It sat in the North Atlantic like a giant, glittering pearl the size of Australia. The magical land of Equestria, home to the ponies and not just one, but two living, quantifiable gods.

And their dome. Permeable, invisible. Harmless in itself, but it was a supercharged magnet for thaumic radiation. And thaumic radiation... that was far from harmless. Earthlings burned in it’s glow, technology failed in it’s proximity, and gathered so densely around the barrier, it cast an eerie, spectral glow of purple. About the only ones who had absolutely no problems were the natives.

Ponies. Unicorn, pegasus, earth, alicorn. And the other races that Equestria was home to - gryphons, diamond dogs, changelings, dragons. None of them suffered ill effects from the radiation. Humans were alone in being sentient and vulnerable to radiation. Which was unfortunate.

The dome was growing. Ever so slowly; it advanced, maybe, half a kilometer a year. But it advanced nonetheless, and with every year that passed, humanity lost more and more surface area of their planet.

The solution? The Conversion Bureau Initiative. All over the world, the tall, black buildings were erected. Purchased through generous applications of Equestrian gold and diplomatic channels, the Conversion Bureaus became commonplace; ponification serum was developed, crafted in labs and administered three ounces at a time to those who wanted a change of lifestyle, human beings became Eqqus Sapiens - Equestrians. An emergency exit for humanity to escape their impending doom.

In one of these bureaus, there was a man. At 6’8” and 270lb, he looked to be in his mid to upper forties in age, with perpetual stubble, a cigar wedged between his teeth, a short-cropped grey haircut, and a body that suggested he’d been around the block a few times. The tidy, but nondescript military uniform and accolades pinned to his chest suggested that the block had had a few terrorists around it. In short, if he was in a lineup and you were told to pick the action hero, he’d be the one you picked.

Which would make you correct, because that’s exactly what kind of person Dante Tulip was. Still a Sergeant, and only because the upper brass frowned on extensive collateral damage to buildings, he’d personally been involved in some of the more momentous attacks of the decade; when the HLF had abducted several equine government officials with the intent to televise an execution, what the world saw instead was a shirtless Tulip feeding the leader his own teeth. When the PER declared a campaign against an entire city, Tulip had beaten the terrorists unconscious with the undetonated bombs before disarming them. When the PER had raided a datacenter on the outskirts of California and stolen the details on how to make their own potion, he’d knocked on the door, punched the PER pegasus who opened the door in the face, and politely asked for the formula back.

Princess Celestia was quite aware of what Tulip had done, and exceedingly grateful; so grateful that she’d strongly insisted that he retire from the business of blowing things up in the name of Freedom, and emigrate to Equestria; to sweeten the deal, she even threw in a duchy, with the promise that if Tulip wanted to keep doing what he did for a living, he could, and nopony could tell him otherwise.

That - and the warning that one day, this was all going to catch up with him - had done it. Tulip had gotten out of the hospital once more, grabbed his cleanest intact set of uniform, clutched his new title in his hand, and done what he’d helped countless others do: he stepped through the doors of a conversion bureau, and signed up.

And here he was, waiting. He drummed scarred fingers on his knee as his eyes roved around the room, and he puffed on his cigar thoughtfully. Truth be told, he was glad Celestia had approached him with witnesses, and talked to him about retiring like she did. It gave him a chance to get out of a career that typically didn’t end in a retirement like he was about to get. Sure, he could quit, but then everyone would point at him and his service record, and say “See that? That’s the service record of a quitter!” And that wasn’t how Tulip wanted to go down on the books. His name was dumb enough as it was, he didn’t need the stigma of being someone who stopped doing something just because he was old.

Stopping doing something because a princess-god told you to, on the other hand, was a totally acceptable way of getting out of anything. Tulip was strong and feared little, but it would be understandable if he declined to oppose a god just this once.

“Sir?” A blue unicorn orderly in a labcoat tapped a hoof irritably on the ground, snapping Tulip out of his reverie and getting his attention. “Sir?”

“What is it?” Tulip asked, irritated.

“Two things,” the unicorn said, bluntly. “One, no smoking. We’ve asked you a couple of times, now.”

“Make me,” grunted the decorated sergeant.

The unicorn just rolled his eyes. “And two, if you would care to follow me, we’ll get you converted now.”

“‘bout time.”

Tulip got up, stretched, and took the cigar out of his mouth. Without flinching, and to a quiet murmor of horror from watching humans and ponies alike, stubbed it out on the back of his hand, and gestured towards the back of the bureau.

“After you,” he offered to the orderly.

