3 raged throughout planet 4chun-Li. The road brawlers that populated the world screamed as they ran from the saccharine inferno that sung the song of never ending madness; it was ignorant of its victim's existence.

"YOHOHO TRALALALA! we SING THEM THEIR LOVELY LOVE SONG~!~!~! ONe that shALL LAST FOR ALL eTeRnItY~!~!"

Rhyming was not the G3 fire's strong suite.

Soarin watched the insanity unfold from space as he played his fiddle. He played no song, but a discordant malady melody with no real beat, no rhythm, just the screeching of chords. Trixie, on her way back from watching Avengers 2, noticed the Wonderbolt madly playing with his instrument. She scoffed. Didn't he realize there was no sound in space? The spheres attached to Trixie's body glowed a myriad of colors, and produced a cacophony of beeping sounds. "Mmm bop, mm bop to the top."

Perhaps... Perhaps there were factors that Trixie had not calculated. Perhaps...

Spitfire exploded. She was not missed.

Nope. There wasn't.