Zephyr Part 1

 

>It's been a long, stupid day at work.

>Hate the boss, hate the job. Coworkers okay.

>Smoking a cigarette on the front porch.

>Mailbox thing is flipped up.

"Since the fuck when do I get mail?"

>Feel shame upon noticing neighbor kid watching you talk to yourself.

>Only for a second, though.

>Opening the mailbox reveals a small parcel.

>You hadn't ordered anything, but that was most certainly your name.

"What. The. Fuck."

>Pony plush?

>Neighbor kid is still watching, better move this indoors.

>Closer inspection within the privacy of your (shitty) home reveals that it's not just any pony plush.

>It's YOUR pony. The one you post on /mlp/.

>In plush.

>There is only one conclusion.

>Someone knows your terrible secret.

>But who?

>Big gay brony friend?

>No, you've been very careful to feign indifference to anything pony related he says or does.

>Animu friends?

>No, if they did it they'd have sent a hugging pillow of Rarity and her delicious plot.

>Drug friends?

>No, they would have skipped the plush toy and just bought you some mushrooms.

>Welp, you're stumped.

You're holding this little bundle of mystery, all slender and feminine, with a white body and hair the color of jade, with lighter highlights in places, when suddenly the hand it's in goes numb.

>You're fixated on it.

>You can't stop staring at it.

>The numbness is spreading.

>Everything but the plush is blurry.

>It's the only thing in your world in this moment.

>It's everything.

>Then the smoke alarm goes off.

>You never put out the cigarette.

BEWOOBEWOOBEWOOBEWOO

>After a solid three minutes or so of ear rape, you eventually settle for ripping the thing open and removing the battery.

>Fuck that noisy thing, you'd rather burn.

>Your attention returns to your gift of unknown origin.

>What the hell was that?

>It felt like being in the throes of a heavy drug trip, but you aren't getting high on a god-damned tuesday.

>Acid flashbacks are all in a person's head.

>You wouldn't have gone numb.

"What did you just do to me?"

>Your stuffed pony alter-ego, for her part, says nothing.

>You're honestly a little thankful.

>Maybe you're getting sick?

>There's only one solution to illness in your life.

>Sleep it off. Take as needed until better or dead.

>You do bring your little Zephyr along, though. Can't hurt to have a pegasus for company, yeah?

>No, you're definitely not normal.

>Take nyquil, go to bed.

>You have fitful dreams of ponies, they're talking to you, hugging you, singing to you.

>It's all a bit too intense.

>They're running circles around you, trying to get your attention.

>A blur of pastels, all calling to you in a lyrical, sing-song voices.

>It's overwhelming.

>A sudden snap, and you turn to see the silhouette of a man.

>You can't make out any details, but he's staring at you.

>You don't know how, but you know he's looking at you.

>You are terrified.

 

>Morning comes slowly to you, with brief dips back into unconsciousness, before you finally roll over and expose yourself to the light coming from the window.

>Fuck you, the sun. I don't shine in your stupid face.

>You let your eyes adjust for a moment, gazing at the tree outside, and try to process the dreams you just had.

>The ponies make enough sense given yesterday's arrival, but what was up with the shadow-man?

>You ponder this for a moment, before you really look at the tree outside instead of spacing out.

>A branch by your window is broken.

>That's fucked.

>No way.

>Nu-Uh.

>NOPE.

>This has got to be in your head.

>The plush on your nightstand just stares and smiles.

 

>You begin to get out of bed, but your knees go weak and you fall to the floor.

>With some slow, careful movements, you get back on your feet and make way to the bathroom.

>Oh. Oh no. You're most certainly not alright.

>You're so deathly, ghostly pale that you're pretty sure you could hold your breath and look very convincingly dead.

>It's a shame you don't have roommates anymore.

>It'd be one hell of a prank.

>Whatever is happening here, it seems like a pretty good reason not to show for work.

>It does, however, take a solid ten minutes for you to dial work on your cell.

