Title:           The Way Part 9
Author:          ElephantInTheRoom
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/UA1q2s7h
First Edit:      Tuesday 9th of February 2016 08:50:16 AM CDT
Last Edit:       Last edit on: Tuesday 9th of February 2016 06:41:21 PM CDT

>You turn and dash as fast as your little legs can carry you.
>They don't get you very far though.
>You slide sideways on the hardwood floor before coming to a rest, your mane and legs disheveled.
>He's standing over you, spray bottle at the ready.
>You're laying on the floor, shaking in fear and disbelief.
>Why?
>What did you do wrong?
>This was why he got you. He'd just finished telling you what he needed, what he expected.
>A job, service to him.
>He was even going to offer you some sort of freedom in exchange.
>How had you already screwed that up so badly?
>Your breath is stutters, it's shallow and fast.
>You had just been ready to give him what he wanted.
>What you wanted, too.
>It was going to be so perfect.
>”Polaris! Have you been listening to a word that I've said?”
>You quiver, he sounds so angry.
>Why is he so angry?
>You've ruined everything. He's angry because you're not what he wants anymore.
>Will he even want to keep you after this?
>What happens to failures like you when their owner's don't want them?
“P-please, I'm sorry! I don't know what's wrong, I didn't mean to upset you. I just... I just-”
>”You just what? Didn't listen? Didn't pay attention? I feed you, I offer you safety, comfort, a home, and you can't even repay me with the little courtesy that I ask for?”
>You're sobbing now, tears streaming down your cheeks.
>You had listened, you were about to repay him, how can he not see that?
>You overstepped a boundary somewhere. You were his toy, toys don't act on their own.
>Give him what he wants.
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'll do better, I'll learn my place. Don't send me away, please! I can fix it, I can be what you want!”
>Your vision is hazy, but you can just make out the features on his face.
>He looks confused, and worried.
>Why is he looking at you like that? You're the one that's wrong, you made the mistake.
>He sighs, crouching down, bringing himself down to your level.
 
>”Maybe this was all a little too much for one day. We'll have another chat tomorrow Polaris, when you've rested and cleared your head a bit.”
>His hand is outstretched, palm sideways, hovering a few inches from your face.
>He was willing to give you another chance?
>You didn't deserve another chance, but he was still offering it.
>Cautiously you lean forward towards his hand, brushing your cheek against it.
>It's rough but it feels so good, so warm as his fingers trace through your coat.
>And then his hands are around your waist, lifting you up, carrying you towards the couch, setting you down in your bed.
>He releases you and you shudder, longing just another few seconds of his touch.
>Your blanket falls over you, covering your body. It's soft and warm but doesn't quite fill the void he'd left you with.
>The apparent sentiment comes close though.
>”Goodnight, we'll talk again tomorrow.”
>His voice came from the base of the stairs, accompanied by the click of a switch.
>The living room goes dark, only dimly illuminated by the moon outside.
>A few moments pass, marked only by your whimpers and the sound of his footsteps as he climbs the stairs.
>It wasn't hopeless, you could still fix this.
>But... what were you supposed to do?
>What needed fixing?
>There's another click, the sound of a door closing upstairs.
>Was it you?
>You had been so sure of what you needed to do, what he'd wanted you to do.
>It's not your place to do that anymore though, is it?
>What is your place?
>Your heart skips a beat as you turn in your bed.
>Something is wrong with you.
>It was only a little more than a day ago that you were ready to risk everything to get away, for the vague hint of freedom, for the distant chance that you could have your old self back.
>Now the notion that you'd somehow displeased your captor was enough to bring you to hysterics.
>But he's not your captor.
 
