//------------------------------//
// Freeway Series 
// Story: A Volunteer at the Bureau 
// by Comma Typer 
//------------------------------//

It took Sam a few minutes of wandering around, along with really asking the staff for directions, but he finally found the stairwell. After a short ascent that exercised his legs, he reached the rooftop and was welcomed by the warm outside air and the warmer outside sun.
The surface had scarce equipment up here. Ventilation ducts and air conditioning units were its only permanent tenants here. Sitting on the ducts and working on the air con, the shiny Crystal pony repair crew were on the job, tinkering with fans, filters, and condenser coils. The hard hats protected them from any falling objects, which was impractical since there was no construction being done overhead—no pegasi dropping stones or anything like that to cause any serious injuries.
A Crystal pony caught sight of Sam and dropped her wrench. She trotted over to greet the human. “Hello! I’m Hot Side of Hitch and Hop Repairs, currently fixing your air conditioning so that it’ll be super cold super quick!” and she extended a crystally hoof. “What’s your name?”
Sam returned the favor and shook her hoof, feeling her very solid and tepid coat. That odd feeling heightened in him as he stared not at her but through her—he could see what’s behind her through her translucent, crystal body. Seeing them via pictures and videos online weirded him out enough; straight up talking to one in real life was very weird.
Hot Side tilted her head, belying a tired smile. “Humans just don’t get tired of us, do they?”
When the question sunk in his mind, Sam retracted his hand and felt embarrassed, as if his cheeks were about to flush. “Whoops! Uh, well, sorry, ma’am!”
“Ah, no worries!” she said, her voice becoming cheerful again with one unmindful hoof wave. “You’re welcome to talk to us anytime if you’re free! We’d like to get you know more,” and then nudged his knee with her elbow. “Getting chummy with the locals, that’s what I say!”
The word local stuck with him, putting him in a contemplative mood once more. He looked away from the pony, put both hands on hips, and took a sweeping view of the landscape before him: a big chunk of the international airport alongside a couple parks and several villages farther down, with the Pacific Ocean a glimmer in the horizon. Then: “Well, I won’t be a local in a few years, ma’am.”
Hot Side frowned at that realization. “Oh. I know what you mean there, Sam,” glancing a bit long at his ID, supposedly to check his name because she’d missed it the first time.
“We have archives going on, sure,” Sam remarked, bringing to mind news of historical organizations backing up libraries and hard drives of data both scientific and cultural. Even the world-famous seed vault over at Svalbard had gotten in on it, still in deep negotiations with Equus nations to ensure that none of their specimens would be negatively affected by the Veil.
“But it won’t be the same, will it?” Hot Side asked, making a quick glance behind to see if her co-workers were getting envious of her small talk.
All Sam could do was shake his head, hands still on his hips while maintaining that smart yet presumptuous air. “Much as we try, I don’t think we will. Even if we have everything else intact, the fact that we’d all be ex-humans...well, it just wouldn’t be the same.”
Hot Side slumped down to the hot concrete floor. Her eyes looked down on it, and Sam thought she was feeling sorry over something she hadn’t caused.
“Are you making her cry?!” shouted a gruff co-worker, punching his two forehooves.
That made Sam step back, holding a hand out in self-defense. “Uh, n-no! We were just talking about, um, magic!”
“Yeah, right!” and the stallion snorted, growling with his teeth on display though his companions were telling him to calm down.
Sam gulped twice, then said in as serene a voice as possible, “Sorry, Hot Side!” before dashing back inside and down the stairs, away from the sun and an angry Crystal pony.



His encounter with the Crystal ponies was interesting, to say the least. It would’ve been more interesting if he’d been beaten up, but then it’d be strange to talk about the non-actions of a deceased person whose cause of death was being pummeled by a quartz equine.
What mattered was that Sam was not dead and that talking to crystal lifeforms was another thing to add to the Fantasy things I’ve done list.
On his way back to the lobby, he found the long line of people still long, and, now, there were lines and not just one line, branching out here and there. Apparently, Friday was a really good day for the bureau: Here, lots of humans were experiencing their last hours as humans in a sweaty, crowded environment—not the dramatic and thrilling conclusion to their humanity some had expected, but they got what they could get.
