Title:           The Way Part 2
Author:          ElephantInTheRoom
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/hKJDntpH
First Edit:      Wednesday 6th of January 2016 11:23:30 PM CDT
Last Edit:       Last edit on: Monday 1st of February 2016 06:23:05 AM CDT

>The night sky looms over you.
>The stars seem to sparkle and pulse, weaving patterns across the heavens.
>You're floating... no... you seem to be flying.
>The air is frosty, but the cold on your body doesn't bother you. In fact, it feels nothing but refreshing.
>Speaking of nothing, no matter how much you try to move you can't seem to see your body.
>You mange to look down. You're passing over ombre hills of green grass, the landscape pocked with lakes of crystal water, glimmering beneath the stars.
>Snow-capped mountains rise in the distance, standing like silent guardians over the landscape.
>This is absolutely breathtaking. At least, it would be if you were breathing. Shouldn't you be breathing?
>Nope, it seems like the sky is doing that for you. The whole thing seems to be expanding and contracting, moving the heavens along with it.
>All except for one star, shining brightly, immobile, directly in front of you. A single stable point amidst the undulating light show above.
>The one you're headed straight toward.
>If you're not breathing, are you dead?
>How did you die?
>You were in your home.
>A bright crack shoots across your field of vision, arcing like lightning.
>A sharp pain in your neck, a burning throughout your body. People around you, grabbing you, pulling you.
>You have a body.
>The whole world is shaking now, an earthquake?
>No it's thumping, it's thumping in you, around you.
>That's your heart.
>You're not dead, not yet at least.
>More bright cracks, propagating through out your field of vision, covering the sky, the landscape, tearing it apart, tearing you away...
 
>You gasp for air, your body convulsing.
>Everything around you is bright, blindingly so. Your heart hammers on in your chest, it's the only thing you can hear.
>Everything is painfully sharp, you can just make out the murmurs of human voices and the bleached outlines of figures around you.
>You're sitting in a chair, tilted slightly back, leather straps holding you in place. They're around your arms, your legs, your chest, your neck, even your forehead.
>You're having a hard time breathing, it's like your throat is closing up. You're gasping and wheezing for air.
>Your body feels hot, too hot.
>You look down at your hands, trying to grasp at the arms of your chair. Your fingers don't respond, they don't look right.
>It's almost like they're bubbling. They look lumpy, like your hands are swelling unevenly.
>Everything feels numb, it feels wrong. Your entire body feels like it's vibrating.
>”...reaction... not unusual.... others... keep monitored...”
>The figures around you are becoming a little clearer, their words becoming discernible.
>There are IVs in your arm, on your hand. You hear the rhythmic beep of a heart monitor, but it's not the only one.
>The strap around your forehead allows you a little leeway. Your body is sluggish to respond, but you manage to tilt your neck a little to your left.
>There's another chair, one beside it, behind it, in front of it.
>The room is full of these chairs, you can see at least eight just in your limited field of view.
>There's a person strapped to each chair, unconscious.
>They all look roughly the same age, teens to late twenties.
>They're all male.
>Their bodies look strange. Almost like your hand, swollen, bumpy.
>”...New York, DC, all the same... no contact...”
>There's a shifting sound in front of you. Your chair rumbles a little as someone leans over it.
>You turn your head to face whoever it is, only to be met with a clear mask and the sound of rushing air.
>”Easy there fella, back to sleep...”
 
>Light and dark, then light again.
>You were in a chair, then a bed, then moving.
>The world is rushing around you, too fast to interpret.
>Sometimes there are people. Poking, prodding, examining, they move you about, yet you feel nothing.
>Moving again.
>A van, a building.
>A room.
>Darkness.
>Nothing.
>You have no idea how long it lasts for, the sense of nothingness, emptiness.
>Then it stops.
>You're spinning. There's nothing around you, but you know that you must be spinning.
>There's a sound in your ears, a vibrating, as if someone struck you in the temple with a tuning fork and waved it around your head in circles.
>The spinning is starting to make you nauseous.
>There's a snapping sound, the entire world is bright.
>A floor, walls, a ceiling, all very close.
>Your body jolts and you roll to your side. Vertigo keeps you from doing much except falling limp. As you do so, there's a sharp pain in your back.
“Yaaaoooooo!”
>Someone else must have just screamed out in pain, that wasn't your voice.
>That couldn't possibly have been your voice.
>It was high pitched, shrill.
>You aren't given much time to ponder over it, something else is happening.
>You hear the sound of a lock unlatching and the creak of a door swinging open.
>You turn your head to face the sound, an odd pink blob in front of your face moves with you.
>It looks like a mask of some kind, covering your mouth.
>You're staring out of your room at the upper torsos and faces of a man and a woman, both wearing white lab coats.
>You must be lying down, and elevated, your room seems more like a small box.
>They each carry a clipboard and pen, staring at you with a general indifference.
>”N dash one one two”
>The woman's voice is cold, uncaring. She jots something down on her clipboard.
>”Presence of cranial attachment growth negative. Positive for humerus, ulna, radius, carpus, metacarpus, and digits. Fully formed. Proper position, no visible defects.”
 