>You toss back and forth, kicking at your blanket in frustration.
>He could have chained you to the floor.
>He could be starving you.
>He could be beating you, abusing you.
>He could leave you helpless, blindfolded, miserable.
>Instead he's offering you luxuries, comfort, even the chance to leave the house on your own.
>It would be so easy to hate him, to be angry about what had happened to you, if only he'd do something to deserve it.
>Instead, you find yourself craving his presence, thanking him for taking you.
>Wishing that he'd go farther.
>You need him to go farther.
>You thrash violently onto your other side, your blanket thrown off out of your bed.
>Which you is the real you?
>You had been so sure earlier.
>Everything had made sense then.
>You were Polaris, a pretty pet for a wonderful owner. You were his plaything.
>Your job was to please him, in any way that he wanted.
>But then... he wanted something else from you too? He wanted you to do something for him.
>More than that though, he didn't want you to pleasure him.
>So what were you to him?
>You sniffle, you'd managed to work yourself into a tizzy again.
>Slowly, you reach your head out of your bed, grabbing your blanket from the floor and pulling it back over yourself.
>It's going to be okay, you'll figure out what he wants.
>But... what about what you want?
>It doesn't matter now, does it?
>You'll figure out what he wants, and then you'll be his good girl.
>You find that you're repeating this to yourself. Once, three times, five times, ten, twenty...
>Finally, when nothing but your little mantra occupies your head, you end up drifting off to sleep.
 
>You awaken to a sickening, sizzling sound.
>There's a foul smell in the air, disgusting, like burning flesh.
>You retch.
>”Polaris? What was that?”
>You jolt out of bed, slightly startled.
>Mr. Nowak is in the kitchen, you can see his head over the breakfast bar, standing in front of the oven.
>He's cooking something.
>It's worrying.
>What could he possibly be cooking that smells so awful? His accent was a little foreign, but you can't imagine anyone enjoying the taste of something so foul.
>You might worry him if you stay silent any longer.
>You slowly make your way away from your bed, headed toward the kitchen.
“I just feel a little sick, what are you making in there?”
>”Sick? Are you catching a cold? Just a second, let me...”
>You see him pause, visibly held in thought.
>He looks down at the skillet resting over the oven.
>”Oh, right. I'm sorry dear, I completely forgot.”
>He forgot? Forgot what?
>Why are you shaking?
“I-is everything okay? W-what is that you're cooking?”
>Your imagination runs wild. You're reminded of a question you had asked yourself the night before.
>What happened to failures like you?
>That couldn't possibly be...
>”Just go back to the living room Polaris, I'll be with you in a moment. We can have breakfast together and talk about what happened last night.”
>No no no, this can't be happening.
>You back away slowly, your tail tucked tightly between your legs.
>He wouldn't...
>But he knew exactly what you'd need, living here.
>He even had a collar and a tag ready.
>How many failed Polarises did he have before you?
>Was this some sort of sick ritual he'd planned? To scare you straight?
>You make it back to your bed, trembling, staring back into the kitchen.
>Your eyes widen in terror as he approaches, plate in hand.
>”Good girl, just give me a second to get situated and... what's with the look? Is something the matter?”
>He can't be serious.
 
>You let out a terrified mewl.
>He's pulling the table closer now, sitting himself down on the couch before setting down the plate.
>The plate is low enough that you can finally view its horrific contents.
>You brace yourself.
>Bacon and eggs. A second, smaller plate resting next to them sporting a carton of fresh strawberries.
>Your head tilts involuntarily sideways.
“Huh?”
>He's staring at you, slightly bewildered.
>”I know it's probably not pleasant, but why the terrified look?”
>You didn't realize that you'd stopped breathing, you take a moment to catch up.
“That's... pig bacon... not.... pony bacon?”
>He lets out a wholehearted laugh.
>”It's pig bacon, you know, oink oink. I know it's probably a bit unpleasant for you, but just what gave you the idea that I'd be cooking little horses for breakfast?”
>You reach for answers, your face going flush.
“I thought... but you were unhappy and... you... your house already had all these things and... I...”
>Your rant is cut short as he calmly presses a finger to your lips.
>”You're the first pony that I've owned, and I'm not going to hurt you dear. I'm sorry, this is all probably going to be as much of a learning experience for me as it is for you.”
>A learning experience, that's what this is?
>You scowl at him.
>What the hell is even going on here?
>He catches your glare, a look of realization on his face.
>”That may not have been the best way to phrase that, but it's true. I've been in need of a... helper for a while now. I... spoke with a few friends about the sorts of things that someone like you might want or appreciate-”
>He pauses, clearing his throat before pointing towards his plate.
>”-and the sorts of things that I should avoid. Your kind's aversion to meat slipped my mind, I'm sorry.”
>That just raises so many more questions than it answers.
 
