Willard sat in the empty office that the precinct had given him. They had plenty of empty space these days. So did everyone. It still felt mystifying sometimes, how so many people just up and left behind their lives in such a short amount of time. The Bureaus opened two, three years ago? He couldn't quite remember anymore. Everything felt hazy these days to him. He looked over the stack of files lying on the cheap metal desk. Next to them was his own laptop computer–for work purposes only–which had many copies of the files stored. The files were all about the incident, and for the past couple of hours, Pascal had been skimming through them, if only to satisfy the angry demands of Lt. Gagnon. Willard, personally, preferred to review files only when they were relevant to the current information he was working with. It was just another simple clash in differences, but if Gagnon was going to be as deeply involved in this investigation as he wanted to, Pascal figured that not aggravating him would make things easier.

But he wasn't here to read things everyone else had figured out. He was here to gather information that they hadn't found yet.

He tossed the file he was holding back onto the desk's surface, and swiveled in the office chair to stair out the window. The rain was still pouring down, and would be for quite some time; it wasn't going to stop anytime soon. It certainly wasn't helping the melancholy that had swept across the whole town. Pascal yawned and stretched in his seat for a moment before standing up and heading for the door.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Pascal was in the office again, but this time he wasn't alone this time. He sat in his seat, rolled around to the front of his desk. In front of him, sitting on the floor on their haunches, was a pair ponies–two of many who had been waiting in the precinct. Gagnon wanted to wait for Pascal to review all the information before continuing any interviews, but Gagnon didn't have to know that Willard was talking to witnesses while simultaneously reviewing files, did he? After all, Pascal's laptop was open and active right there on the desk with the information open in case he needed it during the interview.

The ponies were a mare and a stallion, from what he could immediately observe. The mare was a light orange with a straightly-combed mahogany mane and tail that looked well-groomed once, but were ruffled now. The stallion was a deep brown in both coat and mane, the mane only somewhat lighter–and also a unicorn; his brown horn was the first thing Pascal had noted about him. Their names were Dixie Drums and Oakley, respectively. Two very different ponies, but one thing they had in common was their health: both looked to be in poor shape, much like the many other people and ponies waiting in the precinct. Miss Drums–as Pascal called her–had a large bandage wrapped on the left side of her face, while Mr. Oakley–as Pascal called him despite his protests–had handful of healing cuts on the side of his body and a couple more on his legs, a couple spots covered with small bandages. Neither of them looked very comfortable sitting around a police precinct with a federal agent.

"Normally, we do things like these one-on-one," Pascal began, both ponies' attention on him as soon as he spoke, "but you say you were together a majority of the time, so I decided to talk to you both at once. Saves time." He reached for the styrofoam cup of coffee he had fetched while he was out and took a gulp of the bitter, unsweetened beverage, welcoming something warm in this cold weather. In Willard's other hand was his pencil and notepad. "Now, let's start at the beginning of the incident. Miss Drums, what were you doing before it started?"

The mare shifted awkwardly, staring out the window. "D-do I really need to be here? I'm sure you can talk to some other pony and hear the same things. I just want to go back home now…"

Pascal shook his head. "I'm sorry if I'm putting you through something you don't like, but every perspective is important. There's a chance you noticed something no one else did, as did Mr. Oakley here, and that's why I need to talk to you. Please, take your time, and tell me what you can. I know it can be hard to remember, but we need all the help we can get in figuring this out, to keep it from happening again. We need your help, so please, try your best." He tried to sound kind, but a part of him was already becoming annoyed; nearly every pony he tried to talk to before seemed too affected to say anything important at the time. He was told to give them a little more time to calm themselves, but their perceived fragility was getting in the way of the investigation, and that fact irked him. Still, he pushed his grievances to the back of his mind and tried his best to put on a comforting visage for Miss Drums and Mr. Oakley.

"You can just call me Oakley, seriously," the stallion interrupted, sounding a little annoyed himself. Pascal ignored him.

Miss Drums continued, "I-I just help the newfoals get ack…acli…acclimated to their bodies, but there were very few at the Bureau at the time, s-so I was just helping out wherever I could. A few people had come in that morning, so I just tagged along…"

+ + + + + + + + + + +

Dixie Drums really hated Earth weather. A light drizzle had started outside, but it was freezing cold. She was told the south parts of America were warm year-round, compared to the rest of the continent. But for the past days, it was nothing but bitter cold wind and dark, moody clouds covering the sky. It was like everything was miserable, from the people to the planet. She often wished she was back in Equestria, telling her little sister jokes and entertaining her friends with her special bongos–which she had to leave behind, another detail that bugged her.