>You can't seem to get your fingers to work how you'd like.

>Trudging to your kitchen, you find a whole host of new aches and pains assailing your every movement.

>Your bones, your muscles. Everything is out of whack.

>You take the time to jam a bagel and some fruit juice in your face before returning to bed, laptop and the package your little pony arrived with in hand.

>You'd intended to search the USPS website to see if you can learn more about the box's sender.

>But not only is there no return address. Or stamps. Just your name.

>Whoever did this, they brought it here in person.

>So it's got to be someone you know, right?

>A full, custom-made plush toy of your character would be a bit much for stranger.

>besides, what would a stranger have to gain?

>Blackmail?

>There'd be much, much better things to blackmail you with.

>You decide to test the waters. You spend at least fifteen minutes fumbling through a text message to all your closest friends.

>"Ha ha, very funny"

>If the culprit is one of them, their reply will confirm it.

>You'll be able to play it off as something else to the rest.

>You're still too tired for this shit.

>Lay back in bed.

>OW.

"What the fuck!"

>Your back is absolutely killing you!

>Right on the shoulderblades.

>This should be alarming, but you're just too tired.

>Sleep on your side, hope for the best.

>No dreams this time, you're fading in and out of consciousness.

>But in between blackouts, you become aware of gradually increasing pain from all parts of your body.

>You're cramping up. Badly. Everywhere. All at once.

>You make a desperate reach for your cell phone, but succeed only at knocking it to the floor.

>Through your blurred vision, though, your arm appears to be literally changing shape.

>It hurts. More than anything else you've ever experienced.

>You can't cramp hard enough to break your own bones, right?

>You try to cry out for help, but the sounds coming out of your mouth are strangled and unfamiliar to you.

>Oh god, it's affecting your throat.

>You're gonna die.

>The cramps are getting more acute in waves, up and down your body.

>Your shoulderblades, though. The pain there is different. Stabbing, like the muscle and skin are being carved right out of you.

>There's a pressure building there.

>With great effort, you turn your head enough to confirm your fears.

>There are large bumps on your back, steadily getting larger with sickly, arrhythmic bulges .

>They're moving faster.

>Oh fuck.

>It takes an eternity, but whatever's in there finally breaks the skin.

>You manage to scream.

 

>Following that, though, a loud bang from the front of your house.

>Oh thank god, someone heard you, someone's going to help.

>Then he rounds the corner.

>He doesn't seem alarmed at the writhing, self-contorting mess of a person in front of him.

>Why isn't he calling for help?

>Why is he coming closer?

>Why is he wearing a mask?

>All you can muster in your defense is a pitiful "no" as his hand comes down to your face.

>He's holding a rag.

>The last thing you see before blacking out is the Zephyr plushie's cutie mark.

>A small, blue cloud.

>You really should have thought of something better.

>Your drugged sleep is deep and dreamless.

>But as consciousness returns to you, a nagging sense of... wrongness pervades you.

>Your body feels strange.

>Your limbs are sore, that's obvious, but nothing else feels right.

>You slog through a few moments of confusion before the horror rushes back to you.

>The pain, the... things coming out of your back.

>The man in your house.

>Oh shit.

>You jerk violently to alert awareness, attempting to bring yourself upright and get a bearing on the situation.

>The halting stop and the pain in your neck are confusing, but only until you look back down.

>There's a chain running from your neck to a bolt on the floor. You can feel a collar rubbing as you tug a bit.

>You're in a dark room, maybe the size of a walk-in closet, and chained to a concrete floor in a corner opposite the door.

>No windows. The only light comes from the cracks of the doorframe.

>You are officially beginning to panic.

>So much so that it takes a few moments for you to notice that you have no grip on the chain you're desperately trying to remove.

>Your hands are gone.

>You stare at the stumps for a moment, allowing a wave of nausea to wash over you.

>He cut your hands off.

>Nonononononononononononono-wait.

>No, no he didn't... Your arms are different.

>There are no stumps from an amputation.

