The automatic door slid open, and a large group of ponies stepped in. Most of them were dressed in dark colored uniforms indicative of their position as Enforcers of the Unlaw. Only one of them was not: a young white unicorn carrying only as small but especially stylish saddlebag. To her, though, the appearance of the Enforcers said a great deal more than the organization that they belonged to. Each uniform was different in its own right. Rarity could see high-collared coats that indicated clerical workers, or longer garments that indicated forensic scientists. There were those in more formal suits- -administrators or, if they lacked a tie, detectives, and at least one pair of Pegasus mares dressed in bomber jackets over tight jumpsuits indicating that they were flight patrol.

By and large, though, the majority of the ponies entering the office were dressed with thinly armored black uniforms. That was the standard uniform that most ponies were familiar with, and the image that the word “police” would conjure in their mind. Rarity, though, was far more aware of the clothes that they wore and had worn since their inception. The number of uniforms and designs was actually quite profound, and some of the formalwear was downright stunning.

What Rarity could not understand, though, was why the vast majority of the ponies passing through on their business were nearly identical. At least three quarters of them- -especially the street units- -were dark blue unicorns, with identically styled manes. Even their sex was difficult to determine; the distinction between stallions and mares was almost completely nonexistent. Rarity had never seen anything like it before, and it made her just a bit uncomfortable.

The situation as a whole was not exactly pleasant either. In fact, it was quite overwhelming, and Rarity felt somewhat dizzy as she looked up into the vast room that surrounded her. It was larger by far than anything in Ponyville, but it seemed to just be the lobby for the Centre. Confused, Rarity stepped forward through the crowd toward what seemed to be the front desk. She only stopped- -with a squeak of surprise- -when a mechanical sphere hovered near her. It’s electrical eye blinked with a click as it scanned her. Its light then changed from pink to magenta, apparently indicating that she was clear to pass.

As the machine hovered away, Rarity approached a slightly bored looking pony at the front desk. She was the only one there, as the Enforcers all seemed to know where they were going. Do to the size of the room, the rear- -where the desk was- -was actually rather sparsely occupied. Most of the others had gone their separate way by then.

The pony behind the desk sat up. She was a blue unicorn, but not of the same standard format as the others. Her coat was lighter, and her mane was white instead of blue. She was dressed in a clerical uniform, so it was apparent that she was just the pony Rarity needed to help her.

“Excuse me,” said Rarity, smiling to the clerk. She looked at the name plaquard on the desk. “Miss…Trixie, is it?”

The clerk, though, just glared at Rarity. She then sighed and rolled her eyes. “What do you want?”

“Well,” said Rarity, taken aback by the clerk’s rudeness. “I’m here for my first day.”

“First day of what?” asked Trixie, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh. Yes. I’ve been accepted for a job, and I was informed that I ought to report here, to the Unlaw Center.”

Trixie seemed to scrutinize Rarity. “Um, no,” she said at last. “No you’re not.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well maintained mane? Makeup? A smell like…” She took a few sniffs near Rarity’s head. “Like lilac and…marshmallows? No. The Unlaw Center doesn’t hire ponies for that job anymore. Too many ponies got the swamp fever from the last one.”

“What?” asked Rarity. “I don’t- -” She gasped as she understood and blushed in horror and embarrasement. “N- -NO! How dare you!”

“How dare Trixie? Trixie dares because Trixie is a daring pony! That is why Trixie has a desk with a nametag!”

“I’m here for the Guardianship position!”

Trixie blinked, her self-promotion momentarily delayed. Then she burst out laughing. “You? YOU? A Watcher?!” This quickly dissolved into outright belly-laughing so loud that several nearby ponies turned to stare. Rarity felt even more embarrassed.

“I have a letter of acceptance,” said Rarity, producing the official document.

Trixie leaned forward and took it in her magic. She promptly ripped it to shreds.

“No you don’t,” she said. “Now get!”

“Excuse me?!”

“I said GET!”

“You can’t tell me to ‘get’! I- -I’m supposed to be here!”

“Clearly not!”

“Clearly- -how? Do you need to call your supervisors- -”

Trixie’s eyes narrowed. “No. You’re not allowed here because TRIXIE says so! Trixie is NOT going to contact her supervisor because she cannot afford another pay deduction!”

“Well, then, I’m going through anyway! I was going to ask you directions and try to be polite, but- -”

Rarity had tried to step past the desk toward the two doors flanking it, but she was pushed back by a surge of blue magic.