But she sucked it up and went about with her days. She was here to help these weird humans get a happier life as ponies, and from what she'd seen so far–hungry people, lonely people, sad and hurt people, desperate people–they needed all the help they could get.

Sadly, there weren't that many people to help these days. The Bureau she had ended up assigned to was…dull. Small town that no one took seriously, from what she could tell. Even less people here than in the emptying cities, from what she heard.

At least she was making friends at the Bureau. A bunch of bored ponies sitting in one place are bound to become friends sooner or later.

It was the middle of the afternoon, around 4 or 5 P.M., and amazingly, some people had come in to the Bureau asking the usual questions and making the usual plans, which gave her something to do. She stood in a plain room with some tables and chairs, along with a human, who hadn't said much since walking in. Dixie was waiting for another pony–Melodia was her name, a fellow musician–to return to the room with some papers that the human had asked for. It was a man, from what she could hear anyway; he was bundled up so much you could barely see anything about him other than his face, which was also covered up by a cap. Dixie shrugged it off as sensitivity to the cold, and the other humans who had just come in were similarly dressed up in coats and hats and gloves and the like. The rain certainly didn't warm things up either, and Dixie noted the occasional drop that fell off his arms and hat as she awkwardly waited in the room with the quiet man.

The rain tapped against the window, and the orange mare racked her brain for something she could talk about, because this silence was killing her. Ponies working at Bureaus were supposed to be friendly faces for all the humans who came in, and a friendly face who can't talk is usually a creepy face. Gulping, she looked up at the rain-soaked human and summoned up just enough courage to break the silence.

"So, what made you want to become a pony? I'm Dixie, by the way–Dixie Drums," she sheepishly smiled, hoping he'd respond positively. She didn't like being so socially awkward, she wasn't always like this, but this human had something off-putting about him.

The human shifted in his seat and sat quietly for a moment before answering with a low, deep voice, "'Cause my sister got ponified a few months back and I miss her something fierce. I wanna see her again." The deep voice made Dixie flinch just a little, it was something she wasn't expecting. She nodded at this, and her eyes shifted to the side again trying to think of a follow-up question.

"Well, what was your sister like? She must be great if you want to see her so badly you'll get ponied for it," she ended the question with a nervous chuckle and smile.

The human's response was more immediate this time, "Oh, she was the sweetest thing, always as bright 'n' cheery as a summer morning, and she loved her music, loved to dance. But she hooked up with a bad man, and he broke her heart…and then you all ponies set up these Bureaus and she went and checked herself in to get away from it all…"

Feeling the air getting heavier, Dixie changed the discussion's direction, "So, when you get ponified, you're gonna go look for her? Any idea where she is?"

The stranger shook his head and said nothing more. "No, huh?" Dixie pondered, "Well, I'm sure there's a way we can find out where she is if she's moved on to Equestria or somewhere else, so…don't worry?"

The stranger only grunted in response.

I hope Melodia gets back here with those papers soon, this guy is kinda creepy, especially for a human, Dixie couldn't help but think. The man seemed content to just stare out the window, and Dixie tried to muster up the courage to ask his name. But he didn't seem like he was up for talking, so Dixie didn't know what to do other than awkwardly sit in silence.

Finally, a low squeaking noise announced Melodia's return, the purple mare balancing a folder full of sheets on her back. "Sorry it took so long," she cheerfully and loudly declared, "but you asked for a whole lotto papers and I had to look everywhere to get them all!"

"Oh, Lodi, I thought you'd never get back!" Dixie gleefully responded, all too happy to have some friendlier company. Feeling braver with a friend by her side, she turned back to the man and said, "Okay, since we have the things, you can get started filling them out, and me and Lodi here will be willing to answer any questions you have."

The man stared at the two mares for a moment, and then checked his wristwatch. He held it in front of him for a good twenty seconds, looking entranced by it. Then he lowered his hand, reached behind him, and took his backpack off. Both Dixie and Melodia watched him unzip the bag and dig around inside.

"Uh, if you're looking for a pen, I have…one…" Melodia began to offer, trailing off when the man looked up at her with the sternest stare she'd ever seen, catching her off-guard so harshly that she reflexively whimpered a bit.

The man spoke with the same voice as before, deadpan but harsh, "You're going to do exactly everything I tell you."

Both Dixie and Melodia stared at him, puzzled and deeply unnerved, and the two ponies gasped when he drew a gun from his bag and pointed it at them. It was an uzi, though neither of them recognized the specific kind; they just knew that a gun was a lethal killing tool that humans used, and the man seemed all too willing to use it.

Before either pony could say a thing in response, there came a loud screeching from outside the building, recognizable to any human as the squealing of car tires, that rapidly grew louder, the source of the noise clearly getting approaching the building, followed by a blood-chilling crash from behind the door the two ponies and gun-toting man were looking at. It was the door that led to the Bureau's lobby.

