Name not decided yet


                                            "Raise!"

                                            >With a single order, voiced through a loudspeaker, policemen of the IDF comprising a thin line change their position almost instantly.

                                            >There's no demonstration of power that is stronger than a long line of "INTERNAL DEFENSE FORCE"-marked shields and rubber truncheons high in the air.

                                            >"Prepare!"

                                            >Well, for today you can join the rest of the company and forget that you're actually an officer.

                                            >You pull out the L2C2 and with a click barrel snaps open.

                                            >L2C2 - standing for Less Lethal, Crowd Control - is the newest scientific breakthrough in the police research group, based on the South African's 37-mm Milkor Stopper.

                                            >Its internal structure is as easy as pie - a smoothbore barrel with a simple loading mechanism, manually cocked hammer, two handles and a retractable telescopic stock.

                                            >Well, things don't seem too violent for now, so you choose a green-colored round - basically a large firecracker with no fragmentation - and send it into the barrel.

                                            >"Present!"

                                            >"Bloop" and the gun is ready to fire; your finger rests comfortably on a trigger, while you estimate the angle.

                                            >"Take aim!"

                                            >"Fire!"

                                            >And there it goes! Literally no recoil, although you've already used to deal with it, and several seconds after, the round explodes high in the air, prompting the most fearful protesters to disperse.

                                            >Several other green-colors follow with puffs of white smoke arising here and there.

                                            >Twenty or so minutes pass, and the demonstration is becoming more violent by the minute. You've never seen ponies heated up like that before.

                                            >And they're not shouting a particular chant or something, just attacking the officers.

                                            >You swear you saw several ponies shapeshifting into changelings and again into earthponies and unicorns.

                                            >And intensity of protesters ramming the shield line is increasing.

                                            >You even had to poke a "far too enthusiastic" unicorn stallion with your rubber baton to cool 'im down a bit.

                                            >And...isn't this thing slowly flying towards corporal Flannigan a brick?

                                            "Flannigan, cover!"

                                            >He turns his head, glances at you, then notices the brick and quickly walks back a few steps. Red thingie is smashed to pieces against the road asphalt.

                                            >...

                                            >...

                                            >And the fight goes on.

                                            >Ballistic teams have already deployed irritant gas and some rubber baton rounds, but it's not enough. You've already heard company commander calling for support from the military garrison.

                                            >The police line is currently reassembling in new formation, taking a short break after an hour of pushing and pulling.

                                            >Their shields are lying on the ground, as squad leaders try to maintain strict formation. You're one of the few who are still standing in full protective equipment.

                                            >Suddenly, a red-colored earthpony stallion with red and yellow-striped mane catches your attention. He's running towards the police officers through the whole gathering.

                                            >A simple manipulation and he's in front of the crowd, standing on hind legs with a bottle in his hoof.

                                            >No, no, it can't be.

                                            >As stallion leans backwards, aiming for the throw, you rush to him, but you're unable to reach the violent one before he throws a burning bottle of kerosene at a line of unprotected policemen.

                                            >You bolt to the right, running several dozen meters in a few seconds, and end up near the bottle's approximate point of flight, and raise your shield to protect your head.

                                            >The next second, a wave of heat flushes against your body, as you hear something breaking - perhaps the bottle itself. A bunch of kerosene drops leaks through the holes of the shield and falls directly on you.

                                            >It appears that you've taken the damage all to yourself with about a glassful of flammable liquid spilt on your uniform.

                                            >Being on fire actually hurts - now you can confirm it firsthandedly.

                                            >Luckily for you, two policemen run towards you and support your body as you fall onto their hands, exhausted by the run and by the kerosene on your chest and hands.

                                            >Your eyes slowly close as fellas from the second platoon drag you to the emergency vehicle.


                                            >"Well, first lieutenant, our forecast is pretty well-looking. I guess you can leave, mhm, tomorrow."

                                            >"Your - I presume - senior officer wanted to talk to you after you've recovered. He'll enter now."

                                            >With a small screech, door leading to your room opens, and your immediate commander, cpt. Pryor, walks in.

                                            >"Good morning, lieutenant Moose."

                                            >After this formal greeting he sends a nurse away with a wave of his hand and laughs after she exits.

                                            >"Oh who am I bucking kidding, Anon!"

                                            >"Doc told me you'll leave tomorrow - and as far as I know you'll get a deserved vacation. Two months or so. Paid."