“No, you are NOT!” cried Trixie, standing up suddenly. “I am the GREAT and POWERFUL Trixie! My authority over these doors is unquestioned and absolute! It is TRIXIE who decides who gets in and who GETS OUT! And you will respect Trixie’s authority!”

“But I need to- -”

Rarity suddenly cried out. Trixie had struck her with an offensive spell. The spell had been very bright and flashy but profoundly weak. It had hurt, but Rarity had really been more surprised.

“Get out before Trixie throws you out!”

Rarity glared at Trixie, and Trixie glared back with an infuriating smile on her face.

“Fine,” said Rarity, defeated. She turned away and stomped back to the door.

“Dirty hick,” said Trixie as she went back to looking bored.

Ignoring this, Rarity continued toward the exit. As she did, she noticed some tears flowing down her cheeks, carrying her mascara with them. It had not been the hick comment- -although it had been extremely hurtful- -but rather the fact that this had been her last chance. Without this job, there was nothing left.

Rarity exited the inner door and headed toward the one that led back onto the streets of Discordalot. As she put her hoof against the brass handle, though, she heard a voice.

“Go out that door, and you will never have the job.”

Confused, Rarity looked around. Despite how close the voice had been, she could not see who had spoken. The crowd was too thick with nearly identical blue unicorns, and the speaker could not be identified.

The words made Rarity pause, though. She was about to push the door when she took a deep breath and lowered her hoof, wiping her eyes in the process. She was not ready to give up her opportunity just yet.

Personnel continued to enter the Centre, going about their days. Clerks were toting papers or notes, and some were surrounded by portable holograms as they organized complex situations remotely. Others were just arriving at work, or departing on patrol.

Several were also delivery ponies. One of these approached the front desk. She stood out from the other ponies in that instead of a black or gray uniform, she wore a brown one denoted by a muffin, the symbol of the courier company she worked for. Her coat was an extremely vibrant and nearly fluorescent pink, and her hair fluffy and green, styled into a messy bob.

“I have a delivery,” she said, gesturing toward a saddlebag on her side. “Department H.”

“H?” said Trixie, sitting up suddenly. “Let me see? Does it smell like cake? H is always ordering cake!”

“No can do,” said the delivery mare, holding up her hoof. “It’s top priority. The contract says I have to deliver it by hoof directly to the recipient.”

“By hoof?” Trixie looked suspicious. “What is it?”

“Do I look like I have the clearance to know that? I mean, you probably do, being a big strong Enforcer.”

“Ex- -excuse me?”

The delivery pony leaned on the desk and flicked her eyelids. Trixie began to blush. “You’re an Enforcer, aren’t you? But I can see they’ve got you on desk duty. Did you off somepony? You’re one of those renegade loose-cannon types, aren’t you?”

“I didn’t- -um- -maybe?”

“Sweet Discord’s left leg. I have a thing for mares in uniforms. Especially those with counterwoven kevlex fiber and double breasted buttons. Honestly, if the director of H hadn’t told me to rush this, I’d take you back to my delivery van and let you ‘deliver a package’, if you know what I mean.”

Trixie laughed awkwardly and blushed even more substantially. “Well, if you have time, Trixie have a break coming up- -wait a minute. You said the DIRECTOR?”

“I did.”

“Oh crap! It’s probably another severed head, then! The brain function drops the longer…just go! Get that delivered! Then…um…if you want…”

“I’ll find you,” said the delivery pony, winking.

She started toward the door, but then as an afterthought Trixie stopped her.

“Wait!” she said.

“I don’t know if I can. You said this is perishable- -”

“Just procedure. I almost forgot.” Her horn glowed, and one of the mechanical spheres approached. “I have to make sure you’re not a changeling, first.”

The sphere floated near the delivery pony, and then clicked. It’s light changed from pink to magenta, indicating that the pony it was facing was, in fact, a pony.

“Oh. Good. You’re clear to go,” said Trixie, having the sphere snap several more pictures of the delivery mare’s flank as she entered. “Be sure to come back, okay? Trixie gets so lonely at the front desk…”

The delivery mare nodded and continued into the hallway. It was empty, and after she got out of sight of the door, the delivery mare sighed. Her pink-colored horn glowed with blue light, and her coat color began to change. The fluorescent pink faded to light rose, and then finally to white. Her hair, likewise, shifted back to blue and extended to its normal shape. She winced and blinked her eyes against the sting of her pupils shifting from green back to blue.

