The Conversion Bureau: Project Vanguard
Chapter Three: Lighten Up! You've Still Got A Life To Live! ... Or Do Ya?
__________
Luke’s words resounded within my distressed mind, threatening to cripple the already mangled and broken supports which held my sanity aloft. I was still lying on the restroom floor writhing in pain when Luke left. Why did they have to make it hurt so much? I don’t exactly know what going into labor feels like, nor do I want to know, but this has to be close to it. That, coupled with Luke’s verbal beating, probably the worst of which I’ve ever received considering the conditions it was under, made the entire ordeal agonizing. It effectively reduced me to a sniveling ball of despair.
The worst part about it all, though, was that everything he said was completely true. I mean, I knew everything that he told me, and I agreed with all of it. I’ve been arguing with myself for a while now about whether or not my parents were entirely truthful about the whole thing, and I knew from the start that they weren’t. I’m not stupid. I just haven’t brought myself to truly accept that they lied to me, because… well, they’re my parents. And, before all of this even happened, I honestly believed that they were the best parents I could really ask for. But now… they’ve become entirely different people, or ponies, I should say. They willingly signed me up for something that would effectively ruin my life, and it has proved.
You know, I don’t like to say that my life is ruined, but it definitely feels that way for a lot of reasons. Whatever future I had left was taken away from me when the barrier appeared. Maybe not completely gone, but altered drastically, still. Instead of learning how to captain a spaceship a little bit closer to home, I would've had to do so on Mars, or some other distant planet. But now, I couldn’t do any of that whatsoever. My conversion marked the utter obliteration of any aspirations that I still retained, and now I was at a dead end. I didn’t have a purpose for myself anymore; maybe I still held a purpose to my friends and family, but to me, life seemed worthless in so many respects. I could always find a new goal, or lifelong dream, but after this… I don’t think I have the effort or the motivation to do so. I imagine this is what it feels like after a runner loses their legs, or when a pilot loses their eyesight… but I have a feeling that it’s a little bit different for me.
I actually did consider running away, or joining a resistance group, but that would’ve cost me my family and my friends. Somehow, the world is still turning, and school, the government, and life still goes on. I wouldn’t be able to go to school anymore, I’d become a fugitive, and on top of all that, my goals would be forfeit. In the end, getting converted was better than that by a long shot. Either way you put it, my life ended the second my parents signed that contract.
For a second, my mind stopped. That’s exactly what Luke had said. Well, it was in slightly different context, but it basically meant the same thing. My mind still lingered on his words, calling upon them to fuel my endless mental torment. I was still sobbing, but now that my mind had been momentarily cleared, I lied there in silence. Lunch had just started when this whole ordeal began, and now I was thoroughly disoriented. What time was it? Was lunch over? Did I miss class?
As soon as the thought grazed my mind, the piercingly loud roar of the bell answered my questions. However, I certainly wasn't ready to get up. Still lying on my side, clutching my stomach, I hesitantly placed a hoof on the ground, and attempted to lift myself up. It was still just about as painful as fifteen gunshot wounds, but I could stand, regardless of the fact that I was just as shaky as my grandpa trying to finish his applesauce.
I just kind of stood there for a moment, gathering my senses. It was a good thing that I grabbed my wristwatch; checking the time would've been a lot harder with my Datapad in my current condition. However, when I lifted my right hoof off the ground to bring it to my face, I momentarily forgot that I was basically a precariously balanced Jenga tower.
Taking a dive against the stall wall, my jaw cracked as my neck and head contorted against the cold, hard, germ resistant material that the entire world was made out of by this point. I slumped to the floor, not sure if I was frustrated with myself, saddened by my lack of hands, or just tired with having to deal with my inability to adapt. So I just kind of lied there for a moment more, staring up at the blaring ceiling lights, trying to ignore the remnants of meat still churning uncooperatively in my stomach, and basically just feeling, over all, done with trying.
I was knocked out of my thoroughly dazed state as my annoyingly expressive ears reacted to the sound of the bathroom door being shoved open, banging against the wall behind it as if it was whimpering in pain.
Well that's certainly not a good sign...
The violent opening of the door was followed by a myriad of loud, obnoxious voices. Loud, obnoxious voices that made my blood run cold. Nearly everyone at my high school tended to be indoctrinated into the whole anti-pony regime, and the school bullies tended to be the prime examples of how bad the world could be sometimes. I thought I hated this place before...
All at once, my entire mind went from utterly blank to a "You're going to die if you breathe," panicked state. I could hear them rambling on about all of this stupid nonsense about getting laid, how much of the drug Thaucose they had this morning, and then, worst of all, about me.
"You know that pony? I saw it running like a bat outta hell earlier at lunch. You think it came in here?"
