Chaotic Emergence

by Gambit Prawn

Rating: teen
Tags: Original Character, Discord, Sex, Human, Drama, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Romance
Length: 109407

No one was prepared when Discord started transforming a "lucky" minority of humans into Earth's first ponies. While some were poised to ward off humanity's greatest crisis, others were forced to take their destinies into their own shiny new hooves

What do an aristocrat's daughter, a socially awkward young American, and a recently-divorced Catalan bartender have in common? Thanks to a fickle draconequus, they're all now ponies.

With humanity as his dartboard, Discord's game of pin the tail on the pony can target anyone, with little regard to circumstance or former gender.

And with government suppression of the newly transformed ponies pressuring them on one end, and a shadow war between the mafia and an unknown alien threat on the other, it will take everything they have just to survive. And if they're particularly unlucky, they may just learn something about friendship.

Part of the Chaotic Touch of Harmony Universe: http://www.fimfiction.net/group/205332

Written with permission from but not necessarily endorsed by the original author, Law Abiding Pony

Published 2014-12-11 09:40:05 UTC
Last updated 2017-08-09 08:05:57 UTC

2: Isolation

“That was absolutely exhausting,” said Amanda, stretching. The dark-skinned Brit gave a yawn and held the door open for her friends to join her in the lobby of the discount hotel. “I get that you don’t like the showiness of the private jet, but couldn’t you have at least brought your chauffeur along to spare us the cross-country drive?”

“Oh yes, that would have been lovely: three beautiful, intelligent Oxford girls on vacation with that vulture-faced curmudgeon following us everywhere we go. It’s not like that would kill the mood at all, ” the tallest of the group, Becky, quipped. “Although if he were around at Disneyland, he might have made Lynne’s expressions in those on-ride photos look tame. Seriously, what was up with that?” she asked, turning to the third girl. “You practically looked like you were in pain half the time. It really narrowed down my choices for a good souvenir picture.”

“It was my first time on some of the rougher rides. And the seats were… uncomfortable,” Lynne lied. As she nervously recited her prepared excuse, she unconsciously reconfirmed the unnatural bulge at the back of the jeans as well as the sensitivity of the bluish horse ears on her head. Catching herself, she changed the subject back, “I’m terribly sorry that I had to burden the two of you with the driving. If I could have helped, I would have gladly done so.”

“No worries,” Becky assured her. “At first I really thought you were kidding when you told us your parents don’t trust you to drive on your own—that's ridiculous of them. But we managed, right, Amanda?”

“Barely," she grumbled. "Between the full-day of theme-parking and driving hundreds of miles to cross the border, I’m ready to fall asleep where I stand. Let’s just check-in and hit the sack already. Perhaps the princess here can order us some room service as well. I’m famished.”

“Please don’t call me that,” Lynne said resignedly. “I asked Arthur to book us under his name; I don’t want any special treatment.”

“What’s wrong with a little luxury?” Amanda started to ask, but she stopped upon noticing Becky’s frantic nonverbal pleading. After checking in, The three barely spoke as they shuffled up the stairs and found their second story room. Amanda swiped the card and the trio entered a modestly furnished suite with two queen beds.

Becky wasted no time in plopping down on the bed and basking in the freshness of the sheets. “As eager as I am to drive several more hours to the interesting parts of Spain, I’d like to call a vote for sleeping in tomorrow,” she said. “All in favor?” The three women all raised their hands. “The ayes have it. The motion carries. Goodnight.” She was almost out before finishing the word.

“I just remembered: Lynne, do you have those hair clips I lent you?” Amanda asked. “I never saw you using them.”

“I’m sorry. I… lost them.”

“That’s too bad. I rather liked those. Oh well, I suppose I owe you for footing the bill for room and board. Would you like the first shower?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Lynne gathered her toiletries and locked the door behind her. She nervously checked for any observers, however unlikely, before loosening her jeans to reveal a deep-blue tail secured around her waist with Amanda’s faux-glitter hairclips. She could practically feel its jubilation as it was finally unbound and allowed to drop down to its full length. Staring into the mirror, she saw the same fair-skinned blonde she expected. She then watched herself remove the black plastic headband that apparently secured the horse ears on her head. However, the colorful additions remained even as the headband was pulled free.

I can’t believe that worked. I somehow tricked them into thinking this was merchandise. But I really don’t think I can hide this any longer.

What am I doing? This is serious. People don’t just start growing tails out of nowhere.

But my parents….

Lynne could picture it all too readily: She would be quarantined in her room. The best doctors would be flown in from around the world to give her twenty-four four care, scrutinizing her every sneeze. And if she did recover, she probably would never be allowed outside again without Arthur or one of the other butlers dogging her footsteps.

Today was a great day. I cannot ruin it now. I just have to hope this will clear up tonight. If not, I just hope my parents won’t blame my friends for this.

After showering, she put on some loose pajamas that her tail hopefully wouldn’t mind much and let Amanda have her turn.

"You're still wearing those?" Amanda asked with a skeptical look, pointing to the ears.

"I... I guess I don't want the magic to end quite yet. This was a wonderful day."

"A bit strange, but all right. They really are well-made though. It feels like I'm petting my dog," Amanda said while scratching Lynne behind her new ears. Lynne closed her eyes contentedly and was disappointed when Amanda stopped to take her turn in the shower.

With a sigh, she slipped into the bed unoccupied by Becky. She had protested the point at first, but she was secretly grateful that they allowed her her own bed. Unlike her friends, she lacked the experience gained from sleepovers and always feared stepping over some unseen line when bunking with others. What if I snore and nobody’s telling me. What if I talk in my sleep? were typical thoughts. Tonight, however, Lynne could only repeat a silent prayer that everything would be righted in the morning.

Lynne groggily shook herself awake while squinting at the late-morning light pouring in through the curtains. She attempted to get up but found that her feet were asleep. Instead, she tried to push up with her arms, but they too refused to comply as if handcuffed together. Perplexed, she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes with a hard fist and looked for the problem. Lynne was by no means petite, but the outline of her body under the covers now failed to fill out even half the length of the bed. Suspending her concerns temporarily, she struggled to get out of the covers with her legs seemingly locked as well.

Oddly enough, she was looking out of the neck hole of her pajama top despite her arms properly filling out the sleeves. As a prelude to panic, she flailed about with increased desperation to get free. She soon succeeded and poked her head out from under the covers. She started to take a deep breath, but the sight of her reflection transformed it into a muffled yelp. In the metal base of the bedside lamp, a warped cyan muzzle stared back at her with engorged baby blue eyes.

The last of her drowsiness faded as she tried and failed to fool the unicorn that insisted on imitating her movements. The game of denial lasted until it too stuck its tongue. Lynne couldn’t help but give a high-pitched gasp as the heavy implications entered along with the blood rushing to her head. In the span of a second, she saw herself trapped for the rest of the days in a gold-plated stable, spending her time munching on the finest grade hay with only a stud of perfect pedigree for company.

“Lynne, keep it down,” Becky moaned. “It’s not even noon yet.” The panicking mare quietly stumbled out of bed and crawled over to the mirror while tripping over her clothes. The same blue-maned cyan unicorn stared back at her with only the distortion from before missing.

I have to get out of here. She thought. I can't be seen like this.

Forgetting that she didn’t even know how to walk on hooves, she tried to stand only to fall from half of her new standing height. With hesitation, she realized her clothes had to go and spent several minutes tossing, turning and even tearing them to get free. Once on her feet, she tried to remember how her racehorse, Auburn, used to move, and her imitation was good enough to get her to the door. She took the doorknob in her teeth and opened it while thanking the heavens that none of them had thought to put the chain lock in place.

She hobbled into the hallway and found that the elevator was fortunately only a few meters away. Forgetting the horn, she needed a few attempts to push the down button with the edge of a forehoof. She gave a short hop of fright as approaching voices alerted her that she was in full-view of the stairs. This gave her enough warning to crouch behind a potted plant that was just a bit too small to conceal her completely. A handsome man passed her while conversing with his wife in rapid Spanish. She struggled to get a word in as she followed, leading a girl of about three by hand. The child passed right by Lynne, stared her directly in the eye and took on an expression of sheer wonder.

“Mira! Mira!” The child exclaimed to Lynne’s horror. Unsure if she should run, she just froze and watched them. Each tug on the mother’s arm was like a gong strike that sent fear reverberating through the pony. The mother continued to force her daughter along, but she, for her part, was insistent, “Unha poldra! Unha poldra!”

This was it. Any second the mother would turn, and she would be exposed. She would end up as an international headline just as her parents had always feared. The girl jabbed a finger at her over and over again, and the gait of the trio seemed to slow as if the white tile floor had suddenly turned to snow. Was she imagining it, or were they about to acknowledge their daughter?

The mother stopped and crooked her head inattentively to the side, glancing at a watercolor painting of a large horse grazing. “Si, nena, é fermosa,” she remarked before moving to rejoin her husband. Annoyed, the girl kept pointing and shouting, but her parents soon dragged her around the corner.

She blinked and relief rushed through her, her hooves thawing out as the heart-stopping chill passed. Double-checking her surroundings, Lynne noticed the elevator doors behind her starting to close. She had not even heard it arrive. She clumsily threw a hoof in between the doors, which pinched her foreleg before reluctantly reopening for her. Only when she was inside with the doors closed did she have second thoughts.

This is crazy. I don't have anywhere to run. I’d rather not my friends see me like this, but I suppose they can help me better than someone I don’t know.

The doors opened on the lobby. Either the man that entered was the largest Lynne had ever seen or she had shrunk much more than previously thought. He stood next to her, talking on the phone in American English without once glancing down at the unicorn alongside him. There was a chance he would not spot her, and she considered going back to the room to face the music. However, standing next to a creature twice her size while already rattled from a moment ago triggered something in Lynne. She scurried out of the elevator despite her internal debate leaning towards staying. Her course fueled by her building panic, she bolted through the deserted lobby and out the front door.

As instinct threw her into a full gallop, she perseverated on all the bad things that could come with being discovered. She darted between cover and out of sight of any passing cars or pedestrians. Every noise was after her and would cause her to change direction. In no time at all, she found herself far away from the small patch of civilization the hotel occupied and completely lost. She fell to the ground, panting. Her endurance had improved in this form, but it was much less than she would have expected.

What do I do now? Do I wait for help? That’s no good; nobody knows what I look like now. Can I try to get back? She looked around, but every direction now looked the same. There wasn't even a road to be seen. Well, is there not a way to navigate with the sun? She thought hard on it. She was convinced she had heard it at some point, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember. This is exactly what Becky would make fun of me for. I can’t say she’s wrong. I… I guess I really am helpless on my own.

Should I just pick a direction? Maybe I can find someone who can give me directions back. It will be embarrassing, but I don’t know what else to do. After some deliberation, the last option proved to be best, and she began walking north. Hours passed, and the temptation to switch direction was strong. She was thirsty and really needed to find something soon.

She spotted a small hare running along the open plain. He was surprisingly unbothered by Lynne's presence, and hopped right next to her in its relentless search of food. “Hello, little bunny. I'm a little lost. I don’t suppose you can point me to the nearest settlement, could you? It would really help me out.” It blinked at her and nibbled at the seed it had just found. So much for that. I guess there really isn’t a secret language all animals share. It suddenly perked up, and Lynne watched it scurry away. "Please come back," she pleaded, missing its company already. Following a quick decision to change course, she dashed after it and managed to close in on it.

With zero warning whatsoever, a small hawk swooped down, dug its talons into the hare, finished it off and began to devour its meal. Raising its bloody beak, the sparrow hawk stared straight at Lynne, pushing the unicorn's panic button once more and sending her galloping away. Emboldened by the reminder that she was now a colorful prey animal in the wilderness, she pushed her new body to its. It still felt unreal moving on four legs, but she settled into a steady rhythm by imitating Auburn. To Lynne, a wolf or bear was now behind every bush. She lost track of all time and just kept running.

After making it through a thin forest, her endurance once more faltered, and she paused to catch her breath beside a stalk of corn. Realization dawned on her, and she slowly raised her head. It was an entire corn field, stretching on as far as she could see. The ripening crop was a gorgeous hue of green that filled Lynne with awe. She trotted across the enormous expanse, feeling constrained as she squeezed in between the rows. The towering plants served even more to emphasize how tiny she now was. It was now early afternoon, and the shade they provided was much appreciated. As she traveled, her pony nose granted her all sorts of new sensation: she could make out the distinct scent of ripe corn juxtaposed with the noxious odor of pesticide. She was starting to get hungry before, but the sting of chemicals in the back of her throat killed the temptation to steal a snack. Wading through, she eventually came out on the other side and could now see a dirt road. This alone was a major victory, but then she spotted the pickup truck slowly moving towards her. Her eyes lit up as she realized what this meant, and she sped towards the road to get the driver’s attention.

The truck was a light blue, in serious need of a new coat of paint and hitched to a livestock trailer. This fact was even better news for Lynne. Farmers love animals. I’m sure they’ll understand. She was saved the need to figure out how to wave with hooves as the truck slowed of its own accord and two raggedly dressed, well-built men exited. Their practical clothes gave the impression of ranch-hands, and their callused hands reinforced this. One had a face that suggested he was even younger than Lynne, and the other was easily fifteen years older—although Lynne wondered if it was his chewing tobacco that prematurely aged him. They eyed her curiously until Lynne made the first move.

“Hello. Please don’t panic. I know I’m a rather strange sight right now, but I can explain.” The two simply glanced each other, exchanging a silent agreement. “I..I really can talk, but I can explain... I can explain everything.” The men slowly spread out from one another, but Lynne continued her plea, “Can you understand me? If so, can you take me to the nearest town?” The older of the two men crouched and approached her. Lynne’s ears drooped, and she started to pull away, but her need for aid overrode her unease. “Can you help me? Please?” The man said nothing but instead gently stroked Lynne’s mane. At first, she felt violated by the unfamiliar touch, but a relaxing calm soon took over and edged out that misgiving. The massage felt like a gentle waterfall against the back of her neck, washing Lynne’s concerns away. She briefly closed her eyes and almost forgot why she had hailed the truck in the first place.

Without making a sound, the strong teen snuck up behind her and heaved her up with little effort. Lynne gave a gasp as she snapped out of her petting-induced trance. Her eyes sprung open, and the first man was now tying a bandana tightly around her muzzle. She squirmed, kicking out in a bid for freedom. She then remembered her horn and tried to poke the tobacco-chewing man in front of her, however, he had foreseen this and kept his shoulder pressed firmly against the cyan horn, denying her any distance for building momentum. With the gag secured, the pair carried her to the trailer and tossed her in beside a common cow before locking them in.

Her first thought was that of indignity. Unbelievable! Did they not care that I could speak? It’s one thing if they don’t speak English, but I was still speaking to them. But… is that what they heard? I hear myself speaking, but could they just be hearing neighing? Do they just think I’m just an odd, friendly little horse? But then why did they gag me? Her eyes welled up with tears. That means they just don’t care. They don't care that I can talk and think.

I’m suddenly less of a person just because I look like this?

Her damp eyes fell on the brand of the docile cow mooing dumbly next to her. Am I just exotic livestock now? Will I get one of those too? She cringed at the imagined branding sensation and looked at her own flank. To her horror, there seemed to be an oddly textured patch of fur reserved just for that. Lynne sunk to the floor at this revelation and started sobbing as the trailer rattled along.

She didn’t even register it when the shaking soon came to a stop. The door flung open suddenly, and startled, Lynne gave only token resistance as they fixed her with a makeshift chain collar. She seethed internally at being collared and led around like a dog and dragged her feet all the way to the stable. The party paused for the kidnappers to converse with an unseen third man inside. They chattered in incomprehensible Spanish; Lynne couldn’t even catch the simplest of words. She felt a tug and was forced into the stable, a dilapidated structure that wouldn't be passing any sort of inspection

While they finished talking, she planted her feet, stubbornly refusing to move. Her handler gave a few suffocating tugs before he gave up and just wrapped his arms around her barrel to carry her in front of him with her back to his chest. Once again, Lynne’s horn was regretfully out of poking range. He’s cradling me like a baby. Am I really that light, or is he that strong? The new man took a step closer and looked her over thoroughly, mentally appraising her worth. Wait... I lost my clothes in the hotel room. That means… he can see… She was dizzy from embarrassment. Her train of thought had crashed completely, and she let herself be carried in a daze. When she had recovered, her handler was saying something snide, and the man that was apparently the leader started to open the door.

Abruptly, the man with the chewing tobacco shouted something from across the stable, and all three of them turned their heads. He gestured to his forehead and moved curled fingers around an invisible horn before pointing towards his eye. They exchanged a few more words before the man at the stable’s entrance tossed the other two a roll of duct tape from a tool rack. The one with hands to spare took it and wrapped Lynne’s horn in a cocoon of tape. It was a strange sensation—restricting but somewhat snug at the same time. The youth holding her then flipped her right-side up, allowing her a first glimpse of the stall’s lone inhabitant.

A maroon unicorn with a slim build nearly identical to Lynne’s own was sprawled out the back of the stall. Her mane and tail consisted of stripes of bright, primary shades of red and yellow, but any beauty to be had was marred by thick clumps of dirt. Lynne was happy to see another like her, and seeing the state she was in tore her up.

The ringleader shouted at her and urged the mare forward. Her ears twitched, but she just rolled onto her side in reply. The rancher repeated his request at double volume and punctuated it by bouncing an empty can of beer off of her head. At first, she gave no response, but the mare’s eyes then shot wide open and bulged into a death glare. Accentuated by her firmly clenched jaw, it was as if she were trying to will the man’s head to explode. A single orange spark dropped from the tip of her horn but fizzled out long before it hit the ground. So she settled for spitting out profanities with such venom that her intent broke through both the language barrier and the sweet quality of her voice. A firm tug on a rope cut off her swearing. Pulling her over, the leader of the trio taped her horn as well in order to bury the point beneath several layers of adhesive. He then gagged the second mare as they had done to Lynne. The transformed young woman was ushered inside and the door was shut on them both.

Upon entering, Lynne’s nostrils were bombarded by an overpowering odor that she couldn't quite place. Why do I feel like I know this scent? I vaguely associate it with horse breeding, but it was never so strong. Perhaps they just haven’t bathed her? My nose is stronger now after all.

Lynne's kidnappers re-entered, leading the cow that had ridden with Lynne to the stall directly across from them. The common cow gets her own space while we are squeezed in here together? Unbelievable. Once they had left, she took a long drink of water from a dish and began planning. She first needed to get the gag off. If she could at least try to communicate with the unicorn, perhaps they could work out a plan together. Undoing the knot would be difficult without fingers, but Lynne craned her head down to try to get at the it. Unfortunately, her forelimbs no longer had the dexterity to even access the knot. Wait. There are two of us. Lynne realized. We can undo each other's gag. She immediately closed the single-stride distance to the other mare and attempted to find a place on her knot to wedge a hoof. Her cellmate lazily looked up at her and just shook her head. What do you mean? We have to escape. We can remove each other’s gags and we work out a plan. Lynne tried her best to project her thoughts onto the maroon unicorn, but hooves were extremely limited in their ability to gesture. Her counterpart showed no interest and walked a few paces away before slumping onto the dirt once more.

Should I try undoing it anyway? I don't want her angry at me, but what else can I do. Lynne sat in indecision for a short while before deciding to respect the other mare’s wishes. With her idea frustrated, she had nothing to do but ruminate on what a miserable situation she was in—lost, captive and in a body not her own. If she was going to be treated like a pet, she’d have been better off as a pampered pet. Maybe I should have just let my parents protect me. They give me one chance to be on my own, and I land myself in the worst possible situation.

She heard something drop.

Turning around to look for the source, she was flabbergasted to see a mail slot in the stable wall. Was that there before? And what do horses need with the postal service? she asked herself. However, the thick but colorful magazine before her was even more puzzling.

Unicorn Magic for Artisans and Craftsponies Volume 1

Enchantments

Arrays

Practical Technique

The cover featured all sorts of glowing jewelry, but the sidebar refused to be ignored.

With a special guest article by Rarity, the Element of Generosity.

How excellent must your P.R. be to be known as the Element of Generosity? I don’t think Mother Teresa herself could get such a flattering epithet these days.

Lynne attempted to flick it open with her hooves but only succeeded in flipping the magazine over on its back, where there was a seductively winking pink-maned unicorn presenting a bottle of perfume.

Recapture the spark of discovering the ponies dearest to you.

After a few more attempts succeeding only in flipping it back and forth, Lynne finally succeeded in flicking the mysterious magazine open with an awkwardly taped corner of her horn.

Practical Needlework with Fine Thread Part 1:

A lot of my apprentices are appalled when I want to cover levitation first. “We’re not foals!” they would say, and I’m sure you didn’t seek the instruction of one of Equestria’s greatest embroiderers only for him to treat you like you don’t know anything, but hear me out: You're probably among the majority of unicorns that never even need instruction in levitation; most can figure it out with a few tips from their parents or relatives. With this framework, most gain an intuition for control over time, and that serves them well for the rest of their lives. However, manipulating a thin needle with precision on the order of one and nine-tenths of a millimeter is outside the demands everyday life places on a unicorn's magic. So, young journeymare, you must be willing to unlearn what you have learned.

As such, I will teach levitation from the top, with an emphasis on fine magic control. It may seem tedious at first, but many of my students have remarked that they feel much less tired after a day of heavy magic use after applying these lessons. Everypony has heard the “30% of all mana is wasted” statistic a million times, but I’ll show you how you can cut that in half while increasing your control.

Equestria? Magic? Everypony? There’s an entire land full of unicorns somewhere? Will I be able to do magic too? It sounds like something that is learned from early childhood. Not to mention, I'm not actually a unicorn.

However, her reading was interrupted by the stable door swinging open. Lynne hurriedly kicked the book under a pile of straw as the man with the chewing tobacco approached them and removed the gag of the Maroon mare. He gestured to Lynne to approach for hers to be taken off, and she complied. She gave a sigh of relief before speaking, “Why are you doing to us!? We’re not animals! We’re human beings and we have rights. My father knows I'm missing, and when he…” Lynne’s jaw was forced shut by the man’s tight grip. He shushed her and waved the gag in front of her face.

“Callaos,” he barked at the ponies before walking off. To be safe, Lynne waited several minutes before seizing her chance to finally communicate with the maroon pony.

“Hello. Um… Miss Unicorn?”

No response.

“I… I uh… really like your mane. The colors are really pretty.”

She seemed to give a slight wince in response but otherwise ignored Lynne's weak icebreaker.

I suppose I shouldn’t expect her to speak English. Maybe I should try Spanish. “Hola, Señorita Unicorna. Me llamo es Lynne y no sé dondé soy. ¿Tú sabes?

The other mare jolted awake and visibly cringed. “What the hell was that?” she growled in a tone completely unbecoming her cute, little voice.

Lynne flinched back at the rebuke. “I’m sorry. I thought you didn’t speak English. I learned some Spanish words from a friend back at university, so I just thought I’d try to speak to you in your own language.”

The unicorn glared at her, pressing her muzzle against Lynne's in a sudden flash of rage. “Castilian is not my language,” she roared.

Lynne’s ears drooped, and she instinctively lowered her head in submission. Did I say something wrong? Is she actually from this ‘Equestria’, and I just assumed she was like me?

“I’m sorry, miss, I had just thought you were like me. This may be hard to believe, but I used to be a normal human girl like them—well, not like them. I wasn’t mean like them. I get it if you don’t trust me for that reason, but if we work together, I can help you get home to Equestria."

“You think I used to be like this? You think you turn into a unicorn and get captured and end up next to a different unicorn from another world and they speak Castilian and English by chance? That’s just stupid.”

Lynne wilted even more from her criticism. She's really rude, but we need to work together to get out. Let’s see if I can change the subject.

“Well, you can understand their… Castilian? Right? You know what they’ve been saying? What they’re planning?”

“You confuse Basque for Castilian? They are nothing alike. Do you know nothing of nothing?”

“But do you understand it?”

She scoffed at the question. “The devil himself can’t learn it. What makes you think that I can? You think that I can understand it with this magic horn? If this damned thing worked, do you think I'd still be here?”

Lynne had had enough of her attitude. “Look: we’re in a similar position, and I thought we could work together to escape. I tried to be patient, but then you had to be a complete bitch about everything.” Lynne nearly stuttered over the derogatory term, but the other mare’s ears drooped all the same. "Let me know when you've adjusted your attitude." With that, Lynne huffed and turned away to retrieve her hidden magazine. It took more than twenty minutes to navigate to the page she was reading before, but she was determined. I don’t need her. I’ll learn magic and get out of here on my own.

Several hours slowly passed as Lynne read and reread the guide for fine-control in levitation. If I really can do magic, I only need to learn enough to undo the latch. The lesson says I can practice on any everyday object, so undoing the latch shouldn't be hard. It says I need to calmly look inward and visualize my mana, but what does that even mean? I’m calm like it says. She took a couple of deep breaths and did her best to clear her mind, yet she couldn’t help but replay her clash with the other unicorn. It’s her fault I can’t concentrate on this. Why was she so nasty?

After one last fruitless attempt, she decided to skip visualizing the mana and any remaining steps involving it and went straight to attempting to grip a tiny pebble in her telekinetic grip. However, without understanding the first critical step, her efforts amounted to nothing more than tensing her facial muscles in an attempt to imitate the psychics she had seen on TV.

She only gave up when it became too dark to read. To her surprise, her cellmate had a book too, which she closed with her horn and set to the side. Lynne considered asking about it, but she didn’t want to get snapped at again. An hour later, their captors showed up briefly to fill the trough with oats and refill their water—which Lynne had significantly depleted on arrival—without a word exchanged from either party. Lynne refused the offering of oats on principle, while the other pony ate only a couple mouthfuls before starting to mope again. She really did look pathetic with her limbs sprawled out and her tangled, dirty mane draped over her eyes. In spite of herself, sympathy stirred within Lynne. She hadn’t even been a unicorn for half a day, but she nonetheless she still felt some attachment to the other mare. Weren’t we supposed to be angry at one another?

Despite her late-rising, Lynne felt incredibly tired. She searched the ground for a comfy spot to lie down before settling on the straw pile where she had hidden the trade magazine. She had managed to fall asleep for a brief time before the cow across from them decided to give a loud moo. Rudely awakened, Lynne tried to doze off again, but her short nap had revealed her makeshift pillow to be much less comfortable than she had first found it. She saw the maroon unicorn was already sound asleep. The moonlight coming through the ceiling made her coat shine as if calling out to Lynne.

Her fur really does look comfortable. Shame I can't take advantage of my own. Lynne thought. I don't know. She’ll probably be furious when she wakes up. The cow mooed again. Though it really does seem soft. After a rough day Lynne couldn't the resist temptation. She probably took the best spot anyway. This is the least she can do for me. And with that, Lynne curled up against her irritable fellow pony and fell soundly asleep.

What the hell am I doing? Taylor thought as it occurred to him that he was voluntarily following an extremely shady-looking man through an obviously bad part of town. The Euros in his pocket represented his entire savings, and he was basically begging to be mugged. €1,826 from $2,600. They charged me quite a bit for exchanging, or did they? When Larry went to Acapulco it hardly cost him anything. He went waterskiing. I wonder who came up with that? Planks on the water. What if no one ever came up with it and it was just planted in our minds—like that Asimov story where jokes are all planted by aliens. What was that one character’s name? Samantha? Susan something? Suzanne? Sue’s Anne? How would that work?

Taylor then realized what he was doing and shook himself awake. It was a pattern that he had been fighting for the past couple of hours: his thoughts would slowly transition to work on dream logic, with a fixation on nonsensical things, and he would doze off for a short while. I can’t believe tt can happen while I’m walking even. If it weren’t for this damned thing growing out of my rear, or if Nursezilla had given me a fucking break, I could be peacefully sleeping instead of potentially walking to my death. It’s weird. I fully recognize the danger, but my need for sleep overpowers it? This is practically suicide—or at least a nice payday for the local mafia. They have a hand in everything around here. And like the genius I am, I thought it'd be fun to see Sicily—their frickin' homeland.

However, Taylor could only trust his judgment from several hours ago, when he could hold a thought for more than three seconds. If he were to finish transforming, his life would be essentially over anyway. This was his best chance. If he removed the root of the changes, maybe he would go back to normal. A strange feeling started near his stomach and reaffirmed this questionable decision. I have to hurry. If the changes stop but don’t reverse, I’ll be in a really bad spot if I end up with the wrong digestive system.

“We’re here,” his guide said with a thick Sicilian accent. Surprisingly, their destination actually was an actual clinic as opposed to a cliché crime outlet, such as an abandoned warehouse. It seemed like a bold move to perform unlicensed medical procedures in such an obvious location. I suppose to hide a forest…

He was led to a back-room where the surgeon was already waiting for him. Surprisingly, both the surgeon and the operating table were much like their lawful counterparts—if a little low-budget. It wouldn't have surprised Taylor if this doctor had a legal job as well and was here to pay off the third Ferrari or something. “So, you have an interesting problem for us?” the scrubs-dressed surgeon asked.

“Yes, a wealthy friend of mine offered me a million dollars to undergo an interesting bit of cosmetic surgery on a dare,” Taylor said, following his mental script. Afraid to even look at the offending appendage for fear of validating its existence, he turned his back on the man and reached into his jeans to pull out a full-length horse’s tail. He presented it to the doctor, who easily saw how functional it was in both articulation and reflex. Taylor’s cover story was immediately sunk, but it was none of his business. “It was really stupid, but I can’t let my parents find out. Please, can you remove it? I don’t care how you do it. I just want it gone,” Taylor said, somewhat calmed by the end of the tail's constriction. He had not let it free once since discovering its existence the day before.

“You brought the cash?”

“Yes,” said Taylor, forking it over. The surgeon quickly flipped through the stack.

“This isn’t nearly enough.”

That’s absurd! Taylor thought, and he moved to object.

“Now, now, it’s okay if you don’t have it all now", Taylor's contact said, smirking. "We have a variety of payment plans available.” Taylor didn’t like the sound of that at all, but inertia overrode his fear.

“Lie face-down on the operating table,” the black market surgeon instructed. Taylor complied.

“So when are you going to put me under?”

“What do you mean?” asked the man in scrubs.

“You know? Painkillers? Anesthesia?”

“Good one.”

Taylor’s guide strapped him firmly to the table, and the doctor wielded what looked like hedge clippers.

“Now this might hurt a bit.”

Author's Note

If it even needs to be said, I welcome any and all feedback. I only recently stopped lurking on this site, so I'm eager to learn from my mistakes.

3: Intuition

Oikogéneia was a perfectly legitimate business. Squeezed in between a pet-grooming service and a café, the small, two-story restaurant proved invisible to anyone not looking for it. To locals, however, the hand-painted sign above the eatery more than delivered on its promise of “authentic Greek flavor”. Housing no more than a dozen tables, the interior radiated a homely atmosphere. The imported Greek chefs working in full-view of the customers and photos of sponsored local charity events—an excellent excuse to forgo expensive décor—combined to give it a close-knit feel, making it an ideal place to forge and temper friendships and business partnerships alike.

Despite the late hour, the tables were filled to capacity, and lively chatter filled the limited dining space. Nonetheless, when the door slowly opened to a barely-audible chiming, half of the restaurant shouted greetings at the delivery man, a familiar sight to most regulars. The portly, well-dressed fellow shifted his delivery bags to one arm as he leisurely began making his way to the kitchen, stopping to shake hands with some of the patrons and occasionally exchange snippets of small-talk. When he finished wading through the friendly crowd, he hung his hat on an empty hook, dropped off his bags and began making his way upstairs. He knocked once at the manager’s door, mostly as a formality, and waited only the briefest of moments before beginning to open the heavy door.

“I don’t know about that. We’re traditionalists," came a voice from behind the door. "Sure there's religious undertones in some of our language and our rituals, but I shouldn't have to explain that our family businesses aren't exactly among the most pious lines of work."

The delivery man entered, revealing the speaker to be slimly-built young man with jet-black hair, olive-colored skin and a perfectly pressed suit that practically screamed its considerable price-tag. The youth nodded in acknowledgement and gestured for the other man to take the seat in front of the sturdy, oak desk.

These are always fun to overhear. The delivery man thought to himself with an internal chuckle.

“Look, Raimondo just came in with the handmade shoes I've been waiting on."

"No, it's not more important than you, but you do want me to look best for our wedding, right? It'd be a tragedy if I didn't try them on first and the shoes clashed with my tux on the big day".

"I’ll talk to you all you want about aliens and religion later.”

As he said this, the manager made eye contact with Raimondo and flipped his palms face-up while pointing the fingers of both hands upwards, creating two miniature walls before hiding his face behind them in anguish. Raimondo gave a nod of sympathy at the incredulous gesture.

If only a barricade against that woman's air-headed ramblings were that easy to come by. He mused to himself

“Yes, you’ve made that point several times. Now I have to go.”

“Yes, I love you too,” he finished, slamming the phone down to decisively smother any lingering embers of conversation.

The force of the action hung in the air for several awkward seconds.

“Trouble in paradise I presume?” Raimondo finally asked.

The man behind the desk didn't respond at first, instead taking a moment to regain his wits after ninety minutes of grating, mostly one-sided conversation. “It really is unbelievable,” he finally said with a sigh. “She’s always been the type to blather on about whatever captures her fancy, but now her interests have taken a strange turn—aliens, religion and power dynamics.”

“Maybe she’s legitimately broadening her horizons?" Raimondo suggested. "Most people who have just taken an interest in the so-called bigger questions can be insufferable at first, preaching stone-age philosophy as great revelations about the human condition. It really was hard not to say anything during that phase of your teens, you know?"

“Can you please let me live that one down already?" the other man begged, his voice betraying a twinge of embarrassment. "In any case, I doubt that’s it. Her hypotheticals are just too disturbingly specific. She asked me where humanity would stand if some species—alien perhaps—were to knock us down a notch on the food chain. ‘Would that make them gods?’ she asks. This is the daughter of a man who took being singled out for excommunication as a badge of honor, and now she's suddenly entranced by religion? I just don't buy it. I know her, Raimondo. I doubt she's had an original thought in her life. Hypothetical questions like this are basically a direct-line to her mind.”

“And that’s why you think she’s been—replaced is it?”

“No, not quite. There’s no way anyone can impersonate her so perfectly. After all, she maintains the 'endearing' quality of bringing up things I had long-forgotten for emotional blackmail. It’s like it’s still her but someone else is lurking behind the veneer of her personality.”

“I can sort of understand where you’re going with this. If something has gotten to her, you think the same force is pulling the strings behind the unification of crime factions?” Raimondo asked, falling into his customary role as the young successor's favorite sounding board.

The manager stood up and let his gaze fall to the floor. “Raimondo, I get it. Just tell me I’m crazy. I don’t believe half the things that come out of my own mouth these days about this phantom force in the background. Before, I would at most suspect that her sudden insistence on meeting me alone is a transparent kidnapping or assassination attempt. I really am trying to ground my imagination in the face of all this weirdness, but so much doesn’t make sense otherwise. And given what Giovanni saw, even mind control doesn't seem so impossible. And if nothing is impossible anymore, I look at tonight and start to see dime-store conspiracy theories and I can't rule out complete nonsense and everything..."

Raimondo walked behind the desk to put a hand on the shoulder of the Don's son. “I get it. We’re all a little jumpy about tonight’s negotiations. Even without your nose for danger, this talk of a united syndicate is moving too fast for my liking. For what is being offered, I could maybe believe some of Cosa Loro's splinter factions rejoining the group, but we’ve been seeing bitter enemies suddenly jump in bed together. Hell, racial issues alone should exclude the few triad and yakuza factions on the island, but they’ve been accepted all the same.

"Simply put: I trust you, Mimmo," the middle-aged mafioso said, punctuating the sentiment with an affectionate diminutive. "But, it also helps that you hit an ace with your first crazy idea.” He pulled a manila envelope from his breast pocket and dropped it on the desk.

Young Domenico opened it and spread the photos out in front of him. They featured ponies of every color and tribe wearing utterly miserable expressions: five mares moped in an enclosure that was clearly built for two, restless from lack of exercise; a well-built, blue stallion grazed, his back to an electric fence; a white and pink pegasus struggled to stay a meter in the air, armed guards and a note-taking researcher surrounding her from every angle.

“Those 'shoes' set us back €10,000 apiece. You were right on all accounts, though—private security firms were contracted, a no-fly zone was declared and that whole structure went up in about a week on EU land. It appears there are thousands of these ‘ponies’ showing up all over the place, and the feds want to keep a lid on it.”

“Ponies?”

“That’s what our contact inside the concentration camp called them, and apparently it’s what they call themselves. He even tried to convince me that they were magical,” he said, finishing with a disarming laugh.

“So, were they really human before?”

“We don’t have direct confirmation on that point. The fiancée of the late Moon Young—may he burn in hell—is the only possible intermediary form we’ve ever seen. However, I’ve found more people to back the rumor you heard: the Pegasus that was allegedly being sold in L.A. does indeed seem to be Conrad Hannar, heir to a small crime family. Add that to the guard's claim of the camp going Hotel California on the few human arrivals, and, hell, you'd be crazy not to bet on the crazy pony theory.”

Domenico couldn’t tear his eyes from the photos. These were clearly miniature equines—hundreds of them—but their expressions were unsettlingly human. Raimondo’s confirmation was unneeded—their oversized eyes spoke of intelligence and misery.

“Do you think it’s contagious?” Raimondo asked

The front manager shook his head. “I doubt it. The researchers aren’t wearing any protective equipment in these photos, and if it could spread through the air we’d probably all be pony people within a few months.”

“Shame we couldn’t have had Giovanni watch Moon for a bit longer. We could have seen if it spreads in… other ways,” Raimondo said with a grin, his index fingers side-by-side and pointing to the ground, with the others curled into a fist.

“Calling animal control on him would have been very satisfying,” Domenico said while giving his first smile of day. “While we're on the subject, did you learn anything else about those aggressive cultists?”

“Afraid not,” Raimondo said, shaking his head. “We’ve been able to raise our protection fees with all the hysteria they’ve been causing. It’s almost as if they’re filling the void in violence a crime alliance would leave."

This hitherto-unheard-of cult seems to have been very successful at recruiting from the stray groups that passed the alliance by. No, not just them—it has been very popular with opponents of the idea in general. Domenico thought. “Raimondo, hand me that family tree.”

“Whatever you say, Mimmo,” he said, removing a large, detailed diagram from the bulletin board.

The constantly updated diagram depicted all of the interconnections, rivalries and alliances between crime factions inside and outside of Italy, and understanding it had allowed its creator to dodge bloodshed and come out on top on with psychic intuition.

Domenico took a red pen in hand and found a small box near the bottom left representing Moon Young’s small but ruthless group. He mumbled to himself while tracing over the lines of alliance, coming upon Cosa Loro—The Reunited Mafia's centerpiece—almost immediately. He expanded the red web of ink along the solid lines and, after a moment of thought, traced over dotted lines of unstable neutrality as well. His eyes widened as the simple pattern confirmed almost everything.

It can't be...

Just by tracing perfectly mimicking the growth and expansion of the umbrella syndicate!

Northeastern....

Iai group...

There are no holdouts at all!

After a tense minute spent finishing the trace, Domenico let the pen fall out of his grasp at the sight of the final product. His own group, which he had earnestly placed in the center of the diagram, now found itself in a noose.

I've been a fool. This whole time, I had assumed that a third faction was responsible for the weirdness in the underworld. But if you ignore the inexplicable pony thing, the truth is obvious—the cultists are behind it. After all, Giovanni's observations give a mechanism in the form of that psychotropic gas. It's a crude model, but the spread looks just like what we were discussing just now. It's like a contagious virus.

I know that look. Raimondo thought. “I take it you have a plan?”

Domenico nodded. “Although the two seem on the surface to be at odds with each other, this fishy alliance may be related to the cultists after all.”

“You needn't say any more. What will you need?”

“Prepare gas masks for our entire party. I’ll be attending the negotiation as well."

"Will do."

A buzzing came from Raimondo’s jacket pocket, and he distractedly the text while mentally mapping out a to-do list. However, he came to a halt when the contents of the message sunk in.

“We’ve found one! One of my contacts in Alcamo has just informed me that an American with a horse tail checked into an underground clinic to have it removed.”

Domenico sprung up and pounded on the desk, scattering the photos. “Shit! Why now? We don't have a lot of time left! Raimondo, I don’t care how you do it: bring him to us. It could be a coincidence that the future Mrs. Moon ended up butchered by those cultists, but if the ponies are connected in any way, bringing one along may provoke them into making a mistake. It could be our trump card.”

"I know you probably don't need me to tell you this, but should we rush into this? I'll talk to your for you father if you want to call the whole thing off, wait for more information to surface."

"No, if I turn out to be right about this tinfoil hat nonsense, we don't have the luxury of waiting. I'll voice my misgivings to him in a way he can understand." Besides if am wrong about this, tonight could be the deal of his career.

Raimondo took the hint and immediately sent the invitation for Mimmo's last-minute guest.

To call the unlicensed operation the most painful experience of Taylor’s life would greatly undersell the unmitigated agony. It would still have held that distinction had it ended at merely cutting off the tail, but the act of tugging the bony stump free from him was nearly awful enough to cast alternative of life as a pony in a new light. He sat in the afterglow of the pain-triggered adrenaline, rubbing the bandaged incision near the base of his spine. The operation had left him feeling a sort of post-traumatic numbness, but there was a nugget of satisfaction building from within him.

I did it. He thought.

I beat this thing. The stomach pains from earlier have worn off, so it might have, just maybe, actually worked. Taylor beamed. The tail’s gone! Now all I need to do is shave the fur and come up with an excuse to hide these horse ears for the rest of my life, but that can wait until I have a good long nap.

To Taylor’s dismay, the ears had finished shifting into their inhuman shape at some point during the operation. Although he had shied away from his own reflection since the tail had started to come in, there was no denying the ears’ elongated, floppy feel nor their increasingly automatic movements. I can handle damage control when I’m out of the lion’s maw. Time to get out of here before my tired brain persuades me a criminal enterprise is a nice place for a nap.

Taylor grabbed his backpack but had to wait for his sleeping feet to recover before steadying himself and walking to the door. Halfway there, it opened, revealing the mustached guide from earlier. Time to face the music I guess; although I would have liked a few more seconds of celebration before reality kicks me in the nuts again.

“We have delivered what was agreed upon. As for the payment,” the guide said, pausing at the end to fish for the correct words in English.

“I’ll give you all that I have now as a down payment. I just need to call my parents and you’ll have the rest as soon as the banks open. Please,” Taylor pleaded, kneeling before the other, equally out of exhaustion and supplication.

“Actually, that is no longer in our hands. For you see, someone was very insistent in purchasing your debt.”

“Wha!? Who! Why?!” Taylor said dumbly.

“That would be me,” a third voice answered. Its owner, a man in his early thirties with somewhat long black hair, a suit of the same color and an orange tie stepped into the operating room. He held an unlit cigarette in his left hand and stroked a villainous mustache with the other. He approached Taylor and extended his free hand.

“I am Giovanni, your mysterious benefactor. I believe this is a lucky day for the both of us.”

“Look, I’m just a broke nobody on vacation,” Taylor began, immediately regretting the insinuation he couldn’t pay. “But I can get you your money I just…”

“Who said anything about wanting your money?” Giovanni asked with casual, sinister dismissal.

“Huh?” was all Taylor could manage as his stomach did a somersault between relief and horror in sorting out the implications.

“All I ask is for you do a little favor for me—nothing big. I’m paying an enormous premium for convenience. For you, it will basically be the easiest money you’ll ever see.” Taylor moved his mouth to speak, but Giovanni led him out of the room by his shoulder before he could begin. “Real easy. Let’s finish this discussion in private, okay?” With a nod to Taylor’s seller, Giovanni walked the American outside.

Upon reaching the mafioso’s sports car, Taylor was hit with a new sense of urgency as all his indoctrination against stranger danger reemerged. “You don’t want me. I’m terrible under pressure; I won’t be able to lie to anyone. I’m a liability. Just let me pay. I’m not cut out for doing anything illegal. I’ll never survive in prison!”

Giovanni gave an internal groan, resting his right forefinger just above his temple. Americans. “Would you stop being stupid already! This whole scared shitless of the Mafia thing is running thin here. We’re not going to smash your kneecaps in on a whim or any shit like that—we get nothing out of it. Hell, most businesses around here deal with us in some capacity, and you don’t see them pissing themselves in fear.” Taylor froze and stood dumbfounded for several seconds.

Seeing intimidation have the opposite effect to what was intended, Giovanni decided to revert to the slower approach. “I’m not lying: we really aren’t asking for a lot. We just need you to pose as a financial backer from America in a meeting to make us look better. We'll say you have a website—anyone can do that. Since you don’t know Italian, it'll be hard to mess this up. You're just a prop. So get in the damn car.”

“That’s…. I don’t know what to trust, and if…”

“I can always hand you back to them, and you can see what ‘payment’ they would have. And I assure you: they are not as nice as I am,” he finished, coating his previously perfect English with a thick accent.

Taylor reluctantly grunted his agreement and walked to the passenger side of the vehicle. I can’t believe I’m doing this. So it’s further down the rabbit-hole I go.

“Wrong side. You’re in Europe, kid.”

Dammit, I’m losing brain cells by the minute. He thought, slumping onto the proper passenger seat. Probably shouldn't sit like that with the stitches. Even in death, the damned tyrant rules my posture by decree. Well it doesn't matter now. Tail: one, Taylor: infinity. You lose; I win.

The drive itself passed fairly uneventfully. Taylor had to struggle to stay awake and ultimately lost that battle, completely wrecking his perception of time. For most of the drive, Giovanni's eyes were fixed firmly on the road, but at one stop, he took the opportunity to inspect his cargo. He batted the hood away to reveal a dark-colored pony ear and rolled up Taylor's sleeves to observe the fur starting to encroach on his forearm.

So those ears really were real. He thought, feeling the fur for himself. I’ve never doubted Domenico before, but even I thought he had gone nuts with this talk of ponies. What happened to Moon’s group is hard enough to believe, and I saw that with my own eyes. Still, there at least I had the gas to blame it on. These ponies, on the other hand, are popping up out of nowhere.

I'd better avoid getting any fur on me. Just in case.

Delvaux lounged on a posh couch in a luxury summer home in the mountains. As a missing world leader, he couldn’t exactly return to his own manor, but as substitutes went, it was more than satisfactory. He had Marcel by his side as a personal butler, a fully stocked wine cellar, and a fully-equipped personal spa/sauna. It was a hard sell, but the home's former owner was more than willing to turn it over for the good of the cause following a brief discussion with his parasitic “negotiator.”

He had sent the newly-obedient mion out grocery shopping for him. Yes, it was mostly a petty gesture to massage his ego, but at the same time, he wanted to witness the extent of the indoctrination first hand. Shame I didn't have this trick back in the day; it would have been a fun way to deal with lobbyists. Maybe I can still find a way to work that into the plan.

Despite his indulgence, Delvaux was no idiot. The plan was practically implementing itself at this point, but he still made regular checks with his most important underlings. His representatives from Cosa Loro were even now preparing to bring Sicily's last major crime group, Sagrada Famiglia, under his control. Smart delegation made his job a cakewalk. It was something he learned a long time ago, and it did wonders for his stress level.

Have you removed the final obstacles to starting the second stage of the plan? the Herald’s voice asked in the missing politican's head.

"Fine and how are you? he snarked." Yes, just a few minor setbacks. I only needed to prepare alternative means to get to Sagrada Famiglia’s so-called criminal genius of a leader. The big cheese himself is paranoid even when meeting with allies. I had thought it would be trivial to get to him through his incompetent son, whom he's relegated to managing a restaurant, but I’ve never seen a healthy young man so opposed to a night of passionate lovemaking with their gorgeous fiancée. Hell, I couldn’t even get him to meet her for coffee without a suit or two following him everywhere.

You are making your move tonight?

"Yes, if he’s as good as rumored, we need to assimilate him before he begins to suspect anything. Once he's out of the way, the government will be too pleased at the drop-off in crime and inter-syndicate violence to question our monopoly. Sure, people in my line of work know to always look a gift horse in the mouth, but we’ll still turn its best side to the camera and ride it all the way to the polls. It's simple, really: While ruthless fanatics are assailing the fair people of the Italy, we brand our puppet organization as defenders people in their time of need. We raise their prestige, and this further multiplies the considerable reach of the underworld. If this goes through as planned, you won't need any of your other projects. We'll grab the whole continent by the balls.

“We'll see about that. What of phase two?”

I have identified entry points into the mainland groups, but the same Vincenzo Salicina we're dealing with tonight probably knows the connections better than anyone else in the country. I'd like his intel before we continue.

“Very good. There's no reason to rush when we can claim a clean victory before the fighting has begun. I'll leave it to you then. ”

The Herald’s presence faded and Delvaux let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Speaking before audience of millions is nothing compared to a dialogue with one he knew could destroy him with a thought.

It's all about appearances. If you look weak for a moment in this world, they'll eat you alive.

Giovanni effortlessly steered himself around a potential collision as he concentrated all his effort on making sense of the upcoming negotiation, an effort in futility that had occupied his mind for most of the past week. Cosa Loro dwarfs us in size, and it was only due to Dom’s quick-thinking that we avoided a recent turf war. A week ago, I'd still consider it a miracle that we’re not shooting at each other, but why do they suddenly want to negotiate—let alone offer us that!”

Taylor stirred, saw that they were still in transit and tried to doze off again without heed to the thought that there was was still a very dangerous man next to him. Giovanni, seeing this, slapped him lightly on the shoulder. “We’re nearly there. You’ll want to be alert for this one even if you’ll be in the least danger of any of us,” the mobster said. At least until those ears come out that is. It’s good that he seems self-conscious about them.

“Is there anything you want me to do specifically,” Taylor asked as his brain slowly rebooted.

“No, like I said, you’re only here as a prop. Image is important in this business—you’re to show that we have connections and resources to give an impression of strength. It’s like those Chinese companies that pay foreigners just to look important and constantly go in and out of meetings. ”

It was an offer too good to be true. Taylor knew it, and the mafioso’s insistence and dark sense of humor didn't help matters.

He still looks nervous, but who wouldn't be? Giovanni thought. Maybe knowing what was behind door number one will give him perspective. We don't want him to freak out on us. “As I was saying before, it really is your lucky day.”

Okay, I’ll bite. “What do you mean?”

“You essentially just went under the knife in a chop shop operated by an organ trafficking operation. Since you couldn’t pay—and possibly even if you could—you would have likely been missing a lung or kidney or two when all was said and done.”

Taylor blanched. He felt a brief, rush of adrenaline of nervous relief at avoiding a horrendous fate. However, his enthusiasm was tapered by the full realization that he was being manipulated. Even with his addled thought process, it was fairly easy to catch due to his instant distrust of the man. Not that it’s much consolation though. I know he’s prodding me in the direction he wants—big deal. In the end I don’t have the guts to refuse his “offer”, so I should just take his 'optimism' for what it's worth. You’re nearly there, Taylor, you beat this transformation thing. Just do what he wants and get out before hell drags you back in.

As if on cue, the tip of Taylor’s reemerging tail pressed against his stitches, but for the moment, he was able to push this, as well as the itching sensation of expanding fur, out of his mind, vetoing even the briefest of acknowledgement in order to avoid further strain on his taxed mental fortitude.

“We’re here.”

Giovanni’s declaration spared Taylor any further second guessing as the youth staggered out of the passenger side.

“You all right there?”

In truth Taylor had to exert himself to even walk normally.

Am I that tired?

Nonetheless, he refused the offer to spare what little dignity he had left and hobbled down the deserted street with his 'savior' in the lead. It was early morning—or at least that was Taylor’s best guess in the face of his shattered internal clock. Giovanni got several paces ahead even with a slow gait and turned around to call out Taylor’s struggle. After a moment's consideration, he instead said nothing and slowed his pace to a crawl. We’ve got a little time.

Taylor felt his lack of sleep pressing down on his limbs and eyelids. While not overpowering, its presence was constant like an unshakable, nagging wraith that had decided to hitch a ride. In this state, the three block walk, a distance padded by Giovanni’s caution, felt as draining as a full triathlon. The mafioso eventually herded Taylor into a corner against and invited him to nap against the brick wall.

Oh joy! I didn’t even need to become a animal to get the full livestock experience—I get poked and prodded in whichever direction with no say in the matter!

Giovanni started to say something about last minute preparations, but Taylor didn’t care enough to stay awake.

This is it. There’s no turning back. We have to do this. Domenico thought. I'm not fully convinced myself, but if there’s even a 1% chance of my suspicions holding true, we need to do everything we can to minimize the risk of total annihilation—even if it means chasing ghosts or ponies or whatever. He patted his concealed gas mask in affirmation.

He took his first look at the American boy sleeping against the wall. He was fairly scrawny and was cloaked in a heavy jacket. Though what’s sitting over there may void everything we know. If people really can turn into these ponies at random, the rules we know may no longer apply. For now, it’s just a matter of choosing the right moment to reveal what he is to them and gauge their reactions.

“Don’t tell me you forgot the extra ammo again” Giovanni accused a brown-coated man in shades.

“Come on!” he said, shrugging his shoulders with his arms spread apart. “I couldn’t after the chewing out that you gave me last time. Besides, it only happened once.”

“Once is enough to bury you. You should know that by now.”

Domenico smiled. The Corvi brothers were at it again. Diego, the younger of the two, may not be as pragmatic as Giovanni, but Diego surpassed him in marksmanship; although the elder of the two would never admit it.

“Is everyone ready!” came a deep voice, ordering rather than asking. The young mafia heir and the brothers immediately stopped what they were doing and stood attentively as their leader, Vincenzo Salicina, approached. He walked with a reserved confidence, and the combination of his pronounced square-jaw, crooked nose and gorilla-like arms completed the picture of a formidable man few dared to mess with. Raimondo was at his side in "serious business mode" and was prodding a zombie-like Taylor to keep pace.

The party of six walked in silence to an indiscreet café. It wasn’t exactly neutral territory to those in the know, but such locations were quickly growing with the silent expansion of the united criminal front. They opened the door to total silence. The only occupied table was taken by a tall man with hands adorned with expensive rings. Three stiff, identically-dressed, armed men stood behind him, juxtaposing his relaxed demeanor. He slowly lifted his focus away from his hot cup of coffee and he stood, reflexively combing what little remained of his hair.

“Ah, Don Salicina long time no see. I see you've brought your son. How are the wedding plans coming along?”

Not bothering to wait for a response, he pointed to Domenico. “Are you going to get your dad some grandchildren soon? Take my word for it: they can really change your perspective on things.”

“Cut the crap, Lucca. We both know why we’re here,” Vincenzo spat, taking the seat opposite the rival Don.

Taylor and Domenico took a distant table. The guardians standing behind Lucca scrutinized the two only long enough to determine they were non-threats before they resumed facing their counterparts on the other side of the table.

“Yes: Salice—for the obvious reasons. As I get older, I realize some things in life, like petty gripes, just aren’t worth holding onto. We’ve never gotten along in the best of times, but no matter how I look at it, Salice should be yours given your history with it. As you’ve undoubtedly noticed, it’s hard for us to manage with its distance from the capital, seeing how we don't control any of the neighboring territories anymore.”

“Just spit it out! What do you want?”

“I’m sure we can come to an agreement,” Lucca said, further adjusting himself for comfort.

And after less than half an hour of negotiation, the two Dons shook hands in agreement.

That was easy. Domenico thought as they finalized the exchanged of their least productive claims for most of Salice. Lucca jumped on the first offer. That can only mean they’re buttering us up for the sales pitch to come.

Sure enough, Lucca then began singing the praises of a united criminal outfit—the increased revenue that comes with monopoly, an end to bloodshed and a return to the peak power of the global Mafia. When Vincenzo voiced his predictable objection to answering to someone else, the other man assured him that this would not be the case: “Think of it not as a merger but as a cartel of sorts.”

Domenico’s father was just as suspicious as his son was, but, nevertheless, they had no trouble agreeing to end of hostilities between the two and to respect each other’s allies. Domenico would have killed for those terms a month ago, but it was nerve-wracking to suddenly have everything go their way. His elation was placed under strict quarantine as he desperately looked for the fly in the ointment, his eyes periodically darting towards the vents.

Taylor, for his part, was either petrified with fear or napping. He said nothing, but upon closer inspection, his eyelids appeared to be drooping over eyes that were too small for them, and his face seemed to be smushed forward. I guess that answers that. Seems like all his desperate efforts to fight fate will only serve to render him a tailless pony in the end.

“All of this seems satisfactory, and additional meetings will be needed to confirm the details of your joining, but there’s one thing I must insist on.”

Classic. Domenico thought. The last minute demand after the other party is fatigued from negotiation.

“It is customary for members of this group to share blood as testament of our union before God.”

The poor choice of words hung in the air for several moments, and Raimondo had to strain every ounce of his willpower to refrain from snickering.

"It is customarily done privately with the leaders of each party, symbolizing newfound brotherhood."

This is it! Domenico thought. They want to gas my father in private. That strange cloud really is related to this. He swallowed hard. For the second time today, I’m horrifyingly right.

Vincenzo turned to his son, who nodded at him. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten for a second I've forgotten who I’m talking to Lucca. Like hell I’d follow you somewhere so you can stab me in the back. I want to put this bad blood behind us as much as you do, but blind leaps of faith are not how I operate.”

“Now, now,” Lucca said chidingly with a wave of his hand from a position of outstretched fingers beneath his chin. “I assure you it’s nothing of the sort, but if it makes you feel any better, anyone here would suffice. One of your bodyguards perhaps?"

“How about him?” Vincenzo asked, pointing at Taylor. “He’s not been with us long, but he has been invaluable for his connections with the outfit in America. He may not look like much, but his hacking skills have been really impressive so far, and I could think of no better commendation than allowing him this historic honor. After all, it’s symbolic: those of different backgrounds coming together,” Vincenzo said, the last part completely in jest.

“That’s as good a reason as any. I’ve been meaning to promote young Ignazio here for a while, so I hope you don’t mind if I take a page out of your book and hand off the honor to him,” Lucca said as the man on the far left nodded.

“Of course not.”

Domenico shook Taylor awake. “You’re up,” he whispered in English.

Despite his enormous fatigue, Taylor was not the least bit drowsy, a fact that surprised him in face of his almost-narcoleptic struggles from before. Powerful crime lords, flanked by their armed bodyguards and arguing noisily in Italian, tend to hold your attention. Besides, he needed something to distract him from newly-returned deep stomach pains, lightheadedness and that constant itching sensation. How long has it been since I’ve eaten now? 12 hours? 18? With this phantom itch as convincing as it is, I’d better get some sleep before I start outright hallucinating. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if I was hallucinating all of this—me in a friendly mafia meet and greet. Fun.

“You’re up.”

The sudden onset of words he could actually understand grabbed Taylor's attention. He had to pull up his sagging eyelids to notice a man whom he might have been introduced to at one point help him up. He would have made a snarky comment, but his tongue dragged in his mouth as if suddenly inflated. Resigning himself, he followed one of the suits, a man remarkable only in the fact that he had about nine inches on Taylor, into a backroom storage closet. He tried to come up with some mental jab about not swinging that way but found himself too tired to grab the low-hanging fruit. Forgetting what he was thinking for a moment, Taylor was overwhelmed with the smell of coffee beans—hazelnut, cinnamon, vanilla and a few other flavors he couldn't place.

“You are an American, correct?” the now-unarmed man asked in flat, sterile English.

Taylor nodded, straining his muscles to focus his wandering mind.

“If you don’t struggle, this won’t hurt a bit.” And without telegraphing a single hint, he grabbed Taylor’s throat and easily lifted him with one hand.

Something slithered from underneath his sleeve to the sound of dripping mucus.

MOTHER OF ELVIS!! WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT THING!?

If there was one word to describe it, "wrong" would most likely be it. It's sickly color alone was nearly enough to induce vomiting, and its form suggested a chimeric amalgamation of all of the planet's worst, thankfully uncommon parasites. But whatever it was, the unnatural wormlike protrusion slithered pants-shittingly close to Taylor’s eye and raised its triangular head.

It stopped.

Its form blurred Taylor’s visual field, and its feelers tickled his turquoise eyes.

And it waited.

Waited as a concoction of fear and oxygen deprivation brewed inside Taylor's chest, threatening to explode at any moment.

Is this really it? No fanfare. I just die? It's really as simple as making the wrong choice? As simple as turning the wrong page in a cruel Choose Your Own Adventure Book?

Why the fuck did you stop! Delvaux telepathically screamed at his independent mion, Ignazio.

It won’t move. The great one refuses this vessel as if it is poison. The ex-Mafioso mentally radioed back.

Impatient, Delvaux commandeered the man’s body for himself and looked upon the traveling American. If you want something done right….

The worm turned. Delvaux psychically raved at it to assimilate the boy, but it burrowed defiantly back into the Ignazio’s arm as if it had just been asked to chug a gallon of bleach.

It was no use. Delvaux’s plan was toast. All the buildup had gone flawlessly only for the climax to be rendered dead on arrival.

Fuck! What now! I can’t kill the kid. He thought as his experience in damage control kicked in. Perhaps I can tell them that it’s part of the ritual, symbolizing how we’ve got guns to each other’s back at all times, and it’s about trust. I just need to ask him to do the same for me.

Taylor was dropped, and his hood fell, revealing his pony ears.

The Herald had briefed Delvaux about this: some were immune to the mion plague, and the so-called ponies were as well.

So there’s a connection after all. He thought before freezing at a more important realization.

They know!

Hacker from America my ass! They have to have known, but that’s impossible! I always made sure there were no observers! I was always careful! He lamented to the heavens. He retreated to his own body in the borrowed cabin and set his nascent backup plan into motion. I hate to make a mess, but I have no choice.

Taylor, collapsed on the floor and gasped for air with great difficulty. Before he could say a word, his tormenter pulled him to his side and make the unspoken threat very clear with the enormously strong grip around his waist. Taylor didn’t doubt that he could break his arms like toothpicks and, garroted by panic, he stayed silent.

Gunshots erupted just before the café came into view once more. The deafening pops make Taylor's ears attempt to bunch themselves inward, but they were still left ringing from the brief firefight. Upon being led around a corner, his eyes fell instantly to the corpse of the tall, balding Don bleeding out onto an upturned table. A fat man fell over onto him dead as a flash from the brown-coated man’s gun finished off Cosa Loro's last member remaining in the room. The surviving Don reoriented himself as his son rushed over to their fallen comrade. Their voices came in fast, desperate Italian with their grief penetrating the language barrier.

Sensing the opportunity to strike, Taylor’s captor released him and charged at the group with suicidal determination. The brown coat dispatched him instantly with a headshot, aiming and squeezing his right trigger finger in one swift motion.

However, no one in the room saw Don Lucca’s corpse go for Raimondo’s fallen handgun. Jerking back to life, it shot Giovanni in the heart, offering the gunman no time respond, and sent the younger Colvi flying with a freakishly strong punch before grabbing the other Don in a bear hug.

The ensnared bellowed out an order to his son, who gave a pained look before gritting his teeth and dashing out the door. Taylor bolted out behind him, stopping briefly to grab his backpack. Spines began jutting out from Lucca's arms, and one cut through Taylor's two layers of clothes, nearly pinning him to the wall.

Taylor's heart skipped a beat as he charged through the café's front door and saw the fleeing mafioso making a beeline towards a parked car. The man, twenty feet ahead of Taylor, reached for the keys in his pocket, flung open the passenger door, mentally kicked himself for forgetting the car was American-made and climbed over the left-hand driver’s seat.

Without making a sound, a dozen red-skinned humanoids of various races ages and genders came out from inside buildings and around street corners all at once. They carried crowbars, bats and firearms and approached the cafe position briskly. Seeing the whirlpool of Charybdis forming around him, Taylor made the snap judgment to bet on Scylla once more and hopped into the passenger seat of the car just as its driver floored it.

The sudden acceleration caused the door to painfully spank Taylor right where the incision had been made.

Yeah, that about sums up tonight.

They drove without a word exchanged. Not once did Domenico question Taylor being there, and he in turn neither asked for permission nor for the destination. They just drove down the highway, cutting off and pulling in front of other cars whenever convenient. Taylor would normally ask if the driver had a death wish, but a day( night? morning?) spent staring danger in the face had inured him to the “thrill” of reckless driving.

Domenico, his mind elsewhere, looked out on the road with soulless eyes and only his left hand on the wheel.

He could ask him to drop him off at any time now.