>They look smooth, and rounded.

>And very pale.

>No, not pale. White.

"Well. That's it. I've gone crazy. That's gotta be it, right? This isn't happening."

>Experimentally, you touch the two stumps together. You can feel them make contact.

>They're yours.

>Bile begins to rise in your throat, but you do your best to remain calm.

>It only holds for a moment, though.

>Something's getting in the way of your peripheral vision.

>Hair? You buzzed your head a week ago. How long have you been out?

>You can't get a grip on it, but turning your head slightly gives you a better look.

>Your hair is green.

>Your skin crawls, and with absolute terror you look down at the rest of your body.

>Two more stumps where your feet should be.

>Your legs shouldn't bend that way.

 

>What follows is not the product of rational thought.

>There is no narrative structure.

>Blind panic takes you.

>Your unfamiliar limbs begin to flail wildly.

>You can only scream.

>And you do scream. Long and loud.

>Your throat burns.

>Suddenly, the door to your cell swings open.

>Blinded by the light coming in from the outside, you fall silent.

>There he is.

>The man from your room.

>He seemed fairly tall before. He towers over you now.

>You can't make out his face.

>Then comes the rage.

"What did you DO to me!"

>He remains silent, but being doused by the hose he's holding doesn't help.

"Fuck you!"

>Another blast of freezing water. Some of it gets into your throat, leaving you gagging and coughing.

>So that's how it's gonna be.

>You stare at him in a silent rage.

>He says nothing, but reaches beyond the door frame and produces a mirror.

>Your breath catches in your throat.

>It's Zephyr.

>Your Zephyr.

>You. Are. Zephyr.

>A slender, all white body, Jade colored mane and tail, with lighter highlights.

>A blue cloud sits on your ass.

>flank?

>Whatever.

>And then you see them. They look large even by pegasus standards, but's that's how you thought of her. Dash was a sprinter. Your Zephyr was a marathon runner.

>The likeness is perfect.

>God help you.

 

>Your wings are fascinating.

>You try to move them, at first all you do is jerk your arms... er, forelegs, and contort your back.

>Then you get it right, and the two white-feathered beauties flutter just a bit in the mirror.

>They're a part of you.

>Can you fly?

>For a few blissful seconds, staring at your wings lets you forget the awful reality of the situation.

>He apparently can't let you have that, and with a small chuckle puts the mirror down somewhere behind the door frame.

>You snap out of your reverie and fill with a deep, sickening shame.

>The wings are wrong!

>Some whackjob did this to you, kidnapped you!

>And now he's laughing at you!

>Tears begin to well up, and a small sob escapes.

>Another small laugh, and then your captor deigns to speak:

"Hey now, don't get so worked up over it. To have done all that drawing and dreaming and writing, you must have wanted this."

>He stopped laughing, but he's still mocking you.

"Why?! Why do this to-"

>You stop with a sudden squeak. A hoof flies to your throat.

>Your voice is high and feminine. You hadn't noticed during all the screaming.

>He even took your voice.

>He clears his throat, and you make eye contact.

"I hope it sounds like you imagined. We'll get started soon. Sleep well, my little pony"

>You sit in stunned silence while he closes the door, leaving you in darkness.

>"My little pony"

>His little pony.

>Your unfamiliar voice calls out in a long, mournful wail, as tears flow freely.

>You cry yourself to sleep.

 

>You're not sure how long you were asleep.

>You're also not sure how long you've been awake.

>Time gets funny when you're locked in a dark cell.

>It's long enough to get hungry. That much you're sure of. It feels like you haven't eaten in days.

>Something you should probably be thankful for.

>There's no bathroom in here.

>Unless pastel ponies don't poop?

>This seems unlikely, but considering that you yourself are now a biological impossibility you suppose anything is possible.

>You'd spent your waking hours getting familiar with yourself.

>No, not that.

>Everything seems to be in working order, though you didn't spend much time investigating your, ah, marehood.

