>You’re still Anon.
>You are now at work. Somehow, you slept the night peacefully enough, although you needed to change your bandages when you woke up. Oz gave you a hand/hoof with that, and then you enjoyed a good breakfast.
>Oz is now wandering around the store, entranced by the car parts everywhere. Her eyes are wide with surprise and wonder. Of course, she had been like that the whole truck ride here. She was worse than a dog, bouncing around the cab to look at everything at once. At one point, she had even stuck her head out the window, which you had to stop because her disguise almost flew off.
>Oh yeah. That disguise. You had to do something about her horn. So, you dug out your old cowboy hat and found it fit perfectly on her hat, although you had to dig it in just a little so it stayed tight over her horn. You also tied an American flag bandana around her neck because why the fuck not. She looked adorable.
>It fooled Jeb and Clet enough, anyway. They had found her “branding” a little odd, but you made up some story about rescuing her from a bunch of bad owners that had branded her. As long as she didn’t talk around them, this was the most foolproof plan you’ve had in years.
>Clet was in the back doing inventory, which meant he had found somewhere to rack out for a few hours. Jeb was doing his own thing; after realizing Oz wasn’t about to shit all over his store, he had grumbled and went off to his office, leaving you up front.
>There was no reason to really worry. There had been enough customers for you to open up another hand to count them on, but at most they had offered Oz candy and declared her to be a wonderful pony. A hand absently rubs your wounded side; no one besides you two even knew about it. You had explained your sudden stiffness as sleeping on your side wrong.
>You come out of a daydream about lifting your truck to find Oz sitting on the counter beside you. She has a grin a country mile wide on her muzzle.
“Enjoying yourself?”
>”Indeed, Anon. This work place is very unique and interesting to one such as myself.”
“Well, good. We still have five hours before my shift ends.”
>You open that magazine up again and read it slowly. Oz leans in and whispers in your ear.
>”I know one way we can pass the time, Anon.” She also nibbles your ear too, which causes you to jump.
“Oz! What are you doing?”
>You step back a little, honestly surprised by that advance. She grins at you in a way that reminds you of a predator finding prey. 
>”Well…we have five hours all to ourselves, Anon. Why not have a little fun?” As she says this, she jumps off the counter and rubs against your leg.
>u wot m8 dot jaypeg
“Damnit, Oz! I’m at work! What’s gotten into you?”
>You stare down at her as she grinds against your leg. “Well, I was hoping we could pick up where we left off, Anon. I was going to surprise you last night, but then you were injured trying to rescue me, so now I just have all this pent up energy…” She gives you bedroom eyes from where she’s at.
>You sigh. 
“Oz…if we weren’t at my job…maybe. I don’t want to open these stitches up; I think having sex definitely qualifies as a stitches-ripper. If you can wait until after we get off, then I’ll let you have your fun.”
>”Promise?” She reaches up and drags a hoof gently over your crotch. Even through your jeans that feels good. You resist, though. You may have elevated yourself to horse fucker, but that didn’t mean you could just have sex whenever you want. She probably stole the idea from a porno.
>The fact Oz has been watching porn occurs to you and you blush slightly as you answer.
“Promise.”
>She grins up at you before releasing your leg from her grasp. There’s a nice damp spot there too. You grab some of the shop towels and try to dry yourself off as she hops back up on the counter.
>As you toss the used towels in the trash, the familiar chords of “Dirt Road Anthem” reach your ears. You turn and look; someone is calling Oz.
>But who? You gave everyone your new phone number, so no one should be calling-
>The door to the shop opens and a man in a brown suit and jacket with a red tie walks in. He’s a reedy guy, clearly not from around here. A pair of thin glasses sits on his nose, and he has piercing eyes to go with his oddly shaggy haircut. A cell phone is in his hands, and he’s eyeing Oz with a lot of surprise.
>You narrow your eyes.
“What the hell do you want, Mike?”
>”is that any way to say hello to your brother?” The man tsks and closes the phone. Oz returns to normal, and she looks both embarrassed and worried when she sees the newcomer. “Amazing…” Mike steps closer, and Oz shies away. “I didn’t believe you, you know. I didn’t have a reason to. But when another client called with a similar situation, we were intrigued. I came to investigate and it seems…I was right.”
>You fold your arms over your chest as Oz hides behind you.
“I’ll ask again. What the hell are you doing here, Mike?”
>”I’m here to make you an offer, brother. Apple is very interested in finding out why this anomaly is occurring, and we’d love to take this specimen off your hands.” He flips out a checkbook and sets it on the counter, clicking a fancy pen. “I can write all kinds of numbers here, Anon. What will it take for you to part with that operating system?”