                                            "Oh really?" you ask with a cocked brow.

                                            >"Exactly. And probably they're gonna give you a medal or something. I've filled a report to the Reg detailing you jumping to this bucking Molotov."

                                            >"But the most important thing is..."

                                            >He stages a ironically long dramatic pause and chuckles after it.

                                            >"Well, captain Rhodes asked me to give you a special gift. Sort of."

                                            "A special gift? From Rhodes?"

                                            >"He was standing directly behind you with no protection, so if you hadn't ran here, he would have a second-degree at least."

                                            >"Basically this "gift" is a pony."

                                            "A pony? As a gift?"

                                            >"Oh yeah, you aren't owning one and you're unaware about all ownership thing, right?"

                                            >One can own ponies? Really?

                                            "Pretty much unaware, I guess."

                                            >"I won't be covering the legal issues - to be short, several rioters have been sentenced to the "special status" imposition."

                                            >"It means that police officers can take 'em as, well, slaves."

                                            >"Rhodes got a fairly young mare, unmarried and all, but he's got enough of those at his estate."

                                            "And he passed her to me? Really?"

                                            >"Yeah. And he hasn't even seen her yet."

                                            >Well, slavery is definitely not a good thing in your worldview, but you can't refuse a gift.

                                            >And it'll be a nice addition if she can cook. Those MREs you've been chewing since first day of service are...well, not great.

                                            >"Okay, I'll order to send her to your house. Get well, Anon."

                                            >He lightly punches your shoulder, prompting you to respond in kind.


                                            >"Tensions in Foalster are growing as Griffonian Kingdom's security force continues its violent crackdown on the Union Movement. Demonstrations are now gathering up to 8 thousand protesters."

                                            >You shut down the radio and take another sip from your teacup. Ain't that a great way to spend an evening - to sit in a big, soft chair with a good book and a lot of tea?

                                            >You've finally managed to drink something else than apple cider, whiskey, beer or bad coffee - there basically wasn't enough time for you to brew some tea on service.

                                            >And the book you are reading is not related to your service either...well, partially.

                                            >"Special Status 101: everything that humans should know" by Robert Carter.

                                            >Probably the title isn't entirely literate, but the book is great nonetheless - more than twenty chapters, detailing every detail from feeding to legal status.

                                            >Pryor called you earlier, stating that the mare will be "delivered" today - there were some difficulties about transferring the ownership.

                                            >Quarter of an hour passes with you flipping through the pages of the book, and doorbell's ring is heard.

                                            >Standing up from sitting on a chair, a good book and tea is definitely one of the worst punishments one can deserve.

                                            >After opening the door, you're presented with a sight of two policeponies dragging a young unicorn mare towards you.

                                            >Their rubber batons are on ready, held in mid-air by their magic, but they try not to hurt her too much.

                                            >After she stops kicking, you finally get to see her in detail.

                                            >White mane with two eighth notes as her cutiemark and mane in blue and turqoise stripes that wasn't groomed for a long time.

                                            >"Put me down, you b-" and she is interrupted by a baton's blow.

                                            >Officer in charge, sergeant perhaps, inhales, calms down and turns to you.

                                            >"Oh, good evening, sir! How is your day going?"

                                            >You always noticed that policeponies, serving as "auxillary force", were always polite and willing to do any task - transporting a Special Status bearer included, probably.

                                            "Good evening, sergeant. Everything is fine, thanks. What about you?"

                                            >"Everything's alright, sir. So, about this...lawbreaker."

                                            >Mare seemed to settle down a bit, but she was still glaring at you with both of her magenta-coloured eyes.

                                            >"Vinyl M. Scratch, former resident of Ponyville, born in 984. Acquainted with, ahem, The Six."

                                            >Last words were pronounced as if they were some kind of secret password.

                                            "Oh, I suppose they won't be standing in for her."

                                            >"Yes. Ahem."

                                            >"Arrested during the crowd dispersion, charged with repeated assault on a police officer, sentenced to lifelong Special Status instead of fourteen years and a half."

                                            >"We've locked her magic - see here - so she won't be able to harm you...mostly. Some of her belongings will be delivered in three days. Good luck, sir."

                                            >With this, he transfers the leash's hold into your hand with telekinesis, turns around together with his colleague and walks away. You have no choice but to drag her in.

                                            "Well, you little piece of..."