Amid orders making space so that staff could move around, flying creatures fulfilled their clients’ needs by sending them water bottles and snack, making the wait bearable. Still, the tension remained: that tension of changing species before the day was over. A few were giddy about the future, with this hatted one eager to celebrate his unicorn party by traveling to Griffith Park and turning up some music to eleven. Some grumbled that it was a painstaking necessity, a cumbersome fact of life and goal to overcome like getting a first job or getting one’s own home or getting married. While several were silent, several more took the time to discuss and debate, talking about why being a pegasus was awesome and why being a pegasus was lame—that kind of thing.
“Psst!”
And Sam yelped, freaking out at the pegasus floating close to his ear, surprised that he hadn’t registered the windy wingflaps.
“Fin Lift, what do you want?!” Sam whispered abrasively. He didn’t want a redo of a pegasus prank.
Lift blushed before cupping her mouth over his ear. “Just to let you know: We’ll have to move many of them to temporary housing.”
This mellowed Sam down, happy to also know that Fin Lift wasn’t secretly into pranking her workmates. But, many to be moved to temporary housing? “You mean the ones in Antelope Valley?”
“That’s the one!” she said. “We’re already prettying it up to increase the valley’s livability for everyone, although we’re trying to keep the arid feel there.” She raised both of her forehooves in mild shock. “Turns out some people don’t like having their browns turn into greens overnight!”
Sam thought about that. From what he remembered from the travel brochures and articles he’d read to study up on the Los Angeles county, Antelope Valley was mostly arid with dry ground and light vegetation. There was a poppy reserve, and the pictures he’d seen of it from online were wonderfully colorful and lush, but he’d deemed it the exception rather than the rule.
“We still have construction workers still working, and we still pay ‘em lots of bits. If it gets too crowded, we can always add another floor and then some...plus, there’s underground homes, too, for the ponies who love to mine for gems!” Then, sticking out her tongue, “As long as Rarity doesn’t get her grubby hooves into our fashion business! She’s not gonna buy out all the gems from us!”
And Sam recoiled at her sudden outburst. Trying to curb any violent reaction from this irritated pegasus, “I don’t think there’s much of a demand of gems and diamonds in Antelope. I’ve heard it’s not mineral-rich.”
“Eh, maybe it isn’t,” Lift said with hunched shoulders and slower wings, “but there’ll be lots of supply when it’s all said and done. Like when they found out there’re more gems under Hawaiian land now after the Veil passed through. I’m even wearing some of it,” and she, true to her name, lifted the necklace she had into Sam’s view, letting the string of opals and emeralds glitter under the white lights.
So, he recalled that piece of news. “Oh. Right. Forgot about that one.”
Lift rolled her eyes. “Sometimes, even I forget about the Veil’s effects. There’s ponies out there guessing what Los Angeles would look like post-Veil. Most of the structures will stay alive, but it’s the plants and beaches that count here.” Looking off to the wall, seeing a painting of the sky where a couple pegasi like her flew around, playing in the sky…”Oh, and the clouds, too. Importing clouds is one thing, but having them all fluffy and stable is another!”
The talk about clouds reminded Sam about that North Bay neighborhood in the sky.
Then, they turned their thoughts to the waiting lines swarming almost everywhere. The noise of the crowd returned to their ears, as chatter pushed through above canned orders from bureau personnel to stay organized and civil.
“By the way,” Sam began, crossing his arms, “what’s the rush? Is it always like this on Fridays?”
“It’s supposed to be a slow period, actually,” Lift explained with crossed forelegs of her own, still floating above the floor with her active wings. “Princess Twilight and her group of researchers estimated that we’re in the final decline of patrons—she said something like…,” and assuming an overly-nerdy accent to imitate the royal, “‘People who made it this far bank on the last-minute scramble, believing that if everyone else can get it, they can get it, too.’”
Sam held his laugh in since he did not want to be charged with libel or defamation against a princess of Equestria.
Then, Lift simmered down, lowering her flight to match Sam’s head. Resting her chin on her hoof, “I’m grateful for what Key Note’s been doing: Out there, talking to people and telling them about signing up for conversion now so that they won’t be in danger anymore” She curled her lips up into a smile only to let it falter an instant later. “If only he wasn’t so hardcore. At times, he doesn’t come across as a nice guy.”
Sam let that perk his ears up...metaphorically speaking, anyway, since his ears were still human and only moved an inch or so. “Really, now?”