>Before you can start though, he lowers the second plate to your feet.
>Fresh, fruity, and oh so sweet.
>The rank smell of bacon instantly replaced by decadent strawberry.
>Your stomach grumbles.
>”There, I think that should be a bit better, go ahead and dig in whenever you feel like it.”
>He doesn't need to tell you twice.
>You bury your face into the carton, plucking out a nice juicy sample and chomping down on it.
>”I'm sure you've probably realized by now that the process has changed a little more than your body.”
>Process? That's a strange way to phrase 'kidnapping and being turned into a small horse'.
>And 'changed a little more than your body' is more than a little bit of an understatement.
>”Most subjects end up reporting significant, or total loss of episodic memory. There are changes in physical sensation, vision, hearing, and of course smell and taste. Your stomach wouldn't do a very good job at handling meat anymore, so your taste buds adjusted themselves to accommodate your new diet.”
>You hold for a moment, thinking back on everything that has happened to you since you first woke up.
>That all sounded like it could be true. You had certainly noticed the change in the taste of veggies, and now fruit.
>And don't even start on physical sensations.
>You sort of wish he had scratched you behind the ear as he'd said that.
>You know... now that you were fairly confident he wasn't going to literally grill you if you messed up again.
>Something is still bothering you though.
>Mr. Nowak seemed more than a little formal about this, like it wasn't the first time he'd given this explanation.
>And there was a word there though that you didn't quite understand.
“Episodic memory?”
>”Think of it like the autobiography you keep of yourself in your head. Those memories... don't seem to be prioritized while the transformation is taking place.”
>There's that pit in your chest again.
>It's time for another strawberry.
 
>”And then there tend to be some... behavioral changes. Lowered aggression, increased empathy, a general trend towards obedience...”
>That's a nice word, 'obedience'.
>So nice that you can't help but give your tail a playful flick.
>Of course, you didn't mean to do that.
>Better not to think about it while there are still strawberries to eat.
>You wouldn't want him to notice how much it was eating at you.
>You feel his hand on the top of your head.
>He noticed.
>Of course he noticed.
>You're already sinking into his touch.
>”Polaris, are you ready to talk about what happened yesterday?”
>No, no you aren't.
>But you're going to anyway.
“I'm sorry sir, I.. I did something wrong. I shouldn't have been so eager, I should have let you...”
>He pinches your ear. It's soft, but there's still a brief, sharp sting.
>It certainly shuts you up, but now you've got other problems to worry about.
>”I want to be very clear with you Polaris, and I need you to listen to me. I did not get you as some sort of... sex slave. I know how most of the others like you end up, but that isn't going to happen to you. Do you understand?”
>He'd said he had been in need of a 'helper' before.
>You'd thought he was just being coy.
>What else could he possibly...
>”You're going to be my assistant. I'm going to teach you everything you need to know to do your job, and then you'll be treated with courtesy and respect.”
>And now you're standing on the edge of a knife.
>Courtesy and respect, freedom, a good home where you're taken care of, a job to keep you busy and fulfilled.
>Or submission, pleasure, a lifetime of bondage and lust, the life of a slave lacking both agency and worry.
>Or option three, more strawberries.
>You dip your head back into the carton, this time catching two between your teeth.
>You mash at them, reducing them to a sweet paste before swallowing.
>Time for more.
>He's stopped talking though.
>Hesitantly, you peer up at him.
 