The unicorn orderly gave Tulip one last look, and nodded, leading the way.

Sitting on the edge of the table, Tulip withheld a sigh of impatience as the attending technician, a rose-pink pegasus, checked his bloodwork on a computer.

“And it looks like you’re all set,” she declared. “Twostep, would you prepare Mr. Tulip’s serum?”

Twostep nodded. “Sure thing, Summerset.” With his magic, picked up a beaker, and carried it over to a chromed keg, banded with purple; a hose connected the keg to a small computerized tap, and placing the beaker underneath the tap, Twostep pushed a button with his hoof. With a clunk and a whir, the machine gurgled and let a trickle of purple fluid flow forth.

Ponification serum, three ounces. When the potion stopped flowing and the tap dripped it’s last, Twostep carried the beaker back to Summerset Isle, who double-checked it, and nodded to Tulip.

“Alright, sir. If you’d like to strip down for the con-”

There was a sharp tearing sound, and Summerset’s eyes went wide and she blushed a little. Tulip stopped flexing, and sat there in a small pile of eviscerated clothing. Twostep just blinked.

“That’s certainly... uh, novel,” the blue unicorn ventured.

“Are we gonna sit around here all day, or what?” Tulip asked, beckoning for the beaker.

“R-right,” Summerset nodded. “Okay, so before I let you drink this, one last thing - drinking this serum will cause you to become a pony. This change is irreversable, and cannot be undone. Do you give con-”

“Yes, yes, I give consent,” Tulip waved a hand around. “Are there any other pointless questions you want to ask, or can I get on with it?”

“No, you can... get on with it,” the technician said, hesitantly, clearly unused to moving through the procedure so fast. She nodded to Twostep, and the unicorn floated the beaker through the air towards Tulip.

It was at that moment that Things Went Wrong. The door flew open, and everything went south.

For a start, there was an armed and agitated human standing in the doorway; dressed in a hoodie and jeans, and cradling a shotgun in his hands, he had it pointed at the two ponies. Around his neck, a lump of black stone danced on a plain necklace, and Twostep cried out in pain as it became visible to the room. Like a light going out, his magic fled him as he dropped to the floor, clutching his horn, and the beaker of potion fell. Glittering it’s last, the quasi-magical fluid floated up before hitting the floor with the rest of the glassware, sending purple fluid and glass everywhere.

“Don’t move, bitch!” the man screamed at Summerset, pointing the shotgun at her. “You aren’t gonna strip any more of us of our humanity!”

Something pinged in Tulip’s head. His reputation for reckless heroics was equalled only by his reputation for being an impatient son of a bitch at the best of times. He’d put up with waiting for the potion, and now... there... was... no... potion. And to add insult to injury, the man responsible was pointing a gun at Summerset, and not him. Since you usually pointed a gun at dangerous individuals, Tulip was both offended and annoyed that he was being disregarded so.

With startling speed, Tulip left the table and shot forward, body low as he went for a tackle. The man spun to take aim, and fired. The shot went wide, filling nothing but the chromed keg of potion with lead, and the fluid within splashed out; as it came into view of the crystal around the man’s neck, that sparkle that all potion was known for rapidly faded and vanished, and all that hit the ground was a watery, faintly purple solution.

Tulip’s shoulder hit the man in the solar plexus before he could even chamber another round, and glassware tinkled in protest as Tulip slammed the man against the workbench, and wound back a fist. The man let go of his gun, and raised his hands to shield himself, mouth already forming pleas of mercy.

Before words could get out of his mouth, Tulip’s scarred, well-used knuckles filled it, at speed.

“Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt,” the masked human said, pointing his handguns around the room at the cowering ponies and humans. “We’re the Human Liberation Front, and we’re here to Liberate this town from the threat of Equestria!”

The formerly-quiet lobby was now deathly silent, a trio of armed soldiers keeping watch over the assembled people.

“We didn’t ask to be liberated!” one elderly man protested from his place on the floor.

“Just because someone cannot ask for help doesn’t mean they shouldn’t get it,” the terrorist said, patting his bulletproof vest. “Is that not human, to help those who cannot ask for it themselves?”

“You’re not helping!” a woman cried out. “You’re making things worse!”

“Whatever,” snorted the man, touching a hand to his ear, where an earpiece sat. “Team delta, what’s the situation with the vault?”

“We’re in,” a voice replied over the radio. “Thaumosink’s down, the potion’s going neutral.”

“Excellent. You,” the HLF soldier pointed his gun at the unicorn receptionist, “Is there any more potion on the premises?”