However, now that he was in relative safety, his psyche had recovered enough to endure the weight of his failure. He knew. He had known all along, but the familiar pain of a pinned tail eliminated most deniability. Reaching to the back of his jeans, he felt the thin, crumpled appendage already at half of its original length.

Taylor gave an exaggerated sigh and thought for a moment that this was all his emotional reserves could offer.

This soon proved false as he felt a familiar rage—a rage of being wronged. But this had no outlet—no agent to pin it on. He felt ready to boil over. He wanted to thrash about and tear the car up, scream in agony and beat his head against something, but his inhibitions held and funneled the anger back inside.

What’s the point? A tantrum would accomplish nothing. So do I accept I’m some animal—fuck it! Pony! I get some book from nowhere about a civilization of ponies right when I sprout a tail—a pony. Time to stop denying it like a fucking coward and take the emasculating hit for what it is: I’m becoming a fucking pony!

Oh hey, what a surprise “acceptance” made me feel even worse! Guess I’m shit out of luck.

“So why me?” Taylor asked, bitter, to have anything at all to do. “Seeing as you just needed someone to throw to the dogs, why me?”

The driver merely pointed to Taylor’s exposed ears, feeling that he deserved only pity if he hadn't already put it together on his own.

“You know what’s happening to me?” Taylor asked after a moment spent choosing from an array of questions.

“No, not quite,” Domenico began in heavily accented English. “I just found out today that there are a whole lot of ‘ponies’ in government concentration camp. “The government doesn’t want that others know, and I thought that other weird things are happening.” He paused for a moment to consider how much to say. “And I was right.”

The too-recent-for-comfort memory of the monstrous creature crawling towards his face reared its ugly, eyeless face. It gave Taylor a jump just remembering. “What was that worm thing then? What the hell did I sign up for?”

“Worm thing?”

“Your friend in the closet shoved some nightmarish wormslug thing in my face. It was close—like real close. I thought it was going to burrow into my eyeball like some room 101-style torture, but then it just stopped like I was the ugly one.

Domenico turned his head to the side to examine Taylor’s face more closely. It was quite a sight: his jaw looked abnormally undersized as his nose pushed out into a rounded muzzle under the watch of his unnaturally massive eyes. Nope, too easy.

“Did he say anything about what he wanted to do?” The Don's son asked.

“No, he didn’t say anything. He just did that one handed lift/choke-hold thing—which I was surprised to learn actually exists outside of movie—and tried to shove that thing in my face—in a decidedly unsexy way I might add. Hey wait a minute! When did you start asking the questions. I’m the one that……….HgggghuAYRNNRRRRRGH,” Taylor out cried as a prelude to agony.

A piercing pain exploded from within his groin. He grit his teeth as it slowly dulled from mind-numbing to merely overpowering. Why there?

I suppose it probably will be bigger now—possibly the only upside of this whole thing—but I barely felt anything from my ears changing and moving around, so why does this hurt so much?

Strange…. it doesn't feel like it's growing at all. If anything it….. Taylor then remembered the pains from earlier that only recently let up.

Those weren’t stomach pains. If anything they were closer to my……..

……….womb……………..

He slumped into his seat and could only stupidly blurt out what was going through his mind: “I think I’m becoming a girl pony.”

His driver/chauffeur/kidnapper said nothing.

“It’s because I liked that princess land isn’t it? That must be it."

"No!” Taylor squealed, clasping his hand together. “God, Buddha, Xenu, anybody, please don’t do this to me. You can make me a donkey for all I care, but please don’t do this to me. The gender I already have barely tolerates me as it is—you don’t want me embarrassing another one. Please I’ll do anything!”

“I can be manly. I'll show you! If you spare me this, I’ll marathon all of Fist of the North Star—even the crappy live action movies!”

“I’ll base my entire identity around going to the gym and constantly look for an opening in every conservation to describe my fitness regimen in excruciating detail!"

“I'll outsource my happiness to the fleeting success of a local sports franchise and spend a large chunk of my free time endlessly speculating with other fans."

"I'll..."

Dammit I’m out of manly stereotypes—and I’m supposed to be a man here!

“It’s like the natural selection gods looked down and said, 'Hey Taylor, you kind of suck at this, so you might want to try something entirely different; after all, It's not like you can have any less luck at this procreation thing.'"

"Now I’m starting to sound like my parents with their nagging about grandchildren. Wait a minute! Did my parents put you up to this?” he asked clasping his hands together once more. “Whatever they prayed I’ll double it!”

Domenico relaxed his grip on the knife in his suit jacket’s pocket.

He’s real. I don’t care how committed a manipulating intelligence is. Nothing can replicate that sort of inanity with a straight face. He kept his eyes firmly fixed on the road as Taylor continued his rambling. He needed something else to distract him now that his suspicion of Taylor had ended. There will be time for mourning later when I'm safe..

Taylor was currently launching into something long-winded about Artemis. It’s like those American police movies. The driver is focused and concentrating on important things while the sidekick annoys him and the audience alike. But I thought the rule was that the white professional cop gets an annoying black sidekick and vice-versa. More Hollywood lies.

“And that’s reason number thirty-eight why I would make a terrible mother,” Taylor said.

“I knew it,” Domenico interrupted.

“Huh?”

“You being a girl pony. I suspected it.”

“What?”

“Your voice, your face—if I hadn’t know you were a guy earlier I would have guessed wrong. Your nose is rounding and too short to be a male. I observe racehorses I know.”

“But how would you even begin to think…” a photo was shoved into Taylor’s hands. It depicted rows and rows of miserable ponies stuffed into stable stalls.

“Notice there are up to six females in one stall, while some male ponies only share with one. There are just more females.” Domenico began. “This suggests that this is happening to more women or what is happening to you. I had thought that it was the first, but you proved differently. Interesting...”

“Enough with your deductions! Your taking this in stride really pisses me off—acting like it’s ‘to be expected’ when my entire existence is being challenged here.”

“I’m sorry. Everyone I loved just died. Your problem doesn't seem so big.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that Giovanni thug was a blast at parties with that condescending attitude of his. Next you’re going to tell me that fatso had the soul of a poet and would donate pounds of flesh to feed sick orphans."

The other man shook with visible ire, nearly rear-ending someone before regaining composure.

“Raimondo had a dream—a humble dream,” he managed through gritted teeth.

“What? To break the most kneecaps out of anyone?”

“He wanted to write a dirty jokebook. He only needed three more to reach one-hundred and two and finish it.”

"A jokebook? Haven't encountered those since my second-grade book fair. Probably because the format lends itself to about that level of intelligence.“

Fine, ”Taylor baited. “You say he's funny. Prove it.”

“I don’t know. Are you old enough to hear this?”

“You don’t look any older than me.”

“Raimondo himself wasn’t old enough for some of these, but let’s see if I can find one age-appropriate.” Domenico paused and spent three minutes in thought, making consecutive blind turns automatically.

“Well?” Taylor asked. "Trying to choose between knock-knock jokes?"

“One thing: what do you call ancient kings of Egypt?”

“Pharaohs?”

“Yes that. I couldn’t think of the English word. "

"Anyway, there once was a powerful and virtuous Pharaoh. He ruled over his prosperous kingdom for decades to great approval of his people. He had unstoppable martial might, untold riches and a harem of one-hundred beautiful women. After a successful military campaign, he declared a national holiday to honor his brave warriors. Since they would one day be honored ancestors, it was to be a day to honor one's forefathers with equivalent equal to the dead.

One day, the Pharaoh and his entourage were wandering through a crowded marketplace just outside the palace when they spotted a young boy crying. Selfless ruler that he was, the Pharaoh ordered his party to halt and he approached the boy. The child was crying and was wearing only rags, which were covered in bread crumbs.

'Tell me, boy, what is the matter,' the Pharaoh asked the boy with a gentle confidence.

'Well, my momma told me that since it was the holiday, I needed to take the money and go gift shopping for my father, grandfather and great-grandfather, but I got hungry,' the boy said, embarrassed.

'I can see that. Since I am a generous king, I will give you these silver pieces to get presents suitable for your forebears. However, remember that you have to buy gifts for three. Put all your chickens in one coop, and a single hungry wolf can ravage them all, so remember to budget accordingly. Do you understand?'

'Yes, my king. Thank you, my king.'

'Off you go then,' the Pharaoh commanded as the buy sprinted back into the heart of the marketplace.'"

"Did the ancient Egyptians even raise chickens?" Taylor interrupted.

"I don't care. Shut up."

"After checking that the celebrations were proceeding accordingly, the Pharaoh's entourage was looping back around the marketplace when the Pharaoh once more spotted the poor boy. This time he was leading a beautiful, white ewe back towards the palace. Some of the guards prepared for the order to punish the boy for his mistake, but whereas a lesser man would have at least given the boy a tongue-lashing, the Pharaoh had his caller hail the boy to politely point out his mistake."

"Again. I'm wondering if ancient Egypt had enough grassland even raise...."

"Shut up!"

"'Hello again, my king,' the boy said with a bow."

'That is a lovely ewe. Is that what you purchased with the coins I gave to you?'

'Yes, my king.'

'Do you remember what I said about conserving the money to be able to buy all the gifts you need?'

'Yes, my king.'

'And is one ewe enough for your father, grandfather, and great-grandfather?'

'Of course. I hope you like her, my king.'"

Dead silence was had for half a minute after Domenico had delivered the punchline. Did I mess it up. I guess I'm no match for Raimondo, and besides, it's best in Sicilian anyway.

Taylor then abruptly broke out in shrill laughter, riding the line between spontaneous and forced. He stretched it out for a few extra seconds before stopping and giving a confused sigh.

"You just now got the joke?"

"Oh, no, the joke was terrible. I'm laughing at the absurdity of it all—I nearly lost my organs to some chop shop doctors, I sat in on teatime with the Mafia, I find out I'm turning into a female horse and now I hitchhike with a fleeing mafia member while listening to him read from a dead guy's unfunny jokebook."

"Can you really judge what's clever or not when you can't keep your eyes open for more than a minute at a time?"

"I'd argue that point, but I'm too tired. Considering we're already at the stage where I crash in your car, I suppose I should ask for your name at least."

"It's Dominic," the Sicilian said.

"Really? It's not something funny-sounding like Dominico, or something?"

"Yes, that is my name," Domenico said, perturbed.

"Oh... I don't suppose you have any more jokes?"

"I would, but a lot of them are bestiality jokes, and I think that is a subject that still hurts."

"Yeah, I would appreciate you don't remind me what my most biologically compatible options are now."

"All right then. I won't tell any more bestiality jokes."

His English is passable, but that's the first time he made a mistake that confused the point. He probably meant "bestiality jokes anymore." The way he said it implies that the first joke already...

DAMMIT!

Taylor glared at Domenico. "I hate you so much right now."

Rest in peace, Raimondo. Domenico thought, blinking back tears.

Domenico guided Taylor by hand, feeling his noticeably shorter fingers. They met with a customs officer the mafia heir had paid off beforehand, and he gestured them aboard a large cargo ship. The duo crouched behind some boxes, out of sight of anyone who might not be on the payroll.

“We should be shoving off fairly soon,” the Sicilian said to fill the silence.

“You shove off.”

“Should I wake you when we will arrive?”

“No thanks take me wherever. I don’t care anymore. I’ve gotten fairly used to being a pinball of fate. Or is it a top or a dreidel? If you can keep me off the state-sponsored dissection table, I'll pull my weight. Bottom line is this though: I don’t care how pretty a pony I become; no taking advantage of me while I sleep, deal?”

“Okay?”

“Goodnight then!” Taylor, declared decisively and plopped down to catch his first substantial rest in days.

Fifteen minutes pasted with nothing but the sounds of the sea to keep Domenico company. He sat still in silence, hardly believing how badly things had gone.

The need to look tough for Taylor had passed, so why couldn't he grieve? It wasn't denial because he had clearly seen Raimondo pass away before his eyes. He occupied himself by trying in vain to rationalize his feelings until he was suddenly blinded by the first light of the day. He peered out a window that he had only noticed seconds before and saw them approaching a port in Southeastern France.

The staff on the other end was thankfully paid to ask no questions and even helped him move his unusual cargo into the passenger seat of the truck he had prepared. He put the keys into the ignition and turned to look at the still-clothed Earth Pony mare to his left. His features brightened a little.

Oh, he’s going to love that color scheme for sure. Nothing in the photos came close to that. He thought, snickering to himself before fastening Taylor’s seat-belt for him.

Storm Chaser raced through masses of low, humming clouds, their darkened white exteriors a satisfying umami. He still reveled in the pure joy of flying, but why wouldn't he? After all, you don't become the paragon of Wonderbolts without loving flight, even after the years of thankless work needed to reach the top of the mountain. In this case, it was literal as Storm Chaser zigzagged between the tallest peaks of the Pyrenees. The cold weather would deter all but the bravest, but the stallion's strong wings had carried him over even Mont Blanc; this was nothing in comparison.

Storm had retired from the Wonderbolts with the personal blessing of Princess Celestia and now served as a special agent of the crown. However, his unique skill set ensured that his retirement would be in-name-only for years to come. Despite his great legacy, the stallion did not look a day past twenty-five. His emerald green coat and dark gray mane were now the official colors of his hometown, and his cutie mark was among the most recognizable in all of Equestria: an old-fashioned windmill with a speeding cannonball crashing through the center.

Storm had been religiously keeping up on his training, but his heart once more began to yearn for excitement. He longed for something challenging, fun and romantic to once more cross his path.

As if responding to his heart, his marks shone for a brief moment and he suddenly felt a familiar pull. "There it is! The call to adventure!" The Pegasus exclaimed with glee. It was a sensation he had grown accustomed to, akin to a second magnetic North appearing on the internal compass all Pegasi possessed. It had led him into many dangerous situations, but the fact that he was still here, unscathed, was all the justification he needed to one more dive headlong towards its siren song.

While Storm's technique hadn't dulled a bit, he had to admit that he was a decade or two away past his top speeds at the academy. Nonetheless, he arrived at his destination in under an hour and surveyed the place from above. It was a run-down farm with only a stable and a weathered shack left standing. A greenhorn might have flown off bored after thirty seconds, but Storm trusted his legendary sense for adventure.

It paid off when he spotted two short, hairless minotaurs leading a pair of unicorn mares on improvised leashes. The two met eyes briefly before huffing and going their separate ways.

Praise Celestia! I've found them. A reddish unicorn with a red and yellow mane—that's definitely Warm Spirits, future duchess of Cantermore. The champion of the Wonderbolts then turned his attention to the cyan, blue-maned unicorn. And that has to be Ocean Breeze, princess of the independent cloud kingdom of Featherven.

Storm paused for a moment and brought a hoof to his chin.

But shouldn't she be a pegasus?

No, it doesn't matter--that's definitely her!

He admired the beautiful, young mares from a distance, but abruptly averted his eyes when he saw Ocean begin to squat.

They're being lead around by leash until they relieve themselves openly? Like common dogs!?

Unforgivable!

I was going to wait for backup since Celestia knows how many more minotaurs and their Diamond Dog allies are about, but I wouldn't be a stallion worth my salt if I abided this for a moment longer!

He readied himself to give the handlers a well-deserved zap courtesy of the cloud supporting him, but he then spotted several trucks approaching the farm from a distance and lay back down on the cloud.

No, I can't carry two unicorns on my own. We'll have to go on hoof. If they were Earth Ponies we might be able to make a clean getaway, but unicorns—especially ladies of such standing—just don't have the endurance to lose any pursuers. I don't like it, but I'll have to wait for these reinforcements to pass through.

"Hang in there, brave mares! You needn’t endure the enormity of these vile fiends for much longer. You won’t suffer yet a single setting of Celestia’s brilliant sun in chains—this I swear to you!"

Author's Note

The first thing to note is my recently changed username. In hindsight, a gimmicky account is a poor choice for posting a story.

This was a bear to write in a way that doesn't come off as an exposition stream. I'm not entirely convinced I averted this.

The events of this chapter were derived from my original conception of the story. I hope it doesn't come off like the boring introduction of a five-score story. If it does, then expect much more pony from this point onward.

If you are reading this, thank you. I am flattered you'd read this far.

4: Renaixença

A dark-red unicorn mare lounged peacefully on a simple couch in front of an open hearth. The quiet was absolute save for the crackling embers, the pony floating in and out of sleep. Her perch was an island in an otherwise barren hardwood-floored den in a deserted home; however, the warmth radiating into her barrel provided a blanket keeping the pain of loss away.

That and....

Slurp

Slurp

Slurp

She smiled and gazed lovingly down the length of her body to her greatest joy in the world—a pale blue unicorn foal with a messy, grass-green mane. The filly had awoken without a sound and was apparently very hungry. Her mother pondered the perfection that was hers alone and gently stroked the suckling infant, burping her once she had had her fill.

You’re all I need, my darling Rocio. They can take everything else, but you made all of this worth it.

The filly gave her a nuzzle, which was returned, and then attempted to crawl up on top of her mother. With hooves flailing, she latched onto a rounded protrusion and struggled to pull herself up.

“Careful, sweetie,” the mare gently scolded, nudging the filly over the bulge, “you don’t want to hurt your little brother or sister.”

She briefly felt a kick from the unborn pony; although it was faint, and she might have just imagined it. With a smile, she recalled Rocio’s birth and exhaled contentedly. She could hardly wait for her second foal. She might even have a third. No, she would definitely have a third and maybe even a fourth. The new mother may have lost a lot when she first transformed, but her foals made it all worth it.

This is my purpose now. I can do better with them.

I promise you this, my precious child: I will never…

The mare’s head darted back and forth in panic.

Where is she!? She’s gone! But I felt her just a moment ago.

“So he had another, huh?” Came a voice she both knew and didn’t recognize.

The mare jumped to her feet and glared daggers at the door.

A tall, well-dressed man with slick hair was cradling her filly. Next to him, a gorgeous woman with flowing black hair blew kisses to her, eliciting a giggle.

“GIVE HER BACK,” the mother roared, as a strange sensation started overflowing from her horn.

“Or what?” The woman mocked. “You’ll get violent? Face it: we both know that when the time comes to act, you do nothing!”

“Dad’s a dud!” The filly recited in a voice not her own, cutting in and out like a radio station quickly rejected in passing.

“It’s my foal. You have no right!”

“The courts have spoken, Xavier: you were a lousy father and husband. This isn't your place anymore.”

The energy pouring out of her horn shut down. Xavier wanted to yell, scream and object, but she could do nothing more than make faint squeaking noises, no matter how much she exerted herself.

“Now, the court gave us custody of baby Rocio, but...” The two advanced slowly as the woman spoke. “We also have to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

With horror, Xavier’s eyes fell on her bulge, which had apparently advanced another trimester in a few minutes.

They can’t!

It was no more than a second she took to glance away, but she suddenly felt two pairs of arms grab her and pin her to the sofa. Her ex secured her limbs, while the man loomed over her with a sadistic grin. In his hands was a metal hanger with an impossibly sharp point.

She needed to thrash out. She should be doing everything to protect her unborn foal. She needed to act.

But she was utterly paralyzed as the point came down.

Xavier jolted awake, his body burning up from an internal, adrenaline-fueled fire as he hyperventilated.

Thank god. He thought. Trippiest dream I’ve had in a while. I was some sort of horse, and then I was pregnant? That’s scarier than anything else that happened in that nightmare.

A red strand of Xavier’s mane draped over his eye.

FUCK! Wh...where does the nightmare end?

A spot check confirmed that most of the weirdness was still there: he actually did become a meter-tall horse, he was obviously still captive and was, in fact, still very female. A quick check on this latter point did at least confirm the lack of a baby bump—the only good news.

So yesterday really did happen, then. The newly-minted pony thought before considering an equally-pressing question: Why the hell did I dream about being pregnant!? It’s been only a day! Is this fucking mare body already telling me it wants to get knocked up like some senseless wild animal? Is it taking over my mind and my dreams even?

The dream left the maroon mare rattled, the red and yellow mane looking frazzled as if to reflect the owner's mental state.

Slowly reorienting himself, Xavier lay in silence as he let his mind slowly come up to speed with the fact that he really was now a pony—a mare.

Waking up the day before in his new shape was completely inconceivable. Everything had gone to shit already, and now this had shattered all hope of getting it back. He wanted a target, anything to hate with all his might for his new situation. He boiled over, but for the first time in recent memory, he found nothing to fault. The transformation defied all explanation.

He buried his muzzle in the dirt and let turbulent emotion run its course. His rage eventually subsided, but the overheated feeling did not. He eventually calmed down somewhat and tried to distract himself with the less-pressing, but almost as humiliating, reality that he was now the prisoner of some rural lowlifes. He tried to funnel his anger against them but was surprisingly unsuccessful.

What’s the point. Being like this is so degrading that I’d almost rather be locked up.

On that somber note, he noticed that the sweating from his nightmare had ceased, yet he still felt strangely hot.

Reorienting himself, he could feel the warmth coming from within.

Its source was concentrated on a single spot—between his hind legs.

Xavier gave a devastated scream that erupted loud and clear in spite of the gag.

A hellish week was topped in the worst way possible.

Xavier's livelihood sat on a street-corner in Catalonia's province of Lleida. Signs labelled simply “Esports” and “Tapes” led some of its less creative patrons to refer to the bar as ‘Taports,’ and to the owner’s chagrin, the name had stuck.

Manel finished off his beer with a final swig. He and his younger brother sat on opposite sides of the bar as a mere formality, for without any other customers to speak of, Xavier may as well be off the clock.

I’m surprised his activist friends couldn’t make it, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little grateful for it. Even if their patronage kept this place afloat, it was always prolonging the inevitable Manel thought while taking a glance at one of the two mounted plasma screens.

Xavier mechanically grabbed Manel’s mug to refill it.

“That’s enough, lil’ bro. I’ve had enough.”

“Whatter youssayin? It’s on the houssse,” Xavier slurred. “The lasstever, so let’s celebrate as we watch us *hic* beat down Real Madrid. It’s their damn fault I’m losing this place—the politicians in Madrid dragging us down into this recession! I spent my life building it!”

Oh great! Another drunken rant. His diatribes are bad enough to listen to when he’s sober, let alone if you disagree. “Xavi, I think you’ve had enough.”

“Shut up! It’s back on.”

Hernandez llança la pilota a Costas. Costas la rep. Tranca de fer el túnel? No! Roubada per l’ala dreta del Barça.

Manel tensed up. This was Barcelona's chance. Inter FS had taken out their best defender and had just overextended themselves on the attack.

Please. It’s been a relatively good night with my brother. Don’t ruin it by letting this one get away. A draw's fine even. Just don't lose!

Rico fa una passada alta per a Mamangaba! Ell porter n’és lluny! Ell salta! Dona un cop de cap!

NO! No aconsegueix marcar. Copeja el pal de la porteria i Ramón l’agafa.

“You hit the fucking goalposts!?” Xavier yelled, slamming a bottle of whiskey to the counter. “It wuhzwwide open ferchrissakes!”

Manel said nothing. When Xavier had invited him to watch Barça’s futsal match, he had hoped it to be a rare chance to see his brother as himself again. Seeing Xavi drunk and the veins popping out in his neck at the tense game, he lamented to himself that that brother might be gone.

What's the point if his leisure is as stressful as anything else?

Manel took a look back at the screen and immediately recognized that the opposing players must have smelled blood; he could feel an overwhelming storm brewing.

Ramón llança la pilota en joc. Costas la rep i Rico el marca de seguida, però Costas el dribla. Fa una passada en profunditat per a Hernandez. Hernandez xuta!

GOL!

Hernandez desempata el matx al último minut! El Movistar—

Xavier pounded the remote to silence the tv before kicking the bar, shattering the bottle he was holding on the ground and slamming his fists on the wine rack before scanning his surroundings for another target.

A palpable silence weighed on the air.

After a short while, Manel attempted to save the mood: “Well, it’s not so bad, Xavi. We’re already in the playoffs anyway; we’ll have another shot then."

His younger brother gawked. “Duya not gettit!? Its sabout the principle dammit! I thought at least yuwuddunderstand that.”

“Come on now. It’s just a futsal match,” Manel naively ventured, “The huge football rivalry is another matter altogether, and in the scope of things, this one isn’t so important.”

“The hell are you saying! Not important!? This is everything!?

“Xavi, you’re drunk.”

“I’m sober enough to see how thingssare. Itscuz yuwere thinkin' like that datwe losst!!

"That's nonsense and you know it."

Get d’hell outta her. Thiss bar’ss fer patriots *hic*.

“You’re insane. I don’t know why I put up with this.” Manel threw a fifty euro bill on the counter and stormed out.

“And don’t come back!”

Manel had to restrain himself from slamming the door. He walked to his car a couple blocks away and gave a long sigh. At times, he didn’t know why he tried. Xavier had become progressively more irritable with the collapse of his business, and the finality of the divorce had pushed him to a new threshold. He considered for a brief moment giving up on the relationship altogether; it was so hard to see him in such a dark place.

But then I’d be no better than her...

Though he’s a ton bigger than big me, he’s still my little bro.

He thought back on his disastrous attempts to stage an intervention for Xavier’s budding alcoholism. Deeply offended by the idea that he couldn’t handle himself, he had pushed Manel away.

I suppose he’s always been like that though. Oh Xavi, you don’t have to fight every battle. Not only could you not stop her from leaving, but can’t you see that she’s not worth keeping?

Xavier had spent the last fifteen minutes staring at blankly at a wall. The paint had started to chip around that damn window that never shut properly. That would have worried him if had he anything worth stealing, but for now, it was weakly held shut by several layers of duct tape.

I should probably fix that at some point he thought weakly to himself.

However, in his state of inebriated brooding, he had half a mind to just snap the eyesore off its hinges. God I hate losing to Madrid—Movistar whatever. Madrid’s Madrid.

He shook the empty liquor bottle for a third time before tossing it away. The exotic harder stuff had never sold well in the best of times, so finishing it himself couldn’t do any harm.

“Well, fuck it’s about that time, isn’t it?” he said, noticing he was already fifteen minutes late.

“She’s betrayed me, ripped out my heart, stomped all over it, taken my children from me *hic*, legally crucified me, robbed me of what little I have left and only now does she *hic* think about how it impacts this family. Fuck her if she expects me to show up on time.”

With this conviction, he forestalled his departure for ten additional spiteful, minutes before finally heaving himself up. He was a broad man, nearly one-hundred ninety centimeters tall. His brown hair was cut short and beginning to grey, while his shaggy beard had an uneven topology. His strong arms were the product of summers spent on his grandfather's ranch and were the best deterrent against bar fights.

Staggering out the door, he made his way down the street. He longed for better days—when he had first saved up the money to open his business, when he was a local football legend, when he had a wife and two kids that loved him.

After half a block, he began to cough and collapsed against a lamppost for support. It continued nonstop for nearly a minute, sounding almost like a whinny. This spectacle, combined with his drunken gait drew the attention of passerby. Xavier simply glared at them before continuing to stumble along. Even when heavily intoxicated, he didn’t expect his balance to be so poor.

Eventually, he made it home and knocked three times hard on the front door. It’s my damn house, the only thing that heist of a settlement left me with. Why do I have to be let into my house?

A gorgeous woman opened the door, only briefly making eye-contact with her now ex-husband. A beautiful hazel, her eyes enchanted, accentuating her mocha-colored skin perfectly. This, along with her perfect choice of makeup and perfume, made her mere presence a revitalizing cup of morning coffee to Xavier, trapping him in zenlike awe of her beauty.

“Well you’re early,” she said with venomous irony. “I almost didn’t expect you to show.”

The spell broke. He berated himself for still holding onto feelings for her, but the combination of her best appearance and clothes—something he had not enjoyed for himself in years—momentarily took him back to the happy years of their marriage.

Seconds passed.

Finally, his addled mind formulated a response: “I’m here now, ain’t I? So the hell d’ya want?”

“Hèctor, Sara, get in here!” The woman shouted.

“Do we have to?”

“We discussed this, yes! It’s important for the family!”

“Fine,” the daughter relented, entering the room while texting at inhuman speed. Hèctor followed behind his sister, holding some toy—Xavier could never keep up with them all—and sat down sheepishly beside his sister, his eyes to the ground.

It brought Xavier a small amount of comfort to see that his children were hating this just as much as he was, as if every strike against her parenting could absolve him.

“Now,” she began, “We’re here to discuss the future of this family moving forward.” She focused on eight-year old Hèctor to gauge his reaction before continuing. “We’ve said previously that your father and I are taking a break from each other. That’s why we’ve been moving out. However—“

“Look! Just say it!” Sara interrupted, tearing her eyes violently from her phone and setting it aside. “You don’t have to sell this to me, so stop lying to Hèctor!”

“Young lady! I’m trying my best to keep this family together in a delicate situation—”

“That’s the bullshit that’s pissing me off, and I’m not—”

“Language!”

“If you want to tell those lies to yourself, FINE! But if you’re going to call a family meeting, at least give us the benefit of the truth.”

“That’s what I’m—“

“No! The real truth—we can all see it: you think Dad’s a dud to be thrown away, and you think you can do better. If that’s what you want, fine! But if you’re going to do this, at least tell it how it is!” Sara finished, jumping up from the couch and quickly snatching her phone up.

“Where are you going? We aren't done yet!”

“Yes, we are. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date.”

Sara walked by her father, giving him only an unsure nod. Conflicting emotions raged sluggishly through Xavier, rendering him still. She’s got her mother’s looks all right—and her sharp tongue. He felt a small spot of pride.

“GET BACK he—fine! Go!” the woman stomped violently.

The outburst had sobered Xavier a fair bit. Struggling to round up his thoughts, he grabbed onto the most pressing matter: “So, what do you have to say that you were so damn insistent about?”

“Nothing. We’re through. As usual, Miss Rebellious had to have it her way and wreck a serious discussion.” She gestured him towards the door. “You can go now.”

“I live here! Itss my house!”

“If you can even call it that with what you owe on it. Like it or not, we have two more days here; then you can have this empty, old house to yourself.”

Her words,like a series of malicious acupuncture needles, dug into Xavier, who first clenched his fists and then let them fall, his eyes dropping to the floor.

Hèctor’s sniffling arrested the tense silence. He had dropped the toy and was practically quivering. Both parents instinctively made their way closer, but his mother was closer.

“Does that mean I won’t see papa anymore? That Mama and Papa hate each other?” She wrapped herself around him.

“It’s okay. Everything’s going to be all right. I know it’s hard, but sometimes mommies and daddies get a divorce because they’re not happy anymore. Your daddy’s going to be happier this way, and we’ll be happier.”

He’s eight and a half for Christ’s sake; don't treat him like he's five.

While Xavier hated that she was speaking for him, he wanted to do his part and closed the difference to comfort his son.

“What are you doing?” she asked, placing herself in between them.

He crouched down, stumbling briefly, to reach past her to the boy.

“Get back!” she ordered.

“Can’t I hug my own son?” he said through gritted teeth.

“It’s my call now, and I say no.”

“What!?”

“I said get away! This isn’t your place anymore.”

He looked past her to the now-sobbing Hèctor, and he fought back his inebriation to stare her in the eye. “Fuck you. I’m saying goodbye. You won’t take this away from me. Step. Aside.”

“Or what? You’ll get violent? Get real, Xavier. I’ve seen how you would stand there and take spilled drinks and insults from rowdy drunks without raising a finger—back when you worked at a real bar. I’ve seen you look the other way and keep walking when other men hit on me in passing. What makes now different? I doubt you have the balls to do anything any more now than then.”

Xavier answered with determination, casually pushing through her attempted blockade.

“But I suppose the police don’t know that.”

He stopped, puzzled.

“We’re recently divorced, you come home drunk and I’m holding a sobbing child. Who do you think they’ll believe if I tell them you struck me?”

Xavier seethed internally. She wouldn’t he thought.

He gazed at love.

No she would, and they’d believe her. Fuck! Am I going to stand here and take this? And let her take everything from me?!

Every muscle in his body stiffened and his hands curled into fists. What was this vengeful witch that replaced the love of his life?

She can’t fucking do this to me.

He searched desperately about the room before fixating on his grandfather’s silver-tipped cane over the fireplace.

I could show her I won't be pushed around.

It might just be worth it…

Almost…

He looked at his son.

“Dolors, please…” he finally sputtered out weakly.

“Just get out. We have nothing to talk about anymore.”

The Bartender gave a sympathetic look to Hèctor, slammed his fist into the wall and stormed out the door.

They were lost to him.

It had taken the better part of a half hour for Dolors to calm Hèctor down from what he'd just seen.

“Everything’s going to be fine, torronet,” she said, kissing him on the cheek.

“But I don’t want things to change. I don’t want to move! I like my friends here!”

“Now, don’t worry about that. Let Mommy handle it. Listen: you have an English test tomorrow, okay? Make sure you get a good night’s sleep, so you can get a better grade this time.”

“But I don’t like English—it’s hard.”

“Now, it’s very important. You’ll need it to graduate college someday.” She paused for a moment, tapping her chin in thought. “What’s the name of that mean boy in your art class? Juan?”

“It’s Marc…”

“Yes, him,” she said, beginning to stroke his head. “When you grow up you want to be able to to get a good job, right?”

She looked expectantly at Hèctor, who nodded after a moment.

“Well, you need to study hard and do better than him so mean kids like him don’t grow up and take that job away from you. You don’t like it when Marc steals your colored pencils, right?”

Hèctor nodded more quickly this time.

“Then work hard and make Mommy proud, okay?”

“Okay….”

Papa never worries about the other kids.

Xavier blazed a trail all the way back to his bar.

Kicking me out of my own damn house too! Taking my son away from me! Whatever! I want to be at Taports anyway. I can be give those bank goons a piece of my mind as well.

He paused to scratch a persistent itch near his rear.

They’re not taking my bar unless they can pry the deed from my cold dead fingers he thought, tensing his muscles for a fight.

He passed a group of young men dressed in Barça’s colors. Yeah, I wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for the politics of Madrid. It’s as its always been: Spain leeches Catalonia’s wealth from her. Well, I’m losing my business dammit! Why should I help prop up an impotent state that nobody but inbred kings ever wanted united? Yet they won’t let us go even when we vote for it time and time again. Meanwhile, fascist terrorists try to scare us out of it. Franco may be dead, but his oppression of the Catalans continues.

“Dammit! What’s with this itch!” he exclaimed, scratching furiously at the offending area. He readjusted his pants to directly attack the nexus of irritation near his spine. The annoyance suddenly lifted, as if the source of itself had been cut loose.

He continued his staggering walk back to his livelihood, the passerby occasionally stopping and shooting him strange looks.

“Well, that’s patriotic.”

¿Qué es aquello? ¡Qué extraño!

“Shhhhh don’t look, honey.”

“Looks good on ya, grandpa!”

“WHAT! HAVE Nunnya sheen a drunk *hic* before?! Damn kids.”

Xavier decided to ignore the looks in order to focus on walking, and he surprisingly found his gait much more stable than before. His red and yellow tail naturally swung back and forth to help keep his balance.

Hey, that’s a neat trick. I just imagine a tail and I can walk good drunk. It really works.

He took the small gift of the discovery for what it was and made good time through the last two blocks. He pushed the front door open, took a dozen steps inside and collapsed into dreamless slumber.

“Is it dead?”

“I don’t even know. Is that a horse?”

“Of course it’s not a horse; it’s red and it has a horn.”

“Well, what else do you want to call it?

“Whatever, I’m calling animal control. I’ve seen some weird shit on this job, but this takes the cake.”

“Is that blood on the floor?”

Ugggh my head. What happened last night?

Xavier shook himself awake, feeling thoroughly hung-over.

He opened his eyes to spy the bank employees tiptoeing backwards through the door.

They weren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow. Was I out that long, or are they just early? Well, time to give them a piece of my mind.

Xavier attempted to push himself up only to fall immediately, his tiny legs scattering in every direction.

Well that settles that. I’m clearly hallucinating this. I’m apparently some kind of red horse—a mare if the lack of mind-numbing pain from that particular landing is any indication. I’m clearly hallucinating this. Hmm… I thought I had gotten rid of that special stash a long time ago... Oh well, may as well roll with it. Maybe I'll see that flying walrus again.

Once he stopped giving it conscious thought, he easily got up on all fours and started trotting back and forth behind the bar.

See. That wasn’t hard. I tell the hallucination that I can walk, and I have no issues with it. This is so weird. Walking on all fours now feels like the most natural thing in the world. Oh well, what logic do dreams have anyway?

He noticed a dark-red spot in his peripheral vision and looked up at his horn for the first time. Since I can do whatever I want, maybe I can scare them off with this. Naw, I tend to lose dream fights; besides, this thing is so short and rounded anyway. Let's see if I can imagine myself into something else.

He concentrated hard, but he remained a pony upon opening his eyes again. N

Nothing, huh? What to do...

Click

Clack

Click

Clack

Click

Clack

These hooves sure are noisy. Kind of catchy though….

AHA!

That damned window called out to him, a much easier more satisfying choice than the front door. Its lease on life had expired.

“You’re going down!” he challenged, breaking into a full-speed charge. The rapidly approaching wall below the window questioned his judgment, but with flawless timing, the unicorn gave a jump and crashed straight through it, knocking it out of its socket and smashing its glass in one piece below the mare’s hooves.

Pain coursed through the front of his body and horn, but his adrenaline-boosted satisfaction just caused him to laugh.

This is weird, but it’s kind of fun as well. Maybe I can find a field to frolic in—with a river of booze and beautiful women... Any direction is fine; I'm sick of this town anyway.

Xavier shook himself out of his ruminations, his floppy pony ears going their own way. Damn I was stupid he thought. I spent hours galloping through the middle of nowhere just to get nabbed by some rural vagabonds. I must have been halfway to Huesca depending on how fast I was going.

He cringed as his attention was once more dragged to the baggage that came with his new form. It’s like I’m being cooked from the inside out. I’ve seen mares go wild in heat and now I know why—burning up on the inside, locked in a small enclosure with no relief, longing for a stallion to come up from behind and—NO!

NO! he mentally screamed again, banging his head against the wall.

NO!

NO!

NO!

Each time, he rammed the wall hornfirst, igniting explosive pain to burst from within his skull.

The moment he stopped, the agony sunk in. He collapsed once more with his legs spread in four different directions, but he fought the pain long enough to right himself into a more dignified sitting position upon realizing what he was reminded of.

The sharp pain then settled into a dull throbbing that scrambled any thoughts beyond escaping it.

I’m not doing that again. It feels like this damn thing is connected to my brain.

Xavier once again felt the alien desire near his rear nag at him.

Although, on the plus side, I was able to stop thinking about being mounted for a minute...

He charged head first at the stall door once more, rattling it and his skull alike.

“The hell is that!?” A man exclaimed out-loud in Castilian.

Two men in work clothes entered the stable and headed straight for the pony’s position. They looked down at him, inspecting their catch.

“She seems to be in good condition. Did she just bump against the wall?” The older of the two asked, gnawing on some chewing tobacco with yellow, rat-like teeth.

“She’s probably—wait, that must be it,” the other said, pointing in between Xavier’s legs.”

The other examined the evidence and grinned. “Aww, is the little horsey in heat?”

“Don’t worry, girl, I’m sure whoever your new owner is will want to breed a pretty one like you,” the other added.

Xavier felt something start to snap and bit down on the gag. Both of you are fucking dead! he thought, charging recklessly at the door once more.

The unicorn’s headlong attack made the two men involuntarily step back. The one with the tobacco pointed at the mare’s horn and the two exchanged deliberate but incomprehensible words.

“Calm down, girl,” the younger of the two wardens urged.

Xavier hit the door even harder.

“All right, I’ll tell you what: if you stop we’ll take the gag off.”

The pony stopped.

“You were yelling gibberish at the top of your lungs yesterday, so we put it on. But since nobody would hear you anyway, so as long as you stay quiet, we’ll let you breathe a bit.”

Xavier stiffened his stance before giving a single nod.

“Good girl,” he said and removed the gag.

The mare took a deep breath and waited a few moments for the headache to subside.

All right, they’ve willing to deal now. They're assholes, but keep a cool head...

“This is a misunderstanding,” Xavier began in a voice several octaves too high.

Jesus! I sound like that fucking animated chihuahua in that show Sara used to watch.

Xavier gave a forced cough and tried again: “I’m actually a ma—human, and I thought this was all an acid-fueled dream until now. I don’t know why I’m like this, but I'm being completely seriously here! How many horses do you know that speak Castilian anyway?”

Both captors gave a jeering laugh, hollering and slapping their jeans.

“Nice try, little mare,” the younger of the two responded, “but you’re not going to fool us that easily. We’ve caught a mythical creature. You’re ours now. You think we’re going to be duped like those saps in fairy tales? Not a chance.”

“I’m not magical! I’m not even a horse, but if—“

“But nothing,” the man with the tobacco interrupted. “Unicorn or not you’re a talking horse and worth a fortune, so sit tight, stay quiet and if you’re lucky, we might throw you a broom handle or something to take care of yourself with.”

It snapped.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY YOU FUCKFACED FAGGOT!?” Xavier screeched with the acridity of a sick hyena. “I’LL SODOMIZE YOUR MOTHER WITH THAT SAME ROTTING BROOM HANDLE AND THEN SHOVE THE POINTY PART OF THIS HORN WHERE—EEEEEEEEEP!”

The man with the tobacco responded in kind by striking Xavier’s flank two dozen times with the procured whip before spitting in his face.

“What are you doing?” his partner rebuked. “She’s our ticket to riches. You don’t want to damage her. That might hurt her value.”

“I thought so too at first, but when she started going after my mother, I realized something nice. With a dark red coat, no one will notice if we make her bleed a bit.”

His younger counterpart examined the captive mare and saw the maroon coat no worse for wear. “I suppose you’re right, but be careful.” He waved the gag in Xavier’s face one last time before turning around to walk out.

Xavier watched them leave before finally collapsing onto the ground. Between the ebbing pressure in his head, the stinging on his flank and the nagging presence of estrus, it took all of his willpower to keep his welling tears from dropping.

Is this the end? Am I just some horny animal now? To be sold off as some rich man’s pet? Is this some kind of message? I’m not man enough to keep my woman, so I wake up as a female horse? Fuck that—sounds like something out of Kafka. I can't even take myself seriously like this.

The former unicorn looked around. Not a sound was to be heard anywhere. There’s nobody around… nothing to do… and I’ve already been humiliated in every way possible...

Xavier let his right forehoof slowly drift south.

No! I am man! I’d rather die before I give into this slutty body that can only think about well-built stallions and pumping out fuzzballs. Xavier looked down. I’d rather eat this straw. Anything to keep myself distracted.

He heard a thump.

Xavier turned around just in time to see a mail slot in the back. For a moment he could have sworn it was glowing before it slammed shut. Why the hell is there a mail slot in a stable? Did the horses here get fan mail? No, that’s stupid. He then noticed what had apparently caused the noise: a worn book with yellowed pages sat in front of him.

El Seu Ramat i Vostè:

Una Guia Pràctica de Relacions Harmònicas per als Cavalls i per les Egües

Heartbound

You and your herd? The hell is this? And why is it in Catalan? I thought I was further west. Besides, what does it mean by a guide to “harmonic relations?” "A guide for stallions and mares?"Are there really a bunch of magical unicorns somewhere, and I became one? Well, a book on diplomacy isn’t the best, but it might have some answers.

The unicorn used his new horn to flip the inside cover of the book open.

Heartbound

988 CY

I guess that’s the name of the publisher, and it doesn’t look like this date is C.E either.

The remainder of the page was mostly obscured by a huge, red X. A single word was printed over it but then obscured by multiple attempts to cross it out.

Discard.

Xavier simply flipped to the next page and was greeted by a color photograph of six brightly colored, smiling ponies lounging on one another. Their contentment practically wafted from the page, slowly bringing a smile to the face of the mare looking on. This was short-lived and he suddenly felt a spike of a now all-too-familiar warmth upon recognizing the large pony in the back as a stallion.

Shit! Now I know what the males look like! Ignorance was my only defenses against unwanted thoughts!

He rushed to close the book but only succeeded in hitting the pages with his hooves before his curiosity overtook him. Wait a second… are those really wings?

Sure enough, all the miniature horses in the picture had a small pair of wings matching their coat color folded to their sides save for one. A light-pink unicorn with a red mane sat in between two other mares in the foreground. Xavier only then took notice of a bizarre emblem on her flank: two hearts of a darker shade of pink than her coat circumscribed a set of doors propped open by a red string connecting them. On second inspection, the entire group had some sort of mark in the same area; their awkward positioning in the photo seemed to have been chosen to put them on display.

My special ponies. From left to right, back to front—Cleansing Rain, Joy Cloud, Fair Sail, Tailwind, Me, Snowflake Summer.

Xavier then stole a look at the stallion’s mark: a scale with coins that perfectly complemented the rugged, deep-blue fur framing his stout legs.

Dammit!

He frenetically tried to close the book, missing with his horn before turning the page with an unorthodox method. Afterward, he had to spend a minute running a fetlock over his tongue in an effort to substitute absolutely anything for the dusty taste.

I’m not doing that again. Maybe I need to bite it instead? But won’t it fall apart?

This is normally the part of the book where I boast about how qualified I am as a relationship counselor and that I’ve been doing this for eighteen years, yadda-yadda, but that’s silly—you’ve already bought the book, right? Since a picture’s worth a thousand words, I’ll let my own happy herd speak for itself. Some counselor ponies like to say their special talents stop working in their own relationships, but I’ve never believed that; like any other, my herd has had ups, downs and major challenges we’ve had to face together.

Like any happy herd, it would not be possible without an amazing alpha. When Snowflake first told me that the fun-loving pegasi whom she was interested in were headed by a flight instructor for the royal guard, I couldn’t believe it. However I, to this day, am amazed by Tailwind’s strength and compassion. Getting to know the mare behind the shrill whistle has been one of the most wonderful experiences of my life. But it also helps that she has an excellent taste in stallions. Who would have thought she’d be such a good match with somepony as reserved as Sail?

Wow… this is… sappy. And what does it matter to her who this Tailwind marries?

“Like so many others, I went herd-hunting with a friend. After suffering through many awkward picnics and parties with macho alpha stallions looking for more conquests or career-driven mares obviously out for a free nanny or wet nurse, I began to doubt Snowflake and I were meant to be together. When she suggested we consider an all-pegasus herd in Cloudsdale, I never thought it would work.

The hell? It sounds like a date almost.

What I found was a pony who brings home the happiness of her sunny skies, a pony who always knows the right thing to say, a pony who will take time for the little things that go a long way, and a pony who taught me that fastidiousness can exist alongside kindness.

I guess that means I’m a pony then? Wish she’d explain why I have this dinky horn instead of wings. Seems kinda useless... unless unicorns are needed to open books.

We learned along the way, facing major decisions together: Accommodating me while living in Cloudsdale, letting Rain into the herd and moving back when Joy became pregnant with an earth foal. In any case, I wish I had a guide like this at the time, so whether you’re starting out with your favorite ponies or seeking to rekindle old flames, you’ve come to the right place. And by that I mean the right book.

—Heartbound

Hang on! It never showed or mentioned any other stallions in this herd, how is she pregnant? I thought it was temporary for protection against predators while these mares searched for husbands? Unless… no, they couldn’t all be his wives; otherwise the whole thing would sound cultish.

Xavier now had to know. He bit down on the dog-eared corner of the book and turned the surprisingly-resilient page.

About This Book

For your privacy this book has been enchan—

He skipped the page and his eyes fell on the next.

Chapter 1
Why do we herd?

With a few, relatively obscure exceptions, ponies are unique for forming herds. Pairs of Griffons mate for life, Buffalo form monogamous pairs that social standing and Zebras are only bigamist in times of necessity, such as after war. What makes ponies unique then?

The obvious answer is that in most species, stallions are nearly as common as mares, a fact that non-ponies will not find strange at all.

But why is this?

Biologists surprisingly believe that ponies might have originally been like zebras in ages long before even the princesses. However, Equestria used to be a much more dangerous place for us ponies. Hydras and Manticores, thankfully rare in today’s era, and other large predators found our ancestors to be easy snacks, pushing ponies to the brink of extinction. Because of our long pregnancies, some ponies think that we adapted with a higher mare ratio in order to keep our numbers up . By herding together, a single stallion could sire multiple foals, while the foals would benefit from extra parents. But even more important than biology is—”

Xavier slammed the book shut.

Fuck!! They are polygamous! he thought, plopping down on a pile of hay.

So that’s it, huh? There’s more mares than stallions, so I became one to be a broodmare for some stud? Not that I’m getting out of here for it to matter it, but whoever sent this can go fuck themself.

“I want NO part of this!” he yelled, rearing his head back and slamming the horn into the book’s spine. He briefly saw his horn glow, and the book vanished.

Yes, take the piece of shit back. And turn me back while you’re at it.

He lay on the hay—warm but vulnerable.

“Front, then back, left, right left right—dammit!”

For the umpteenth time that day Taylor stumbled over his front hooves and landed face-first onto the hard dirt.

“Owwowow!”

The earth mare raised a forehoof to rub at the abused muzzle but only succeeded in smacking it a second time. He let the doubled throbbing sensation subside before letting out an oddly-pitched sneeze.

“I just had to announce that it would be easy…” Taylor said, admonishing himself. “Forget these awkward things! I’m crawling!”

Keeping his barrel to the ground, he extended his forehooves and dragged his long body behind them. It took him three minutes, but he finally reached his destination—a spigot at the side of the cabin. It had no hose, but it would have to do. Biting down on the valve, he slowly turned it. The sudden change in pressure after so many years resulted in an initial explosion of water before the stream thinned out.

It looked heavenly refreshing to Taylor, who wrapped his muzzle greedily around the spout.

Just as he opened his mouth, the water turned to mud.

Taylor spat out the water and gagged on the earthen taste for half a minute. Desperate to get the taste out, he ran his tongue over a clean-seeming patch of grass. As if out of spite, the water had once again taken on a clean appearance.

He groaned and turned halfway around to look at his tail. Untouched by the water, it was nevertheless soaked.

You put it up to this didn’t you? This whole thing is your fault.

It twitched in response. The nerve damage from its temporary eviction had yet to fully heal, leaving Taylor with minimal control over it.

If he had it his way, he would have slept all day, and then have slowly spent the next grappling with the prospect of being a pony and only then he would have started to consider what becoming female truly meant in the scheme of things. Unfortunately, awakening to a full bladder had thrust the latter issue straight in the earth mare’s muzzle. With great difficulty he had struggled desperately to get out of the awkward tangle that was his clothes, miraculously bested a stubborn doorknob and crawled outside, all the while trying not to overthink the difference in anatomy. However, his triumph was stifled upon noticing wet fur from his tail that failed to lift.

With a grumble, the new pony washed off the unruly appendage and hazarded a long drink.

Well that only took an hour. What now? Taylor looked down at his hooves, not liking the color any more than he had after his first glimpse.

I’m really hoping I don’t look as ridiculous as I think I do—aside from the whole pony thing, obviously. Part of me doesn’t want to know, but I may as well get the las— Taylor caught himself. The certainly not-last unpleasant thing out of the way while I’m in a crappy mood already.
Taylor did see a mirror during his trek out of the cabin; however, on the way out, he had taken a foot-high drop off the porch. Not wanting to fight a losing battle with the stairs, he searched for an alternative and found a small puddle. With butterflies in his stomach, he picked himself up to make another attempt at walking.

He took one step, then two, then three, making it hallway there without a stumble. I think I’ve got it now, it’s the front foreleg followed by the opposite hind leg. Growing confident, he tried to steady himself into an even rhythm and naturally fell face-first into the puddle.

Ears drooping, Taylor rose his head and slowly shook himself dry like a dog.

“Joke’s on you puddle,” he said, giving a forced chuckle, “my face was already dirty, so you just helped me clean it off. Now let’s see what the damage is...” Taylor stood up to take in his reflection all at once.

It was every bit as bad as he feared: a very girly pony looked back at him with a profound frown. Jet black fur covered most of her body, including her drenched face. Her long, somewhat poofy mane had inherited Taylor’s natural curl and shared its awful color with the spiteful tail. The mare’s jaw dropped.

“You have got to be kidding me! Really!? It’s bad enough that I turn into a pony, worse still that I’m a girl, but I seriously have to look like this from now on? Black and neon-orange! Really? Not to mention this ridiculous hairstyle that belongs in an 80’s music video! I look like a goddamned Beanie Baby! One that’s overflowing from the Hallmark clearance bin as soon as November 1st comes around! Probably with some terrible pun name like ‘Frightmare’ or something.”

Taylor dissolved into the ground. I can’t live like this. This is too much. Maybe I should have died back there if this is what I’m left with. Why bother?

The pony’s stomach gave a growl.

“Yes, why not? I’m miserable enough. Why not eat some grass? Even if that bastard is coming back, I have canned oats to look forward to at best.”

With a sigh and a tear, the earth pony bit off a clump of withered grass and chewed. It was borderline edible, reminding him like an overpriced gourmet salad eaten dry—the kind he hated.

Yum.... Lots of this in the future...

Taylor chewed and forced himself to swallow. At this rate it’ll take forever for this to be filling. Better stop thinking about it. May as well get used to mindlessly grazing like a good little tacky pony.

“What are you doing?”

Taylor froze and looked up at Domenico—way up.

Damn I’m tiny now.

The mare scarcely recognized the mafia heir in casual clothes. Gone was the custom suit, replaced with jean shorts and a polo shirt, either of which could have come from the—albeit limited—nicer side of Taylor’s own wardrobe. He just stared blankly at the pony, who still had his mouth hovering above his pitiful meal.

“Are you… eating grass?”

“Oh hey,” Taylor said, nervously recomposing himself and standing up. “I… I didn’t know you were still here. N-no I wasn’t grazing… I was just… smelling the grass. It’s strange what this pony body can notice haha. I hadn’t thought of that though; at least I’ll never want for food again.”

Domenico shot him a weird look. “Okay, then. It seems you were able to get outside okay by yourself. I left it unlocked, but I didn’t want to leave the door open.”

Frankly I’m surprised I’m not chained to a pole in the yard right now.

“Well couldn’t you have at least helped me out of my clothes? I got really hot with all the fur, and they were a pain in the ass to get out of this morning.”

“I would have, but I remember you saying something about not taking advantage of the pretty pony in her sleep. I think undressing you fits that.”

Damn. I really did say that, didn’t I? How shaken up was I by the—No! Bad! Don’t think about the horrifying brain slug! Not thinking about it! Nothing but bunnies and rainbows in here!

“Ask any of my old roommates: I’m as good as sloshed when I’m running on no sleep.” Taylor looked around nervously, very uncomfortable with the dangerous Sicilian standing there and saying nothing. “So, do you have anything to eat around here, or do you really expect me to eat grass?”

“I brought some groceries. Farmer’s market. I got good deals. My French is a little better than my English, you see.”

“And thank God for that.”

Domenico gave no reaction to the casual jab. “There’s water over there if you want it,” he said pointing at the pump. “I want to check the indoor plumbing before I turn it on, but over there should be good. Just wait for the bad water to clear first. It hasn’t moved for a while.”

“Thanks…. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“We’ll see if there’s anything you could eat. Vegetables should be good, right? If you are actually like a pony in that aspect.”

“Well, ponies aren’t usually black and orange, so your guess is as good as mine.

The Sicilian snickered.

“What?”

“Nothing. I was just thinking that Hollywood is—nevermind.”

They stared at each other for a slow ten seconds.

Man this is awkward. When he’s talking I can kind of forget that he probably has thought of twelve different ways of murdering me already planned, but when he’s silent…

“So, we may as well get this out of the way now: why did you take me along? Smuggling a pony can’t be easy if you’re looking to hide. So, what? Did you want a free pet? Are you going to stick a bow on me and give me to your sister?”

“To be nice?” Domenico ventured.

“Yeah right, you nearly got me killed! Like I’d trust you after that!” Taylor started to raise his voice but held back, afraid of poking the sleeping tiger.

“For intel. I wanted to know if the pony is the same person or if the pony takes over. In that aspect, you seem different than… them.”

“Well, for better or worse, I’m still me, so mission accomplished. What now?

Domenico raised his eyes upward in thought, taking a few moments before answering. “Outside of the government camps, you have nowhere to go, but I could use a pony that can communicate and follow orders. I can pay you.”

“I can’t say I liked working for you before.”

“You still have your organs, right?”

“But what use is money to me?”

“I have ways to transfer it to whoever you want.”

“I... I don’t want to.”

“Well, I hear the petting zoo down the road is hiring.”

“Fuck you…”

Domenico turned around towards the truck. “Can you help me unload?”

“Wait. What now? Seeing as I have no choice in the matter, what’s the next step from here?”.

“For now, nothing,” Domenico said with somber resignation.

He wanted to object, but Taylor’s courage finally failed him. “All right, Dom.”

“Dom?”

“Since you insist we Americans are too dumb to say Domenicko, I thought I’d—you know…”

Domenico cringed at the mangling of his name. “Yes, that’s... fine.”

Well, this is getting awkward again. Need an excuse to get away. I feel like running for some reason?

“Race you there, Dom-Dom," Taylor said playfully, intentionally failing to articulate.

He galloped five paces before meeting with the familiar ground.

“That’s right—walk before you run. Remembered that just in time...”

“Are all ponies this weird or was he like this before?”Dom whispered, well-within earshot.

Author's Note

Three CToH updates in three days. And we saved the ~~best~~ last for last.

Hopefully, next chapter I can finally stop torturing my ponies for once. I didn’t want to keep Lynne out of it for two chapters, but backstory proved to be expensive real estate, and the chapter quickly got huge.

There’s so many things to apologize for in this chapter that I might make a blog post for it later. Short list: Sorry for the terrible pun of the title. Sorry for bringing in highly contentious Spanish political issues; complete neutrality is impossible, but I’m not trying to make a statement. Sorry for the football/soccer jargon. Sorry if I horribly misrepresented football as I’m not a fan myself. Sorry for posting this so close to the date of the Real Madrid-F.C. Barcelona match; it’s a coincidence I swear. Sorry if my use of the Catalan language is incorrect and/or comes off as pretentious instead of as an atmospheric touch. Sorry for using dashes—mostly to emphasize or to truncate—in a manner—often unnecessary in its excess—that would make Emily Dickinson—a liberal user of the dash—blush. And sorry for trying to be funny in the author's notes; you'd really think I'd have learned my lesson by now.

Thanks for the favorites!

Let me know if I missed anything.

5: Deslliurament

He lay dead on the ground.

He had lived his life with his loyalties emblazoned over his heart, but Lucca’s bullet had ripped through it all the same, leaving behind a vortex-like chasm surrounded by dark streaks.

For Domenico’ sake he had been sacrificed. It may not have been his destiny, but there were few regrets to be had. A better man had been lost that night in Raimondo; surely, his death was nothing worth mourning in comparison.

“Son of a bitch,” Giovanni said, reaching down to pick up the barely intact stress ball. “I can’t believe I was saved by this stupid fucking thing.”

Lifting Quarteroy up to eye level, he could see the knick-knack had a clean hole blown through its chest, right where Guardian Financial’s logo had been. The Mafioso had brought the tacky thing along as a reminder of the bone-chilling evening they had spent together, and truthfully, he had forgotten it was even there.

At first, this was met with a disbelieving relief at dodging death, but it was soon replaced by sheer annoyance. For all of his stratagems, contingency plans, stashed weapons, escape routes and gathering of intel, he had to be bailed out by a pig. Nothing meaningful like a bible or a cherished memento—a pig.

As he contemplated the absurdity of it all, he felt his hastily bandaged wound over. With reluctance he decided to move onto more proactive thoughts.

The bullet’s probably still in there. I’d have bled out a while back otherwise. But there could still be infection, but—No, this is more important. I need to make something of what little opportunity I was given. My crude dressing will have to hold for now.

He pulled angrily on his mustache, nervously winding its left side around his middle finger. Domenico’s plan was perfect, and I did everything I could, but we should have... done… something?

Fuck, who am I kidding? With their capabilities, that American kid was our best shot regardless. Even if we had to resort to plan B and let them gas him like we thought they would, it could have told us something, anything about how to beat those monsters in human skin.

The mafioso cringed, thinking back on the soulless eyes of Lucca’s entourage as they threw their lives away. He felt a cutting chill at the thought of his fallen comrades twisted into abominations like Lucca.

Diego, Boss, Domenico, I pray, for your own sakes that death is all you had to suffer through.

He staggered, steadying himself against the rail of the ferry as the waves rocked the old passenger vessel. Raw emotion swelled up as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a notepad. Raimondo had taken it everywhere with him; ready at a moment’s notice, it would be used to record his jokes whenever and wherever inspiration struck.

Raimondo, I’m sorry, man. We got you killed.

Boss, Domenico, I failed you both. As much as I’d love to sucker myself into believing that you won that fight, I don’t need to see the bodies to know what happened, especially when the enemy doesn’t stay dead.

“Come on Giovi,” Raimondo chided, pulling in a few chips, “don’t be such a pessimist. Caution is nice, but don’t rush to fold when you can stick around for cheap. Often, the next card can change everything,” he said, revealing a missed flush for Giovanni.

He shook his head at the memory. No, we lost. I have to assume the whole organization’s compromised.

A man approached with an unnatural gait. The former hitman adjusted the oversized sunhat over his face and straightened his sunglasses before reaching for his concealed weapon just in case. However, the tension instantly evaporatedwhen he noticed the barely visible brace under the man’s shorts.

My lone advantage is that they think I’m dead. I don’t know why fortune chose me, but rest assured, Raimondo, I’m not about to fold just yet.

Blending in with a gaggle of obvious tourists, he disembarked the ferry, surreptitiously striding down to the boarding platform.

If I have the intel, someone else can bring the cavalry.

And I’ll be riding with them; after all…

Giovanni squeezed down hard on Quarteroy, splitting the knickknack in two.

Now it’s personal.

“Fuck this book!” Xavier said, stabbing the worn book’s spine with his horn to turn the tome invisible once more.”

After much internal debate, he had swallowed his dignity to read the chapter on estrus, hoping for any way to mitigate the constant symptoms. He hadn’t been expecting much, but when it had the gall to say “be considerate of the stallion,” he had completely lost it. He had become a horny female pony thanks to their damned harem gender ratio, and it had the gall to say “be considerate of the stallion!?”

Oh yes, the poor stallion! It must be so hard, having all your bitches beg you to fuck them at once!

However, the newly-minted mare only had a few seconds to be angry before being reminded once more that it was still day two of the heat, the worst according to the book. Xavier had spent most of the day alternating between stewing angrily in his own juices and reading Heartbound’s insipid guide. It was a sadistic choice between wrestling with lewd, longing thoughts with no outlet and being told said experience was a time to be closer with your special ponies.

The hours dragged on like this, his captors only appearing to occasionally to give him water, to pour a bowl of oats, or to take him outside to use the bathroom—while humiliating in its own right, at least they gave him that much. Perhaps they were avoiding him, but it was certainly preferable to being constantly observed in this state.

Days passed in limbo. Rotting in a stall alone with nothing but the full reality of his new form in front of him, Xavier began to wonder if he would lose himself like this. With eating now the high point of his day, he was nearly broken enough to view the prospect of a new master as a spot of hope. At least they might let him have some space.

Then, as quickly as it started, it stopped. He was himself again.

He was filthy, alone, and sore all over; but he could think clearly again. It was as if an incredible weight was lifted from him. Sure, he was bored, but by comparison, it was like he was once again living in the post-marital bliss he had longed to recapture for so many years. However, relative happiness only went so far.

Dolors, Sara, Hector. They probably will never know what happened to me. Will they even care? Even though I worked tirelessly to give them what they deserved, it wasn’t enough, apparently, and they tossed me aside to be an animal in chains.

He sighed.

No, it’s not their fault… I could have done more…. but… well, I suppose I should go back to the book. It’s not gonna get me outta here, but maybe I haven’t read the part that explains what’s happening to me and whose skull I need to smash in to make it stop.

He attempted to entertain himself with that image, channeling all his pent-up rage and unleashing it on a faceless figure. To his dismay, he felt only hollowness and a patch of guilt at the revenge fantasy. He clicked his teeth, annoyed, and opened the book written by the pony who was now, regretfully, his best friend by default.

About This Book:

For your privacy this book has been enchanted with a rudimentary invisibility charm. While honesty is a tenet of harmony, and I would encourage openness to nurture trust in any type of relationship, I realize there may be a stigma associated with reading this book, especially for any stallions out there; and even the mares may want to avoid implying that their herd isn’t a happy one. Just place your magic focus on the spine to avoid any misunderstandings. However, I still highly encourage you to open a dialogue with your special ponies about what you learn here, and I have dedicated a later section to this topic.

He could hardly believe how casually she mentioned the book's most interesting feature. She was describing a magical enchantment unlike anything Xavier had even seen, yet she treated the matter as if she was stating her choice of font before transitioning into another lecture.

