The heavy creaking grunt of the iron door was only a prelude to the thundering slam and wall shaking tremble as the portal locked into position, creating a series of mechanized noises; clunks and clicks behind the two mares as they made their way down a long, narrow and dimly lit corridor.

The hallway, much like every other room of the facility, was painted clinically white and immaculate in its disinfected state. Even the air itself was filtered yet tainted with the stench of sterility, as if rubbing alcohol had been applied to every surface.

The two mares - adorned in matching white coats - remained silent as they passed one-way windows either side of the corridor, where within the secluded rooms were revealed various types of ponies in varying states of mental instability. From stallions and mares who silently screamed beyond the glass veil, seemingly at nothing, to other, more violent subjects striking out at the empty space around them; thrashing their hooves in the air and bucking wildly as if something ravaged them with some kind of eternal onslaught of a fevered and manic euphoria.

However that was hardly the most disturbing of patients here in solitary confinement, for it was the younger foals and fillies locked in various similar psychological dystopias that were perhaps the most unnerving, and soul-crushing to witness. They were merely children and yet they too were subjected to the same treatment of incarceration as their elders, without compromise or remorse.

To the two mares that ignored the visages of the insane around them, this was but an everyday routine to which they had long since grown cold towards, as the instability and wild actions of their patients was nothing more than an ironic normalcy to their everyday lives.

The silence between the two was broken upon coming to the very end of the corridor. They once again arrived to greet another solid steel door guarded by yet another armed stallion who regarded both mares with the critical eye of a sentinel who has seen too much to care. His strong countenance regarded the identification badges hanging about the approaching mares’ necks with a moment of scrutiny, then, with the merest of nods, he swiftly moved to open up their unfaltering path into the high security wing upon confirming their rite of passage.

“Thank you,” chimed both mares to the orderly, one meekly and youthful, the other with an authoritative and mature tone.

As they entered yet another long corridor that arced to the right, the door once again was securely locked behind them.

Finally, the yellow coloured pony on the left spoke first to the other mare, breaking the uneasy professionalism.

“I-is it really necessary to keep the patients under this much security?” asked the softly spoken mare, her eyes looking into each and every window they passed with a pity that only deepened every time she glimpsed a child within. The elder of the patients was given no such remorse, however, for she knew they were perhaps far more dangerous than their younger counterparts.

The white mare to the right nodded her head, completely assured of her conviction towards the matter; completely confident in her response to the younger doctor.

“These are not patients, Miss Fluttershy. Those in this end of solitary confinement are sick and twisted ponies whom society and justice demands should never be allowed to see the light of day. They are all either rapists, murderers or the socially inept; ruffians, vandals and activists against the peaceful ways of the system. They do not deserve freedom, for they abandoned that right the moment they committed their crimes.”

“B-but they are ponies, too, Miss Readheart. S-surely there must be something we can do for them? Rehabilitate them back into society, where they can live normal and happy lives. Aren’t we taught sometimes to reach patients we need to give them some kind of affection, maybe give them some kind of incentive to work towards? Isn’t that what we swore to do as psychiatrists? To help them?”

Although Fluttershy argued as the voice of ponyitarianism, she could not help but agree with her superior on some of the facets.

Redheart scoffed, “You knew full well what you signed up for when you wanted to work at this facility. If they fail to pass the trials of their psychological examinations at any point; if there is no improvement to their mental stability since their internment here - then they are shipped to the Rainbow Factory where they will be made of a better use. It is a waste of valuable resources to keep these kinds of ponies alive if they are nothing more than a lost cause to society...”

She gave a sad glance to her meek compadre, “it is the way of things here, Miss Fluttershy. I know you want to help as many ponies as you can. You are a kind and gentle soul and that is why I agreed to your application despite your lack of experience. We need a pony like you on the team that isn’t cold or clinical like the rest of us, but many of these…” she paused to find the correct terminology, “monsters, don’t need or even warrant your good intentions. They are rabid animals that needed to be tended to before being put down. Nothing more.”

Fluttershy paled, but nodded nonetheless. She had known for a long time about the Processing Facility and its purpose since joining the staff here almost one year ago. She was sworn to secrecy on the matter, never to tell another soul about this facility’s true purpose as a glorified holding pen.