>You can't even begin to deal with that right now.

>Your wings give an involuntary twitch as you shift around again. Getting comfortable on a concrete floor is one thing. Staying comfortable is damn near impossible.

>You don't like to look at your wings.

>They're beautiful. You could watch them move around all day. You can't help but fixate on them.

>What if they're big enough to fly?

 

>You shouldn't have them.

>They're a pervert's addition to your mutated body.

>They mean you're not human anymore.

>Can you ever be human again?

>The last couple of times you had this train of thought, you broke down crying again.

>You just don't have the energy anymore.

>You're sore, you're hungry, you're miserable.

>You have never wanted a cigarette more badly in your entire life.

>You also hope very much that p0nies can smoke.

>Fuck this.

>It's time to get some answers.

 

>It's time to make some noise.

>What's the worst he can do?

>Make you even more of a pony?

>Let's not even think about that.

"Hey! Anyone out there?"

>...

"Hello? Hungry kidnapping victim in here!"

>You make out some small noises outside the door, but you can't tell what they are.

>This room must be more-or-less sound proof. Time to get louder.

"I don't mean to be a bother! I'm sure you're busy being a fucked-up monster and all, but you've ruined my life and I really feel like I deserve some answers!"

>Your thin veneer of sarcasm wont hold up much longer.

>More noises outside.

>Is he coming?

"Hello?"

>...

"HEY!"

>The door swings open again and just as before you are blinded by the light from the room beyond your prison.

>There he is. You can barely make out his face with your poorly adjusted eyes, but you know a smirk when you see it.

>His speech is totally deadpan.

"Hay is for horses, sweetheart."

 

>Is this guy ever going to take you seriously?

"You're really fucking funny for such a bastard. Care to tell me why you're doing all of this?"

He's totally silent as he steps into your cell with two trays. Putting the first down in front of you, you find ample food and water laid out for you. You realize it's actually a large dog bowl.

"What gives, buddy? I'm not your pet."

His only response is another small chuckle, as he drops the second pan to the floor beside you.

It's empty.

>Oh no. No fucking way.

"You've got to be kidding me. You let me out this instant. I'm not staying here long enough for that to be an issue."

Without another word, he turns to leave.

You don't know why, but his refusal to respond makes you worry more.

"Hey! I said to let me out! Don't you leave me in here!"

He looks back at you from the door.

"P... Please. Don't do this to me. Just change me back and I wont ever tell anyone a word."

He just closes the door behind him, leaving you in the dark again. You find yourself crying again.

You hate him.

But you really wish he'd come back.

 

It's only a small bout of despair, and soon hunger forces you to contemplate the food before you. Much to your chagrin, you realize that it's mostly oats with some vegetables on the side.

>This motherfucker is really going to treat me like some pet horse?

You consider refusing to eat as protest, but an abominable hunger gets the better of you and even though the oats are bland and the vegetables lackluster, you find yourself scarfing away at the small pile.

 

With the food eaten and most of the water drunk, you're left alone with nothing but your thoughts for company.

You don't know how he did it, but that plush must have been what started all of this. The numbness you felt when you first held it must have been the beginning of the transformation! But if he knew about your OC and knew how to send you the plush, he must have been watching you for quite some time.

 

The thought gives you goosebumps. You need answers, and you need to get out of here. However, as immediate and pressing as this need is, you're currently trapped. The collar and chain that hold you in place have very little give, and without fingers you're incapable of removing either. The sounds the door makes when it opens and closes indicates a lock, and there are no windows. You have no idea where you are beyond that.

 

You sit there in quiet frustration for a moment, only to realize that your tail is jerkily swishing back and forth along the floor, like an irritated housecat might swing theirs.

>So it just does its own thing? Great. A constant mood indicator for him to watch. One more thing he's got on me.

 

With this revelation, you sigh, roll onto your side and begin to play the waiting game. You're too tired to sleep, but the chain keeps you from doing anything beside standing, sitting or lying in place in a small radius around it.