"Yeah, I heard Luke did a number on the fag. Didn't beat him up or nothing, just kinda left him there. Wish I was there to finish the job, though. we'd get a promotion." A pause followed his words, and another voice took his place.
"Hey... do you think it's still in here? Luke was only in here a few minutes ago." I could imagine a half excited, half demonic smile being plastered on all of their faces.
"Hey fag!" a large bang in the stall next to me made me jump, but I knew that I had to keep myself quiet. My heart was beating out of my chest, I was drenched in sweat, and an icy feeling was erupting in my gut. I covered my mouth with foreleg in order to prevent myself from audibly whimpering.
"We know you're in here!" the stall door next to me was violently kicked in, resulting in another loud bang that rocked my sanity. Curling up into a hopefully silent ball, I painstakingly awaited my doom. I then realized, to my dismay, a critical detail about this particular restroom: it only had three stalls.
My only warning being the brutal slamming of my door, I was suddenly hoisted off the ground by my neck, and before I could realize what was going on, my head was forcefully rammed into the bathroom mirror. Yelping in pain, I cracked my watering eyes open to face my barbaric assailants. Three rather gruff looking upperclassmen stood before me, their devilish grins shooting pins and needles into my spine. An attempt to open my mouth to call for help was futile: my lungs were currently being denied of their precious oxygen by the rather meaty individual who currently held my life in his hand. I kicked my hind legs erratically, hoping that somehow such an action would prevent my demise. I also quickly realized that my forehooves were quite useless against the hand of this massive guy; his grip threatened to reduce the size of my neck to the thickness of a straw.
I'm going to die... They're going to kill me... In the bathroom of a highschool...
Suddenly, he lifted me up in the air again, off the mirror, and dropped me to the ground. Gasping for air, I attempted to back away, before they could grab me again, but of course, such an action proved utterly futile. I screamed for help... I didn't know what else to do, really... I couldn't fight them, and even if I did, I would only die sooner. I was grabbed by the tail, and from what I heard earlier, it sounded a lot like these guys were in an anti-pony group. Unfortunately for me, that meant they were also likely trained on how to subdue a pony: go for the ears, nose, eyes, stomach, and most painful of all, the tail.
I was quickly and unimaginably painfully dragged across the bathroom floor. Just as I thought how I felt right then couldn't get any worse, one of them punted their foot directly into my stomach. I couldn't breathe; it hurt so much... I clenched my muscles as the immense pain of the kick, coupled with the remnants of meat sickness that plagued me still rocketed through my body.
"What's this? Animals don't wear clothes, fag!" I suddenly found my hoodie being ripped off over my head, and my mind kicked into overdrive.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! GIVE THAT BACK!" That probably looked so unbelievably pathetic to them as I struggled on the floor, attempting to raise myself up on my wobbly legs, but the strength that I displayed just then was all that I could've possibly mustered in my current state. I was probably only a helpless puppy to them. You know, the ones that they used to kick around as kids? Well, I may have been the equivalent of that puppy to them, but I was an insult to their intelligence; to them, I was an animal that was just as smart as they were, and they hated me for it. They all did. That's the point of anti-pony ideals. Certain individuals just can't accept the fact that there can be another race or species equal, or even better than their own worthless selves.
"What did it say? Neigh? I think it's trying to communicate, guys," This guy now, he was the definition of insanity. He seemed to be the ringleader of their murder pack thing. Something about the demonic look in his eyes and the intonation of his voice scared the hell out of me. He kneeled down closer to me, cupping his ear in my direction as a satanic smile ungracefully graced his lips, "Wanna try again, horsey? Are you... trying to tell me something important?"
Still trying to raise my self off the ground despite my quivering legs, I was suddenly forced back down by the surprising force of the guy's hand driving my head into the ground. The side of my muzzle impacted the ground with a resounding crack. I screamed in agony: a bloodcurdling scream that frightened even me. Without warning, my neck was once again in the clutches of another: this time it was the ringleader.
"SCREAM ONE MORE TIME, AND I'LL RIP YOUR INTESTINES OUT, HEAR ME!?" I was sobbing now. It wasn't from emotional pain like before; this time it was physical. It all just hurt so much... I couldn't bear it. I didn't want to cry in front of them, especially not in front of them.
But for the love of whatever's up there, I did not want to die.
"Come on, horsey horsey horsey! You can do it!"
He let go of me, causing me to cough up the blood that had been created by the kick, and subsequently the injury to my mouth. I clenched down with my jaw, only to reveal that most of my teeth on my right side had been dislodged. I spit them out of my mouth along with more of the thick, dark red substance. It hurt so much even to do that much, but I looked up at my killers despite all of that, and answered the ringleader.