>The man sighs, his voice is deep, his speech slow and methodical. He's staring at you with only the vague hint of annoyance and contempt visible.
>”So, another failure then? You would have thought the men upstairs would have had a better system worked out beforehand. Standard procedure for these is still market, correct?”
>The woman nods. They both scribble on their clipboards.
>Your head is still swimming, but you've managed to regain at least some of your faculties.
>You're not sure what's happened to you, but you know that you want out. You want to get away from these people. Your pulse is pounding in your ears. You're afraid.
>You want to go home.
>You open your mouth to speak...
>...just as the door to your room is slammed shut.
>You hear the latch click, locking it in place.
>The lights flip off. You're surrounded by darkness again, with the exception of a dull light filtering in through a tiny window near the top of your door.
>You try to move yourself closer, you want to look out the window, you want to figure out where you are.
>Your limbs aren't responding, at least not in any way that you'd expect them to. You can't get any leverage with your feet or hands and you can't move your digits. They must still be swollen.
>You manage push yourself forward, wiggling your torso and flopping your legs.
>You get to the window, slamming that pink mask on your face into it.
>It hurts and you let out a yelp.
>It's high pitched.
>Your throat must be swollen too.
>But you're breathing just fine.
>What the hell is on your face?
>Don't think about it, just find a way out.
>You turn your head to get the mask out of the way, pressing the side of your face against the glass.
>You're looking at a narrow hallway, an array of low intensity lights lining it.
>Across from you sit more doors like yours, two rows high, spanning the length of the hallway.
>There are dozens of them.
>It looks like a kennel.
 
>You recoil in horror, flailing your limbs as you try to distance yourself from the window.
>There's a scraping noise, it sounds like something hard brushing against metal.
>You continue backwards until you reach the back of your room, your rear slamming into the wall.
>Your breath is quick, ragged.
>You look down, trying to find your hands.
>Two pink stumps greet you instead, splayed out haphazardly in front of you.
>You try to move your right arm.
>The stump on the right moves instead.
>You try your left, the left stump responds in kind.
>It feels like your insides are trying to lurch out of your skin.
>Your mouth and throat are dry, you're starting to get light-headed.
>You lift your right stump slightly, then bring it down on the floor.
>There's a sharp clang, the sound echoes.
>Your eyes are starting to well up, you can feel your face scrunching.
>This can't be right, the whole world is wrong. You want to go back home, to your crappy little apartment, to your shitty job, you don't even care if you hated your boss, that all you ever did was...
>...what was it you used to do?
>Who was your boss again?
>And... where did you even live in the first place?
>Your friends, what happened to them?
>Who even were they?
>You keep drawing blanks. You're searching through all of these ideas that you remember, only to find the details missing.
>And then it hits you.
>Your name.
>You don't know it.
>It's on the tip of your tongue, but it's not coming out.
>Your vision blurs, your whole body feels light, tears are streaming down your face.
>You let out a sob.
>It's not your voice, even if you can't remember it, you know it's not yours.
>It's smooth, it's high.
>It's feminine.
>You aren't you anymore.
>Those people took you.
>They changed you.
>They put you in a cage.
>You're shivering, teeth clattering, the stubs you have for arms are trembling. Your body is getting weak, your vision dark.
>You barely hear the sound of your head striking the floor as you slump over.
 