You have time to describe all sixteen of your little bloodsuckers, but nothing on the magical abilities unicorns are supposed to have. What would I do without you, Heartbound?

Xavier flipped through the book for something he hadn’t read already.

Your Herd and Nursing: Mother-Foal Bonding Time or a Herd Endeavor

Hell no.

Your Herd and Discipline

Xavier snorted. What’ll Mrs. Better-Parent-Than-You do? Take away their goodnight kisses? Limit them to just eight cookies a day? Hell, the way she describes it, I wouldn’t be surprised if sugar is a food group to these damn ponies.

Part of him was surprised she even had a section on one of the more difficult part of parenting, seeing how she went on excessively about how her foals are the greatest things in her life.

Xavier felt a pang of longing and recoiled upon realizing the hypocrisy.

Well mine aren’t fucking hairballs!

Corporeal punishment is currently frowned upon in more developed regions but remains customary in some traditional earth pony and pegasus families. I won’t deny your right to spank your own foals, but keep in mind that most research points to it doing more harm than good.

Typical women: “I don’t want to start an argument, but keep this clearly argumentative point in mind.”

However, I must strongly caution against the use of unicorn magic for this purpose. While, you may think it won’t happen to you, dozens of foals are injured annually by an angered parent’s magic surging out of control. While you may use a basic momentum spell for something as mundane as knocking on a door or pushing a filly on a swing, even something so simple can be potent on the battlefield when mixed with aggression and the desire to hurt.

To Xavier’s dismay, the half-page section ended to start a much more detailed outline on how to make effective use of time-outs.

No, dammit! Don’t stop! Tell me more about magic! I’m the one who needs it to get out of time-out!

The unicorn took the pages in his mouth and skimmed the rest of the chapter, finding not a word more on magic. Although he was grateful that he could read about foal care without his body constantly chiming in its willingness to participate, the counselor’s writing was only sufferable in small doses.

Figures. No mention on how to actually perform magic, just that it’s obvious. That only leaves me with that contraceptive spell from earlier, which I’m definitely NOT touching.

Fuck magic! Why am I looking to magic when it got me into this mess! Scientific explanation my ass! People don’t turn into unicorns on their own. This piece of shit book proves it. If someone wanted to be helpful by putting this book in the mail slot—which I am positive wasn’t there earlier— they would have sent me something like Pony Jailbreak for Dummies instead. This on the other hand is clearly an insult that I’ve HAD ENOUGH OF!

He kicked the vanished book away. Not a second later, the stable door flung open and the group’s apparent leader waltzed through. He came up the aisle, sparing the maroon unicorn only a brief glance before stepping into a stall on the other side. He lazily swept the interior a few times with a broom and then set up its water supply. Satisfied, he returned to the front to greet the asshole with the tobacco. After a brief exchange in Basque, the bulky teen stepped outside, returning a few seconds later with a flailing cyan unicorn.

Xavier’s eyes widened, and he watched in fascination as the ponynappers looked over the new mare.

Another one? I didn’t think I was the only one, but still… Thank god it’s not a stallion…

At first Xavier suffered a strange patch of happiness as the mare was held above him. He could practically feel a rush of endorphins at the idea of social contact with a fellow pony. He wanted to talk with her, he wanted to feel her, he wanted to be close to her.

He mentally nodded his agreement at the pleasant prospect of company but froze upon realizing what was happening.

No, this is another trick! This body wants me to make friends with the pretty young mare, so we can make a herd. We get close, and then the next thing I know, she offers both of us to some alpha stallion, and I’m stuck nursing her foals for her! Well I’m not falling for it! We’re stuck here either way, so I can do without pony bonding time. No thank you, Heartbound.

Xavier quickly curled up into a miserable-looking position, just in time for the boy and the pony to approach his stall.

“This here’s your new friend. Be sure to get along now.”

And here I thought he was mute, Xavier thought. Well, he’s still the least condescending of the bunch.

With his eyes closed and his head down, he more words he couldn’t understand and then the sound of duct tape. After a minute, of tense silence, the leader shouted at him.

“Hey, pony, get over here!”

He gestured for Xavier to approach him, apparently to tape up his horn so one of them didn’t put out the other’s eye by mistake.

Fuck off, he thought, rolling onto his side.

“I mean now!”

He softened his voice and tried again.

“Cooperate and this will move along smoothly for all of us. Please.”

Xavier continued to feign sleep in defiance.The man’s response was a chucked beer can straight at the pony’s head. It hit the base of his horn directly, turning what would normally be a minor annoyance into a painful blow.

This lit a fuse in the unicorn, who righted himself and prepared to attack. As the lower part of his horn throbbed, he could feel a flimsy mental link to a nexus of power as symptoms of a headache poured in alongside a faint energy.

Aggression and desire to hurt huh? I’m sure as hell pissed enough! Let’s see if this horn is good for anything!

He gritted his teeth and directed his overflowing hate towards his attacker...

The energy built unevenly behind his horn, only for a lame puff of energy to escape in an orange spark before the entire pathway closed itself to him.

His target, meanwhile, hadn’t noticed a thing and gestured lazily towards himself before becoming impatient and reaching into the stall for the end of the rope.

“Get the fuck away from me you inbred, Basque piece of shit,” Xavier said, trying as best he could to inject intimidation into his unnaturally high voice. “Forget Catalonia: I’d rather have you terrorist motherfuckers out of our country.”

Xavier expected a snide comment from the stoic leader at best, but when he looked the man in the eye, he saw a look of outrage. This was his only warning before suffocating force gripped him. The man taped his horn over so many times that Xavier practically felt a claustrophobic sensation from its entombment. Finally, the head rustler tightly gagged him once more and stormed off. After a pause that lasted an eternity, the boy set the second pony down beside the first and chased after his comrade.

Xavier attempted to sink into the ground once more, only briefly recognizing the arrival of an entirely average cow into the stall across from them. He said nothing, trying to keep his breathing steady while doing his best to play dead. However, the minutes dragged on, and curiosity soon got the better of him.

He snuck a glance at the other mare. She currently had her head down to examine the knots of her gag, so he then examined her more carefully: Her long, blue mane had a flowing quality and a natural tuft to it that mimicked a gentle wave, parted by a long, slender horn. Her barrel was covered in thick, cyan fur and had a slight plumpness to it that suggested good health. the well-toned muscles in her calves that accentuated her hips perfectly.

Before he could think on it further, however, she started to lift her head once more, so he once more laid his head down to feign disinterest. She must have seen him, though, as she stepped in front of him and lifted her hooves towards her gagged muzzle.

He shook his head.

It’s not worth it. Being able to breathe free is one of the few privileges we have here; they’ll take it off if we’re good. Trust me: we have nothing to talk about anyway. This stall must be the only sturdy thing in here, and Heartbound’s no help, so just get away from me before this body decides you’re my special pony or something.

To communicate his thoughts in the only way he could, he walked across the cell in a few short paces and lay back down.

She seemed to take the hint.

Xavier lost track of time as he lay there awkwardly. He felt ridiculous at shying away from her like a schoolboy with a crush, but exhaustion won out, as he drifted and out of sleep.

Eventually, the most verbally abusive of the group returned—the stench of tobacco gave him away from across the stable—and removed their gags.

The cyan mare immediately started yelling: “Why are you doing this to us!? We’re not animals! We’re human beings and we have rights. My father knows I'm missing, and when he—”

He forced her mouth shut and shushed her.

“Shut up. Both of you,” the man said, glaring at his first catch, who started to weigh the brief outburst in his head. The captor then walked off.

A Brit, huh? Sounds spoiled too. That attitude’s useless here. When you’re a stupid-looking horned horse, trash like them can lord over, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Yep, we’re horses now—mares. Tiny, goddamn mares—egüetxes.

“Hello. Um… Miss Unicorn?”

No, go away. Don’t make me use this voice again, Xavier thought, hoping against hope she would leave him in peace.

“I… I uh… really like your mane. The colors are really pretty.”

I love my home as much as anyone, but for Christ’s sake, that doesn’t mean I want a flag dyed into my hair; it’s ridiculous.

Undeterred, she looked to the ground with a tense look, as if attempting to gather courage, before trying once more: “Hola, Señorita Unicorna. Me llamo es Lynne y no sé dondé soy. ¿Tú sabes?”

Xavier briefly flinched at being called miss before gagging on her butchered Castilian.

“What the hell was that?” he finally said, after deciding to respond in English.

Lynne stepped back at the rebuke. “I’m sorry. I thought you didn’t speak English. I learned some Spanish words from a friend back at university, so I just thought I’d try to speak to you in your own language.”

“Castilian is not my language!”

She calls me ‘tú’ as if we’re equals when I’m old enough to be her dad, and then she lumps all of Spain together like every other damn foreigner.

Lynne looked hurt. Hopefully she would give up this time.

“I’m sorry, miss, I had just thought you were like me. This may be hard to believe, but I used to be a normal human girl like them—well, not like them. I wasn’t mean like them. I get it if you don’t trust me for that reason, but if we work together, I can help you get home to Equestria."

“You think I used to be like this? You think you turn into a unicorn and get captured and end up next to a different unicorn from another world and they speak Castilian and English by chance? That’s just stupid.”

She was clearly perturbed. “Well, you can understand their… Castilian? Right? You know what they’ve been saying? What they’re planning?” she asked.

And now she says I’m the same as those Basque cocksuckers locking us up...

“You confuse Basque for Castilian? They are nothing alike. Do you know nothing of nothing?”

“But do you understand it?”

“The devil himself can’t learn it. What makes you think that I can? You think that I can understand it with this magic horn? If this damned thing worked, do you think I'd still be here?”

She huffed. “Look: we’re in a similar position, and I thought we could work together to escape. I tried to be patient, but then you had to be a complete bitch about everything.” Lynne said, her voice cracking. "Let me know when you've adjusted your attitude."

Her terminating the discussion had been exactly what the bartender had wanted, so why was feeling hurt?

I got chewed out by someone who’s probably half my age. Yeah, she would have a real good laugh if the unicorn with the pretty mane was a divorced man with a daughter her age; that’s the last thing I need right now.

Being in the proper position already, he tried to fall asleep again, but his mind was still racing. He tossed, turned and even tried using his book as a makeshift pillow as best he could, but despite his best efforts, he couldn’t extricate the bitter end of the conversation from his head.

Well, maybe I could have been nicer about it; she’s just a girl.

He shook his head quickly, flopping his colorful mane back and forth.

But it’s done now... So why can’t I stop thinking about it? Xavier stomped with a single forehoof. It’s this damned female body! It’s messing with my emotions.

Satisfied with his deduction, he felt for the despised, invisible book once more. He had learned on the second night of his stay that it was possible to read by moonlight for about an hour, ninety minutes or so after sunset due to a hole in the roof. He then paused, the prospect of embarrassment dissuading him from uncloaking the wishy-washy guide to pony mating.

He glanced over at Lynne, who was asleep on top of what looked like a thick magazine.

Now something’s shown up in here for her too... Can this make any less sense? Well, she has the right idea. Not like there’s anything else to do in here. But wait, what if she wakes up? Come to think of it, it would be risky to broadcast the idea of polygamy to her. Who knows what ideas that body is planting in her mind.

The maroon pony scrunched up his muzzle in thought.

Then again, even if she does see it, she won’t even be able to read Catalan. Hell, I doubt she even knows the language exists.

Pleased with the inherent safeguard, the maroon unicorn opened the beat-up book in search of the smallest hint of magic—even if that meant combing through Heartbound’s sex tips.For the sake of thoroughness, of course.

Floored by its size, Giovanni approached the massive estate. He knew of its reputation and even of its three square kilometer area, but seeing it in person was simply awe-inspiring.

A refurbished road built by the ancient Romans led up to the classically styled gates, which seemed to be chiseled out of a single piece of marble. The front gate kept with this theme, and a statue of the huntress Diana towered over the carefully maintained external garden.

There’s rich, and then there’s this. To be able to afford something like this… in Rome no less.

He took a deep breath. Okay, he’s a man like any other. If he’s been compromised, we’re probably already lost. Nothing to lose here.

Exploiting that burst of optimism, he pushed the intercom button.

“Welcome. Please state your name and business here,” a female voice said with friendly professionalism.

“Giovanni Colvi to see Luigi Colvi; he knows I’m coming.”

“One moment please.”

He could hear the gate mechanism grinding as the iron bars before him slowly lifted, creating an entrance wide and tall enough to accommodate anything short of a small commercial aircraft.

A full ninety seconds of silence was allotted to allow the visitor to bask in the even more impressive interior of the estate. Greenery from every corner of the globe was arranged in perfectly symmetry about the three smooth cobblestone roads leading inside. Exotic birds could be heard chirping, and an impeccably pure artificial lake shone in the distance.

“Feel free to make use of the tram to proceed to the manor. The nearest station will be to your right,” the voice finally said.

Now he’s just showing off, Giovanni thought. Nevertheless, he indulged the owner and took the three minute walk to the tram for a slow ride through extravagance. He had been in similar estates as a matter of course, but this made the others look like movie sets on a budget in comparison; every direction offered a new type of fruit in bloom, vibrantly colored flowers or an enormous, centuries-old oak far too massive to have been transplanted.

After several minutes, the tram deposited him at the foot of a towering hill more than capable of accommodating what lay above—a three storey manor with the length of a football field. Whatever effort the gardeners had put into the greenery from before had been tripled around the house proper. The variety of trees and flowers were even greater, and they pointed along the stone path as it winded up to the residence.

The hitman snapped himself out of another session of involuntary gawking and started his journey to the mini acropolis. It was uncomfortably steep, giving him the impression that he was low enough priority to be spared the knowledge of the easy way up. His instincts told him this climb was far too inefficient to be the norm.

He ascended the first set of stairs with agility, only to take a reflexive step back upon nearly colliding with someone. After stifling a reflexive reach for where his gun would be, he prepared instead to fire up his best apologies. However his expression turned to a scowl as his eyes lit up with recognition.

Standing before him was a meticulously-groomed man in a modernized butler’s uniform. Every part of him from his suit to his skin seemed to shine. Not a hair was out of place on his head, and he sported the cleanest shave Giovanni had ever seen. Scrunching up his face, he gave the mafioso a perturbed look before straightening the olive handkerchief in his jacket pocket.

“Hello… brother,” Giovanni said sourly.

“Yes, nice to see you too, Giovi. Well if the impetus driving your pilgrimage is as pressing as you insist it be, I suggest we get going.”

The manservant turned on a dime and started on the climb back up.

“Wait,” Giovanni, said, closing the distance between them. “You were able to get me an appointment with the master?”

“Obviously. If I’d had it my way I’d have had you tossed out at the front gate. Hurry along now. He has little to waste time on the likes of you.”

Same old Luigi, he thought. It had taken him five calls on three different cell phones to get him to give his younger sibling the time of day, and even then, he had only gotten a particularly venomous maybe.

Giovanni followed Luigi in silence for the remainder of the ascent. When they reached the top, the butler habitually held the door open, but caught himself and quickly rushed inside for fear of actually showing courtesy to the criminal.

He can’t even hold a grudge correctly. I know what a real feud looks like, Luigi. This is just pettiness, he thought, pulling open the polished wooden door.

The interior of the mansion came as no surprise—artwork, gilded wallpaper, indoor fountains, servants, chandeliers, the usual. Fortunately, it was a short walk to their destination. This time, Luigi apparently had to keep up appearances and held the door open, gesturing him politely towards into the sitting room.

A fireplace, styled after Ming dynasty pottery, cast shadows about the room, while a man with silver, coiffed hair smoked a pipe from an antique rocking chair that sat beside it. After a solid minute of silence, he lazily motioned for Giovanni to sit across from him.

The man simply radiated power, his bare feet and black silk bathrobe managing to project confidence rather than vulnerability. His hardened, weathered face suggested he was in his seventies, having all the magnificence of age minus the weakness. Thick, bushy eyebrows sat atop a pair of unflinching gray eyes that scarcely blinked as he waited for his guest to make the first move.

After a tense thirty seconds, Giovanni finally dared speak: “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me today, Senator d’Atlante.”

“I’m no senator anymore,” he said, only briefly meeting the supplicant’s gaze.

“Yes, well…”

“You can call me sir.”

“Yes, thank you for meeting me, sir,” Giovanni said, forcing the utmost formality out of himself. “I must acknowledge that while I bear news on an urgent matter that affects all of us. It may sound ridiculous at first, but I do possess some, albeit tangential, evidence, and I assure you I would not risk the reputation of Don Salicina and myself—“

“Just say what you’re gonna say, dammit. I said I’ll listen to you, so let me be the judge of whether you’re full of shit or not.”

His curtness dropped ice into Giovanni’s veins. Try as he might, he couldn’t get a read on the powerful man in front of him, who expectantly bobbed his pipe up and down with his teeth. Here was a man that could end him with a flick of his wrist. He wanted to approach this with utmost delicacy, yet that was apparently not to his taste.

Here goes nothing...

D’Atlante pored over the photo in front of him from every angle, patiently looking over the unicorn mare with a two-toned green coat and an electric blue mane standing beside an average-sized man. The pony was looking up nervously comparatively massive person, the shaking of her legs apparent in spite of the stillness of the photo.

“So you’re saying that any one of us can turn into one of these ponies without warning?”

“We think so...”

“And this up-and-coming cult can brainwash anyone they want?”

“Yes…”

“And all you have to corroborate this is a couple of easily faked photos and a few fast and loose conjectures?”

“No, it’s more than that,” Giovanni said pointing to a photo he had taken himself. “The ritual markings shown here on Moon Young’s entourage, the opponents of this forming cartel joining the cult, the speed at which this thing is spreading, Lucca coming back to life in front of my eyes—this can’t be—“

“Bullshit!” D’Atlante said, suddenly springing into a standing position. “You waste thirty minutes of MY time to tell me a story I could get from any teenage stoner dropout on the street?”

“It’s the truth… I—“

“Who the hell put you up to this? Who’s holding your leash here? This is a prank by that halfwit Conti, isn’t it? I know your group has worked with him in the past."

“But—“

“Frankly I don’t care!”

He took two steps forward towards Giovanni, with his shoulders high. “Son, I’d be on your knees if I were you. Wasting my time on this… idiocy!”

A sheer sense of dread fell over Giovanni, his last hope expired.

Fuck. It’s over. It was a big enough gamble to assume he hadn’t been compromised by those freaks. Not many know him as a secret lynchpin to most mainland crime; I thought he was truly my best shot. Well, I’ve got nothing now. Raimondo, it’s the least I can do to ride this one out to the end. It’s how you’d want it.

He swallowed hard.

“I will not back down. This is the truth as I see it, and no amount of intimidation will change that. It is absurd. I recognize that! But as I see it, the evidence points towards an overwhelming threat. Most importantly, this deduction comes from Don Salicina himself. Above all else, I’d bet my life on his word.”

The aristocrat seethed and closed the distance between them, looming over Giovanni and glaring directly into his eyes.

“You’d bet your life on this RUBBISH!?”

“I would,” Giovanni said with resigned finality, meeting d’Atlante’s gaze for the first time.

The former senator turned, and walked back towards his seat. “Very well, I believe you.”

Giovanni’s arms fell loosely to his sides. He could hear his heartbeat drumming on his ears as a ringing dampened all outside sound. He softly pressed a finger over his earlobe until it stopped.

“You heard it right: I believe you. I’ve had my own suspicions for a while, and what you’ve just told me fills in some gaps. I’ve been putting stock in the rumors surrounding this cult since some of my servants started acting strangely. Twice now I’ve caught someone trying to drug me or get to me in my sleep—good people from reputable families throwing that all away. It just fits.”

Okay, act natural. Don’t offend him at the last minute; there’s still a chance he’ll pull the rug out from under me.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Giovanni said, wiping away a large bead of sweat. “I’m very grateful you believe me, but it just doesn’t seem like enough.”

D’Atlante smirked. “Well, there is one other thing. Catarina, could you please come in here?”

The door opened for the first time in half an hour. A busty, blonde maid sporting the classic outfit entered, pushing a cart with various pots and cups. Giovanni swallowed anxiously as she approached the master of the house and poured him some coffee. As she bent down, he stared in spite of himself. She then did a slow twirl and turned her attention to Giovanni.

“Tea or coffee, sir?”

Giovanni blushed slightly and looked away. “C-coffee.”

“Coming right up,” she said, smiling.

“Thanks…”

The maid then pushed the cart out of the room, curtsied and closed the door behind her.

Inhaling the fumes coming his cup, Giovanni took a sip and then cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon. What did Catarina have to do with this matter?”

“Oh, you’ll.”

“What do you m—“

“HELLO!”

Giovanni convulsed in shock, nearly jumping out of his skin as an enormous set of icy blue eyes suddenly overtook his field of vision. He took several desperate breaths as an upside-down winged pony righted herself while laughing hysterically.

“HAHahah! Did you see him? He looked like he was having a seizure heehawhawhaw!” She hovered to the former senator’s side. “Thanks for leaving the window open, master. He didn’t hear me coming at all. Though with me, that’s to be expected.”

The mare sported a pale purple coat. Her flimsy looking wings of the same color somehow kept her casually floating a meter off the ground as her blue-striped white mane whipped back in forth to the beat of her wings.

“Catarina, please don’t scare my guests,” the former senator said, clearly struggling to keep a straight face as the giggling pony landed on his lap, front hooves hanging over the chair’s arm.

“I’m sorry, master. Can I make it up to you by letting you pet—ooooh that feels good! More please.”

What the hell is going on here?

A pony the size of a large dog was currently purring as she was stroked, her ears perked up and her tailed wagging happily behind her. She was clearly intelligent, yet the very next moment she was playing at being a pet. Even more unsettling was the man humoring her: Giorgi d’Atlante somehow kept up his aura of formidability even when stroking a fluffy pony.

Giovanni took a deep breath and gave up on formality. “All right,” he finally said, “can someone throw me a bone now?”

“Mr. Colvi, this is Catarina Araoka. We caught our would-be cat burglar here trying to put her hooves on certain things that did not belong to her.”

She giggled. “Don’t flatter yourselves, master. I’d love to see you try to pick a lock with your fingers hardening together. Another ten seconds and I’d be rocking the black market auction scene right now. And then maybe buy myself a nice island…”

“Wait,” Giovanni said, “Catarina Araoka? The Yellow Tabby Thief?”

“Hey, I never liked that name,” the pony said with a pout. “If you must use one of the racially insensitive ones, I’d prefer ‘The Yellow Flash.’ That way I can pretend I’m a ninja!”

D’Atlanta cut in, with a businesslike tone for the first time. “Getting back on topic, Miss Araoka can be very persuasive, and ultimately, I’ve agreed to let her apply her unique skillset to investigating the matter of the cultists. Considering your own familiarity with the matter and your own impressive C.V., I wish for you to work with her on this matter.”

Giovanni felt elation before realizing that a job offer heavily implied the demise of Sagrada Famiglia; nevertheless he made his eagerness heard: “Thank you. We’ll show them that the underworld is not theirs to take!”

“Yeah!” the pegasus cheered with far too much enthusiasm, filling the heavy silence left by d’Atlante’s ponderous nod of agreement.

“Then we’re all in agreement. Catarina, will you show Mr. Colvi to his room? I don’t have another spare servant’s chamber, so you’ll have to share with him.”

“But he’s a boy!” she whined.

“And you’re a pony!” Giovanni replied, annoyed. “Besides, you’re already naked anyway, so what does it matter?”

The purple mare floated herself up off their host’s lap and raised a hoof to object, but stroked her chin in thought instead. “You know, the beds are too big for me, and I have been wanting a cuddle buddy.”

“No.”

“Come on, Giovi, please!” She fluttered her eyelids.

“No, Catarina,” he said with exasperation.

“Please, call me Yuki!”

“Huh?”

“Yuki. Catarina's four syllables is far to many for a cute pony, so I shortened my real name. I think it fits me better now, don’t you think so, Giovanni?”

“Don’t change the subj—hey, wait! How do you know my name? Signore d’Atlante has only called me Mr. Colvi this entire time.

Yuki gave a very satisfied grin. “Well, it would be kind of silly to carry around a complete stranger’s driver’s license,” she said, giggling as she let a wallet unfold in front of him.

He felt for it, and sure enough, his wallet was missing. He took a second to gauge her movement before lunging at her, careful to avoid hitting anything expensive. Yuki easily dodged him and his follow-up attempts, while continuing to belt out high-pitched laughter.

“Catch me if you can,” she taunted, landing on all four hooves for the first time. “I’ll make it easy on you.”

Giovanni watched dumfounded as the mare galloped from the room, plowing through the double doors.

“She’s something isn’t she?” said d’Atlante.

“Yeah, something,” Giovanni said, preparing to sprint after her.

“A moment, Mr. Colvi?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Keep an eye on that one for me. She’s not to be trusted.”

Soon morning came, and Xavier drifted into consciousness to find himself feeling refreshed, and even comfortable. A soft blanket of contentment seemed to cover his small body to make the dreary situation look a bit brighter. He motioned to get up but felt a weight keeping him down.

Wait…

He opened his eyes to see his garishly colored tail barraged with strands of blue from every direction. Lynne was resting her head against his flank and was sleeping peacefully with her mane draped over the Catalan pony’s back.

I should be furious, he thought. She used me as a pillow without asking me and… I like it. We’re linked only by our unwanted change in species, and her presence is so comforting. What is this body doing to me?

He squinted in thought, torn on whether to throw her off of him on principle or to close his eyes once more and let her wake up first.

Then he remembered how young she was.

“Get off!” he said, shaking the cyan pony from him. “Don’t do that! It’s not right.”

She slid to the ground rudely awakened and pushed herself up to a more dignified position. At first, her eyes narrowed and her snout raised, suggesting another outburst, but instead she sighed and took a position of supplication.

“I’m terribly sorry I slept next to you without asking, but I’m still frankly… terrified of this whole ordeal. I thought that since we now have such soft fur, it would be nice and cozy for the both of us, and I was lonely, so...”

“Well, stop. We’re not ponies, and we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Yes, I don’t want to be like this either, but my mother always used to tell me to look for the silver lining in even the worst situations.”

What’s she saying now? Silver what? Doesn’t matter.

“I’m not giving this body anything! Something’s doing this to us! That magazine you have it’s proof. If we enjoy it, it wins!”

The other unicorn seemed taken aback, but nodded. “I’m upset too, but we can still look for the positives.”

“There’s nothing good about being a fucking pony!”

“All right, Miss Negative,” Lynne said quivering slightly, “if you’ve given up, fine! But I for one am going to look for a way out!”

She looked fragile and unsure of herself, and Xavier’s experience as a parent told him he could probably dissuade her with even the slightest hint of disapproval.

Was I too hard on her again? No, it doesn’t matter. We shouldn’t be sleeping anywhere near each other.

Further rumination was cut off, however, as they both immediately caught whiff of the characteristic tobacco that preceded the trio of kidnappers. The quiet, young one led the pack, carrying a variety of brushes and shampoos.

“Hello, horsies,” the leader said to Xavier in Castilian. “We have a prospective buyer on their way, so we need to clean you up nice and pretty. Be good, and you’ll get a big field to run around in with lots of other animals.”

Xavier bit his tongue and swallowed the cornucopia of crude retorts popping into his head, so Lynne chimed in instead: “Why are you doing this? Please understand. We aren’t really unicorns! Let us go!”

“You speak English, Alain?” the teen said.

“None at all! I could barely get past the whole ‘does go, goes, going’ nonsense. They’re all the same to me,” he responded.

“Well I like this one,” the third man said. “I can’t understand a word she says. Maybe foreign girls would be my type.”

“What’re they saying?” Lynne asked quietly.

“Seems like they all failed English. No surprise,” the other pony said.

“Hey, it looks like she can translate for us,” said Alain.

The man with the tobacco leaned in close towards Xavier. “Tell your friend that it’s bath time.” He ruffled Lynne’s mane. “Time to get nice and squeaky clean for the nice man that wants to give you horsies a new home,” he said in a sickening voice, grabbing their leashes before opening the stall door.

“What’s he saying now?”

“Well, it seems that they’re going to bath to us before selling us to a pretty penny,” Xavier explained as both mares were herded outside.

Lynne perked up a bit. “Okay, I’ll keep an eye out for our chance.” Their hooves hit the dirt below in uneven rhythm. “Then again, I wouldn’t mind a bath too much...”

“You want them to wash to you?”

“Well, not by them, but out of all the scary things they could do, it isn’t so bad. As a girl, I loved to brush our horses, and I have to wonder what it’s like on the receiving end.”

“You want to say that you want that they treat you like an animal?”

“We don’t have a choice anyway—“

“You’re choosing to like it. Will you let them mount you next?”

“Well what am I SUPPO—“

“Quiet!” multiple voices said at once behind them.

Lynne huffed at Xavier, who snorted back.

As they walked into the sunlight, they turned their backs to one another and were more than happy to go their separate ways.

It was degrading.

Xavier shivered as another bucket of soapy water washed over his back. He felt like a wet mop, his wet coat full of dirt and tangles. The one washing him stayed silent, but was clearly getting impatient with the knots. Thankfully his coat was relatively thin, but it still hurt. He had hoped to get the boy, who would be the least likely among the three to hold a grudge, but he had no such luck.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t just pain. Intermittently, when the brush didn’t catch, the unicorn felt an occasional flash of brief calm. For a few moments here and there, he was enjoying it; and it only got worse as his coat smoothed out.

What gives? I hate these fuckers… ow…. Why does it feel so good?

He hated himself for letting it tranquilize him, but eventually he gave in. He would let the unicorn body have this. He could pretend it was Sara brushing him—he’d do it for her.

The aged brush massaged his neck beneath the colorful mane. Its uneven bristles parted the red and yellow colors and then brought them together again. He could almost feel their sheen return, and with it, his mood improved as well. He felt his fuzzy fur straighten and fall neatly into place along his back and flank. He felt the same for his legs, and he became newly aware of the texture there, as if he had just snuggled into a handmade sweater. The bliss clashed continuously with guilt but was kept out by the serene cool cascading down the body that wasn’t his.

Finally satisfied, the leader dried him with some rags.

The unicorn gave a sigh of relief and opened his eyes to take in the bright, blue sky, low-hanging clouds and the distant Pyrenees to the north. A flash of green amongst the clouds momentarily distracted him, but he quickly dismissed it as nothing.

His reprieve was interrupted by a pull on his neck, and for once he didn’t feel like putting up much of a fight. Lynne, with her ears pointing to the ground and an unmistakable frown, was pulled up beside him. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.

After a brief pause of contemplation, she tried again: “So… how was it?”

“Horrible.”

She nodded weakly in agreement.

“Yeah,” Lynne said, “that foul-smelling b—brute was so rough with me. He paid no mind at to the tangles. This coat seems rather high maintenance too: so many knots after just a day!”

She would have said more, but Xavier felt another pull to his side, and he was ushered into the stall where the cow had been before. He wondered where it was but quickly decided he didn’t care if it meant more space. However, he felt a pull of a different kind towards the stall across from him.

Good. No more herd mentality. It can stay in that cell with that self-righteous bitch of a mare!

And Lynne too.

Alain was tense. The buyers had come in a group of four. He and his two cohorts found themselves darting back and forth, doing what little they could to accommodate their guests in the run-down facilities.

Chief among the newcomers was a stout man with the most intimidating set of hands any of them had ever seen. He spoke for all four of them. Save for a token greeting by Alain’s uncle, the other three didn’t speak a word.

This had already spoiled Alain’s plan, but when the man insisted on using French exclusively, things got difficult. This had forced him to take point with his mother tongue.

The pressure was huge: more money than he had ever hoped to see was at stake here, and he certainly didn’t count on his uncle to side with him if the other party decided to just outright steal his exotic acquisitions.

Harkaitz may look like a lowlife—because honestly he is—but he knows how to deal. Dammit how do I open this discussion?

The short man gave both of the unicorns a cursory examination, and quickly looked back to him.

“Are they not everything I promised?” Alain asked.

“Yes. They’re fine.”

“Real unicorns! They can even talk. I can show you if you’d like!” Alain said, trying to dial down his oversold enthusiasm. “One-hundred thousand each as a starting point. I’ve got a few other buyers who we’re looking at,” Alain lied.

“Done.”

“Wh—what?”

“Yes, that seems reasonable, and besides, I’d rather not stay in this trash heap any longer than necessary. It says a lot that the livestock is the least disgusting thing here.”

The insult was not lost on Alain, whose fists went white with rage. Though he felt he had earlier felt a sort of agrarian kinship with the man now turning his nose up at him, any connection, however faint, was now shattered.

The man’s voice carried an imperious tone. Despite his rough, tanned skin, there was something aristocratic about his face. Had he seen it before?

Alain stood up tall to retort, but the buyer’s smug grin paralyzed him. There was a defiant look in his eye; he knew that he held all the cards and that Alain dare not defy him.

“So what’ll it be, farm boy?”

“Bu—but of course.”

“Good.”

He gave a hand signal and all three of the men behind him snapped into motion.

“Should I write up the bill of sale?” Alain asked.

“Yes, you do that.”

Alain nodded to young Itzal, who handed him the pre-prepared document.

He accepted it, but first decided to step outside to let his temper cool.

The sky was a mess of enormous, dark gray clouds. For a moment, he thought he could reach up and feel their cottony texture.

Storm clouds.

Ominous…

He turned around and watched the stout man’s entourage encircle the ponies.

Something’s definitely not right.

Xavier watched their chief tormentor buckle under the oppressive confidence and silent power of the short man across from him. The pony tried his best to reap some satisfaction from his suffering, but it wasn’t much consolation. Of course, not understanding a word of what was being said didn’t help matters.

Guess we weren’t worth as much as he thought. Looks like we’re being sold to a man who really knows how to keep control.

He turned over his own concerns in his head and looked across the aisle to Lynne. The other unicorn was visibly shaken as the buyer briefly dropped his façade of disinterest and gave the pony a thorough visual appraisal. Her ears drooped lower than Xavier had ever seen them, and her coat itself seemed to lose some of its newfound sheen.

I might deserve this, but she’s so young. Who can blame her for being absolutely terrified for what comes next? Hell, why am I any different?

Xavier briefly took inventory of his emotions. Despite the relaxing bath, the bubbling rage from his constant degradation was still present, only overshadowed by the constant weirdness and unease from being a unicorn. While he still had many issues with the latter point, he felt a certain calm about their now-inevitable sale.

The remaining men from the purchasing party re-entered the stable. They carried bridles, ropes, saddles, and whips among other things, as if prepared to test them all. Lynne’s short-lived reprieve from the buyers’ scrutiny ended as one of the men stepped in front of her stall to better adjust a bridle.

As he watched the cyan unicorn once more shake with agitation, he became even more perplexed about why he didn’t share it.

Is it because I’m older? Because I’m a man?

Looking down in contemplation, he took a look at his hooves, as if for the first time. His thin maroon fur ran down the entirely of his short legs, ending in a dainty, somehow-feminine pair of hooves.

Looking like this, am I really that different from her? If they treat us the same anyway, what does it matter that I’m male on the inside? We’re now the same—rare pets for some rich rancher or whatever he is.

Is it because I’ve given up?

He had thought so at first, but the depression that would entail just simply wasn’t there. As he fumbled for an explanation, the wonderful feeling that greeted him that morning popped back into his head, having never been far out of mind. Although he was loathe to admit it, meeting her was the best part of the week. As two unicorn ponies, they were in it together.

No! We’re nothing alike! Just because we both ended up like this doesn’t make us the same. Who I am now has to mean something!

Still, he looked on with sympathy as the man started to fit the bridle to Lynne. Her despair was contagious, if not her fear, and he wanted to be close to her in spite of himself. Tapping his hooves nervously against the wall, he vacillated between his resistance to these planted emotions and wanting to help the young woman in front of him.

Is it so wrong to want to help someone in distress? I’d do it in a heartbeat for my own daughter. I don’t care if we’re ponies, I can still be man enough to help a girl in need. It’s the least I can do.

Satisfied with his emotional compromise, his attention wandered to the entrance, where the strong boy from before entered with a document, which was handed to the buyer. He watched the man impatiently scribble on the document with the aid of a nearby support beam. However, his attention was quickly jerked away by the sight of another man approaching him with a harness.

He looked over the stall door, which looked as oppressive as ever. The unicorn felt his legs turn to jelly, and he fell involuntarily to a sitting position.

So much for that, he thought. It’s a lot more intimidating up close. We’re both such tiny things in the face of enslavement.

His powerlessness rolled through him, churning his stomach.

Anything but this! He begged no one in particular. I’m sick of having no choices!

He felt a strangely potent breeze. All activity in the stable seemed to stop.

“Rolling across the open plains—” came an airy voice.

“Do you hear that?” the young kidnapper asked.

“Righteousness never rests.”

This time the voice was unmistakable.

“The hell’s there?!” the man with the tobacco shouted as everyone in the stable stood attentively.

Xavier shared their confusion, and his eyes darted quickly about the room, but to no avail.

“So too the wicked shall be sleepless...”

The shoddy stable shook from the increasing wind pressure. Xavier could feel his front hooves vibrating along with it.

The three kidnappers looked panicked, but the other men seemed to move into formation. Two of them drew guns, another took out a knife and the fourth found a heavy shovel leaning against one of the stalls.

“Visez la porte!” the unarmed leader ordered, getting behind the other four as the two gunmen loaded and aimed at the stable’s only entrance.”

“You! Pony!” the older kidnapper said to Lynne in Castilian. “Ask who’s there!”

“N—no sé span—espanol.....”

He spat on the ground. “Worthless!”

The stable was now nearly rocking side to side from the vibrations as the winds pierced Xavier’s fur, sending a chill of unease through his tiny body.

“For tracking on their turning tails are the WINGS OF JUSTICE!”

An enormous crash erupted from above Xavier. He looked up to see a gaping hole smashed through the ceiling, and he could briefly make out a pony before having the sense to dodge falling debris. However, a gust of wind swept it away before any could impact near him. The view cleared, and he saw the green winged pony beating his tiny wings with enormous exertion, bowling over the formation at the front of the stable.

In one smooth motion, the pegasus kicked off from the remainder of the roof and accelerated downward across the stable, kicking away the dropped firearms with two fluid kicks. The men were quick to recover and the closest to the newcomer pushed off the ground to swing his knife at the pegasus, who somersaulted in midair to avoid it. Another attempted to grab the pony from behind, but he effortlessly swished his tail out of the way, flew up and drop-kicked the assailant in the face. The pegasus continued to weave in and out of grab attempts, swings of the knife and the occasional punch. Dodging with ease, the uninvited guest was far too quick for them and perfectly timed his opportunities to knock the wind out of his attackers with quick bucks to each of their chests.

Finally free from the tangle of attackers, he hovered to the ceiling and bellowed a deep, hearty laugh.

“You will have to do better than that, rakish cretins! For virtue shines brightest when piercing through the nightmares which try us most!”

Who… who the hell? What!? Xavier gaped in confused astonishment.

The short man was furious and yelled for his comrades to get up. He turned his ire towards the kidnappers, who were standing stunned on the sidelines.

“Don’t do nothing.” He said in inflectionless Castilian. “There may not be a deal if you don’t do something.” Though his accent was flat, his body language made it clear that this was not a request, and the group of three hesitantly grabbed whatever improvised weaponry hadn’t already been claimed.

“Let battle be joined!” the pegasus cried, swooping downward as he avoided a sizable rock thrown by the man with tobacco. Lacking other options, the man reached for the broom, but the green pony flew at it hooves-first, shattering it completely while maintaining more than enough momentum to knock him to the ground.

The teen raised a metal rake above his head and awkwardly swung it down at the pegasus, who kicked it out of his hands, set his front hooves on the ground, and bucked him strongly in the stomach.

The last rustler then grabbed the pony by the tail, but the stallion broke the grab and kicked his chin on the way back up.

“It is truly a bright day for all if that is all evil can muster!”

As if responding to the challenge, the last of his original four opponents picked himself up. While the pegasus had been occupied, the men deprived of their firearms had come up with a sledgehammer and a sickle. Their employer gave a smirk and simply pointed a finger at the pony.

They came charging with greater agility than before, swinging, stabbing and lunging. The pegasus was ready, but had to work harder to dodge it all.

Xavier sat transfixed in his stall. He watched tensely as the green pegasus’s dark gray mane whipped back and forth from his constant change of direction. The unicorn’s heart-rate quickened as he watched their ray of hope struggle.

His trepidation came to pass as the stallion absorbed a glancing blow to the side from the shovel. The pony quickly righted himself and took to the air above his opponents. However, this didn’t free him, as the men’s weapons repeatedly slammed against the low ceiling as if trying to swat a fly. Looking slightly worried, the stallion weaved in and out desperately seeking an opening but finding none. Briefly retreating, he hovered inside one of the empty stalls before kicking off again towards the armed mob.

He once more flew towards them, feinting attacks only to dodge at the last second. It amounted to folly, and he got a cut on the barrel for his trouble. He failed to land a single blow and came dangerously close to pulverization as the sledgehammer swung up at him with tremendous inertia.

However, the stallion was ready for this and dodged, leaving the blunt instrument to connect with the beam behind him. He built up speed across the stable’s length and did a u-turn before slamming into the beam’s opposite side. With a splintering crack, it came down hard on the knife and shovel wielders.

The pegasus gave a brief smirk, but had to quickly swerve out of the way. The remaining two continued attacking him with unrelenting ferocity, showing no visible empathy for their fallen comrades.

“You cannot keep flying forever, Pony,” the leader of the buying party said in the same mechanical manner. “You are better than I would have expected, but I would advise you to give up now if you wish to live.”

“It is no compliment coming from a villain,”the pegasus said, sweat dripping down his muzzle.

“It’s over. My men are tireless, and your tricks will not work twice.”

The pegasus gave his wings another mighty flap, but his adversaries were ready and braced themselves.

“Surely you have more than that.”

The pegasus beamed proudly. “I was hoping you would say that.”

With a burst of speed, he flew out the hole he entered through.

Is that it? He’s running? he thought.

But he quickly proved Xavier wrong, returning with two storm clouds attached to his hooves.

“What are—“

“Omens of your demise!

The pegasus pony flew low and feinted an attack. The man rose his sledgehammer for a counterattack, but the pony pulled back. The other attacker stepped in, but the pony had already initiated an evasive corkscrew, meeting with the cloud that had drifted just above the sickle holder’s position. The pegasus came to a halt just above the cloud, pounding down on it with all four hooves. The cloud gave a rumble and let loose a thin bolt of lightning that came with an accompanying thunderclap, splitting the cloud in two from the power.

The man dropped his weapon and tumbled to the ground as his muscles failed him. Without missing a beat, the pony exploited the opening to push the remains of the expended cloud into the second cloud to make lightning strike even harder the second time.

The pegasus stallion posed triumphantly. “Your henchmen have fallen to the might of the Wonderbolts! Surrender, foul one, and face the infallible judgment of Princess Celestia—much more than a slaver such as yourself deserves!”

“Well, it would seem that this power is no fluke, more than I would expect from a compact pony,” the remaining man said with the usual indifference despite his obvious surprise. “However, you made the mistake of showing your hand first.”

Cracking sounds were heard as the man’s body reshaped itself under his skin. Long, black spines began, sprouting fractally from his arms, legs and chest. They grew and twisted, gradually covering his back as well before overtaking his entire body.

For the first time, the stallion’s face showed unmistakable dread. He was given little time to wonder, however, as the man jumped his entire height and then some to reach the pony, who dodged up and away, only to be caught by a suddenly extending spine grazing his cheek.

What… what is that thing?
The assailant pressed his advantage and jumped all the way to the ceiling to take another swipe at the pony, who dove downward into one of the stalls, rearing his back legs to kick the corrugated iron gate straight at his attacker. The gate easily detached and struck the monster of a man, who lunged towards the pony, unfazed by the impact, but the pegasus was already kicking off the ground. With an audible swish, he flew out the front door.

Is he giving up and leaving us with THAT? No… wait, I see.

Sure enough, the pony came back through the entrance he had created himself, pushing inside an armada of storm clouds along with him. He scattered them throughout the stable with a couple of quick kicks

There’s that too, but the higher roof gives him more manoeuvrability

The stallion went straight for the point, speeding towards a cloud above his prickled opponent. However, the mutant was having none of it and fired a large black spine at the pony’s predicted position, splitting the cloud in two.

“As if I’d let you,” the monster said initiating a barrage of projectile spines.

The green pony was quick to find the Achilles heel of this onslaught, however. With some well-placed wing beats, the entire spinefront was redirected harmlessly to the floor.

This pattern continued for a while, with both combatants pre-empting the other’s attack.

“Such… cowardly attacks… shall always falter in the face of the… Wings of Justice!” the pegasus said, panting after deflecting another round of missiles. With reduced speed, he darted for the hole in the roof and pulled more from the seemingly endless mass above the stable.

Re-entering, he kicked off the back wall, dodged a fan of smaller spines and circled back above to kick a cloud above his opponent’s head. The pointed purchaser anticipated this and shot a couple spines into it before the pegasus could make effective use of it. He reserved the larger ones for this purpose and sent a quick barrage of smaller spines at the stallion.

“The same trick won’t work twice. Give up.”

The emerald stallion said nothing, but merely flew outside for more clouds. He froze upon returning to find the monster of a man standing outside Lynne’s door with a long, obsidian blade extending from his wrist.

“I am no idiot. You are here for them. You think you are clever, bringing abundant clouds so I cannot avoid another one of your lightning bolts. This ends now. Surrender yourself or I start with this one. And she will scream in a language you can understand.”

No!

The pegasus gave a hearty laugh.

"Do you lack reason? Or are you mad enough to think you have trapped me? the twisted man asked.

Xavier nervously eyed several nearby clouds; many of them were within range. If only he could get to them.

“Yes, I see that cloud above me. Try anything, and I slit her throat. After all, I have an extra."

“In the end, a truly fiendish character such as yourself cannot resist the basest of villainy, drawn to it like a spiteful mosquito to the foulest of waters!” With that boast, the pegasus brought his front hooves down on the cloud mass beneath him.

Arced lighting radiated from the sides, igniting one cloud after another in electric charge. Xavier could feel his fur stand on end as the clouds polarized one by one. The maroon pony covered his ears as best he could and hit the ground.

The electricity encircled the room, converged and struck the monster with a single almighty shock. The anticlimactic static pop of the lightning strike surprised Xavier, but it did not take away from his relief in the slightest, as the monster fell to the ground, unmoving.

With the tension evaporating, accumulated concern poured back in. It… it looks like we’re saved. But what now? We’re in the middle of nowhere. Two mares… and a stallion...

The triumphant pegasus took a deep breath and glided gently to the ground, making a point to step over his fallen adversary as he smiled at Lynne. “Are you injured, Your Highness?” he asked, opening the door.

Lynne took a few quick breaths, shaking as tears fell from her eyes.

“Thank you!” she cried, throwing her forehooves around her rescuer’s withers. “I was so scared! Thank you! Thank you!”

“Fear not, my lady, everything is fine now.”

“How can I ever repay you?” she asked with a trepid smile.

“The gratitude of a mare as fair as yourself is reward enough in itself.”

“In that case…” Lynne pushed her muzzle forward in a kiss, awkwardly finding the side of his mouth before sheepishly locking lips with him.

And it went on—and on. The stallion opened his eyes and started looking bashfully around before she finally broke it off.

What the hell’s with her? This guy could be anyone—some creepy old guy, a woman, maybe even some crazed military nut!

The stallion finally broke the kiss, blinking twice before shooting her a wide smile.

“As grateful as I am for your affections, which are sorely wasted on a commoner such as myself, we have other matters to attend to. I believe I have another to save; then we must head to Equestria posthaste! Who knows when more of those vile things will choose to beleaguer us?”

Lynne nodded intently, and the stallion gave a turn, trotting over to Xavier with a winning grin.

Xavier’s relief had turned to fury.

You bastard! You think you’ll rescue us, and we’ll be eating out of your hand? Looking to expand your herd are you?

“Hello, my lady. This sort of lock can be tricky for us ponies. Give me but a moment.”

Xavier could feel a pressure emanating from within the base of his horn.

Just because you rescue some “mares,” you think you’re entitled to us? You think all you have to do is wait for us to go into heat and we’ll be begging you to fuck us?

The filly from his dream rushed to the forefront of his mind, her grass green mane adorably falling over her eye.

Wait a minute... he’s green too!

Feeling the strange energy build up in his horn once more, he concentrated all his anger at the door in front of him and released it. His horn glowed orange and phantom impetus hammered the front of the stall, denting the door, shattering the latch and forcing the pegasus to dive for cover.

Xavier slowly stepped out of the stall with a defiant smirk, a new fire burning in his heart. “Equestria, huh?” he said. “Yes, take me there. There’s someone I want to... talk with.”

The stallion reared up on his back legs.

“A mare with an eye on the future—I can get behind that.”

The stallion trotted to the front of the stable, with Lynne following close behind, and flared his wings.

“Onward everypony!” he shouted, taking off galloping.

“Wait!” Lynne called out, running after him.

“Wow, he’s bad at this hero thing,” Xavier said. “They left me chained to the stable.”

Author's Note

Sorry for the delay; I don’t anticipate the next taking nearly as long. Special thanks to Alyarin9000, Boldish42 and Law Abiding Pony for their time and effort.

Once more, all opinions expressed are in-character. And while I’m covering my ass, I don’t claim ownership of My Little Pony or any associated character and trademarks, etc.

I fully realize that if I fumble Yuki’s characterization, she’ll likely end up as Loki Mark II, but then again, I have to wonder if that’s really a bad thing. For now, she put the pony in a subsection otherwise devoid of pony.

This chapter also has some annoying artefacts from questionable decisions I locked myself into. For instance, I thought at first that it would be cool to show the same conversation from two points of view, but I now realize it's just a pain. Additionally, Xavier being the P.O.V. for so long is mainly the result of overestimating what I can cram into one chapter; he's not the permanent P.O.V. I had planned on going into Storm’s backstory here, but I had to stop lest I reach 15000 words.

This is also my first attempt at an action scene. After copping out somewhat of the Mafia shootout, I hope I did all right here.

What was I saying again? Oh right, thanks for reading!

6: Legacy

Delvaux regarded the man opposite him through borrowed eyes. In between sips of wine, the uniformed, silver haired man politely laughed at the jokes of the overseer’s vessel while catching up with his old friend. The sunny sitting room belied the corrupt truth of their meeting. It was the sort of backroom politics the Frenchman was well-accustomed to, tolerable at the best. While Lucca’s exquisite taste in wine was a bonus, sitting through such meandering matters was unbelievably dull when he could only passively observe. However, Don Lucca knew such matters better than he, but the mion overseer still had to supervise. He certainly could not afford another oversight so soon after the previous evening’s fiasco.

“No, Lucca,” the police commissioner said, sinking back into the antique, olive couch. “I’m afraid my wife would have a word or two to say about that. The old nag is always pressuring me to retire. Then again, if our partnership continues to to prove lucrative, that day may come sooner than expected.”

Delvaux felt Lucca’s smile.“We’re all clear then, old friend?” The don-turned-mion asked.

“Not quite. While your ‘patronage’ is as generous as always, you’re going to have to give me something concrete before I can look the other way. After all, a firefight in a commercial district in the dead of night doesn’t not have criminal ties. Besides, many of us old guys are curious who got to Raimondo the Raconteur before we did.”

So he really doesn't know anything, Delvaux thought to himself. After Salacina’s son had fled, armed reinforcements had swarmed the scene. Thankfully, he had prepared more than enough mions to rout them, but it was still a miracle the traitorous police dog sitting across from him hadn’t realized the real scale of the conflict.

“In that case, I can point you to Rico family's nearby distribution headquarters. I’m sure you’ll have no problem fabricating a trail between it and the incident. After all, their hatred of Salacina is well-known.”

The commissioner was clearly interested. “A bit juicier than your usual tips. Something you really need hidden I take it?”

“Consider it an investment in our relationship.”

“You flatter me. If anything, this criminal umbrella business should mean me kissing your ass.”

After a few more platitudes, the two men shook hands and bid each other farewell. Delvaux felt a burden lift from his shoulders. He had been scrambling even since that pony boy had made a mess of last night. He didn’t know how Salicina had known of them or their immunity to the mion plague, but it had made a mess of what would have been a surefire infiltration of his crime group into a panicked opera of quick cover-ups.

Now there’s only one thing left to do, he thought.

“Diego, attend me,” he said, commandeering Lucca’s body fully for himself.

The brown-coated mion rushed to his overseer’s side. Diego’s streamlined conversion process had left him with just enough competence to serve, but not much in the way of independent thought—just as Delvaux liked them.

The ex-president led his former adversary through a maze of velvet-carpeted, rooms to a storage closet of cold stone flooring. Responding to a psychic command, Diego lifted the trapdoor, and they descended to the cellar together.

After losing his main mion attendants in the massacre of Lucca’s inner circle, Diego had seemed an easy choice for a replacement. Despite his dulled eyes, his lean build, smartly-combed hair and rough features practically radiated confident masculinity. And now, he would know only servitude. Breaking such a man had brought the mion overseer a primal satisfaction.

Reaching Don Lucca’s repurposed basement, Delvaux flipped on the lights and motioned for Diego to stay put. He rounded the corner to see a suit-wearing gorilla of a man. His legs chained to the wall, he writhed in agony, trying in vain to ward off the perverted inner-voices commanding him to be assimilated as they wielded twisted rationalizations against him. It would take more time than usual to turn the man this way, but if he was good as rumored, his competencies needed to be kept intact.

“Well, well, how’s our criminal genius faring now?” Delvaux taunted, maintaining character while stepping closer to his prisoner.

Salacina’s eyes snapped open to glare at him. He seemed to search for a fitting verbalization of his rage before giving up a second later and simply throwing his entire upper-body weight into a brutal right hook.

Delvaux easily stepped out of range with the body’s enhanced reflexes and gave a faux-smile. “Surely you’ve some idea of why I insisted you pay me a visit at my private abode?”

“Like hell it’s yours!”

“Hmm?”

“You sure as hell aren’t Lucca. That fucker may be the scum of the Earth, but he would never throw away his men's lives like you did with that cowardly stunt. So what do you want, whatever the hell you are?”

Delvaux gave a real smile this time. “We can get to the point, then: What were you doing with that pony-eared boy? What do you know of them and us, and how?”

“I urrrghh will tell you nothing, monster! Torture me a—ahhhll you like,” he screamed as his agony multiplied on Delvaux’s command. The prisoner strained his chains to their limit and swung wildly, barely missing the mion overseer several more times.

“Oh, but you hardly have a choice. Let me show you: Diego, come here.”

Vincenzo Salacina watched, horrified, as his former subordinate approached him with emotionless eyes and a robotic gait.

“You see,” Delvaux explained, “Diego here is now more than willing to do anything I ask of him. His insecurities with regard to his brother made him quite easy to turn, actually. "

"Diego! Wake up! This isn't funny!"

Delvaux chuckled at his uncharacteristic naïveté. "Leave us, Diego. Go prepare lunch or something."

Diego showed no outward reaction but immediately left to do as commanded, never looking back

The remotely-controlled mion turned back to face the don. "The same awaits you. The question is how much of yourself will be left when that time comes. Tell me what I want to know, and I may be more… generous.”

The last bit wasn’t entirely true, but if Don Salacina relaxed his resistance, the assimilation could proceed faster.

Salacina cupped his hand in his chin and feigned deep-thought before abruptly thrusting his face as close to other man’s as he could manage. “Fuck. You,” he spat.

Delvaux shrugged his shoulders. It was worth a try, but it a trifling matter in any case—he could just take the information he needed by force.

He touched Salacina’s forehead and the man let out a bellowing scream as his mental defenses crumbled from the psychic assault. Fragments of memory zipped by as the mion filtered through to reach the salient knowledge which would help him plan his invasion of the Italian mainland.

Nothing.

He tried once more, this time to glean something about the ponies from him.

Nothing.

What did he know about the mions? Only the vaguest of speculation.

Why?

A familiar face rushed to the front of their tethered consciousnesses.

Vincenzo Salacina laughed, his still-proud, booming voice bouncing off the narrow walls of the narrow chamber.

“So you’ve found our greatest secret, have you, monster? Yes, it's true—I am merely the face of Sagrada Famiglia, the charisma and the muscle. I'd be nothing without my son, the brains of the operation!”

Delvaux froze in fear. Both Lucca’s jaw and his own, hundreds of miles away in the appropriated chateau, dropped. The name Domenico Salacina had been a punchline in mafia circles. He had seen memories from various perspectives of Vincenzo Salacina himself trying to play down or apologize for his do-nothing son, who could barely manage a single front restaurant.

The chained don gave the mion a cocky grin. “Let me tell you another well-kept secret: I am damn proud of my only son. He probably had it all figured out. He—“ Salacina choked as Delvaux retaliated by putting the assimilation process into overdrive. The mion plague now rapidly coursed through Salacina, rapidly erasing his sense of self and higher-tier mental functions. If this bastard wasn’t the great criminal mastermind, then all they’d need out of him was a puppet to keep up appearances.

The man’s thoughts slowed as he spasmed in pain, fighting an unwinnable battle against the encroaching reprogramming.

Suddenly, Delvaux heard a disruption of the mental link akin to static on an older tv. He heard the herald’s voice funnel into his head, and his link to Don Lucca’s body suddenly evaporated: I see you have been bested once more, Overseer.

“Nobody knew! I couldn’t have anticipated this!”

Be that as it may, I only see yet another failure.

“The plan itself is fine, everything important. We can take the mainland without Salacina. We just need to be more cautious.”

Where was this caution when you let crucial information slip through the cracks? Twice.

“If you’re referring to the hick who was selling those unicorns last week, then I am pleased to inform you that his capture is now imminent; besides, I doubt he was even conscious for my duel with the pegasus, which, if I may remind you, provided us with crucial information regarding the capabilities and origins of these so-called ponies.”

It seems even your political acumen has been waned by apathy. An all-seeing judge shall not be distracted by a consolation prize when you lay the fact of your failure in plain view. I tire of this. I have discovered it was Amata Gaspari, mion. Under your watch, she let young Domencio know just enough to jeopardize this entire operation.

“His fiancée? That’s impossible… I ordered her to keep our secrets, as I do will all mions, and to act natural. There must be a glitch in the—“

There is no defect in the plague; you were too vague with your instructions. Under her interpretation of your orders, she kept her secrets no better than she normally would have. As you should gather from your own example, thinking mions will make mistakes unless properly managed. I warned you about this.

Delvaux was shaking. He had not felt this anxious since that humiliating debate loss as a young city councilman. The Herald knew everything! What could he possibly say? Would honesty work? Probably not, since the Herald would feel his doubt—No! He had to try.

“Great One, I accept the reprimand, but if I may be so bold, I have to remind you that these setbacks are minor in the face of the overwhelming success I have brought you in Sicily. At worst we have a few boys loose that know a little too much; however we have an army hidden in the darkness, ready to take all of Europe,” Delvaux said, belting out an impassioned speech. It nearly convinced himself; it had to work.

You conflate the success of the plan with your own success, the herald articulated slowly. I suffer no such delusions. The architect of the plan shall thus be rewarded in your stead, and in your stead he shall stand.

Delvaux considered a half-dozen ways of pleading, but restrained himself, convinced any attempt could only make matters worse.

The Herald seemed to appreciate this and continued: Indeed, he has already proven himself to be superior. It was not mere luck that only a few stragglers reached the rendezvous point: your replacement successfully took out dozens of hidden reinforcements from Sagrada Famiglia. He has shown a forte for micromanagement which you lack.

Utter helplessness washed over Delvaux. What could be said?

The original error is mine. With the data I have now your failure seems inevitable. I equated your status with ability, a safe assumption in more advanced societies. However you have proven indolent and reactionary, competent at best with only a talent for saving your skin. And now you will know your place. Since I have already endowed you with energetically expensive bio-enhancements, you will stay where you are and make yourself useful to the overseer of the nascent French campaign. However, there will be no second chances.

Without decorum or giving Delvaux any attempt to respond, the Herald’s presence vanished from his mind. In its place, Don Salacina’s thoughts resumed their final broadcast:

Rosa, I’ll be joining you soon. Your son turned out all right. Quiet and thoughtful, he takes after you quite a bit. He was never meant to live in my world, but I regret to say that it’s all I could offer him as his father. It may be selfish ego, but part of me can’t help but wish for him to avenge me, but for your sake and his, I pray he’ll think better of it. Live, Domenico...

Delvaux was irate.

With minimal help from Taylor, they unloaded groceries onto the raised deck. When finished, the young mafia heir gestured to the already-open door.

“Should I show you around, then? Can you even get up here like this?”

The earth pony bit his lip before answering, “Yeah, I’ve kind of got the walking down. Stairs are just the next step up. Heh...”

Naturally, the mare fell three times on just as many steps before angrily charging up the weathered stairs. Looking upon his triumph in disbelief, Taylor then turned in place and pumped a hoof.

“Now just don’t ask me to go back down, and I’ll be fine,” he said, stumbling once more before recovering.

“Right. You can take the room on the left. I kept the door open.”

“Such a gentleman. Though, I can’t say I wouldn’t mind trying to go to sleep again. If I keep trying, I might be able to wake up from this,” Taylor said, gesturing to his dark, rounded muzzle. ”I don’t suppose you got my bag?”

“Yes, it’s in the room. If you need water, I’ll bring some to you. The faucets don’t work yet.”

“All right, nice talking to you,” the pony said sarcastically, entering the large den through the front door, managing only to face-plant once on the way to his room.

Taylor confirmed the presence of his bag before giving the room a once-over: It was relatively large given the cabin’s external appearance. The green-striped wallpaper was peeling off in places to reveal aged wood. A lamp twice his current height stood beside the bed, conveniently equipped with a sliding on/off switch at its foot. The queen bed took up most of the back wall, leaving the rest of the space free save for an antique dresser that perfectly matched the summer home’s ancient feel.

Taylor wondered a moment how he would even reach the high bed before quickly reasoning that if his sister’s Yorkie could do it, so could he.

Then again, Rosie could walk ten paces without tripping over her own feet, he deadpanned to himself.

Judging the bed to be currently insurmountable to him, he approached the bag. The latches gave him some difficulty, but creative use of his teeth got the bag open. With uncomfortable acceptance at his methodology, he stuck his snout in the bag to go fishing, quickly coming upon a dusty taste. The rectangular object dropped from his mouth, and he paused for a few seconds before remembering.

Oh yeah, that dime store adventure novel. This thing was frustratingly accurate about the whole talking pony thing. Why couldn’t it have been right about ponies having wings? Flying would have been some consolation for what I lost—and for the two other things that I lost.

He could only vaguely recall the book’s plot, which had proven unfriendly to new readers, and blamed it on his frayed mental state at the time. He considered giving the book a second chance before remembering something even more puzzling.

That’s right, I couldn’t get anything about this book online. No ISBN, no information on this A.K. Yearling, and nothing for the title…

Taylor had spent a couple hours in the hotel room trying to make sense of his only clue. He tried searching for the names of the characters, plot summaries and even his best description of the cover, but nothing had come up. He had come up with the idea of copying excerpts of the book directly into a search engine, but his tired mind had refused to hold even the simplest of sentences in memory at the time.

Well not this time. Book, you will be googled!

After a minute of muzzle rummaging Taylor found his laptop and mouth-lifted the heavy device out with surprising ease. With a flash of creativity, Taylor wedged a corner of the book under the lid to pry it open. He followed this up with the retrieval of a pencil that had fallen from the bag and used it to push the power button.

Man, I’m glad I’m not a tablet guy. Touch screens tend to be strictly fingers only. Racist…

It took some practice, but the earth pony eventually managed to log-on. The mouse had proved difficult for his hoof, but he adapted to the motions with surprising speed. He came to a halt, however, upon clicking the address bar of his custom browser.

How to do this? I can’t use these sorry excuses for hands without pressing nine keys at once, so I’ll have to… Taylor sighed. Hunt and peck typing, we meet again.

He briefly pondered how he would use upper case before realizing the obvious solution and holding shift with the edge of his left hoof, using his pencil to type open and closed quotation marks. He then pulled over the book, which had fallen to a page near the end.

The Mad Jackal King stood triumphantly over Daring Do and gave a deep chortle of laughter.

“Foolish mortal, I thank you for solving the pyramid’s riddle for me. Now that the crystal chalice is mine, I will drink from the nectar of the gods!”

“No!” Daring Do wailed, reaching for her trusty lasso a second too late, as the ancient jackal had already set the chalice on the 3 o’clock pedestal.