"Move. Into the lobby. Now." He was still pointing the gun at them, and had stood from his seat, menacingly towering over the pair of ponies who were too confused and terrified to disobey. Nosing the door open, the pair looked out across the lobby–or what was left of it.

Some dust filled the air, and glass and some concrete littered the tile flooring. Where the front glass doors used to be was a large gray van, the rear of the vehicle backed inside the building with the doors hanging wide open. A group of humans all wearing black, brown, dark gray coats and hats were jumping out the back of the van, large guns in hand, loudly shouting and aiming at all the ponies and people who were standing in the lobby. Dixie glanced around and saw a few men similarly dressed with guns in their hands leading ponies out of other rooms inside the Bureau, pistols and small shotguns pressed against the backs of ponies' heads as they were forcefully herded into the lobby, much like Dixie and Melodia were. A swift, painful kick in one of her rear legs reminded Dixie of that fact as the man behind them began to bark orders at them to line up against the wall with the other ponies. Dixie looked around, confused and horrified, the sudden wave of fear and noise putting her in a daze. Another hard, hurtful kick sent her towards a wall, Melodia following closely behind.

Their bodies pressed against the cold white wall, the two mares watched as the other workers in the Bureau were corralled against the walls by the other angry, loud men with guns, a few of them silent, a few of them screaming and shouting in the angriest voices possible. A few quickly ran off through some of the doors, and Dixie could hear Melodia whimper ever so slightly when they both heard gunshots echo from deeper inside the building. A number of ponies were pushed and shoved into the lobby from where those few humans had run off to. Dixie shifted her aways away and back towards the van. One human was sitting next to it and digging in a bag. He pulled out a black can and began spraying its contents on the windows, the glass being covered with a thick layer of black spray paint. He went on to paint all the windows in the lobby, tossing aside empty cans and replacing them with another one from his duffel bag as he duck in and out of rooms, presumably blocking all the windows. With the windows mostly painted over, the room was even darker than it was before, especially since some of the lights were knocked out by the collision from the van. A few of the humans had apparently foreseen this, and were now toting flashlights and constantly shining them on all the people huddled up agains the walls, the bright lights making Dixie wince whenever it beamed into her eyes.

The two friends sat together against the wall, shivering, as the humans with guns went to work. A few set about patrolling the lobby, while a few others were now carrying tools and sheets of metal and wood, and wandered off. Minutes of tense silence pass, and the sounds of power tools echoed through the now-empty halls of the Bureau. A number of tables were dragged out of one of the rooms and shoved against the walls, and a couple humans began dumping their things on them and rifling through the piles. One had set up a small group of boxes and wires that Dixie didn't recognize as anything, but the blinking lights did prove it was some kind of technology. The human setting them up grabbed a chair and seated himself in front of the devices and began fiddling with the knobs, but he was on the other side of the room so Dixie herself could barely tell what he–or she, since the human was wrapped up in winter-wear like all the others and Dixie couldn't see any of their faces–was doing.

A sense of crushing exhaustion began to seep into the orange pony. So much noise and panic and stress was taking a big toll, and she just wanted to lie down and close her eyes. She bowed her head and stared at the floor, trying to block it out. A part of her was fighting back some tears. She'd gone from a bored pony just trying to help to a kicked-around hostage at the hands of these humans…

+ + + + + + + + + + +

"Okay, Miss Drums, that will be enough for the moment," Agent Pascal interrupted, seeing the look of unease that was growing in the mare as she recalled her experiences. She nodded her head and turned to stare off into nothing. Oakley looked at her with pure sympathy, then stopped when Pascal called his name.

"Now, Mr. Oakley–"

"Stop calling me that," he flatly rebuffed.

Pascal continued, "Mr. Oakley, where exactly where you when the humans invaded the building?"

The brown stallion sighed, and began his story, "I was in the back of the Bureau, near the basement entrance. One of the fuses had blown and electricity for a few of the rooms had gone out. One of the humans who worked at the Bureau with us taught me how to fix it, since it happened a lot from what I could guess, so I was doing that. I was finishing up when I heard the crash…"

+ + + + + + + + + + +

One large, sudden smashing sound made Oakley pause. It took a moment for the realization to sink in, and when it did, the stallion dropped the bag of fuses he was carrying and started for the stairs. Halfway up, he misstepped and went tumbling head-over-hooves back down. He winced in pain at the bottom for a little while, when he heard banging upstairs. Forcing himself back on his hooves, he went back up the stairs, slowly. The door at the top was cracked open, and Oakley reached to push it open, when he heard heavy steps approaching on the other side. Something compelled him to freeze and stare out the crack in the door. From what he could hear, it was two sets of steps that weren't in-sync, so it had to be two humans. He saw two shapes pass in front of the doors, along with a clanging noise. The pair ran down the hall a ways, then suddenly stopped. A much louder clanging of metal rung out, and Oakley pushed the door open just a bit more to see what was happening.