                                            >You aren't a goddamn edgelord from all of there fics you've read before coming here, just shouting one-liners left and right.

                                            >But she needs to be shown who's in charge here.

                                            >And she doesn't need to know that it's a bluff.

                                            "Come here."

                                            "From now on, you're considered my property and you will act at such. You got that?"

                                            >She continues to stare angrily, not muttering a word.

                                            "I ask for the second time. Do you understand that?"

                                            >No answer.

                                            "Well, you were asking for it."

                                            >You tie her leash to the heater and walk into your room to get something special for her..."extra treatment".

                                            >Yeah, here it is.

                                            >Electric stun baton, now named as B/SE-49, brought from Earth to arm the police troops. You got one as a gift from your company after three years of service.

                                            >150.000 volts and 5 milliampers pack a large punch indeed.

                                            >After you lock your safe where guns and ammo are laying, you approach her, expanding and powering up baton on the go.

                                            "Nothing personal."

                                            >BZZZZT! and all of her muscles instantly stop supporting her; Vinyl collapses on the floor, still silent.

                                            "I ask for the last time: Do you understand that you are my property now?"

                                            "Huh, okay."

                                            >Another blow, another BZZZZT and she's trying to catch her breath, gasping feverishly.

                                            >"Y...yes."

                                            "Well, well, well."

                                            "You're a clever pony. A silly pony would've kept silent and that silly pony would have been electroshocked a lot."

                                            >You shut down your baton and take her leash in hand.

                                            "I suppose they've explained you the basics?"

                                            >"Yeah."

                                            >She'll be pretty difficult to transform into a rather obedient subservient pony, now won't she?

                                            "It's pretty obvious that you aren't much of a housekeeper. But there is little time for you to reshape."

                                            "Obedience and loyalty are two things that I expect from you in the first place. If none of these are present, well..."

                                            "...my baton has a rechargeable battery."

                                            >You swat it around for a few moments.

                                            "And if something happens to me, don't expect anything but twenty years in labour camp. Or execution. Do you understand?"

                                            >"..."

                                            >You can practice with her a bit, after all, extra obedience exercise never hurt anyone.

                                            >This made-up joke is followed by a fake chuckle.

                                            "Good. How late is it now?"

                                            >She stays silent.

                                            "Vinyl. How late is it now?"

                                            >"Clock is right here, on the wall, huh."

                                            >Now that's a sort of behavior you certainly won't tolerate. She has to obey the orders, no matter how ridiculous they may seem.

                                            >Come to think of it...much like you have to do in the police.

                                            "Listen, you here."

                                            "I say you have to do something, you do it. Understood?"

                                            >She groans.

                                            >"Yeah."

                                            "Great. So how late is it now?"

                                            >"Almost nine o'clock."

                                            "Nine? Well, I suppose the general hasn't closed up yet. You follow me and we go grab some food."

                                            >You stand up - what a horrific evening! A man can't just read in peace and has to go to the store! - and quickly deal with the door of your house.

                                            >Good old Ministry of Order is paying a whopping 4000 bits a month for your 1st class Lt. rank, plus 50% increase for serving in the IDF, plus 2.5K of your old military pension.

                                            >Didn't took you too long to buy a decent two-floor house, although you were visiting it once a week - you had to live in the barracks (although with better conditions then ones privates had) to be Always Ready™.

                                            >And now you finally have it all for yourself...and her.

                                            >A light gust of cold wind hits your face, but it isn't too cold to be uncomfortable.

                                            >Lads from the MoS have placed a new poster on your neighbor's fence, so you walk closer and take a look.

                                            >Wew.

                                            >It depicts a pony kissing a standard issue "military style" boot with "OBEDIENCE AND COMPLIANCE LEAD TO COUNTRY'S INTEGRITY" written around in bold capitals.

                                            >A convenient way of telling Special Status bearers of what they have to do without much spending.

                                            >You reach a general store in no time.

                                            >It's one of the "new type" stores, more resembling 1950-ish American style rather than typical Equestrian food stalls.

                                            >Rows of canned applesauce and fruits stand firmly behind the cashier - a fairly young unicorn stallion - together with fresh vegetables, oats, wheat and bottles of cider.

                                            >Other useful things are also on display - lamp oil, some coal bags and even several small ammo packs.

                                            "Good evening. Got any whiskey or something?"