In only a few seconds, Rarity had returned to her normal form.

“Green hair,” she sighed as she took off her saddlebag. She stripped down to her normal nude state, folding the impromptu disguise and putting it back in the bag. It had been well made for being something she had thrown together ad hoc, but the tight shorts chafed and there was no way it would actually work to trick a real Enforcer. The muffin insignia was not even embroidered properly.

This hallway continued for some time before suddenly and completely opening. Rarity gasped when she saw the room inside. To her, the foyer had seemed enormous- -but the room within dwarfed even her grandest ideas of how large an indoor space could possibly be.

The room was roughly the size and shape of an aircraft hangar. It seemed to extend forever in all directions. Even the ceiling was incredibly high, and the intervening atmosphere was filled with lines of Pegasi who had elected to fly overhead rather than walk on the floor.

There were no internal walls to divide the space. Instead, the immense floor had been divided into strangely spaced regions and fiefdoms. This mostly meant cubicles of various types, but several rather large buildings had been constructed within the room to serve specific departments. To Rarity, it was like looking at a small city.

Her chief complaint, though, was that the overall design aesthetic was rather dull. Discordalot was not known for being pretty, but it was at least normally visually interesting. Here, though, everything was concrete, with no decorations save from various designations of the regions and a few drab banners bearing the Chaos symbol.

“Oh my,” said Rarity as she descended into the avenues that ran through the seemingly endless office. “It could at least do with some color…perhaps some wall art? And maybe a potted plant. Right…there. And there, and there, and a few flowers over there…”

She took out a small pad and began writing her ideas down. Her job, of course, would not involve interior design, but she wanted to be the best Rarity she could be and impress her new employers. That, and the size and alien nature of this place was frightening to her. Designing calmed her.

Fortunately, the designs of this environment seemed not to be concerned at all with her presence. Most of them continued on their way, going to and coming from locations that Rarity did not know to serve purposes that she could not hope to understand. Most of the ponies were similar to the ones that she had seen in the front room, save for one type. There were a number of ponies with distinct uniforms that seemed to serve as secretaries and management. Just as many of the street enforcers were blue unicorns, all of these ponies were gray earth-ponies. All wore the same hairstyle, and all looked nearly identical. They were smaller than the blue ponies, though, and more feminine to the point where Rarity suspected that they were all mares.

Many of those ponies were surrounded by mobile holographic interfaces, and a few had distinctly bright and nearly luminescent eyes that indicated that their originals had been replaced. At least one even had a complete visor implant inserted into where her eyes had once been.

This only made the situation more unnerving, but Rarity pressed on for at least half an hour- -until she realized she had no idea where she was going. Confused and by this time completely lost, Rarity looked around. She spied an elevator and rushed toward it.

“Hold the door, please!” she called.

The pony inside did, and Rarity slid through the door. Running even a small amount had made her out of breath, and she sighed. “Thank you,” she said.

“It was not a problem,” he said in return. “Which floor?”

“Oh, um…” Rarity had not considered that she would need to select one. “I’ll just enter it myself. No need to trouble yourself.” She reached out toward the pad- -or where it should have been. Instead, she stared confused at the edge of the wall near the door. There was no pad. It was just flat metal.

That was when the elevator began to descend. Rarity shivered. She knew that the building overall had many floors, but she also knew that she had entered on the ground floor- -and were headed down.

She turned toward the pony who was in the elevator with her. Physically, he was identical to any of the enforcer stallions, with a blue coat and a similarly blue mane. What Rarity noticed immediately, though, was that his uniform was different. The armor was thicker and more extensive, and came equipped with boots. It was the type of armor that SWAT officers would wear, and it thematically matched the other uniforms perfectly. There were modifications, though. Rarity noticed that it contained two metallic side-arm holsters, as well as a long thin one that appeared to be designed for a sword. Of all the uniforms Rarity had seen and taken account of, this one was subtly different than any of them.

“Rarity of Ponyville,” he said. It was not a question, but a declarative statement. Had Rarity not decided that he was a stallion she would not have been able to tell by his voice alone. His tone was also strange. It was not exactly monotone, nor did he sound bored; in fact, he sounded impeccably polite, although in the most disinterested way possible.

“How- - how did you know that?”

“White coat. Blue eyes, blue hair. A cutie mark consisting of three symmetric gemstones.” He paused. “Usually, at least.”