No sooner had he placed it than had the whole structure begun to shake with unfathomable power. The pyramid’s roof tore open brick-by-brick and an armada of spacepony ships loomed over them.

“So it is true,” Daring Do said, gawking. “Equestria really was visited by ancient aliens.”

I only skimmed the book, Taylor thought, and even I could tell this ending sucked. Actual aliens seem a bit out of place for the setting. Also, Daring Do’s daughter was a real buzzkill.

Regaining focus, Taylor settled on a simple line to use for his test.

Last time, he hadn't even managed to remember the simplest of sentences. Now, with it in his short-term memory, he refused to let it go. He hunched in front of his computer, ready to start tugging on the strings of the great mystery of his situation.

And he couldn’t remember the sentence.

Fuck! I can’t be that dumb, can I? What was it again? The Mad Jackal King stood triumphant over Daring Do, chortling? No, that’s not it. Whatever, I don’t need to memorize it. I’ll copy this word by word if I have to.

Taylor looked back over to the book.

All right, the first word after “the” is mad.

He turned back to the computer.

He stared down the search box.

He blanked.

He looked again.

And failed to transfer it

Fuck! Why can’t I remember it? I know perfectly well the word is some sort of lunacy, but no synonyms ever fit!

Taylor’s ears drooped and his curly orange mane tangled into a mess. He slammed the laptop shut with his chin and rolled his head to the side. Multi-hued colors of sunset rolled into the room to remind him of his shattered circadian rhythm.

Well fuck this day anyway; I’m tired. I have the rest of my life to be an ugly pony bitch anyhow.

With a sprig of unconscious agility, he bounded onto the naked mattress.

The rest of my life…

He lay motionless for the half hour the sun took to set, rogue thoughts lacerating the inside of his skull, drawing from still-untapped wells of grief.

This is no dream—I never believed that. I really am stuck like this, Taylor thought, blinking back tears.

He tossed himself onto his other side. My entire childhood, a college education—all of it just to become some dumb animal. Hell, I can’t even keep one word in my memory for two seconds. How long will it be before I’m just neighing stupidly, living only to eat and breed.

Breeding… that’s right, I’d be the one to give birth now. It’s the most obvious thing to realize about being female, but it’s still so weird.

The thought chilled him, but he couldn’t help continue his downward spiral.

If it did happen, would the kids even be sentient, or normal, dumb ponies. If I’m young enough to… wait, how old do these ponies live to be? If my age transfers over, do I even have ten years to live? How would I begin to explain to my friends and family? I… I

Cracking under the unrelenting pressure, the mare burst into silent tears, succumbing to sleep after an hour of emotional agony.

Domenico’s legs were revolting. Everywhere felt sore; he definitely wasn’t used to this. Squatting down to get at the primitive waterline, he had to wedge his back to get into position. Midday sun beating down on him, his body rattled as a decades-old power drill tore through the pipe joint.

It was proceeding better than he had hoped. He had found a replacement section in town with a radius slightly smaller than the main body of the plumbing. It looked like a frankensteinesque mixing of parts amidst an otherwise uniform stretch of pipe, but at least it had fit. Putting the drill down, he balanced the female bolt cap on top and reached for its mate.

So far so good.

He had seen his father do quick fixes like this before, but he had feared he hadn’t retained enough of what he had seen. Back then, when their group was struggling, there hadn’t been anyone else to rely on, as was the case now. His overconfidence had cost him his father, Raimondo, Giovanni and all the others.

No, he thought, there will be time for that later. Now, it’s up to me to pick up the pieces… to avenge them. I have to depend on myself now, and it starts here!

The bolt fit perfectly through the hole he drilled. He led it through the gap and into the receiving end. Now all that remained was to tighten it. Dom gripped the bolt with his wrench and turned; he heard a satisfying clicking. It was slow, but he was making progress.

Until it stopped.

The bolt was still loose.

He wrapped both hands around the end of the wrench and turned, but it wouldn’t budge. Before he could even ask why, it hit him—his flawed drilling forced the bolt to pass through an odd angle that wasn’t properly aligned to the exit.

What to do? He couldn’t possibly widen the holes, since a leak would defeat the whole purpose. He could only really force it. He selected a comically oversized wrench for maximum leverage, locked it and stood up. Pushing with all of his might, he heard a pleasant friction, and his arms felt a tension akin to mild vibration. Unfortunately, despite his efforts, it was still loose enough to partially fall out, but Dom refused to be defeated. With a deep breath, the don’s son threw his entire body weight onto the wrench and pushed.

Before he could register the brittle snapping sound of the damaged bolt, he was tumbling face-first into the mud, his chest slamming down onto the plastic piping.

"Dammit," he swore, wallowing for a few painful seconds in the mud before pushing himself up.

This would have been an easy fix for Dad.

His motivation gone, he sluggishly retrieved a backup replacement part and began measuring once more. At this point, only the absolute necessity of the task at hand kept him moving at all. He couldn’t comprehend why this was so difficult for him when he could regularly helm an entire crime organization.

With a tired exhale, he took the measurement once more.

The sun had set well before he at last was able to triumphantly wash his face in the kitchen sink. It had taken him another botched attempt at drilling, but his third try had lined up perfectly. To call it crude would be an understatement, but the two of them would be needing clean water, even if their stay was to be a short one.

The pony. He had almost forgotten about him. As he thoroughly scrubbed his hands in the slightly rusted kitchen sink, Dom found himself wondering why he had brought him (or was it her?) along at all. Upon second examination, he found his reasoning shaky. While it was true that the elusive nature of whatever it was that had changed the American into a pony mare could hold a clue to how best pursue his vendetta, it could also backfire spectacularly. He had no way to control Taylor. He didn’t even know if he himself believed he could deliver on his promise of financial incentive.

It would be difficult to inspire loyalty in the pony. He would need it for his cooperation; after all, he doubted Taylor would be afraid of him for much longer. Dom had neither his father’s height and bulk, nor his commanding presence. He wanted some leverage, because no matter how he looked at it, the pony was a risk to him.

With little else to do besides chores, he found himself wandering to the guest bedroom. The ebony mare was somehow curled into a fetal position in spite of presumably possessing a more rigid equine spine. He lay on a bed denuded of sheets. Dom was grateful for this, since in spite of a hoseless hose-down from the outdoor spigot, Taylor’s coat seemed to jealously hoard residual mud. Looking around the room, the exiled mob heir was rocked by nostalgia.

It’s been ten years… hard to believe its new owner sold it back to me without even touching it.

Only Taylor’s scattered things departed from his nostalgic mental image. The pony’s bag was unzipped, with an opened hardback book and a laptop nearby, clothes flung haphazardly around the room. Dom found himself second-guessing his choice of roommate, but he couldn’t blame the American for paying little mind to clothes he could no longer wear.

Nevertheless, the mess did bother him. As he leaned down to close the book, he was baffled by the mass of indecipherable text and symbols. It didn’t resemble any language he had ever seen; rather, it looked like a mockery of one that might be found in occult circles. Even the formatting on the page seemed wrong. In any case, this was none of Dom’s business, so he rolled his eyes at the pencil scratches, which sloppily underlined an apparent key word before giving up halfway through, and closed the book, setting the pencil neatly against the book’s spine.

He had only taken two steps out of the room when he realized it—the cover had a pony on it. He briefly flirted with anger and suspicion at Taylor’s apparent concealment of something else relating to the ponies, but it quickly melted away. Many things could be excused by the last hectic twenty-four hours. Still, he would need to act soon, while the mare was still frightened enough of him to confess everything. With so little making sense, any information at all could be a loose thread to pull on. Still, optimism felt like an insult to the dead at this point. Realizing this, Dom started dragging his feet.

No, this is not the time. I have to keep moving, he thought. Although it wouldn’t solve the bigger problem, the state of Taylor’s room had suggested a long checklist of chores for him to occupy himself with. He found the bedsheets in the closet and washed them, swept away a decade’s worth of cobwebs and polished the wood furniture. He had to sweep the floor by hand, since the dinosaur of a vacuum cleaner had finally succumbed to old age; though he supposed that would wake Taylor anyway. Whereas the waterline was hard work, he was firmly comfortable with household chores. After all, he had to be, since his mother had passed so early on.

Four hours passed in no time, and the list of chores shrunk down at a relaxing pace. Finally, the sheets he was washing were finished, and he carried the pile into Taylor’s room. The pony had rolled over in his sleep and was now immodestly sprawled out on his back.

Dom didn’t consider moving him but felt his guest deserved more than an empty mattress. At the same time, he also didn’t want him to overheat considering the dense coat of fur his new form allotted him. Compromising, he picked out a familiar, navy-blue blanket that he had used as a child and draped it over the sleeping pony. It was perfect for the miniature equine.

I suppose I owe you this much, he thought. You really didn’t deserve any of this.

The strange inkling of guilt momentarily assuaged, he proceeded to shower and ritualistically floss, brush and use his mouthwash. It was only now that he realized he had forgotten to eat, but his appetite had been poor all day anyway. He exited the newly cleaned bathroom and walked barefoot to the master bedroom, his feet creaking the cool wood.

Despite his exhaustion, the freshly made double-king-sized bed hardly seemed inviting. It had belong to his father, who had enjoyed the extra room, but it just made Domenico feel tiny. Lying down, he felt adrift in its rigid warmth envelop him.

Alone, he could no longer suppress his bottled anguish: All of them were gone. They would all still be here if he hadn’t been so reckless. He had been a complete idiot. Under normal circumstances, Lucca, the most wanted man in Italy, would never put his own neck on the line by starting a close-quarters firefight. However with ponies, and aliens or whatever, the rules had changed beyond recognition. They could have just fled, but he just had to get smart and think he could fight an unknown foe blindly, just because he had made a few lucky guesses.

It was all his fault.

He felt the weight of the locket around his neck, gripped the bedsheets tightly and brought both fists down, sobbing. Giovi, Raimondo, Father, please… I don’t know what I’m up against, but they’re powerful… I can’t do this alone.

As they continued to gallop into the sunset, Xavier panted heavily, his legs pleading with him to rest. The extra effort of dodging verdant branches and bushes made it all the more difficult on him. Lynne wasn’t faring much better. He was honestly surprised he could move this damned mare body so well already, but even so he still hated to lose to her like this.

With a desperate burst of speed, he managed to push his muzzle ahead of the other unicorn briefly before finally relenting to his fatigue and letting his legs buckle under him and skid to a stop on the uneven, grassy underbrush.

Seeing him stop to rest, Lynne happily slowed down and joined him. Exhaling hard, she sat on her haunches and gave him a wild smile. “Exhilarating isn’t it? It’s the rush of horseback riding, with all the more … freedom,” she said through quick breaths.

While Xavier’s body agreed that the exercise was great, the cocky ease at which the emerald stallion rushed back to them made him all the more agitated. “Yes, but why is this so hard,” he panted, “are the males so much stronger than the females?”

“Not always,” Lynne replied. “Sometimes mares can compete with stallions in the races, but I don’t know if that applies to us.”

Xavier was still unconvinced, but before he could formulate his response in English, their “savior” was back at their side.

“Be at ease to rest when it pleases you, miladies,” he said, as if overhearing them. “Your pedigrees being what they are, the two of you have probably known prisons of a different sort than that barbaric encampment. I understand if the two of you aren’t well-acquainted with marathon gallops. Under better circumstances I’d gladly pull your carriage for you, so don’t feel bad if you can’t keep up with a trained elite. Besides, I will need to periodically scout ahead, so take your time.”

And now he’s coddling us again. That’s just great, Xavier mentally grumbled.

“Thank you, Sir Chaser,” Lynne said, “but I’m actually quite happy to feel the wind in my hair for once. But I have to ask: how far away is Equestria?”

“You flatter me, Princess,” the pegasus said, “but you need only call me Storm. I must confess that the lay of these strange lands remains unfamiliar to me. I understand you are in a hurry to get home, but if we aren’t careful, losing our way in these parts could cost us more than just time. Not to say I don’t feel the urgency of your curse, was it?”

“Yes…” Lynne said. It was the lie she and Xavier had agreed upon.

“What exactly does it entail?” Storm asked.

This was a new turn. Storm had hardly scrutinized them at all thus far. Xavier had to think fast. What was wrong with them compared to a normal pony that he could believe? In a flash Xavier had it.

“It’s our magic,” Xavier lied. “We can use it only a little. Neither I nor she neither can use something as simple as levitation anymore.” He prayed the stallion would fill in the gaps for him.

Storm looked away in thought for a moment, observing a climbing squirrel. “Then there truly is no time to waste. I’ve even heard rumors that your father, Princess, has started to accuse our own Princess Celestia of foul play regarding your foalnapping. As the last independent kingdom of pegasi, there are still many there who sadly see Equestria’s core values of unity of the three tribes as a threat to their autonomy. Err—forgive my insolence, Princess Ocean Breeze. I have no place speaking of such matters.”

“No. That’s quite all right,” Lynne said, stifling a giggle. “But please call me Ly—Ocean. Call me Ocean.”

“I couldn’t possibly.”

“Well then I may not ‘forgive your insolence,’ Mr. Knight in shining armor,” she say playfully with a toss of her mane and an adoring smile.

“Very well… Ocean.”

Lynne was actually buying into this game? Why? Xavier understood that his mistaking their identity for upper class ladies was a lucky break, but she seemed to be enjoying the insanity far too much. Didn’t she understand that this stallion was much stronger than them? With no law to protect them, he could rape the both of them with impunity if he wanted. In fact, they were so dependent on his protection at this point, that he could go even further and demand their love as his price, winning two mares for his herd.

“Is that acceptable for you as well, Lady Warm Spirits?”

“Oh, uhhh… yes,” Xavier stammered. “Call me Warm, I guess.”

If nothing else, his dark line of thinking reinforced the importance of Storm continuing to believe in their mistaken identities.

Besides, at least this way he won’t keep calling me ‘lady,’ Xavier thought.

“Very well, Warm and Ocean it is. Are you hungry?” he asked, pointing to the oversized travel pack he had stuffed full of anything conceivably useful from the stable’s adjacent farmhouse.

The two mares shook their heads.

“Well then, shall we be off?” he asked with his trademark broad smile.

“Not quite,” Lynne said, beating Xavier to the punch. She turned her head away from the stallion and looked down and away. “The truth is that I’m still afraid of the dark, and it’s getting late, so—“

Her eyes didn’t even try to disguise the fact—she was lying. Somehow he could read the emotional nuances of the unicorn’s face as easily as he could with his own children, despite the difference in species. What he saw next was delight when the gray-maned stallion massaged her neck and withers with a dark-green wing.

“I will protect you. I give you my word,” he said, extending his other wing to Xavier. The maroon pony flinched at this, and fortunately, he retracted the half-extended wing. Half a minute later he removed his other wing from a very content Lynne. “Well, if we’re all rested now, we can try and make more progress before it gets too dark. If it pleases you we could take a more leisurely trot while I regale you the tale of the time I singlehoofedly saved the griffon dynasty.”

“No thanks, we are—“

“I’d love to hear it!” Lynne said, interrupting the other unicorn.

Xavier sighed. Great, another ego-stroking tall tale. I doubt it can top him winning a duel with a toothpick, though.

“So shall it be!” the stallion proclaimed. “Onward everpony!” He took off at a steady clip that Lynne could reasonably keep up with, and Xavier was left with no choice but to follow.

“As you’re probably aware,” he began, “Queen Hilda of the griffins recently signed the first treaty between young Griffonia and Equestria. However, what many don’t remember is that Hilda was quite a looker back in the day. Now more than a few of us pegasi are captivated by griffin females. While I don’t count myself among them, I can appreciate a stunningly perfect pair of wings when I see it. But I’m getting ahead of myself. It started when I was a young private. I was only a strapping colt of—“

And that was all Xavier heard before deliberately falling behind and allowing himself to tune it out. He tried his best to appreciate the autumn beauty surrounding him as his hooves constantly crunched through bright leaves. They shook and fell the ground as the ponies ran by, as if the trees were showering them with confetti. Still, it couldn’t distract him from the constant dull pain of loss. Even if he escaped this mare body, what did he have left? Dolors had taken almost everything from him, his heart included.

Had he wronged her? He was a failure—she never let him forget that—but where specifically had he messed up to make her divorce him out of the blue? True, a real man would have been able to provide her with everything she wanted while keeping his business afloat, but he didn’t think he had done anything to hurt her. While, she didn’t like him going to football rallies in Barna, he figured he at least deserved his one hobby.

No, that was where he went wrong. She was right. As she always said, she suffered through childbirth for children he had wanted. It was only fair that he be willing to make sacrifices too. It was decided: when he was a man again, he would win her back. After all, like she said, she was the only person that believed in him even a little, the only person that could care about him.

It was dark now. While in thought, Xavier had just automatically followed Lynne’s tail without realizing it. Storm now had a powerful flashlight tucked in his wing as they galloped along in the wilderness.

“And to this day, I am always welcome at the queen’s dinner table. Though Griffonian gastronomy is partial to a pure predator’s palate, never have I found such magnificent beef elsewhere. Sadly, this is true of Private Puff too—I’ve had the pleasure of entertaining many a mare, but nopony since has ever come close to that spark we shared together. No pony,” he finished solemnly.
“That’s so romantic,” Lynne said, fascinated, “I—I don’t suppose you are still looking, are you?”

Is she serious? Is she really doing this?

Lynne’s tail slowly started to rise as she leaned even closer to him.

Shit! Is she in heat?!

If it affected him so strongly, when he had been male a few days prior, there was no telling how it would affect an actual woman, who would have far fewer qualms with being with a man. He had to stop her before she made a mistake!

“Well, I’m—uhh, actually already retired, so I’m no longer actively looking, and a decade-past—“

“I wouldn’t have noticed,” Lynne said. “Besides, I think that would only enhance your appeal with younger w—mares.” She moved to his opposite side and rested her head on his back, letting her wavy, blue mane drape over him.

“Well, I—“

“Ocean!” Xavier said, barely managing to rein in his automatic use of his ‘reprimanding parent tone.’ What actually came out sounded more like a squeak of pain thanks to his new, glass shatteringly high, feminine voice. “Excuse us, Storm, we must talk about mare problems. Could you wait a moment please?”

“Yes, of course. I will set up camp. I have spotted a fortuitous clearing that is more than suited to our needs. I shall make way preparing our camp. Uhh—take your time,” he stuttered, making an awkward retreat.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Lynne turned to give Xavier the stink-eye. “Why on Earth did you use that excuse? Couldn’t you think of something else?”

“What do you mean?” Did he pick the wrong words? Should he have said mare issues instead? mare stuff?

“Nevermind. What did you want to talk about?”

“Well,” Xavier said, shuffling his hooves nervously, “don’t you think that you are already too friendly with him.”

Lynne was slightly taken aback. “What do you mean? He saved us, don’t you trust him?”

“No, no I don’t. We were both people before. Maybe he is the same. He can be anyone and lying.”

“How does he know so much about Equestria then? There was a magazine in the cell—it just appeared when I arrived, it was really weird—and it talked about the same Equestria. A lot of what he said matches up. It also mentioned the Princess Celestia he brought up. And it’s clear he knows a lot more, but you weren’t listening, were you?”

“Yes, I know. It happened to me, but it was a book, not a magazine. But I think that—“

“Wait, you had a book?”

“Yes, I hid it, but it doesn’t matter. I—“

“Doesn’t matter? We need to learn as much as possible. You didn’t leave it back at the stable, did you?” she accused.

“No, I hid it in the bag when you weren’t looking,” Xavier fibbed, leaving out the part about the book’s invisibility charm.

“You never told me you had gotten a book. Were you trying to hide it from me?”

“You didn’t tell me about yours neither.”

“I was mad at you, so I was waiting for you to ask! I tried to make it as obvious as possible that it was a pony magazine. The perfume advertisement on the back is hardly subtle. Besides, isn’t a brand-new trade magazine out of place in a filthy stable anyway?”

“Look,” Xavier said, desperately trying to steer the conversation back on track, “it seems strange to you that he can speak perfect English, doesn’t it?”

“That’s your proof?” Lynne said, scoffing. “Something impossible as us turning into unicorn ponies happens, and it’s a pegasus learning English you can’t wrap your head around?”

“Where can he learn it!?” Xavier asserted. “With who does he practice when nobody’s never seen no pony!” At this point the conversation was faster than he could keep up with, but he still berated himself for letting an emphatic triple negative slip in from his native tongue.

“Well at least he’s pleasant company! If anyone, I should mistrust you. Why, I don’t think I even know your name, ‘Warm Spirits.’” Lynne stormed off, ducking below some branches as a shortcut to the campsite, now illuminated by a fire.

“Lynne, wait…”

“Storm! It looks delightfully cozy! You’ve got a cute little tent set-up and everything!”

“Lynne!” Xavier followed her, but had to stop when his irritatingly long red and yellow mane got caught on a sticker bush.

“Your gratitude humbles me, dearest Ocean,” Storm said, slightly bowing his elongated masculine muzzle.

After a minute of frustrated untangling—hooves were nearly useless for this purpose—Xavier took a seat on the third of a trio of smooth logs Storm had located. He imitated Storm’s sitting position as Lynne had done. Somehow, it didn’t completely disagree with his spine.

Lynne huffed when he did manage to make eye-contact, but before Xavier could apologize to her, the pegasus had a jar of roasted nuts open, and Lynne took a large, avoidant mouthful.

Or maybe it wasn’t avoidant: Xavier was starving after all. In no time at all, the entire jar had been scarfed down. He had been worried that as a pony everything would taste as disgusting as those dried oats, but thankfully mixed nuts still tasted mostly the same in his new form. Nutritionally speaking, it was a shallow meal, but he found himself relatively full and content.

Surprisingly, they only had minimal help from the stallion in polishing off the jar. He hoped Storm had eaten a larger meal earlier. Although by no means a chef, Xavier was a part of the food industry; he had a right to be a little fussy about nutrition. More worrying, however, was the status of their remaining rations. The maroon pony was afraid to ask, but it didn't seem like the backpack could hold that much food considering all the other junk they had thrown inside.

Xavier tried repeatedly to get through to Lynne, but clearly other things were on her mind as she studied the pegasus, plainly fascinated, and let him tell her more and more of Equestria. He knew that the pegasi had some way of controlling weather—hence the lightning—but his credibility further took a nosedive when he described the old fashioned days of painting rainbows by hand. The maroon pony practically struggled to stay awake at the obviously fantastical ramblings.

That is, until Lynne made her move.

“Storm, would you mind telling me a bit about Puff? What kind of mare was she?”

“Oh she was a gorgeous pegasus really—perfect tail, mane, and umm… flank. Her wings were slightly asymmetrical, and she was a bit clumsy, but those only added to her charm. She could hardly resist me; though it took her a while to finally catch my eye,” he said with a wavering grin.

“Sorry if I’m intruding, but was there something else about her that captivated you? It just sounds like you really loved her. Again, sorry if I’m out of line,” Lynne said, blushing and shifting her back hooves around.

The stallion cleared his throat and seemed completely caught off guard. “Umm—no, it’s fine. Uh, where to begin. Well, she was a high-achieving guard like me to even make the Wonderbolts, but I hardly saw her as a mare then. She was stubborn, driven and seemed out to get me. We were friends of a strange sort, but she never liked that I was able to coast through practice. Everypony said I had a natural advantage because both my parents were professional racers—I had the body for it, so I never had to work that hard. She, on the other hand, had to fight every step of the way, since her left wing had grown in a bit crooked. Even then, many saw her as the charity project of our squad. Then, one day, after hundreds of attempts she passed me while doing laps. I thought it a fluke, until it happened again. And then again. From then on, I started to appreciate that I could learn a bit from her work ethic. I also started to appreciate her more, and well, you know the rest.”

The campfire crackled, briefly brightening everyone’s face. Lynne had oversized tears hanging in her eyes, while Storm was locked in thoughtful contemplation. Somehow, his delivery had felt so much more immediate and personal that Xavier hadn’t been able to help but hang onto every word.

“That’s beautiful,” Lynne said. “So romantic!”

“Yes… I suppose,” Storm mumbled.

It stirred Xavier a bit too. He couldn’t help but compare his own story: popular football player dates and eventually marries the school beauty. Somehow, it didn’t measure up—but he loved her the same for sure.

The moon now hung directly overhead. As if on cue, he suddenly felt the dying embers of the tiny campfire clash with the chill of the night. Huddled in a small circle, they felt like defenseless bunnies in the face of the gargantuan wooden jaws of the wilderness all around them.

“Well, it’s getting rather late. You fillies can take the tent. I’ll bring down a cloud to sleep on.”

“Wait. Umm… Storm, I know I’m not her, but I was enchanted by you risking your life against that monster for our sakes. I know this will probably come out wrong, but will you allow me to—umm, show my gratitude? I can at least give you a good time.” The last part came out as a squeak.

Jesus, she’s bad at this! Xavier thought. What are you? a cheap whore? With a line like that…

The stallion did a double-take. “Princess Ocean, I don’t think that would be appropriate for—“

“Please. I’ve never felt this strongly before—about anything.” She was now practically giving him full-on puppy dog eyes.

And now you’re going the pity route? Have some self-respect! If you want him to ravish you, just say so. No man will say no twice, which makes this a VERY BAD IDEA!

“... All right,” Storm said following a ponderous pause. He turned and slowly started walking away, gesturing Lynne to follow.

There was no choice: Xavier had to intervene now. “Ocean,” he said, “wait.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer you go to bed now.”

“This is a bad idea. Believe me.”

“Give me one good reason.” Her face was firm with determination. “Or are you just jealous, since all you can do is mope,” she said childishly.

The slight stung, but Xavier, too refused to be swayed. He would only have one chance. He needed the right words to warn her about estrus. If this weren’t difficult enough already, he had no idea how to express this in English, but he had to try.

He leaned close to whisper to her. “Lynne, you aren’t thinking clearly. You’re just—horny, because your pony body is fertile right now.” It was blunt, but he tried to soften it as much as he could. She seemed knowledgeable about horses; hopefully she would get his intended message.

Lynne lowered her head momentarily, apparently thinking. Chirping of crickets and the natural movement of the forest flooded into the vacuum of silence. Then, Lynne’s head snapped back up, her young pony features angled in sheer disgust.

“Do you think you’re my fucking mother!?” She hissed in a seething whisper. “You think I can’t even be left alone with a boy for five minutes without spreading my legs for him? That even a coed school is too much of a threat to my precious virginity? Well I’m living now! I’m making my own decisions, and I’m not about to go back on the pedestal without a fight. I can decide what I want for myself now, and I’m not going to let you or anyone else tell me otherwise. GOOD NIGHT!”

She cantered off towards the pegasus’s flashlight, about ten meters away. Xavier limped to the tent, disgusted with himself. If she was going to do this, he at least owed her privacy. Groping for the tent, he felt something hard and lumpy. Recognizing the overstuffed backpack, Xavier realized that he could still save her the brunt of a lifetime of regret; he just needed to find his book.

He located the straps of the pack and undid them with his teeth. How Storm had managed to open and close these so easily with clumsy hooves remained a mystery. Hooves were so useless for Xavier’s task at hand that he soon decided he needed to upturn the whole bag unless he wanted to spend all night in search of Heartbound’s book on herding. He chanced upon an extra flashlight in the pile and took it in his mouth. His hoof then met with a hardcover that had to be it. It was so dark that the invisibility spell was completely redundant.

Pushing it into the barely-visible yellow compact tent, he touched the spine once with his horn and flipped the flashlight on with a hoof while its counterpart held the object in place.

Storm Chaser: Mito i Llegenda de Eqüestria

What on Earth? His jaw was slowly dropping as he wedged the book open to the earliest page he could get his horn under.

While some of the hyperbole is obvious—I doubt anypony believes he actually won a duel with only a toothpick—other instances contain a kernel of truth. For instance, the legend that his first mate, Cloudy Puff, actually bore him six sons in a row is rooted in antiquated pegasus superstition that real “stallions among stallions” can buck probability and sir mostly colts. In truth he did have six sons, as tradition tells us, but new evidence now overwhelming supports the commonly held belief that it was six sons total—two from Cloudy Puff, one from Ocean Breeze and three from Warm Spirits—with at least twice as many fillies in between. (See Appendix: Genealogy for more information) What’s truly impressive, however, is how all six survived to adulthood in an era lacking modern advances in healing magic.

At any rate, it is abundantly clear that in spite of the tall tales mixed in, my ancestor is more than deserving of his place as the greatest of the third century’s heroes. When asked, Princess Celestia herself had only one thing to say about Storm: “He was an entertaining pony, to say the least.” I hope you will find the same as I take you on a journey through fact and fiction alike.

—Cork Pop, 88th Duchess of Cantermore
Canterlot C.E 1000

Xavier slammed the book shut, hooves shaking.

Shit! We’re stuck in the middle of nowhere with a total loon! I have to warn her!

He then heard a low moan in the distance and pressed a front hoof against his horn, the pain allowing him some freedom from the enormous stress.

It was too late. If he told her now, there’d be no telling how the stallion would react to being exposed. In the worst case scenario “Storm” might even see him as dessert.

Disgusted with everything, he turned off the light and sunk into a sleeping position, contemplating his failure of her. Half-an-hour later, Lynne snuck into the tent, lay down opposite him and quietly whimpered.

“Are you ready?” Ocean asked nervously.

“I’m fine,” Storm replied. “Just trying to get into the mood.” It wasn’t a total lie after all, but with him it was much easier said than done.

He wanted this, there was no question of that. The mare in front of him was lovely. Well-proportioned hips, strong legs, a pleasant melody of a mane shade that was perfect for her coat—he knew instinctively these were all attractive qualities in a mare. Objectively, he also loved her smile and her incredible ability to be optimistic in spite of being turned into a unicorn by whatever unknown force was doing this. And if that were not enough, his nose was screaming at him that she was in heat.

And yet, he felt nothing carnal towards her. Even under these circumstances, he couldn’t come close to the Casanova his reputation pegged him as. But even if he could, it would be completely unfair to Lynne. How selfish would it be to use her that way just to assure himself there’s nothing wrong with him. What the hell was he thinking?

It was only ever you, “Puff”...

“Storm?”

“Right—uhh, Milady, I’m afraid I’ve had second thoughts regarding this ‘arrangement.’”

“What do you mean?”

“I must confess that your words reminded me of the day I proposed to Puff. Everything felt cherry-red, pristine and beautiful about it. Everything felt right. You struck a chord with me, and I didn’t want you to feel the same disappointment. Alas, my reason has returned, and one of such high-borne blood couldn’t possibly be with a common pony; it could start a war. Forgive me.”

“But—“

He tenderly petted her head, with both wings running along the top of her head and over her horn. Her disappointment abruptly turned to surprise as she suddenly flinched back.

“I’m sorry,” he said, flying high above to a cloud perch—his first act of cowardice in a month.

Taylor awoke, feeling truly refreshed for the first time in days. This time, his miniscule hope that it was all just a dream was sidelined in less than three seconds. The feeling of the dark-fur covering his entire body and the weight of his poofy mane were starting to become familiar to him. Would he accept it in time? Whatever being a three-foot tall black and orange pony entailed?

He considered various ways of breaking it to his friends and parents. He couldn’t imagine his dad or mom reacting well to a girly pony telling them he’s their son—honestly, the thought was kind of funny. Hell, Grandma Goldstein would probably start swinging her cane to chase the devil horse out of the house. If he could wait until Halloween, he might be a hit, though. Humor aside, his sister would probably be the most likely to accept the gender change. For everyone else, though, the voice change would make it difficult to disguise his current sex. He could use the whole laryngitis excuse, but who knew if that would work in real life.

But texting might work. If we're talking about text-only, I can also say goodbye to my youtube followers. Good to know I have my priorities straight!

The whole room around him looked cleaner, the furniture polished and his things stacked neatly in the corner. The only thing out of place was a child-sized blue-blanket strewn along the floor. Yesterday was mostly a frustrating blur to him. Though he had no reason to trust Dom, it didn’t seem like his “benefactor” would harm him, and he did feel some gratitude for the semblance of safety. Or was that the Stockholm Syndrome setting in?

Nevertheless there was a spring in his step, albeit reserved, as he trotted into the main den. A sizzling sound could be heard from the kitchen, which was indistinct from the rest of the room and made up of only a few square feet near the wall by the entrance.

Dom was already up and dressed. He sat in a rocking chair next to a low coffee table. His suit freshly pressed, the mafia heir was chewing on an orange, gnawing it down evenly with menacing precision. He eyed Taylor with what the pony hoped was indifference, but could very well be ill-intent.

“You’re awake,” he said simply.

“Yeah.” He still had to watch his words around Dom; though a strong, fishy smell from the kitchen kitchen distracted him.

“I don’t suppose that you can still eat bacon?”

That was bacon? Did he buy some sort of vegan soy bacon or something? “I don’t know if ponies can eat it, but I’ll be damned if I give up bacon without a fight,” Taylor declared.

“So,” Dom said, eyeing the earth pony even more closely, turning his entire body towards the miniature equine. “You don’t know anything about what you are?”

Taylor almost said no because of how useless his limited knowledge on ponies turned out to be, but he figured it best to try and give him something. “Well, I guessed that I was not the only one, but you already figured that out. I did find a weird book in the hotel dresser, where I was staying. It was about the talking pony pictured on the cover but otherwise read like a cheap adventure novel. Maybe it cursed me?”

Dom didn’t seem surprised by the revelation and paused to think for a moment before relaxing his stern expression a bit. “Did it say anything useful about what you are?”

“The pony could talk; that’s about it. Otherwise, it read like a script for a B-movie—ancient tombs, traps, magic, a forced romantic subplot. The main character even had wings to fly with. I could show you now.” Taylor did a full turn and trotted a few paces away.

“Wait!” Dom ordered.

Taylor stopped and craned his head around. Hey, there’s a perk—longer neck helps turn head.

Dom looked as if the wind had been taken from his sail. “I—uhh, have it here.” He pulled the copy of Daring Do and the Mirage beneath the Oasis out from beneath the table. He stared at it for a moment, hardened his expression and looked suspiciously towards the mare. “You said that you can read this, but how can you explain that when the contents are all written like this?” He pointed to the title along the top of the hardcover, with a predatory look on his face.

“Huh? What do you mean.”

“Don’t play dumb!” the Sicilian exclaimed, leering at him. “These runes on the cover and inside—it’s a pony language, isn’t it?”

“What are you talking about?” The pony moved closer to the young man, who now seemed warier of him. Taylor looked over the cover but could only see the title, the cover art, and the name A.K. Yearling. “I don’t see anything.”

“You idiot, on the top and on the bottom!” Dom shouted at him with forced vitriol.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Here, let me see." Taylor grabbed the book with his front hooves and pulled it out of the man’s hands. It landed face-down and Taylor flipped it back up with his mouth. Lacking his glasses, he habitually squeezed his face as close as possible and squinted. “I still don’t see what you mean. Where are the runes in the inside?”

His interrogator was now gaping in seeming disbelief. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words seemed to escape breathlessly before he shut it once more.

“Hello, Dom?”

“Oh, sorry.” He almost whispered the apology. “That book really might be cursed. Th—there’s no other explanation.” His palm was shaking as he cupped his chin.

Taylor took his black hoof off the book. “You’re still not making any sense!”

“Wait, now I can’t understand it anymore.”

The human-turned-mare rolled his eyes, took a deep breath and calmly asked, “You speak English don’t you, what’s the problem?”

Dom finally regained his composure and let his arms fall on the rocking chair’s rests. “Just now I could hear the meaning of the words in my head, like I could read it. Try putting your hoof back on it.”

“I’m the talking orange and black pony here. It’s a pretty bad sign when you’re the weird one,” Taylor snarked, but he reluctantly obeyed. “See? It’s English?! What?”

The illusion shimmered and faded, letters twisting and rearranging themselves before his eyes. When it was done, words of an alien alphabet were now visible on the cover. However, he was able to comprehend it and felt he could even pronounce it if called upon.

He opened the book. “I… can read this I don’t know how, but…” Wait a minute! Taylor placed the book on its spine and let it fall open to the page he had had it open to for so long the night before. He flipped a few pages with his hooves until he located the pencil mark he had made in desperation.

How had he not seen it before? The whole scene he had tried to copy had been in a different language the entire time! No wonder he hadn’t been able to transcribe it! Now all he had to do was spend the next few months lobbying unicode to support pony fonts so he could finish his research on the book!

He basked in his amazing comprehension of the funny-looking words and felt his tail start wagging. That thing really does whatever it wants, doesn’t it? Still, he was undeniably happy. If ponies had their own written language, he wasn’t regressing to a dumb animal after all! He felt like jumping to his feet and cantering around in giddy circles. In fact, that’s exactly what he did as Dom watched, dumbfounded. Clearly, he had lost control of the conversation. After a half dozen laps, Taylor sidled up to the rocking chair, asking, “So when’s bacon?”

Dom shrugged. His lust for answers apparently dissipating completely with the reversal of atmosphere. “You know, you can run pretty well for someone who was falling on his face yesterday,” he said, getting up and walking into the small kitchen.

He was right. This whole time, he had been moving around as if he had been doing it all his life. Without realizing it, he had effortlessly imprinted perfect muscle memory upon his two pairs of legs. Now that he was conscious of it he could only mess it up!

Pressing his luck, he walked to his bedroom and back with no mistakes. He ran back into the den, with his hooves landing on the wood flooring in perfect rhythm. Even jumping was a breeze now, and he relished the feeling of strength it gave him. He even managed to briefly to stand on two legs, but quickly dropped to the ground when he realized he was exposing more than he should.

“If you want to risk the bacon, it’s ready,” Dom said. “And you can have whatever vegetables you like. I didn’t get much else.”

All right, stomach, Taylor thought. Bacon is good. I’ll eat whatever grass, oats or vegetables you want, but bacon is non-negotiable.

The pony licked his lips as he turned his neck to eye his target in the sizzling pan. Brimming with confidence from his successes, he simply couldn’t resist showing off. He took one step in reverse and then another as he shuffled his legs and started to speed up. The thought of a moonwalking pony flashed through his head, but pain and a pulling sensation on his rear yanked his attention away as he registered his left back-hoof slipping. He waved the remainder of his hooves, but this only made his muzzle’s dozenth reunion with the ground all the more inevitable.

At this point, the pain of humiliation was the worst part. With a groan, he realized that his bushy, orange dust mop of a tail had bested him once more. It had grown in to be floor-length—probably just to to spite him. He resolved to trim the spiteful appendage down, but with his luck, he’d probably grow two more tails in some sort of bizarre tail-hydra.

Domenico, clearly struggling to stifle a laugh, put a plate of bacon in front of him.

“You deserved that one.”

Author's Note

Well here it is. "I'll have the next one done in no time" seems to have become the new "this one's only going to be 6,000 words." Laughably, I originally thought that everything from Xavier being locked up to the end of this chapter would be able to fit in one chapter. An unfortunate side-effect of this is the side-lining of Lynne's P.O.V. Especially after how I left her, I'm eager to give her her say.

Hopefully I haven't stretched this story's T-rating too close to its breaking point. Though if I get good enough, maybe I can try to write an E story with XX-rated subtext someday.

Boldish42, whom I've burdened with the Sisyphean task of editing these walls o' text, created a
timeline for this setting a while back.

Since I jump around a lot, I thought I'd clarify the rough order of events:

Week 2: Xavier becomes a pony and is captured. Delvaux becomes overseer. Yuki becomes a pony.

Week 3: Taylor sees Lynne for the first time in France, and two days later, she finishes transforming. Storm rescues them the following day.

Week 4: Taylor becomes a pony, and flees with Domenico.

Huh? I guess that wasn't all that bad.

At any rate, I can honestly say that every comment/favorite/like makes my day, so thanks for reading!

6x: Strangers

Maria followed the armed warden into a windowless, white building. It resembled a warehouse and looked hastily constructed, but the briefing had assured her that its concrete shell disguised a skeleton of reinforced steel. This was her first hint of the facility’s attitude towards the ponies. Somehow, she doubted the interior would make a better impression. Still, she had been ready for the worst.

She knew exactly what to expect when a government representative had come recruiting at her hospital for a so-called special opportunity—”veterinary experience desirable” had been a dead giveaway. From there, all it had taken was for her to describe her experience managing medical purchases and the signing of a comprehensive non-disclosure agreement, and she now found herself in a pony internment camp near the Italy/France border.

A guard swiped his access card and pushed the the wide iron doors open for the two of them. The overhead fluorescent lighting gave the interior a sterile look, but the prison-in-all-but-name was anything but orderly. Rows and rows of colorful ponies were packed into steel-gated stables that could barely fit them; a cacophony of murmured conversations in various languages created a constant low hum, and the smell of animal musk hung on the air.

Most didn’t even bother to look when the two humans entered, but the few that did steal a glance at the heavyset nurse looked at her with empty eyes that held an unspoken plea with no real hope of fulfillment. They lay on top of one another out of necessity, huddling away from the gate when possible. Conversations screeched to a halt as the warden passed.

The warden explained, “We take them out one group at a time every day. Rules state that they are never to be left unattended, but as you can tell, we’re shorthanded. This whole thing had to be hobbled together so quickly, but it’s just not enough. These pony things keep crawling out of the woodwork. This was one of the first facilities of its kind, so we’ve had to send some to other camps that are more prepared. Even then, we’re overflowing, especially since Germany has refused to operate their own.”

Maria scanned the room twice before finding a corner with three stalls; each held four noticeably-larger stallions. “I was told there were more mares than stallions, but I didn’t realize it was this lopsided,” said Maria.

“It’s not. We had to repurpose another building for the males, since they take up more room. Hell, it hasn’t even been a month, and we’ve already blown our budget, while the higher-ups keep dragging their feet because of ethics, jurisdiction, competences and all that shit. They’re starting pushing accountability nonsense on us, and I’m to my knees in paperwork. If you hire me to run a prison, let me do my damn job as I've always done it!"

Maria tuned the man out as he vocalized several more complaints, turning her attention elsewhere. In between cells, she saw several posters of a musical note surrounded by a instantly-recognizable red circle with a line through it. “No Singing” was printed in half a dozen languages.

“That’s a strange rule to prioritize,” she remarked as soon as she had an opening, pointing to the nearest poster.

“Oh, trust me, you don’t want to whistle even so much as a note in here here, or else the whole room will burst into song. It sounds like a goddamn dirge—real awful to listen to. I’ll tell ya, they may have been human once, but those things are something entirely different now. Them all pulling the same song out of their asses at the same time is the least weird thing about them. Now, I’ve thought about this a lot, personally. I think they must have some sort of alien telepathy connection or something. If they’re all linked, that explains why they never give up anything consistent when we question them—to protect the collective. And now the government sends you here to give them healthcare on our dime...”

The man no longer bothered to hide his annoyance at her presence; the disgust in his voice was starting to ooze through. Yet to her, his attitude only reinforced the need for her to be here—innocents just like her niece were, after suffering a traumatic bodily change, being dragged away and treated like criminals. Nonetheless, Maria decided that it would take far more than words to change his suspicion-addled mind.

“Well, like you, I’m going to concentrate on doing my job. It’s irrelevant who deserves what; I’ve sworn an oath to help those I can.”

The warden scowled, strumming the keys on his belt. “I can’t fault someone for doing their job, but watch your back around them. They may look cute, but they’re definitely up to something.”

He led her back to the front entrance in tense silence. When they arrived, the door was already opening. A portly, balding guard then entered, carrying a sky-blue unicorn with a bubblegum-colored mane.

“You can’t do zis to me. I am lead scientist at ze Max Planck Institute!” she said in a melodic, heavily accented voice.

“Sure you are,” the guard mocked. “You can tell the other girls all about it. I’m sure the ‘Prince’ and the ‘First Lady of France’ would love to meet you."

Maria was intrigued and couldn’t help but break from her escort and follow the new arrival back down the aisle.

“Zis is an outrage, in complete violation of basic human rights.”

“Look, honey, I just work here. We’re in the middle of renovations, so try not to make a fuss.”

The pony just twisted her expression into a cartoonish image of indignity, but chose to say nothing more as the guard carried her to the end of the row, across from the block of stallions.

“Man, I wish they’d let us out of here,” one shaggy stallion said as the guard passed. “We’d be rolling in pussy! That one over there really looks like she wants it.”

“Unbelievable!” a deep voice responded. “Even now, that’s all you can think about!? Men really are pigs, huh, Jackie?”

A grey, yellow-maned pegasus stallion solemnly nodded his head in response.

Arriving, the guard swiped his card at the electronic lock of a cell already containing a half-dozen other pony mares.

“Hey, Princess Buttercup, room for one more?” It was not a question.

“I suppose, but it will be tight. I don’t suppose you could let us out more to make-up for it,” she answered, with a mild french accent.

“Sorry, rules are rules,” the guard said in a friendly tone usually employed by adults in order to brush off curious children. “I told you it might happen. You guys just keep showing up.”

“Thank you anyway,” the mare said with a sigh.

Maria finally caught a glimpse of the speaker: She was the goldenrod hornless and wingless pony nearest to the door. Her purple, silver-tinged mane framed her chin, and she wore a patient smile as she regarded the newcomer. With a friendly nod of greeting, she moved aside to let the other pony be guided inside.

The guard shrugged off Maria’s presence and turned to leave after checking the cell's lock. She, however, ducked behind a pillar and observed, deeply curious.

The pink-maned unicorn looked overwhelmed by a whirlwind of potential questions before simply asking, “Are you really a prince?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head deliberately, “My family name is Prins. One of the guards happens to call me Buttercup, and the nickname sticks. I don’t mind it too much, but try to resist the references.”

“As you wish,” the scientist pony deadpanned, earning a pout from the earth mare. “I’m Gregor; I study sociology.”

“Well, we’re all crammed in here, but this is Colette,” she said, pointing a hoof at a light-green, brown-maned pegasus.

“Hello, dearie. Sorry if I’m a bit out of it. I’m still getting accustomed to this whole afterlife thing. Everything’s so bright and clear all of a sudden, but I still find myself adjusting my glasses out of habit, isn’t that funny? And people don’t have to scream at me when they talk.”

“A pleasure to meet—”

“You know the last time I felt this spry was nineteen sixty-three. And the old noodle’s sharper too, though the last fifteen years are still a blank to me. Funny story: When they were carting me away, I tried to tell them I was the president’s wife, that famous actress who was in that movie with that tall Swedish gentleman who used to play that famous writer on that one t.v. show. But then they told me the current president doesn’t even have a wife and is apparently missing to boot! But now I’m here. You know, I always thought I’d earn my wings after I crossed over to the other side, but not like this!"

Having had a French boyfriend in her twenties, Maria was able to mostly follow along, even if it was a struggle. Gregor, on the other hand, was scratching his head.

Colette then turned to Buttercup, continuing, “You know, the whole princess nickname is probably my fault—if I hadn’t tried that silly lie. Sorry about that, sweetums. Should have thought that one through, really.”

“It’s quite all right, Ms. Labit, but I’m afraid the gentleman is too polite to tell you he can’t understand a word you’re saying,” the earth pony answered in French. “I’ll gladly interpret for you later, but would you mind if I introduced the others first?”

Somehow this mare’s smile was genuine. Maria had to admire her diplomacy.

“Yes, of course. As you can see, I’m still old at heart.” She laughed and moved to free up what little space she could near the front of the cell.

Based on what had been said, Maria suspected the old woman had developed Alzheimer's prior to the changes, yet miraculously she looked every bit as youthful as the other ponies.

That may well have been one of the first conversations she’s had in her right mind in over ten years. No wonder she’s so talkative and upbeat!

“That’s actually a good segue to the twins,” Buttercup said, pointing to two ponies slumping in the middle of the crowded cell. A pair of motionless yellow-maned, indigo mares were huddled together closer than necessary on the dirt floor. Save for only one twin possessing wings, they were fully identical. Colette’s chipper attitude had only served to emphasize the misery of the glassy-eyed pair.

“We know they’re sisters from Italy, but nobody here can make sense of their dialect.”

Maria made a note to herself to include this in her first report. Identical twins both becoming ponies suggested a possible genetic link. She was surprised this hadn’t been investigated yet.

“And at the back is June,” the impromptu tour guide continued. “She’s studying physics in Munich.”

The red and black unicorn almost looked like she was in physical pain, grinding a hoof against the back wall as she clenched her teeth.

“We’re letting her hang near the back so the stallions don’t stare. Trust me: you’ll appreciate the idea. However, she’s probably in no mood to talk right now.”

Gregor seemed to only be half-listening. His fuzzy ears dipped, as if absorbing the overwhelming depression of the holding area. He quivered, as if everything about the situation suddenly coalesced to form a great weight on him.

“How is it that you’re so strong?" he asked. "Why are you still smiling?"

The purple-maned mare looked down for a moment, looking stressed, before suddenly regaining her composure. “Well, I guess I am because I have to be. I didn’t think I was particularly strong, but when I got here I felt—”

“GONE! All of it!” the cell’s final occupant shrieked. “A life’s! work! gone!” The earth pony punctuated each word with a slam of her magenta-furred head against the door.

Maria’s training immediately overtook her as she rushed to the door to prevent further self-harm. However, Buttercup beat her to it—she wrapped the other earth pony in a hug, using her body to block further impact against the door.

“Shhhh. It’s okay, now. This is very hard for all of us, but it’s going to be all right. Calm down,” Buttercup said, soothingly running a hoof through the other mare’s cherry-red mane. “We can get through this. We just have to be there for each other. Would you tell us your name now?”

The fuschia pony burst into tears and buried her muzzle in the stranger’s mane. With only a hint of trepidation, Gregor lay down beside them and pressed lightly on the sobbing pony’s back.

“You’re still in here?” the warden asked, walking back towards Maria. After briefly scanned the scene unfolding in the cell—as if checking cargo for damage—he said, “I started putting the smallest ones together. You can cram seven of them in there if you do it like that.”

It took all of Maria’s willpower not to glare as she followed the man out of the stable. There would be a time for her anger, but she would have to save it for writing her initial recommendations. She would prove to them that they were right to send her here and that this abhorrence needed to stop.

Despite the pony not finishing, she understood perfectly well what Buttercup was going to say. Like her, she was only doing what she could to alleviate the suffering in front of her.

In the face of such human kindness, how can anyone see them as less?

Author's Note

A side-chapter that I've been meaning to write for a while, hence the Fire Emblem chapter numbering.

I've been considering shorter chapters like this for when the events I would normally stick into a single chapter don't directly relate. I thought his would be a good trial run. Let me know if you have a preference.

6xx: Playtime

Giggling wildly, Yuki corkscrewed out her pre-opened escape window. Her new roomie sure looked like he would be a ton of fun to tease. With a few quick flaps, she took wing and crested through the air. The grounds below her were a beautiful banquet of autumn colors. Seasonal rotation assured that at least some of the greenery would be in bloom at any given time.

As a pet, Yuki couldn’t have possibly asked for a bigger or better backyard. House-arrest almost ceased to be a punishment when she had this much room to fly around in. The view from the hilltop castle of a mansion was already remarkable, yet the awe was somehow multiplied by merely adding a few dozen meters of elevation.

It had taken the sacrifice of a temptingly placed stack of tea leaves to reveal how extensive her herbivore palate was. She couldn’t get enough of the green stuff; a whole realm of flavors existed that couldn’t even have conceived of. Once d’Atlanta had learned of it, they had struck a tenuous agreement.

More like an ultimatum, Yuki thought.

True, it had been economical to offer her whatever flowers and exotic grasses had been trimmed by the groundskeeper. Admittedly, the flavor didn’t differ too much from their fresh counterparts, which she knew because naturally she had sampled nearly everything in the garden by now. She figured it was the best way to foster a working understanding between herself and the “comprehensive” surveillance system.

After stashing the wallet for safekeeping, she helped herself to some of that yellowish African flower she had stopped trying pronounce correctly. It had a creamy honey-like sweetness with a tart aftertaste that left her with a well-nourished feeling. She was careful to eat only from crowded or out of sight areas; after all, there’s no better mark than the one that isn’t missed.

At the same time, the openness of the space somehow felt like a different sort of cage. She felt so free like this, yet there was also a longing for the cramped one-bedroom apartment she had shared with her family of four.

Maybe I should look for someone to play with?

Since she was doing such an upstanding job as a pet—up to and including the misbehaving—it wouldn’t be unusual to want some company. Perhaps she could get “master” to get her another pony thing to roughhouse with. For now, however, the servants would have to do. Her weaponized cuteness had already promoted her from prisoner to pet in what would be only the beginning of a rampage through the hearts of most of the live-in staff.

She landed at the base of the towering steps and took a running stance. With a flurry of harmonious hoofbeats, Yuki happily bounded upwards. It had taken plenty of practice to get a hang of hooves on stairs, but much less than she had expected. Running brought its own set of unique joys—the satisfying rhythm of her every step on the fine stone, the blurred escalator of colorful flowers framing her ascent, the surprising power of her stumpy pony legs. Truthfully she had to stretch her imagination to come up with any downside to her new form; reams of new experiences were still waiting to be unlocked.

Besides, Yuki thought to herself, no use worrying about the tough stuff when I can handle anything that comes my way!

However, an injunction to joy stood by the door, boring it with his very presence. As usual, Luigi wore the same custom-tailored ash suit. He alone seemed immune to her petite pony charm, always looking for the slightest misstep to tattle on her about. As if to torment her with overflowing pomposity, the one thing he seemed enthusiastic about was the suit. It was the same one he wore every day, and Yuki would not have been surprised if he washed and ironed the same clothes every day. He did seem like the type. However, a quick sweep through his room revealed a closet full of identical suits. She didn’t know whether to be impressed or repulsed.

He seemed to gaze through her, tensely strumming the tips of his fingers against one another. He had the look of business about him, but it was as if he was daring her to make the first move. Resigning herself, she made a point to drag her hooves to the door as slowly as ponily possible.

Unfortunately, his patience far outweighed her own.

“Yes, Jr.?” Yuki teased.

“Miss Araoka, your package has arrived.”

The pegasus perked up. “Cool!”

She buzzed inside to grab the small box that had been placed by the front entrance. There was probably a slight somewhere in his refusal to hand it to her personally, but Yuki didn’t care as she unship-and-handled the box, making a point to not tear a single scrap of the paper. She was still a bit slower than she’d like, but two semidextrous hooves and creative use of her flexible primary feathers promised to equal her infamously nimble fingers given time.

Luigi grimaced as she held up her prize for him to see: a light-green cat collar with a fish-shaped charm simply engraved with “Yuki.” Fake jewels and glitter adorned its entire circumference, as if it had been designed by a preteen girl. The pony made a point to exaggerate her satisfaction for her audience’s benefit.

It was completely perfect. It was simultaneous adorable and ridiculous, ensuring that nobody at all would be able to take her seriously. More importantly, however, was the GPS functionality, ensuring that her master could track his pet cat burglar wherever she may go. True, the magnetic lock was far from beyond her ability—in fact, she’d come up with three new ways to break it before breakfast. Still, even if d’Atlanta were to recognize all of this consciously, it would inevitably drop his defenses a little. As long as she appeared to be more under his control, he would relax, a psychological edge the likes of which she hoarded jealously.

Luigi had scrutinized her every movement until he seemed satisfied.

“If that is all, I will take my leave.”

“Hey, you kind of have a pencil-neck. Maybe I can get you a matching one,” the hyper mare said, raising it to his neck to compare. “I’m sure I can find one in conformist black for you.”

The butler gave no reaction beyond walking a little faster, but she hadn’t had her fun with him quite yet. As the butler moved to leave, Yuki flew as if being blown backwards at walking speed. “I saw your happy reunion with your little brother. Those Colvi family Christmas parties must be a blast, or do you mix things up with a slightly crooked bowtie on special occasions?

He subtly raised an eyebrow but otherwise said nothing.

Looks like I’ll have to work for it this time, the pony thought, grinning at the challenge.

“You and your brother really have something going there, don’t you? I bet there’s a story there. Did you have a fight? Was it a girl? Did he delete your save files? Wreck your car? Criticize your wardrobe?”

Luigi’s face was wooden as he turned and unexpected corner. Yuki put on a little speed as the two of them entered the main parlor. Enough tables to serve as a small restaurant were spread out, while an enormous, crystal dining table occupied an entire wall on its own. Shelves full of aged books—selected presumably just to look prestigious—framed an open space with enough red-leather sofas to seat a hundred. At the other end of the room, priceless treasures filled display cases and stocked shelves. It was one part Victorian and another part small museum.

While the other rooms were already a gray area, the master had made it clear in no uncertain terms that there would be no flying in his “look at me: I’m rich” room. Luigi was heading towards the staircase to his room, so she only had a few hundred more metres to try and get under his skin; she had to make them count.

The purple pegasus let out a sigh, trotted around in front of Luigi and sat on her haunches.

“Look, I think I owe you an apology, Jr. This whole time, I’ve treated you like just another servant to cozy up to, when in reality you’re more than that. Signore d’Atlanta chose you as his successor for a reason.”

Snapping to attention anticipation of further stroking of his ego, Luigi stopped, straightened his entire body and regarded her intently.

“You don’t like me, and I don’t like you. But even so, I suppose I owe you more respect. I suppose that starts with how I address you. Given our relative stations, I should have realized all along that…”

Yuki let him hang on her words.

“That it’s Mama Luigi to me!”

Yuki tumbled into a coma of laughter as the butler stormed out of the room. She could see him grow angrier at himself for falling for such a puerile trick. Despite his best efforts, he looked more like a disgruntled toddler than an aghast elite.

That expression was unbelievable! I didn’t even know his face could show that much expression! His eyebrows looked like they were going to pop off his head!

With a victorious hoof-pump Yuki noted that stale internet memes he probably didn't get could be a most effective weapon. Pleased with herself, she ducked into the main corridor and took the red spiral staircase to the third floor. She supposed someone else had to have shown the new arrival to his room by now. The third floor where it resided was mainly reserved for servants and groundskeepers; though it also included more spacious accommodations for people such as the owner’s personal assistant. Though well-maintained, with a modern décor, it was the only area of the mansion that didn’t give the immediate impression of obscene wealth.

She popped into her now-shared room, only to find it devoid of the mustached mafioso. Curious, she perked her ears up for any obvious clues. Yuki found Giovanni in the office of d’Atlanta’s personal physician.

“—could have died on the spot! Quite frankly I don’t know what you were thinking,” came a shout from downstairs.

Recognizing the voice, Yuki scurried down the stairs and followed the voice to its source. She pressed her tiny body to the door and peered in through a crack.

“I did what I had to do. You wouldn’t understand,” said Giovi. “It was a bad option, but it was my only option. The risks were irrelevant at that point.”

D’Atlanta’s personal physician, a lean, middle-aged blonde-haired man, let out a sigh, scratching his chin. “You were lucky that you correctly assessed the risk of bleeding out as low, but you were still entirely reckless,” the man scolded. “It could have easily become infected, especially since you didn’t think to change your bandages even once. Not to mention the fall that left you unconscious.

Even if you were out for less than fifteen minutes, you should have sought immediate help; blows to the head are not something to take lightly!”

Giovi crossed his arms and briefly lowered his gaze. “But everything checks out okay?”

“Yes, you should be fine. Like I said, it would be riskier to leave the bullet where it is—though it does exclude you from MRIs and it may mean you get stopped a few times at airport security. At any rate, all I can offer you is hackneyed advice: get some rest, keep the wound clean, and avoid any undue—“

Hiya!” Yuki said, barreling through the door, catapulting herself onto the patient’s shoulder. Giovanni jolted out of his seat, and his left hand was halfway to his gun before he registered and glared at the annoying, non-threat.

“—stress.”

“Hey, Doc!”

“Hello, Catarina,” the doctor said, barely suppressing his subtle smile of approval. “Any changes in your condition.”

“Nope, I’m still small and equine! Though for some reason, I have this weird craving for cider.”

Meanwhile, Giovanni had finally managed to verbalize the shaking of his fists in a most concise and eloquent matter: “You! You…”

“I got you with the same jump-scare twice, isn’t that shame on you?”

He looked to the doctor for sympathy.

“Get used to it. She’s like this to everyone. It may even be a symptomatic of her condition.”

“If being me is a disease, I don’t want to be well,” Yuki said, earning a scowl from Giovi. “Don’t worry, I’m not contagious, but wouldn’t that be fun!”

“She’s not. I ran every test I know, and I couldn’t find a single known pathogen,” the doctor said.

“For all we know, she could be completely immune. It really is a shame all of this is under wraps. It could revolutionize our understanding of medicine.”

“Well find somepony else. I’ve had more than enough of being a test subject, thank you.” She turned to Giovanni. “Come on, let me show you around.”

He looked at her unpleasantly before nodding resignedly. “Thank you, Doctor Hansen.”

“Don’t mention it.”

With a spring in her step, Yuki led Giovanni back up the stairs. “As you can see, the manor is effectively divided into two halves: the front with most of the public opulence for entertaining most of his business associates, and the back, where he houses the servants as well as unpleasant secrets like us. You know, it’s kinda like the guy himself, now that I think about it.”

The “new -hire” nodded in appreciation. “I understand the general idea of what we will be working on together, but what should I expect exactly.”

“I actually don’t know much either. I was just told to keep practicing my flying. Whatever it is, it’s something he’s apparently been working on for a while, so I’d expect our first assignment any day now.”

Flying up the stairs with a single haughty flap, she looked down at him with a perky grin.

“So what’s your story?”

He looked up at her with a stone gaze. “What do you mean?”

“You know, anything, since we’re now roomies. I was watching from above earlier. I didn’t hear a word, but I could tell you’re not on the best of terms with your brother. Do you have other siblings, or is he your only brother?” Yuki asked, figuring the innocuous question would deflect suspicion from her real motives.

Giovanni grimaced and narrowed his gaze at her. “Look, Catarina, I—“

“Yuki.”

“Fine—Yuki, I don’t know whom you’re trying to fool with this childish act, but let me make things clear: I will accept you as an associate—no more, no less. I will not be your friend or let my guard down just because you’re less than half my size and furry; if anything, it makes me trust you less. All I need to know is what you can do, how you can help me do my job and vice-versa.”

Yuki nervously tugged on one of the blue strands of her mane. Damn, that backfired.

No, it’s good that he’s sharp, or maybe the geezer tipped him off. Either way, nothing lost, so why is this bothering me so much?

He passed her and entered the third-floor corridor, a short stretch of hall with two-rooms on each side. Most of the wall was occupied by a large tapestry depicting the Napoleonic wars.

Yuki always thought it was stuffy and paid no mind to it as she trotted to catch up.

“All right, all right, you got me,” Yuki said sarcastically. “Sheesh, I thought the sort of guy who’d limp here half-dead with a bullet still in him would be a bit more fun, but you’re another stiff, just like your brother!”

“I’m sure most things are boring to you when compared with dive-bombing unsuspecting strangers while they’re trying to enjoy a fireside chat,” Giovanni responded, his banter as lifeless as he could make it.

I guess I have to give up for now. He's not giving me anything useful.

They turned to the left and walked past half- a-dozen other rooms before arriving at their destination. The corner room was ideal due to the large window high on the back wall, which provided her with easy access to the open skies. Despite having the room to herself for the past two weeks, she had confined her belongs to the one side. It was probably a Japanese thing. Sharing space with her first-generation parents and younger brother, they had customarily slept on tatami mats in the same room together. She simply wasn’t used to having so much room for herself. Perhaps she hadn’t outgrown that feeling.

“This is our room, as I assume you know. The shower is two doors to the right; the room next door also uses it.”

Giovanni rolled his eyes.

“So I have to share a shower with you? At least I’ll know who to blame when the drain’s clogged with a huge hairball.”

Yuki shook her head, wearing an amused grin.

“Nope, I use the big birdbath out front!”

Giovanni looked frazzled. The sheer absurdity of what she just said must have caused him to blow a fuse. Yuki supposed he was like his brother in that respect. If so, she would have a ball assaulting his logic with pony.

“You… use… a birdbath?”

Giovanni inched closer.

“Yup! Sometimes I even sing!”

“Ugh, fine. I guess I should know better than to let you surprise me anymore.”

Giovanni deliberately shrugged, and then, without warning, dove on Yuki, wrapping his arms around the small pony’s barrel.

“All right, I’ve got you now, and I’m not letting go until you give me my wallet back. Where is it?”

Yuki let out a high pitched snigger. “My pockets would be a good first place to check.”

The mustached Sicilian just glared.

She could probably toy with him a bit more, but the answer was too funny to hold back on any longer.

“It’s in my nest!”

“Your… nest…” Giovanni said. He sounded almost bored by the idea, as well as dumfounded by the one-two punch of eccentricity.

His grip on her relaxed.