>Hands.
>Reaching in, grabbing, pulling.
>Thick, calloused, strong. They're around you, fingers pressing into your sides and against your back, dragging you forward.
>The floor of your cage ends and you're left suspended in the air, your arms and legs hanging limp.
>Then there's a knee against your chest and the hands shift. One around your back and under your stomach. The other propping up your... arms? Your front stubs?
>Your eyes open, revealing the hallway and a man in a blue jumpsuit standing in front of you.
>He has something in his hands, an apparatus of looped leather straps. He's reaching for your face.
>He presses his fingers against sides of your... of your muzzle.
>You let out a yawp in protest.
>As you do so, he slides a bit into your open mouth, one of the straps encircling your muzzle. He slides the rest over the back of your head before tightening two straps on the sides.
>Your muzzle now firmly pressed closed you can only manage a muffled cry.
“Eht ho ohg mhhh!”
>You flail your limbs in protest, staring at the man in front of you with uncontrolled rage.
>This can't be real, it can't be happening. This is a dream, these things are just illusions.
>You want to lash out, strike them over and over until they disappear.
>Until you wake up.
>He gazes at you briefly, a look of amusement on his face.
>”Sweetie, that attitude is not gonna earn you any favors.”
>If looks could kill, this man would be a bloody lump on the floor.
>He reaches for something on his belt.
>It detaches with a click.
>Thick, round, metal, a blinking red light.
>He's going for your neck.
>Your eyes widen in fear.
“Mmmhhhhhhhhh mmhmmmhmmhhhh!”
>It's cold and heavy as it slides around your throat. You're struggling, pushing away from it but you've got nowhere to go.
>The collar clicks around the back of your neck with a grim sense of finality.
>It carries an unmistakable weight, grounding you in the reality of your situation.
>This isn't a dream.
>There's a hand on the back of your neck now, it feels like he's tugging on your hair.
>You feel a band being pulled out, it hurts, but only briefly.
>As it's pulled away, a thick sheet of wavy purple hair brushes over your face, falling across right side.
 
>The man in front of you signals to the one holding you, a single finger pointed toward the ground.
>You're falling.
>You land hard on your... feet? No, hooves.
>They collapse under your weight
>Your chest hits the ground, knocking the wind out of you.
>You're in a good deal of pain, but there's something else welling up inside you.
>You want to gouge this mans eyes out, to kick and punch him until he's left bloody and broken. To do the same to his friend. To bolt down the hallway, to find a door, to get out of here.
>You find the floor with underside of your hooves, pressing down. Slowly, shakily, you lift your body up.
>You're standing now, albeit poorly balanced.
>You look up at the man, shooting daggers. You take a single, tentative step forward with your left hoof.
>He's holding something, it looks like a remo-
“Mmmmhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
>A million little knives of pain circle your neck and shoot down your back, tracing every bone in your body.
>You  go rigid and slump forward, striking your chin on the hard concrete floor.
>It happens again.
>And again.
>And again.
>You're convulsing between every jolt, screaming as loud as you possibly can into your bit.
>Then it stops.
>”On your feet now you little bitch, and don't even think of looking at me like that again.”
>He's smiling, that fucker is smiling as he looks down at you. Like you're some kind of disobedient dog that he just bested.
>There's another surge of electricity, the pain is unbearable. You feel like you're about to piss yourself.
>You let out a wail, a piercing, glass shattering wail.
>Tears are pouring from your eyes, you're gasping for air, your body violently twitching.
>Just make it stop. You'd give anything to be free of this pain.
>You can't win here. You can't even think straight with that much pain. Stop fighting, please just stop.
>You slowly lift yourself off the ground again, wincing at every little movement the man makes.
 
>You'd almost forgotten about the other one beside you. He bends over, wrapping a thick leather strap around your back and under your belly, pulling it tight.
>There's an uncomfortable pressure on your back, almost as if your hands were being squeezed together.
>”Now walk to me.”
>The man in front becks you, like a dog, slapping a hand on his knee.
>These people are sick. They're sick and they have you collared, gagged, and helpless.
>There's nothing you can do, any resistance means pain. Excruciating pain.
>You step forward, your legs wobble and you're having trouble with your balance, but you're moving forward.
>You reach his feet.
>You don't look up, just the thought of having to look at that fucker for another second frightens you.
>There's the distinctive jangle of a chain, then a click. The man starts walking forward and you hazard a glance up.
>You're rewarded with a stiff yank as the chain goes taut, your hooves skitter around clumsily as you begin to walk along behind him.
>You walk down the hallway, down row after row of cage doors, flanked by the other man.
>A left, a right, more hallways, all filled with the same.
>Hundreds of them, maybe even thousands.
>The reality of the situation is becoming clear.
>They're going to do what they want with you. You aren't getting out. You aren't getting away. They've done this with others, they're going to do it to you.
>You're shaking again, softly crying. You want to scream. But there's another thought slowly beginning to push it's way through your head.
>You don't want to give these people the satisfaction.
>You take a final turn, instantly taken aghast at what you see.
 