Rarity’s eyes narrowed and despite her nervousness she stood her ground. “And why, exactly, do you know that? I’m flattered, but I’m hardly famous.”

“You most certainly are not. Or at least not yet. I know who you are because it is my job to know.” He turned slowly toward her. His expression was as neutral as his voice, and his turquoise eyes seemed to bore into her. “I am the Watcher Darknight.”

Rarity almost fainted from surprise. “Dark…Dark Knight?”

The blue unicorn’s eyes narrowed slightly. “No. ‘Darknight’. One word. Or two. With the second being ‘Night’ as in ‘time of darkness’.”

“Oh.” Rarity paused. “Then why choose such a confusing name?”

“I didn’t. I was assigned it. My actual whole designation is Dark Series G4-A266G-616.”

“The…Dark Series?”

Darknight looked confused for a moment. Then he seemed to understand. “Ah,” he said. “My series has not been released commercially in your region yet. My apologies, I had forgotten. The Dark series is a modification of the now obsolete Shadow line, which is itself a derivative of the Obsidian Series. We are designed to be more heavy-bodied and sturdier than the Shadow Series, but more user-friendly than Obsidian. We are programmed for obedience, docility, and the ability to commit violence without remorse.”

Rarity had no idea what he was talking about, or if the legends were true and the Watchers were in fact all insane. If that was true, she knew that she would not exit this elevator alive. Or in once piece. The thought of not being able to have an open-casket funeral terrified her.

Then the elevator stopped, and, much to Rarity’s surprise, the door opened. Rarity looked to Darknight, who gestured for her to exit. She did, and found herself in a brightly lit hallway.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“Our core facility,” replied Darknight. “Offices, training, refit areas, living areas. If you need them. Some of us prefer to live off-site and only stop by for the research wing or equipment resupply.” He paused. “Do you have off-site housing?”

“No,” said Rarity firmly. “I have nothing except what is in this bag. And even that is not much.”

“Then you will be able to live in the common barracks, or be assigned an area. Right now there are only two of us who live here consistently, so there is plenty of space. But first, you need to be fitted.”

“Fitted?” Rarity perked up, immediately thinking that there might be clothing involved.

“Yes.” Darknight approached a door, and it opened to reveal a short staircase down into a large room. Rarity followed him into an area that was filled with wall-to-wall shelves. The items on the shelves were impeccably organized and as neat as they were diverse. A number of them were weapons, ranging from pistols to rifles to almost any kind of melee weapons imaginable, but the majority seemed to be raw materials of various types. The room had several gaps that led to similar rooms, creating a complex something like a warehouse.

“What is this?” asked Rarity.

Darknight replied with a non-sequitur. “The mortality rate of Watchers is ninety eight percent for the first mission. Of the remaining two percent, one point seven are so badly mutilated that they are immediately euthanized upon return. The pony you are replacing, Golden Harvest, fell into the latter category.”

Rarity stared at him, not sure if he was being serious. “That- -that’s horrible.”

“It is neither horrible nor pleasant. It is simply a fact, as are most things. It is, however, detrimental to our forces if ponies keep dying. Therefore, I have taken it upon myself to offer you this facility.”

“And what kind of facility, exactly, is it?”

“Our supply stockpile. Fit yourself as you see necessary. You can use what you find here, but we have an automated manufacturing suite for anything that you cannot. Cost is not a consideration. As a Watcher, your work-related account is unlimited.”

“Un…unlimited?”

“Yes. Find whatever suits you, or make it. Or don’t, if you think you’re already equipped well enough. But be very careful in what you choose. Your life depends on it. You do not have a mission assigned right now, so take this opportunity to think on the subject.”

Rarity shivered. “And…and if I do…well, not make it…”

“Familial compensation is not affected by the number of missions completed. When you arrived here, you became a Watcher. That includes all the rights and privileges associated with that position. Nothing in this world matters to you now save for the preservation of Eternal Chaos and the will of the Madgod. All you have left to lose is your life.”

Darknight turned to leave, and Rarity looked out at the shelves. After a moment, though, she stopped him. “How many missions have you served?”

Darknight paused. “I have been a watcher for two years and seven months. I have successfully completed seventeen missions.”

“And…and how many ponies have you killed?”

“Three hundred and forty eight. Excluding Golden Harvest.”

“And does that bother you?”

“No. They opposed the will of Chaos. By definition, they had forfeited their lives. My feelings toward the subject are neither positive nor negative. I exist to complete a task, and for nothing more. This is the path that we now both share.”