The pegasus immediately seized her opportunity and threw all her weight against his arms. He yielded far too quickly, and she ended up rushing towards the wall at full speed. Thinking quickly, Yuki sprung off her hind legs, spread her wings and funneled her momentum into a backflip. She supposed he had done that out of spite, so Yuki, still upside-down, flew close to him and blew a raspberry. She then righted herself and continued on as if nothing had happened.

“It’s in that really tall tree in the southeast part of the garden. It’s doesn’t boast much floor space, but boy is it cozy! I’m still working on the furnishings, though. All I have right now is some twigs, a plastic cup, some old manga, a half-eaten donut, your wallet, my pet rock—or should that be petpet rock?—Luigi’s nosehair trimmer, some paper clips, and a Subway coupon! I’m thinking it needs a bit more touch of home to it. Maybe I could track down the world’s smallest kotatsu… I’ve also been in the market for some used kitchenware—oh and eggs; can’t forget about eggs”—Yuki blushed—“Though those are probably more trouble than they’re worth in my case.”

Giovi nodded and then seemed to snap into focus. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that. I take it you said nothing important?”

The pegasus pouted briefly before she hatched her next diversion. “I guess I can give your wallet back now…”

Giovanni’s stern expression didn’t abate, and he merely extended an open hand.

“Buuuut, only if you can catch me again.”

Again he gave no reaction, but then dove at her again. However, this time she was ready.

She waited until he was back on his feet before sticking out her tongue, saying, “meep meep!” and flying away. She let him chase her three times around the oval-shaped hallway. She effortlessly kept ahead of him, sometimes letting her tail dangle enticingly in front of his nose before moving it just out of reach.

When her new friend looked like he was ready to quit, she landed several metres away and said, “Well tag doesn’t seem to be your thing, Giovi. Since I’m feeling generous, how about we make it hide n’ seek instead?”

Giovanni was panting. Either he was really exhausted, or he was red with anger. His countenance then became a sort of perturbed that suggested he had just realized the absurd truth that he was playing children’s games with a purple pegasus pony.

“Yeah, right. All you’d have to do is never land.”

“Nope! Once we start my cute little hooves won’t stray far from the ground. In fact, I won’t leave this floor, go into any of the rooms even.”

“Well, I take it there’s a catch?”

“Nope. But then again, we haven’t quite started yet, have we?”

Yuki hovered two feet off the ground, stretching her wings wide. She took a deep breath and guided them in a motion that had seemed strangely natural from the onset of her transformation. The air flowing past her wings seemed to thicken and become visible. She picked up the pace and the thin layer started to rise, as her wings had an unseen faucet filling the room to the brim. In no more than twenty seconds, the room was overtaken by a dense, mist-like fog.

Her newfound ability suited her perfectly—ultimate stealth. She could stick her nose in front of Giovanni, and naught but her breath on his face would announce her presence.

The hired gun’s arms crossed arms dropped to his sides.

“What… on earth?” He said with childlike awe.

Well look at that: he comes in flavors other than total-stiff and bland surprise, Yuki thought.

“Yup. I have special fog powers. I can see you, but you can’t see me! The only disappointing part is that I discovered it just after I named myself Yuki for my snowy mane. Then again, I suppose I can’t expect my new talent to conform to the name I chose!”

Her captive audience groped around trying to feel for anything at all. His hand first landed on a glass display table holding an expensive flowerpot. The whole structure rattled, and he flinched backward.

“I’m done! I’ve had enough ‘fun’ for one day, thank you.”

“Oh come on! We haven’t even started.”

“Just point me to the stairs,” Giovi ordered.

“Fine!” Yuki said with an added hmmph. “They’re behind you.”

He took a few steps back, hanging to the right side of the room to avoid tumbling down said stairs. He shot way past them, and Yuki stifled a giggle.

“Am I closer?” Giovanni asked, taking another step back.”

“Cold!” Yuki said.

“What!?” he took a few paces forward to better hear her.

“Warmer!”

“DAMMIT! Stop goofing around, you—you pesky fuzzball.”

The pony did a double take at his dimwitted choice of insult before collapsing into laughter on the floor. Oh
yes, she was going to have a lot of fun with this mook.

Silence at the d’Atlanta mansion was a welcome arrival. For the first time in several hours, it seemed, Giovanni could hear himself think. He lay on his back, head on his perfectly centered pillow. Nonetheless, he still couldn’t sleep.

Rolling to his side he reached to the side-table once more. Finding the pre-paid phone Domenico and he had agreed he use, he flipped it open. The number was still dialed, but he had hesitated in pressing send.

After all, Giovanni thought, what good is it when he has no way to tell if I’ve been compromised by the enemy?

Dammit, no way around it. I’ll have to think of something in the morning.

He lay back down, hanging listlessly on the edge of the bed, as if rolling back over to the center would be too committal. It didn’t help that moving would mean briefly parting with the sillky smooth sensation of the pillow under his head. D’Atlanta’s accommodations had been top-notch for sure. Giovanni wondered how much this pillow had cost. Surely it must be a pricey imported fabric. He couldn’t help but run his hand along it self-consciously, feeling it massage his skin.

The pain of loss still weighed heavily on him, but through force of will he had temporarily pushed it to the background. That said, he felt a bit guilty for enjoying such amenities, while Domencio was out there alone—or worse, dead.

Still he was further tempted into rubbing his cheek on the luxury pillow. It felt even more amazing on his face.

Giovanni froze.

Wait a minute, there was only one pillow on this bed!

He slowly lifted his upper body into a sitting position.

“Get in your own damn bed, Yuki.”

“Hehee. Took you long enough. With all your tossing and turning, I figured you could use a pony cuddle to help you sleep. So what’s on your mind. As a certified pony psychologist your secrets are safe with me.”

Don’t take the bait. She’s like an attention-hungry child, she’s just after your reaction.

With as little energy as possible he rolled to the center of the bed and found his real pillow.

“Good night,” he said decisively.

Predictably, Yuki wasn’t to be deterred that easily.

“Ohh, what’s this? Calling your girlfriend? Is this a late night booty call?” Yuki asked, holding the flip-phone.

“You got me,” he said ironically, hoping to defuse her amusement.

Yuki gave a wry smile.

“Well, whoever it is, I’d say you should stop beating around the bush and just do it. Here you go!”

She pressed the top of the phone to his ear. The dial tones sounded, and his heart rate picked up as he endured the chasm of silence in between each ring. He closed his eyes, praying.

The ringing stopped.

“Hello?”

Author's Note

The first half of this chapter had sat on my desktop for a while because I was convinced it sucked. Strangely, a second read completely changed my view, and I rushed to complete it.

This is the first time I have submitted something without an editor's help; I figured it would be in the spirit of Yuki to just post it and iron out the kinks later. I also wanted to post something in Celebration of Libyan Independence Day.

I'll probably come back to this later and spruce up some things. For one, now that Autum Breeze has pointed it out, I can't stop noticing how much I use the word but. Now that you probably won't be able to unsee it either, I'm glad I place my author's notes at the end.

As always, I love me some feedback.

7: Introductions

Lynne awoke shortly before the crack of dawn. She had been a pony for over two days now, but it still briefly disoriented her to feel her quadrupedal body push off the ground with the help of four hooves. By the early morning light, she was able to see the maroon mare sleeping with her muzzle resting on a book.

Perhaps that’s what she was talking about? Lynne thought.

But she couldn’t keep last night out of mind for long. Her friends at university had joked about morning-after regrets, and she felt she could now relate—despite it not being after much of anything. She didn’t know what to think about last night, or what to make of Storm’s hasty retreat. Perhaps she had done something to make him see her as just a child to be coddled?

She berated herself: How ironic—I try to step away from being that sheltered girl, and I come off even more childishly naive! She turned to the unicorn, who she really needed to get on better terms with. You were right—she felt a vaguely familiar sensation working its way through her back half—about everything.

Embarrassed, she pushed her way out of the tent using her muzzle and tiphoofed away. As the sun peeked over the horizon, the breathtaking natural wonder of the forest came into full view. Whereas, before it had been a veritable obstacle course to rush through, she could now marvel at the rows upon rows of ancient trees, some of which had trunks as thick as she was long. The cool morning air tasted wonderful, completing a picture of perfection.

But to the cyan pony, it reminded her of her mistake. Their situation was outwardly exciting, like something out of her favorite novels, but the reality was much less forgiving. It was as the other mare said: they knew almost nothing about the self-proclaimed champion of the Wonderbolts. Yet she was entrusting him with her safety, and in a way, with her life.

After all, Lynne thought, he’s our only hope of turning back. This is really bad, and all I could think about was being free and…

Lynne could almost feel her mother’s judging eyes trained on the back of her head, a familiar sensation that had thoroughly whipped proper decorum into her. Subconsciously she straightened her gait as she trotted back towards the tent.

She resolved herself to vainly try and get a bit more rest; then she then noticed Storm’s upturned bag. It was a mini-mountain of survival necessities, some oddly specific tools and empty containers. She could hardly believe she had failed to notice it on the way out. However, what interested her the most was what appeared to be an ancient tome of sorts. Its spine was a reddish-brown, with small-type cursive lettering that was too stylized to read without getting closer.

That’s strange. Then what is it that she’s sleeping on? Lynne thought.

Quickly winning a debate against the timid part of herself, she decided to take a peek—or at least she would have, because at that moment at short snout pushed its way out of the tent flap.

Blinking her exhausted eyes, the other mare slowly lowered a hoof that she was using to block the sudden early light. Lynne turned around just in time to block the book from view, but quickly realized the implications of the decreased width of her frame and decided to sit on the book to be safe.

The girl, unfazed by the mess, gave only a curt nod before walking past and quickly checking their surroundings, deliberately scanning the skies.

“Good morning,” Lynne said nervously.

“Good morning,” the pony parroted in her cute accent. Before waiting for a reply however, she closed the distance between them and whispered, “We have something to talk about.”

Lynne’s ears drooped as she mustered her sincerest apology: “Yes, I have to say I’m sorry I snapped at you last last evening.”

“That’s not—”

“No, I was entirely out of line. I—as I might have hinted at last night, my parents tend to be a tad overprotective. I never had too many friends, so I liked to read a lot. I liked adventure and fantasy, but later I dove headlong into romance. I read everything I could in that genre—old gothic novels, historical fiction, Pride and Prejudice, Twilight… though that one got really weird in the last book.”

Realizing she was getting off-topic, Lynne shook her head and focused her gaze back on the other mare.

“What I’m trying to say is… I thought I was truly in love—for the first time in my life. This will only sound foolish, but I thought that this was a once in a lifetime meeting with my own Prince Charming.”

Lynne sniffled. It sounded so stupid when she said it out loud. Did she actually think she was living one of the Fairly Tale Falls exhibits?

“But—” the cyan unicorn continued, “but all that excitement, the beating of my heart, that was just—just estrus.” Tears pooled in Lynne’s eyes as her hooves gave way under her. “I was a complete child!” she sniffled.

She felt a comforting hoof stroking her withers.

“It’s okay,” the mare said. “I understand. I—I went through it too…” She paused to collect her thoughts. “It is strong. Maybe I would have done the same perhaps.” The pony had a shell-shocked look in her eye as she said this. Lynne knew well when someone was just trying to comfort her, but somehow it made her feel a bit better.

“I just thought it would be—you know, similar, but I guess not. I mean, it’s pushed me to the edge. This should have sunk in hours ago, but this whole situation is—I’m starting to freak out.”

The unicorn nodded slowly, hesitantly voicing, “Yes, I understand too. I miss my spouse and my children. Because I am like this, maybe I will never see them again. I don’t like it, but I can’t go back.”

It took Lynne a moment for the implications of the mare’s words to sink in. As soon as it did, she couldn’t help but blurt out, “Wait: you’re married? With kids?”

“Yes, I have a eight year-old son son and a sixteen year-old daughter. But I’m not married anymore.”

Eight and Sixteen!? She could quite well be my mother’s age. And here I was treating her like I would a friend or classmate! No wonder she snapped at me.

She lowered her head in deference. “I’m terribly sorry. All this time, I just assumed you were my age for some reason. If I had known I would have been much more respectful.

“It’s all right. I never told you. It’s strange how we look the same, because I’m forty-four, and you’re?”

“Nineteen.”

“I didn’t say, so don’t occupy yourself.”

“We never did quite get around to introducing ourselves,” Lynne said with a forced giggle. “As you probably already know, my name is Lynne.”

There was a pregnant pause. It was clear the mare picked up on her queue, but she was strangely nervous, looking away and at the ground before whispering, “Xavier.”

“Pardon? I didn’t get that?”

“It’s Xavier.”

“Shuh-vee-aye?” Lynee hazarded, mouthing the unfamiliar word. Thankfully she didn’t have to spell it. Was it French: Chavier?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Lynne would certainly need practice with the unusual name.

Why couldn’t she be called something more pedestrian? like Maria?

She couldn’t follow up on that thought, as a tension erupted below her stomach.

“I don’t suppose you have any medicine to deal with the symptoms?” Lynne asked.

“No, I don’t have any,” Chavier said. “I tried to distract myself by reading. It worked because I wasn’t thinking on it.”

“Thanks for the tip.” Lynne looked up and around their surroundings. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen Storm? When do you think we should wake him up?”

In a quick motion, Chavier trotted to her side, whispering directly into her ear, “Actually, there’s something you must see.”

“What’s that?”

“You’ll see,” she said, gesturing towards the tent.

Lynne followed her inside and noticed a hardcover book on the floor. Noting the title, she exclaimed, “Incredible! He has a book about him. They call him a legend.”

She turned to Chavier only to see her shake her head. “Read it.”

Lynne awkwardly tried pressing her muzzle against the book’s side, knocking it open to a dense section of small-font notes. She then briefly fumbled at the pages with the sides of her hooves and succeeded only in closing the book again. She let out a nervous snicker and glanced briefly at Chavier. To her surprise, she wasn’t having a laugh at her expense. It made sense, since they were probably in the same position. Barriers of embarrassment removed, she finally resorted to using her horn to pry the book open. It took a couple of attempts, but the book finally opened to a page in the middle.

King Tempest was known for his stubbornness, exceeded only by his short wick, which could ignite without warning. After Storm returned the Princess Ocean Breeze to her father, he found himself in a position of vulnerability. On one hand, he felt compelled to reward the former wonderbolt, which he couldn’t do with the state of his treasury. On the other, it was odious to him to give up his daughter to an outsider; to him, an Equestrian pegasus was no more desirable than an earth pony or unicorn. However, all of these factors just made Storm want the princess all the more; he had known she was perfect for his herd the moment she and Cloudy Puff laid eyes on each other.

Surprise overtook Lynne, though it soon melted away to reveal fear. “It can’t be… according to this book, Storm has already met Ocean Breeze… but how could he mistake me for her.” She racked her brain for an explanation. “I suppose it is possible to mistake me for someone else, but not if he loved Ocean! He hasn’t said a single word about a shared history together.”

I wonder what it means by herd, she wondered briefly.

“That isn’t the only thing,” Chavier said. “It seems that he is a historic pony, who lived centuries before that book. It’s not possible that he’s Storm Chaser in truth.”

Lynne felt suddenly lightheaded and very scared. Her mind and heart were racing as she tried to make sense of it all.

“I think he was a person before, like us,” she continued.

“By why would he lie to us?” Lynne asked.

In truth, she could think of a dozen malicious reasons to do so, but they all seemed at odds with how the stallion had treated them thus far.

“I think that he is crazy,” Chavier said. “Listen to how he talks. He believes that he is that pony.”

“But he does know a lot about Equestria.”

“It is probable that he read the book. He’s pretending all of it.”

The explanation did make sense. The shock of what she had read still had not worn off entirely, but it was a bit of a relief to be able to believe that the pegasus had no bad intentions towards them. However, it was very frightening to think that their pegasus protector could be mentally ill.

“It doesn’t make sense though. We can’t use magic at all, yet he can fly brilliantly and make lightning with clouds.”

Chavier looked puzzled at this, rubbing her chin with a hoof. “I don’t know. Maybe he learned. It would be great that we learn magic too. Strange things have happened with the books already. Maybe the knowledge will just come into our heads?”

“Does that mean Equestria is real, then? If it’s not, then where did this magic that turned us into ponies come from?”

“I also don’t know, but I think it is too dangerous here. I think we should take the supplies and run. It’s the only way.”

The proposal made sense, though Lynne would feel bad about stealing. Even more so, leaving the stallion seemed regrettable; she felt so safe and at ease around him. Granted, this could have been her body talking, but him saving them from being sold as livestock had to count for something. For some reason it felt wrong to go off on their own, and she was strangely attached to their nascent group.

“I—I think we should stay.”

“Què t’emptatolles! He’s crazy! We can’t trust in him!”

“Hear me out,” Lynne said, hoping the older woman wouldn’t see her as out-of-line. “With what we now know, he has abilities we can’t explain. It’s possible that we will suddenly be able to use magic in the same way he can use his powers, but it’d be absurd to rely on such a far-fetched possibility. So if it doesn’t work out like that, he may know something that can help us learn magic.” She glanced at Chavier for approval; the mare was listening intently. “And if we can learn magic, we might be able to change back. It’s a longshot, but he can also protect us in the meantime. I don’t know about you, but I’d feel helpless out here on our own.”

Chavier seemed torn. “But we don’t know where he is taking us. He’s nuts! This Equestria maybe doesn’t exist!”

Lynne nodded. “That concerns me too, which is why I’m going to talk to him.”

“But what if he—what if he attacks us.”

The cyan pony sighed. “I don’t like that he lied to us, but I feel like this is the right way. I want to believe in him—for all the good he’s done for us.”

“Fine…” Chavier finally said after a long pause. “But I’m coming with you.”

They locked eyes and after an exchange of glances signaling understanding, the two of them trotted out of the tent together. They split up and circled the perimeter of the clearing, glancing at the sky every so often. Finding nothing, they resorted to waiting by the tent after calling out for him a couple of times. They didn’t have to wait long, as the pegasus arrived a minute later, accompanied by the tantalizing scent of freshly cooked fish.

“A good morning to you fine ladies. I hope you will welcome a hearty breakfast. Caught them myself and cooked them a ways away, to avoid attracting any ursa to our camp with its delectable odor. Back in the academy, we used to have contests to see who could catch the most fish with their bare hooves, but I suppose you’d be eager to eat. I can regale you as we do so.”

I wonder which chapter that’s from, Lynne thought. But she maintained outward interest.

“Storm?” she asked. “I couldn’t help but notice the book about yourself in the backpack. Its contents were spilled all over; I don’t know how that happened.”

“I emptied it when I looked for a flashlight,” Chavier supplied, retreating a few paces towards the tent.

The pegasus knocked himself gently on the head with his hoof. “Quite an oversight on my part. I should have left you one. Excuse my lack of consideration.” He took the emptied backpack in his mouth and made a makeshift table, placing the two fish on it for them. “The smell could still attract wild animals, so I’d advise you to eat quickly. We should leave shortly thereafter, lest our pursuers find us.”

“Wait a minute! We—” Lynne turned her head to Chavier and silently pleaded to her to calm down.

“That’s sounds like a plan. However, I’m rather interested in that book. Do you mind telling us about that instead while we eat.”

The stallion cocked his head and stared off into space for a moment. “Oh, yes of course! I can see how that would prove confusing. Quite embarrassing now that I think of it. It was rather indulgent of me to fantasize about herding with the two of you.”

Lynne was thrown for a loop, wondering how possibly to respond to that. Chavier on the other hand was more verbal:

“What?! Fantasize!?”

“I know this looks bad, but let me explain. There’s quite a bizarre fad sweeping through the wealthy in Canterlot right now: a sort of self-aggrandizing autobiography if you would. Basically the pony writes what their future dreams and ambitions as if it were fact. It’s an exercise that is supposed to make one’s goals more concrete and help one life their best life. Of course, once Baron Bagatelle got in on it, it became an exercise in one-upmanship, everyone attempting to write the most preposterous, self-aggrandizing future for themselves.”

Incredibly fishy! Though consistent with his story, Lynne didn’t buy a word of it. At her side, Chavier was starting to quiver with rage. She had to admit only the most naive could possibly take this at face value.

“But why does it say you’ve been dead for hundreds of years!” Chavier challenged.

The emerald pony nodded with a smile. “That’s the other half of it: the pony thinks about how she wants to be remembered as a form of self-reflection.”

Chavier’s ears drooped. Her anger seemed to turn to shyness before her expression tightened again.

“We’ll talk later,” Lynne whispered.

The maroon mare let out a sigh and nodded.

“Now that that’s cleared up, you fillies have hardly touched your food. You wouldn’t want it to get cold.”

They put their muzzles down and bit down on their meal at the same time. They had to use a hoof to hold down the tail in order to bite a piece off. It seemed unsanitary, but otherwise they were liable to drag the fish straight off the plate and onto the dirt. Chewing the first bite, Lynne found the taste familiar, with a subtle twist. It might have just been the freshness of it, but it seemed to have a certain richness. It reminded her somehow of fresh vegetables, though this didn’t do much to make her like the taste any more.

Chavier seemed to be enjoying it a bit more than she, but if the look in her eyes was anything to go by, this peace offering did very little to take the edge off of her suspicion. Storm, meanwhile was watching intently, doing his best to avoid outright staring. He opened his mouth to speak a couple of times but seemed to think better of it.

Finally, he cleared his throat inconspicuously and said, “I recognize losing your magic must have been hard on the both of you. As a pegasus pony, I know I can’t possibly understand what it’s been like, especially not the cultural part of it. I can understand if you don’t want to resort to using your hooves, but just know that I will not find this a breach of etiquette in the slightest, nor will I speak of it to any other unicorn.

“What do you mean?” Lynne asked.

“It’s just a suggestion. Feel free to do as you wish. I only wished to emphasize that there are no judging eyes here, one of many benefits of the wilderness.” Storm then lifted an autumn leaf to his nose, smelled it and then twirled it by its stem.

His comments reminded Lynne to stay in character for the time being. Fortunately, her real status in life wasn’t all that different. However, his comments did make her curious. Slowly, she inched a hoof towards her food and ran it over the fish. For the first time, the unexpected sensitivity of the appendage entered the forefront of her mind. Feeling silly she, poked the food and felt for adhesion before taking a bite to disguise what she was doing. After all, Ocean Breeze should know how to do this.

She wondered if unicorn ponies were even capable of the type of unreal dexterity Storm had displayed with digitless feet. Judging by the magazine and Storm’s comments, it appeared magical levitation was the ubiquitous substitute. Truthfully, she felt silly even attempting it, like a gullible falling for a sibling’s fib. If he was right, though, it was too useful to ignore.

Chewing through a tough piece of flesh, Lynne thought, What if I try picking it up normally?

In a moment of strange faith, she closed her eyes and imagined her human hand enclosing her food. Amazingly, it worked, as the fish seemed to snap to her hoof. Disbelieving, she tried shifting it around mid-air. She was somewhat successful, but hooves had their limits. It felt like she had her fingers again, only they felt numb and stubby. Still, any dexterity greatly exceeded her expectations, and she took a big, triumphant, bite.

Chavier looked at her, mystified as she dropped her breakfast in a failed imitation. “Collons,” she cursed. It took quite a bit of willpower for Lynne not to laugh at the high-pitched angry squeak.

After breakfast, they followed the foolhardy stallion further into the woods, waiting until they had a moment to themselves.

“He’s crazy; I told you!” Chavier whispered, when she was sure the pegasus was out of earshot.

“It does seem like that. Whenever we question his implausible story, he merely piles on more implausibilities,” Lynne replied. “I still think we should follow him, though. Honestly, I don’t know what else to do…”

Chavier scowled. “You’re… right. I don’t like it, but you’re right. Though what if he attacks us!”

“He’s looney, but he hardly seems violent. Catching fish, surviving in the wilderness, and even saving us—clearly he’s got some things figured out. Maybe his taking us to ‘Equestria’ could be something great. Who knows? Maybe he’ll take us to the source of all of this.”

Chavier sighed and nodded.

And so, they regrouped and continued traveling into the night, passing through the autumn tinted wilderness. Occasionally, they would cross a lonely road, or even hide with bated breath when the sounds of nature proved a bit too intimidating. They did encounter docile creatures and other herbivores, but such animals seemed to prefer keeping their distance.

They stopped only for a meal—canned peaches—and to occasionally catch their breath. After a day of acclimation to her new body, Lynne found her endurance slowly improving, though she was nowhere near a match for the athletic stallion. Running was still enjoyable to her, but the novelty of walking on four hooves was wearing off fast—even more so was the constant clip-clop of their hooves on the terrain.

Just before dusk, they agreed to set-up camp once more. They now were at the foot of a mountain range, so they used a steep incline as a shield from behind. Storm flew off to forage, while the two mares erected the tent. Chavier had picked up “hoofing” things pretty quickly with a few tips from Lynne. Still, they lacked coordination, and their newfound ability didn’t make it as easy as they would have hoped.

After half an hour of making good use of their mouths and hooves, they finally finished and dragged the hefty backpack inside to get out the sleeping bags. Even though both they and the tent were sized for children, there was distressingly little room for essential supplies.

Her companion took her mysterious book in hoof and opened it before Lynne could manage to see the title, hoping to make use of the remaining daylight. Lynne followed suit, hoping to read up on magic. She opened the section on levitation once more and started reading it from the beginning, hoping for a hint. However, she was soon interrupted.

“Umm… excuse me,” Chavier murmured.

Lynne slowly turned around to face him.

“Well you know… maybe you made a mistake last night, but maybe we can avoid a bigger mistake.”

“What do you mean?” Lynne asked.

Chavier blushed—impressive considering the color of her coat. “My book”—she closed it and pushed it towards Lynne with her muzzle. “well, it’s about families.”

You and Your Herd: A Practical Guide for Stallions and Mares.

The maroon pony opened it to a dog-eared page. “This is a spell to stop pregnancy. We can’t use magic yet, but maybe we can figure it out, before it’s too late.”

Lynne sighed and stretched her neck, touching the roof of the tent. She wanted to shrink away, but Chavier’s earnestness helped her guilt win out.

“The truth is that Storm turned me down last night.” It hurt to say it, as it hammered home that she was a naive little girl whose attempt at intimacy was waved away.

“I figured as much,” Chavier said.

“What do you mean?” Lynne asked, flustered. Was she spying on her?

“Well, pony noses are very good. I think that I would smell him on you, but I don’t.”

It was now Lynne’s turn to blush.

“That’s cheating! That’s entirely unfair! It’s an invasion of privacy.”

The other pony slowly nodded with sympathy. “To me it seems that it goes both ways. No secrets in that aspect. That way, you don’t need to worry about him cheating with me.” She slowly smiled the smallest bit, wary.

Lynne laughed, setting aside her slight offense at the good-natured jab. “True, I suppose that is an advantage, since even hugging will get another pony’s scent all over you. With that at their disposal, ponies ought to be champion gossips.”

Chavier looked like she didn’t fully understand, but she smiled anyway.

“Thank you, by the way,” Lynne said softly. “At first, you reminded me a bit too much like my mother, and that may have rubbed me the wrong way. Now realize, that like her, you’re also looking out for me, so thank you. Being a mother yourself, it must be second-nature to you.”

The Spanish pony’s face contorted; then she looked away bashfully.

“In truth”—she sighed— “I was a man; my sex changed.”

Lynne’s fur nearly went as red as Xavier’s. “What! How could you not tell me?! If I had known I wouldn’t have said half....”

“I’m sorry. I thought you would because my name.”

“I’m a Brit. How am I supposed to know Shuh-vee-aye’s a man’s name?”

“Don’t you have the name in English. Spanish is Javier.”

“Javier? In English that would be… Xavier?”

“Yes! That’s it; I forgot how to say in English.”

After a brief moment of silence, Lynne asked, in disbelief, “This whole time you were a man?”

Xavier nodded apologetically.

It felt wrong. She had poured her heart out to what she thought had been a kind older woman. Finding out she was a man had pulled the rug out from under her. She wanted to snap out. This was something too important not to clarify.

Lynne huffed. “I… I need a minute.” And she stormed outside to see a different sort of Storm alighting. She wasn’t too excited to see him either.

“Hello, fairest Ocean! I return with the bounty of the wilderness.” He set down a blanket full of berries and mushrooms.

She tried her best not to show disappointment at their prospective dinner. “What if they’re poisonous?”

“Not to worry! My nose and eyes are trained for survival, and I can assure you these are not only edible, but highly nutritious.

Xavier stepped out of the tent asking, “What’s that strange smell?”

“Why hello again, Milady Warm!”

Xavier winced.

“I have squeezed water out of the stone of the wild for this meal. The finest champignons around! A pretty safe bet considering ‘around’ is the middle of nowhere, but they are scrumptious I assure you.”

Lynne’s nose didn’t believe him. As he turned to her with eyes and a smile that seemed out to make a sale, she flinched a little. It was hard to look him in the eye after the previous night. For that reason, she was grateful for Xavier’s presence.

“Would you prefer raw or cooked? If you are as eager as I am, I wouldn’t oblige you to wait. I brought plenty.”

The young mare turned to Xavier for help. Surprisingly, he stepped forward. “Actually, I would like to handling the cooking. I saw some things in the bag that could improve it.”

Storm gave an exaggerated look of horror. “Oh, no, I couldn’t ask you to further lower yourself to such a menial task. You have already braved the forces nature without complaint and with such resilience; I couldn’t possibly ask you to do more.”

Xavier gave an annoyed scowl.

“I insist,” he said, beginning to move before the pegasus could broker an argument.

Storm started a fire, while Xavier dragged out some salt, pepper and simple seasoning. Using the empty jar of nuts from the previous day as a cutting board, she sliced the mushrooms with a shaky hoof. His cuts were uneven, but still impressively close for doing it via hoof.

He smelled each variety of mushroom and sorted them into two categories. He put pepper on one type, salt on the other. Then, he sandwiched groups of three mushrooms together and ran through each of them with a toothpick. As they were cooked, the strong, funky scent started to give way to one far more alluring.

When Xavier finally said, “they’re ready,” Lynne practically glided close to the fire; Storm was close behind. She had never had wild mushrooms before, but she didn’t care. She said a brief thank you and bit off the entirety of the first mini shish-kebab.

It was impossibly good. Somehow it had been cooked perfectly. The flavors of the different types of mushrooms blended perfectly, and the seasoning added an extra punch that was brought out to the fullest by texture of the fungi. She didn’t know how much of her appreciation came from her new set of taste buds, but she didn’t want to take away from Xavier’s efforts.

“This is excellent,” Lynne said. “I didn’t think it was possible for us to eat food this good way out here. And for what you had to work with—just incredible.”

If he can cook this well, I may just be able to forgive him for earlier, Lynne thought.

Storm took his first bite and sprang up from his sitting position on a stump.

“I must agree! This is divine. Surely you have been trained by a master.”

Xavier shook his head deliberately.

“No, it’s no big deal; I’m no chef. I just run a tapas bar. I had to learn something about cooking for appetizers.”

“This is still very good. Thank you!” Lynne said.

“No problem,” Xavier said following him dropping his fourth used toothpick to the ground.

In light of their recent conversation, Lynne couldn’t find much to talk about with the Spaniard and was happy to let Storm fill the silence with another tall-tale. After half an hour of his regaling, she tried to sneak in a question about the specifics of his planned route to Equestria, but he only cryptically commented that its territory was fast approaching.

Though it was too dark to read after they had finished, it was too early to sleep. Lynne occupied herself with further attempts to figure out magic. She invited Xavier to join her, but the reluctant mare declined. For a brief moment she thought she had seen a brief flash above her head, but she ultimately chalked it up to a trick of the dying fire’s flickering embers. At this point, she noticed that Xavier had turned in early, snoring in the cutest way possible. It was something of a muffled whimper mixed with a whinny. It was a sort of metronome that she could easily fall asleep to.

Just thinking this made the spot next to Xavier look so inviting. It would be so easy to curl up against him and feel his warm fur on her again. She remembered it well: it was thin like a fuzzy blanket and tickled her if she moved. But though it was less than a foot away from her, she couldn’t bring herself to close the distance. Thinking of the human he was before made it seem too weird.

But seeing only an adorable pony, she couldn’t muster much revulsion to the idea. Even so, Lynne was determined; she had to make the fact that he was really a middle-aged man matter. It was a weird situation no matter how she looked at it. Cold despite her fur, Lynne eventually drifted to sleep.

The next few days continued similarly with improvised meals and long treks dodging civilization. Eventually, the three ponies found themselves tiptoeing towards the edges of their tree cover, watching for any people inside the border checkpoint. To the unicorns, it proved a fruitless task, but Storm claimed to see half a dozen agents from above.

Sandwiched in between two overwhelming mountains, the border checkpoint was certainly unimpressive in comparison. It consisted of four long, slender buildings with barricades for just as many cars.. Nonetheless it had its own formidability to be braved. The only way they could think to successfully cross was Storm grabbing onto the “mares” one at a time and ferrying them through the sky.

After a brief debate, Lynne agreed to go first. With apologies, Storm flapped his wings, gently, hovered above Lynne and wrapped all four hooves around her barrel. Her ascent made her feel almost weightless as the pair of them took to the air. His strong grip was compromised only by her need to breathe, but as they gained more and more altitude it began to feel inadequate. How could she do this—it was such an enormous amount of trust she had put into a sketchy stranger. If he dropped her, it would all be over.

On the other hand, she should be reveling in the thrill of flight, as it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Her nerves starting to build, she pried open her eyes and took in the panoramic view in front of her and marveled at how tiny the checkpoint below them seemed. Then, her bravery exhausted in a brief moment of whimsy, she closed her eyes tight and braced herself. Every second was an hour. With her sight cut off and her hearing muffled by wind, she could feel only his heart beat as he carried her along.

She felt hot, even stifled in her fur. What would normally have been borderline intimate, seemed downright lewd with her in heat. Though she no longer weighed as much, she had to marvel at the strength needed to be able to carry her across the sky like she was a stuffed animal. Though still fearful, she felt strangely secure in his arms.

As they landed, she simultaneously felt relief and a pang of disappointment.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said nervously. She tried her best not to stare at his toned body, but eye contact was even more embarrassing, and she just looked away.

“You should probably hide. I’ll be back in a flash with Lady Warm.”

Lynne nodded, and he took off. From her hiding spot behind a large bush, she could still see the checkpoint, led her to wonder what would happen if the others were spotted. She felt tense, but she preferred to worry over being distracted by her symptoms. Ten minutes seemed to pass. Then fifteen.

It was to her great relief to spot a red speck in the sky that gradually formed into two distinct, growing shapes.

“Was there a problem?” Lynne asked.

“No, not at all,” the stallion said.

Xavier looked rattled.

“Are you okay?” she asked the maroon pony.

“Yes, it was a little scary, but…” She stole a glance at Storm before quickly looking away. “Nevermind. Where are we going next?”

“We go to the north!” the pony declared in the most grandiose way possible, not caring that the vapid answer did nothing to correct his foolhardy image.

Lynne and Xavier traded a look of mutual understanding and took off behind the stallion—towards the unknown.

I’m back in France again. Lynne thought.

Though more than distance kept her from the life she had known, but she still felt a little closer to home. Looking to the ponies on her left and right, she took in the calming rhythm of three sets of hooves hitting the ground.

It certainly could be worse.

Author's Note

This is a chapter I've been wanting to write for a long time. I'm not that happy with how it turned out. I just have to hope it will look better on fimfiction's layout than it did to these tired editor's eyes of mine. Perhaps it was because I have planned this for so long that it doesn't live up to what I had in my head.

If I want to ever finish this, though, I can't strive for perfection.

7x: Karma

Alain limped out the sliding door, dejected. The new convenience store was just about the only change to the rustic village, and it had already seen fit to reject him as well. It had only been a week, and already the horrible memories had started to flood back in. Frankly, he was surprised his aunt had even extended her hospitality at all. Although her now ex-husband was now gone, the fact remained that he had turned his back on her as well by running away as a young teen. It was the last place he wanted to be, but between the spiked abomination and a lightning-wielding pegasus, he had had all the reason in the world to get as far away as possible.

The barren road paved a solitary stripe of civilization through the endless fields. With nothing else to occupy his mind, he was left with only ruminations of dread—he would be out on his ass in no time if he didn’t get a job quick.

He supposed it was no less than he deserved, though. As his actions had already proven, he was a coward through and through. He had briefly hoped to delude himself into thinking he had made the correct snap-decision given the circumstances, but the damning fact remained that he hadn’t even spared a thought to his comrades before fleeing alone in the truck. Now, Itzal and Harkaitz were dead, and it was his fault.

Their enterprise in livestock poaching had scarcely lasted two months, but they deserved more loyalty than he had shown to them. Itzal had struggled a lot because of his learning disability, but he was a harder worker than anyone. Harkaitz, on the other hand, was a bigoted asshole; nevertheless, he had been a fantastic drinking buddy and had treated him better than most.

His felt like his chest throbbing from remembered pain mixed with stinging guilt. The pegasus had probably broken a couple ribs with his strike, and if that weren’t bad enough, Alain’s tailbone was still numb from the awkward fall he took.

Sighing, he pressed onward, cursing his inability to even afford gas. Still it was better than asking his reluctant host for gas money. He had always loathed charity; after all, he had chosen to start an—albeit incredibly ineffective—life of crime rather than accept government aid.

His heartbeat quickened as he realized that he may soon have no choice.

I’d rather die, he thought, mindlessly scratching an itch on his rear.

After twenty minutes of circular thinking and uneventful walking he reached, to his dismay, the heart of the disjointed farming community. In theory, these were his people; however, despite the rural lifestyle thoroughly etched onto his soul, even here, he couldn’t fit in. Alain Bidarte—perhaps even his name itself had branded him with such a life.

Passing the community schoolhouse, he shuddered, remembering his inability to shake a sour first impression as the foreign dunce. His mother’s death had thrust him into France with no knowledge of the tongue, yet long after mastering it, he was still the Basque, or the Spaniard. Ironically, when he had returned south, the deterioration of his Basque language skills made him unacceptable there as well.

To the French I’m Basque, and to the Basque I’m a French Maketo. Fuck, I can’t win. He gritted his teeth in remembrance of the red pony’s recent slur and it compelled him to stop and slam a fist down on the dirt before he could continue. Although he had done much worse to her, the unicorn’s comment still incensed him over a week later.

With a sigh, he picked himself up and finally entered the town square. At this time of night it was sparsely lit, only the town grocer, the courthouse and the local pub discernible. The first had no use for him, and he had even tried the second in a fit of desperation. Now, only the latter remained.

Fuck. I didn’t want to try here. I can’t afford to spend all my money on booze again, but dammit what do I have left… I’ll bus tables, I don’t care. Maybe if the owner’s tipsy enough, he’ll actually take me.

His footsteps slowed of their own accord, and all his instincts screamed at him to retreat. Nevertheless, he pushed open the chipped wooden door beneath the neon “open” sign.

Business was thinning out in the simple establishment, but judging by the red-eared intoxication of the patrons, it had been a lucrative night. Five customers remained, including a middle-aged man passed out at the bar.

Alain made eye-contact with the bartender and received a heartfelt smile. Simply dressed, the man was balding with thin white hair confined to his temples. He had a grandfatherly aura to him that made Alain want to instantly open up and tell him everything. He knew it—this was the place.

Straightening out his whole body, he strode confidently inside. He smiled and breathed in to deliver his most personable greeting, but before it left his lips, a crushing, one-handed bear hug enveloped him as the other hand surreptitiously shushed him.

“Alain! How’ve you been ol’ chum!” a tobacco-stenched voice boomed. The speaker kept his back to the bartender, ensuring he would suspect nothing.

“Keep the change,” a different, familiar voice said as a hundred euro note was slapped onto the nearest table.

“We’ve got so much to catch up on!” the first voice said with oversold enthusiasm, carrying out the bewildered job-seeker while the assailant’s companion blocked the remaining bar-goers’ view.

With the door shut behind them, the duo no longer put on any pretense. The abductor tightened his already impressive grip on him as the pair dragged him further up the road, where they had parked the truck.

Harkaitz slammed Alain into the side of the attached trailer, pressing his red-tinged face into the younger man’s. “You thought you would steal my truck, did you? And leave us to die!?” He literally spat last words of the accusation.

“Scream and you’re dead,” Itzal said in a calculated tone that sharply clashed with the teen boy’s outward baby-faced naivete.

Harkaitz peeled through Alain’s skin with a glare of inhuman hate, relaxing his hushing hand as if daring Alain to defend himself.

“You thought a dead man wouldn’t miss his stuff, did you?” He laughed. “Bullshit! I’m not dying at the hand of some horse faggot!”

Alain said nothing; there were no words.

“Did you think nobody would think to look for you here, or were you simply hoping we had died?”

“And you didn’t even think to ditch the trailer,” Itzal chided. “It’s a rather distinctive model.”

“Can you be any more stupid?! I’m not one to question the boss, but I doubt you’re even smart enough to know what you’ve seen. Fuck, intel breach or not, the divine one’s touch is wasted on scum like you.”

Pain lanced through Alain’s entire body as the pressure tightened further. His former associate’s words barely registered as he mustered all his willpower to keep from shrieking in pain.

“You don’t have anything to say, you piece of shit? I ain’t giving you the right to remain silent or any of that bullshit.”

“Go on, say you’re sorry,” said Itzal.

“S...sorry…” he choked out, his voice filled with pain and guilt.

With a single barbaric blow, Harkaitz shattered Alain’s jaw.Fragments of teeth spilled in every direction as blood gushed from his mouth.

“Looks like the old lady was right to worry for you. It’s almost a shame you won’t be coming home. After all, she was gracious enough to let her nephew’s best friends borrow his truck.” Itzal’s expression turned on a dime from playful to callous. “Tie him up in the back.”

“I know what to do! Just because you’re all smart and shit now doesn’t make you the boss.” Nonetheless, Harkaitz obeyed, slamming the trailer door on Alain after one last, scathing regard.

Trapped, he had no way of gauging how long the journey truly was. The pain was immeasurable, so much so that he practically felt guilty for complaining about the pegasus’s attack. Though he could barely see his hand in front of him, he could nonetheless feel the warmth of his own blood trickling down his body. Such an injury was doubtlessly fatal.

Why didn’t they just kill me right there? he thought, weeping.

This was karma; he deserved all of it. He had tried to deny the gravity of his sin, but he supposed this was how it worked: you only had to do evil once. The fact remained that he had kidnapped two sentient creatures to sell them into slavery. It didn’t matter if he told himself he was doing it to survive; he was just a reprehensible thief and couldn’t complain if evil were turned on him.

Alain didn’t understand half of what Harkaitz and Itzal were saying, but they had plenty of motive. Whatever they wanted from him, he just hoped they would take it and end things quickly.

After what felt like days to him, they finally stopped. He didn’t resist as Itzal untied him and dragged him out of the trailer. They were nowhere he could recognize, but he was greeted by a familiar face—the “wealthy rancher.” Though he now wore fancy clothes that belied the monster he was, Alain knew lay within.

“Did you do this?” The man asked Harkaitz.

“All you told us was not to kill him,” Itzal responded.

Their former client just shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever. This shouldn’t take long.”

Alain felt dizzy from blood loss. His head felt on the verge of exploding, and his whole body was numb. He braced himself. Preparing to accept his end, he shut his eyes. After a tense moment of silence, something slimy was pressed to his face, but quickly retracted.

“What the fuck are you doing here!?” shouted the abomination.

“It is the overseer’s bidding that you ‘refrain from leaving about your rubbish about.’” An unfamiliar male voice said. “He then instructed me to ‘go to my impotent master’s side,’ and I obeyed.”

“Bastard....”

“Sorry, sir.”

“No, not you! Look, just stay out of the way for now.”

Alain could feel his heart rate beginning to overclock. His remaining blood fled to his extremities, ready to fight in vain against the horrendous force he felt from this man.

The world stopped.

“Again?! It can’t be!”

With a single, mighty tug, the evil being shredded Alain’s jeans. The man’s hand then perversely its way into his prey’s briefs, and Alain felt a small tug—an utterly insignificant addition to his current pain.

“I’ll be damned...” the man said as he pulled down the undergarments.

“Well no wonder you wouldn’t shut up about being nice to the horsies. You were one of the fuckers too,” Hainkartz said with a deep chuckle.

“Rather.... garish,” Itzal noted. “And small.”

“Fuck! Don’t stand around doing nothing! Do something! Diego, tend to his injuries!”

Alain pried opened his locked eyes. Amidst the frenzy, he saw the stub of a yellow and green tail wag into view.

Author's Note

I sat on this chapter for months. I didn't like it at the time for fear of it being too edgy. However, the characterization is important, so I ultimately couldn't leave it out.

Hope it wasn't too bad.

Next main chapter should be pretty quick.

8: Introductions

Taylor slumped on the cabin floor and tried his best not to gag. The rumbling in his stomach had been virtually nonstop since that morning, and he could feel critical mass was near. Powering through, he raised a hoof and slid one of his black checkers forward and to the left. While he acknowledged that he should be ecstatic that he had such dexterity despite lacking fingers, that high had worn off quickly and the reality remained that he was still an ugly midget horse.

“Hey, it’s your move,” Taylor said.

Dom slowly turned his head away from the TV, but the box soon recaptured his attention. Non-stop, rapid French flowed from the ancient, wood-framed unit. Taylor found his comprehension so lacking that he would have been embarrassed to admit to the two semesters of French he had been forced to take.

La fille de Anthony Clearwater est venue en France avec ses amies. Ensuite, elles sont passeés par…

“Hey, Dom Dom. It’s your move!”

“Oh, sorry,” Dom said. “I thought that that report sounded suspicious.”

“Well, if you don’t move quickly, I might miss your move, and we’ll have an idiot standoff,” Taylor said before he had to stifle an awkward hiccup that was probably the side effect of his bloated state.

“I don’t know the term.”

“You shouldn’t. I invented it in chess club to describe the awkward silence when both players are under the impression it’s the other’s move.” Taylor could have sworn he turned green for a brief moment as he stifled another gag and felt more rumbling in his apparently herbivore stomach.

“I warned you about eating that bacon,” Dom chided.

“Shut up. If you had tasted grass, you wouldn’t be eager to surrender meat yourself.”

Dom gave an incredulous glance at the pony. “You tried eating grass?”

Taylor froze.

“Uhh....”

He turned to the TV to look for a distraction, and he found one in spades.

“Wait! I know that girl! She was at Disney Paris! Did something happen to her?” Taylor asked, hoping his urgency would distract the mafialing from his embarrassing unintended confession.

It seemed to work.

“Belinda Clearwater? She’s apparently been missing for a while. I’d normally not think twice, but her father is a powerful person. I was wondering if one of us had anything to do with it.”

“Wait… you might have kidnapped her?” Taylor asked startedly. “You commit so many crimes that you can’t even keep track of them all?”

Dom shook his head slowly as he lay back in the ancient, one-armed armchair. It was the most hideous shade of green and yellow, but Taylor then supposed he could no longer criticize the color coordination of anything ever again.

“No, I meant ‘us’ as in the entire underworld. People like her don’t vanish for no reason.”

“Well maybe she’s tripping over her own tail right now,” Taylor joked.

“I don’t think that’s too likely,” Dom said. “Rich heiresses always have eyes on them. I don’t think that she could sprout a tail and not be seen.”

Dom paused, putting his hand under his chin before pushing one of his red checkers forward.

Taylor pounced, triple jumping to the other side of the board.

“Queen me,” he said, figuring he now had a vested interest in feminist-enforced vernacular.

For a moment he stared at his hoof and pondered all that it represented. Even if it could somehow function as a hand, as he had recently discovered, he still didn’t like the solid black mass any better. It belonged to an animal.

“Huh…. I completely missed that,” Dom said, breaking the silence.

“Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of genius or something?” Taylor asked with a raised brow.

Dom turned away, somewhat bashful. “I never said that. I… I just know a lot about a few things. It—it took practice.”

“So you’re not a genius. With masterful humility, you claim that it’s just that everybody around you considers you one—”

Taylor couldn’t finish his sarcasm, however, as his gut’s rumbling started registering on the Richter scale as hot bile attempted to climb his esophagus.

“Be back,” he squeaked, speeding out the door, as a cartoonish cyclone of dust trailed him.

Eight minutes of retching later, Taylor came back up the weathered cabin steps. In what appeared to be a power play, the door had been shut and locked. With little patience, Taylor knocked hard on the door, recoil barely phasing him. If there was one thing hooves were better at that hands, it was, without a doubt, this.

“Hello?”

“You know damn well who it is. Just let me in!”

“Not like that you’re not coming in.”

Taylor looked down. His hooves and lower leg fur were covered in mud. That wasn’t all—apparently it was a bad idea to aim vomit down as a quadruped.

“Fine,” Taylor grumbled. “I’ll go jump into the river.”

“Wait!” Dom said, flinging open the door to run after the scurrying pony.

“Use the faucet,” he said, pointing to the spigot. “If your fur flows downstream, someone might find us.”

Taylor nodded weakly and Dom went back inside. The mare trotted to the spigot and turned it with newfound magical hoof power. It sputtered out, considerably cleaner this time than the last. Taylor awkwardly ducked under it and tried his best to get his body under it. Failing, he settled for one hoof at a time. When he got to the backsides of his front hooves, though, he discovered he could only wash that area by rotating his entire body around.

Screw this! Taylor thought. I don’t care what he says; I’m bathing in the river. Not like anyone will think anything of black fur, and some dogs have orangish fur anyway.”

He smiled at his small rebellion and stepped on the narrow, tree--lined path. It was a trail in name only, demarcated solely by the absence of growth. He walked along, crushing the leaves under his hooves. Taylor smiled at this sound, which was so much more human than the beat of hoofsteps.

Taylor soon came to the shallow stream. Bending the closest thing he had to knees, he was able to submerge his entire body at once, save for his head. When he saw the dirt coming off him in clumps before flowing away, he knew he had made the right decision. It also helped that the water was the perfect temperature, not cold at all. He supposed this was one of the many benefits of having fur.

Then again, drying off is going to be a bitch…

However, while mentally reviewing how dogs shook themselves dry, an unusual color flashed by in his peripheral vision. Though the water was perfectly clear, he saw a patch of much darker blue. He dismissed it as a trick of the light, but then a lighter, bluish strand flowed by.

Is that seaweed? He shook his head. No, that’s stupid.

A flicker of an idea started to form when a red strand of hair floated by, instantly confirming his suspicion.

Something dormant within Taylor sprung to life, energizing his legs as he jumped from the stream.

Other ponies!

And he eagerly galloped upstream.

“Come on, Warm! The water is great!”

“No!”

“Indeed, Milady. The waters wash away the aches of a long journey. It is sublime—clean enough to drink even!” Storm proclaimed.

“I’m fine. I don’t want that my fur gets wet.”

Lynne lifted her head and her soaked mane slapped the surface of the water. “Come on! It feels so good to get all the dirt off. I didn’t know how dirty I was until I got in.

“I don’t care!” Xavier whined. “This is not my body, so I don’t have to clean it.”

Lynne and Storm exchanged a glance and nodded.

“Well, we have to smell you...” Lynne said.

“I cannot bear to allow you to neglect your hygiene, Lady Warm.”

The two ponies stepped out of the river and circled behind Xavier.

“What are you doing.”

Two muzzles started pushing on Xavier’s rump.

“Stop!”

The red pony pressed his hooves to the ground, putting up as much resistance as he could muster. Nonetheless, hooves scraping the ground, he was pushed to the edge and tumbled into the river.

“Merda!” Xavier swore, glaring at the two smiling, soggy ponies overlooking him on the riverbank.

Xavier had some harsher words for them, but with his voice how it was at the moment, getting angry would probably just make a fool out of him, so he just slunk into the water. It felt very nice, but he could never admit it to them.

Xavier heard a pair of splashes as they joined him in the stream. Defeated, he sank his head mostly below the surface of the water. One nice thing about being a pony, he noted, was that he could do this without getting water in his ears.

Not worth it. He thought to himself.

It was too shallow to swim—not that he would want to try with his body as it was—so he walked around a bit on the layer of rocks at the bottom. His eyes closed, his ears registered the rustling of foliage .

Maybe we can use a bush or something to dry off. It’s about time for me to get out too. In a few minutes that is…

He heard rustling.

“What was that? Did you hear that?” Lynne asked, surprised.

“”I did,” the pegasus said.

“It isn’t you?” Xavier asked, opening his eyes.

This time he saw movement behind a thorny plant, and a small branch was oscillating as if pushed. For the briefest moment he could have sworn he saw a pair of otherworldly eyes meet his own.

“Who’s there! Show yourself!” Storm said, flapping his wings. He pulled a foot out of the water but quickly fell back into the water with a splash. It seemed that going straight from water to air was a feat impossible even for the emerald-coated braggart.

Embarrassment crept into Storm’s concerned expression and he stepped out of the water and dramatically shook his wings dry. At about the same time, a tiny black and orange mare snuck shyly out of her hiding place. She had neither Storm’s wings, nor the horns of the others.

Like them, she was completely soaked. Her coat and mane were completely straight and were packed closely together. On a second look, Storm didn’t fare much better. The two ponies both looked comically small with wet fur, undermining Storm’s look of determination and highlighting the unknown mare’s shyness.

“Umm… hi,” she said.

Lynne and Xavier exchanged a quick glance, as if both realized at the same time the significance of another pony showing up. Storm’s fighting stance gave way to bewilderment. The stallion looked for the first time as if he was stumped.

Probably trying to wrap his delusion around this new development. Lynne thought to herself.

Xavier found a piece of the riverbank that was sloped downward and started pulling himself out with his front hooves. Lynne, meanwhile had apparently found an easier way as she was already closer to the new pony than any of them.

“Hello. We weren’t expecting any other ponies here. My name is—”

Xavier pulled himself out of the water and raised a hoof to his mouth, then pointing at Storm.

Although her head was turned, thanks to becoming a prey animal, her improved peripheral vision allowed her to see him.

“Ocean Breeze. My name is Ocean Breeze. Nice to meet you.”

“Why hello, Beautiful!” Storm said, stepping deep into the newcomer’s personal space. “What’s a pretty mare like yourself doing way out here?”

Why am I not surprised, Xavier thought, shaking his head.

Taylor’s heart was drumming in his barrel. What was already awkward had become intolerably embarrassing as his train of thought crashed and burst into an inferno for good measure. To make matters worse there was something about his male presence that was not entirely unwelcome.

“Ms?”

Taylor looked up.

“Huh? What?”

“I asked if there is a settlement of ponies nearby.”

What a stupid question, Taylor thought.

“Uhh… no, It’s just me and one other ‘pony,’” Taylor said sarcastically.

“Where did you come from!?” the red horned pony ordered. “How did you find us?” She was trying her best to sound firm, but her mouse-like voice completely undermined her.

Taylor wiped some water from his muzzle. “I saw fur drifting downstream, and I figured there must be others like me.”

Taylor felt dumb. He got it into his head that he wanted to meet these other ponies, but he had nothing to say once he got there. They were complete strangers; and the fact that they were all ponies did nothing to make his sudden appearance any less gauche.

The stallion scratched his chin with a wing(!). “Of course, quite an oversight on my part…”

The second horned pony, the blue one, approached Taylor conspiratorily while the green pony was muttering to himself.

“You’re soaked too. Why don’t we dry off together?” She asked, winking.

“Okay,” Taylor said, not fully understanding.

“An excellent idea,” the male among said as Taylor and the others grouped together. “Allow me to help you, milady.”

The blue mare pursed her lips, unsure.

The red one, however, seemed to say what the other was too afraid to say: “Girls only! Dry off on your own.”

Taylor didn’t understand what the point was since they were all already naked, but he had no reason to be selective when it came to excuses to flee the playboy wannabe.

They walked about a hundred yards together before stopping. The blue one then whispered, “You’re not from Equestria, are you?”

Taylor cocked his head. “Equestria? You mean the place in that book? Isn’t that just fiction?”

“Good,” the third mare said, “we’re not the crazies here.”

“What do you mean,” Taylor said.

“Well, let’s start from the beginning: My real name is Lynne—I used to be a regular girl. I was traveling with some friends when I suddenly started to turn into this. Long story short, we were kidnapped, and Storm Chaser over there saved us. We’ve been on the run ever since.”

“Wow, that must have been rough,” Taylor said.

Storm Chaser? What kind of name is that?

“I was human too, and I also took a... loopy path to get here,” he said. “But why are we whispering?”

“He’s louco,” Not-Lynne said. “He says that he came from Equestria and he’s a real pony. Honestly, we’re scared. We don’t know what he wants or what he’ll do.”

Taylor took a cautious glance at the stallion, who waved goofily at him.

Lynne continued, “We’ve stuck with him for protection, but he’s convinced we’re pony royalty that he’s come to save. We don’t know what he’ll do if he finds out otherwise.”

“Well, what can I do?” Taylor asked.

“Were you telling the truth about there being another pony?”

Taylor shook his head slightly. “Yes and no. He’s not exactly a pony, and worse, we’re not exactly friends.”

“Oh,” Lynne, slumping only briefly. “But he knows about us ponies?”

Taylor nodded.

“And you have shelter?”

Taylor nodded again, adding, “It’s his cabin, soI can’t guarantee he’ll let you stay.”

Lynne took pause. “I guess that’s fine. Can he keep us safe?”

“That’s his part of the bargain,” Taylor said. “And I’m sure my check’s in the mail, arriving any day now.”

Lynne turned to the other pony. “What do you think, Xavier?”

“It’s better than staying alone with him,” she replied.

“Okay,” Taylor said, surprised at himself. He didn’t know what he was getting into by going over Dom’s head with this matter, but he felt so safe around the others that this seemed like a trifling concern by comparison. “Do we make a break for it?”

“No,” Xavier said, “he will fly and get us.”

Taylor opened his mouth a little in disbelief. “Wait, those tiny wings actually work?” He asked rhetorically.

“Besides,” Lynne said, “he hasn’t done anything wrong per se; we just want safety in numbers.”

After informing Storm Chaser of their plans, the four of them made their way back to the cabin. Storm was just as bombastic as promised and did his best to impress Taylor with his regaling of past successes. To make it worse, the stallion was getting far too close and clearly coming onto him at times.

Taylor wondered if he had been female long enough to have the right to slap him. Then again, doing so might just lock in his femininity for good.

Come to think of it, Taylor thought, in romantic comedies the girl that’s clearly not interested and hostile towards the male lead almost always ends up with him. This is something straight out of fiction, so it’s a bad idea to play hard to get.

“And the antlions came in droves, covering the landscape like a blanket of chitin…”

Well what can I do? If I’m too nice to him, it’ll only encourage him. Hmm… I guess my best strategy is to be polite and somewhat distant. If I land in the friend zone, I’m home free!”

“So, how many antlions were there,” Taylor asked feigning interest.

Lynne and Xavier shot him looks of sympathy as they slowly returned along the forest path.

Dom drummed his fingers on the arm of the ancient lawnchair. It was actually meant for the beach or sporting events, but it’s collapsible nature made it convenient to store when not in use.

He wondered where that pony was. It would be a risk for him to be away for too long. Anything that could draw attention to their location was a risk not to be taken lightly. True, the enemy was not likely looking for them, but Dom was not one to trust “likely” unless he had no choice.

Just before he set out to look for him on his own, the pony poked his muzzle out of the forest and bashfully trotted towards him.

“Where were you?” Dom demanded. “You went to the stream, didn’t you? Even though I told you not to. And what the hell took you so long?”

“Well,” Taylor said, grinning nervously, “I brought back a surprise for you.”

As if on cue, three ponies—one male and two females—followed Taylor out of the forest. They looked friendly, but very nervous.

Great, Dom thought, now I’m stuck with an entire herd of them to take care of.

All things considered, Dom had taken it well. Lynne had somehow convinced Storm to let Taylor conduct the diplomacy after he expressed mild prejudice towards the “minotaur ape.” The man conducted himself calmly, while occasionally glaring at Taylor for his indiscretion. Taylor had pointed out that if captured, the other ponies may attract attention to the cabin. Added to the pony guests’ pledge to make themselves useful, Dom had agreed to let them stay temporarily on the condition that they provide him with whatever information on their new species they had.

Relieved, Taylor walked Lynne into the guest room. It was too crowded so they jumped up on the bed. Lynne took two tries to get up.

“Wow. You’re pretty good to be able to make it up in one hop,” Lynne remarked.

Taylor swished his til into his view and glared at it. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you had seen me earlier.”

“So, what’s your name?” Lynne asked. “Our meeting was unusual to say the least.”

“It’s Taylor,” he said. “Taylor Goldstein.”

“Taylor—that’s a pretty name,” Lynne said with a smile.

Taylor sighed deeply.

Might as well get this out of the way now.

“Actually, I was a guy before,” Taylor confessed, blushing bright red.

“You too?” Lynne asked non-plussed.

“You don’t mean that the stallion was...?”

“No. No. No,” Lynne said waving her hooves. “I’m talking about Xavier. Although… it’s not that I know Storm’s prior gender.”

Lynne put a hoof to her chin.

“Of course,” she added as a formality, “that’s assuming he’s not telling the truth about being an Equestrian pony. I can scarcely have breakfast without a dozen impossible things happening, so who knows?”

That’s a depressing thought, Taylor thought.

He was suddenly overcome by a surprising urge to hum Weird Al’s “Everything you Know is Wrong.”

Shaking it off, he asked, “So Xavier was a man before?”

Doubt I got that pronunciation right.

“Yeah, he has kids even.”

Taylor somewhat appreciated his fortune. Can’t imagine having a family to provide for and then going pony.

“It must have been tough on him,” Lynne mused.

“Yeah, speaking from experience, It has been dramatically different. I want to say I have tons of new insight on sexism, but the only thing I’ve really changed my perspective on is boobs. Having to carry my own near my rear is a pain. I’ve almost forgotten what exactly appeals to guys.

Lynne self-consciously glanced beneath Taylor.

“Hmm… yours are bigger than mine.” She said absently.

Taylor huffed. “Figures. He gets wings, you get the cool looking horns, and I end up with the pony boobs.”

Lynne was too polite to mention magic. Come to think of it, she didn’t know much about the third tribe at all.

Taylor continued, “Meanwhile, I’m stuck looking like this. Seriously, this poofy mane and color scheme make me look like a four-legged troll doll.”

Lynne put an ‘arm’ around Taylor, and he leaned into it.

“It doesn’t look that bad. You’re pretty in your own way.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Taylor backpedaled. It certainly wasn’t what he was worried about. It’s not like becoming female meant he cared about such things. “It’s the color scheme, it makes me feel… I dunno, tacky?”

“I don’t think you look tacky at all. In fact you look like one of my favorite stuffed animals: Dusty the Porcupine. He was special to me,” Lynne said before looking away guiltily.

“I remind you of a stuffed porcupine? I’m not sure that makes me feel better”

“No, he was really cute—really. His spines were so soft, and he was so huggable despite the exterior.” Lynne realized she was still holding Taylor and blushed. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. The fur actually makes hugs very nice.”

“I know, right!?” Lynne agreed.

The moment hung frozen in time. Both of them seemed content to just stay still, enjoying the experience too much to risk uttering a sound and popping the pleasant bubble. Finally the silence became intolerable.

“So how did you get here?” Taylor asked, subtly moving away.

“Well,” Lynne said, “I was on vacation with some friends, traveling.”

Hmm that sounds familiar, Taylor thought. “That must be nice to travel with friends. I never had the money to do so.”

Or the friends.

“It was actually a new experience for me,” Lynne confessed. “For a long time, I had trouble making friends. By the time I figured out the complicated system of cliques at my secondary school, I was already shut out of them. Nobody wanted to approach me, and whenever I tried to connect with people, they seemed to want to keep their distance.”

“It’s good to know that even girls have a hard time figuring out that complicated bullshit,” Taylor said, sighing. “I don’t suppose you could give me a crash course now that… you know,”

Lynne laughed weakly. “I’m not sure I’m the best to ask.” She traced a hoof in circles on the comforter, thinking. “It was only at university when I started to meet people—people were much different than those at an all-girls school. Maybe it’s that I can’t believe it, but I’m constantly doubting whether they’re really my friends or if they just want the benefits of being friends with a—well, a rich girl.”

She’s got money too, Taylor thought. So she’d be out of my league even if I wasn’t a girl horse at the moment. Good to know.

Lynne continued, “So when the tail started growing, I was so worried they would reject me if they found out. The tail was one thing, but the ears became hard to hide at Disneyland.” Lynne tilted her head to the side in thought.

“Wait,” Taylor interrupted. “You were at Euro Disney when you started changing?” Instantly the solution came together as effortlessly as solving a four-piece jigsaw puzzle. “Are you Belinda Clearwater?”