                                            >"Good evening, sir! Well, I suppose there are some bottles left. Hobert and Axton Co, Manelayfield, Mare East. How does it sound?"

                                            >He glances at Vinyl, her being still leashed, and stops paying attention to her. Well, in this district with lots of former soldiers this may be a common sight.

                                            "I'll have two. Also, wrap up three applesauce cans and two five pound oat bags."

                                            >"Very well, sir! It'll be..."

                                            >He meddles with a little abacus for a bit.

                                            >"...ten bits."

                                            "Okay, here you go. Have a great night."

                                            >"Same to you, sir!"

                                            >You quit the store in relatively high spirits. Vinyl kept quiet for the whole duration - maybe she'll succumb to your will soon? You have to hope so.

                                            >Really, beating her to ensure obedience is definitely a worser solution than her just being a good servant.

                                            >But this state of her mind has to be enforced, after all.

                                            >You reach home in almost no time, throw away your overcoat and lead her to the small room on the second floor.

                                            >It had no use whatsoever, so you've bought an inflatable mattress for her a couple days ago.

                                            "Here's your mattress, some water and food if you're hungry. For now, you'll live here and leave only when I say so."

                                            "If you will be a good pony, though..."

                                            >You reach your right hand out, towards her mane. As she shows no resistance, you try to pet her.

                                            >Vinyl seems to like it, though she desperately tries to hide the feeling. No one can resist the Mighty Human Hands!

                                            "... you'll be rewarded."

                                            "Good night."

                                            >"Good night, m-m..."

                                            >You retract the hand, close and lock the door.

                                            >Still got some spare time until you go to sleep yourself.


                                            "Go-od morning."

                                            >With this, you open the door to find Vinyl already awake.

                                            >"..."

                                            "It should be "good morning, master". I'll let you slip off that for this time, but remember this, okay?"

                                            "Anyway, get up and make me some tea. No sugar, no milk, nothing. I'll be in the living room."

                                            >Nothing interesting to do all day. Maybe you'll listen to some radio (EPB was always promising to make a normal TV cover outside of Greater Canterlot, but still nah) and go for a walk.

                                            >Two months of paid leave and you don't know what to do. Nice.

                                            >After a dozen minutes or so, Vinyl walks in, holding a big plate with a cup of steaming hot tea in the middle of it.

                                            "Thanks."

                                            "Now turn on the radio - rotate this handle and flip this switch."

                                            >After a simple telekinetic manipulation, radio is now on and tuned to The National Beholder - official news radio station operated by Ministry of Stability itself.

                                            >There is a bunch of other stations in Canterlot - CVBT-FM, CK2M-FM and a couple of others - but they're either forecast or music ones, nothing interesting to listen to.

                                            >Luckily, you tune in just before the morning news start. A short music fragment plays, and the voice of a rather cheerful mare fills the room.

                                            >"Good morning, dear listeners! You're tuned to The National Beholder radio, covering all of Equestria 24/7! It's time...for Morning News!"

                                            >"OCCU - Organized Crime Countermeasures Unit - has successfully completed a large operation against a gem smuggling ring near the Diamond Dogs' territory. Locals are telling rumours about several ponies being imprisoned in mines as well; official statement from Ministry of External Affairs is yet to be heard."

                                            >"A special report on Diamond Dogs from Daring Do, who had herself visited their grim realm, is scheduled for 6 PM today. Stay tuned!"

                                            >"Ministry of Labour in conjunction with Ministry of Industry has replaced several factory owners with state-appointed directors for not setting workers' wages in compliance with Wage Regulation Act."

                                            >Nothing interesting here either. But wait a minute.

                                            >"Additional forces, including air defense, were moved and stationed in Appleloosa after continued threat of dragons rampaging in the area. Southern Military District's press service hasn't released any comments yet, but it's presumed that official statement will follow this evening."

                                            >While closely listening, you take a first sip of your tea.

                                            >Nice.

                                            "It's good. Now come here."

                                            >Vinyl, who has already plopped down on the carpet, stands up and walks close to you.

                                            >In the same way as yesterday you allow your fingers to sink and run through her colourful, yet messed up, mane.

                                            >And she's yet again showing her pleasure, though not to full extent.

                                            >You pull the hand out.

                                            "That's it for now. Go back."

                                            >"As you wish, mas-tar."

                                            "Practice that pronunciation."

                                            >"..."