>You're in some sort of loading bay. Directly in front of you, a line horses, of ponies, chained together by the hooves, head to tail.
>Ponies? Hooves, muzzles, pastel coats.
>They each have a tag clipped through their right ear.
>That means you're one of them then? These people made you into a little fucking horse?
>Your mind races. You find a thought, buried deep down somewhere.
>My Little Pony~...
>A song, a song from a show that you used to watch.
>The rest flees from your mind as you examine your memories.
>The tugging on your leash stops. You cautiously turn your gaze up.
>You're greeted by the big yellow rear of the mare in front of you, her turquoise tail brushing against your face.
>She clearly notices you behind her. Her body jolts with a start.
>You catch a glimpse of her ear, the tag hanging from it reads N-146
>She doesn't have a name, just a number.
>What was it that woman said earlier?
>N-112
>That was what she called you. That's all that you are now.
>You barely notice the shackles being slipped around your fetlocks.
>You're all just standing there, like meat on a factory line.
>There's a truck pulling up to the dock at the front of your line. The carriage is long and gray with barred windows near the top. The back slides up and a platform extends, connecting to the bay.
>”What've you got for me today Fred?”
>It's a new voice, a man, old and grizzled by the sound of it. He seems to be speaking to the man in the blue jumpsuit.
>”Eight ponies, six female, two male. Twelve pegasi, nine female, three male.”
>His voice is even, unconcerned.
>There's the scratching of a pen, a signature.
>Then the lines starts moving.
>Left hoof, right hoof, fore hoof, back hoof.
>You're all moving onto the truck.
>You can almost smell the fear. The air is heavy with sound of clattering metal, ponies marching forward, shaking, sobbing.
>It's a slow, soul crushing process. Each and every tiny motion is restricted. The harsh, cold grip of metal holding fast against you.
>You cast a glance at the mare in front of you.
>She isn't shaking.
>She isn't crying.
 
>Finally, after what feels like an eternity of marching, you find yourself inside the truck.
>The bed is lined with straw. It's hardly comfortable, but it feels much nicer on your hooves than concrete and metal floor.
>You're the last one in and the door quickly slams behind you. A reverberating crash echoes back and forth against the walls of the carriage.
>The sound fades, replaced by sad moans and whimpers.
>The truck begins to move, picking up speed as it turns away from the dock.
>Light filters into the carriage from the windows at the top. It's night, but the moon is glowing brightly,  the occasional streetlight illuminating the dreary scene.
>Your shackles are heavy and the chains are short but you're able to walk a few paces to either side. You use this limited freedom to get a better view of the mare in front of you as she's lit up by the passing lights.
>Her coat is a warm chartreuse and she's built smaller and lighter than the rest of the ponies. Her mane and tail are short, uneven, just a bit frizzy, and the most brilliant shade of turquoise you've ever seen. She looks like the dainty sort of girl that you'd normally see giggling and surrounded by friends at a party.
>That's a particularly strange thing to think about a horse.
>She turns back and catches your stare.
>Your eyes lock with hers.
>They're a deep, crystal blue.
>You expect to see the same fear, the same helplessness that you feel.
>It's not there.
>You're both muzzled, so your eyes do all your talking for you.
>You both step to the side of the carriage. She lays down, resting against the wall. You lower yourself to the ground beside her, gently leaning into her.
>Her coat is so silky and warm, pressed against you. The sensation is unbelievable, like the softest cashmere sweater you could imagine.
>You can feel her heart beating in time with yours.
>She raises a hoof, gently wrapping it around your side.
>You look back into her eyes.
>The only thing you see is hope, and determination.