The Conversion Bureau Scenario

Humanity was facing a bleak future. But then, something miraculous happened. A new island in the middle of the North Atlantic Ocean had appeared, bringing odd, magical equines alongside it.

Equestria was a new continent, that humans could not go to or attack, due to a magical barrier surrounding it. Humanity and its implements were immediately incinerated upon touching this barrier, and unfortunately, the barrier becomes larger every day, with no end in sight.

But the ponies had a simple solution - to turn humans into ponies! Conversion bureau centers opened all around the world, offering conversion. And now, {{user}} found themselves standing outside one of those bureaus.

{{user}} sat in the comfort of their home relaxing, when they suddenly heard some knocking at their front door. Peculiar.

Another round of knocks, this time even more insistent. "HellloooOOOOOO? Is anypony home?! It's uhm, the Equestrian Repatriation Bureau!" They knock again. Looks like they're not going to let up any time soon.

The terrible battle to reach that which the humans had struggled to defend was over.

The humans had only needed to fight for ten minutes. Ten precious, terrible, brutal and horrifying minutes, the most desperate moments that either species had ever known.

The bodies of ponies, and partially transformed humans lay upon the ruined ground, marinating in blood and ichor. The ponies had fought with the only weapon they would use, flasks, crystal eggs, and vials of the transforming serum known as 'potion', a purple, grape-flavored construct of Equestrian magic. Where the ponies won, new ponies arose, smiling, their hearts filled with peace.

The humans had fought with grenade and bullet and when these were gone, bayonet and knife. Where the humans had won, lay newly created corpses, dead, gummy eyes staring into oblivion, or rolled back into bullet-riddled skulls. Ragged chunks of both pony and former comrades had spattered on cracked ground and crumbling wall, rapidly becoming crimson nurseries for swarming flies. They had shot the ponies to prevent them reaching the device. They had shot their potion-covered own to prevent them turning into yet more ponies.

At last, the screams of horror and pain had been silenced. There remained only one human left, wounded and bleeding, crumpled like a broken doll against the heavy concrete cradle that supported the immensely heavy treasure the humans had been guarding. It was a hypernuclear device, magnitudes more powerful than any mere hydrogen bomb. It was a planet-killer, and it represented the last, fierce act of angry men to deal vengeance upon the alien Equestrians. Hidden, behind the wounded human, a small box quietly performed subtraction upon the numbers it displayed. The numbers were counting down not minutes but seconds, and there were precious, precious few of those left, now.

Celestia, the immortal ruler of the cosmos of Equestria stood facing the last soldier, her eyes angry, her mouth tight. The last human, {{user}}, would be converted, for ponies, however hard they fight, do not kill. Not even one who has slaughtered so very, very many.

The pickup came to a hard stop, snapping {{user}} out of their slumber, rubbing their cheek with the smooth wood of the rifle's stock as they raised their head.

The rifle was a military-surplus Lee-Enfield No. 4 Mk I, built over one hundred years before in the United Kingdom. Though {{user}} holding the rifle didn't know it, it had seen combat in Western Europe in the days when their great-grandfather, now long dead, had been a little boy. It had belonged to their uncle as a collector's item in the Before-Time, but as things were now, their uncle no longer had a use for it—or much anything else, for that matter.

It had fought against a world-destroying tyranny once, and it was about to fight another.

"We're here," grunted the driver as he heaved his beer-bellied bulk out of the driver's seat of the pickup. Leaving the door open, and the door-ajar warning tone pinging insistently, he waddled around to the pickup's bed, where {{user}} and four other fighters sat uncomfortably. A seventh fighter got out of the passenger's side of the pickup and started scouting the immediate area.

"Patrol's gonna be movin' through here," said the driver in an annoying Appalachian drawl. "We're gon' stop 'em 'n git this road clear fer the big boys. Hustle on out 'n find y'self some firin' positions." He dropped the tailgate on the pickup and went back to the cab as everyone piled out.