Allegedly, all the incarcerated were guaranteed a successful rehabilitation if a minor felony was committed, while others that dabbled in rape, murder and other such heinous crimes were given a life sentence with no hope of release, where they would grow old and die within this facility’s walls…

However, even for those who were promised release, there was no escaping the inevitable truth that it was all a bold faced lie. If they arrived with even some of their mental faculties intact, they would assuredly leave mumbling fools of lunacy, which was more than acceptable to stamp them as dangerous to pony society, and thus perfect candidates for the Factory.

There was no escaping the Processing Facility. Once you enter, you never came out again - regardless of what they had done. Their fate was sealed the moment they were escorted in, like cattle to the slaughter.

The Rainbow Factory was the next step from the Process Facility and it was a simple, callous solution to an overpopulation problem of prisoners that was the brainchild of Princess Twilight Sparkle.

It was a win-win situation: it would rid the scum of Equestrian society, while assisting in maintaining Cloudsdale’s production of rainbows - which historically had been declining over the centuries, due to the inefficacy of the original raw material.

If it was not Princess Twilight Sparkle’s genius invention that extracted the latent magical properties that was inherent in each pony to fuel the Rainbow Factory’s complex machinery to produce a product that was a magically spectrumed, concentrated metamaterial that far exceeded the original primary resource of magic, the chances were rainbows would had become an endangered and rare phenomenon that nopony would ever have the pleasure of experiencing.

All in exchange for pony flesh, blood, colour and above all else, the magic that was extracted from their cutie marks. All of it would be drained away to fuel the beautiful spectrums that created the rainbows of Equestria regardless of the severity of their crime.

Foal. Mare. Colt... it mattered not.

A crime, was a crime no matter the severity.

Their crime would be transformed into something anew.

Something honest and true.

Something…

Beautiful.

It was a corrupt and twisted system and Fluttershy knew that. But it kept Equestria peaceful and free from the scum that could incite rebellion, or anarchy. It was to protect not only the ponies, but to protect the Sister Goddesses, Lunar and Celestia’s iron rule.

The quiet mare knew that this was for the good of all Ponykind… So why did she feel so uncomfortable about it?

Why did she feel that this was somehow wrong…?

Why did she feel that there was something fundamentally disturbing about this whole facility, and terribly wrong with how she was quite content in working here: despite knowing the terrible truth.

What would happen if Equestria found out about the true intentions of these facilities?

Fluttershy dreaded to think of the unrest it would cause.

A job was a job, after all.

She was just playing her part in the whole scheme.

Just another brick in the wall that was easily exchanged for another. A fact to which Fluttershy dreaded to think how replaceable she truly was.

“This is a Priority One order from Princess Twilight Sparkle herself. Now, the Princess has given us the authority to do as we please with Patient Number Eighty-five; as she is no longer of any use to her. The patient is to be shipped out tomorrow to the Factory providing our reports are in favor,” Redheart spoke to break the silence as they rounded a sharp corner, the floor sloping away from them as they delved deeper into the Processing Facility. “However I need to warn you. You must be careful. She is perhaps the most dangerous individual in all of the facility, so you best never let your guard down. All you need to do is go on in, talk to her, profile her, deem her unfit for rehabilitation and simply leave. Such a bleak report will satisfy the Princess, as she is eager to have the mare destroyed… For your safety as well, Patient Number Eighty-five has been restrained to her bed so she will be unable to reach you providing you remain in the chair that is securely fastened to the ground.”

Redheart paused and gave her a cautious glance, “and you must never - and I mean never, cross the line indicated on the floor between you. Is that understood?”

“Y-Yes…”

“Good.” Redheart stopped before a windowless holding cell with a heavy steel door that displayed a copper plaque that simply read in embossed black letters: ‘Patient #85’.

“I will be returning to my office in the meantime... Go there once you have the report you need to ship off this crazy to the Factory. A statement of her guilt would be preferable, however she has maintained her ignorance thus far in regards to her crimes. I am sure you have read the reports on the matter, but I can only hope we can get something out of her before she is put to death.”

Turning, Redheart moved back the way they came, leaving Fluttershy to regard the door with a trembling sigh.

Fluttershy watched Redheart leave out of her peripheral vision, still unsure if she wanted to enter the confinement of a patient not only infamous, but terrifying.

She had read up on the previous reports of other colleagues on the patient and studied heavily on how to deal and manipulate with this one’s particular brand of emotionally explosive psychosis before coming here, but even now she felt ill-prepared and afraid.

No, not afraid… She was terrified of the... creature that lay within.

