The Conversion Bureau: Infiltration

        I opened my eyes blearily, squinting as they encountered a blinding light.  I heard the murmur of voices, dimly aware of the figures slipping in and out of the light hanging above me.  I realized I was lying on my back, and I tried to right myself, only then noticing the futility of my actions.  My heart began to race as panic filled my mind, and I began pulling against the restraints on my limbs while attempting to open my mouth, which, I noted, was gagged, to ask for help from the figures conversing above me.  But as I looked them over, I knew that none of them would lift a finger to help me.

        Eyes wide with fear, I glanced around the room, and what I saw only confirmed my suspicions.  A clean, but aged room.  Paint peeling from the walls.  Most of the overhead lights destroyed.  A sturdy, steel table in the middle of the room, which I was strapped to.  A moveable lamp just above the table, able to be adjusted to illuminate the subject from a variety of angles.  A plethora of equipment and displays around me, with various tools placed on a table beside it.  A hospital operating room.  But none of this scared me more than the insignia I had seen on the surgeons’ white, sterile clothes.  Two golden, grasping hands, backed by a star, black as night.  The symbol of the Human Liberation Front.

        I met their eyes and saw nothing but cold disdain, which was, perhaps, worse than the pure hatred I was expecting.  But even as my struggles intensified, I felt a prick on my skin.  I turned my head, and the terror I was feeling began to fade away.  My vision began to fade to black as I observed the IV needle placed into my limb, just above my hoof, and though I vaguely noticed the surgeons around me moving to get to work, I couldn’t help but drift steadily off into a deep sleep.