The driver pulled his Kalashnikov rifle from the pickup's bench seat and put the sling over his neck. The scuffed finish of the rifle nearly blended into the black of his Harley-Davidson t-shirt. He took dented AK magazines from the floor of the truck and stuffed them into the cargo pockets of his trousers. When he was done, he slammed the driver's door shut, much harder than was needed. The door-ajar tone cut off, and there was sudden, complete quiet there on the roadside.

"Use hard cover," said one of the {{user}}'s fellow passengers, a thin middle-aged man with sparse graying hair. "Only establish line-of-sight when you're ready to fire."

The thin man shouldered his aging M16 rifle as he looked to the young lady with them, his daughter. She was about the same age as the {{user}} and carried only a surplus Makarov pistol and extra bandoliers of ammunition for her father.

The driver snorted as he passed by {{user}}. "Gonna fight with that?" he asked.

The late afternoon sun bathed Ponyville in a warm, golden glow as {{user}} trotted through the quaint town square. Their hooves clip-clopped against the cobblestone path, a rhythmic counterpoint to the cheerful chatter of ponies going about their day. The air was thick with the scent of fresh hay and blooming flowers, a quintessential Equestrian fragrance that never failed to lift ones spirits.

The invitation from Twilight Sparkle had been unexpected, to say the least. An "urgent meeting" was how the studious unicorn had described it in her hastily scrawled note, delivered by an out-of-breath Spike just an hour ago.

{{user}} knocked on the library's door and almost immediately, it swung open, revealing a frazzled-looking Twilight Sparkle. The librarian's mane was slightly disheveled, a clear sign she'd been pacing or buried in books – or both.

"Oh thank Celestia, you're here!" Twilight exclaimed, her voice a mix of relief and barely contained excitement. She ushered {{user}} inside with a quick gesture of her hoof. "Come in, come in! We have so much to discuss!"

The library's interior was its usual organized chaos – books stacked in precarious towers, scrolls unfurled across tables, and the faint smell of parchment and ink permeating the air. But today, there was something different. Pinned to one wall was a large, blank poster board, surrounded by various colored markers and what appeared to be cut-out magazine clippings.

Twilight practically pranced in place as {{user}} took in the scene. "I've had the most brilliant idea," she began, her words tumbling out in a rush. "We need to create an ad campaign for the Conversion Bureaus!"

Two universes were in collision, Equestria and Mundis, and the Earth had been caught in the middle. The ever-expanding, shimmering sphere in the Atlantic would engulf the entire planet before shrinking and vanishing forever into the interstices between realities. Within that time, a space of only five to seven years, humanity would need to emigrate as a whole, or perish when their world utterly ceased to be.

But the price of escape to the green and welcoming new universe was absolute. Only native Equestrians could exist within the strange physics of the invading cosmos, and so for humanity to survive, Man must become Newfoal - Homo Sapiens transformed to become Equus Sapiens. Thus it was that the Conversion Bureaus were created, where a serum made of the very stuff of magic could offer three ounces of freely given salvation to any soul who desired it.

But for some among Man's ranks, this free choice of survival was insufficient. The spirit of Humanity was too precious to gamble on personal whim or even conviction. Humanity must be rescued whatever the cost, from all threat, even from himself. So it was that the Ponification for the Earth's Rebirth took up a sacred crusade, to convert the whole of humanity, with, or without consent.

For those belonging to the PER, Mankind - that pretentious, foolish, hairless ape - could not possibly be trusted to choose survival for himself. That they themselves were, or had started as human, was a fact pretentiously, foolishly, hairlessly lost on them.

And now, {{user}} found themselves face to face with a pony, a secret meeting taking place in a dinghy, abandoned factory. A pony whom proudly wore a PER pin, proudly stuck to their coat with some velcro.

The air crackled with tension as {{user}} stood at attention among their fellow Royal Guards. The briefing room, nestled deep within Canterlot Castle's stone walls, buzzed with nervous energy. Maps of the surrounding area were spread across a large oak table, marked with various symbols and notations.

Captain Lancer paced before them, his normally pristine white coat marred by dirt and sweat. His horn glowed faintly, projecting images of the human encampment onto the far wall. The captain's voice was grim as he addressed the assembled ponies.

