//------------------------------//
// 4... 
// Story: Five Minutes to Midnight 
// by WinterShade 
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The first reaction to the sirens was, to a clueless observer, an unjustifiably positive one. When the first screeches of the siren reached the ears of ponies operating the loud machinery – industrial presses and hissing steel furnaces – and the long assembly lines stopped to a halt, the workers simply stepped back from their stations; most of them taking the chance to wipe the sweat formed on their bodies from the hot fumes evaporating all around them. Some of them looked around, a bit confused – it was too early – but their quizzical gazes were only met with a few shrugs from their fellow workers who began standing up and away from their respective working stations. Nopony was in any hurry; there was certainly no panic like the one which has by now set in throughout Equestria. 

After all, where's the need for panic – it was lunch time for the colts and mares who worked in the city’s munitions factory. 

Sure, it seemed to have come a bit earlier than expected today, however, who were they to question the line manager’s decision. They had tried a few times in the past, but at no point did the countless negotiations and mediations actually achieve anything. Without their right to strike, since they were deemed a crucial asset, there was no real way to pressure anypony to change anything. And with the war going on, any public outcry would probably be frowned upon by the public which would view their protest as nothing short of treason towards the brave soldiers on the front. 

Besides, what were they thinking; a break starting early is certainly a positive thing. While they doubted it would extend the total respite time, as the factory was already falling behind on the imposed quotas, it still meant they may have time to come home earlier and maybe finally have  a proper meal with their foals and fillies instead of coming home while they were already sleeping. Twelve hour working shifts six days of the week in addition to time lost on the train between the city and the factory meant they barely saw their children as they had to leave before they were awake and came back when they were deep in their sleep. It was only on Sundays they had a chance to spend some quality time with the young ones, usually at the small MoM amusement park in the town’s centre or on the edge of the nearby forest (which they weren’t allowed to enter due to a research facility being situated somewhere in it).

And so, without much worry or strife, the ponies slowly began to line up and walk towards the steel doors on the other side of the factory hall, their minds already set on whatever tasty meal they whipped up for themselves the night before. Some of them occasionally broke the line, looking over the heads of the forming crowd in an attempt to find their friends or family who also work here with them. It was a practice in the factory to keep most family members or close friends away from each other on the lines so as the interaction would not affect their focus and efficiency, both of which were in high demand when making bullets and artillery casings. At first it was a bit hard to keep track of everypony and assign them accordingly, since the majority of the ponies in the town who weren’t on the front lines worked here, but the managers eventually managed to optimize everything; allegedly with some help from the Ministry of Morale’s records.

However, as the uniformed crowd slowly converged on the exit, an unusual issue became harder and harder to ignore. The sirens, which the workers believed signified their long-awaited lunch break, wouldn’t stop blaring. They wouldn’t stop even as the ponies reached the tall exit doors and attempted to push them open to no avail. 

“What’s going on? Get on with it already!” – a burly earth pony shouted from the back of the crowd; his face still black from the briquettes they used to run the furnaces ever since the coal shortage began. 

A few ponies shouted similar remarks, raising their hooves and pointing them towards the ponies at the front of the hall, closest to the door. However, despite the unrelenting pushing and the ever-increasing disgruntled hecklers, the steel door still wouldn’t budge. Eventually the frontmost ponies gave up trying, motioning for others to try themselves if they believed they would have more luck. 

They didn’t.

Only now had the panic started to slowly force the ponies in its uncomfortable embrace. The sirens were still blaring and the only way to exit the huge facility was stuck, seemingly locked. Something was definitely wrong. 

“Why won’t it open?” – another earth pony shouted in frustration after the door seemingly ignored yet another impact of his forelegs against its metal surface. – “And won’t those damn sirens stop already?”

“’Ey look!” – one of the ponies in the crowd shouted, pointing his finger at the small maintenance bot that was coming around the corner. – “Why don’t we ask the robot? It should know what’s going on.”

This proposal earned quite a few nods in agreement as the pony closest to the robot stepped forward and addressed the hovering ball. He needn’t wait long for the reply.

“Due to the state of emergency, this factory is currently under lockdown.” – the monotonous metallic voice stated matter-of-factly, barely even stopping his movement. – “This is for your protection. Please remain calm until the state of emergency has ended.”

Not even waiting around for the announcement to sink in, the robot hovered away, its metallic appendages swaying from side to side as it rounded the opposite corner.

The resulting silence was quickly broken by a murmur of conflicting voices, their fates already decided by a balefire missile recently launched in a land far away.