She sighed, wings flapping even slower but now drawing in more air to keep her flying. “He’s been pretty helpful, and everyone should think about the big decision more seriously...but at this rate,” eyes closing to about half, “he’s gonna get himself hurt.”
Sam chose to return the nudging favor by bumping her elbow with his, trying to lighten her up with his own smile. “He’s an Earth pony. He can kick his way out of a tight spot.”
“Not when it’s human guns,” she retorted solemnly before indulging in another sigh. “You know some lunatic’s gonna show up with an assault rifle if Key pushes the wrong buttons.”
Which made Sam think about Key Note galloping in zigzag form, dodging bullets everywhere and coming out unscathed. Or maybe one would brush past his mane. “I think he’ll make it out alive.”
Lift turned her head back to the lines of people to take care of. “I hope so, Sam.”
So, the two returned to helping out their bureau partners maintain the peace in the hallways as the lines were close to breaking out.



When twelve noon struck, Sam retreated to the lobby, putting on an additional spray of cologne to combat the sweat he’d accumulated. The lunch break was well-needed: arguments had arisen  within the line, and a few scuffles and pushes would’ve turned into bloody fights and brawls had it not been for staff intervention—and, of course, the danger of being beaten by a pony. Or a Crystal pony, but he wanted to shrug that incident off of his mind. So, a cup of coffee would surely soothe him back to normal, he thought.
Except he was wrong.
Before he could even order a cup of coffee, he was faced with tons of people filling up the lobby, lines up to the receptionists’ desks as the latter went on fast mode and answered queries as quickly as possible. Appointments were set, questions were settled, and people either left or stayed to lounge and chat though with that tinge of tension.
Especially with Key Note outside.
Standing on the sidewalk and under the sweltering heat of the noonday sun, this orator was shouting to passers-by, even to those passing by in their cars on the road. His forehooves gestured and gesticulated, pointed left and right and up and whichever way he wanted, even at this or that person in the growing sidewalk crowd.
This crowd wasn’t afraid to voice their opinions right at him. They’d brought placards and picket signs espousing pro-conversion and anti-conversion rhetoric. Here’s one that said, Magic creatures are taking over our Earth! Why should we trust you? Here’s another that said, Chin up! You’re doing what’s right, brave pony!
Sam scanned the lobby, took a closer look. Most of those present, human or Equestrian, were allured by this speaker, much as they tried to continue on with their business since they couldn’t resist sneaking in a glance or two. Though what he heard were only muffles and the indecipherable noise of the masses, he could tell that Key Note’s timbre was deep, mesmerizing—enough to draw those inside into whatever he was saying.
“What’s going on?” Sam asked no one in particular, pretending to not know what’s really going on.
“Douglas is at it,” said the potted-plant salesdeer from his chair, gesturing a hoof at the public pony speaker. “He’s really bringing it home today. Haven’t you heard?”
Sam immediately raised his hand, signaling that he hadn’t heard in spite of the contrary. A glimpse at the guards in shining armor—“What about our security?”
“They’re keeping a close watch on everyone,” Dark Roast chirped, unwilling to wrest her eyes from the outside, partly due to Key Note’s dynamic hoof movement. “We got police presence, too,” and then she pointed at the few police cars parked on the curb, with police officers on standby, with radios and cuffs and all.
That’s when the gravity of the situation hit Sam all at once. Shouts, signs, security with the police jumbled in? It wasn’t enough to make him stumble or stagger, but it made his veins jolt. This could explode if the wrong word was said, if the wrong person came over and challenged Note to a debate. Or a fight. It wasn’t a wild guess that the PER and the HLF might be present here, too. Coupled with Arthur’s word about Note himself: Rumor is he’s a shill for the PER. Get into the bureau’s graces, infiltrate the place, and then—
Sam didn’t want to think about that. Didn’t want it to be true, and yet Arthur sounded so sincere. Perhaps a bit lackadaisical about being so close to such hardline organizations, but sincere nonetheless, and if he was telling the truth….
“What are you doing?!” the salesdeer yelped, seeing Sam walk his way to the front door.
“Just in case,” he replied without looking. “It’s my responsibility to protect the people inside the bureau.”
Did his best to ignore everyone looking at him, at this man who sounded cliché but sincere, too.
