Author's Note

This is not cannon. This just popped into my head and wouldn't leave until I had done something with it. This is not cannon. This didn't actually happen in the events of the story. Don't follow this expecting it to be cannon, cause this didn't happen. I just wanted to Write about Zecora in one of the machines, and exactly how she might react. Spoiler: Poorly. More of a concept piece, if anything. I just really, REALLY like the idea, that they're carrying this unconscious Zebra whos supposed to be completely knocked out and she's actually awake. How would you feel if you looked over and she was staring back at you. Not, snarling, or cursing or complaining, just this cold, silent glare of hate? I also liked the idea that Zecora could curse those who displeased her, and her and her tribe find 'life liquid' sacred, and someone stealing it is one of the most horrible things you can do

Zecora is not amused. (Bonus)

Zecora twisted her hips, coming to with a groan. A laboratory, just like Twilight had described before. Beakers, vials, all sorts of shiny things that made her skin crawl. The last thing she could remember was attempting to free Twilight from her captivity, and lead her out of the facility. They grabbed her before she could escape, though. She never thought she'd run into them, of course. It all made sense, now that she knew who was behind this. She knew exactly what she needed to do, and who to talk to so all of this would stop. She'd blow this whole thing wide open if she could just get to-

A mechanical whirling shook her thoughts free and back to the situation at present. She'd been forced into a machine like Twilight. An odd device that held her forehooves down, and forced her rear end up into the air, with her tail pulled aside. How dare they. HOW DARE THEY! This was not the sort of thing you could just TAKE from a mare! It was sacred! To be treasured and cherished and worshipped. The seed of life was not something to be used in experiments. HOW. DARE. THEY.

Zecora twisted and snarled, tugging at her bound hooves as the machine whirled to life behind her. She expected something cold and cruel- some violent extraction of her private juices from some sinister machine- but the item pressed against her sex was anything but. Smooth, mechanical, cold, it was everything Twilight described and then some. Zecora narrowed her eyes as the machine began to plunge into her.

She could smell the change in the air- something slowly filling the room. Gas? Thats what Twilight had said. Yes, yes, that was definitely a different smell. The aphrodisiac Twilight had mentioned. Zecora gave a snort and cleared her mind. It would not be so easy to tamper with her! Years and years of breathing in chemicals and different brews mixing potions and antidotes had given her senses beyond the scope of a normal zebra. The shaman twisted her hips, rocking her thick behind from side to side, as the machine took it's time with her, thrusting slowly, in and out, in and out, driving her fury with each pump. IT wasn't erotic in the slightest, but Zecora could understand how the combination of the gas and the machine, and it's gentle thrusts would be enough to give any girl an orgasm. She refused to cooperate though. She would die before she gave these monsters her life liquid, and a strong mind was more than enough to keep her arousal from taking over her. She wouldn't give in, even as the thrusts started to hammer into her. Oh, did they notice? Where they watching her? She narrowed her eyes and glared into the room. The machine started to stroke faster, harder, pumping violently into her sweet exposed sex. Zecora did not respond with a moan, and a cry of pleasure. She was silent, and hate filled. Fuming with hexes and vexes that would make a seasoned witch tremble. Not a word or a sound from her. Something disturbing to her captors, she was sure. Oh, the fury she would reign down on this sad little facility. By the blood of her ancestors, these vile kidnappers would pay. The disease and suffering Zecora would wield could not be fathomed, but would be felt. Oh, The spirits she would call to her aid, and the curses she would lay upon them. Their afterlife would be fraught with torment and terror, and the moment she died, she would head straight for them. All of them. To try and STEAL the liquid of life from a mare? The thought alone was so perverse that she could hardly hold audience to it, but the fact that they actually made the attempt...

Slowly, the machine began to slow to a stop, as if they realized they weren't going to collect from Zecora. The gas was still strong in the room, but now took on a different odor. The sleeping gas, no doubt. Zecora steeled her mind and focused her senses. She slowly went limp in the machine's grasp and she waited until she heard the door open. Ten minutes had passed. They stopped pumping the gas into the room. They came to fetch her. She was worthless to them. Something was wrong with this one. They came in slowly, talking to one and other. One of them was saying something while the other fiddled with the machine. Come on, you bastards, come on...The cold sound of metal sliding against metal signaled that the machine had released it's grasp on her. They grasped her limp body and began to drag her out the door. A Mere seven paces. All it took was seven paces, before the one on her left noticed something. The zebra was glaring at him. she was awake. Silent, but awake. She had not put up a fight, or caused a fuss. She was just deathly quiet, and staring at him. Now he felt sick. He wouldn't know why he felt sick, he would just feel sick. It would start in the chest, a strange sort of sensation. Uncomfortable, like a his heart was covered in spikes. Tiny little horribly sharp spikes. Like needles. Stabbing into his organs mercilessly. The second one would feel it tpo. This was her gift to them. The punishment for having the audacity to try and steal the liquid of life from her. She watched quietly, as both of them collapsed to the ground, clutching at their chests, trembling as pain flickered through their frames with each beat of their hearts. They would never know the mercy she showed them. They would never know how hard she fought to keep herself in check. To keep herself from the dark rage that threatened to overtake her in it's hatred. They would never, ever know, that her gift to them, was that she made it 'quick'.