So you sit in the dark and wait.

and wait.

and wait.

 

You don't how long it's been, but you've officially run out of things to think about. Past relationships, clever things you wish you'd said to people over the years, how bad you wanted a smoke, where it all went wrong (p0nies. P0nies is clearly where it all went wrong).

 

Yep.

It's been thrilling. It's also been at least two days, you think? With no way of keeping time your time spent awake or sleeping has all been blurring together. Your captor hasn't made any additional appearances since coming by to take the pans away. You were eventually forced to use the empty one. You were so ashamed of yourself when he came in to pick them up that you couldn't even look at him. You buried your face in your hooves and waited for him to say something.

He didn't.

 

You shouldn't have done that. Was that bad? Is that why he hasn't been back in so long? You're getting hungry again. You stretch out your back in the hopes of getting comfortable when one of your wings gives an involuntary twitch. A look back reveals that constant rolling around on the floor has left your feathers in mild disarray.

 

Despite the sense of existential discomfort that comes over you as you do it, you find yourself using your mouth to preen your feathers into shape again, the way you see birds do it outdoors. The task is oddly meditative, and soon you've zoned out while your body goes about the task automatically.

 

You're so spaced you miss the first few notes of the lock turning and the door opening. When the light hits you, you freeze in place. He definitely saw that.

"Well well, taking the time to make yourself pretty, eh? Good girl."

The blush that rises across your face would be visible even if the door was shut.

"If you're trying not to be a cute little pony, you're very bad at it, honey."

You finally come to your senses and manage to stammer out a reply;

"Quit talking to me like that! No more pet names! I have a real name. Y'know, the one that belongs to the real person you were stalking?"

He makes eye contact with you, and for the first time since you woke up p0nified he seems serious.

"Oh yeah, and what is your "real name", my little Zephyr?"

You start out as though to reply indignantly, when you realize that you don't know. It's gone. You had a name, a real person's name, and all of a sudden it seems like your name has been Zephyr since day one. You know it's not, but it's all that comes to mind.

You look straight at him, no longer wary of him seeing the fear in your eyes or the trembling of your voice.

"H... How? How did you do this to me? I was a person and it... and it's all gone. How can one little plush take my name away?"

He just turns and walks away.

You don't want him to leave.

"I'm begging you, talk to me! Don't go!"

The door begins to swing shut.

"I can't do this anymore! Let me out! Please!"

Alone in the dark once more, you're no longer capable of calm. It's dark and you're alone and you're too afraid to be rational anymore.

 

You start screaming for him.

"PLEASE COME BACK! I'll BE GOOD!"

Tears come unbidden, and you find yourself tugging at your collar and stomping on the floor.

"I'LL BE A GOOD PONY LIKE YOU WANT! I DON'T WANNA BE ALONE ANYMORE! JUST LET ME OUT! PLEASE!"

That's the last intelligible thing you manage before breaking down into hysterics. You scream and cry and roar at nothing for what feels like hours. You want someone to help you, save you. At some point you think you may have started crying for your mother.

 

It takes ages, but you eventually exhaust yourself, and end up curled into a ball on the floor, sobbing and deliriously moaning half-words.

 

Just at the absolute trough of your despair, when you've abandoned all notions of dignity or manhood, you see him.

 

The door's opening!

He came back!

He kneels before you, using his hands to raise your limp head to his eye level.

"I'm going to take you out of here, but you can never, ever disobey me ever again, or you'll go right back in. Do you understand?"

You have no words left to reply, but use your remaining strength to push yourself into him, clumsily latching onto his abdomen with your forehooves.

He carefully unhooks your chain from it's post on the floor, and scoops you up in his arms like you were the lightest, most delicate thing on earth. You find yourself trembling and sobbing into his chest.

He carries you out of your private hell, and through blurred vision you watch as you are lifted up a staircase and brought to a living room.

 

He settles himself on a couch, and still holding you in his lap begins to whisper words of comfort as you bawl with renewed vigor.

