When you live a mundane, day to day life as one of hundreds of employees working in a cubicle farm, you get used to the dull, weary grind of it, never expecting it to change. You wake up, you get ready for work, you go to work, clock out at the end of the day, maybe head to the bar with your fellow workers for an hour or two, head home, eat, sleep, then start it all over again the next day. And the next. And the next. So it was for me while working for the Daulton Corporation, an international pharmaceutical company that supplied medicine for millions across the globe. Who am I? My name is David and I was just another cog in the machine. I had dark brown hair that bordered on being black, brown eyes and I was never really the healthiest person around.

I can run maybe twenty feet before ending up doubled over, gasping for air, and my tight budget didn't allow for the best of diets so I was also pasty and lacked energy on a fairly regular basis. The only thing that wasn't average was my height, though I suppose a guy standing at just over six feet isn't all that uncommon, either. I also couldn't grow facial hair to save my life, so it was either shave every day or end up with unruly, splotchy patches of hair that didn't grow nearly thick enough to be anything beyond glorified peach fuzz. So, yeah, nothing great about me I'm afraid. But, that's not why you're reading this, is it? No, you want to see how my life went from dull and mundane to the worst possible thing I could have ever imagined.

It started on a Friday night, just after seven in the evening, and I'd allowed several of my coworkers to talk me into going with them to Jerry's, the cheapest dive downtown. At least the music didn't make me want to rip my ears off. This is going to make me sound old, but I can't stand the techno, pop crap younger people listen to these days and it tends to infest most every bar and club I've had the pleasure of being to over the years. So, the fact Jerry only plays older rock tunes at his place is a welcome treat for the ears, even if it's mostly just Aerosmith and, occasionally, Metallica. The first sign that my night was going to be troublesome was when an attractive woman approached me.

Like I already said, I was never much of a catch, so when this redheaded beauty sat next to me, smelling of some sweet, cloying perfume and flashing me her best smile, you can imagine that I was wondering just what in the hell she wanted from me. Could have easily been fishing for free drinks, I suppose, but this was not my lucky night. Now, Daulton Corp. expected its employees to dress professionally, even us simple cubicle jockeys, so I was wearing a fairly decent looking business suit. She must have smelled money and, since I was the homeliest of the group, she also likely figured I'd be the easiest to dupe. Turned out she was right, though not how I would have initially expected.

“I couldn't help noticing that you're looking kinda lonely,” she said, all sweetness and sex appeal with the faintest trace of an accent I couldn't place. If I were more attractive, and less cynical, I'd be all over her. What? I'm homely, not dead. So, right then, I was thinking she's an...escort, the type whose clientele works a dozen floors above my personal little slice of heaven.

“Look, I'm flattered you think I can afford you,” I began, my tone as dry as the whiskey that was left in my glass, “but don't let the suit fool ya, honey. I'm not-” I was cut off by someone bumping into me, my attention diverted to some drunken asshole who should've been sleeping it off. “Hey, watch it!” The man slurred something my way, an apology I guess, but he was gone almost as quick as he'd arrived. “Christ, what an asshole.” I looked back to the redhead, only she was no longer there, which only prompted me to shrug. I figured must have gone looking for someone else to sell her services too and thought nothing more of it.

I grimaced as I finished off my drink, the whiskey oddly bitter despite how smooth the rest of it had gone down earlier. It wasn't until I got out to the parking lot that I realized my mistake. My vision blurred, doubled and came in and out of focus, my balance lost in seconds. The next thing I knew I was kissing asphalt with someone tugging on my suit jacket, trying to get it off me. I couldn't even struggle, a garbled protest slipping from my lips, which only made my mugger kick me in the ribs, the pain distant through the haze of whatever the hell that red haired bitch slipped into my drink. My wallet hit the gritty tarmac next to my face and I tried to get up, but the heel of the hellion's shoe struck the back of my head and stopped my efforts to rise in their tracks. I think my nose broke as it hit the asphalt, but things kind of went black at that point so my recollection of that night ends there.