                                            >While blissfully drinking tea, you're interrupted by a phone call.

                                            "Give me the phone."

                                            >She obeys, lifting the handset and levitating it to you.

                                            "1st Lieutenant Moose speaking, IDF."

                                            >"Good morning, 'Non!"

                                            >Captain Pryor. What does he need this time?

                                            >Well, you understand that IDF has a permanent shortage of men - that's why your platoon consists of 11 privates and 5 sergeants, not 26 and 10 - but to disturb a man on vacation?

                                            "Same to you, Jack. What do you need?"

                                            >"There is a certain... situation going on here and due to some reasons I can't just draft other fellows from the Co."

                                            >"I urgently need everyone I can gather, so please come."

                                            "M'kay, where to?"

                                            >"Honesty Street, 45. I'll meet you there."

                                            >Honesty street? Ah, yeah, they're renaming streets after Elements of Harmony now. Why not?

                                            "Okay, Vinyl, I'm leaving."

                                            >She's shocked...a little bit.

                                            "I'll lock you in your room with food and water. Will be back in...three hours, I guess."

                                            >You lead her to her room, drop some water bottles and a bag of oats, lock it and head downwards.

                                            >It doesn't take much time for you to dress up in your service uniform and walk out, almost instantly catching a cab.

                                            >Honesty Street 45 is a small house just to the right of the grandiose building belonging to the Ministry of Agriculture that provides quite an uncommon sight of hundreds of earthponies in the Canterlot.

                                            >After knocking, the door opens and a pony in sergeant's uniform leads you to the basement.

                                            >God damn it, the smell!

                                            >You instinctively inhale and cover your nose, but it doesn't work well. Should've brought a gas mask or something.

                                            >As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you see dozens of (probably) changelings bound and lying on the floor, not all of them still alive.

                                            >"Good morning! I've been waiting for you."

                                            "Yeah, what's it?"

                                            >"Well, we actually arrested a bunch of rioters after that whole event and, two days later, they started shapeshifting and all that. They were - are - actually bugs, probably send by the Chrysalis herself."

                                            "Woah. And what do we have to do?"

                                            >"Well, they can't be used in any way - hivemind and stuff, you know - so command ordered to dispose of them. They're hybernating now or something. We can't use ponies to do the job, they're not suited for this sort of thing, so I was calling everybody from our Co all morning."

                                            "Let's get to work, then."

                                            >"Wait a sec, what gun did you bring?"

                                            >You unbutton your holster and pull the EA2C Striker M21 - basically an unlicensed copy of the Smith and Wesson Model 66 manufactured by Equestrian Arms & Ammo Company.

                                            >It has a shorter barrel than its original counterpart; after all, police officers have to be able to grab the gun and "deploy" it rapidly.

                                            >There are some other weapons in usage, primarily of Earth origin - M1911A1s, Tokarev pistols (they were just not too hard to find and were cheap as dirt), Walther PPKs, mostly for OCCU and other pistols chambered in 9x19.

                                            >Policeponies were armed with new pistol, developed here - PK-5; extremely easy to manufacture, using 9x19 Parabellum, but holding only six rounds.

                                            >There were some rumours among your IDF "colleagues" about arming ponies with not-so-good firearms so their riot can be easily dispersed, but it's likely nothing except a hoax.

                                            >"Ah, I see, the twenty-one. Lemme get some ammo..."

                                            >Pryor rummages in his pocket for a bit and pulls out a small carton box of .357 ammo. Hollow-point, subsonic, 134 grain.

                                            >"Here, have some."

                                            >You grab the box and load them one by one - definitely should've brought a moonclip...


                                            >After loading the revolver, you stuff the box in your overcoat's pocket and walk to a nearest changeling.

                                            >You already hear shots from here and there - other IDF servicemen seem to have gotten to work already.

                                            >Wew, this one looks particularly ugly with shining turquoise eyes and a crooked horn-like thing.

                                            >You don't hesitate much.

                                            >BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

                                            >Maybe three shots were too much, but his head literally exploded, showering you in green gooey...something. Now on to the next one.

                                            >He's finished with just one shot through his left eye. Man, you definitely will have to send your overcoat to chemical cleaning, just washing won't help.

                                            >...after an hour of shooting and kicking, you're finally done. Your hands, body and face are partially covered in dead bugs' fluids, your revolver ran a hundred rounds through itself, and you can add thirty bugs to your own killcount.