“Yes,” Lynne admitted. “I prefer to go by Lynne though. I’ve never liked how the ‘Bel’ meant beautiful. It just seems presumptuous to me.” She adjusted her body on the bed. “I usually don’t like people to know, since my father is such an icon. Naturally, some of that spills over to me and my mother—why, I’ve even heard that there are bets on the books about me turning out like Paris Hilton.”

“Ouch,” Taylor winced. A moment later, he had to turn away to hide a smile. I’m gonna rub this one in Dom Dom’s smug little face all night long. That’s Pony: 1 Mafia Whelp: 0. Actually I was totally winning at checkers so make that 2-0.

Lynne blushed a tiny bit. “I’m not quite sure why I’m telling you all of this. I just met you.”

“Isn’t this kind of heart-to-heart what girls do?”

“Maybe. I’m exactly the best to ask. I’m not like most girls.”

Taylor snickered. “You’re not like other girls, huh? You and every other female lead. Though I’m pretty sure being a pony lands you firmly in that category before anything else. Heck, even I can use that line now. Actually, I think I want to try it.

Taylor stood up on the bed, straightened his posture and put on his most dramatic expression. “I’m not like other girls,” he whispered seductively.

Lynne gave a cute little giggle, which she tried to stifle. She only succeeded in making it higher pitched and more erratic. It was as if she was embarrassed to laugh. A moment later she sprawled out on the bed and groaned.

“I had almost forgotten I was still in heat,” Lynne mumbled. “Thanks for helping me keep my mind off it.”

Taylor did a double-take and flinched back. “Wait, we have heat?!” Taylor gasped. “Like a dog?!”

Lynne nodded. “Or a horse.”

Taylor nearly fainted as he let his body hit the pillows. “Great… the joys of femininity just keep coming.”

The conversation stopped for a while as Lynne tried and failed to make Taylor feel better. She wasn’t successful, but she did provide him with advice of what had worked for her as she repeated—slightly disingenuously—that it wasn’t that bad. Realizing she was only making the matter worse, she segued into more discussion about how they became ponies.

Speculation ranged from a freak genetic abnormality, to an alien parasite, to an ancient disease that most others were immune to; however, none seemed remotely plausible to either of them. Lynne was horrified when Taylor told her about his ill-advised attempt to stop the transformation and gasped as he described the shootout.

Lynne wasn’t to be entirely upstaged, though, as she relayed the tale of her narrow escape from the hotel and her subsequent capture. When she got to the part about Storm’s dramatic rescue, the conversation changed course towards the elephant in the room.

“So he claims to be a pony? A historical pony who has been dead for centuries….”

“Yes,” Lynne said, shaking her head. “The strange part is that you’d think he’s completely bonkers, yet we wouldn’t have survived in the wilderness without him. He’s surprisingly resourceful and kind—if a little overbearing. It’s not that I don’t like him; it’s just that—well, Xavier said it best: his unpredictability has me worried.”

Taylor wasn’t sure he liked the fact that said pony was currently patrolling the other bedroom—his lecherous advances certainly didn’t help that matter—but kicking out a mentally unstable person-turned-pony didn’t sit well with him either.

The door then opened as the other unicorn stepped inside. “You’re up, Lynne,” he said.

The cyan pony nodded and hopped off the bed. Taylor felt a quiet emptiness as she left, as her spot on the bed was still warm. Xavier and Lynne said nothing else, as Domenico wanted to question each of them separately to ensure their stories matched up. Taylor was sure there was no way the Mafioso would normally have agreed to house them, but fortunately, the additional data on the pony condition they possessed was far too valuable to ignore.

Xavier hopped up on the bed, taking up a spot near the edge of the bed and attempting to go to sleep. Taylor made a few weak attempts to start a conversation with the bright-colored mare, but his attempts were met with one word answers if not ignored entirely.

It then occurred to Taylor that he was secretly wishing to cuddle with a forty year-old man. The desire abated.

Domenico thanked the grey and green stallion, who gave a gregarious bow and trotted towards the kitchen. The Sicilian slumped into his rocking chair, scratching his nose. The interviews had been interesting, but ultimately disappointing. Sure, their stories had confirmed the existence of magic beyond a shadow of a doubt; when coupled with his experience with Taylor’s book, it was impossible to deny.

Still he had hoped for something that would help explain why people were turning into these colorful ponies. The only common thread was that it started with the growth of a tail, and a day or two later, they were completely transformed into miniature equines. That was what he got from the mares, anyway; the stallion was more… unique would be the polite term.

Was there something I missed? Domenico thought.

He reviewed the possibilities: although Xavier and Taylor were alone when they transformed, Belinda had the near-constant presence of her friends. Domenico couldn’t even postulate what had caused the gender change of the two mares. The so-called Storm Chaser had adamantly refused the idea that he was a human turned pony, denying he even knew what a human was. In fact, It had taken ten tedious minutes to even convince him he wasn’t going to capture “Fair Ocean” and “Intrepid Spirits” to return them to his “nefarious biped cohorts.”

He retrieved his concealed pistol and placed it in an old oak chest at the base of the television.

Still, the others had reluctantly vouched for him. Perhaps, he considered, he should be more skeptical of their claims; after all, they were unknown lifeforms that could be capable of anything. The fact remained, though that their stories were consistent with what he knew.

Father always seemed to know exactly who to trust. I was always amazed by it. Dad, if you can hear me, lend me your strength.

He took one last look at the gun, and, his heart hesitating, closed the chest.

Despite his commitment to let his gut decide matters for once, reason ultimately dominated his final decision. His prevailing concern right now was recruiting the powerful stallion to his cause. Even if the claims of lightning were tall tales, a compact aerial scout would easily be worth his weight in gold.

If I’ve read him right, his most important priority is protecting the two “mares.” I can’t carry a gun around and expect him to feel safe around me.

For the first time in five minutes, he heard the sound of a hoof rapping on the door. Sighing, he rose to his feet and opened the heavy door.

The small, cyan unicorn was waiting outside the door, sitting on her haunches. As he looked down at her she seemed to shrink as she looked away. She had been permitted to go out and use the bathroom so long as she waited outside until he was finished with the remaining interview.

“You can go in,” he stated bluntly.

“Okay,” Belinda squeaked walking, treading cautiously over the den’s disintegrating carpet before sitting down in the same submissive position.

“If you want, you can get the others. I’m done.”

“Yes, mister. I’d be happy to.”

This one’s even more afraid than Taylor was, Domenico thought. The moment I said I was with the mafia, she did a 360 and became completely cagey.

She poked her nose in the door of Taylor’s room and said, “he’s done.” And wasting no time, she jumped up on the bed and squeezed herself in between the two other ponies. Taylor basked in the moment, resting his head on her withers. Xavier, on the other hand, immediately jolted up.

“I can help with dinner,” he chirped, catching sight of Domenico. Hopping off the bed, he approached him. “What do you have to eat around here.”

“Mostly fruit, vegetables and some basic meat. Why?”

He shook his pony head. “What did you think you could make with that?”

“Eat it plain, I guess?” Dom confessed.

“Oh well,” the pony said, perking up. “I’ll manage somehow.” With that he trotted to the kitchen.
Curious, Domenico followed the maroon pony and watched as he rummaged through the cupboards with hooves. Wiping cobwebs aside, the unicorn found some long-forgotten spices and set them on the counter. He then combined the cabinet’s small collection with that from Storm’s backpack. His tools assembled, he pulled out a cooking pan and started to cautiously chop at the assorted vegetables Domenico had left on the counter.

The peeling yellow wallpaper and worn-down appliances gave a poor impression despite Domenico’s best job at cleaning. He was tempted to apologize for it, but the pony seemed to pay it no mind. Dom watched him work. It was still a marvel that ponies could do so much without fingers. Taylor’s newfound dexterity was easily the biggest discovery of the last twenty-four hours. Then again, who knew how soon it would be trumped by something new.

For Xavier’s part, it looked as if he was merely sticking things to his hooves. Further observation revealed this to be accurate, as Xavier brought down his knife slowly and deliberately to make up for an apparently awkward grip. He wondered if this was a difference unique to the horned ponies, or if Taylor was simply a faster learner?

“Is something bothering you?” Xavier asked.

“Huh?”

“You keep staring at me. I know I look strange, but I don’t like it.”

“Just watching how you use your hooves. It’s amazing that you can use them like that.”

“These things?” Xavier said perturbed. “They aren’t good for nothing. With hands I cut ten times faster.”

“Oh.”

Xavier turned his muzzle and continued to cut, letting the moment sit for a moment before saying, “If that’s all, I don’t want you watching me. So if you have nothing to say, leave me.”

Dom turned to leave, taking a single step away, but then realized he was letting the pony order him around. He was not normally one to pick fights over such things, but the situation demanded he stay in charge.

“It’s my house. I’ll do whatever the hell I want.”

Without waiting a second Xavier quipped, “When I cook, it’s my kitchen, so leave.”

Domenico knew he should probably press the point, but his curiosity won out and he asked, “Compared with the others, you are less afraid of me. Why is that? Don’t you know who I am?”

“Yes, yes,” Xavier replied, unperturbed, “You are son of mafia boss. But to me, I see a child. I’m older than the others, and a mere boy can’t scare me so easily.”

“I’m older than I look,” Dom protested.

“I still have tens years more at least,” Xavier said, apparently struggling for words.

Picking up on this, the young man asked, “¿Preferiría Castellano?

“Joder, hacia tiempo que no podía hablar una idioma que conociese bien.”

With the conversation now in Spanish, the pony seemed much happier to talk with him.

“About your question—why I’m not afraid of you. There’s actually another reason,” Xavier said wistfully. “My grandfather was a union pistolero. He would kill wealthy factory owners at the behest of runions. Although, he didn’t seem to regret his actions, he never let his work define him either. Family was most important to him.

Xavier paused before finishing. “And I’ve never met a gentler man in my life.”

He turned to face the young mafia heir.

“If a killer like him can be such a compassionate father and grandfather, then it seems natural to let your own actions speak for you.”

“I guess,” Dom said, blown away. “Thanks.”

It was strangely disarming to hear the pony see through him like this. He should be worried that his facade had crumbled so easily before him. If the others picked up on the fact that he was just putting on airs, it could be very bad for him. At the same time, he felt a certain relief. He listened to the clattering of Xavier’s cooking for a few minutes in silence before chiming in again.

“You are Catalan you said? My grandmother was as well.”

“Really?” Xavier asked. He sounded interested but didn’t take his eyes off his work.

“Yes, my grandfather met her while traveling and loved her dearly. She was the one who came up with the name of our group—Sagrada Famiglia. Like Gaudi’s grand vision, he hoped to build something that would take many generations to complete.

From there, Domenico really hit it off with the high-voiced pony. Once they had discovered both of them were Barcelona fans, Xavier nearly burned their dinner due to their rapid chatter. Thank god he didn’t, however, because his vegetable soup was one of the most delicious things Dom had ever tasted. He was extra grateful for the fact that the ponies apparently had smaller stomachs, as he was able to help himself to a lion’s share of the fantastic meal.

Compliments came readily from around the table while Xavier insisted that it was the most basic of things that even an untrained bartender like him could make. The main focus of the dinner conversation, however, was Taylor thoroughly rubbing it that he had been right about Belinda, and Dom was thoroughly wrong.

From there, they split off into distinct groups: Taylor and Lynne went back to his bedroom to talk more, Dom and Xavier continued to talk about sports, while Storm Chaser kept to himself.

However, when night came, an unresolved issue reared its ugly head.

“I can sleep on a cloud,” Storm insisted. “The ladies can share a room and you keep the master bedroom. Everybody wins.”

“No, that won’t work,” Dom protested. “What if someone sees you? It’s too risky. You ponies are small enough to all share a bed. I’ll give up the master bedroom and switch rooms with Taylor. It’s the best arrangement.”

“Just because I’m suddenly a female pony doesn’t mean I’m suddenly okay with sleeping with a stallion.” Taylor said firmly.

Lynne and Xavier both seemed to nod in agreement while Storm had no comment.

“I think,” Xavier said, “that we should sort with gender from before. Domenico lays in between Storm and us, and Lynne gets a room alone.”

“I can agree to that,” Taylor said, smiling at Lynne.

“No, wait!” The pony in question said. “That’s not fair. I shouldn’t get special treatment. I want to share with someone.”

Taylor cocked his head, puzzled. “But everyone else here is male—presumably. Don’t you want your own?”

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind sharing with you,” Lynne said shyly.

“Fine,” Dom said. “I’ll let Taylor sleep at the foot of my bed. That work for everybody?”

“No. I don’t want to sleep with you either,” Taylor said, clearly not amused with the simplistic innuendo.

“You’re welcome to sleep on the floor,” Dom replied coldly.

“I’m still human dammit!” Taylor asserted. “None of us are going to sleep on the floor like pets.”

“I’ll share with you,” Xavier offered.

“But that will put Storm with us,” Taylor objected.

And so, the debate raged for many a minute more.

Fuck, Dom thought. I really am losing control here. How did I lose that one. I can’t believe I’m sharing a bed with a pony.

Despite the roominess of the bed, he felt snorting on his cheek followed by the texture of fur. Snoring loudly, Storm Chaser rolled over onto Dom, placing his muzzle across the young man’s body.

Annoyed, he rolled over and out of bed. Rather than surrendering territory to the pony, he figured he could climb in the other side of the bed where the stallion had been.

There. That solves that.

However…

“Mmm marshmallow,” the stallion muttered in his sleep, rolling on top of Dom and wrapping his front legs around him.

Damn it all! This is your fault, Taylor !

Author's Note

The long-awaited chapter. Hope it meets expectations.

9: Chivalry

Alain paced restlessly in his filthy cell, overwhelmed by fear. It had happened so quickly to deny him any chance at disbelief. Just a day ago, he was about to be murdered. Now, he was half-sized with orange fur, hooves, wings and a muzzle. Most depressing of all was the absence of a particular part of his anatomy. Though he dared not look, he knew what was now in between his legs.

I suppose my name should be Alaine now, the pony somberly thought to herself.

It was tough to accept, but the reality was now impossible to ignore. She could practically feel her blossoming fertility as a young mare.
Thoughts of foals occasionally drifted through her mind, in the form of an escapist fantasy. Worst of all, apparently, the transformation hadn’t just made her female in body, but in mind too. The green pegasus had ruined everything for her, yet thinking back, she couldn’t help but find him handsome. She started to suspect that all of this was his final revenge on her. She supposed she deserved it.

She heard the rattling of keys on her cell door and timidly turned to face her jailor. Recognizing the brown-coated, red-faced zombie, she let out the breath she was holding. He gently put down a gruel-filled bowl filled in front of her. Then, in a robotic act of compassion, he pulled out two carrots and placed them on top of the platter. Though his inhuman smile unnerved her, she happily took half a carrot in her mouth and tried to use it to take the awful taste out of the rest of the meal.

The corrupted man watched her eat for a brief moment, stroked her multicolored mane, and locked the door behind him. Alaine knew exactly what they were doing, but she still looked forward to the brown coated man’s visits. She had to loathe him as one of the monster’s underlings, but there was no denying that he was good to her. She practically cooed on remembering how heavenly being brushed had felt.

Taking a final bite of carrot, she licked her lips at the richness. Carrots had never been a favorite of hers before, but compared to what she was usually fed, they were fast gaining her esteem. With a sigh, she returned to her stupor, burying her muzzle into the dirt floor. She was in some kind of dungeon. It seemed absurd that the old manor had had a dungeon, but knowing the sickness of her monster captors, they probably were more than happy to build one.

Her two sources of misery were so intertwined that she could hardly decide which one was the greater. Being kidnapped had trapped her in a perpetual state of anxiety, while her new mare body had drained the potency from any hope her dreams of escape had had, rendering her completely docile. After all, what was the point of escaping if she did it looking like this?

Flicking her tail in front of her, she gazed deeply into the tricolor green, red and yellow swirl. At once, those garish colors made her feel like an even greater outcast while—somehow—instilling her with a strange sense of pride. It was a girly pattern, but alone in the cell, she could almost concede to herself that she liked it.

A loud clanging shattered her idle musing.

“Hey, Pony! Wake up!” The fake-rancher said.

She lifted her head up and gazed through his leathery face.

And here comes the bad cop…

“Get your ass up, Pony, or it’ll be off to the glue factory with you!

Wordlessly, Alaine got up and followed him out of the cell. Responding to his insults usually got her whipped, so she played along as he pretended she was a mere animal. She knew exactly where they were going. Every day—sometimes multiple times a day—he would take her outside and demand she show them the special powers the green pegasus had displayed. Barring that, he wanted her to divulge secrets of ponykind that she simply didn’t have.

While she was spacing out, the man had tied a long rope around her neck in a noose. It was distressing how quickly she had gotten used to being tied up.

Did the mares I imprisoned feel the same way? Alaine wondered as she was walked out the front door of the manor.

“Come on, Little Horsey, fly! I know those wings of yours aren’t for show, so fly!”

Alaine was tempted to once more insist that she just became a pony, but her captors seemed partially convinced that she had been an alien mare masquerading as a human.

Her confidence nil, she took a running start, jumped and flapped her wings. She got five feet off the ground before plummeting and landed muzzle first into the dirt.

“Ow,” the mare squeaked, which turned into a whimper as her “master” struck her hard on the flank.

“Stop fucking around!” he barked. “You’ve got wings, so fly, Little Horsey! Fly!”

The process repeated itself as Alaine fell from a few feet in the air over and over. Although a small crowd of the man’s underlings continued to take diligent notes on her attempts at flight, the soreness of her rear testified to his disappointment with the experiment.

“What’s with these tiny things?” the man said squeezing one of the pony’s wings. He groped it, feeling the arrangement of muscles, nerves and feathers. “They shouldn’t work, but we know they do, so fly already!

Alaine’s face flushed red. She felt hot all over and involuntarily let out a high-pitched moan.

She looked up at the sky, embarrassed. For a moment she thought she saw a green blur dance among the clouds, but she was quickly jerked back to reality by a tightness around her neck.

“What’s this? Do you like that, Little Horsey?”

He stroked her wings again, eliciting another moan.

“Oh, you dirty little mare. Maybe we can find a use for you after all. It just so happens we’ve captured a stallion in Belarus. How’d you like to be breeding stock?” He slapped her rear. “You’ve got the hips for it I see.”

Alaine closed her eyes and shook her head furiously.

“Then I suggest you fly, Little Horsey.”

Beating back tears, Alaine desperately flailed into the air once more.

Taylor sprawled out contentedly as Dom’s magnificent fingers worked their way through his coat. Yes, Lynne had been right, being petted felt wonderful. He could easily fall asleep like this, but he didn’t trust the mafialing nearly enough to do so.

“More to the right,” Taylor requested airily. “And mix up the speed. It’s better when I don’t know what’s coming.”

“I can’t concentrate like this,” Dom said exasperated.

“Why’s that? Wasn’t the deal you would pet me while I stay near you to translate the book for you. I’m not too happy about playing the role
of a housecat, so you have to make it worth my while.”

Dom stopped, and Taylor’s bliss immediately dropped off.

“Come on, less griping more stroking.”

The young man shut the book decisively.

“I think I’m done. It’s hard to focus on reading. The book is terrible.”

Taylor nodded with a sympathetic smile on his muzzle. “I never promised it was a good read. I just said it had some information on ponies.”

“I’m not sure it’s worth anything,” Domenico said. “After all, besides claims of magic, it says that plain ponies like you are super strong and can pound the earth to fight.”

Taylor laughed with a hint of disappointment. “I wish… that would give me something to crow about when I’m stuck like” —he gestured towards his body—“this!”

A silence draped over them, and Dom looked away, not quite knowing what to say. Taylor put a hoof to his chin, unsure if he could leave yet. Thinking back, something struck him as odd.

“You still don’t believe in magic? Even after the mysterious self-translating book?”

“That could be just advanced technology the reads brainwaves. And I am still not sure you weren’t infected with some virus I’m immune to. I’m not about to abandon reality just yet.”

Taylor smirked. “Well you might want to rethink reality, because magic is real. Lynne witnessed it firsthand. Storm and Xavier both used magic when they escaped. Her book is even about unicorn magic.”

“I’ll have to read it sometime.”

“Good luck with that,” Taylor said. “She’s really afraid of you.”

“I noticed,” Dom said, “but can’t you convince her to lend it to me so we can read it together?”

Taylor shook his head. “One: she’s using it right now, trying to learn how to use magic. Two: I think I’ve had more than enough cuddle time with you for a lifetime.”

I’m so fucked if he figures out how much I enjoy it. As if he doesn’t have enough power over me already, Taylor thought.

“What about Xavier’s book?” Dom asked. “I’d honestly rather read a dictionary at this point.”

“Lynne told me: he’s actually embarrassed about the book he got, feels like it’s a personal insult by whoever or whatever did this.”

“Why’s that? What’s it about?”

“Not telling,” Taylor said cheekily. “You’ll have to ask him yourself.”

Dom puffed up his face in feigned anger. “I thought I told you to tell me anything they confide in you. Don’t you understand that they are just as much strangers to you as they are to me? I know we’re not friends, but we at least know where each other stands! Don’t forget that you’re safe here for only as long as I find you useful.”

Taylor had to restrain himself from laughing at this forced show of emotion. Dom probably thought himself convincing, but unbeknownst to him, Taylor had become a master at reading emotions. He didn’t know if it was the pony brain, the female brain, or both, but it felt like an honest-to-goodness superpower.

“Maybe you can try, you know, asking them. They are really nice ponies—err people. Well except for Storm.” Taylor glanced around himself before whispering, “He really creeps me out.”

Dom was irked.

At least his annoyance isn’t fake.

“If you’re not going to be helpful get off,” he said, attempting to push Taylor off the bed. However, Taylor defiantly locked his legs and pushed back. Dom steadied himself and pushed harder.

Is he not trying that hard? Because this is surprisingly easy.

Dom brought his other hand to push on Taylor, but the pony still wouldn’t budge.

I’m not that heavy, am I?

Finally Dom’s face became flushed as he exerted all his might.

Dom wasn’t a complete weakling, so Taylor had to start pushing back somewhat hard; however it was still far easier than he had anticipated.

Grinning broadly, Taylor braced his hind legs and pushed with all his might. Triumphantly, he flipped Dom on his back and pinned him to the bed.

Vict~~ooorrrrrrrry! That’s Pony: 3 Dom: 0.

“How’s it feel to be pony-handled?” Taylor gloated.

Dom had the most hilarious befuddled expression on his face. He was torn between trying to be unperturbed by looking Taylor straight in the eye and looking away embarrassedly. The latter won out to Taylor’s great amusement. He said nothing for a full minute, and Taylor soaked in every moment of his triumph.

“Well,” Dom said, “I guess your book was right about the super-strength.”

“Whatever makes you feel better, Hon,” Taylor said with glee.

Deciding to let the big, scary mafia heir sulk by himself, Taylor hopped off the bed and trotted to the den. Xavier was asleep on the couch, Storm was out on reconnaissance and Lynne was sitting on her haunches, enjoying the antique radio Dom had dug up. She was humming along to a tune Taylor recognized all-too well. It turned out that French radio stations had a surprising amount of American music played on them.

Taylor sat beside Lynne and leaned into her. Lynne returned the gesture, and Taylor soon joined her in humming. Music had never interested Taylor much, but being with her made it suddenly desirable.

Their humming gradually picked up in volume, and before he realized what was happening…

“Baby you’re a firework! Come on let your colors burst! Make ‘em go aah aah aah as you shoot across the—“

Unfortunately, Dom chose to slip back in as they were sharing the moment. Holding his ears, he rushed to turn the knob on the radio, and the dial landed on a station playing some sort of French rap. Satisfied he had silenced their singing, he turned to go into the kitchen.

However, after about a minute of listening, Lynne and Taylor locked eyes, mentally apologized to the French language and blurted out,together, “Lesus anzamble donlessons lessenzesembl label ehy luh bat boy,” trying their hardest to approximate the chorus.

Dom could only stand thirty seconds of them mangling the song with impunity before unplugging the old radio altogether.

“It’s les sous-ensembles dans les grands ensembles s’assemblent. La belle et le bad boy,” Dom corrected, stressing the last part.

“Good for you; you know French,” Taylor snarked. “Now pass the omelette du fromage.”

“Why are you singing all of a sudden, anyway?” Dom asked, exasperated.

He pointed at Taylor and said, “You, in particular shouldn’t sing ever. That was terrible.” before walking away.
Taylor deflated, hurt.

I don’t get it. It’s not like I pride myself on my singing. I know I have a bad voice—especially now—so why am I letting him get under my skin with a remark like that?

To Taylor’s surprise Lynne then gripped him in a hug. It felt great, though as soon as Taylor made eye contact with her, she shied away and muttered, “Sorry.”

“Your singing isn’t that bad,” she said a moment later. “I actually had singing lessons when I was a kid. If you’d like I can teach you some things. It’s amazing what a few tips can do; trust me.”

Her offer came as a relief to Taylor, for reasons he didn’t quite understand.

He didn’t have time to contemplate this development, as Xavier chose that moment to pull himself awake, muttering, “You can’t see I’m trying to sleep?”

“Sorry,” the two other ponies muttered.

Xavier must not have been that annoyed, though as he then approached them conspiratorially and whispered, “I’ve been thinking about Storm Chaser…”

“That’s never good,” Taylor interrupted.

Xavier ignored him and continued, “I think now that we’re all together and relatively safe here we should tell him the truth—tell him we’re not really the mares he thinks we are.”

“But, I feel bad about lying to him…” Lynne said. “And we don’t know how he’ll react.”

“I know,” Xavier said. “I can’t read him at all, but he seems pretty invested in rescuing ‘Ocean Breeze’ and ‘Warm Spirits.’ I’m afraid too, but we can’t keep this ruse up forever.”

“Thanks for including me,” Taylor said, “but I’m not sure how I can help you guys with this.”

“Simple: back us up when we say we were human before. He’ll probably turn to the last ‘real’ mare remaining once we assault his delusion. He fancies himself a chivalrous pony, so I doubt he’ll attack us. Best case scenario is he flies off for good once we tell him the truth.”

“Dom won’t like that,” Taylor said.

“That’s exactly why we’re not telling Domenico,” Xavier replied.

Taking a deep breath Lynne said, “Let’s do it. You’re right, Xavier: we can’t avoid the issue forever.”

“If it stops him from hitting on me, then I’m all in,” Taylor said with a hoof pump.

“All right, how do we want to do this?” Xavier asked.

The door crashed open.

“Foreboding tidings, everypony! I bring news of a matter most pressing.”

The three of them locked eyes in disbelief at his timing.

“Wing it I guess?” Taylor suggested nervously.

Dom stepped out of the kitchen. “Just tell me what you saw,” Dom said. “Enough of the nonsense.”

Storm’s serious expression didn’t falter as he turned to the mafia heir. “I am afraid all the hyperbole in Equestria is warranted. For you see, my Cutie Mark once more called me towards adventure, so I pursued the course. It was then that I beheld the villain from before tormenting a helpless lady, forcing her to fly tethered as if she were a diabolical kite!”

“So, in English, you found another pony?” Taylor asked.

“You mean the man with the spikes?” Lynne asked, cringing at the thought of it.

“Indeed, the very same. I would rescue her myself, but I fear the enemy’s position is heavily fortified. As loathsome as it is for me to ask this of you ladies, I must request your aid in venturing this rescue.”

As if an afterthought he turned to Dom. “And you too my good sir.”

“You want us to help with a rescue operation?” Taylor asked.

“I share his concern,” Dom said. “It would be unwise to risk exposing our position for another pony that we would struggle to house and feed.”

Nodding Taylor looked at the other mares, but they were less convinced.

Oh yeah, they’d be sympathetic. Still hard to believe they went through such trauma.

“I—I don’t know,” Lynne finally said. “I want to help her, but I’m not sure I’d be of any use.”

“I’m in,” Xavier said firmly. “I definitely want to get those bastards, but”—he glanced at Taylor and Lynne, and they nodded—“but first we have something that we need to say.”

With a sigh, Lynne began. “The truth is that we aren’t Ocean Breeze and Warm Spirits; in fact, we aren’t even ponies.”

Storm huffed. “But miladies, I hardly doubt my own eyes. The fact remains such immaculate beauty simply cannot be faked.”

He paused.

“Unless… surely you are not changeling imposters!” He took an aggressive pose for a moment. “But then why would you confess now?”

“What’s a changeling?” Taylor asked, earning a dismissing shake of the head from Xavier.

They waited for Xavier to chime in, but his silence made it clear that he’d prefer Lynne explain in her better English.

“Actually,” she began, “We used to be humans like Mr. Domenico. It was only a short while ago that we started growing pony tails, and before we knew it, we were all pony. We don’t know why this happened to us, but there’s no denying it, as strange as it is. Our only clue came in the form of books that mysteriously appeared around us.”

Storm seemed lost in thought for the longest time. Taylor rubbed his hooves together idly, Lynne lowered her head, and Xavier tried his hardest to harden his expression. Meanwhile, Dom just looked on the scene interestedly.

Elaborating, Lynne continued, “I was traveling with some friends when suddenly a blue pony tail sprouted on me. I was afraid, so I hid it. But then my ears turned into pony ears too, and a day later, I woke up as a little pony.”

Dead silence weighed heavily. Storm’s expression was inscrutable.

“I then… umm ran away because I was scared. I got captured, and—well, you know the rest.”

“I woke up a pony,” Xavier added. “My butt was itching, I fell asleep and then I was a pony.”

Two pairs of pony eyes fell on Taylor.

“Well, my story isn’t too different,” Taylor explained. “I grew the tail first and then the ears showed up a short while later. I tried removing the tail surgically to stop the progression”—Storm recoiled at this news—“but it grew back, and I guess you can see the results for yourself. The only difference seems to be I was unlucky enough to be awake for most of the changes.”

Storm scratched his chin with a hoof and turned to face the wall to think. After an eternity of tense waiting, he finally turned his back to the wall and faced them again.

“It is an unusual tale,” Storm said pensively, “but I am inclined to believe you.”

“Really? Just like that?” Taylor asked.

Dom was shaking his head in surprise. “Even I have trouble believing it, and I saw Taylor become a pony in front of my eyes.”

“Magic can effect both wonderful and sometimes incomprehensible things. And your tale falls entirely within its scope I feel. Though who or what did this to you remains a compelling question.”

“I’m sorry,” Lynne said. “Sorry for deceiving you. We were just scared, and we had no one else to turn to, so we didn’t correct your assumption of who we were.”

“I can certainly sympathize, milady,” Storm said softly. “You have been so brave thus far; I must commend you.”

“So I guess we say goodbye to each other now?” Xavier offered bluntly. “We are not Warm Spirits and Ocean Breeze, so you have no reason to stay.”

The pegasus grinned broadly.

“My dearest mares, what kind of stallion would I let such trifling matters compel me to abandon you? Whether she be high-born or commoner, the plight of a damsel in distress speaks to my very soul. I swore I would see you to safety, and that vow is blind to class or kin.”
Without warning, Storm encroached on Taylor’s personal space.

“Though we just met, the same applies to you, Dearest Taylor. Being alone in a strange land—surely your situation is no less pitiable than theirs.”

“No… really that’s okay,” Taylor stammered searching for an excuse. “Uhh… it’s not like I was kidnapped.”

He glanced at Dom.

Then again—but I don’t have to tell him that.

Storm smacked himself gently with a hoof.

“Oh, yes, there is something I forgot: I believe I owe you an apology.” He turned to Dom. “To all of you as a matter of fact. I allowed the actions of a few to prejudice me against all humans. For that you have my sincerest apology. I let my anger and indignity color my perceptions, and there is simply no excuse for my behavior.”

Taylor raised an eyebrow. “Did you notice anything?”

“No?” Lynne said.

“Apology accepted,” Dom said, shaking his head in apparent remembrance.

Was it really that easy? Taylor thought. Supposedly schizophrenics cling to their delusions with a vicegrip

“Were the circumstances different I could give your situation the full perspective and deliberation it deserves. However, at the moment my wings yearn to embrace that poor mare in peril and take her far away. Forgive my stubbornness, but I must insist we discuss this most pressing matter first. Will you ride with me, ladies and sir?”

“I said before. I will go,” Xavier said. “I want to find who did this to me and explode them.”

“Yes, that makes sense. I also think the monsters we’ve all encountered have a connection to the ponies; both showed up around the same time,” Dom said, expressing what Xavier was apparently struggling to.

“What about you, Lynne?” Taylor asked.

We’re not seriously going on a rescue mission are we? This isn’t D & D; we can’t just form a party and go on a quest scaled perfectly to our abilities. It’s sad anyone is in that situation, but I’m a three-foot tall horse. What use am I?

“I don’t know what good I’ll do…” Lynne began. “But, I want to help. And if everypony else is for it, I don’t want to be left behind…”

Taylor looked at the unicorn mare in disbelief and a tinge of betrayal. Now he would look awful for being a coward. Though not pliable to peer pressure, Taylor couldn’t afford to lose what little standing he had among this hodgepodge group.

“I say no,” Domenico cut in. “It makes no sense. It’s too big a risk for a pony that could have been anyone. If we are going to strike against this enemy, we should wait for more intel. Even in exile, I still have my sources.” He turned to Xavier. “I understand your eagerness to hit back, but the time is not right yet.”

For a moment, Storm looked contemplative, but this placid expression was quickly discarded in favor of one more in-line with his bombastic nature. It was an exaggerated pout—a manly pout if that was possible.

“Sir, surely you recognize what peril this lady is in? How can you not after witnessing it firsthand?” He asked, gesturing at Taylor. “This mare is all alone, in a body not her own and being treated like a common animal!”

“We can’t save every pony out there,” Domenico said. “Some will suffer regardless.”

“But we are in the position to do something about it in this case!” Storm proclaimed. “Do I shame myself for not being able to sweep every mare in distress off her hooves? Of course not! Everything grand is accomplished one good deed at a time. We can’t dream of a better world for everypony if we do not pay our dues when called upon.”

Domenico was unmoved. “I don’t care about grand ideals right now. I make decisions one by one. In this case, it is a bad idea. We simply don’t have the luxury of playing heroes right now.”

“I didn’t take you for the self-serving type, Domenico. Alas, I am all too familiar with your breed. Though it may be a vain effort, perhaps gazing upon her fragile visage might sway your heart.”

Storm pulled out a familiar smartphone from the knapsack at his flank and quickly navigated to the stored photos.

“Quite a fascinating device,” Storm mused.

“Hey, that’s my phone,” Taylor objected.

Dom shrugged his shoulders, explaining, “I lent it to him for reconnaissance purposes.”

On principle, Taylor knew he should probably complain more about the appropriation of his property, but he was far more interested at the scene unfolding in front of him, so he crept closer to the mafioso.

A short, tanned man had a multicolored pony tied to a rope, which he was using as a makeshift leash. She was a winged pony, like Storm, though much smaller. Taylor could see tears in her eyes, and he felt a churning of sympathy inside of himself.

No, don’t look at her. It will make it harder to say no. Dying for her won’t do her any good.

He tried to avert his eyes, but he couldn’t help but look as Storm flipped through the photos of the mare. Dom looked closely at each photo, but by his expression, they were about as persuasive to him as a political bumper sticker on the back of a minivan.

Taylor, meanwhile, couldn’t tear his eyes away as his phone flipped through a collage of photos, all depicting the mare’s suffering. They finally ended with the image of a red-tinged man picking her up with one hand.

“And that’s the end of it,” Storm said, hopeful. “Feel you any stirring in your otherwise frosty conscience?”

No chance, Taylor thought.

However, the young man’s entire body jolted back in shock. His eyes were struck with a mixture of awe and anger as he blinked to confirm what he was seeing was real.

Storm had a smug smile, knowing he’d won. “Are you the stallion I thought you are after all, Domenico?”

“Th—that’s Diego!” Dom practically shouted.

Do I know—

Taylor took another glance at the photo. How could he have missed it? The brown-coated man was the same one that had been with them the night of the shootout.

“Diego?” Storm said, puzzled.

Dom closed his eyes and sighed.

“I’ll do it—I’ll do it for Diego,” Dom said. “I have no stake in what happens to the mare, but Diego is family. I… I—if he can’t be saved, I’ll give him peace.”

“I don’t understand,” Storm said.

“Then you don’t understand the nature of the enemy,” Dom chided. He then proceeded to lecture for the next quarter hour about the unknown adversary and all of his hypotheses regarding their mind-control. Taylor nearly dozed off, having heard it all before, but Lynne and Xavier paid special attention.

“That is troubling to say the least,” Storm said after the youth had finished. My resolve remains firm, however. And whatever your motive, I am pleased to have your assistance. I assume you are with us, fairest Taylor?”

Crap!

Lynne looked at Taylor with bright eyes. Despite his attempts to avoid such, the two of them locked eyes. He jerked his head away from her gaze, but it didn’t help matters, as the other ponies gave him similar looks. He still wanted to say no.

“All right,” Taylor said, surprising even himself. It was a split-second decision he made in the instant before answering. He didn’t understand it at all, but he suddenly put great stock in the group’s judgment.

Sensing his concern, Lynne wrapped him in a half-hug, while Xavier shot him a look of macho camaraderie—or at least the closest approximation his mare muzzle could make.

I am so going to regret this. Peer Pressure: 1 Pony: 0

Shit! Shit! Shit! Giovanni thought, ducking as a hail of gunfire soared over his head.

He sprinted desperately through the corridors of the re-purposed office building. Even though he had taken the precaution of memorizing the building’s layout beforehand, he still couldn’t shake the fear that he was about to hit a dead end.

His first job had been announced only a day ago, and it looked like it would be a complete bust. The enemy had left no files around, nor any laptops he could easily swipe. The plan had been simple: d’Atlanta’s men would create a diversion in the front, while Yuki picked the lock for the two of them to sneak in. The good news had been that the enemy was far less numerous than they’d anticipated. Unfortunately, it appeared this was merely a conversion facility rather than enemy headquarters.

Giovanni tightened his gas mask just thinking about the reddening faces of the mions. Mions—the name of the enemy was the one tiny scrap of intel he had scavenged from this whole ordeal. It had been muttered by a barely coherent young woman before she had succumbed to their brainwashing. A shame—she had been so attractive too. He still felt weird about putting her out of her misery, but seeing her lose the fight for her own mind gave him more than enough justification to pull the trigger.

As he rounded a narrow corner, more bullets zipped past his back. Even with poor visibility, their aim was distressingly close to lethal. He gripped Yuki tighter. If he took his hand off her, he would be just as blind as the enemy. As much as he hated to admit it, the pegasus’s fog was the only thing keeping him alive at the moment.

They scampered out the same way they entered. They would have to hurry because Yuki’s fog was much less effective outside enclosed spaces. The mare effortlessly hovered over the barbed wire fence, while he had to climb it, with his protective clothes and gloves shielding him from harm.

As he put his right foot on top of the fence, he saw a pudgy, red-faced mion squeeze through the door. Beating him to the draw, Giovanni shot him six times to clog the door before hopping over the fence.

That should buy us some time.

Reaching the alley, they followed the plan: Yuki flew right; he ran out of the left. Their getaway car was parked a block away and Yuki would circle back to join him after hopefully drawing away some of their stupider pursuers. Fortunately, this proved largely unnecessary, as their attack had been a near rout. At this point, the main danger was preventing the whole matter from being linked back to d’Atlanta.

Certainly, the sight of a running man dressed in all black with a covered face attracted the attention of just about everyone he passed, but as long as he played it right, it wouldn’t matter. He would ditch the car at a popular local club controlled by the boss’s allies. The bouncer would lead him to a secret room where he would be able to ditch his gun and equipment and sneak out the back.

Finding the beater where he had left it, he pulled off the gas mask and tossed it to the side of the alley. Fishing his keys out of his pocket, he unlocked the car and opened the door.

“Freeze!” a cool, female voice ordered.

The police! Shit!

A beam of light struck Giovanni, and he instinctively reached for his gun. However, when he saw the officer’s face, he hesitated long enough to give her the upper hand. She was a tall, mature, chocolate blond with diminutive facial features—just the mafioso’s type. Realizing she now had him on the ropes, he dropped his gun just as she began to ask him to do so.

“Turn around,” she commanded.

He complied.

Fuck! I can’t be captured here! The enemy just has to have plants in the police. If they put the pieces together it’s only a matter of time before they sneak some of that gas into my cell and I’m spilling everything to them.

Putting his brain into overdrive, he considered every possible course of action. However, no matter how hard he tried to be creative, the least worst option seemed to be the suicidal attempt to overpower her. True, it had a small chance of working, but…

Domenico, Boss, I’m sorry for dying on you like this, he thought, priming himself to lunge for the officer’s gun. Isn’t it fitting that I’ll die how I lived—making the least worst choice?

Fog fell over the two of them and Giovanni ducked. He heard a loud clunk of hooves connecting with bone as his tormentor fell to the ground. Yuki’s wing briefly touched him, and he seized the opportunity to see through the fog, diving for the cop’s loose gun.
For a moment, the woman glimpsed Yuki and let out an audible gasp of surprise, which the pony truncated by whacking her unconscious.

“Miss me?” she asked smugly as the fog began to dissipate.

“You—you weren’t supposed to come back for another ten minutes,” Giovanni stammered.

“Duh! Of course I would come back. Why would I fly a diversion for that long with no one following me? You’ve got to be more flexible. This is what makes stiffs like you so easy to steal from—creatures of habit through and through.

Giovanni figured he owed her thanks, but their need to make an escape gave him the perfect excuse not to.

“Let’s go. We’ll talk later,” Giovanni suggested.

Yuki suddenly gave a huge smile. “Hang on there’s something I’m curious about.”

“What—“

Giovanni quickly turned away as Yuki put her mouth on the back of the fallen officer’s pants and behind to tug them down. Covering his
face, he asked, dumbstruck, “What are you doing?”

“Aha!” Yuki proclaimed. “I thought I felt me a tail.”

A tail?

Bracing himself to look, Giovanni glanced and saw Yuki pulling out a golden pony tail out of the woman’s magenta underwear.
Blushing Giovanni took stock of the situation.

“Okay, she’s turning into a pony. More data on them would be useful, but Dom has the pony factor well-accounted for by now. Besides, taking her with us is too risky. What if they track her?”

Accepting the challenge, Yuki frisked the officer with her in human cat thief speed, procuring a radio and a flip phone. Raising her hooves she smashed the pair of items as if they were his objections.

Giovanni scowled.

“We can’t just kidnap an officer. That will draw a ton of attention to our operation. We don’t want any more noses poking around the boss’s villa."

Her wide eyes seemed to shine as she pleaded. “Come on, Giovi, pleeeeeeeease? I always wanted a pony.”

“You are a pony!”

“I am?” She said in mock surprise. “Awesome!”

Feeling like he was scolding a child, Giovanni told her, “The answer is no and that’s final.”

“Well,” Yuki said, “the more time you spend arguing with me, the less time we have to make our getaway. Besides, do you want her around to testify that a pale purple pony attacked her? Think fast. The clock’s ticking…”

Dammit! She’s right!

With measured hesitation, Giovanni picked up the half-naked woman and flung her in the aging red car’s passenger seat. Yuki gave a hoof pump of victory as she perched herself on the woman’s lap and fastened the two of them in.

I know I’m going to regret this, Giovanni thought resignedly.

He shuddered as the image of twin Yukis tormenting him danced through his head. As he drove, he had to remind himself that pushing the gas pedal a little bit harder would be no help in escaping such a nightmare.

Storm alighted on the queen bed, turned in place and plopped down. Young Domenico followed him, neatly lifting the sheets at the corner to sit down. He had apparently become inured to the weirdness of sharing a bed with a pony. That, however, was a two-way street as the experience of sharing a bed with a human as a pony was a new one for him too. It was a far more pleasant arrangement than expected. The bed was large enough so that Dom could be given all the room he needed, while the pony had more than enough wiggle room. After all, Storm had always been a restless sleeper.

Uncomfortable with the silence, the pegasus tried to strike up a conversation. “Though I had hoped to appeal to a nobler part of you, I admire your conviction to save your friend. Celestia may teach us to treat everypony like family, but I also think there’s no shame in going the distance only for those closest to you. For me, I like to think of every mare as potential family. True, I can make most smile with honeyed words, but I still believe a few out there are yet destined to share their foals with me. Trouble is, there’s no telling who they may be, so I must always adhere to the civility of a gentlepony. At times, it is hard being so magnanimous, but mares are worth it—such soft and gentle creatures.”

Dom didn’t stir in the slightest and merely stared at the wall.

“Sir Domenico?”

Making a mental calculation, the young man cocked his head to face the stallion.

“Cut the crap; your shitty act isn’t fooling me anymore.”

Author's Note

Hopefully, Giovanni's scene won't feel too much like a cop-out. Action scenes are still a bit iffy with me, so I wanted to save my ideas for epic-level pony raids for the rescue mission.

On another note, I can't believe I ever considered using a Solaar song other than La Belle et le Bad Boy.

10: Confessions

Giovanni leaned against the door as he watched patiently. He idly checked his watch out of habit and looked down on the policewoman’s sleeping face. She had shrunk considerably in a matter of hours. Yuki had changed her into smaller clothes about an hour ago and already they no longer fit. At her side, the pegasus looked ready to pounce. The petite purple pony had eagerness written all over her features. He almost felt bad for the woman, but he supposed he was grateful that Yuki would have someone else to annoy.

For reasons he didn’t understand, d’Atlanta had left the task of “recruiting” the pony-to-be to the two of them. He honestly didn’t know how he was supposed to go about this. Would it be “Sorry for kidnapping you and all, but we need your help to fight some evil alien mutants and save the world.” When he put it like that it sounded stupid even to him. He supposed he would let Yuki do most of the talking—the mare could be very persuasive.

He shook his head at the thought.

The mare?

It was doubtlessly the right word for her, but the fact that he was dealing with an ex-human on a regular basis hadn’t fully sunken in.

Giovanni sighed as Yuki tried to shake the woman awake once more. Dr. Hansen had chewed them out, reemphasizing that head injuries were nothing to take lightly. On his last inspection of her, he had somberly confirmed that pony infection aside, she very well may never wake. The doctor was naturally fascinated by the rapid progression of the pony transformation, but for whatever reason, d’Atlanta didn’t want the doctor in the room when she woke.

Is it because the two of us are essentially mercenaries? Giovanni thought. Maybe he thinks we’ll be in the best position to sell her on this crazy proposition. I really don’t know. That old man is a hard nut to crack.

“She’s waking! She’s waking!” Yuki cheered.

Giovanni straightened his posture and put his hand over his gun.

“Ugggh… what happened?” the woman asked, lifting her upper body out of bed.

“Hiya!” Yuki shouted hovering her muzzle right into the woman’s face.

The woman gasped. It sounded like a cross between braying and a scream. Even Giovanni found it hard not to laugh at this.

“What?! What on earth?! A flying horse?”

She looked to the side and back at Yuki before lying back down and closing her eyes to compose herself.

Yuki was snickering.

As if hoping a second attempt would yield a different result, she once more lifted herself in bed and opened her eyes.

“Hiya!” Yuki said, her deep amusement shining through.

“Okay, seriously what the hell? This isn’t a dream, so what is a little flying horse doing in my room?”

“Your room?” Giovanni asked condescendingly. In truth, he was more than a little annoyed that Yuki had plopped her into his bed without asking.

“You!” the woman said accusingly. “I remember now! It was you that took advantage of me in that fog.”

She jumped out of bed and moved to rush him. Giovanni dropped into a fighting stance and prepared to intercept her, but this proved far from necessary, as she immediately tripped over her new hooves and fell face first into the ground. She scanned her changed legs and new, coffee-colored fur in disbelief.

“What the hell…”

She was now hyperventilating and looked on the verge of passing out. Prepared for this, Giovanni pulled a brown paper bag out of his pocket and placed it over her slightly protruding nose and mouth. She breathed in and out a few times before regaining her composure.

“Since you can’t seem to decide what to ask first,” Giovanni said, “I’ll start by answering some of your likely questions. You are in the mansion of our employer.”

“So you kidnapped me,” she stated flatly.

“It was her idea,” Giovanni said, pointing to Yuki. “I’ll have you know that I was completely against it.”

“That doesn’t sound like a denial to me,” the woman said.

“That’s because it’s not,” Giovanni said disinterestedly. “As to why—Yuki here noticed your tail.”

At this, the woman turned her head towards the pegasus, staring in disbelief. Yuki, for her part, waved stupidly.

“I’m sure you’re confused by what that means, but we know a little bit about it, if you’re ready to listen.”

She slowly turned to face him and shot him a look of contempt. “Tail? I haven’t the slightest clue what you are talking about.”

Yuki was grinning.

“Wait wait wait wait wait wait wait. You mean to tell us that you didn’t notice the golden tail growing out of your bum?”

She shook her head.

“Some people,” Yuki said.

“You’re both insane,” the woman said.

Yuki closed the distance between them and pointed to the still-expanding patches of fur on the human’s legs.

“You’re denying this and you call us crazy? What about this?”

Yuki bit down on the woman’s tail, pulled it free from under her and brought it out in front of her face.

“That proof enough for you?”

She opened her mouth raised, a finger, tensed up before pointing her finger at Giovanni.

“You! Did—did you do this to me?”

“No,” Giovanni said, beginning to become impatient. “As we told you before you had it when we found you. We can argue this point all day if you want, but if you don’t mind, I’d rather cut to the chase.”

She nodded warily.

“What do you want with me?”

Giovanni pointed to Yuki.

“You see that? That’s you in a day or two.”

“You’re turning me into a miniature flying horse?”

“Pony,” Yuki corrected.

“Again, we have nothing to do with this,” Giovanni explained, patience faltering somewhat more. “All over the world people are turning into these ponies. We have no pulse on why it’s happening, but it is. And the government’s been remarkably competent at covering it up.”

“This can’t be happening…” she said, staring at her hands, which had sprouted a thin layer of fur and now sported noticeably shorter fingers.

“Well it is,” Giovanni said, barely sympathetic to his former tormentor.

“You kidnapped me!” She shrieked. “Why should I believe anything you say?”

Wow she’s not taking this well.

“Your choice,” Giovanni said with a shrug. “You’ll see for yourself pretty soon, though.”

The woman was sobbing at this point.

“This can’t be happening… I—I’m an officer of the law. I stand for safety, justice and peace of mind.”

“And now you’re a pony!” Yuki said in a singsong voice. “Isn’t that neat?”

She took a swipe at Yuki, who did a barrel roll to effortlessly avoid it.

“Now you can stand for fuzziness, cuddles and the power of song.”

“Power of song?” the woman asked, almost in disbelief that she was even bothering to ask.

“Sister, you’ll be surprised what you’re compelled to sing about. The other day, I started singing in the shower about how much I love soap bubbles.”

Following that strange shift in mood, a silence fell over the room. No one knew how to respond to that, and words failed them all in this absurd situation. Finally the silence was broken by a knock on the door.

Giovanni answered it, and his brother stepped in carrying a standard brown package.

“This came in the mail just now. It says it’s for Ambra, and the only person that could be is you,” he explained.

“Ooh me! Me!” Yuki shouted, raising a hoof. “I ordered it for her. That super-duper rush shipping is aptly named.”

Luigi nodded in relief. “That’s what we were hoping for. Otherwise, we feared a security breach.”

Clearly Luigi was in a hurry to leave, as he set the package by the doorway and shut the door behind him.

The moment he left, Yuki pounced on the package and tore it open in no time with her thieving prowess. Seeing what she expected on the inside she pulled out the box’s contents and put on her biggest smile.

“See? Matching collars!” She flew to Ambra’s side and compared it to her neck. “It should fit once you get a teensy bit teenier,” Yuki added.

Dumbstruck, the woman stared at the gaudy, bejeweled collar with her name on it.

“Wait a minute? How did you know my name, anyway?”

“That’s an easy one,” Yuki said dismissively. “You had multiple forms of ID on you.”

Her inquiry answered, Ambra went back to being completely perplexed by the situation.

“That’s basically what it’s come down to. Your choices are to be the master’s relatively pampered pet pony, or to take your chances on the outside looking like that. I take it the idea of a government-run concentration camp doesn’t appeal to you.”

The woman looked at the collar, looked at Giovanni and pointedly said, “Fuck you.”

“Again, blame Miss Cute Pony. I would have left you unconscious. At any rate, I give up. Yuki, I’ll leave the rest to you. Hey! Yuki?”

The pony had set the collar down and was cautiously approaching the package she had dropped.

“There’s something I’m curious about…”

She stuck her nose in the package and pulled out a rectangular shaped present with wrapping paper depicting some bizarre mythological creature.

“Aha!” she exclaimed, grasping the package in her mouth. She turned to Ambra. “Hey, it’s addressed to you.”

That shape! Giovanni thought. Could it be? Like Domenico mentioned?

Lynne took a deep breath and centered herself. She felt her magic naturally flow through her brain to reach her horn.

I’ve got this. It’s what I practiced.

Taylor for his part was sitting on his haunches adorably, watching her. At once she gathered a bit of strength from this while also becoming a bit nervous. In a sense, it was for Taylor that she practiced so hard—for all of them.

It’s so strange to think about fighting, especially when I’m like this, but…

She smiled at Taylor.

I want to protect them, and if I have the magic to do that, I have to try my best now.

She returned her gaze to the teacup set carefully on a stump outside the cabin. Envisioning her magic’s flow she pictured that flow projecting outward and enveloping the teacup. She imagined how it would feel to hold the cup and tried to lift it psychically. Remarkably it started to rise. Lynne nearly gasped, but was careful to maintain her focus. She imagined spinning the cup in midair and the teacup slowly started to gyrate. As planned she rotated it two times, before carefully setting it down.

She exhaled. A warm leg wrapped itself around her.

“You did it!” Taylor cheered.

Lynne leaned into the hug.

“I couldn’t have done it without you!”

“Me?” Taylor said. “No, all I could do was stare enviously at the cool magic I can’t do. You did all the work.”

Lynne felt a little guilty. She had flipped through the magazine, but despite her best search efforts, she had uncovered no special abilities of the so-called earth ponies.

“No, you were great,” Lynne said. “You always had good advice on what to try next, and your teacup suggestion helped me make a breakthrough.”

Taylor rubbed Lynne’s withers one last time before releasing the hug.

“I guess… but it was a risk. We could have just as easily ended up breaking it…”

Lynne shook her head. “But it ended up working and it really helped me. I didn’t want to break it, and that motivated me to really try hard!”

Taylor shrugged. “Isn’t there a Yoda quote about that or something? It’s like you can do it, but I just thought that we could remove the block somehow.”

“Yoda?” Lynne asked puzzled.

“You don’t know Star Wars?” Taylor asked, genuinely surprised.

“I suppose I should,” Lynne said, “but I don’t really watch a lot of movies or TV.”

“Let me guess: such pastimes were unbecoming of a lady.”

Lynne giggled nervously.

“Well, if you want my opinion—valuable as it is—I think Star Wars was just the beneficiary of being the right movie at the right time. It’s good and it was innovative in some aspects, but most of the hype comes from nostalgia I think.”

The two ponies walked side by side together to their room in the cabin.

“Don’t get me started on the prequels though. As a card-carrying nerd I come pre-loaded with eleven different rants. Some people can make a living ranting on the internet. Most are funny; the rest are like me—an out-of-work film major hosting a youtube show not even my mom watches.”

“So you've already graduated college? How old are you then, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Twenty-six,” Taylor replied. “I’m almost ashamed to admit it because I haven’t accomplished anything yet.” The two of them jumped up on the bed, circling a few times in place before lying down. “All I have is a dead-end job and G-list internet stardom.” Taylor sighed. “And now I’m a pony…”

Taylor frowned. Lynne hated to see him like this and she rubbed a hoof gently down his back. It was so strange. Normally, she’d be violating his boundaries, but touching him felt so natural as to be nearly compulsory. Taylor had picked up on this too, and although he was disturbed by the mutual removal of inhibitions, he had voiced his appreciation of it.

“What was your job like?” Lynne asked.

“Terrible. Since I clearly hate myself I work at Gamestop. My manager’s always breathing down my neck, and the pressure is there to upsell every customer. I can feel the scorn of the smart customers as they blame the messenger for the sleaziness and turn me down, which I’m used to. But when I do make a sale I always feel bad. Like I just sold someone a pointless warranty, or convinced them to write a game maker a blank check in the form of a pre-order. Why bother making a good product when your customer will buy it in advance? As you can tell I’m pretty jaded. It’s a lot to take for minimum wage.”

In response Lynne doubled her efforts on Taylor back, turning the light backrub into a pony massage. Taylor’s eyes drooped and he let out an involuntary cooing noise. Lynne giggled at this, while Taylor blushed. However, he didn’t let this stop him from enjoying the remainder of her efforts.

“You mentioned your web show a couple of times. You were at Disneyland Paris filming it, right? You must be a huge Disney fan, then?”

Taylor shook his head, frowning. “It’s a really long story.”

Lynne stopped rubbing and lay down at his side. “I’d love to hear it.”

“Well, how to start… I guess it begins with my sister. She’s younger than me by seven years. I always thought it was strange for my parents to wait so long in between kids, but I’m not one to judge them for it. Anyway, her room was across the hall from mine, and she used to have the Disney Channel on full volume all the time. I complained, of course, but unless I was doing homework I was told to shut my door and put up with it, not that it did me any good.”

Taylor sighed.

“So I heard it all—every asinine joke, every trite bit of dialogue, every cookie-cutter plot line. Finally I snapped and uploaded a fifty minute video rant, dissecting everything wrong with the fucking Zack and Cody movie. And the internet loved it. I got thousands of views and I couldn’t believe the feedback of got. Naturally, it went to my head, so I decided I had the talent to keep making videos. It was mostly just me riffing on the Disney Channel. I did okay for a while, but the novelty wore off quickly, the quality went down when I got busy with school, and my viewership gradually fell. I was of course desperate for internet attention, so I tried taking my channel in another direction. I did an analysis video trying to unravel what makes Disney’s good stuff so good. And, well, it was even more successful than my first.”

He looked contemplative for a moment.

“It’s so strange it seems so obvious in hindsight. Perhaps I knew all along but was just too stubborn to admit it. I guess what happened is that I sold out. It turns out there are a lot of genuine Disney fans on the internet. I saw the allure of making money—offensively little money but still money—and I started pandering to that fanbase. My videos became trite recitations of Disney minutiae. I was more ‘successful’ than ever, but I really stopped enjoying it. I guess I was under the illusion that if I kept going I could make it into the big time and make actual money. Instead, I became just another beggar on the internet.”

Lynne slowly started rubbing his withers again. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Lynne said. “You must have had some fun doing it, right?”

Taylor paused for a moment of thought. “Well, I suppose I got to use my degree in the form of editing, special effects and camerawork,” Taylor admitted. “Still, it isn’t exactly my dream job. I suppose I was jealous of my friends. For instance, Larry can make a living playing pokemon on the internet. I still can’t believe he does, but he regularly pulls an audience of two-thousand on Twitch.”

“I’m not sure I understand half of that,” Lynne confessed.

“I barely understand how he does it either,” Taylor said. “The guy’s naturally charismatic and somehow people like to watch him play video games. He does do this one thing called speedrunning, which I can somewhat understand the appeal behind. However, the rest is just watching someone else have fun, which I don't get.”

Lynne had lost the thread of the conversation and wasn’t sure how to respond to it. She wanted to cheer Taylor up, but she would have to know what he was talking about.

Taylor snorted. “Here’s a thought. Maybe I can compete with Larry now that I’m a girl. I’ve seen girls play video games on the internet get high view counts without doing anything special. Maybe I can get a low-cut top that shows off my pony boobs. I’m sure that will the guys would flock in to see that.”

Despite Taylor joking about it, Lynne could see that it was still very much a sore subject.

“How are you taking that, by the way?” Lynne asked.

Taylor frowned.

“It’s going about as well as you expect. The pony thing is mostly overshadowing the gender thing, so much so that honestly I’m still coming to terms with it. There are the little things, like having to squat to pee that I’m still in disbelief about. But what gets to me even more is hearing my own voice. I’m not complaining, given that I could have ended up sounding like Xavier, but the fact is that hearing my expression—my personality—come through in a female voice sounds so dissonant. It’s like someone else is narrating for me. I know there are bigger things to worry about, like the fact that I’ll be going into heat soon, but that still vexes me the most.”

Lynne had no response, so she just hugged him as tightly as she could. Her heart was pounding and she felt goosebumps under her coat. Yet Taylor’s warmth was incredible. It was like hugging the world’s greatest stuffed animal.

“Since we’re girl-talking about each other’s problems, is there anything you want to share,” Taylor asked. “I don’t want to hog all the catharsis.”

Lynne released the hug and pet Taylor’s head. Her heart was full-on hammering in anticipation of what she was about to do.

“I’m very troubled,” Lynne explained. “I was undeniably attracted to Storm when I was in heat, and I still am even now.”

Taylor nodded. “Even I’ve noticed how well-built and handsome he is,” Taylor admitted. “Even though he’s a nut… I suppose it was just a matter of time before I was attracted to stallions…”

Lynne’s heart skipped a beat and she went cold for a moment. However, she was not to be deterred.

“And yet,” Lynne said. “And yet, I find myself still wanting to do this.”

She pulled the bigger earth pony towards her and snogged him.

Taylor’s eyes went wide and he started to pull away at first, but just as quickly he leaned in and reciprocated the kiss.

Lynne felt a world of weight of denial lift from her. They barely knew each other. Still, it was the most natural thing in the world.

For a moment, Storm faltered in the face of Domenico’s accusation, but he quickly spread his wings, stiffened his body and stood up to his full height.

“What is the meaning of this, Sir Domenico? Surely my deeds vouch for my identity as the one and only Storm Chaser? Why the alternative would be absurd.”

“No, what I think is absurd is your explanation for the real pony’s autobiography being so accessible. It’s almost like you want to be found out.”

Storm was more than prepared for this and he scoffed. “It is an Equestrian custom. Who are you to say it is strange or impossible? I may have had some help writing it, and some details have been embellished, but I assure you I am one-hundred percent Equestrian.”

Domenico was unconvinced.

“I imagine your evidence is that you can use pegasus magic so proficiently and are already a highly skilled flyer?”

“So you do see reason?” the pegasus said. “So why are you hurling accusations at me, then, good sir?”

Domenico closed the distance between them and sat on the end of the bed near him.

“First of all, your Don Juan act is entirely wrong,” Domenico stated. “The way you talk about mares seems outwardly lecherous, but I’ve known several womanizers. You are nothing like them. Sure, you may go through the motions of giving the mares unwanted attention, invading their personal space and flattering them. However, the way you look at them is entirely wrong. You never stare at them like they’re a piece of meat. You never try to get a look under their tails. You can talk all you want, but your actions betray you.”

Storm genuinely sighed, defeated. It was a facade that was exhausting and, honestly, he was relieved to come clean about it.

“Well, you’ve got me there,” Storm admitted. “While I do have a reputation as a skirt-chaser, truthfully much of that is fabricated. In Equestria, there are three mares for every stallion, and that has built a culture of resilient masculinity. The mares outnumber the stallions, so the stallions cling to their stallionhood all the more. There’s the idea that a real stallion among stallions is one that seeks to ‘conquer’ as many mares as possible. That he should be prolific and that a large herd with many foals is a sign of success. With military ponies, that ideal is even more pronounced. I have been pressured to conform to it for most of my life.”

Should I go there? I wonder… but when will I get another chance?Storm thought.

“But the truth is I don’t see mares that way. I don’t lust after their bodies. Rather, I respect wo—mares for who they are as individuals and for their minds.”

Domenico smirked. “I remember Diego saying something like that too. Ironically, you’ve spoken like a true womanizer. So the lecherous Equestrian hero is actually gay?”

“N—no,” he said with some hesitation, some annoyance, before clearing his throat and speaking truly. “The idea itself does not repel me, but I am sure I am not. Though I don’t lust after mares, I still crave their companionship—their touch.”

“Interesting,” Domenico said. “Not the answer I expected.”

He looked into Storm’s eyes and studied his body language.

‘I take it you still insist you are Storm Chaser?”

“Quite so!” he said. “I assure you I am the magnanimous stallion of legend, or my name is not Storm Chaser!” he proudly proclaimed.

Domenico cracked a grin, but was otherwise unaffected by his attempt to inject humor into the situation. The mafia heir quickly regained his serious expression, crossing his fingers and studying the stallion once more.

“If you are a true Equestrian, then care to explain why you so quickly assumed your damsel in distress was formerly a human?”

“W—what do you mean?”

“When we were discussing the matter of rescuing the Mion-captured pegasus you not only failed to deny the assumption of the rest of the ponies that she was a former human; you actively bought into the assumption yourself. If you were actually an Equestrian who has merely traveled to far-off lands, why wouldn’t your first thought be that she was an actual Equestrian pony as well.”

