"Of course, Mr. Line," you say as you snatch the offending ears from your head. Honestly, what were you thinking? Silly accessories? It's amazing no else has written you up on it yet. There's at least five ponies you can think of who'd love the opportunity to step over you as they play the game of office politics.
"Thank you," he mutters, his anger simmering down to a low frustration. A shiver of dread runs down your spine as he removes his glasses and starts to clean them with his tie. A sure sign he's about to deliver bad news. "Normally I'd be willing to look the other way on such a flagrant disregard for the rules for an employee who has been here as long as you." He wouldn't. You still clearly remember the time Speedy Delivery was let go less than six months from retirement. "However, Rising Star was just talking to me earlier about some of your other infractions. And I'm afraid that with this being your third violation—" he stops polishing his glasses and perches them back on his muzzle "—we're going to have to let you go,"
"...What?"
The word barely squeaks out, starved of energy by disbelief.
"It's company policy," he continues conversationally as if he hasn't just shattered your life in one sentence. "Three strike rule. Rising's idea to help clear out the loafers and the layabouts."
Emotions without names swirl through your head, leaving you confused and nauseous. "But... I've given my life to this company. I have nothing else."
"That's not my problem, I'm afraid." He stands up straight, cracks his back from where it's gotten stiff looming over the edge of your cubicle, and grabs an empty box from a nearby pile of recycling. "For your things."
"I— now?" This is all happening so fast. "No notice? No warnings? Just like that?"
"Just like that. I suggest you pack quickly. Security should be making their rounds in ten minutes or so and it'd be for the best if they didn't find some non-employee loitering in restricted space. Best of luck to you." And with that he leaves. Trots away without so much as glimmer of sympathy or concern.
The next few minutes pass in a blur and before you know it you're standing outside your cubicle, the prefab walls stripped bare, a box of photos, knickknacks, and anniversary plaques in your hooves. Just like that it's gone. Everything you've worked towards for years now, washed away in an instant. Weekends, holidays, friends, dating, family reunions. All sacrificed for nothing but a few 'Awards for Excellent Work', barely enough bits to cover expenses, and posture like a mare twice your age.
The walk to the door feels like a march to the gallows. Ponies, your former coworkers, stare as you pass, not even trying to be discreet. Some look sympathetic to your plight, most just look bored. Primp and her gossipy friends are already whispering up a storm. No doubt by the end of the day the story will be that you were caught embezzling funds, or stealing secrets for a competitor, or trying to blackmail upper management. Not that it matters. What can they do? Fire you again?
The door looms before you, uncertainly ahead you, everything you knew behind. But you have no say in the matter. No choice, no options. It's all been decided and done with. Company policy.
Taking one last breath of the dust and ink stained air, you leave the company, the leaden weight of your failure dragging behind you.
[Your soul quakes as it contemplates the wasted years. Add +1 to your Fear Meter].
Peace.
Peace and blissful silence.
You sigh in the darkness as you let your body relax. You might have been fired, but at least now you don't have to deal with any upper-level managers belittling you anymore.
"Hem, hem."
The familiar sound of a passive aggressive 'I'm waiting for you to give me proper attention' rouses you and you open your eyes.
You're confused for a moment. This isn't your apartment. Where are you? Then it all comes rushing back. The haunted house. Nightmare Night. Ponyville.
You hop to your hooves, amazed to feel your body move so fluidly and without a single ache or sting of protesting pain. In fact it's... hard to remember not feeling like that's normal. You try to think back to your time in the office. You did... paperwork? Something with numbers? For years... or maybe just a few minutes? It's all so hazy, like a half-remembered dream that fades away even as you try and focus on it.
But you can't forget how it felt. How crushed your spirit was without you even knowing. How you accepted your dull grey existence as a simple fact of life. Like it was normal to be boring. You shudder and force the memory to the back of your mind, vowing silently to never fall into such a trap again.
"Ahem, hem."
The fake cough catches your attention again and you follow the sound to its source on the balcony. There you spy Trixie, wearing what might just be the most garish thing you've ever seen. Until this very moment, you don't think you ever truly understood the meaning of the word. If Rarity were here she'd probably keel over on the spot.
"Discipline in the workplace is of utmost importance," Trixie states imperiously, using the kind of tone saved for very dimwitted foals. "We live in a society built upon a foundation of rules. Following rules earns one rewards and the respect of their peers. Rule-breaking merits punishment and the loss of status." She smiles at you, sickeningly sweet.
"Didn't I just fail by following the rules, though?" you point out.
Her smile falters, and you press on. "And if I had disobeyed him and kept the bunny ears on, would I have won instead?"
If her smile was faltering before, now it's only barely fixed in place by nervousness. "Well... You see... One thing I should... Excuse me for a second."
You nod as she fishes around in her hideous pink purse before pulling out a roll of paper. She mutters under her breath as her eyes dart about the page, searching for the perfect comeback or whatever else it is she has planned. Might as well humor her. Besides, you could use a quick break to sort out your real memories from the fakes ones. Like whether you own a cat or not.
After a few minutes Trixie finally throws the whole sheaf of paper to the ground like a buckball in the point zone. "Curses! I had such a speech planned but then you went and ruined it!"
"Hey, not my fault. Maybe come up with a scarier room next time."
"It was scary! That was the existential fear of mediocrity! Of a life wasted! You scored really high on Starlight's survey analysis for being weak to that category."
"Well I guess I'm just made of tougher stuff than you thought." These days, at least. You don't mention how the fear of a life like that used to linger at the edge of your thoughts like a specter in a shadowed closet. But you put it to rest when you finally became a Wonderbolt, an Element of Harmony, a Hero. Definitely.
She slumps over the railing and takes off her weird little hat. "Whatever. Just... get on then. You've ruined the moment."
With that dismissal, you take the remaining dark thoughts and grey memories and shove them to the back of your mind to deal with later (probably with the help of some cider and maybe Fluttershy), and turn your attention to your available options.
You also decide to buy a can of cat food on the way home. Just in case.
There doesn't seem to be anything to interact with in this room, but there are three hallways that branch off that head LEFT, FORWARD, and RIGHT.
If your Fear Meter is full, you must select the fourth option.