                                            >It was empty before, but nonetheless.

                                            >


                                            -- Older version. idk if i'll ever finish this. --

                                            >After opening the door, you're greeted by a police officer in uniform - you don't know him personally, maybe he's from patrol police, holding a leash that leads to a collar on mare's neck.

                                            >Her eyes are closed by blinders, and the whole muzzle is covered by a complex system of leather straps.

                                            >She looks...nice and cute, probably? You can't argue with it, given all her beauty.

                                            >Mint-coloured coat and a mane consisting of white and mint stripes.

                                            >What in the whole bucking Equus could've led her to participate in a riot like this? Well, you're gonna find out - the whole vacation lies ahead.

                                            >"Good evening, sir! You're first lieutenant Moose, right, sir?"

                                            "I am,..."- you continue after glancing at his slip-ons, - "...sergeant. It's a pleasant evening, isn't it?"

                                            >"It indeed is, sir!"

                                            >This pony definitely wanted for you to take a liking of him - basically as every freshly-enlisted policepony did. They were eagerly volunteering for dangerous tasks and routine work.

                                            >You guess you can thank Ministry of Stability for this.

                                            >"So, um, this criminal, who participated in the riots, sir..."

                                            "Yeah. Why did you put blinders on her?"

                                            >"It wasn't me, sir - officer in the police station did, sir!"

                                            >"He said that it'd disorient her and will help to confuse her co-conspirators that will try to avenge you, sir!"

                                            "I don't believe she would have a co-conspirator or a few." you say with a good chuckle.

                                            "But send my "thank you" to that officer."

                                            >"I'll do that, sir!"

                                            >"Here's all the paperwork and her Special Status identification, sir. Good luck in treating that criminal, sir."

                                            >"Also, have you heard the latest news, sir? The clashes in Foalster..."

                                            "Yeah, things have been pretty violent."

                                            >"I hope that the Union Movement will win, sir, if you permit me to voice my opinion."

                                            "Of course I do."

                                            >"So, well, sir, I've read several articles on this in The National Beholder - griffons are really violent, no wonder that Movement is gaining so much popularity."

                                            "Yeah, I would've went as a volunteer in Foalster if not the service."

                                            >You've been considering this option a bit, but actual fights haven't occured yet, so there wouldn't be much for you to do.

                                            >"Anyway, have a great evening, sir!"

                                            "Same, sergeant. Have a great evening."

                                            >With a salute, he exits, with you closing the door behind. You take the leash's cord and lead the mare in.


                                            >After guiding her to the living room with light pulls of the leash, you carefully take off her blinders and leather straps - not the collar, though.

                                            >Dag nab it, you even feel kind of... intimidated?

                                            >But you shake off that sort of thoughts - you're a gendarmerie officer, after all! You've encountered things far worse.

                                            "Good evening, little lawbreaker."

                                            >She lets out a small muffled yelp as she notices a big wooden baton with a lead bludgeon hanging on the wall.

                                            >You got it as a gift for your last birthday from the guys of the Third Company, but never really took it off the wall - you can literally break one's skull with the bludgeon, that's dangerous as buck.

                                            "I hope that they have explained the situation you're currently in."

                                            >You're definitely not a sadist, BUT she needs to be pacified a bit. And the cold tone of voice is the most preferable thing possible.

                                            >Luckily you've already learned how to talk like this while serving in patrol unit back on Earth.

                                            "And I do hope that they've instructed you on how to talk appropriately. Or haven't they?"

                                            >"T-they have...m-master..."

                                            >Master? Really?

                                            >You are cringing so bucking hard right now, but you HAVE to hide it.

                                            >And she sounds terrified by your presence - not the best effect that you've hoped your manner will have, but not the worst either.

                                            "Well."

                                            "Everything is fairly simple; you do the housework - this thing will come in handy," - you say, poking her horn, "and obey the orders. In exchange - no punishment and a decent level of life."

                                            >You definitely sound like a jackass, but the situation forces you to.

                                            "I can say from my own experience that the court has been merciful by only giving you the Special Status. Spending eight years in the labor troop would've been worse."

                                            >"...labor...troop?"

                                            "Yes. A mandatory-assignment unit that moves from place to place, doing the work required by the local authorities."

                                            "You know, the one who threw a Molotov cocktail at me has been sentenced to twenty years for a potentially deadly assault on a police officer during the mass unrest."