Two humans in heavy coats and hats were sorting out some tools, one kneeling on the floor in front of an emergency exit with a gas tank by his side, and the other holding sheets of metal beneath his arm. They were talking with each other and sounded out-of-breath.

"Okay, we just need to seal this door while Brittany and Sam seal the other two on the other side of the building," said the kneeling one, his voice very deep, especially compared to his friend's somewhat high voice.

"Cripes, I reviewed the plan, Vic, I know what we're doing. We all know what we're doing, or I at least hope to God we do," his companion responded, leaning against the wall, setting the sheets of metal down.

"Yeah, yeah. You might wanna avert your eyes, Walt, this thing gets bright as the damn sun." The kneeling one placed a big, flat, black mask on his head and held up a tool that was connected to the gas tank. With a flick of a switch, the tool was spraying fire, and the man began to melt down the metals of the door and the frame, creating a red-hot glow that made Oakley squint his eyes and the standing man stare away from it, and at the loud hiss the flame and heated metal let out was louder than anything else in the place. Oakley silently watched the pair work. When the welding was done, the other pulled out some kind of tool that resembled the gun while his friend held the sheets of metal over the door. With the tool, they planted bolts in the metal, sealing off the exit even further, plating over the door and frame with the whole stack of metal, leaving a patchwork of metal and bolts covering where the door used to be.

The welder took off his hat, revealing his dark skin and buzz cut. He wiped his brow and sighed with relief. "That took longer than I liked. Let's head back now. Leave the tools."

"Good, I don't wanna lug that shit around anymore. What do we do next?"

"I thought you reviewed the plan?"

"So I don't have picture-perfect memory, so what? Do you remember every bit of the plan?"

"I don't plan on fucking up and getting shot in the head, so yeah, I pretty much remember the whole plan. If you wanna get shot, that's fine, but you're not gonna screw this up and get me shot."

"What makes you think I'm gonna screw up? What could I possibly screw up?"

The two continued to casually banter as they passed the door. Oakley stepped away, praying they wouldn't notice him on the other side. They didn't, and passed by, verbally jabbing each other. Oakley saw an opportunity, and slowly nudged the door open just enough for him to squeeze through. In the hall, he glanced to make sure the other two were still leaving, and when he saw they were, he immediately began to trot away in the other direction as fast but as silently as possible. He ran ideas through his head over how he could get out. Things were obviously going bad, and he needed to leave and get help. If he could just–

"Wait, crap, I forgot my lighter back there."

"You smoke?"

"No, it's just a lucky lighter, lemme go get it–hey! Hey! It's one of those damn horses! Get on the fucking ground or I'll shoot your legs off!"

+ + + + + + + + + + +

"And that's how you got caught and forced into the same place as all the others?"

"Yeah, that's…that's right…"

"I see. Well, Mister Oakley, Miss Drums, I think that's all I'll need from you for now. Thanks for telling me what you could, it's all a big help to us. You can go back to the waiting room now, if I need you again, I'll call. And if you see a huge bearded man asking where you went, just say you went to the restroom and got lost."

The ponies left unceremoniously, both carrying a miserable air about them. Willard reclined in his seat, propping his feet up on the desk. He took a drink from his coffee, set it on the desk, and reached into his pocket, producing his recorder. Hitting the record button, he held it front of him and began to speak.

"Second entry, just finished interviewing a couple of the ponies who were hostages. One of them was just like all the others. Some guys came in, pretended to be potential converts, pulled out guns when a van smashed through the front, and proceeded to lock down the building and its residents. One saw a pair sealing the doors with sheet metal and welders, which is consistent with the state of the building as observed by local investigators. He overheard them discussing a plan, which from what I could guess, was quite extensive and detailed. From looking back on what happened, it's clear they had a patiently designed plan that took multiple factors into consideration. I will be interviewing a couple more witnesses as soon as Lt. Gagnon finishes his paperwork, or whatever he's doing. The exact details of this plan they had are still muddy, I'll need to work it out. I'm trying to gather as many different perspectives as I can. From what I've heard, the assailants and hostages were somewhat scattered after the initial lockdown, so some may have seen or heard things that others didn't. I'm also finding names for some of the assailants, which may help since I've been told not all of them have been identified. Until then, I'm waiting on Gagnon. I need another coffee. Out."

He pressed the button, stopping the recording with a click.

Next Chapter: Weary Eyes Estimated time remaining: 15 Minutes