“I- I- I don’t know!” the receptionist protested, sobbing. “I just work here, you’d have to talk to the Director!”

“Then we’ll do that,” the HLF man smiled, leaning on the counter. “Can you pencil me in for, oh, now?”

“I- I think his schedule’s clear,” stammered the receptionist. “Do you... want me to take you there?”

“Oh, yes,” the man nodded. “Wilkins. Watch this lot, make sure nobody tries to play hero. Better for them to die human than to live as a pony, you get me?”

The other two nodded, and the leader gestured grandly towards the elevator, looking at the receptionist.

“After you, miss. No funny business, and you might just survive to go back to where you belong.”

The receptionist moved to the elevator at gunpoint, and with a shaking hoof, pushed the button to call it. The elevator dinged, and the chrome doors slid open revealing an empty, blue-carpeted interior. The two stepped in, and the HLF man prompted the receptionist to push the right floor button.

The doors slid shut, and the two HLF still in the lobby relaxed a little. This wasn’t like the other bureaus. Nobody here was trying to play hero - just the way they liked it. Every drop of human lifeblood spilt was a precious life wasted.

There was muffled screaming from behind a staff-only door, and the two of them looked at it in alarm.

“What’s Derek doing?” muttered Wilkins, his voice muffled by a thick gasmask over his face.

“Probably pleasuring himself on one of the damn things,” muttered the other HLF man. “Sick son of a bitch. Derek! You horsefucker! What the hell are you doing, stop busting a goddamn nut and get out here!”

There was a loud boom, and the door flew open, a body flying backwards through it. The two HLF men looked at the victim, and saw that it was, indeed, Derek. He didn’t have his gun. Which meant...

Through the gunsmoke stepped a single man. Tall, well built and unashamedly naked, he was toting Derek’s shotgun, and it was already aimed at them.

There was a bang, and Wilkins screamed as he was spun around and thrown backwards, a swarm of buckshot finding his face and tearing half of it off. Tulip didn’t waste time, pumping the shotgun to chamber a fresh round as he ran for cover. The second HLF man pointed his SMG at Tulip and cut loose, holes tearing themselves in furniture just behind the commando commando, sending dust and bits of paper everywhere. Tulip made it to the desk, and the HLF man grinned as he trained his gunfire on the desk, sending fragments of wood everywhere as he attempted to get at the man on the other side.

His gun clicked dry, and he dropped the clip out, replacing it with a fresh one. As he did, he surveyed his work. The wooden panelling on the desk was utterly decimated, revealing... a dented sheet of steel, with no holes. The desk was bulletproof.

Which meant that he’d failed to kill the naked man now standing behind it, and was now staring down a barrel of twelve-gauge.

A second gunshot from the shotgun rearranged his face permanently, and someone threw up. Tulip ignored the vomiter, looking around then to one of the people on the floor.

“Is there anyone else?” he asked, quickly.

“One of them went upstairs to the director’s office on the twentieth floor,” a human orderly said, getting up. “To find out if there’s any other potion here that they can destroy. There’s some other HLF in the potion storage vault, using a thaumo-sink to denature the potion there.”

“Alright, that’s where I’m going,” Tulip declared. “To the vault.”

“No,” another man said, getting up from the crowd of prone civilians. “I’ll take care of them. You deal with the leader. He’s dangerous.”

“Are you sure?” Tulip asked, skeptical.

“Of course,” the civilian said, walking over to Wilkins and freeing a rifle from the man’s death-grip. “Ex-SWAT, I can handle this.”

“Be careful,” Tulip warned.

The naked commando chambered a fresh round, and ran over to the fire exit; he pushed it open, and taking a deep breath, ran up the stairs.

Twenty stories to go.

“Where is it?” the leader demanded, slamming a fist on the desk.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” the bureau director protested, holding his hooves up. Gilded Cider was his name, if the plaque on his desk was anything to go by, and managing the transformation and education of six thousand humans to equines weekly was his game.

“I know you director types,” the HLF leader said, smugly. “I know you guys keep a secret stash of potion somewhere, in case of emergency conversion.”

“Not this time,” the director said, shaking his golden head, pale green mane bobbing about as he did. “If I did, I would have shown you by now!”

“Perhaps you don’t think I’m being serious,” the HLF man said, pointing his gun. The receptionist cowered before the iron sights, and the director became alarmed.

“No! Leave her alone!”

“Then give me the potion!” the HLF man countered. “Or she gets the bullet!”

“I’ve got a better idea,” a voice declared. “How about I give you the D?”

