END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE
This is the story of a pony named Stallion. Stallion worked for a company in a big building, where he was Employee Number 427. Employee Number 427's job was simple: he sat at his desk in room 427 and he pushed buttons on a keyboard. Orders came to him from a monitor on his desk, telling him what buttons to push, how long to push them, and in what order. This is what Employee 427 did everyday, of every month, of every year, and although others might have considered it soul rending, Stallion relished every moment the orders came in, as though he had been made exactly for this job.
And Stallion was happy.
And then one day, something very peculiar happened. Something that would forever change Stallion; something he would never quite forget.
He had been at his desk for nearly an hour when he realized not one single order had arrived on the monitor for him to follow. No one had showed up to give him instructions, call a meeting, or even say, 'hi.' Never in all his years at the company had this ever happened, this complete isolation.
Something was very clearly wrong. Shocked, frozen solid, Stallion found himself unable to move for the longest time. But as he came to his wits, and regained his senses, he got up from his desk and stepped out of his office.
Stallion did just that.
All of his co-workers were gone. What could it mean? Stallion decided to go to the meeting room; perhaps he had simply missed a memo.
Stallion passed through five open doors (all of which mysteriously closed behind him), and some very bright windows, before reaching a choice.
When Stallion came to a set of two open doors, he entered the door on his left.
Stallion listened. He trotted down a rather short hallway, before entering the meeting room.
Yet there was not a single pony here either. Feeling a wave of disbelief, Stallion decided to go up to his boss's office, hoping he might find the answer there.
But Stallion didn't want to do that just yet, so he looked at the slides that were playing. They were rather interesting.
Stallion just stood there doing nothing at all. He seems to think I have nothing better to do with my time than to sit around and describe every fascinating little detail about his inability to do anything. This is why Stallion and I are on such good terms.
Stallion left the meeting room, and went right past the broom closet.
Coming to a staircase, Stallion trotted upstairs to his boss's office.
Stepping into his manager's office, Stallion was once again stunned to discover not an indication of any pony life. Shocked, unraveled, Stallion wondered in disbelief who orchestrated this, what dark secret was being held form him! What he could not have known was that the keypad behind his boss's desk guarded the terrible truth that his boss had been keeping from him, and so the boss had assigned it an extra secret pin number: 2-8-4-5.
But, of course, Stallion couldn't possibly have known this.
Stallion went to the keypad, and punched in the numbers The Narrator had just told him.
2-8-4-5
Yet incredibly, by simply pushing random buttons on the keypad, Stallion happened to input the correct code by sheer luck. Amazing. He stepped into the newly opened passageway.
Stallion followed the path to an elevator, where he clicked the only button there. Down it was, then.
LOADING LOADING LOADING LOADING LOADING LOADING LOADING LOADING LOADING LOADING
Descending deeper into the building, Stallion realized he felt a bit peculiar. It was a stirring of emotion in his chest, as if he felt more free to think for himself, to question the nature of his job. Why did he feel this now, when for years, it had never occurred to him? This question would not go unanswered for long.
The elevator finally stopped.
Stallion trotted straight ahead, through the door that read: 'Mind Control Facility.'
There was another pathway, that said: 'Escape.' Yet Stallion still went to the Mind Control Facility. He climbed a ladder to a podium, where he pushed a large button with a lightbulb on it.
The lights rose on an enormous room filled with television screens. What horrible secret did this place hold, Stallion thought to himself. Did he have the strength to find out?
Stallion went across a catwalk, to another podium. There, he pressed a button with a camera on it.
Now, the monitors jumped to life, their true nature revealed. Each bore the number of an employee in the building, Stallion's co-workers. The lives of so many individuals, reduced to images on a screen, and Stallion one of them, eternally monitored in this place where freedom meant nothing.
Stallion crossed another catwalk, to yet another podium. This one, however, served as more of a lobby for an elevator. He pressed the button, and waited for the gate to open. When it did, he stepped through, and onto the lift. It took him upwards.
This Mind Control Facility... it was too horrible to believe; it couldn't be true. Had Stallion really been under somepony else's control all this time? Is that why he was happy with his boring job? That his emotions had been manipulated to accept it blindly?
No! He refused to believe it. He couldn't accept it; his own life in somepony else's control? Never! It was unthinkable, wasn't it? Was it even possible? Had he truly spent his entire life utterly blind to the world?
The elevator stopped in a room filled with computers.
But here was the proof. The heart of the operation, controls labeled with emotions: 'happy' or 'sad' or 'content.' Walking, eating, working... all of it monitored and commanded from this very place. And as the cold reality of his past began to sink in, Stallion decided that this machinery would never again exert it's terrible power over another pony life. For he would dismantle the controls once and for all.
Stallion pressed the big 'off' button.
Blackness... and a rising chill of uncertainty... Was it over? Yes! He had won. He had defeated the machine, unshackled himself from somepony else's command. Freedom was mere moments away. And, yet, even as the immense door slowly opened, Stallion reflected on how many puzzles still lay unsolved. Where had his co-workers gone? How had he been freed from the machine's grasp? What other mysteries did this strange building hold? But as sunlight streamed into the chamber, he realized none of this mattered to him. For it was not knowledge, or even power, he was seeking, but happiness. Perhaps his goal had not been to understand, but to let go. No longer would anyone tell him where to go, what to do, or how to feel. Whatever life he lives, it will be his. And that was all he needed to know. It was, perhaps, the only thing worth knowing.
Stallion stepped through the open door.
And he did just that.
Stallion felt the cool breeze upon his fur, the feeling of liberation, the immense possibility of the new path before him. This was exactly the way, right now, that things were meant to happen.
And Stallion was happy.
