Four creatures sat in the boardroom of Southern Equestria’s premier arms manufacturer, Sonthorax & Barrel.

The company formed twenty years prior with the union of Sonthorax Sugar, the Changeling Republic’s largest sugar importer, and Barrel and Son’s, an unknown Canterlot marketing firm. Some might find it a little peculiar that these two decided to get into the arms industry.

However, when you realized that Changelings didn’t eat sugar and Sonthorax shipped a whole lot of cargo into recently unstable tropical nations, it became pretty obvious where their revenue stream and expertise really lay. On top of that, add an Equestrian firm’s business savviness and flair for opportunities and you had a pretty bankable combination.

Plus, outrage over the merger had been pretty low. Mostly because, twenty-five years after the bombs fell, no reputable business magazines were still around to print news of it.

Apocalypse notwithstanding, the arms industry was still booming, and cash was flowing in. Well, at least when they could find a stable workforce. This little headache had become quite the chronic issue.

“I think we need to address the elephant in the room,” Barrel Head Sr. said.

Sonthorax nodded, shuffling his notes. “We’re hemorrhaging capital. If we don’t get the Oedipus Project underway, we’re going to be out of business by year’s end.”

“Yeah, but we don’t have the labour for that,” Barrel Head Jr. said, gesturing to a series of very negative looking charts. “We don’t exactly have the assets to just hire dozens of scavengers, let alone outfit them with gear and security.”

“Plus! Our turnover rate is atrocious,” Senior added. “We lost something like thirty percent of our workforce to raider gangs and another twenty-five to taint poisoning and starvation. We’re worse than a fucking fast food restaurant. We’re paying top rates to train employees who likely won’t make the year.”

“What if we didn’t pay them?” the fourth voice at the table asked.

Everyone turned to look at the small pink unicorn sitting off to the corner. Her name was Carol, and yes, she was from ER (Equestrian Resources).

Junior cocked a brow. “Are you suggesting that we institute slavery?

Carol shook her head. “Dear gods no, slavery isn’t very in vogue. It’s something that gryphons do.”

“Or Zebras,” Junior said.

“Or Changelings,” Senior muttered before throwing Sonthorax an apologetic smile. “No offense.”

Sonthorax sighed. “None taken. My nation’s legacy is pretty terrible in that regard.”

“Plus, imagine what this would do to our corporate social responsibility,” Junior said. “Remember when Ponysoft was caught importing cobalt from Zongo? They lost something like three billion bits of stock value in a day.”

“We’re an arms manufacturer.” Carol deadpanned. “War is kind of our business here.”

Senior waved his hoof. “No, we’re an arms recycler. Remember, emphasis on recycler. It makes us sound green. And having a green image is all the rage.”

Sonthorax snorted. “Maybe it was, like thirty years ago. I doubt half the ponies out there even remember what the colour green looks like.”

“Then we use other buzzwords. Environment, sustainability, future generations. One of them is bound to stick.”

Carol beamed. “We’ll rebrand it.”

“What?” the other three asked.

“It’s not slavery. Slavery is something other species do. Instead, these are… unpaid internships!”

“Just with no prospect of getting a paid position with benefits?” Junior asked.

Carol nodded. “Like I said, an unpaid internship.”

Senior shook his head. “You really think they’re going to do thankless, backbreaking work free of charge?”

“Yes, like I said, these are unpaid internships.” She clapped her hooves together. “This is a fantastic idea.”

“Does anyone else find it ironic that ER is proposing slavery here?” Sonthorax asked.

“Kind of,” Junior said.

“Unpaid internships, Sonthorax,” Carol corrected, her smile growing increasingly eerie.

Sonthorax glared at her. “It’s slavery.”

“Look, I’m in charge of talent acquisition and managing Equestrian Resources and well, these ‘slaves’…” She made very exaggerated air quotes, “would fall under said resources, and I can say with one hundred percent certainty that I would not label them as slaves. Honestly, Sonthorax, I think we need to have a frank discussion about how you refer to our future valued employees.”

“Well, I, for one, am strongly opposed to the idea. Can we really throw away our Equestrian ideals so freely, just to earn a couple of easy caps? No, we will simply be patient and come up with some alternative and morally correct proposals. If we survived the war, we can survive a disastrous third quarter. Plus, it’s not like Fort Oedipus is going anywhere.”

A silence settled in place, as the three ponies looked sheepishly at each other.

“How many guns are in that fort?” Senior finally asked.

Carol flipped open her notes and read a single page. “Enough to arm a division.”

“That’s a whole lot of caps,” Junior said.

“Even more if we don’t have to pay our interns,” Senior added.

The three ponies looked awkwardly at one another and Sonthorax’s righteous demeanour began to deflate.

Senior cleared his throat. “All in favor of removing Sonthorax from this board and imposing unpaid internships, say aye.”

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

“N-nay.”

“Aye.”

And just like that Barrel and Carol Arms began a revolutionary business practice that would forever alter the wasteland.

“We need to be careful,” Calamity muttered. “We’re entering Interner territory, now.”

“Interners?” Littlepip asked.

“Yeah. Folks who kidnap ponies and force them into multigenerational unpaid internships.”

Littlepip paused. “Wait…isn’t that just slavery?”

“Don’t be silly.” Velvet Remedy snorted. “Ponies don’t do slavery.”

The shower is really a magical realm for brainstorming.

I'm thinking of dubbing these fics, the Depravity and Danishes Trilogy. A bit of a nod to Edgar Wright's Blood and Ice Cream Trilogy. Just a bunch of independent comedies that employ a similar theme.

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