                                            "But enough complex words for now. Come here, I've got a question to ask."

                                            >You pull her closer, sinking fingers into the silky and smooth mane. They're really treating prisoners well at the station, now aren't they?

                                            "How did you end up in the middle of a riot?"

                                            >"W...well, to be short, a pony back in Ponyville..."

                                            >Yeah, good ol' tautology, inevitable with their topography. You even started to like those names of their towns and villages.

                                            >"...he promised three thousand bits..."

                                            >Three thousands? Now that's the deal.

                                            >You're being paid some 4 thousand bits a month - and that's well enough for you to pay the mortgage for the house and to have a decent living.

                                            >And there is about a thousand bits that remains unspent every month - it's fairly enough to provide all necessities for her.

                                            >"...for me travelling to the Canterlot at the exact time and arriving at Victory Square."

                                            >She starts to sob, recalling the events of an unrest. That must've scared her.

                                            >"...and t-there were so many ponies, I even saw changelings, they were shouting and screaming and throwing things..."

                                            >"...I was so s-scared, master."

                                            "Let me guess."

                                            "After this retard threw a Molotov at me, police started to arrest and sentence literally everypony present, including you."

                                            "Right?"

                                            >"Y-y...yes."

                                            "Phew. I expected you to be some kind of anarchist, the one who was throwing bricks at the officers."

                                            >"An-an...what, master?"

                                            >Oh yeah, the Ministry of Stability hasn't bothered to create basic training on ideologies.

                                            >But you can understand them - it's much simpler to affect the thoughts with the agitation when the "receiving end" doesn't know much about politics at all.

                                            "Well, that's a hard concept to understand, but basically anarchists are the ones who want to destroy our country."

                                            "You heard about the times before three tribes did unify? Well, these idiots want to return to this situation."

                                            >Your local MoS curator would be proud of you right now - and you chuckle at the thought of him saying something like "that's a great level of work with the Special Status assignees. I'm counting on ya."

                                            "Turn the radio on, push this button, you...what's your name?"

                                            >"Lyra, master. Lyra Heartstrings."

                                            "Okay, okay. A cute one, I think."

                                            >"Thanks, master."

                                            >With a simple telekinetic manipulation, she pushes the button and the radio starts to work.

                                            >"That's all for news. And here, dedicated to the current situation in Foalster, is our new old-style mix."

                                            >You hear the tune that almost looks...familiar? Maybe, who knows.

                                            >"In nineteen hundred and sixteen, the forces of the crown..."

                                            >So, she won't be posing a danger - but you have to say vigilant, at least for now.

                                            >You stand up and walk to your weapon safe, rotate the handles and take your trusty revolver, loading it with hollow-points.

                                            >Good old Clarence Mark IV, basically an unlicensed copy of Smith & Wesson Model 13. You still haven't had a chance to put it into good use, but it can serve as an additional factor to prevent Lyra's disobedience.

                                            "You know what it is, right?"

                                            >"...um..."

                                            "This is the thing that guarantees your obedience. If you try to, say, attack me..."

                                            "...then it'll harm you - a lot."

                                            "But neither me nor you want this, right?"

                                            >"...y-yes. I'll do e-everything..."

                                            "Good. You're a nice little mare - and obedient, which is the most important."

                                            "Come here." you say, patting your left knee. She jumps and plops onto you; you instantly feel the heat from her little fluffy belly.

                                            >This is definitely worth money that will be spent on her...


                                            >After about half an hour, you finally stand up and pull the leash.

                                            "Come on. I have to show you where you will live from now on."

                                            >You actually have a spare room that you've been using as a closet - you don't have too much things to pack in it, so it has a lot of free space.

                                            >You've bought a inflatable mattress already along with a blanket, so the living conditions for her will be rather nice.

                                            "This is your room. You'll stay here for the night and when I would go out - to the shop or to the work."

                                            "It's almost nine o'clock, so I recommend you to go to sleep. Here's some water and a bag of oats if you suddenly get hungry."

                                            "Light is turned on and off here."

                                            "Good night."

                                            >The lock you've installed yesterday is an ideal choice for keeping her - it can't be opened from the inside, only by using your key.

                                            >Man, maybe she'll even make you some breakfast tomorrow...

                                            >With optimistic thoughts like these, you finally go to sleep.