There was a bang, and the HLF leader staggered as he was caught in the back by a solid blast of buckshot; the leader’s bulletproof vest saved him, though, and he was able to turn around to see a naked man standing behind him, toting a shotgun.

“What the fuck?!” the leader gasped, surprised as anyone to see a naked man with a shotgun.

“The “D” stands for Death,” Tulip helpfully supplied, firing another shot. This time the front of the leader’s vest was pockmarked with holes, and he staggered backwards. Tulip made to fire one more shot, only for the shotgun to make a click noise. Empty.

The leader shook his head, and brought his own handgun up, even as Tulip wound back his arm. There was a smaller gunshot, and Tulip grunted as he took a bullet to the chest. It didn’t stop him throwing his weapon though, and the leader flinched, covering his head as he ducked the airborne gun, allowing it to fly through the ceiling-to-floor window behind him.

Glass smashed, and the leader straightened up to see his naked adversary running straight at him, posture low and ready for a tackle. Which was ridiculous, because a tackle would take them both straight out of the-

With a boneshaking impact, Tulip slammed into the HLF leader, and lifted him off  the ground. The pair flew into space, shouts of alarm from everyone who saw it, except Tulip.

They fell.

People were getting to their feet in the lobby, and quietly discussing how close they’d all come to dying; the dead HLF had been moved into a corner and the ex-SWAT man had reported success in surprising and arresting the two HLF soldiers in the vault, although the potion had still been destroyed.

“I wonder what’s going on upstairs,” he muttered, looking at the stairwell. “Should I go up there and help?”

There was a loud screaming sound, and a wet splat outside. Everyone turned to look at the main doors, and screamed when they saw that the glass portals were liberally coated in red blood. There was silence for a moment, then a rustling sound. With a click, the doors opened, to reveal the naked man from before. With his unbroken arm, he threw a large, mushy shape into the lobby by it’s bulletproof vest, and collapsed onto his side in the doorway.

Alarmed, orderlies ran forward and examined him, noting the multitudes of broken bones and the gunshot wounds in his gut. It didn’t take a doctor to see that the man was on his way out of life, and no human medicine could save him now... only potion.

“Hey!” the human orderly from before dropped to his knees. “Hey, can you hear me?”

“Mmm,” mumbled Tulip, eyes unfocused.

“Just hang in there, man,” the orderly begged. “We’ll get you ponified, okay? You’re gonna be alright!”

“Mngh.”

“He did sign the forms, right?” the orderly asked, backtracking a little and asking the rose pegasus that had arrived next to him.

“He did,” Summerset said. “But there’s a problem. All the serum’s been decharged by those terrorists and their thaumic sinks and orichalcum.”

“So... we don’t have any serum?”

“We do,” Summerset responded sourly. “But it’s about as useful to us now as grape water. Probably less, since grape water tastes better.”

The orderly fell silent, and the elevator doors dinged open, releasing a panicked Gilded Cider and receptionist.

“Sweet Celestia,” he breathed. “Is that man alright?”

“No,” the orderly said, shaking his head. “Poor bastards’ about to die, and we can’t convert him. We don’t have any potion.”

“I was afraid this would happen,” Cider said, reaching into his vest. He pulled out a single vial of potion that glimmered with a rose light.

“Is that... potion?” Summerset said. “It’s pink!”

“It’s a special formula,” Cider said. “Every bureau has at least one dose of this for... special cases. And unfortunately, it’s the last dose in the building, and this man’s dying.”

Cider hunkered down next to Tulip and poked him in the shoulder. “Are you still alive?”

“Mmhgh,” Tulip grunted.

“I have a single dose of potion,” Cider said, slowly and clearly. “It is the only dose we have left. But it is formula 63, and while it will ponify you, it will change your life moreso than a regular dose. You will become a female. Do you still wish for us to ponify you?”

“Mmhm,” Tulip groaned, eyes shut.

“That’s not enough, sir,” Cider said, getting closer. “I need an unmistakable yes to give it to you.”

Tulip grunted, and bobbed his head up and down, nodding. Cider breathed a sigh of relief.

“Alright. Open wide, and drink the whole lot.”

Tulip’s broken jaw creaked open, and Cider popped the seal off the vial. With practised care, he tipped it over Tulip’s mouth, and a glittering stream of fluid flowed forth, landing squarely in the back of tulip’s throat.

With a bit of effort, Tulip swallowed, and the herculean task completed, flopped back down, his eyes wavering as the anasthetic kicked in.

“And now we wait,” Cider said.