>He's waiting on you to acknowledge what he's said.
>And he's getting impatient.
>You take a deep breath, nervously avoiding eye contact until the very moment you begin speaking.
“I do. You don't want a slave, you want a helper. You want an assistant.”
>And it's done, you break eye contact just as abruptly as you'd initiated it, timidly staring downward at the floor.
>”That's correct. I may own you according to the letter of the law, but I don't want you to feel like you're nothing but my property. You were somebody before, and you still are somebody.”
>Not the same somebody though.
>And not quite a person.
>”But, back to what you will be doing. I think I mentioned last night you'd be needing flying lessons?”
>He did mention that before.
>You take a glance out one of the living room windows.
>It's a beautiful, sunny day.
>”To that end, we're both quite lucky I got you when I did. The snow season just ended, so we should have at least a few uninterrupted clear days for you to get the basics down.”
>The snow season just ended?
>That night they came for you, it was the beginning of January, wasn't it?
>Just how long were you out, exactly?
>A month? Two?
>You can feel your face contorting into a look of panicked confusion.
>And there's a question eating at you.
“W-what day is it?”
>Mr. Nowak looks at you, giving you a sad smile in understanding.
>”June 29th.”
>June!?
>It's been six months?
>How is that even possible?
>”A lot has changed since you've been out. They mentioned you'd been a beta, second-wave, taken right at the beginning of all this.”
>Your apartment, your door... screaming.
>Snow on your feet.
>Flashing lights, a needle piercing your skin.
>You wince.
>His hand brushes against your neck. You reflexively pull away, but soon you're leaning back into him.
 
>”What happened was was terrible. But, at least to a certain extent it was unavoidable. I know you may never forgive them for what they did to you, but you should know that it's very likely they saved your life.”
“They? Who's they? What do you mean?”
>Your voice quivers as you speak and you take a step closer to his leg, trying to find some form of comfort from his figure.
>The rest of your strawberries can wait.
>”The men that came to get you, the program they made you a part of. It's been a long time coming and this outcome wasn't entirely unexpected. At least that's what I've been told.”
>You rest your body at his feet. You feel like you're on the verge of tears again.
>The notion that there was still a bigger world out there, that you'd just been removed from it.
>And it all kept going without you.
>This would have been so much easier to handle last night.
>When you were just some stupid toy that didn't need to think.
>It would be so much easier just to go back to that.
>”I wasn't a part of the decision making. I wasn't even brought in until everything went to hell. I served proudly for eight years, fought in two wars, left the service a first sergeant.”
>You're smiling? Why?
>You felt he had a commanding presence, now you know why.
>But, why does that make you feel happy?
>It makes you feel proud, to be his.
>”I was lucky. When it happened I had been away on business. My home, everything I had, everyone that I knew, all gone in an instant. New York was just one of the cities that vanished in the blink of an eye.”
>You can feel the muscles in his leg tense as he speaks.
>You give them a soft nuzzle with your nose. He responds with a gentle pat on your head.
>”There was panic. No one knew what had happened, what was going to happen, where it was going to happen next. Nobody's phones worked, there was no internet, no news, only a few panicked broadcasts from local radio stations. The military stepped in, tried to keep the peace.”
 