 

Finally, you stop crying. He's stroking your mane, and you cuddle deeper into his lap.

 

You know it's wrong, but you are Zephyr. And you have never been so happy in your entire life.

 

Bright sunlight wakes you. You find yourself lying on something very soft, and warm. Slowly opening your eyes, you find yourself awash in a sea of warm blanket, the white of the fabric very nearly matching the white of your body. He must have put you here after you fell asleep.

 

You'd fallen asleep as he stroked your mane and back. He made you inhuman and kidnapped you for reasons he still hasn't revealed, and you fell asleep in his lap, purring like a kitten. On an intellectual level, you know this should be utterly revolting. But something's different. Even if his reasons are imperceptible to you, and even if everything that made you break down was his doing... You feel attached. Dependent on him.

 

Shaking off thoughts of your still unsettling circumstances, you stretch and perk your head up for a look around your new surroundings.

 

What you find is in equal parts comforting and unsettling. You are indeed in a bed, but it's a dog bed. You can see the sun through a large window on the opposite side of the room, but the light shines through the bars of a large cage. Your enclosure is about the size of a large dog kennel. A small bowl of water is visible in another corner, and an empty litterbox sits opposite you.

 

A litterbox. He really does want to keep you like a pet. Then again, how would you even use a toilet in your current condition? This might just be the easiest solution... no, you're making excuses for him. This is still totally fucked up, no matter how nice he might be. Wait, nice?

 

Your conflicted train of thought is interrupted by movement in the corner of your eye. There, at the door to bedroom that holds your cage!

 

...Oh. Wow.

She's tan colored, with a black mane and tail. Another pony. Like you. Like you? Is this someone else he abducted?

 

She silently pads into the bedroom with curious eyes fixed on you. She's smiling at you, though, and she seems to be free of any restraint. She stops a couple of feet from the cage, staring in at you. After a few moments of eye contact, you elect to verbalize.

 

"Hello?'

"..."

"Uh, I'm Zephyr. Do you understand me? Were you human once?"

"..."

"Can you speak? Did he do something to you? Listen to me, if you can get this cage open I could get us out of here. We can get help, put this guy behind bars. You just have to work the lo-"

 

In a sudden, swift motion, she wheels herself around and bucks the cage, hard. The sound of the steel rattling is murder on your ears and you try to jam your hooves in your ears until it stops. As the vibration dies down, she stomps over to the bars of the cage, and with a fury like none you've ever seen, proceeds to lose her shit;

"Don't you EVER, EVER say that about Master or I'll make you regret it!"

Oh. Oh this can't be a good sign.

"Excuse me, your Master? What, you're a slave?"

Her scowl cracks into a smile so quickly that you're even more unsettled;

"No, silly! Master is just Autumn's Master. He takes care of me and loves me and I love him!"

There's no saving this one. She's all the way gone.

 

Is this what you'll be when he's done with you? A willing, loyal pet? There was a time last night when you loved him more than you've ever loved anybody. If he could do that to you with a dark room and the silent treatment, what hope did you have?

Autumn, for her part, continues to be a wellspring of disturbing information;

"I forgive you, though. Master said you're like me, and you'll come around eventually. Maybe he'll keep you, too! I never get to spend much time with the others while they're here."

There is so much bad news in that sentence that your knees give out and you slump back into the bed.

"O-others? What others, Autumn?"

"Other ponies of course! Master's toys make them happy like us, then they go live with Master's friends and make them happy! Master makes such happy ponies that it pays for all our nice stuff! He's the best!"

Okay, so he transforms people, brainwashes them, and sells them. You can freak out about that later.

"Y-yeah, Autumn, he's great. What do mean "I'm like you and I'll come around"?"

She looks surprised that you don't know.

"Uh, duh, Zephyr. Master's plush didn't do the whole job. You're a pretty pony, that's for sure, but the toy makes the others like it. I feel kind of bad for them. They don't learn to love their master for themselves!