“Th—that’s because.. I..”

Storm retreated a few paces and froze. He started rubbing his hooves against one another nervously.

Think! He implored himself, but nothing came of it.

Domenico, smelling blood moved as close to him as possible without leaving the bed.

“That’s the problem with lies. It’s a constant juggling of the littlest of assumptions you would never think twice about. Failure to manufacture even a single little link can capsize the whole illusion.”

Storm was still thinking. He knew it was bound to come undone eventually, but…

Deny it! Deny it! Even if you can’t come up with a reason, deny it!

Yet, he looked on Domenico’s countenance and couldn’t bring himself to do it. Those eyes—the sharp wit behind those eyes. Even if he could summon the perfect riposte, Storm almost wanted to admit defeat out of respect for his astute observation.

“While you’re thinking your way out of that one, I’ve got another for you.”

Storm nodded weakly, still trying to process his misstep.

“I’m sure you’ve realized it yourself, with your ‘quite a fascinating device’ comment, but you were far too proficient at using Taylor’s phone. You took pictures with it all on your own without the slightest instruction. If you were from a culture that had no such devices, there’s no way you’d be able to master the user-interface so easily.”

In a last-ditch effort, Storm offered, “How do you know Equestria lacks cell-phones?”

Domenico shook his head, smug. “That’s where you dug your own grave with your defensive-minded comment about the fascinating device.”

"I see," Storm said not resignedly, but in relief. “I’m glad you were the one who noticed, Domenico. Tell me, have you told anyone else of this?”

In a flash Domenico’s hand when to his pocket and he drew a pistol, cocked and aimed it straight at the pegasus pony.

“Okay! Okay! Unfortunate choice of words—I get it! All I’m asking is that you don’t tell them. Promise me that, put the gun down and I’ll tell you anything you want.”

“Still trying to protect yourself?” Domenico asked, lowering the gun slowly.

Storm looked away, contemplatively. “No, I’m trying to protect them.”

Author's Note

It's been a while since I updated this, so I'm trying to get back into writing shape as it were. So accept my apology for not immediately jumping into the rescue mission.

Also, let me just put it on the record that I have no idea if there was ever a Zack and Cody movie.

11: Improvisation

A well-dressed professional compulsively adjusted his glasses as the bus rumbled under him. The sound itself repulsed him, and sometimes he felt as if he might gag at the sour taste it left in his mouth. It was packed today, and he could feel the radiated body heat from those around him. The other passengers were mostly focused on the idle amusements provided by their ubiquitous smart phones. He had tried such distractions before, but his constantly chirping mind never allowed his ruminations to cease. He looked out the window at the passing streets and felt a deep sense of remorse. Munich had once represented opportunity for him, but now it served as a reminder of how far he had fallen. He had considered moving back home, but truthfully he didn’t want to face his family after ‘the incident’.

Distracted, he almost missed his stop and had to yell for the driver to wait for him. Thanking the woman, he stepped out of the bus and straightened his hat. Male-pattern baldness had taken a toll on him, and he insisted on wearing the high-end hat everywhere. It was a stupid behavior that concealed nothing—he knew that objectively, yet he still couldn’t shake it. Yet, as of late, it had taken on a new, more useful purpose. He climbed the stairs to his third floor apartment and moved to unlock the door, but he felt his feet hit something, and he looked down.

The man gave a drawn out sigh. “Not again,” he muttered, exasperated.

A small box was sitting on his welcome mat. It was clothed in wrapping paper depicting a familiar creature. He was tempted to chuck the package based on this fact, but it could be something important. Reluctantly, he brought the box into his home and flipped on the lights. His small one bedroom apartment was less than he could afford, but he preferred its snug living quarters. The den had just enough space for his many books, and he was particularly fond of his recliner, which was ideal for reading. Noticeably absent was a television, as he had fallen out of the habit completely during law school.

He set the book on his coffee table and stepped into his small kitchen. It was a bar-like area that blended into the den. Behind the counter he had a basic sink, refrigerator, oven and microwave, all scaled to fit his minimal needs. He moved to the fridge to prepare himself a sandwich when he felt a tapping on his shoulder.

“Hello, Nils,” said a mischievous voice as he felt a paw tapping him on the shoulder.

“Go away. You’re not real.” Nils said, not even bothering to turn around.

“Oh, don’t be so cold m’boy,” the voice said. “Did you see the present I got you? Did you?”

Nils turned to face the creature. It was the same delusion as before—a multicolored dragon-like creature with mismatched horns, an asymmetrical colored body and a mixture of paws and claws for limbs. It was about two feet tall and floated wispily through the air.

“I know you know I saw it. You seem to know everything else about me.”

In vain, Nils checked his prescription bottles on the counter. Sure enough, he had already taken the maximum allowable dosage of his medication. If anything had warranted “as needed” surely it was this.

“What do you want anyway?” he asked the creature. “Are you going to start benign before becoming violent with your suggestions?”

“No, nothing of the sort. I come offering opportunity,” the creature said. “The life you live right now—working to live, doing boring paralegal work—surely this is below what an exceptional individual such as yourself is capable of.”

Nils scowled at the creature.

“I’ll have you know that Dr. Brandt and I are quite proud of this job. It’s proof that I’m back on the right track.”

He turned his back on the creature and walked around the bar back into the den. The strange hybrid floated back in front of him just as quickly.

“Oh,don’t listen to that stuffy psychiatrist! Surely you yearn for more out of life! Some adventure? Some excitement?”

“You’ve got the wrong person,” Nils said flatly.

“Maybe I have the wrong person,” the creature said with a grin, “but I’ve certainly the right stallion.”

Nils paused and felt his ears. The emerald green fur he had shaved that morning had already grown back, and his ears had started to change shape, becoming floppier.

It had started a few days ago. He had come home from the used bookstore when all of a sudden this creature had appeared before him as an apparition. At first, it would just circle around him like a two-dimensional projection, but yesterday it had taken on a more tangible form. It had started to talk to him around the time he started to imagine his ears changing.

“So you are part of the whole ‘turning into a horse delusion?’” Nils asked rhetorically. “I hallucinate my ears changing, and you come along to reinforce it?”

The creature laughed. “Well I’m certainly not denying it, Nils. After all, you were the one who stood on the roof at your old firm and shouted down—”

“Stop it! Stop!”

“Well, of course you know the rest.”

“Just leave me alone,” Nils pleaded.

“You should be careful what you wish for,” the apparition replied. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll answer one question—anything you want. Surely you are curious about me and this whole situation or your ears, for instance?”

“Look, would you go away already?”

“I will in approximately one minute and nineteen seconds,” he said coyly. “And I’m sorry to say that will count.”

Nils shrugged.

“What? No reaction? Come on! It’s like accidentally wishing for something with a genie. It’s supposed to be comedy gold!”

“If you’re supposed to be a genie, then I’m relieved to escape without somehow turning the sun into a lamp.”

“Bah! You’re no fun,” the creature said. “You must be one of those high-strung types that would wish for nothing out of fear of wish corruption.”

Nils said nothing and instead started to make a peanut-butter and banana sandwich. On cue, the creature vanished when he said he would but not before blowing a raspberry. Victorious over the delusion for the moment, Nils walked back into the den and found the package where he left it. Sure enough, the odious design had vanished completely along with the wrapping paper and now it was now merely a standard brown package.

He was torn, surely he should contact his psychiatrist about this. He was starting to have convincing delusions once more. Yet, he was fearful of this possibility. He had come so far finding work again; he couldn’t afford to be institutionalized. Without anything else to do, he examined the package, turning it over and shaking it a couple of times. It was unmarked, and he was not expecting any mail, so he couldn’t even hazard a guess as to its contents.

Tentatively, he tore open the packaging and recoiled at what he saw. It was a thick, green hardcover book with yellowed pages. His eyes fell on the title and he read it, despite knowing exactly what to expect.

Storm Chaser Equestria’s Myth and Legend.

Domenico carefully observed the pony, who was looking puzzled.

“In truth,” Storm said, “I had seen the book in a used bookstore just days before. When I turned into a stallion as described in the book, I started to suspect the book had cursed me. For the next couple of days, I was in denial about the changes that started happening to me. Eventually, reality was so overwhelming that I couldn’t any longer. I still partially subscribe to the curse hypothesis, but when I met the others and heard about their books appearing suddenly, I started having my doubts.”

“That thing that appeared before you,” Domenico began. “Considering the impossible already happened with you turning into a pony, why are you so convinced that it was a delusion.”

“A couple of reasons. First of all, it behaved like my other delusions. It insulted me at every turn and brought up my past. It also showed knowledge of things I had only thought previously.”

Domenico was unconvinced, refusing to rush to rule out any possibility regarding the ponies. “I see,” he mused. “You appear to be quite sane—right now at least. Still, based on what you’ve told me, why should I trust you to be competent based on your past?”

Storm looked down and away. “That’s been a prejudice I’ve faced a lot over my life,” he said. “Ever since I was diagnosed with delusional disorder, everything I’ve said has been suspect. However, I think the change in species may have changed my brain too, curing me perhaps?”

“How so?” Domenico asked, skeptical.

“In addition to having delusions, I was also epileptic. However, ever since I started to change, the seizures have stopped completely. This has been an enormous relief,” Storm said.

Domenico sat down on the edge of the bed, crossed his ankles and brought his hands together. “So, you’re saying that you think your psychosis is in the past?”

“Essentially, yes,” Storm said. “At least I hope…” he added, forlorn.

“That doesn’t answer the big question, though,” Domenico stated. “Why are pretending to be this Storm Chaser?”

The pony’s expression took on a tinge of guilt. “When I finally accepted that I was a pony, I took wing. I didn’t know how to fly, really, but at that moment it was do or die. If I fell out of the sky, who knew what would happen to me. People probably saw me, but I didn’t care. I just needed to get out of the city. Somehow I did it. Then, wandering the countryside I met a pony named Jackie. She—well, she was a woman who had become a pegasus stallion.”

Dom blinked in surprise.

“So it is possible… continue.”

“I started traveling with her. We had no idea what we were doing in truth. We tried living off the land, raiding some farmhouses for food, doing whatever we could to survive. I’m not sure we would have managed if both of us weren’t pegasi. It helped a lot that we could sleep on clouds. The very physics of clouds seemed to be different for us. And out of necessity we became skilled flyers. We became confident—overconfident, rather. We snuck into the nearest town, hoping to scavenge some news about this pony phenomenon. However, rumors about us had started to circulate and the feds cornered us.”

“And you abandoned Jackie?” Domenico asked disdainfully.

Storm sighed. “I wish it was that easy. At least then this guilt would be understandable; at least then I would know I am lower than low and unworthy of companionship… No, we got away. But at that point, Jackie snapped. She couldn’t take it anymore. The uncertainty, the barely managing to get by, the hunger. She surrendered herself to them.”

“I think I may now understand where you are coming from,” Dom said. “You don’t want to repeat that experience with these companions?”

“Precisely! Though that is getting a bit ahead of things. When I lost Jackie I decided that if submitting to reality meant giving in, then I wanted no part in that reality. If her decision was sane,why I would rather be insane. So I made a decision then and there to live as the heroic stallion of legend. If I fail so be it, but if I succeed maybe I could do the impossible and thrive. And when I made that decision”—Storm gestured to the marks on his flank—”I earned these.”

Domenico examined the pattern once more. They were like a strange tattoo on his fur, depicting a cannonball tearing through the top of a windmill.

“I nearly killed myself in the process, but I developed my flying prowess by flying to the peak of Mount Ebrus in the freezing cold. I learned my magical abilities by careful study of Jackie’s book. And well, then I met Lynne and Xavier. And I vowed to myself that I wouldn’t let them give up like Jackie did.”

Domenico scowled. “I can understand if you wanted them to think you are the real Storm Chaser. That would certainly help them feel safer. But why didn’t you throw out the book that casts doubts on your identity? I don’t get that at all.”

Storm nodded. “I’ve been wondering that myself. Part of it is guilt I suppose. I feel bad for deceiving them.”

“Then what’s the point?” Domenico asked, genuinely puzzled. “After all, none of them believe you are the real Storm Chaser anymore, so why persist?”

“The difference,” Storm explained, “is that they believe I believe I’m the real Storm Chaser.”

Domenico raised a brow. “I’m not sure I understand.”

Storm nodded knowingly. “They believe I’m actually completely bonkers, and that’s what I want! If they think I’m crazy enough, they’ll believe that I’m truly as confident as I appear. They may think I’m delusional, but they’ve come to rely on my confidence to face the rough road ahead. If I can serve as a paragon of bravery to allay their fears, then that is enough. If even part of them buys into my false confidence, maybe they can persevere where Jackie could not.”

What a crazy idea! Dom thought. I suppose I should expect nothing less from him. Still, it may be working, since his reckless regard for danger has gotten them results.

Storm apparently didn’t know what to make of the silence, so he built on his explanation. “In short, the last thing I want them to believe is that I’m actually as uncertain and afraid of this situation as they are.”

Domenico intuitively understoodwhat the stallion was saying, far better than he thought he would.

I suppose I’m like him in a way, Dom mused. I’m putting on a performance as a hardened mobster, trying to hide from them that I’m actually uncertain and out of my element…No, I can’t show weakness now.

“I think I get it,” Dom said. “What about the captive pegasus?”

“What’s complicated about that? I want to save her.”

“Are you a fool? You do realize how many things could go wrong with this, right?”

“I don’t care,” Storm said dismissively. “I’ve worried all my life about what might go wrong and been crippled by fear. For once I want to do what’s right.”

Dom felt the idea resonate with him faintly, but he pushed it aside and said softly, “I suppose it’s no more foolish than me tagging along to save Diego…”

“If you’ll help us, I don’t care if your reasons are personal. Just make sure the mare comes first. That’s all I ask.”

“Nils,” Domenico said hesitantly. Storm practically flinched at the address. “Can I trust that you are sane?”

“I—I think so…” the pony said.

“Well, if we’re going to do this we’re going to need a plan. You’re the one who scouted the facility, so I would like to ask your help in mapping things out.”

Storm laughed haughtily. “Very well, Sir Domenico. I shall gladly assist you with my honed military intellect. They won’t know what hit them!”

Domenico rolled his eyes.

“Incidentally, I am very impressed by your English!” Storm added. “Forgive me for underestimating you, but I didn’t think your vocabulary would be so broad as to include words such as psychosis.”

The mafia heir scratched his head. He could get by with his English, but surely it wasn’t so good to warrant praise.

He felt a chill.

Wait a minute. Did I ever learn such a word?

Come to think of it, the conversation had flowed effortlessly despite him working in a foreign language. Surely these few days hadn’t been enough practice to take him to the next level of comprehension.

It unnerved him.

When the day came, everyone was silent, a shared anxiety linking them. Storm put on a brave front, and if Dom didn’t know what to look for, it would have fooled him completely. They awoke at the crack of dawn and filed into Domenico’s car. He’d had to take the back seat out to make room for four—no, five ponies. Despite his offer, nopony had volunteered to be stuffed into the trunk.

Channeling Giovanni, he triple-checked everything. He had his gas mask, three loaded guns, and—well, that was it. The plan was stupidly simple—far too simple for his liking. Essentially, it would start with Storm grabbing the monster’s attention; then they would break in, grab the mare while she was being escorted back to her cell and get out.

Dom thought they had better than a fifty-fifty shot. He would have never agreed otherwise. Still, he tried his best to think of any refinements as he drove for hours along the rural road. Traffic was light, but he still checked the expressions of those driving by him for any sign of alarm. He had covered his rear windows with blankets, tarps and whatever he could find. Still he had forgotten to obscure his own view to the back seat and the ponies. He was fairly confident nobody driving by would be able to spot them unless they were looking for them. Still, he considered it a dumb oversight. Or, perhaps, he just wanted to keep an eye on them.

Glancing back they were all hugging the ground on either side of the open space. Taylor and Lynne were curled together on one side, while Xavier and Storm were rear-to-rear on the other end. Something had clearly happened between Taylor and Lynne, but whatever conspiracy there was between two so recently acquainted could wait.

He stiffened his body and focused on the road ahead of him. They had prepared as well as they could. This was his first true chance to strike a blow against the enemy he barely understood. It was more than that, actually. Diego was suffering, a slave of the mions. On his honor he could not allow this to stand.

Still he failed to rationalize his fear. Was it fear of death?

No, I walked into that restaurant prepared to die, so what—what is it?

He looked back.

They’re all expendable, so that can’t be it… I suppose what I’m afraid of is ending up like Diego. Yes, that has to be it.

Giovanni had confirmed from practical experience that his pegasus partner, Yuki, was immune to the corrupting gas. That left him, the only human, as the only one at risk.

He paused.

That’s a strange thought. There’s actually another advantage to being a pony. I suppose I’d rather be a pony than lose my mind, but they’d never let me live it down.

He’d make a ridiculous pony that’s for sure. Then again, none of the others, save maybe Lynne, were particularly good at being ponies.

He silently chuckled.

At least I’d make a better pony than Giovanni, he thought, imagining a well-kempt, mustached stallion.

These were strange thoughts, though he supposed they made some sense given he was the odd-one-out when strategizing for a mostly pony party.

At Storm’s signal, he steered off the road and started to drive along an uneven slope. After about two minutes, Storm indicated for him to turn, and he parked just outside a thick patch of woods. It was the perfect spot, relatively out of sight and close to their final destination.

Domenico stepped out and opened the right rear door. Four furry ponies jumped out one-by-one and followed him to the edge of the woods. Dom pocketed his guns and strapped on his gas mask.

“We’re really going to do this?” Taylor asked.

“Of course,” Dom said, “it’s too late to back out.”

“No, the other thing!” Taylor said, impatient.

“Oh, that?” Dom said, shrugging. “There’s no other way around it. I’m not able to keep up with you guys otherwise…”

“You riding me, though? Come on! I mean I’m half your size almost. Your feet can practically touch the ground…”

Dom didn’t answer his complaints. Despite his protests, Taylor had actually proven consistently to be the strongest among the ponies. Quick tests had also confirmed that he could manage a full gallop while carrying Dom.

“I still don’t get why you have to ride me on the way there. Can’t we just walk?”

Storm shook his head. “Nay, Dearest Taylor. It is prudent that we master the conditions under which we are escaping. If you are unaccustomed to carrying Domenico through the forest, it could hinder our escape. Besides, if you are unable to perform the feat, it is critical that we learn this now.”

Taylor looked down, defeated. “I still can’t believe I’m agreeing to this…”

Lynne leaned into Taylor. “It’ll be fine, Taylor, I know you can do it. It’s what we’ve prepared for, Just think: we’ll be able to do some real, tangible good today. Imagine how that pony will feel when we’ve rescued her.”

“I hope you’re right,” Taylor muttered as Dom mounted him. The mare grunted, but gradually grew accustomed to the weight.

The group exchanged silent assent and they began to put the plan into action. Storm took the lead, having memorized a path through the woods. Dom had his legs pulled up to avoid them dragging. He had to duck frequently as they weaved their way through a thicket of trees and bushes at full gallop. This was only possible due to Storm’s route, but still the ponies had practiced reflex training in the woods near the cabin in order to make this feat possible. It was a circuitous path, but amazingly, it only took them ten minutes to reach the outskirts of the manor. It was a two storey wood building and had an aged aesthetic to it. It was painted white and had pale purple shingles.

“Here we are,” Dom said hesitantly while dismounting Taylor. The mare looked at him as if violated, and he had to stop himself from reflexively whispering an apology.

“Now, we wait,” Storm declared.

Having nothing else to do, Dom scanned the fence. Crouching he followed the perimeter of the fence until he found what he was looking for. The iron-wrought fence was quite old and rusted in places. However, one section looked considerably weaker than the rest. Finding it, he gestured to Xavier.

“How about it, Xavier? Do you think you can blow it up?”

“Piece of cake,” the unicorn replied.

“Where’d you learn that idiom?” Dom asked.

“What idiom?”

“Nothing,” Dom replied, at once intrigued and disturbed. Xavier normally didn’t have the English ability for such idioms.

Turning his attention back to the task at hand, Dom was concerned about this part of the plan. Although this was certainly the weakest part of the perimeter, Xavier’s magic was rather unreliable. From what he had seen, the unicorn would channel his rage and create an explosion. It was powerful, but it would still backfire with some regularity, leaving the unicorn with a soot-covered face. Lynne on the other hand, was far more consistent, but her levitation was limited in its application.

As they waited, Dom ran through several scenarios in his head. Storm had estimated that, including the monster-man from before, there were sixteen mions in the manor. From what the pegasus scout had seen, all of them had red skin pigmentation. Dom saw this as fortunate, as there would be less reluctance to kill, both for the ponies and for himself. He still doubted if he could bring himself to pull the trigger on Diego, but he had hopes that Diego’s inhuman complexion would make it easier.

Finally, after about forty minutes, he saw Diego exit the manor with the pony on a leash. He was flanked by the rancher imposter and four mions. As predicted, the pegasus made ill-fated attempts at flying, hitting the ground each time. Each time, she failed, she earned more abuse from her captors. It was hard to watch, so he tore his eyes away from the scene. Unlike the ponies, he was prepared to abort the mission at any time, so he couldn’t afford any sympathy for the mare. Instead he looked to the ponies, whose eyes were wide with empathy. Lynne and Xavier had looks of remembered horror mixed with righteous indignation. Taylor, meanwhile was just stunned.

“Dang,” Taylor said as the captive mare started bleeding from re-opened wounds.. “I didn’t think it would be this bad.”

Dom nodded. It would be for the best for Taylor to be fully onboard with what they were about to do. Any hesitation could very well cost them.

Storm was grinding his teeth and started to hover nervously. Dom pushed him down to the ground and shook his head.

“Perfect, Xavier said. “Our big problem has left the group.”

Dom shut his left eye to shield himself the mare’s torment and followed by eye the short, red-skinned monster of a man. When he had shut the door, he turned to Xavier.

“I’ll ask again: think you can do this?”

“Damn right I can,” Xavier replied, trying his best to make his girlish voice sound as not cute as possible. He wasn’t very successful, but Dom still felt his determination come through.

“Remember,” the mafioso announced, “if you can’t do this we abort mission and try again tomorrow.” He eyed Storm as he said this. Murmured assent spread through the group.

With a deep breath Xavier gritted his teeth and focused intensely on the fence. An orange aura started building up around his horn, growing brighter and brighter. An almost comical expression of determination formed on the unicorn’s face as if every muscle thereupon was willing the fence to blow. Finally, the aura swelled in size and the other ponies and human ducked. With a bang the rusted segment exploded away from them as small pieces of scorched metal scattered on their side of the fence.

Domenico quickly examined the hole and found it perfectly suited to their purposes. He could comfortably gallop through while riding Taylor with room to spare. Following this cursory examination, he nodded to Storm who saluted and took off through the gap. The pegasus flew up to the second storey and crashed through a bedroom window. From what Storm had observed, it was where the mion leader’s routine would take him after menacing the mare. Storm avoided a spine as he flew backwards out the window and did a backflip—the signal.

Taking a deep breath, Dom ran at a full sprint behind the three trotting ponies. When they reached the manor home, Taylor turned around and bucked the large living room window full-force. Taylor had practiced by bucking trees near the cabin, and the experience had taught them that the earth pony’s kicks were in fact quite powerful. This time, too, they were not disappointed as Taylor’s blow to the window succeeded in knocking it inward, frame and all.

With zero hesitation, the four of them jumped through the newly-created entrance, side-stepping shards of broken glass. Immediately they came upon a pair of mions rushing into the sitting room to confront them. Domenico drew his weapon as quickly as he could, but still one of the mions was faster. Identifying the human of the group as the biggest threat, the gun was pointed straight at him. Trusting the plan, Dom continued to raise his weapon at the armed mion. Lynne’s magical aura then appeared, jerking the enemy’s weapon towards the ceiling just as it fired. Seizing his chance, Dom shot their adversary right between the eyes, dropping him.

Meanwhile Xavier had ignited an explosion near the other mion’s face. Although not lethal, it caused the man to stagger backwards. Taylor then turned and bucked the mion full-force in the chest, cracking ribs. Without breaking stride, Dom shot the remaining mion in the head.

Silence prevailed for a tense moment. Intermittently, Dom could hear the sounds of fighting upstairs. Glass was breaking, furniture was smashed and a primal roar was let loose. He couldn’t spare a thought for the stallion duelist though, as five mions flooded into the ornate dining room they were in. Lynne’s eyes bulged in intense concentration as Lynne grabbed a pair of enemy guns simultaneously. They floated upwards slightly, and the enemy braced themselves to try and bring them down. Eventually, their physical strength prevailed over the pony’s magical force, but the mare didn’t give up. As the enemy fired, she jerked their weapons to the side, causing them to miss badly.

The remaining three mions didn’t wait around, though. Taking advantage of the narrow quarters a particularly bulky mion grabbed one of the two joined dining room tables and flung it across the room. Dom had to make a lightning fast calculation—he was near the corner he could avoid it; the ponies would have to retreat.

Shit! He thought as realization dawned. What if the table blocks their way?

There was no getting around it, this was a gaping hole in his analysis. Swallowing hard as the table continued hurtling through the air, he resolved to follow his plan, sidestepping and shooting the two armed mions. He got only one of them in the head, but both of them dropped to the ground.

Observing the table through the corner of his eye, he saw Lynne’s magical aura envelop it. The table seemed to slow in midair. Then, a determined look flashed across Taylor’s face and the mare jumped, rotated in mid-air and repelled the projectile with a mighty dual-hoof impact. The wood table creaked and splintered as its momentum reversed before dropping on top of its earthbound twin with a crash.

Unfortunately, Taylor’s landing was much less athletic than the move, and the pony landed on his back. Dom urged himself to take advantage of the opening Taylor created. Trigger finger trembling, he rushed and shot over the remaining mions’ heads.

The mion closest to Dom then grabbed a hefty piece of fractured wood and charged straight at the young man. Dom froze momentarily, but in that short timespan Xavier detonated the chair leg in the charging man’s arms. Still, the mion continued pressing forward, and Dom had to duck to avoid a savage left hook and awkwardly drop to the ground and roll away to cause a strong kick to miss. Fortunately, Taylor had righted himself and headbutted the enemy at a full gallop, repelling him. Without bothering to pick up his dropped pistol Dom drew a backup weapon and gunned down the remaining foes while Lynne aimed their guns at the ceiling.

“Go!” Dom commanded, and the group galloped to the next room. It was a spacious foyer with ascending and descending sets of stairs. Immediately, Dom spied two mions running up the stairs. This time his aim was true and he effortlessly dispatched the two enemies. Then, through the void of silence left by the gunshots, he briefly heard some panicked neighing coming from the basement.

And I just blocked the stairs with corpses. Shit! Domenico thought.

Many sets of feet could then be heard trampling down the stairs. Mion reinforcements were coming down fast. Thinking quickly, Dom started to call out an order. “Xavier!” However, the unicorn had already had the same idea, as a thick orange aura surrounded his horn. It spun loose from the horn as if flung and hurtled through the railing of the stairs above before exploding. Fragments of a wall rained down on the stairs and piled up into a rubble roadblock. Nodding his approval, Dom returned to the problem at hand.

Looking down the stairs and towards his goal, he grabbed the first corpse by the ankles and started pulling it from the descending stairwell. With hesitation the unicorns joined in by biting down on the fallen mion’s legs and pulling upward. With each tug Domenico felt their precious time tick away as he heard the enemy above trying to smash their way through the barricade. The mion was heavy and the three of them had to synchronize their pulling in order to heave it up the stairs. Momentary stress flashed through Domenico as he anticipated repeating the task with the other body. However, as soon as they had pulled the first corpse off the stairs, Taylor quickly trotted down the stairs, pulled the other corpse on his back and dropped it off at the base of the other set of stairs.

Dom was tempted to kick himself for not letting the earth pony take the lead, but he had no time for regrets and took the lead down the stairs. He scampered down the narrow stairwell, which turned sharply at the bottom. Immediately he was confronted by an animal musk as he turned to see a modified wine cellar. First, he noticed a quickly improvised holding area apparently created by welding bars and a gate onto the two-meter tall ceiling. Then, concurrent with a rapid shock that convulsed through his entire being, he noticed his mark. Diego looked almost exactly as Dom had last seen him—brown coat, hair combed the same sleek way, mischievous complexion. However, the bright red skin and the blank expressionless eyes betrayed the fact that the friend he had once known was long gone.

He had imagined this moment poetically when he had drawn his plans up: Diego would go out with a fight, requiring all four of them to subdue after a lengthy struggle. Then Dom would lament the tragic circumstances aloud before announcing poignantly, “Now I give you peace, Diego.”

Reality, however, failed to live up to such lofty dramatic standards. Recognizing the immediate threat that the changed man now represented, Domenico simply fired repeatedly, aiming for the head. He only offered a silent apology as the unarmed mion fell to the ground dead. His goal achieved, it was only then that Dom noticed the trembling pegasus mare.

She was smaller than any of the ponies in Dom’s party with a tropical orange coat. Her mane and tail were a mixture of bright red, lime green and banana yellow. It was as if these bright colors were declaring war on their dreary surroundings.

The mare was trembling, and she crouched to make herself smaller, ears drooping.

“Come on! We’re here to rescue you,” Dom said.

The pegasus’s scared complexion only took on an added contour of confusion.

Impatient Dom tried different languages.

“Come on! We need to go. ¡Vamanos! Allons-y!”

The pegasus scanned the ponies in his party as the remainder of the group touched down on the cellar floor. At first the pony looked reassured; then she looked heartbroken. Finally she nodded.

“Oui…”

Clearly the pony wasn’t grasping how much of a rush they were in, so Dom ran up to the mare and picked her up before directing his group back of the stairs. He heard a steady hammering; then, there was a crash and their rubble blockade burst. Some of the mions drew guns.

“Lynne!”

With his warning the unicorn knew exactly what to look for as the half-dozen mions came into her field of view. In a rush, she jerked their guns to the side with such force that they came loose of their lax grips. Shocked by her success, Lynne allowed the guns to drop to the base of the stairs.

‘Good enough!” Dom shouted as Xavier directed a quick explosion at the center of the enemy group.

They reached the front door. Dom fumbled with the lock for a few seconds before hearing Taylor running behind him. He dodged with a second to spare, and the earth pony pounded the door full-force with his front hooves, knocking it out of its frame. Holding the heavy pony like a football as he scrambled out the door, Dom realized he couldn’t go on like this. “You’re going to have to run on your own,” he said, dropping the pegasus. Fortunately she seemed to understand and ran with the pack as soon as she was free.

He started to loop back towards the rusted gate as planned, but then Storm called, “To the West! They have the East blocked off!

“What!?”

“West! West!” Stormed repeated.

“Fuck,” Dom swore. He wanted to keep to the plan so badly that he almost considered that the pegasus was lying. This was a possibility he quickly dismissed, however, so they kept to a straight path away from the busted door. Up ahead, another iron gate came into view. He could hear the mions’ footsteps close behind them.

“Xavier,” Dom said, “it’s all up to you.”

“Right,” Xavier squeaked, as once more an orange aura enveloped his horn. It swelled and swirled before bursting into a cloud of smoke. Xavier coughed and gagged and began to slow. Instinctively, the entire group slowed to accommodate the mare.

Gunfire started whizzing by them.

“Xavier! Again!” Dom ordered.

“I c—c-can’t,” Xavier coughed.

“You have to!”

Xaviers horn glowed again before immediately fizzling out.

“It’s either you blow up the gate or we all die!” Dom warned grimly, as he looked back.

Storm had begun to circle around the south side of the manor, bringing the spined monster and three mions on his tail.

“To the North then!” Storm shouted, broadcasting their next move to the small mion army.

“There’s no gate on the North side!”

“Then why the fuck did you say West originally?” Dom said, furious. They were clearly going to die, so he felt no need to hold back.

“The backup route,” Lynne said reminding him. “It must be the backup path Storm said he memorized another way. But if Xavier can’t get the gate it’s no good.”

“Fuck!” Dom repeated. “No way around it then, it’s North or die.”

“Wait!” Taylor shouted, looking nervous. Swallowing, he whispered to nobody in particular, “please work…”

Taylor stopped on a dime and reared before slamming the ground with his front hooves. The ground shook and Dom felt a shockwave rumbling under their feet. It travelled at a rapid speed underneath the surface of the earth, appearing as a large molehill speeding headlong towards the gate, tearing up the soil as it traveled. Reaching the gate, it sprung upwards with a bang, as if it were a landmine. Reeling from the great impetus, the gate warped upwards creating a small gap.

Taylor shook his head in disbelief.

“I’ll be damned. That part of the book wasn’t fiction.”

“You did it!” Lynne cried, hugging Taylor as they ran.

“A fluke…” Taylor replied.

“You can congratulate each other later. Let’s go!”

Dom nodded in agreement with Xavier. Meanwhile, the pegasus mare didn’t say a word.

One -by-one the ponies ducked beneath the fence and pushed their way through. When it was his turn, Dom froze in disbelief. Unthinkingly, he gestured for the pegasus mare to follow the herd. Watching her, he pondered his fate.

I guess they’re leaving me behind. It’s no surprise; I can’t fit under there, so they may as well save themselves. I’ve no regrets I’ve accomplished what I set out to do.

A gunshot grazed his arm.

This was the end. It was either fight and die or try to escape in vain. He glanced at Storm flying high above and chose the latter. What good was bravado anyway? Moving to an unmangled area of fence he tried to pull himself up and over. The fence was taller than he was and it was tipped at the top, so there was no chance. Still, he tried to pull himself up and over it, but it wasn’t to be.

He felt a pair of hooves pulling on his shoulders. Storm was hovering above him and pulling as hard as he possibly could. Realizing the possibilities of their combined strength, Dom once more started to pull himself up, and together the two of them tumbled over the top of the fence.

“Good thinking, Sir Domenico. I couldn’t have lifted you on my own,” Storm said.

Dom was silent and he turned to the four mares who were waiting for them. With a sigh Taylor lowered his muzzle to the ground, and Dom mounted him once more.

“I know the way,” Storm said. “Onwards everypony!”

Once more, they followed Storm through a maze of trees, bushes, brush and bramble. Despite his efforts at avoiding branches and thorns, Dom added many further scrapes and scratches to those inflicted by his fall over the pointed gate. This second trek was even more lengthy than the first, or perhaps it was only his perception of time that had shifted. In any case, the whole while Dom was tormented by the imagined sounds of pursuit. The steady hoofbeats did well to drown out extra noise, but every rustling of the leaves still put him on high alert.

Upon reaching a wide stump, Storm flapped his wings and sat down on it, inviting the others to join him.

“I’m almost positive we’ve lost them,” he whispered tensely.

“I would hope so,” Taylor snarked. “I’d be hardpressed to tell you which way we wound up going after all of that.”

Catching his breath, Storm walked to a pair of trees and peered between them.

“For this next part, I’m going to have to ask you to trust me.”

Lynne gave a measured nod.

“What do you mean?” Taylor asked.

That is not good, Dom thought.

Taylor’s curiosity got the best of him and he joined Storm at what he quickly discovered to be the edge of the woods.

“Hang on! Aren’t we—”

“Just North of where we were? That is indeed the case.”

“I see,” Dom said, mused. “We were going to have to loop back to the car regardless.”

“I get that, but wait a second!” Taylor demanded. “There has to be another way around.”

Storm shook his head. For the first time Dom noticed a shallow cut directly underneath the stallion’s right eye.

“If we go any further North, we will reach a well-traveled highway. We can’t afford to be seen—at least not by that many. Besides, if we take too long, they will discover the car, and we’ll be stranded.”

We? Dom thought. You’re the one who can always escape on your own.

Still, he and the others sided with Storm. Casually, he looked on the mare they had rescued. Meeting his gaze, she seemed to shrink away. Upon pressing his masked face closer, the mare was actually starting to tremble.

Does she even understand that we’re rescuing her? You’d think other ponies would comfort her.

Eventually, the clear consensus was to go, so they dashed across the open area at a brisk pace Domenico could keep up with. Even still, the mare lagged behind. They took cover behind trees when possible, but they were inevitably exposed for long seconds at a time. The old chateau loomed large, a constant reminder of the real peril they were in. No matter how well-controlled, the beat of hooves was too loud. His own panting too was far too loud and threatened to expose them.

Still, after about two minutes Domenico started to feel safe. He started thinking the bold gambit had worked. Then—

“Quickly, take cover!” Storm ordered, flying up into a large tree.

Dom didn’t even see the threat, but he obeyed nonetheless, taking a few steps back to hide behind a skinny tree.

Xavier and Lynne huddled together under the tree Storm had taken refuge in, while Taylor pulled the mare of unknown identity behind a large rock. He started to doubt Storm, but then he saw the tiny outline of a man approaching. Deep red, leathery skin, spines tearing his mud-matted fine clothes.

A tense minute passed as he grew ever closer.

“Come out. Come out,” the man repeated, desperate.

Dom was strangely calm,despite adrenaline coursing through his system. His life was but a whisker away from being snuffed out. Objectively, fighting should have been an option, but somehow he doubted bullets would work against a monster of this nature. Still, Dom’s body primed itself, ready to take action. Truthfully, he expected himself to be more terrified than he was, but he supposed he was grateful he retained his logic. Currently, hiding had the best probability of success.

He looked above and saw Storm starting to gather clouds just in case they might need them. At first he reasoned that Storm could reprise his role as a diversion, but he quivered upon realizing how easily it could be assumed that the group was together.

Dammit Storm.

There was no way around it now. He would have to hope that the monster wouldn’t look up.

Fortunately, as if coming to the same realization the pegasus slowly slid downwards and slipped into the tree without making a sound.

Thinking as fast as he could, Dom scanned the area for anything that could give them away. Naturally, his first suspicion was on the mare. However, she was silently cowering, muddy hooves glued to the ground.

Wait! Mud!? NO!

Sure enough, Dom spied a patch of mud just a few meters away from where Taylor was hidden, a cluster of hoofprints clearly visible. Thinking quickly, he waited anxiously for Lynne to meet his gaze. It took her only a few seconds, but it felt like each beat extracted a blood price. When he had her attention, he pointed, and she nearly gasped. Concocting her own scheme, she used her magic to pull on Taylor’s tail. The earth mare winced and looked at Lynne confusedly. Lynne returned a serious expression as she gradually swept Taylor’s tail against the muddy pegasus’s hooves. Taylor gave a wordless gasp. Lynne then crinked his tail a bit and pointed towards the mud puddle, nodding at him.

It took Dom a second to comprehend. He loathed to rely on such an unpredictable variable but it seemed like their best chance if it was out of Lynne’s range.

However, they had little time to plan as their pursuer inched closer. He had his nose to the ground like a bloodhound though his body contorted to remain balanced on two legs.

Levitating a medium-sized rock, Lynne tossed it at another rock a small distance away to simulate the sound of movement. Momentarily distracted, the mion spun around and started to jog in the direction of the noise. Taylor seized the opportunity and lightly pounded the earth. It was far too loud, Dom thought. The mud puddle bubbled and slopped like a shaken pot, erasing the crowded hoof tracks.

However, the mion immediately turned around. Even more suspicious, he approached the unicorns’ hiding place. He sniffed once and roused himself at the smell of horse.

Fuck!

“Take this, FOUL ONE!” Storm shouted, pounding on one of his clouds to let loose a lightning shock.

The mion was caught unaware, and the high voltage momentarily stunned him.

There’s no time! We… Lightning, tree... That’s it! The tree!

Abandoning all hope of hiding, Dom started to bark out orders.

“Xavier, blast the tree!”

Lynne dodged out of the way, and the other mare obeyed his command, charring the tree trunk with a loud pop.

“Lynne, hold him in place with your magic!”

Lynne’s horn glowed, and the enemy struggled momentarily against Lynne’s magical shackles before succeeding in moving his feet for the first time.

“Taylor!”

“I gotcha!” the pony shouted, bursting from his hiding place.

In a single gallop, he took position behind the tree and bucked it with all his might. The tree creaked and swayed before tumbling under its own overwhelming gravity with an almighty crash. The mion was squished like a bug, the cracking of spines standing in for the crunching of an exoskeleton.

He didn’t need to order it, and within seconds of their triumph they were running behind Storm. He momentarily thought the orange mare had slipped away, but she caught up to them in no time.

“Onward, Everypony!” Storm shouted, diving into the forest. Taylor and Xavier followed him.

“Ow—oww!” Lynne cried, tripping over a rock. She righted herself and tried to run again, but just as quickly she stumbled again. Meanwhile, A horde of mions appeared, closing the distance fast. Without hesitation, Dom doubled back and threw the unicorn mare over his shoulders, bullets whizzing by as he did so.

In this type of situation, the mare’s weight was an immense burden, but through sheer willpower Dom pushed himself to keep up with the ponies. He was panting heavily even as he entered the eastern forest, ducking under thick branches. His lungs felt they would burst any second, and he imagined a particularly sharp branch might even be able to pierce them.

Mercifully, this third trek through the forest was the shortest yet. The downside of this was that the mions were able to more easily track them. With just enough time to spare, Dom unlocked the car, threw Lynne in the back seat and started the car, trusting the other ponies would get in themselves. He floored it, not even looking back when gunshots pierced the rear windows.

Delvaux sat in a stiff, purple armchair, freshly bathed and awaiting his sentence. At his side was Diego, whom, through their incomprehensible new biology, he was able to resurrect by sacrificing his remaining mions. It made sense: he was fond of his new manservant, while the other mions had failed him utterly.

Speaking of utter failures... said a woman’s voice in his head.

“Who—who the hell are you?” Delvaux asked fearfullly.

Are you truly too feeble-minded to remember? She asked. It wouldn’t surprise me.

“Wait! You were the one who converted me that night. What are you doing in my head? Where’s the Herald?”

An utterly insignificant insect such as yourself no longer has any right to demand a god’s attention. As your overseer, I have been given responsibility for your punishment. Allowing the mafia boy to escape, letting our pony be stolen from under your nose, wasting our resources to resurrect a mere servant. Clearly, your incompetence leaves a lot to atone for. I thus, revoke the blessing.

Whereas, succumbing to the mion plague had been an agony, being severed from it was on another level. Delvaux screamed incessantly at the top of his lungs as his mind was purged of billions of threads uniting him to the hivemind. As each was painfully ripped away, some of his sanity came loose. In his mind, he cursed the woman with every profanity he could muster. Gradually, sentences became words, words became syllables, syllables became thoughts, and thoughts gave way to pure, animalistic emotion. When she was done with him, only instinct remained. Her psychic attack had rotted away all of his superior cognitive faculties, leaving only the brainstem fully intact.

The shell that had once been known as Delvaux drooled, forevermore oblivious to what had just happened to him.

Take him away, the overseer commanded in Diego’s head. He will make good fodder for our weapons tests.

Diego nodded and obeyed.

Invisible, Discord appeared and wrapped himself around the shell.

“Well, well, well,” he said, mischievously rubbing his claws together. “What have we here?”

He magicked himself into a gardener’s outfit and slightly pulled down the former dignitary’s trousers. Digging slightly with his trowel, he planted a seed near the man’s tailbone and examined the spot with a magnifying glass. Squinting he could barely make out a single bronze hair.

“It’s a girl,” Discord chuckled.

“Now, now,” he said, putting his claw under the oblivious man’s chin. “Don’t think Uncle Discord’s going to leave you out cold and alone in this cruel world. You’re special, my little pony. In fact, one might even say that you will be reborn under a lucky star...”

Laughing, Discord disappeared, leaving the mion and former mion none-the-wiser to his presence.

Author's Note

Whew. Again, an action chapter. I definitely would appreciate any constructive criticism regarding the pacing or anything else.

Two things I should note:

I do eventually plan to ponify some stallions. It just so happens that I ended up doing all the mares up front.

I'm not going for a redemption arc with Delvaux.

12: Unicorn

The olive-skinned youth sat perched on the massive bed, looking down on the tiny mare as if appraising her worth. His gaze bore through Alaine, broadcasting frequencies of fear into her. Despite his slight built, her reduced size made him much more intimidating by default. The suspicion in his human eyes cast a spell of regret on her, a reminder of what she had lost. What’s more, these were a killer’s eyes.

Although her mion caretaker’s kindness was a falsehood, she had grown somewhat attached to the brown-coated man. Having him coldly dispatched in front of her had been traumatizing, and she was still processing what had been a flurry of panic and confusion for her. It was all she could do to patiently answer his questions and hopefully discover what he wanted of her.

Still, it was not he who she feared the most. Instead, it was the ponies on the other side of the door that she truly dreaded facing. They had presumably saved her out of empathy for her situation, not knowing it was she who had been behind their previous kidnapping. As only the man in front of her spoke any French, she took temporary refuge in the language barrier. Still, their previous interactions with her were already more than she could handle.

The man cleared his throat finally ready to speak. Besides curt commands to follow him, he had yet to communicate with her.

“I suppose you want to know why you are here?”

She nodded tentatively.

“In truth, there’s not much to tell. My pegasus scout reported your suffering, and the ponies here wanted to save you.”

It was as she had thought, yet the words still stung her with guilt. It pulsed through her, manifesting in a quivering of her wings.

“I, however, am different,” he declared. “What I seek is information about your captors. To start, do you know why they were holding you?”

“I—I’m not sure. They kept asking me about magic and some sort of ‘Equestria.’ They wanted information on the stallion in your group—I mean, ‘the green stallion.’ I had no idea what they were talking about until you guys appeared.” She took a deep breath. It was far too early for her to slip up.

The man nodded, inscrutable. “I suppose I should start earlier. How were you captured?”

Alaine had to think quickly. He couldn’t let him know that she was targeted as a loose end.

“As I’m sure you already suspect, I was human like you before I turned into this.”

The man showed no surprise, but nodded for her to continue anyway.

“At first the tail appeared, then the ears, and I gradually shrunk and grew fur until I became like this.”

“Yes, this matches up with what I already know. Tell me: were you by chance male before you transformed?”

Shit! How does he know?

“N—no.” She caught herself and said more forcefully, “No.”

“I see. Good for you.” He paused for a moment before realizing his question would be seen as cryptic. “We don’t understand why it happens, but sometimes the pony transformation includes a change of sex. That was the case for two of the mares in our group.”

Curiosity nagged Alaine. It shouldn’t have mattered, but were the two she held prisoner transformed in this way? If so, the added humiliation factor piled onto the enormity of his crime.

“Tell me: did a book appear near you?”

“Pardon?” Alaine asked.

“A book about Equestria—a book about ponies.”

Alaine shook her head, his clarification had done nothing to help her understand. Realizing the man wanted a direct answer, she finally said, “No, I don’t think so.”

“Then why did they think you had any special knowledge…” the man mused.

“I’m sorry. I just don’t know,” Alaine said placatingly. “I wish I had more to tell you about them. The short one seemed to be the leader… sometimes spikes sprouted from his skin. The one with the brown coat was ordered to be kind to me, though he almost never spoke. Others were different…”

Alaine once more held her tongue. She had to feign ignorance of the red-skinned humanoids. She couldn’t let him deduce that her former companions were turned into monsters since logically there was no way she should be sure that they were former humans.

The youth read her emotions surprisingly accurately.

“I see. I’m sorry for dispatching the brown-coated man in cold blood in front of you. Even if he was your jailer, it must have been tough on you. In truth, he was one of my men, Diego, but he was captured and corrupted into a mion—one of them. I—I didn’t want him to live like that any longer.”

From there, their roles in the interrogation reversed somewhat, as the man, who introduced himself as Domenico, explained what little he knew of the mion threat. It disturbed her how little they knew of them, considering how menacing they were.

“So the question remains,” Domenico started hesitantly, “do you want to stay with us?”

The question carved out an anxious rift between them.

“Pardon?”

“If you don’t mind the cramped quarters, it won’t strain our resources too much to take in one more pony. We’re currently hiding from the mions, who still may be searching for me—all of us in fact. I don’t know what our ultimate goal will be, but I intend to strike out against these twisted monsters. We may be able to protect you somewhat, but don’t get me wrong: you will have to pull your own weight.”

“What good am I?” Alaine asked, giving words to deeply held emotional scars.

“For starters, you will need to learn how to fly.”

Alaine trembled.

“Whatever mental block or reservations you may have about this you will have to get over them. Your potential to fly is the one thing that makes you valuable to us. So I ask again: will you join us?”

Alaine’s ears drooped, her eyes fell to the floor and her wings quivered. “I guess so…”

“Good,” Domenico said sonorously.

“I mean, what other choice did I have?”

Domenico smiled ominously. “There was none; you would be too much of a loose end.”

Is that still all I am? Alaine thought. I don’t like this man…

“Come,” he commanded. “The others need to meet you.”

“Wait, there’s one more thing,” Alaine meekly voiced.

“Hmm?”

“What was that language you were speaking to one another. It sounded like nothing I’ve ever heard.”

Domenico’s eyes went wide. As he paused in thought and recalled what she could be referring to, pieces quickly snapped together. When he had finished his mouth went agape.

“No way…”

Alaine crept a little closer to the bed to inspect him more closely.

“Thank you,” Domenico said cryptically. And just as quickly he gestured her out the door.

She walked to the hearth and slowly the three mares filed out of the other bedroom, invading her personal space from every angle as they each curled up beside her in turn. Thankfully, the stallion was not among them. When he arrived, he stood watchfully at Domenico’s side. The young man played translator as the other ponies asked Alaine about herself.

Naturally, she begun to spin an elaborate fiction. She became Alaine Poirier. She was twenty-two years old. Given her lack of skill at life, that fact might be more believable than her true age. She considered giving herself a child or two to arouse sympathy, but she couldn’t bring herself to brave such a monumental lie. Instead, when asked, she claimed to have a boyfriend of two years.

That part of her story sickened her. The implication that she had had sex with even a fictional man repulsed her. However, the more she thought on in, the more intrusive the carnal images became.

She looked to the stallion.

That can’t be what I want now… can it?

With the male pony at the forefront of her thoughts, she reaffirmed her commitment to her fake boyfriend and her desire to get back to him.

Next, she was asked about how she became a pony and where she was at the time. This lie was easier, as she was able to recount the transformation truthfully, having been forced to witness every step of the change while captive. As for the circumstances, she said she was holed up in her room during the changes and had fled into her rural surroundings once it had completed.

From there the questions became a bit more personal and innocuous. She was a country girl, so she had trouble relating to any of them. But from this exchange she learned their names: Taylor, Lynne, Xavier, and Storm Chaser. The others rolled their eyes when the latter claimed to be an errant Equestrian hero. Unnervingly, she felt calm in their presence.

The language barrier was her salvation, for she couldn’t stomach the idea of speaking pleasantries to these ponies while basking in the glow of the fireplace—not after what she had done.

The next day, while Storm was out trying to teach Alaine how to fly, the three other mares found themselves lounging on their bed once more. The three of them were restless, as Domenico hadn’t told them their next move yet. Aside from exploring the woods, or sampling Xavier’s delicacies there simply wasn’t much to do.

“How about Alaine?” Lynne asked. “Do you think she’ll break out of her shell soon?”

Taylor shook his head. “She’s really traumatized. After what she went through, I’m surprised she can even speak to us about it. That really goes to show how amazing you and Xavier are.”

Lynne smiled sheepishly. “We don’t deserve too much credit. We just got lucky enough to be rescued by a dashing stallion in a timely manner.” Her expression turned sour. “Also, we weren’t beaten by our captors… thankfully.”

Taylor looked to Xavier and inspected him for a moment. The maroon unicorn was on his side, apparently sleeping.

“And so our little group grows,” Taylor remarked. “Funny how it happened: first you three show up and then we risk our lives to bring Alaine in."

Lynne smiled broadly. “Isn’t it just amazing when you say it that way? We’re heroes! We faced danger and came out on top. And that thing you did where you stomped your hooves—how’d you learn to do that?”

Taylor shrugged. “Instinct is the best answer I can give. It was described in the dime store novel that came with my transformation. Apparently only earth ponies can do it.”

“I’m so glad,” Lynne said.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s great that there’s something special about earth ponies after all. I mean, unicorns get magic, so it’s only fair that you get super-strong earth-shaking hooves!”

“Maybe that’s why I was given the book…”

Lynne cocked her head. “You mean it wasn’t an accident? That somebody or something orchestrated everything that’s happened?”

Taylor shook his head. “I wouldn't go that far. Forget I said anything. It’s just some magical thinking.”

Silence draped over them, and the pair of them started fidgeting, the elephant in the room waiting to be addressed.

“So, umm…” the two of them began in unison. Blushing they turned away from one another.

“About the other night…” Taylor braved, saying a minute later.

“Yes… umm, I’m sorry I didn’t know what came over me. Kissing you like that—it’s so out-of-character for me; I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Well… ummm…. Did you like it?” Taylor murmured.

Lynne nodded after some deliberation.

“Me too. It’s stupid to say, but it was actually my first kiss. I know that’s hard to believe, given how old I am—future forty-year old virgin right here. But...”

Ignoring the self-deprecation, Lynne peeped, “Mine too…”

Silence.

“I don’t know if I’m making excuses, but I think there’s a bit of a story to explain why I acted the way I did,” Lynne said.

“I’m all ears,” Taylor said, wiggling said ears.

“Well, when I was in the sixth grade, there was a girl named Tammie in my class. She was good at sports, part of student body, good grades, and well-liked by everybody. Any one of those things could have grabbed my attention, but I was drawn to... something else about her.”

“Charisma?” Taylor supplied. “I knew a few people like that—the ones that you can feel when they walk into a room.”

“No… ummm… it was… her—her breasts...”

Lynne practically fled behind her mane when she uttered the confession.

Taylor didn’t seem fazed, and he nodded politely for her to continue.

“I felt like a complete pervert, staring at another girl’s breasts. I—I wanted to think it was envy. However, when I was around her, my heart fluttered. I wanted to spend every moment I could with her. I felt every feeling my adolescent readings had described. I was in love with another girl.”

“Were you afraid of your parents finding out?” Taylor asked. “I know my sister had to fight that battle for years before coming out to our parents."

“Your sister is gay?” Lynne said, surprised.

“Yep.” Taylor smiled. “My parents never saw it coming. Considering her obsession with wholesome Disney Channel entertainment, they struggled to figure out what had corrupted her. It got… better, but my parents almost cut her out of their lives after she moved in with her girlfriend, who’s seven years older than her. Anyway, back to your story.”

Lynne cleared her throat.

“The strange thing was, when I was around cute boys, I felt much the same way—heart racing, all of that. And when I read my romance novels I fantasized about falling in love with the hero, not with the heroine. I tried to forget; I tried to tell myself it was a fluke—a one-off thing. I even did… some stupid things to try and convince myself I was completely straight.”

“What do you mean?”

“I… well, I tried to seduce Storm…”

Taylor snorted in surprise, waking Xavier momentarily.

“I—I’ll explain later, but basically I was in heat and—anyway, that’s not important now.”

“What I don’t understand is why you didn’t just conclude you were bisexual?”

Lynne shook her head disapprovingly at her own stubbornness. “Part of it was I just didn’t want to admit it, I guess. But the other part of it was that I wasn’t attracted to girls as much as to boys, so I couldn’t be bisexual.”

The cyan pony slowly lifted her head up and smiled warmly. “But then I met you, Taylor and everything became clear to me. I love being around you, and… I find you attractive.”

Taylor did a double-take at this.

“Your funny personality, the way you talk, I like all of it. Though it bothers me how low of an opinion you have of yourself.” Lynne blushed. “Where was I going with this, anyway—oh yes, I realized that if I find both you and Storm attractive now that I’m a pony, I have to be bisexual. I knew for sure when I kissed you. So, I guess thank you.”

Taylor rubbed his hoof on the bedspread nervously. “So are we in a relationship, then? I’m no good at picking up on subtle cues. I haven’t been a girl long enough to know relationship calculus.”

“If you want it to be a relationship, then I want it to be too,” Lynne said simply.

Taylor felt a huge lead weight in his chest and he swallowed hard.

“I probably know the answer to this one already, but I have to ask, “do you find me attractive as a guy, or... as a mare?”

Lynne sighed. Her guilty complexion betrayed her answer before she could voice it.

“I feel terrible saying this, but I like you the way you are now. You probably won’t believe this, Taylor, but you’re actually rather pretty. I know your colors clash, but even so you have a beautiful body. You’re muscular, your hair is silkily luscious and thick, your flanks are…”

Lynne blushed a feverish red and Taylor soon joined her. Once the embarrassment had cleared somewhat, Taylor posed another question.

“I can resign myself that you like my body the way it is. I was kind of ugly as a guy anyway, and besides, you never saw me before I was a pony. But what about personality? In other words, are you attracted to the male brain in this mare body?”

Lynne once more had guilt smeared all along her features.

“Again, I feel terrible saying this, but I’d rather have you as my girlfriend than as my boyfriend.”

Taylor slumped.

“I mean, you still talk like a boy, mostly, but I am starting to see you act more and more like a girl. Your inflections, your gestures—all of it has become more feminine lately. I find it endearing, and it fills me with a feeling like I want to cuddle you. Like it’s—how do I say it? Like when we hug I don’t want to be the girl being hugged; I want us to hug each other equally.”

Lynne looked away.

“I know I’m probably not making much sense, and after hearing that you probably don’t want to be in a relationship with me anymore…”

Taylor rested his head between his hooves, planting his muzzle face-down on the bed. Three minutes passed while Lynne took deep breaths to calm her nerves. Finally Taylor’s head resurfaced.

“Okay,” Taylor said, his voice quaking, “I’ll be your girlfriend.”

“Really? Are you sure? Do you mean what you—”

“Yes, I mean all of it,” Taylor said. “I’m a mare now, so I may as well accept it sooner rather than later. I doubt I’ll ever turn back, so that means I’ll spend more of my life female than I will have been male. I—I’m a girl now…”

“I didn’t mean to push you.”

“No, Lynne, I want this,” Taylor declared. “I want to be done with wishing I am what I’m not. I want to not hate my body. And if you think I’m beautiful, well, maybe I’ll start to believe you.”

Lynne paused before smiling wryly. “Does that mean I can do your hair?”

“Sure,” Taylor said with a smile. “But in return you’ll have to teach me how to be a mare.”

Lynne laughed nervously. “I can try, but I’m an amateur myself at the whole mare thing.”

Taylor and Lynne gazed into each other’s eyes in joy for a solid thirty seconds. Taylor briefly imagined a pulsing sensation on both flanks, but when she turned to look, nothing had changed. However, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Xavier, who was looking absolutely irate.

“What the hell are you saying?” the mare bellowed in her glass shatteringly high voice. “You’re giving up of being a man? Where is your pride?

Taylor folded her ears back. “What do you mean?” she asked in Equish.

“Don’t speak at me in that damnable tongue that a book planted in our minds! I want to say how can you let it do this to us? You get turned into a bitch pony and you say ‘ok!?’”

Taylor felt a churning in her stomach. What if Xavier was right. Was she giving in too easily? Letting what did this to them win?

Taylor felt a reassuring hoof on her shoulder.

“I want to do what feels right to me. The world may tell me that I should have some masculine pride, but I’m tired of being told how to be. I wish it didn’t take a gender change to show me that, but my whole life I’ve been bowing to external pressure and other people's expectations.”

“You are still a man!” Xavier said, pointing a hoof accusingly. “Inside your head is a man. Don’t give up and be a pony! Don’t”—Xavier paused before switching to Equish to express his thoughts clearly—”be assimilated.” Xavier looked like he was torn between tears and rage.

“I hate the idea too,” Taylor admitted. “However, a thought occurred to me recently: what if instead of just turning us into men in mares’ bodies, we were turned into mares in mares’ bodies. Heck, I was as miserable as I could have been about it, but I still bounced back. Maybe Taylor the guy was replaced by Taylor the mare without letting her know.”

Xavier fumed, hopped off the bed and bellowed, “Traitor!” slamming the door behind him.

Taylor was on the verge of crying, but Lynne gently rubbed her withers, making all the tension evaporate. Soon they lost themselves in the comfort of a furry hug, each squeezing equally tight.

She opened her eyes. The picture in front of her was one she recognized, with the safe trappings of familiarity. Three brick walls and an iron gate surrounded her with a stone floor with hay strewn about underneath her. It wasn’t her favorite picture, though. Hesitating she stood up. In this picture, inflexible parts and fur adorned her. They were heavy, but somehow they felt natural.

She moved around the prison she did not comprehend using the four parts underneath her. Unlike in other pictures, she couldn’t glide along or fly. Still, the strange properties of this picture were rapidly becoming well known to her. Even though she could sometimes teleport to a different picture by closing her eyes, she would always end up back here in the end.

She felt herself rumbling from within. It hurt. She didn’t like it. Knowing the solution from experience, she walked along the floor until she reached an oval receptacle. It was filled with brownish-gray mush. When she approached it an unpleasant feeling went inside of her. She hated it. Still, it was the only way to make the rumbling stop. Opening up the cavity in front of her she scooped up some of the gunk and let it slide down into her. An awful feeling manifested as it slid down a tube into the centermost part. Despite the unpleasantness she repeated the feat until there was no more mush in the receptacle. Soon, the rumbling and the pain disappeared.

However, a new ache manifested itself in the four parts under her, sending her a message that they wanted to move. She obeyed the compulsion, but as usual, the stone wall stopped her in her tracks. In this picture, she couldn’t pass through walls. Longing already for a different picture she lay down and closed her eyes

Everything was quiet for a moment, but then a muffled noise floated above and through her. Two upper extremities above her twitched in response.

“The overseer told us to observe this pony, but I don’t see what good it is.”

Another incomprehensible noise followed

“Yeah, all she does is eat, sleep and shit. This one must be broken; it’s not going to show any special powers.”

“It’s not surprising: the overseer all but lobotomized the human she used to be.”

“I say we gut her.”

“Yeah, I’m with you. Maybe then we’ll finally get some reaction out of the retarded horse.”

The upper extremities curled inward on their own, but still the noises kept passing through her. She felt a dissonance: she wanted to go to another picture, but the noises kept her in this one. For a while the strange noises stopped, but it was a brief respite.

“I don’t know what good giving a braindead horse a book is going to do.”

“Yeah, but you heard the orders. Once the boss sees for herself how useless it is, maybe she’ll reassign us.”

“That can’t come soon enough. My talents are wasted cleaning stables.”

There was a creak. She opened her eyes and saw an opening appear in the iron bars. Through that opening she saw a weird, reddish, lanky shape with no fur. Fascinated, her eyes followed its movement. It was the first moving thing she had seen in this picture other than her parts.

“Hey, Horsey, catch!”

A blur rushed towards her, straight at her eyes. With a pair of loud thuds, she found sharp pain pulsing into her from above. It throbbed over and over with varying intensities. She moved her parts seemingly randomly in hopes of alleviating the awful sensation. Eventually, however, it stopped.

Mysteriously, a rectangle had appeared in front of her. Its exterior was fairly thick and purple, while a series of white rectangles were sandwiched in between. With the moving thing having vanished, she propelled herself closer to the rectangle, which was now by far the most interesting thing in the room.

A Primer on Unicorn Magic.
By Princess Twilight Sparkle

She flinched back.

Another noise. But this one was completely wrong.

All other sound had come from the outside, invading her. This sound came from within, shattering the absolute calm that was she. She hated it. And even though she had retreated from the awful rectangle, the noise echoed in her mind, insisting on its importance.

A Primer on Unicorn Magic
By Princess Twilight Sparkle

A Primer on Unicorn Magic
By Princess Twilight Sparkle

A Primer on Unicorn Magic
By Princess Twilight Sparkle

A Primer on Unicorn Magic
By Princess Twilight Sparkle.

She put her front appendages over her upper extremities and closed her eyes. She needed it to stop.

A Primer

An image of the rectangle appeared in the void. It was there, yet it wasn’t there. She could only see pitch black, yet the image of the rectangle was somehow still there.

After a tense moment, she dared open her eyes again. The rectangle was still on the floor of the picture, but the image was also inside of her.

Surprised, a noise escaped from within her, startling her as it boomeranged back inside of her.

When she had recovered, she approached the a primer.

Primer?

The sound came from inside her once more. She pointed with one of the appendages underneath her. Suddenly aware of her breathing, she inhaled before steeling her nerves for what she was about to do.

“...primer...”

Once more the sound came from within her.

She stared at the rectangle, still pointing at it.

“Primer.”

“Primer.”

“Primer.”

Suddenly a wonderful feeling of understanding overcame her. She was looking at a primer. The noise “primer” meant rectangle.

She felt herself smile. For the first time, after flailing in a whirlpool of nonsensical sounds and images, something in one of the pictures finally made sense!

