Pinkie Pie was dragged off to the police station in a large, sealed, metal wagon. It was the same one they used for drunks and nutcases. There was a single small bench with a broken seatbelt. It wasn’t easy to stay seated, the way it moved through traffic. There was a little grate at the front where Pinkie could theoretically talk to the driver, but when she called out, he wouldn’t listen.

Pinkie began to calm down in the wagon. She was realizing the errors of her ways. She knew now that she had done wrong, and that there was no point in fighting anything or anybody. She would accept any punishment that they gave her.

What they gave her was humiliation. They took her hoof prints. They gave her a little board with a number on it, and had her hold it up for a camera to take a mugshot. They kept yelling at her because she kept smiling at the camera. Pinkie didn’t know how not to smile in front of a camera.

Then they stuck her in a little room with a little table and a mirror. Two cops came in and started asking her questions. One of them was very nice and one of them was pretty mean, but Pinkie tried to be friendly to both of them. They kept asking her the same questions over and over again, and Pinkie kept giving them the same answer. She started to wonder if maybe they weren’t a little touched in the head; they couldn’t seem to remember. Pinkie thought that maybe she should write it all down for them, but then they produced a piece of paper that had everything that she’d done already written on it, so she signed it for them, and that made them happy.

Then Pinkie got the hose. She didn’t like the hose. They put her in a cold cement room with a big drain on the floor, then some pony came in and hosed her off. It was cold, and the high pressure made it stink. Then they dusted her with powder. It was supposed to kill the lice, they said. Pinkie tried to tell them that she had gotten rid of her lice problem several weeks ago, but they wouldn’t listen.

Then came the cavity search. Pinkie almost giggled a little at the irony. A few hours ago and she probably would have liked the idea. Now it was just plain uncomfortable. There was this old gray mare cop that did it. She had these hard, cold hooves. She searched every fold, crevice, crack and hole on Pinkie’s body. She even found some contraband that Pinkie had forgotten about. It was very embarrassing.

They hauled her before a real stuffy judge. There was a lot of legal mumbo jumbo, and he set a court date. Then they took her to jail.

It was more like a big holding cell, they told her. She’d be transferred to the proper jail tomorrow. Pinkie watched the bars swinging closed. They made a horrible metallic clacking sound, and then it was shut. The guard started to walk away.

Pinkie tried to wedge her face between the bars. “I was just horny!” she shouted out, trying to explain to the guard one last time. The guard kept walking away. “All I wanted was a cock!” Still no response. “I’m in heat.”

The guard turned the corner and was out of sight. Pinkie sighed in frustration. She turned around.

“Oh!” she shouted, surprised. She hadn’t noticed all of the other prisoners in the gloom of the holding cell. There were a lot of them. They were all staring at her. They all had grins on their faces. There were ponies, horses, mules, zebras, a one-eyed giraffe, and monsters of various sorts.

“Well, well, well,” one of the ponies said, “fresh meat.” At first Pinkie thought they had made a mistake and put her in the male holding cell. It was the biggest, most muscular stallion she had ever seen. Then she realized it must have been a mare, and on some kind of hormonal steroid therapy.

“Yeah,” said one of the horses. “And she’s horny too.”

“She wants cock. She just said it, she wants cock.”

“Pity,” the giraffe said. “All these horny women, and not a single cock.”

“We’ve got hooves,” volunteered a bison.

“I say we give her what she wants,” a rhino said.

“Nah,” said another voice. Pinkie was losing track of who was saying what. “It’s not as much fun if she wants it. I say we rape her.”

“Yeah!” the crowd shouted.

“I wanna hoof her!” the bison cow insisted.

“Yeah!” the crowd shouted.

“I say we molest her,” said the oldest zebra Pinkie had ever seen.

“Yeah!” the crowd shouted.

“WAIT!” a new voice said, from behind the crowd. There was silence. Then Pinkie saw her. She was pushing her way through the mob. Ponies were tripping over themselves to get out of her way. Clearly she was the alpha female of the group. She was the biggest, meanest griffon that Pinkie had ever known.

“I say...,” the griffon screeched. “First we violate her!”

“YEAH!” the crowd screamed.

“‘N’ then we molest her!”

“YEAH!”

“‘N’ then we hoof her!”

“YEAH!”

“‘N’ then we rape her!”

“YEAH!”

“I say we let her go!” said a squeaky high-pitched voice, seeming to come from nowhere.

“NOOO!” the crowd all yelled at once. Then they lunged at her, and pried her away from the bars.

Next Chapter: Putting the Boy Back in the Country Estimated time remaining: 26 Minutes