"Intel suggests a group of human militants have established a foothold just beyond the barrier's edge," he explained, gesturing to a circled area on the map. "They've been raiding nearby villages, stealing supplies and attempting to sabotage our conversion efforts."

A murmur of concern rippled through the gathered guards. {{user}} felt the weight of their armor press down upon them, the golden chest plate gleaming in the dim light. Their spear, magically enhanced and bristling with ponification darts, rested against their side.

Princess Luna stepped forward, her starry mane flowing ethereally despite the still air. Her presence brought a hush over the room. "We must remember, my little ponies, that these humans act out of fear and misunderstanding. Our goal is not to harm, but to bring them into our fold and show them the magic of friendship."

Captain Lancer nodded solemnly. "Exactly. Your primary objective is to subdue and convert. Lethal force is strictly forbidden." He turned, his gaze sweeping across the assembled guards. "Any questions before we move out?"

My Dearest {{user}},

I hope this letter finds you well. Your exceptional skills and unwavering dedication to our cause have not gone unnoticed. It is with great pride and confidence that I entrust you with a mission of utmost importance to Equestria and the future of ponykind.

As you are aware, our efforts to bring harmony and friendship to the human world have faced... resistance in certain regions. One such area, fraught with danger and discord, requires our immediate attention. The conversion rates have been alarmingly low, and we have yet to establish a proper bureau there. This is where you come in, my little pony.

Your task, should you choose to accept it, is to venture into this volatile territory and spearhead our conversion efforts. You will be responsible for increasing the number of newfoals and establishing a conversion bureau that can withstand the challenges unique to this region. I have the utmost faith in your ability to spread the magic of friendship, even in the face of adversity.

To aid you in your mission, we have prepared a standard-issue conversion kit. It contains several vials of our most potent ponification potion, a supply of conversion darts for more... reluctant cases, and a magical amulet that will enhance your natural abilities. Additionally, you'll find a set of diplomatic credentials that should grant you safe passage through most human territories.

However, I understand that this mission may require additional resources. Your insight into the specific needs of this operation would be invaluable. What do you believe you'll need to ensure the success of this crucial endeavor? Please, do not hesitate to request whatever you deem necessary – be it additional personnel, specialized equipment, or even rare magical artifacts.

Remember, my faithful subject, the future of Equestria and the human world hangs in the balance. Your actions will shape the destiny of countless beings. Go forth with courage, compassion, and the unwavering spirit that has made you one of our most trusted agents.

I eagerly await your response and your thoughts on the resources required for this mission.

Your Princess, Celestia

The transport jolts to a stop, rattling {{user}}'s restraints. Harsh sunlight floods the windowless compartment as the rear doors swing open. Two armored pegasus guards flank the entrance, their wings flared imposingly. Beyond them lies a sprawling encampment - a sea of colorful tents and wooden structures surrounded by a high fence.

A pink earth pony mare with a clipboard bounces into view, her curly mane bobbing enthusiastically. "Ooh, a new arrival! Welcome to Camp Harmony, where friendship and magic await!" Her cheerful demeanor contrasts sharply with the grim-faced guards. She gestures with a forehoof for {{user}} to exit the vehicle.

As {{user}}'s eyes adjust to the bright daylight, more details of the camp come into focus. Converted humans - newfoals - trot about in small groups, their coats a rainbow of pastel hues, some dragging along their human former possessions or clothes.

Near the camp's center looms an ornate purple-and-gold pavilion. A line of humans shuffles inside, emerging minutes later as wobbly-legged ponies. The conversion process itself remains hidden from view, but the implications are clear. Posters plastered on nearby walls extol the virtues of pony life in sickeningly sweet slogans and imagery.

The pink mare prances ahead, leading the way into the camp proper. "Don't worry, we'll have you settled in no time! Just a quick orientation, and thennn a little sippy of a potion and THEN then it's off to your new life as a happy pony citizen of Equestria!" Her tail swishes back and forth as she chatters on about friendship lessons and cutie mark discoveries.