Summoning her courage with an audible gulp she approached the steel door and moved up to the console located next to the portal, pushing her unique barcode on the back of her ID card up to the flickering red scanner located there. Soon after, a resounding clunky click indicated that the door had become unlocked, as internal deadbolts automatically slid open.

Curling a hoof around the now ajar door, Fluttershy pulled it open and entered, mustering a professionalism and smile -however slight it was, into a bright and cheerful facade. “G-G-Good morning! How are you today P-Patient Eighty-Five?

“Do you always stutter?” The response took Fluttershy by surprise, somewhat startling her and halting her entrance.

“W-well, no… But I am feeling quite excited today. We get to do your monthly report and see if you are eligible to the release programme we—”

“Oh. Goodie. I hate stuttering Mc’Stuttersons. You just need to relax a little, okay? I won’t bite.”

“O-okay…” Fluttershy swallowed hard as she moved to settle her flank into the chair located just before the door that automatically closed and locked behind her seconds later upon her entrance.

With the warning given by Redheart firmly within her conscious, she nervously regarded the stark red line on the ground inches away from the chair between she and the mare, and made with absolute certainty her rear hooves were tucked away under the furniture as far from it as possible.

“Um…” Fluttershy reached a fore hoof into her jacket’s breast pocket, and withdrew a Dictaphone, setting it to record and settling it down upon the ground between them, just behind the indicated line.
“The time is fifteen-oh-one, and this is Doctor Fluttershy, reporting on Patient Eighty-Five’s monthly psychological update. To start, would you like to introduce yourself for the record… If you don’t mind, that is?”

There was no response.

The unnerving silence only served to make the yellow pegasus shift uncomfortably on the chair.

“Um… Could you—”

“Do you like sweet things? I love sweet things - I could really go for some for some hard candies right about now: I love hard candies - especially the ones with the sour sherbet inside. It makes your face all scrunchy and in-pain-looking when in fact it is really quite nice!”

“Um… Well, I-I suppose. But I don’t see what this has to do with—”

“What kind of sweet things do you like? What’s your favourite? I bet yours is jelly beans. The green kind. The ones that tastes like apples.”

Fluttershy cleared her throat and reasserted her tone into a more authoritative demand, “P-Please could you state your name for the record.”

“You stuttered again. Geez, you really need to relax. See? I’m relaxed.”

The yellow mare frowned, “Stop avoiding my request and speak your name, Patient Eighty-Five. Please? It’s only good manners.”

A dark chuckle sent the hairs on the back of the yellow mare’s neck to stand on end, “That sounds more like a command than a request, even if you said please. Didn’t your Mommy ever tell you to ask politely? It’s rude to demand something of a pony like that while looking at her with a frown… Didn’t your Mommy ever tell you that smiling is always the best way to get somepony to do something you want them to? Or... Is Mommy ashamed of you, Fluttershy? Were you a bad filly when you were growing up, and made Mommy frown, instead?”

Fluttershy’s ears flattened against her head as a hoof moved up to push a way a lock of pink hair, “Could you… P-Please?”

“No.” Came the brisk reply from the mare in the corner of the room.

Seated upon a plain rather Spartan styled bed, the pink mare appeared quite content to sit cross legged with her back fully arching, staring at the wall as she did so.

“I noticed the moment you walked in that something was funny about you. Not the kind of ha-ha funny, but… Funny as in something isn't quite right about you. I think you are liar. Just like the rest of them. A big meanie that picks on poor defenseless ponies like me. Maybe you should be the one in the straight jacket and not me? Maybe you’re the criminal here.”

Opening her mouth to retort against the rather personal assault. Instead, Fluttershy restrained herself and relapsed into a professional tone and expression.

“I just want to help you, Pinkie. I want to make you better—we all want to make you better.”

“Then you can start by shutting your pie-hole and start answering my questions silly filly! Then maybe—juuuuuust maybe I will answer yours, okie? I super, duper promise…”

The pink colored mare twisted her body, the straight jacket groaning in protest with the sudden movement of her turning frame as she glared a wide, manic sapphire eye over her shoulder at the yellow pegasi between a crack in her dead straight pink hair.

“Slit your throat, hope to die… Stick a cupcake, in, your, eye…?” She grinned manically, and then giggled merrily, “And no one… And I mean no one breaks, a Pinkie Promise... Ever.”

Author's Note

Re-edited on 09/06/2014 for corrections and added content.