Each step neared him to the door, to a strained and fragile gathering of personalities. He projected gunshots, bodies turning to corpses all because someone lost his cool. Why be scared of a Monday protest when some outspoken Earth pony  and his audience could do the trick on Friday?
Each step scared him, as if his blood froze or raced through his heart.  Dying right there, right now? That gripped him.
He stepped ahead anyway.
Opened the door to the blast of hot air and the rush of noise as he stood up to the horde of people and Equestrians around this loud speaker who stood on a pedestal, standing above the thick flower boxes.
“...don’t have much time!” Key Note yelled. “We’ve got until the end of the year before the Veil reaches us, so please come over and—”
“But, I’ve seen ya’ before!” yelled a shades-wearing woman holding a picket sign saying NO TO THE PER! She tilted her head, presenting confusion to both him and the crowd watching her. “I saw you at the Vancouver Rebirth rally months ago!” Then, she brandished her picket like a very heavy sword. “You’re using this as a Ponification front!”
“Ilana, I was merely an observer, OK?” Note said, holding up his hoof toward the lady and staying calm, keeping his cool despite the L.A. heat. “Now, everyone: We’ve established that most of you like to be alive and not dead—”
A man stepped forward, wearing a fake mustache and a pair of shades, and his appearance silenced Key Note. To see this bold pony subdued by a funny-looking man amazed the crowd and took their spotlight. He pointed a finger at Note, now with all eyes on this guest.
“What’s this interruption about now?” Key Note said with a groan and a roll of the eyes.
“About you, Key Note!” yelled the guest. “Or, should I say...Douglas!”
And Note’s smug smile disappeared. One eye twitched, and then the both of them.
A grumble, pawed the concrete ground.
Gasps arose from the crowd as the heckler smiled, relishing in this pony’s anger. “Come on, buddy! I know you! You don’t have to do this, you know!”
Note shrugged his shoulders, slowly covering his mouth with his hoof. “Well, I don’t know about that, Dustin,” Douglas said loud and clear.
“You should!” Dustin replied, pointing at him. Then, turning his back on him and raising both his hands towards the crowd, careless about his ludicrous mustache, “You see, folks, Douglas here is—or, was—an old-time friend of mine! We grew up together over in Canada, and—”
Sam heard a faint whisp—
Dustin whirled his head to the right and saw the woman from before. “Why’d you say that to me?!”
As the crowd muttered and mumbled into a fever pitch, ready to see a rumble between the two, Ilana kept holding her picket sign. “Say what to you? You’re the one who called me a good-for-nothing!”
The crowd gasped as Dustin gulped, swallowing the accusation. “Covering up for yourself, now? Look, we both don’t like the PER—”
Whisp—
“Agh, you!” he shouted, walking over to her with a pointed finger. “How come you know my secrets?! I don’t tell that to anyone!”
“What, me?!” she yelled, leaning back and one hand on her chin.
“Yes, y—”
Was pushed off by her, staggering and almost falling to the ground.
“You don’t call me a liar!” Ilana finished off, planting her picket sign into a flower box’s soil.
This made Note cringe, made him bite his hoof.
Back to Dustin who responded with, “I didn’t call you a lia—”
The mysterious whispers returned, and Sam saw the whole crowd erupt into a verbal brawl—people and Equestrians pointing at each other, pushing each other, threatening to hurt each other with raised signs, horns glowing and wings opening while fists were closing—
Sam jumped into the fray, trying to separate two people shouting at each other, holding their sweaty arms and hoping his ID would terrify them a little. He quickly told them off in a stern accent while keeping a few things in his peripheral vision.
As his tongue went the rote of “Calm down!”, the guards and more staff jumped into the fray, too, trying to keep everything civil with kind words and forceful clothes and gestures. The police had everyone in an enclosed area with their weighty presence, creating an informal roadblock to contain the situation as officers moved in to help the staff. Even Key Note was helping out, attempting to talk some sense to his old-time friend and Ilana who were busy punching each other.
In the midst of the chaos, Sam saw that familiar Uber car once again, idle by the sidewalk, by Airplane Landing View Point right before the police roadblock. Arthur looked bored, watching the whole thing unfold with an impatient fist on his chin. Upon noticing Sam, he gave a distant wave, still looking bored.
As the noise filled Sam’s ears, the two men he was holding back shouting at each other again, pointing fingers at each other and then their faces. He sighed, then went back to work: the work of calming everyone down.