I don't know how long I was out, exactly, but the screaming agony pounding through my skull was what finally brought me out of my less than restful slumber. If you can imagine a thousand hot, scalding knives jamming into your head from every possible direction at once and twisting around inside your brain, you'd get pretty close to how I felt right then. I retched, gagged and dry-heaved, which only made the pain worse, distracting me from the odd position I was laying in as a piteous whine escaped my lips. I kept my eyes squeezed shut, some bright, blinding light shining through my eyelids, prompting me to cover them with my hands...except instead of feeling my hands I felt the cold, flat press of metal instead. I opened my eyes then, only to shut them almost immediately as sunlight stabbed into my retinas, my body convulsing as I tried to again empty my stomach, yet strangely nothing came up. I hadn't had supper before I hit the bar but there should have been something in my stomach to get rid of instead of just the bitter, acidic burn of bile climbing up my throat.

“Fuck,” I hissed, noticing another oddity as my voice wasn't as deep as it used to be, though there was more as I started to try to move. Why did my legs feel like they were folded under my stomach? Why did I feel like I was burning up and freezing all at once and why the hell couldn't I feel my fingers or toes? I forced my eyes open, grinding my teeth, that felt too large in my mouth, against the fresh searing agony that lanced through my brain, and tried to focus on my hands. Except my arms didn't end in hands. It was like someone cut them off at the wrist and encased my new stubs and forearms with some kind of strange blue metal.

“What the fuck?” I rasped, my throat terribly dry and my tongue like sandpaper in my mouth. Was I still on whatever that bitch slipped me last night? I couldn't think, couldn't remember anything beyond walking out into the parking lot. As I tried to focus I noticed something else out of place: my nose. It wasn't there. Or, it was, but it was lower, longer, broader and black. I'm not talking the nice, smooth brown your average African-American is blessed with, either. No, it was blacker than the blackest of pitch and covered with a short, fine layer of what could only be fur, though my view of it was partially obscured by more of that strange metal covering the bridge of my...muzzle?

“I have to be dreaming,” I groaned while trying to rise, only to stumble as my legs didn't work right. I ended up falling on my face, which did wonders for the hangover from hell, let me tell ya. “No, this isn't a dream,” I gasped, clutching at my head with the metal encased stubs that used to be my hands and arms. “This is some goddamn nightmare!” I cracked an eye open, trying to get my bearings, only to stare upwards at the vast expanse of stars overhead. “What?” I whispered in disbelief, truly seeing my surroundings for the first time. I knew where I was, having seen footage of the lunar landing, but I couldn't accept it. My mind rejected it, railing against the stark, cold landscape of the moon and the trackless void beyond it.

The searing heat was the sun beating down on me, the cold that of space, and, as I turned my head, I saw what I assumed to be the Earth, only closer than it had been in the old film reels brought back by the first humans to set foot on its sole orbiting satellite. I could only stare at it, my eyes wide, my pulse thundering loudly in my ears and my breath coming in short, panicked gasps. I then did what any sane, rational being would do under the circumstances. I screamed, the sound somehow carrying despite the lack of an atmosphere, and ended up passing out as my brain simply shut itself down, unable to accept the information my senses were giving it. I had a single thought before the bliss of unconsciousness took me. Please, God, let this just be a nightmare. But a nightmare is exactly what it was and, unfortunately, it wasn't one I would be able to wake up from. Welcome to my own little slice of hell; please, enjoy your stay.

Author's Note

This is a human in Equestria story, as you already know, with the main character having somehow been turned into a Rule 63 version of Nightmare Moon. The thing is, while I've seen stories where human characters either assume the form of or take on the actual body of the villain in question, it's usually after she's either returned or already been redeemed. So I decided to create a story where the human becomes Nightmare Moon right after she's been banished, with the focus of the narrative on how he handles it and the events to follow. Like it? Hate it? Please, let me know your thoughts in the comments below and, if you do like it, click that thumbs up if you're so inclined. Or, you know, the thumbs down, if you don't.