"Give me back-," a coughing fit that caused me to spit up more teeth and blood interrupted me, "my hoodie..." Another coughing fit erupted from my throat, and the pool of teeth and blood on the floor in front of me was growing enough to reach my coat and mane, turning the bright cyan and dark purple a shade of repulsive sanguine. Before I could even see it coming, the ringleader punted his boot into my chest with enough force to crack my ribs. I screamed again, regardless of his warning, but he immediately clinched his clammy hands around my muzzle, forbidding any more screams of pain from leaving my blood-coated throat. While he was still holding my muzzle, I felt a torrent of tears descend from my bloodshot eyes, almost reaching his hands... which were now coated with my blood. Turning back to his "colleagues", he smiled,
"All I heard was 'neigh whinny neigh neigh', and then something that sounded like 'hoodie'. Is that what you heard too guys?" They all shared a hearty laugh, which to me sounded like three bloodthirsty hyenas laughing at their prey, admiring how helpless it looked before its heart was ripped out of its chest, "Well, I don't see why it needs clothes: its an animal for Christ's sake."
Then, I heard the tearing. A wretched sound that made my remaining blood boil and turn to ice at the same time.
"NO! NO! I'LL KILL YOU! STOP! FUCK, JUST, JUST STOP! Please... no... please..." I watched as the final thread gave way to the grip of the first guy who grabbed me: the big one. I felt like I just watched my own death. One of the last things, for whatever reason, that held sentimental value to me was just ripped apart. That hoodie wasn't just a material object to me. It was who I was in material form. If I was anything besides a living being, I would be manifested in that hoodie.
And I was just ripped apart.
It seemed that there was to be no end to my tears; they only kept flowing down my battered face, tinging my blood soaked fur in a toxic concoction of iron and salt. I was only whimpering now, as my strength to wail in sorrow was all but sapped. My blood coated the bathroom floor, along with my strength and spirit. I only wished to lay there, and let come what may come. My broken hoodie was tossed back at me, impacting my head, and landing in my pool of blood and teeth. All of the sudden, I was taken over by an intense desire to sleep.
"Get away from him."
Oh god, Chandler... Don't get yourself involved in this... Not you... You're going to get yourself killed... I felt as if I was bolted to the floor; my hooves refused to move, regardless of how much I wanted them to. So, I just figured that I would have to watch as my best friend was inevitably ripped to shreds by these guys. Well, on the bright side, I'd get to drown in my own pool of blood for another minute while I watched Chandler's head get bashed into a sink or something. It was good knowing that I would die of blood loss instead of more direct intervention of those assholes. All the while, I'd get to watch my friend die a cruel and bloody death! Wasn't that a wonderful prospect?
"Ch... Chand..." I wheezed out, heaving for breath. Those guys must have packed some pretty intense hits if I was bleeding out like this. Is this what the HLF teaches these kids? To kill people like me?
"What was that? You, want us, to get away from him?" The leader guy's voice was as stupidly intimidating as ever, and made me sick to whatever parts of my stomach I had left. Every part of my body was screaming at me to just kill all of these guys in the goriest, and most horrific of ways to stop them from hurting Chandler. However, it seemed that I was bound to my bloody, bathroom floor of death, using up the last bit of water my body had left to produce the salty tears that were currently running down my gory, formally cyan cheeks.
"Leave right now, and at least you won't be tried for first degree murder." Chandler was doing his best, but the gang still laughed maniacally at his statement.
"You think the cops give a rat's ass about us? Please, the HLF's got its hand in everyone's pocket. Now, if we killed you, it would be a bit different. Hear that, horsey!? Your friend here's gonna be just fine." He looked at me with that menacing smile of his, "Can't say the same about you though, fag. Looks like the lights are about to go out in that tiny little noggin a' yours!" He returned his gaze to Chandler, who appeared as if a chord had been struck within him, "Don't worry horse-fucker, we're leaving." He leaned in closely to him, Chandler frozen solid,
"But if I were you, I'd do a favor for my human brothers and sisters and just end its life right here and now. Stop its suffering, and all that. I'd make the right choice." With that, my killers pushed past Chandler, and swiftly exited the bathroom, slamming the door behind them. As soon as the door settled, Chandler bolted over to my side, bearing the most frantic and worried expression that I had ever seen him don. Without saying a word, he quickly grabbed my ripped hoodie, and strung it across his back, regardless of the blood that coated it. He then carefully scooped me up in his arms, wary of the amount of pain I was in, and lifted me up to his chest.
So comfortable... so warm... so... sleepy... My last, fading image was that of Chandler's horrified face. A face that had never seen anything more gruesome, tragic, and painful as what he was privy to at this very moment.
His best friend was quickly approaching a horrific death in his arms... and the only reason for it was because the world saw his best friend as different.
And so, his death was a necessary one. Because the world said so.
... Or did it?
__________