>His thumb is digging into the fur behind your ear, gentle scratches, a pleasant rub.
>”They ran my ID, figured out who I was. I had just been trying to get some information, any news about what had happened back home, if there was any chance that...”
>He pauses, his thumb digging in just a little harder behind your ear.
>And then he relaxes.
>”...there wasn't. More importantly though, they were short on manpower. I wouldn't say they forced me back in, but I was offered a commission on the spot. Second Lieutenant Nowak. Then first lieutenant, then captain. We went wherever we were needed, trying to keep order, to keep everyone safe, but it kept happening.”
>You're having a hard time keeping up with everything, it's about all you can manage just to lay your head against his leg, listening to the soft thump of his pulse as he speaks.
>”It was when they made me a captain that I first heard about the program. It sounded surreal, but then again the world seemed to be ending, so I can't say it kept me up at night.”
>You press your head against him.
>You had been sleeping, sheltered from whatever had been happening.
>He had lived through it.
>”Someone knew that it was coming though, and they'd planned for it. A world in chaos is a convenient time to make certain... undesirable things... disappear, silently. Even more so if they can be made useful in the process.”
>You're crying again.
>Why are you crying?
>”You were a byproduct of this process. And I'm sorry, those were their words, not mine. They were looking for unicorns, not pegasi, not ponies. Lucky for both of us though, they weren't about to let all that effort go to waste.”
“You're telling me I was a mistake?”
>He cringes slightly.
>”To some people, a few very short-sighted people, yes. They didn't see you as useful before, and they don't see any use in you now, other than as a commodity. But we both know that they're wrong about that, don't we?”
>Now it's your turn to cringe.
 
>You're supposed to be useful?
>You have hooves for fingers.
>You walk on all four of your limbs.
>You're less than half the size of a normal person.
>You don't even have a special talent.
>Special... talent...?
>That's an odd thing to think.
>But you know by now though that questions require answers.
“Yes.”
>”Yes what?”
>You inhale, letting out a sniffle before you speak.
“Yes... I'm not useless?”
>”Indeed, you are most definitely not useless, and do you know why that is Polaris?”
>Not quite rhetorical questions, your anathema.
“N-no, I don't.”
>At that, he rises to his feet.
>”Wait right there dear, I'll show you why.”
>You sit and watch as he carefully pushes the table away, leaving his untouched breakfast on the table as he strides off, heading up the stairs
>The bacon and eggs still reek, you wish he'd taken them with him.
>He's gone for less than a minute and you watch in bated curiosity as he makes his way back down the stairs.
>He's carrying something, it almost looks like a child's vest.
>It's tan, with a few large pockets or pouches visible. Four holes on the bottom, an additional one on each side.
>Uh oh, that isn't... that can't be.
>He's standing over you now, holding it out.
>And you're shrinking backwards in dismay.
>”Come on now, let's see how it fits.”
>You're not really in a position to say no.
>You bow your head in defeat, stepping forward to accept your fate.
>He opens the vest up. The sound of tearing velcro fills the room.
>Positioning it over your body, he helps guide your wings through the large holes on the sides before easing each of your legs through the holes on the bottom.
>Finally, he runs his hand up the lining along your chest, securely fastening the vest to your body.
>You glance over your shoulder, spying a particularly large pouch on each side.
>You're wearing a set of saddlebags attached to a vest.
>It's squeezing your chest a little too tightly, chafing at your legs and wings.
>And it looks as tacky and awful as it feels.
 
>”There we go. How is it?”
>You give him a look that could only be described as, 'do you honestly want an answer to that?'.
>You can tell he gets the message, but he obviously wanted a real response.
>You sigh, your eyes pasted to the floor as you speak.
“It's tight, it's itchy, and it hurts when it rubs against my wings.”
>His lips turn downward in a disapproving frown.
>”Well, that won't do. Alright then, let's get it off of you, we'll need to work out something better.”
>There's something else that's bugging you though, more and more with each passing second.
>A vest isn't an answer to his question.
>And given everything that's happened to you, you're beginning to think you'd actually appreciate having a real answer.
>He's kneeling in front of you, undoing the velcro, sliding your legs back out.
>Here goes nothing.
“Mr. Nowak, sir, what is it that you got me for?”
>He gives the vest a little tug, first to the left, then to the right, carefully positioning your wings so that it slides off with ease.
>Laying it down on the ground behind him, he takes your chin in his hand, keeping your eyes locked with his and giving you a gentle smile.
>”I got you, Polaris, so that you could deliver my mail for me.”
>Your name is Polaris.
>You're a pegasus. A pink, four legged, flying horse.
>And you deliver mail.