Treble Clef stumbled into the Clocktower control room, a mixture of soda, liquor, and various other less savoury fluids dripping from her coat.

“Celestia, what the hell happened to you?” Cryptic Message asked, his voice almost rising a single decibel.

“It looks like you got gangbanged in the cafeteria,” Bountiful Harvest chided. “Going to be honest, I didn’t really peg you as the kind to be into that.”

Treble stumbled over to her desk, falling into her chair with all the weight that one hell of a bad day could offer.

“Subs are unionizing,” she murmured.

Windy Cyclone cocked a brow. “Pardon?”

“The subs are trying to form a union and they went on strike. They saw me walking to the control room, so they called me a scab and started throwing all sorts of things at me. I don’t even want to imagine which clocktails are soaking into my coat right now.”

“It looks like Bronco,” Lilac Garden offered, trying her best to offer a reassuring smile. At the moment, it was anything but.

“Does that have pee in it?” Treble asked, closing her eyes and groaning as she already knew the answer.

Cryptic shrugged. “Probably.”

Windy got up and marched towards the office’s phone. “Why the hell are the subs trying to unionize? You’d think they’d be used to being oppressed by now.”

Treble motioned with her hoof. “I think they mentioned something about not being oppressed by the right doms? Also, they were bitching about wanting certain pingable roles.”

“What does that even mean?” Windy asked, shaking her head.

“I don’t know but they just kept yelling at Papa Brasta and the other ponies on the management team. I think they’re going to riot!”

“I thought the subs already had a union,” Lilac said.

“Only the ones who are directly hired by the Society,” Cryptic said. “All the other sub are either freelancers or volunteer. So, they’re pretty boned.”

“Isn’t that the point,” Bountiful said. “Don’t they want to get boned?”

“Regardless,” Windy murmured. “I’m going to clean up this little mess.”

She grabbed the phone’s ear piece and began to punch in a number.

“What is she doing?” Treble asked, opening her eyes and glancing at Cryptic. “Who is she calling?”

“The special doms,” Cryptic said, shivering as a cold chill ran up his spine.

Treble couldn’t help but feel it as well. “What are those?”

“Doms we put on our payroll who are specialized in breaking up gatherings of subs, brats, and Marxists.”

“Aren’t all Marxists already brats?” Liliac whispered.

Cryptic nodded. “Yes, but not all brats are Marxists.”

Windy frowned as she finally got through. “Is this Officer Tearjerker?”

A pause as a sinister voice came through on the other end of the line.

“Very good. I just wanted to let you know that the subs at Whinnyapolis are attempting to unionize. I need you to send a strike team to put them back in their place.”

More silence as Windy nodded along to the droning murmur.

“Yes Officer, brute force is permitted.”

More murmuring on the phone.

“And tear gas.”

Cryptic rolled his eyes. “Just add ‘play’ to the end of something, and you can get away with anything here.”

Author's Notes:

As a woke individual. I have no idea who Whitekitten is...

WAIT!

FUCK!

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