She felt great and was eager to soak up more of that feeling.

...of…

Of…

She closed her eyes and tried again.

...of…

No picture appeared inside of her.

“Of”

“...of…”

She looked around, but no “of” was to be found.

Worried that it wasn’t working she shut her eyes again and repeated a different internal sound.

...unicorn…

Instantaneously a vivid image appeared inside of her. She saw a figure with four appendages underneath it and one behind it. It had a tube-like structure attached to a cylindrical central base. On top of the tube was another approximately cylindrical shape decorated with two holes, a cavity filled with white squares, two beautiful orbs, and three upper extremities.

Before she could make sense of the image it vanished and was replaced by another. This figure was much the same except taller and bulkier. Then, a kaleidoscope of similar figures flashed through her. They were of all shapes, sizes and colors, but one thing stood out most prominently: the pointed appendage on each of their heads.

“Unicorn” appeared to be much more complicated than “primer.” She wanted to make sure she understood it.

Unicorn.

Once more she was pelted by a barrage of images, but this time she was prepared. She made note of their common features and approximate shape. There was even a complete picture surrounding each unicorn: a grassy field underneath with a wide blue horizon above.

Then, something strange happened. The progression of images halted and focused on one picture. Several of the similar figures were standing side-by-side.

Unicorns.

This new noise surprised her, but she found it very familiar at the same time.

Unicorn

All but one of the figures vanished.

Unicorns.

The multitude reappeared.

She was close. There was a relation between unicorn and unicorns that was just out of reach. She wanted desperately to understand. She wanted to recapture the happy feeling of “primer.”

Incubating half of an idea, she applied a dose of intuition.

of unicorn.

A detached appendage dominated the picture inside of her.

of unicorn

This time it was the conical extremity that appeared in isolation.

This wasn’t getting her anywhere, so she summoned the “unicorns” picture once more.

of

of

The picture was panning strangely, as if unsure what the main subject was to be.

Unicorn of

A lone figure appeared, surrounded by a shining border.

Unicorn of unicorns?

Just like that, the pieces snapped into place. Unicorn belonged to unicorns. Each of the figures was unicorn and together they were unicorns. Beaming in euphoria she opened her eyes to see her appendages underneath her. Just as quickly, a second epiphany jolted through her. Her bronze-furred appendages were much the same as those belong to the unicorns.

Could it be?

Looking behind her, she saw her dusty, rust-red rear appendage. It too corresponded to what a unicorn had. As a final confirmation she used one of her front appendages to feel above her. What she felt was a highly sensitive cone. When she tapped it, she hurt. There was no doubt about it now.

Unicorn pointed to herself.

“Unicorn... of unicorns.”

Upon voicing this sound, Unicorn felt a sense of unity between herself and unicorns. She felt a part of something beyond the immediate picture in front of her. In that moment she knew there was more to this picture than these four walls.

Bubbling with understanding, Unicorn approached the primer once more.

“Primer of Unicorn,” she declared.

It was true. This primer was hers and hers alone—her only and most valuable possession. It had opened the universe to her.

She sat and read the title once more.

From there, Unicorn began to ponder the infinite possibilities of magic.

Ambra crouched in the back seat of Giovanni’s car, tucked just out of sight. The backseat had been removed to accommodate the two ponies and to allow them to hide. Currently they were parked near the police department where she formerly worked.

Ambra’s horn glowed silver and the aura shrouded her eyes. An officer she recognized returned to the station and she peered through him. She saw his skeleton and organs as if looking through a magical x-ray. To her relief there was none of the pronounced orange taint anywhere in his body.

Yuki chose this moment to pounce on top of her.

“What’d you find? What’d you find? What’d you find?”

“Stop,” Ambra ordered, attempting to shake the pest off of her. Yuki was thrown off, but hovered just before hitting the floor.

“Tch, it’s no fair that you get to be so big,” Yuki complained.

The disparity in height was quite pronounced between the two mares. Ambra came up to Giovanni’s chest and was nearly twice the size of Yuki. This suited Ambra quite well, as the more she looked like a horse instead of a pony, the more of her dignity she felt she could hold onto. If nothing else, she liked her colors: her coat was a warm caramel, while her mane and tail were a shimmering gold.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Giovanni asked. “Tell us.”

“Still nothing,” Ambra said, somewhat smug. “I suppose all your talk about the cops being tainted was just talk.”

Giovanni sighed and wrapped his hands around the wheel. “Well it’s been nearly two hours, so we are already pushing it in terms of looking suspicious. It’s slightly risky, but we can come back with a different car later. I suppose all we can for now is hold tight and wait to scan one more.”

Yuki grinned and closed the distance between her and Ambra.

“Yuki, personal space,” the mare said resignedly.

“Oh come on! Do you see anyone else who can be your pony BFF? I’m obviously the best and only candidate. It’ll be great: we can brush each other’s manes and sing songs together and cuddle...”

Ambra lit up her horn and magically pushed Yuki away from her.

“Hey! I thought we set no magic as ground rules.”

Ambra smiled slightly. “I don’t recall agreeing to that.”

Yuki stuck out her tongue.

Ambra had to remind herself that the childish pegasus pony was a criminal. Superficially, she didn’t appear dangerous, but Ambra refused to lower her guard around a known thief. Fortunately, the mafioso in front of her was much easier to deal with. She didn’t like him and he didn’t like her, but he was businesslike at all times and had eyes only for their next objective. Effectively, his gun was to her head at all times, and she had no doubt he would remorselessly dispatch her if she proved difficult. Yet somehow, a cordial atmosphere was maintained. She didn’t know if this was the mafia’s way of doing things, or if she had Yuki to thank for the relative levity.

“So, have you made a decision?” Giovanni asked.

“About what?” Ambra replied, purposely playing dumb to stall.

“About joining us, silly!” Yuki said. “We could always use a third musketeer.”

“I’d rather wait for proof before I sign my soul over to the devil,” Ambra retorted.

“It’s not like it makes much of a difference,” Giovanni said. “Whether you believe us or not, we have proof on our end that the taint extends to the police.”

Ambra waved a hoof dismissively. “Anecdotal evidence at best.”

“Well, what other options do you have?” Giovanni asked

“Is that a threat?” Ambra asked through gritted teeth.

“It could be,” Giovanni said casually. “But we won’t shoot you unless you do something really stupid. You ponies are rare, so even if you don’t cooperate, you’ll be useful in other ways.”

Ambra knew he was referring to the the book that had come in the mail for her. They had confirmed intelligence that the book was in another language that a pony’s presence could translate. Slowly a reader would learn the language as they read it. Ambra had only been allowed to read it with Yuki and Giovanni looking over her shoulder at all times. After some searching of the indices, they had found an invaluable spell that allowed one to detect illusions, disguises and other falsehoods. It was this spell alone that Ambra was permitted to learn, but she turned out to be a quick study and figured out levitation magic on her own. She had confirmed its effectiveness of the disguise-busting spell by finding a red-skinned gangster and seeing the taint for herself. Using it all around the city, she had found many hidden mions. Fortunately, all of d’Atlanta’s staff had come up clean.

Despising her powerlessness, she said, “You know you have given me ample opportunity to escape, right? I could jerk away your gun, open the car door and make a run for it.”

“And then what?” Giovanni asked condescendingly. “Report to your police friends that there’s a continent-wide conspiracy spread by virus and oh, by the way you’re a talking horse now, but that’s besides the point?”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t want to be locked away in a dingy internment camp. After all, there are so many fun things to do at the mansion that I have yet to show you,” Yuki said cheerfully.

Ambra sighed. That had gone nowhere—not that she had expected it to. She had weighed her options several times now and cooperating seemed like the best course. Still, she was loathe to admit it.

Lighting her horn once more she scanned a pair of officers exiting the station. Neither of them possessed any taint. Ambra shook her head.

“That sure is a useful spell,” Yuki remarked. “Mighty convenient that it was in the book. Why do you think they included it anyway?”

“It’s a training manual for something called the ‘Crystal Guard,’” Giovanni explained. “They had a problem with shapeshifting ‘changelings’ who nearly took over an entire kingdom. You should know this; it was in the introduction section.”

Yuki giggled. “I might have fallen asleep,” she said. “It was sooo boooring!”

Giovanni checked his watch again. “All right, abort mission,” he stated. “We’ll come back later.

Yuki jumped and pointed. “Look: one more copper!”

Like most of the people coming in and out of the station, Ambra recognized the policeman. His name was Paolo, and he was a good friend of hers. They had dated a few times, but nothing had come of it. Following him by sight, Ambra lit her horn and scanned the man.

And what she saw was a distressing amount of orange.

“I—I don’t believe it. They’re even in the police department…” Ambra buried her head in her hooves. “They got Paolo… I—I just saw him the other day and he acted completely normal. Was he, even then, under their control?”

Yuki crawled to her side and stroked her withers with her wings. It was an intrusive but not an unwelcome gesture.

“You got your proof, so we’re out of here!” Giovanni declared to no one in particular as he put the car into drive and slowly pulled away from the police department.

“So, Sister, are you in?” Yuki asked, disguising her opportunistic motives with a forced tone of sympathy.”

Ambra raised her head, tears in her eyes. “This really goes beyond the impact on you, or me, doesn’t it? This is a threat that could affect—no, destroy—the entire world. If they’re the bad guys and you are the only ones fighting against them, by that twisted logic, you criminals the good guys.”

“That’s right!” Yuki said assuredly.

There was a brief moment of silence, and Yuki fished out the pet tag from under the passenger seat. With a smile she presented it to Ambra.

Ambra hesitantly accepted it into her hoof. While it was somewhat degrading, she saw through to the symbolism of the tracker tag. It was submitting to fate, but with a resolve to make the best of things. It was primarily for the boss’s peace of mind, but at the same time it was based in trust—trust that the power over them wouldn’t be abused.

Ambra took the tag in her magic and snapped it around her neck.

Since I have been gifted the power to resist, I choose to fight!

Author's Note

I'm truly grateful to anyone who has read this far.

12.5: Interviews

It was amazing how much a week could change things. Whereas before the enclosed open space of the pony concentration camp was a befittingly dingy and cold military facility, now the atmosphere was one of community. The grounds were now packed to the point of claustrophobia with colorful ponies of mixed nationalities. They socialized, laughed and even flirted, sometimes forgetting they were locked up at all. Maria might have been imagining it, but the grass even seemed a bit greener than it had been a week ago.

In any case, Maria’s arrival had heralded a series of reforms to the former prison camp. The warden was certainly not pleased and repeatedly voiced his outrage about inmates running his prison. She got the impression that he blamed her for the changes, despite clear evidence that such decisions had been made prior to her feedback. The dehumanizing conditions had been partly the result of panic and partly the result of the harried necessity for a coverup. However, it hadn’t taken long for sympathy for the former humans to come through. True, they might be spies or aliens, but they weren’t such a danger to warrant ensconcing them in tiny cells.

It probably helps that they’re so cute, Maria thought to herself. I shudder to think how badly they might have been treated otherwise. If they were slimy, or had fangs, the government would probably have dissected them first, or worse…

“Maria? Is something wrong?” Buttercup asked.

Snapping herself out of it, she looked down at the huggable earth pony. She was holding a clipboard in her hoof—a feat that still amazed her—and had a pencil snugly tucked behind her furry, goldenrod ear.

“No, nothing’s wrong, Buttercup. I just was thinking about this whole situation, and I got lost in thought.”

“It does no good to dwell on it,” Buttercup said with a smile.

“I know, I know,” Maria replied, stroking the pony. In hindsight she realized how condescending the gesture could be, but the mare seemed to be enjoying it nonetheless.

“So who do we have next?” Maria asked when she had finished petting a deserving pony.

“It’s actually time for cell eleven. Excluding myself, we have to go get June, Cherry Violet, Colette, Gregor and the twins”

“Quite the group you are,” Maria casually remarked.

“Yep! Though that’s true of every group more or less! Everyone has a story. Some have certainly adapted better than others. And how about that last guy we interviewed? He really loved being the attention of so many mares!”

Maria sighed. “With guys like him around it’s only a matter of time before we have our first accident, regardless of what the rules may say.”

“Yeah…” Buttercup looked momentarily troubled before recovering her pep. “Say, are you sure it’s okay for me to help you with this?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure if I’m qualified to be doing this quite frankly. I have minimal training in mental health and this is an entirely novel problem in the field. I still can’t believe how tight the budget is for the camp.”

“You’re doing great!” Buttercup said, perky.

Maria just nodded, unable to wholeheartedly agree. Nonetheless, understanding who was here was an important job, and she had to try her best. As she and Buttercup pushed their way through the crowd, Maria was once more amazed at her size relative to the ponies. They instinctively recognized this and cleared the way for her. The change in size was another dimension to the change she had rarely considered prior.

Searching for a particular pony in a gaggle of them was surprisingly difficult. True, they were distinct colors, but in a large group, the color could overwhelm one’s eyes quickly. But in this case, they found their mark in no time. Unsurprisingly, they only needed to find one of the ponies in question to locate the lot of them. A social order of sorts had emerged in the camp. Surprisingly, despite the complete randomness of groupings, cell groups had become the building blocks of the nascent community.

“Hello,” Colette greeted.

The others murmured mixed greetings.

“Hi,” Maria said. “We’re looking for June.”

The mare in question nodded. “Guess it’s my turn, huh? I’ll be back.”

The black and red unicorn followed Maria and Buttercup to the clinic. It was a small, hastily constructed building with only the barest of necessities. It was barely adequate to screen for anything, but more equipment was forever on its way. Surprisingly, this deficiency proved to be a non-issue as the ponies proved to be as healthy as a—well…

“Can we get this over with?” June asked, annoyed.

“I know procedural matters are never fun, but we have to take stock of who’s here and how they’re faring. Can we start by getting your name—or rather, your name before.”

“Zyun Wei,” the unicorn responded.

“What is your citizenship?”

“I’m from China. I study on a visa.”

Maria mechanically filled out a form by pen as the pony responded.

“Now, I normally just check the box based on the name, but in your case I have to ask. Now, we don’t mean to pry by asking this, but what was your sex before you became a pony?”

“Not saying,” June said defiantly.

“You still won’t tell?” Buttercup pleaded with only slight surprise.

“No.”

“Why not?” Maria asked, keeping her eyes on the clipboard.

The pony shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, does it? I’m a mare now regardless. I’ll do what is expected of me as a female. If I have any kind of future outside of this camp that will probably include bearing children and raising a family while deferring to my husband’s career ambitions.” June laughed. “That is—if I can even get a stallion of my own. At any rate, if you really want to know you can find out on your own.”

Maria thought she sounded bitter. Surely this pointed to her being male before. On the other hand, perhaps she was just disenchanted with culturally-enforced gender roles and missed an opportunity to escape them. Regardless, Maria moved onto the next question.

From there she ran her through a basic assessment for depression before ending on the question of most interest to her personally: “How are you getting along with the other ponies. Are there any that you are particularly close to?”

It seemed like an innocuous question, but it was actually quite nosy. The government wanted to understand the obviously lopsided gender ratio of these ponies. From a cynical perspective, they needed to grasp the mating habits of these ponies, just in case they might need more. After all, according to the books that had appeared with some of their changes, the ponies might be capable of great things.

“I’m good friends with Gong Hao Feng. She’s on good terms with one of the stallions and wants to introduce the two of us. Weird isn’t it? It’s not like we can share. That’s what you really wanted to know, right?”

Buttercup had a transparently guilty look on her face, while Maria tried her hardest to deny any such interest.

“Besides them,” June continued, “I’m close to the twins, Colette, Cherry, Gregor and you.”

“That’s all we need,” Maria said cheerfully. “Thank you.”

June left with a huff. Despite Maria’s effort to be as diplomatic as possible, the black and red mare still didn’t trust her. She supposed it was to be expected.

The next pony, however, was much more talkative.

“Ze change in gender has led to fascinating ramifications. I have observed subtle changes in ze vays those formerly male ponies have adapted. Their valk, vocal inflections and mannerisms have all become very feminine. Zere appears to be an inclination to form groups as vell. I hypothesize zat ponies are predisposed to form mating groups of three to four. To zat end, ze sexual orientation of all heterosexual ponies has shifted to accommodate zis polyamory.”

“This is all fascinating, Gregor,” Maria said, “but what about you?”

“Me?” Gregor blushed. “I only observe I have no desire for myself for romance.”

Maria appreciated the former sociologist’s observations. They largely correlated with her own observations.

With a smirk, Buttercup leaned in to whisper into Maria’s ear. “He’s totally got a crush on that former science teacher.” Maria had to stifle a giggle.

The next pony was already waiting at the door as Gregor left. Her red mane was neatly groomed and it framed her magenta furred face nicely. The earth mare entered, nuzzled Buttercup and sat down across from Maria.

“Hello, Cherry,” Maria greeted in English.

“Hi,” said Cherry said tentatively. “So is this some kind of psychological evaluation?” She was clearly somewhat nervous, but this was tempered by Buttercup’s presence.

“Somewhat,” Maria replied. “We just need to check that everyone is taking the change all right.”

“Yeah, about that…” Cherry said, looking down.

Buttercup closed the distance between them and started rubbing Cherry’s withers Cherry cooed, poofy tail wagging.

Maria was about to start the questioning, but surprisingly she opened up on her own.

“My name was Fred Spencer…” Cherry said unprompted. If she expected that to elicit a reaction, there was none. Such things had become commonplace in the camp’s corner of reality." I—my work was as a trademark attorney. I was in Germany arguing a case—it was my life’s work really. Lipro Engineering was the client. When the patents expired, their biggest competitor came charging into the market. It was shaping up to big a gargantuan fight. The rub was despite my advice to the contrary, they had allowed some of the relevant public to start calling their alloy Lipro Steel. Hundreds of millions of pounds were at stake. My contingency fee was—well, it was so high I never would have had to work again! But if we were to lose, the entire brand could be torpedoed by the genericness allegation! And at the pivotal moment—I.... I....“

Buttercup nuzzled the mare now known as Cherry. “You seem really passionate about it. Care to tell me a bit more about it?”

“Well”— Cherry sniffed—”I could, but I don’t think you’d understand it…”

“I can try!” the other earth pony declared with vigor.

Maria grinned as she watched the scene unfolding in front of her. She couldn’t help it—the fact this high-powered attorney had been reduced to a pony being cuddled was just too funny. Adding to the absurdity, the cute creature’s intelligence had not been lost in translation in the slightest. Cherry kept rattling off legal doctrines and multi-faceted arguments with learned ease. Buttercup was great at faking interest, but the pony was clearly doing no better than her at keeping up with the legal jargon.

When she (or perhaps he—pronouns were a never-ending source of confusion at the camp) was finished, Maria picked up her clipboard to continue her no-pressure interrogation.

“I can definitely understand your guilt,” Buttercup said. “But remember: it was not your fault. You held out a lot longer than anyone could reasonably expect you under the circumstances. You were growing a tail for ponies’ sake!”

Maria raised an eyebrow at that and scribbled down a note. There had been some subtle vernacular changes she had noticed from time to time. At first, she had thought someone was making light of the situation, but such expressions had been uttered by even the most pessimistic and downtrodden among them. When pressed, they were just as shocked as she was at the change.

“Is this why you have been waking up in the middle of the night? How long has that been going on?”

The nurse smiled at her assistant. She was very good at getting other ponies to talk, and Maria had nicknamed her the Chief Interrogator. The warden certainly did not find this funny. In any case, all she had to do was note the answers as Buttercup slipped their questions into the normal flow of conversation.

After some time, Maria directly posed Cherry the final question about her relationship with the other ponies. The two earth mares smiled at her before exchanging a quick kiss.

“Well… as you can see…” Cherry stammered.

“That will be all,” Maria said in as neutral a tone as possible. “Thank you for your time.”

After three more ponies, Maria let out a sigh, took her forms out of the clipboard and collated them.

“Wow! We made it through that many ponies!?” Buttercup asked, hopping in place. Maria had the urge to pet her again, but she already did so far more than was appropriate for her station.

“That we did. You did well, Buttercup!” She briefly cringed. That had to have been condescending.

Buttercup either didn’t notice or didn’t mind. “No problem! It’s not like there’s anything else to do around here. What am I saying—I mean, even if that weren’t the case, it’s still been super fun helping out. I get to learn about everyone and their background before coming here.”

“I know what you mean. Madame Labit was especially interesting. She’s just... amazingly forthcoming. I don’t know if that’s because she was so old before, or if she’s just excited to have a youthful body again.”

Buttercup blushed. “Yeah, she didn’t really need to tell us how attractive she finds the young studs around here. Although I can definitely understand the strangeness of not knowing if she’s talking to someone a quarter of her age or not. I’m sure Gregor would have something to say about the disintegration of barriers of social status.”

“And that’s not even taking into consideration that there’s no pattern to what gender a pony was before. I mean, there are some tells, but Colette is hardly alone in preferring to associate stallions that were men and mares that were women.” Maria looked Buttercup over, subtlety failing her. Come to think of it, she had hardly asked this friendly pony anything about herself.

“I can be happy that she’s happy at least. Flying sounds like it’s a thrill.”

“Are you jealous?” Maria asked in a neutral tone.

“Nah, the books say we earth ponies get our own powers. Besides, even if we didn’t I wouldn’t mind so much. Magic and flying are cool on their own, but interacting with others is still most important in life, wouldn’t you say?

Maria flipped off the lights and the miniature equine followed her out. “Did the change make you completely sappy as well?”

Buttercup shrugged. “People have been telling me I was a softie my whole life. Well now the outside matches the inside!”

As Maria waded through the throng of ponies to the housing area, she let silence linger, while the pony seemed unnerved by it.

“It was a shame we couldn’t find a translator for those twins,” Buttercup remarked. “And you said they’re Italian like you, right?”

Maria nodded. “They’re from the island of Sardinia. Apparently they’re from such a remote, rural area that I can’t even hazard a guess about what they were saying to me.”

“Well, they seem close. That much is clear. Kind of strange that the two of them still look almost exactly the same. And that’s not even the strangest part; after all, we have a couple sets of twins here.”

Maria paused. That’s true. I had suspected some genetic predisposition that made them vulnerable to this condition. But given the diversity we see, it seems even more unlikely that twins would turn out the same. Perhaps they contracted the same strain? Unless—could we possibly show regional trends with how the changes manifest? She recalled a few ponies of varying nationalities. However, no pattern was readily apparent.

As curfew arrived, the numerous members of the camp’s herd shuffled into their respective stable buildings. For ten minutes Maria just stood in place as she watched the field clear out. She made light conversation with Buttercup, but for the most part she just let awe wash over her as she admired the parade of colors. This colorful cheer contrasted with the static faces who owned them. The nurse checked her watch.

“I suppose I have to send you to bed now as well,” Maria said as she observed the last pony’s tail disappear through the doorway. “It must be horrible—crammed in there with ponies you don’t even know.”

Buttercup shook her head. “It’s not just Cherry, you know. I care for all of my cellmates—gee, we need to come up with a better term, uhh… let’s go with roomies! Yeah, that’ll work. Colette, Gregor, June, the twins are all great. Granted, it’s hard to get through to the twins, but they’re nice girls—or at least I assumed that’s what they were.

Maria smiled, but then a disturbing thought overtook her. Uncharacteristically, she decided to voice it: “What if what you are feeling—the affection for your roommates is artificial. That whatever did this to you made you bond with them. Your fast bonding with Cherry—doesn’t it seem strange to you?”

Buttercup looked down for a moment, but her head quickly bobbed back up. “I suppose you could be right, but I don’t really care! After all, there are all sorts of stupid things that influence whom people decide to date. It’s not like it’s an entirely conscious process, you know? Besides, if you start analyzing where all your feelings come from you can start to lose your head.”

“You’re right, Buttercup. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She smiled and saluted. “Another job well done, Captain.”

Maria didn’t have to but she followed the mare into the stables anyway. She didn’t seem to mind her watching as she stroked each of her “roommates” in turn before curling up against the little pony that used to be Fred Spencer.

After pondering the scene for a few moments, she stepped outside again. She lit up a cigarette, inhaling deeply. These new ponies were clearly social animals, even more so than humans.

The question is—can they thrive in such an environment? Or out there for that matter?

Author's Note

What the hell, guys!? I constantly joke that nobody reads this fic and all of a sudden I get more favorites than I thought I had readers. Thanks for taking away my ammunition :yay:

In any event, I had this chapter written as the intro bit to another chapter, but it fizzled out and didn't mesh with the tone. Seeing some positives since the rebrand, I decided to salvage it and try to deliver something. Hopefully, it'll give me the chance to prove that I can still write in this universe. Besides, it isn't filler because I have plans for these ponies... I think? :trollestia:

If nothing else, they're good to use as extras in that other self-indulgent fic of mine. But poor Gregor didn't even get as much as a cameo before being shipped off to the Crystal Empire :ajsleepy:

So... yeah.

Hey, I probably shouldn't admit this, but I still haven't decided on Buttercup's previous gender.

I should probably leave before I spoil the end of my fic.

Prologue

Discord floated alone in the aether. The façade of his trademark grin showed its first signs of cracking as he started on the nine-hundred and twelfth iteration of the day’s task. Dipping a claw into a tiny slip of paper, he felt around a bit before pulling out a hat with a name on it:

Iemanjá da Silva

With a snap he manifested a wheel that depicted the three tribes of pony surrounding the grinning master of chaos himself. Each group contained three mares and one stallion. They were evenly spaced out and gave the onlooker disconcertingly wide smiles.

The draconequus gave the wheel a modest spin, and his counterpart in the center started to dance around. Leaving its perch, it flashed haphazardly between the blank flanks of the ponies. As it passed onto each one, the remaining members of its tribe shuffled coat and mane colors. It continued accelerating into a blur before abruptly settling on a small, golden earth pony mare in the bottom-right corner. Discord lazily accepted a bronze, toy-sized tail from the chooser and stuck it to the hat, which then became a realistic doll of an Afro-Brazilian woman.

He dropped the doll and gave an exaggerated sigh.

"Well, the votes are in," Discord said, summoning a drumroll and an elaborately sealed envelope. He let the comically long piece of parchment unroll for several seconds become continuing, "I am officially bored with playing pin the tail on the human."

"I'm handed the rare chance to write off unprovoked polymorphism as... what was it called again?"

“Doing the right thing for and making the world a better place for everybody,” The illusionary head of Equestria’s newest princess answered from his shoulder.

“Yes, something like that. Sure, the opportunity's magnificent: if this works out, the precocious pony population I’ve planted saves an otherwise doomed world, and I earn another point on my redemption punch card. If not, the apocalypse can be a cold place. If nothing else, I will be generously providing nice, warm fur to those in need. But truth to be told, the selection itself has become too much like a full-time job." Discord teleported into a desk a short distance above and was now sporting standard officewear while rapidly pressing buttons on an old-fashioned adding machine. "I am a Draconequus of principles," Discord said straightening his posture. "I have a responsibility to shirk any sort of responsibility."

“That doesn’t make any sense!” the Twilight apparition started to object. However, she was cut off by a killer fiddle solo coming from the other shoulder.

The being of chaos tapped the desk against his fingers to the beat while thinking.

"I could foist the whole thing on Sweetie Belle and tell her she could get her cutie mark in stochastic determination, but her sister's still mad about hilarious "accident" with the apple dog and those edible dresses."

"Besides I couldn’t possibly deny a single customer my personal, chaotic touch," he said filing his nails. "Guess it's up to me to find a way to meet my pony quota all at once."

With a flash of chaos magic, Discord was now in a bowling alley facing an endless sea of labelled pins. With a squeaky pop, he removed his own head and chucked it down the lane. It rolled perfectly before crashing into the first row of human stand-in pins. He then lashed out with his tongue, striking each of the fallen pins with a random pony sticker.

Discord's hybrid body rejoined his head, and he began counting, frowning as he reached the end. "Only sixteen? This won’t work at all; the dizziness is hardly worth it. I need something with more energy. Maybe let my contestants interact, bounce off one another..."

No sooner had he thought it than he had started to make it happen, flying straight through the roof of his bowling alley construct. With a frenzy of green energy, the draconequus formed a base of solid light in the empty space. Countless scraps of shredded green and brown pieces of paper coalesced on top of it into a wide plain fed by a rich soil. He hand-sculpted a familiar landscape and gently painted a winding dirt road through the hills. As he came upon the scene of the main action, uniform, ceramic homes self-assembled from top down. These were soon followed by shops, businesses, the town square, a library tree and a one-room school house. Colorful, crudely-painted wind-up ponies emerged from the houses and started to act out daily errands in the developing town. Paper maché flowers and trees would occasionally pop up beside some of the earth tribe as they walked. Above the town, similar toys in the shape of pegasi slid along zip lines, carrying about tiny cotton balls to pattern the sky with clouds. In no-time at all, Discord had himself an immaculately detailed scale model of Ponyville.

For the final touch, an imposing network of chutes and tubes started snaking their way through and around the model. Hundreds of terminals provided access to the structure, while just as many small, circular holes fed back into the maze. Many converged on a gigantic funnel at their beginning, and the goal line consisted of a dozen buckets with half as many chutes leading to each.

Discord grinned malevolently and rubbed his forelimbs together greedily. With a flick of his tail, the billions of bowling pins reappeared and became tiny marbles. Stuffing them into a fishbowl, he stirred the contents briefly before reappearing on a diving board above the bowl. He strapped on a pair of goggles and dove in head-first. His massive splash spilled millions of the fishbowl’s tiny inhabitants, and a small subset of these filled the funnel to its brim. Although the entire top column teetered over the edge, not a single one fell. There would be no backing out from this fate-changing journey.

As if scoffing at the apparent bottleneck, the tube network eagerly gulped down the clear, purple marbles, and in no time at all, the first of their number began dropping into the Ponyville model. Dozens fell from clouds like in a flash hailstorm, while others popped out of second-story windows or rolled out of the functional train’s passenger cars. They would be kicked into the holes by passing hooves or magnetic unicorn "magic" only to reappear somewhere else. After a several minutes, many of the frontrunners had already toured most of the town, but none had found his or her way into the buckets.

Bored already, Discord shrunk down and took a walk around the town.

"There's that innovative Quill and Sofa store. A genius combination if I do say," he commented, passing by the vendor in question. The streets had their usual rustic appeal, populated with greengrocers, shoppers and the occasional filly or colt trotting to school. The draconequus strutted through the town like he owned the place—which he technically did. Taking a left, came upon an unmistakable circus tent structure made of fabric. His inspection of it was short-lived though, as a blond-maned, toy pegasus collided with him on the way down.

He grabbed a few of the stars swirling in front of his eyes for a snack and watched the gray mare stuff a sponge muffin in Carousel Boutique's mailbox. She then took large bite out of a small, brown package. The paper ripped, and a greyish-yellow marble dropped to the road and started to roll.

"The mailmare mixes up every third delivery. A nice touch."

The tranquility of the toy world was then broken suddenly by a choir of mouse-like squeals. Dozens of multicolored wind-up ponies fled in mechanized panic from a manticore puppet. Their stampede sent marbles ricocheting about, knocking them through open doors or into nearby holes. When the dust had settled, the remaining marbles were also a rainbow of dichromic hues.

"And we even have occasional fun from the Everfree!" Discord said, watching the doppelgangers of six familiar ponies chase after the manticore. The alicorn among them then channeled her magic, causing hundreds of the little orbs to come out of hiding in order to pursue the pursuers. "Everything fun about this saccharine little town is here!"

Discord blinked above the town square. "Although I can't help but feel something is missing. Hmm....." Discord pondered the problem briefly before the lightbulb floating above his head lit up. With a clap, a golden bust of the enigmatic entropic embodiment himself imposed itself on the fountain. Its multiple heads made wacky faces in every direction, and passing ponies were periodically drenched in the mock-spit of the head frozen in a raspberry. "Perfect! If hadn't done it myself, I'm sure I couldn't have done it better myself!"

He looked above, and the last of the marble lots bled from the funnel. Within seconds, the final marble had already rejected several turns before taking a left in defiance of its momentum. Discord shrunk further down to its size to follow it along its tortuous path inside the tubing. The passageways were thin, giving just enough room for the marble to shift left or right and occasionally climb the walls. Gravity kept them moving, but an occasional puff of air make their descent all the more unpredictable. After a couple of corkscrew turns, a change in pressure pushed him and the marble upwards and then down a chute.

They dropped out into Sugarcube Corner's kitchen. The element of laughter had returned from fighting evil and was now decorating clay-based pastries. Even as a crude automaton, she had a certain energy to every action she took. She picked up a marble marked "Lilian Thompson," and it began to take on a pink hue as if injected with food-coloring. She placed it atop a cake, and the staining process stopped once she handed it over to the store's yellow proprietor. He delivered it to a waiting ash unicorn who apparently would not accept it until he had heard every single complaint she could possibly conceive about the bakery and its service—though her red thumbs-down cutie mark might explain a thing or two.

Four different chutes kept the kitchen well-supplied with the marble decorations. Discord watched as one dropped onto the toy Pinkie's back and she gave a bounce to land it in the sink's drain. Regaining focus, Discord scanned the small kitchen for the marble he had been shadowing.

"Oh, poo! Where did today's final contestant go? I took my eyes off them for one second, and they’re gone. On one hand, I want to find it, but at the same time, it'd be a disgrace to my name if I could." Not even the draconequus himself knew all the labyrinth's twists and turns. It could be days before the slowest of the marbles found their way out.

CLACK

A marble settled into one of the dozen buckets waiting outside of the maze. Curious, Discord warped to the end and became full-size again. "Oh goody! What will become of our first-place finisher?" he asked excitedly. He spied a single occupant of a bucket and lifted the bin to reveal a chalk drawing of a pegasus mare underneath.
The marble itself had retained most of its original color with splashes of white and crystallic blue. Discord conjured a magnifying glass to test a hunch.

Koyuki Araoka

No. 2,779/2,779

2013

In Chaos we doubt

Discord smirked at the clear evidence in front of him; it was indeed the marble he had just been following. "Well it looks like somepony is eager to grow a tail." Though with these human names I don't quite know if there's a gender swap that warrants an extra laugh or not, but I suppose I'll indulge just in case."

"Ahem...."

"HA!"

"Very good. Who's next?"

..................................

"Anypony?"

The labyrinth's exit gave no answer.

Bored yet again, Discord took on the form of a pinball flipper, fixed himself near the fountain and started redirecting every marble he saw. When personally mixing up things for chaos's sake got tiring, he started aiming for the toy ponies: 100 points for a mare, 500 for a stallion and 10000 for a stuck-up, boulder-loving unicorn who should really just let that dress incident go it was perfectly harmless fun.

After a few short minutes, Discord sat on a modest sum of 43,300 points. He was aiming a black and white marble at the economical target of Big McIntosh when his sight was blocked by a plastic wagon pulled by an orange filly on a scooter. She and her two passengers both wore styrofoam helmets.

Discord hadn't even begun considering getting annoyed before he had hatched an idea.

"Hey there girls. I've got a confused, blank-flank, little foal who would just love to join your club. Let me introduce you!" he taunted, striking the pinball.

It popped up onto the wagon, rolled up the sitting Applebloom's back, dropped onto Scootaloo and knocked her off the scooter, causing her to upturn the wheelbarrow of a passing old mare.

A second marble catapulted out of the wheelbarrow and flew towards the topmost golden statue, which depicted a singing Discord with a cane and top hat. It landed perfectly in its mouth, giving a satisfying noise as it hit the bottom.

At once, a high-pitched chime was heard. Sourceless lights danced across the Ponyville in straight lines and alternating colors. The chime was then overtaken with the sound of a hundred slot machines all paying out at once. Deciding it too subtle, Discord added a neon sign saying "You're Winner" and a full game show set to the mix.

"COOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooongratulations" a suit wearing Discord began. "You have been selected as Chaos Network's next reality star!"

"Will you proudly strut onto the stage alongside our ratings breadwinner? Or will you languish in obscurity? Will you help unite ponykind? Or will you bring about a schism that will doom it? All these questions and more will be answered soon. But first, let's meet our lucky winner!

It was dark.

Delvaux couldn't see a thing.

He was beginning to miss the piercing sunlight on his skin as the cool cave air send a shiver down his spine. It was a frightening place to top-off a terrifying turn of events. He could have sworn he heard a bat a while back. A near-perfect silence made him acutely aware of every little noise; the persistent echo of footsteps had been tuned out a while back.

Hours of being manhandled had given him an incessant backache, and he feared his masseuse wouldn’t be made available to him any time soon. He had given up struggling hours ago, but the vise-grip around his arms and legs had never once let up.

Traitorous bastards! Avoiding this sort of bullshit is exactly why I handpicked my security, but they stabbed me in the back all the same. They were the best—they knew how to treat a man of my stature. And they still sold me out! Accredited professionals or not, I guess wage slaves can always be bought. Go on, gloat! Your halfwit scheme succeeded so gloat, you trash! God knows I could never shut you and your folksy jokes up before! Isn’t that right, Marcel?

His former bodyguards gave no response to his mental pleading. Throughout the whole ordeal, they had never once spoken: No small talk was exchanged over a four-hour drive. No talk of ransom. No questions which would cause the the smarter of the two to recap their entire plan—though that one might have been wishful thinking.

They stopped.

He was set down.

The blindfold came off.

Delvaux took a moment to take in the scant detail of the dimly lit cave chamber before his gag followed. Now's my chance.

"I... I'll give you whatever you want just name it! Money! Information! Nuclear launch codes! Whatever you want!" Delvaux belted out in quick succession.

Recovering his composure, he continued, "I'm sure you know better than anyone what a man in my position knows and what he can do. If you're after a ransom, I can quadruple it. I’ve also got insider knowledge that fatten your wallets even more. I can offer much more than you'd get from turning me over to your employer. Since we're having this conversation at all, you must know I'm worth much more alive than dead. If you would, give me a starting point so we can discuss this like gentlemen?"

Delvaux doubted they had heard a word. If it were possible, they looked even dumber than usual.

"I'm not after your hat, Jean-Paul Delvaux," came a mechanical voice.

More echoed footsteps followed, and a cold sweat trailed down Delvaux's neck. I have to be strong here. I can't show them weakness. He thought as he stilled his chattering teeth.

"Show yourself! Who are you?! Why are we here? Answer me!"

"Very well. But, when you see the answers, remember that you sought the knowledge yourself."

A lantern came into view and significantly brightened the small cave chamber. The two traitorous members of the president's security detail stood at attention as a cloaked, red-skinned woman came into view.

"I believe a demonstration is in order."

The steady synthesized voice coming from her unnerved Delvaux, but he forced himself to his full height and looked up at her. Her eyes betrayed nothing, and her face looked as if strings controlling her expression had been cut.

That's when he saw it.

It was a noxious, tapeworm-like protrusion from her sleeve. It trailed slime that the ground itself seemed to retreat from. In short: it was an abomination.

The woman approached while the French President basked in petrifying fear. Only when she was well-within his personal space did he object:

"Now listen here! I....."

But he was too late. Before he knew what had happened the woman had him by the neck with a familiar, inhuman strength. He continued to choke out his objection in spite of the lack of air, but he could feel himself on the edge of unconsciousness as his brain and lungs starved for oxygen. His vision went blurry and he tried to formulate some last words befitting his office.

He was dropped.

The pain had stopped.

He was alive.

His cough, exacerbated by asthma, lasted well over a minute before it allowed him to regain his bearings. Still struggling to catch his breath, he motioned to voice his rage at being nearly killed. But he had no such chance:

He suddenly felt a writhing from within. Every nerve in his body ignited as the parasite made itself at home. He felt a mounting pressure in his head as his knees gave out. His frantic panting was transplanted with silent screams. He twitched in unnatural ways and fell limp, hoping for unconsciousness. However, his body righted itself of its own accord as if telekinetically lifted.

You ask us who we are. the same voice from before came from within Delvaux's own mind.

We come from a distant planet to expand our domain

Images of burning fields, six-legged red-skinned reptilians slaughtering others and an alien fleet of starships flashed through the president's mind.

I am their envoy A memory of a metal behemoth beneath the waves played through his mindscape. It moved along the ocean floor like a vacuum, taking in massive quantities of seawater along with any unfortunate marine life that had been caught in the vortex. My arrival marks the end of your race’s stewardship. This world now belongs to the Koriodost; it is only a matter of time.

"Get.... outta my head," Delvaux managed weakly.

The alien intelligence shifted through the politician's memory and quickly found what it needed to twist the man's allegiance.

I have told you all of this because we find you a superior specimen amongst your species. Despite your relative physical frailty, you've come to lead a prosperous nation of millions. Your drive has attracted wealth and mates alike and you still hunger for more. This quality marks you as worthy to stand with the new masters of this world.

This sent a avalanche of questions through the man’s mind, but he settled weakly upon What are your masters?

The presence frisked his brain for any religious affiliation and promptly decided on the most persuasive approach. Our masters are the Koriodost elite that tasked me with taking this world. Some among you see them as gods, but I see you are beyond such primitive superstition.

Damn right. Delvaux replied silently. It was sickening to play a good Christian and family man to win the secondary. Not to mention it cost me a ton in hush money for those whores to keep a lid on some of my less pious activities. But it worked, and those religious idiots pushed me to victory. They'll believe anything that can justify their low social standing--anything that lets them believe their thankless labor means anything in the scheme of things*.

Now that you know where you truly stand, we take it that you are not so foolish as to turn down a rare chance to get ahead?

Delvaux hesitated for the briefest of moments, but the alien grip within his mind easily muted his withered conscience for good.

I will stand with the winners as I always have. It may mean breaking some eggs, but sacrifices must be made to support those on top. We alone can drive progress. What would you have me do?

Even now we are turning more and more humans into obedient mions. They will act on our behalf to bring this world under our thumb. Some, such as those that brought you here, are no better than feral beasts in the absence of a handler guiding them. Others are privileged with more autonomy and act as infiltrators. You will stand above them all as an overseer. You will, with my guidance, direct them to cleanse this world for our masters’ arrival. Succeed, and they will welcome you as an equal. Fail, and we will bring you to the dirt where you belong. With a record such as yours, you should not disappoint.

Their offer was incredibly tempting. Delvaux wouldn’t be foolish enough to turn it down when he had already committed himself to the voice in his head, but nonetheless, the last of the man’s courage reared its head to hazard a question: “I take it I couldn’t refuse even if I wanted to?”

You will serve us. Whether it is as a pawn or as a king—that is your choice. Satisfy us, and we will allow you the sanctuary of your own mind.

"Thank you, master. I will prove my worth," Delvaux said retreating from his momentary boldness. But with those words, he turned his back on humanity.

A well-informed mion has helped me create a scheme that I believe can give us a powerful foothold on this continent. You will direct this operation to capture the influence and resources of the mafia. Succeed and you will be granted the title of Supreme Executive Overseer of European Operations for the Koriodost. The presence known simply as "the herald" thought it odd that humans were swayed by such fluff, but it wasn’t one to question what worked.

I've always wanted to give those arrogant bastards a good punch anyway. What's the plan?

Discord buzzed his wings and moved his horned, fly-shaped projection closer. This was unmistakably Jean-Paul Delvaux, but the alien infection was already firmly rooted to his nervous system.

"Well this is no fun!" He exclaimed to the four mions in the room. "All that buildup and my grand prize winner isn't even eligible?" He took the form of a ugly colt and grabbed onto the short Frenchman. "It's my unicorn! MINE! GIVE IT BACK!" The incorporeal construct gave no indication of its pseudo-presence, and Delvaux continued the mental briefing with his new employer nonplussed.

"Fine be that way! I've already spoiled these hairless apes enough. It'd hardly be fair if I stole the enemy's nest egg too." He turned to the woman, "but if you leave toys lying around, don't act surprised if some of them go... missing."

"Enjoy your stupid human! I didn’t want it anyway," he screamed in his foalish voice. "I'm going to give more prizes to ponies who can appreciate them."

With a raspberry, Discord's ethereal presence vanished, leaving Delvaux ignorant of the greater power he had narrowly missed out on.

Author's Note

*The following opinion is the bigoted view of an insecure elitist and in no way reflects the views of the author, editors, pre-readers fimfiction or Hasbro.

Edit: I should probably mention that the downvote cutie mark represents the customer's talent for complaining in order to get special accommodations and freebies out of apologetic managers in restaurants, hotels, etc. It's in no way a jab at those who legitimately dislike this story; on the contrary, I very much welcome constructive criticism.

1: Portents

It was a quiet, windless night in Sicily. Most honest folk had long since gone to bed. For Giovanni, however, it was another night at the office.

Usually that did not actually involve endless rows of beige cubicles, but the past three nights had been an exception. All it had taken was a graveyard shift security guard eager to return a favor, and the Mafioso now found himself the owner of the world's least interesting and least practical timeshare.

Fortunately, he could put the soul-sucking monotony of the dormant corporate scene behind him as he patiently surveyed the empty street street below with his weapon in hand. The third floor balcony had all the makings of a perfect assassin's perch: the railing provided natural support for his weapon while completely obscuring view of him from below. Giovanni would have preferred it a bit higher, but its proximity to the target's rendezvous point could not be beat.

Time nearly stood still as he passed the hours sweeping the rifle's muzzle between a narrow corner and a warehouse halfway down the road.

After a few hours of this, boredom began gnawing relentlessly at him.

It had not taken long at all for him to become more familiar with the commercial block than he ever wanted to be. Every crack in the sidewalk was known to him. The shadows of neighboring office buildings proved just as uninteresting upon seventieth inspection. And the half-assed landscaping was no better at raising morale than the occasional family photo or child’s drawing on the desks behind him.

With nothing else to do, he once more took to calculating the time he would have to make his shot. Moon Young stands at about 175 cm—somewhat tall for an Asian. Assuming his group of 6 matches their walking speed to the boss's stride length, I'll have at least 30 seconds to take him out—longer if he doesn't take the lead.

Satisfied with his estimate yet again, he resumed spinning a cigarette in his right hand while keeping a careful watch on the road. Had he not had the sense to leave his lighter in the car, he would have given into temptation long ago subtlety be damned.

Three nights of nothing. He thought.

I suppose in this case, it would kill him to show up on time, but that’s no reason to excuse to keep a guy waiting. Even the boss is ready to give up on this lead.

And if it didn’t mean losing my chance to kill the organ-thieving bastard myself, I’d have agreed with him.

After half an hour more of fruitless waiting, he sighed and put the cigarette away, replacing it with a striped, piggy bank-shaped stress ball he had “borrowed” from the office suite. The stupid things were everywhere. He thought while beginning to compress and twist it with his free hand. It was a poorly made thing, yielding under pressure far too easily to bring any kind of satisfaction.

"For the record: you’ve been lousy company,” he said to Guardian Financial’s juvenile mascot after a short torture session. “Maybe this tip really is a bust.”

However, to poor Quarteroy’s relief, the triad boss’s entourage chose that moment to round the corner and prove Giovanni happily wrong. The two largest members took the lead with a shorter, more savvy-looking man directly following them. Moon was the fourth to come into sight. Giovanni had yet to see the man in person, but his gaudy crescent spectacles, portly figure and awkward comb-over made him the least discreet of the group.

The Mafioso did not even examine the remainder of the group as he honed in on his mark.

He readied his aim, hovered over the trigger and primed his legs to make his escape only for his perfect shot to be foiled by a passing truck.

Cursing, he wasted no time in drawing a bead on his target once more.

His left index finger began to tighten around the trigger. It was an even better shot than the first—Moon had briefly paused to inspect his shoelaces. He couldn't miss!

However this time, an enormous, tattooed thug from the head of the group interposed himself while gesturing excitedly at his employer.

From what Giovanni could gather through his annoyance, the man had beaten up some stupid-looking punk with a Mohawk and had then broken a beer bottle on his oversized nose.

Losing only a little patience, Giovanni waited for the man to finish his hilarious anecdote. It had eaten up half the remaining distance, but the boss eventually acquiesced a pity chuckle, and, satisfied, the dumb-muscle retook his place at the head of the group while imitating his victim's awkward retreating gait.

The luckless hitman rapidly checked his aim again. He couldn’t afford to be hasty, but his window of opportunity was fast closing.

Almost predictably, a provocatively-dressed woman jumped on the boss and started showering him with affection.

Giovanni considered pulling the trigger out of spite for the briefest of moments. Despite quickly snuffing out his blind rage, he briefly entertained the self-indulgent debate of where he would put such a bullet were he to act on that violent impulse, but spotted something that derailed the thought entirely:

“Are those…. horse ears?!” he said aloud, completely baffled.

“And they’re….. purple!?”

Through the scope, he could swear they looked almost real in spite of the unnatural color. Try as he might, he could find no visible seam to nor any protrusion of the woman's actual ears underneath. A streetlamp then shone on her directly, leaving the would-be assassin with an even better view of the ears' exquisite detail.

With the raise of an eyebrow, he shoved aside his nascent attempts of an explanation and prepared himself to fire the moment the escort removed herself from the boss’s shoulders.

Unfortunately, the impromptu makeout session did not abate until well after the group had ducked inside the warehouse.

Giovanni stepped back from the scope and sat silently. He could almost be mistaken for calm, carefully calculating his next move.

Quarteroy, for one, was certainly not fooled.

Goddamned whore! Can you not wait two fucking minutes? Oh, I’m sure what you have is love—real love. I’m sure he doesn’t love you just for your body. I'm sure he doesn't say those things to all the other girls. And I’m especially sure your “love” for him has absolutely nothing to do with the premium rate you collect for the furry funtime package!

They say It’s bad practice to know your target’s hobbies, family, children, anything that can remind you they are human. But I would read a book on the son of a bitch if I could unlearn his fetish!

As soon as he had collected himself, he fished an energy drink out of his backpack. I really hate these things, but I can’t deny they work. After a long sip, Giovanni was turning his eyes back on the aging commercial warehouse when something strange caught his eye.

What… what the hell is that?

The massive descending brown cloud seemed to glide along a fixed course in spite of—or perhaps because of—the lack of wind that night.

Giovanni was faster to recover from this second dumbfounding sight: I don’t know what that is, but I sure as hell don’t want to breathe it in. He praised himself for his diligent packing as he found his gas mask in its dedicated pocket and strapped it on.

I didn’t think I’d be using this tonight.

Then, as if to further laud the hitman’s prudence, the entire mass exploded into visible fumes. He could see them trace lines in every direction before the smog completely blinded him.

Panic was a rare emotion for one that regularly entered into—and won— firefights, but as the haze cleared, Giovanni had been disoriented enough to wonder if it had been one minute or ten he had spent cloaked in brown smoke. Dissipating nervousness aside, he otherwise felt no different. It was easily the most surprising event of the evening, but he had thankfully built up somewhat of a tolerance after a quarter-dozen of them and went through through a mental checklist.

Am I all right? Looks like it.

I’m not even coughing which is a good sign. My skin doesn’t appear irritated either.

And no dizziness. It looks like the mask did its job, but I’m definitely going to see the family doctor after this. No need to take chances.

After that precaution, Giovanni looked back out towards the street. It appeared that a large quantity of gas had found its way into the open window of the very warehouse he was now staking out.

It's strange that it chose here to explode. Is it also after Moon?

No, that's ridiculous. It's just a random bit of pollution...... is what I want to believe, but natural smog clouds don't just explode into thick gas. Can’t be a dust cloud either; this whole area’s urban.

Is it a new type of chemical weapon? Organ trafficking won’t make you very many friends, but none of the triad's many enemies fit as culprits. If a rival syndicate had such tech, we’re in the business of being the first ones to know. The feds would make more sense in having access to it, but this is just not their M.O.

Is it random? No, there’s no way this wasn’t planned. This can’t all be a coincidence. That cloud was huge, and as superstitious as it may be, I can't stop thinking it's here for the same reason as I am. Assuming it's controlled, there's nothing else here at this time of night. Could it have to do with that furry bitch? Someone destroying the evidence of an experiment gone horribly wrong? Seems like overkill. None of this makes any sense dammit!

Solving the mystery would have to wait, however, as Giovanni heard screams coming from the warehouse. After enough of a pause to allow for doubt, the sound began to come in more clearly:

Fanatic chanting. Cries of sadistic pleasure. A lone woman’s scream.

The first two rose dramatically in volume as the latter cracked before being silenced for good.

All of his senses briefly deadened before Giovanni managed to force his mind into motion once more. He started reviewing the possibilities from before but had no better luck with a hypothesis.

Fifteen minutes of uneasy silence passed before the Chinese-Italian gangsters started filing out of the warehouse. Many were covered in crude, ritualistic markings made with whatever was available—paint, blood and charcoal. The giant from earlier even seemed to have a new tattoo.

It was then that this ominous evening took its final, nauseating twist: the boss exited, wearing a stump of a purple tail as a makeshift necklace—the original color nigh-indistinguishable from the blackish-red stains. One of his bodyguards followed, threading an ear of the same color through a string to create a matching accoutrement.

It took but a mere glance at the trailing goon's blood-leaking trash bag to seal the fate of the now absent woman beyond a shadow of a doubt.

And they continued to chant and cheer, throwing any criminal subtlety to the winds.

This could be big.

The boss needs to know about this.

But first…

Giovanni effortlessly dropped the triad boss with his first and only shot. It had almost been worth all the trouble to see the frenzied crime lord go finally go down.

However, the reaction of Moon’s subordinates unnerved him. It was an icy touch to his core that would likely haunt him until end of his days:

Total indifference.

]

Taylor sat transfixed by his laptop screen, awkwardly leaning forward on his chair. His exhaustion was painted on his face, but the queen bed behind him sat in the same pristine condition as it was upon his arrival yesterday. His curly blond hair was a matted mess, complementing his ratty choice of a t-shirt and dirty jeans. Had his acne not thankfully cleared up years ago, nobody would be able to tell him from the scrawny teen that had proven to be veritable catnip for bullies back in high school.

After misclicking the same dead-end folder for the third time in a row, he finally happened upon the cut footage he was looking for.

If this had happened any later, it might have already been gone. I'll probably never delete footage from old videos ever again.

I’m fairly sure it was the second day of filming. But even if I do find it what can I expect? It's not like I'll find some magic… no! Any clue can help at this point. Anything is better than the alternative. If there’s even the smallest chance of reversing these changes, I have to grab it.

Taylor awkwardly pawed at the fuzz on his ears. I’m not just going to give up and become some sort of dumb animal!

The Twitter icon then lit up.

Please! Breaking News! This can’t stay hidden any longer! I know there others! The drama surrounding France's missing president can wait!

@ImLarryOak
Clay’s Excadrill recks me again!
RIP Frodo, Kaa and Bert :(
Pokemon Black 2 Hard Mode Second City Nuzlocke:
Status: Failed

Dammit! Haven’t you given up on that by now! God knows how your channel maintains 50,000 subscribers!

Taylor's addled mind wasted 15 valuable minutes trying to convince himself he wasn't just envious of his friend's larger viewership. Sure Larry's charismatic, but it's just not fair that he can hold an interest of even a tenth of that through three failed attempts of what amounts to dull gameplay. His livestream even regularly tops most of my videos. When it's that easy for him, I have to wonder why I even bother.

Taylor snapped out of that unproductive trance and, with only a hint of reluctance, swiftly unfollowed his best friend and everyone else save for a few major news outlets and a dozen chatty celebrities.

Maybe they’ll tweet it first. Happened with Bin Laden.

Taylor’s browser still showed the evidence of several hours of desperate web searches. He had found nothing more than a few quickly moderated threads from people claiming to have sprouted ears and tails. He had called it quits when an hour of digging yielded a promisingly detailed description of a condition similar to his only for it to be deluged with comments along the lines of “die furfag” and “try harder 0/photoshop”.

Shaking himself awake, he clicked open the beginning of the movie file:

“Welcome everyone. I’m the Rogue Mouseketeer. Your guide to all things Disney. When the magic of commercialism loses its dazzling veneer, I'm the one to call to scrape up the mess. This week, Disneyland Paris saw the opening of its long-awaited companion park, and I’ll be among the first to check it out. Let's go."

That was awkward. I’m glad I cut it; I sounded too stiff there.

Now, it should be near the end here. It was at FairyTale Falls.

“Fairytale Falls draws inspiration from Disney’s most beloved classics and newest hits alike. Although the bright colors and gift shop theming suggest pandering towards your daughters and nieces...”

Taylor dragged the scroll bar forward as his recorded self posed behind a Cinderella gown.

“And that’s why I think its worth checking out for everyone. A reminder that Disney succeeds when it puts storytelling first. Tell them I sent you and they’ll refund your man card. Yes, even you, ladies.”

THERE!

In the background, a young woman yanked on what appeared to be cyan horse ears while chatting with friends.

“Yes, this morning they showed up while I…” “Until next time, I’m the Rogue Mouseketeer. And…”

“DAMMIT! Why won’t I SHUT UP!?" Taylor tried desperately to hear anything at all over himself, but sunk when the group of girls left the shot.

Larry’s another matter; the real question is how I make any money at all doing this. It’s not like I’m saying anything insightful—or witty. I'm just some loser on the internet who somehow got popular by riffing on his sister's Disney tweencoms. I could have just patted myself on the back and got on with my life, but no, I got it into my head that I could make a living off this.

Half an hour crept by and Taylor’s depression and reduced attention span left him idly clicking the start menu. To his irritation, Audacity had accidentally opened, and he moved to close it before freezing.

Wait... that’s it! I can re-record my outro and then subtract it from the audio at the park.

It was flimsy chance of getting any useful information, but to Taylor, it was a tantalizingly close brass ring. He grabbed his unopened suitcase, dumped the contents on the floor and sifted through them to find his professional-grade, external microphone.

He then plugged it into his aging laptop and made his first attempt: “Until next time, I’m the Rogue Mouseketeer, and as long as there’s a dollar to be made, I’ll be there helping Disney earn it like the sucker I am.”

That’s strange. I rehearsed that line dozens of times. Why is the frequency so erratic? What are these spikes?

Three more tries yielded the same result before Taylor decided to stop questioning it and deepened his voice to compensate for the spikes.

That did it.

Taylor performed the subtraction and immediately played back the edited audio.

“ Yes, this morning they showed up while I…”
“J'ai besoin! L'achète pour moi! L'achète pour moi!”

“Well that’s rather odd, Lynne. Wouldn’t you say so, Becky?”

Taylor tasted utter defeat for the second time that evening. I just had to film that shot in front of the princess goods, didn’t I? Taylor thought as he glared at the toddler dragging her feet in defiance of her grandmother’s attempts to pry her away from a cheap, plastic tiara.

If your brat has to steal all the hope I have left, why not shoplift the damn tiara too! Taylor thought as he shattered his favorite microphone on the desk.

“I don’t suppose I can get a pair. Now really, where did you find those cute animal ears?”

With that, the trio exited the frame.

“Well, time for plan G,” Taylor said with a defeated sigh. He stood, shook off a dizzy spell and jumped face-first onto the bed. Pushing himself up, he then clapped his hands together in supplication.

Hey, God, it’s me, Taylor Goldstein. You probably know that since you probably know everything, which would make asking you this pointless because you’ll know exactly what I am going to ask and have decided to leave me here, apparently morphing into some bizarrely-colored creature because I did... something. That’s kind of a dick move actually—straight out of the Old Testament. I don't suppose there's any chance I could talk to the New Testament God? I’ve heard he’s nicer. No? All right here goes:

I know I haven’t exactly been a faithful Jew. All I’ve ever really done is light those candles to honor… what was it again? Or sometimes I used go to that… place where grandma would make me wear that silly hat and slap me when I dozed off. I mean, I was honored to wear that hat; it must be pretty important. After all, Catholics leave that honor to the head of their whole religion, so it really was wasted on me.

Look: what I’m trying to say is that I suck at religion—I'm a bad Jew. You know that; I don’t need to be you to know that. We both know that. I could promise to be newly faithful to you, my lord, but that would be fickle. I’ll instead ask for your forgiveness. I know I haven’t been the best at the “honor thine parents” commandment, and the first few years out of college weren’t the best, but do I really deserve this? If you can spare me from this strange, unknown disease I promise I can do better.

Taylor let his head fall back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the growing itching sensation on his legs. He didn’t know what he was expecting to happen, and perhaps sensing his lack of faith, the almighty one gave no sign of acknowledgement.

The slender, bespectacled youth dragged himself to his feet, briefly wincing in pain from an unfamiliar appendage being pinned under his weight. He then threw his laptop and whatever could be useful into a travel bag and abandoned the remaining mess of his upturned suitcase.

Taking one glance back, he decided against leaving that weird book behind—unhelpful as it may have been. Daring Do and the Mirage Beneath the Oasis featured a hat-wearing mare about to pounce on a pair of identical-looking jackals that just screamed "evil henchmen".

Well, if an adventure novel starring a talking horse can't help me, I don't know what will. The handwritten note in the front says you 'might come in handy', so make my day, you piece of travel trash. Taylor thought as the threw the book into his bag with far more force than was needed.

He slipped on a hooded jacket, sighed and reached for the handwritten note in its left pocket.

“Well, time to see if the Devil can make me a better offer.”

"Yes."

"I know."

"Feel free to call me if you need anything."

"Uh-huh."

"Good night. Oh, and, Bernadette, get some rest.”

“Please.”

“I know you get tired of your nurse of a big sister telling you to watch your health but please.”

“For me.”

“I know you are worried about her, but it won't do either of you any good for you to stay up all night worrying."

"I love you too. Get some rest. Please. I'll be here any time you want to talk."

As she hung up, Maria lit up her first cigarette in over a decade. Some role model I am. Telling her to watch her health when I'm choosing to start poisoning myself again

I don't think I'd be able to calm down in her position either. I'm terrible for thinking this, but as much as I love Lily, having my own daughter taken away would devastate me a lot more.

Maria flipped her phone on and found the photo she was looking for. Her niece was posed in front of her father's house in Texas, her hands emphasizing the yellow horse ears in place of her own while bearing a complexion of profound unease. I had thought this was a silly prank, but her face tells the truth; I just didn't want to believe it.

The next photo showed her with a full horse's tail and patches of darker yellow covering her arms and legs. She appeared to be struggling to stand up and in clear pain.

They wanted me to know something—anything. But I couldn't tell them a thing. What good is all my training if I can't do anything to help the ones closest to me—even if they are an ocean away.

No, that’s no excuse at all: even when it was in front of me, I couldn't do anything. That American boy—he was so scared, and I couldn't do anything for him either. He came to us for help, and I turned him away— made it clear he wasn’t welcome at any hospital with that preposterous “condition”.

Was it the right decision?

Traveling alone with no one to turn to while losing his humanity. Poor thing.

I may have saved him from Lilian's fate, spirited away by the government, but was it really a kindness?

God forbid what might have happened to him if someone else had seen him, but was it right for me to make that call?

I could have told him the truth, but I can’t whisper a thing while the gossip harpies I call coworkers are around. If they had taken an interest, they would have certainly spotted the tail. As it is, they probably won’t stop pestering me about my staged outburst for some time to come, but at least I can lie my way out of that one.

Maria let her mind drift as she continued to smoke, leaning against the door to her modest apartment.

It's the sad nature of the job: you can't save everyone. Still, these are trying times—strange times. A meteor supposed to destroy the world amounts to nothing, a young woman about to start her life becomes a miniature yellow stallion, a tattooed, two-meter tall, red-skinned demon attacks a defenseless woman while screaming at her to submit to his masters. After all that's happened I'm almost ready to believe that last one. Poor thing. She’s so shaken up—demon or no demon. But I can’t heal the mind. Another thing I can't do

My heart goes out to Lilian. To that boy. It breaks it to know that there might be more out there—some even less fortunate.

"Hey, Alain!" a stocky seventeen-year-old says, entering an abandoned stable.

"We found another one. Another female."

He pulled firmly on the chain and a gagged cyan unicorn hesitantly followed him in.

"Shame," said the other man.

"If they're as rare as we think, a breeding pair would worth a ton more." "Oh well. Try not to rough it up too much. My cousin's friend will be coming to take a look at them tomorrow. He knows some people who won't ask too many questions."

"You're gonna make us a lot of money, little horsey," Lynne's handler cooed as he slowly ran his fingers through the unicorn's deep-blue mane. The gag muffled her cries of indignity as he yanked the chain forward.

“Get going!” he ordered with a slap to her flank.

The captive unicorn winced but refused to move.

The burly youth just shrugged and easily lifted the unicorn from the back, exposing her underside to the other man. Lynne’s furred face boiled into a blush as the realization of her nudity hit her hard. She was carried past past a couple of rotting stalls before they stopped at one of the few usable ones.

“This here’s yer new friend. Be sure to get along now.”

Author's Note

I'm not entirely happy with how this jumps around, but I couldn't come up with a fix without giving probability the middle finger and sticking all my ponies together at the start.

Next time: actual human interaction.