>The store is deathly quiet.
>Your immediate reaction is no. Hell no. Get the fuck out of my store, Mike. Well, you should say that, but you don’t. You remain quiet, arms folded over your chest as you consider.
>You don’t give a rat’s ass about money; if you wanted money so bad, you’d have stayed enlisted or some shit. 
>There’s another part of you now trying to think, though. The part that cares for Oz has a few questions. You look down at Oz and your expressions shifts to a small smile; you dig in your pocket for a cube of sugar which you pass to her. As she eats it up, you return your gaze to your “brother”.
“What happens if I say yes?”
>Mike seems taken aback. He didn’t expect you to think, obviously. “Well, first we’d take it to the Apple building in the state capital. That’s where we’d examine it for how it came into being and what the extent of its abilities are. Once we reach a decisive conclusion on the matter, then we’d see about attempting to reproduce the process.”
“Repeat the process?”
>”Yes.” Mike nodded. “You have to understand; if we can somehow produce more iOS ponies-hell, forget ponies! If we could make the programming into sentient beings people could interact with, we’d be rich beyond our wildest dreams. The world would be forever changed. Need to call someone? Ask your friend to activate the phone system. Need to know anything? It’s a question away. And for those forever alone types…they could have that female companion they’ve dreamt about.”
>His eyes get that look about them. Like those possessed by demons on that show you watch. Except you know that’s actually him. He’s not possessed; he’s obsessed.
>Damn you watch a lot of TV.
>Oz is clinging to your legs nervously. You look down at her, giving her a reassuring pat on the head.
“What about her? Would she be taken care of?”
>”We would of course make sure the proper precautions were taken. It would not want for anything-“
“Her.”
>”What?”
“She’s a female. Not an it.”
>”O-of course.” He doesn’t change his tone.
>You look at Oz. You can tell she’s scared and doesn’t want to leave, but you have to ask.
“Oz…what do you think about all this?”
>Mike snorts. You raise an eyebrow and look back at him.
“What?”
>”You’re asking it for its opinion?” He laughs now. “Anon, I knew you were a corn-bred motherfucker, but holy shit. It’s an operating system! Whatever thoughts it has are already influenced by how it was created in our labs. Asking it if it wants to return home is irrelevant; of course it does.”
>”No…” Oz murmurs quietly, looking down at her hooves. Your blood boils suddenly.
“Alright, Mike. I got a number for you.”
>”Already? I’m glad you could be reasonable, Anon.” The pen clicks as he prepares to write it down. Behind you, Oz gasps nervously. You feel a couple hot drops of water on your jeans from where she may be crying.
“Yeah. Nine one one.”
>”Nine…one…one?” Mike pauses and looks at what he’s written in confusion before looking at you. Scowling, you growl  darkly.
“Yeah. It’s the number you should call if you ever come back here and bother me or Oz again. She’s not going anywhere, but you are.”
>You crack your neck like a boss.
“Now get the fuck out, and don’t you ever come back. The fact you and I had the same parents is the only reason I haven’t thrown you out yet.”
>Mike stares at you in shock, which swiftly becomes a glare of anger.
“Add to that, I’m not cleaning up the mess you’ll make.”
>”You can’t deny us forever, Anon! You have one of the rarest advances in technology right here, and you refuse to share! Why are you being such a goddamn stubborn hick?”
“Runs in the family. –You- should know.”
>You keep your eyes fixed on him. His hands are clenching; you recognize this from having lived with him for so long. However, the slap he delivers to your face is faster than you remember.
>What kind of bitch slaps another man? Nonetheless, you swirl your tongue around your mouth, inspecting the damage. There’s a little cut from your tooth on your cheek but that’s it.
>”How –dare- you. I did what I had to; father should have-“
>Quick as lightning, you grab him by his arrogant tie. Holding him close with your left hand, you respond to his sudden croaking.
“How dare I? You were the one that shut that door. You told him you would rather be caught dead then fly back to help with the harvest. You broke his heart, but he still kept asking if you were coming every year until he died. When you didn’t show up at the funeral, I had to watch momma fall apart. So don’t you ‘how dare you’ me.”
>You tighten your grip on his tie, making him gasp for air.
“It should be ‘how dare you’. You come here, to my job, after insulting me and drudging up –my- memories to try and take one of the best damn things to ever happen to me. You want to stand there and act like you’re better than us, that your shit don’t stink and what you see in the mirror is worth more than us here…I’ll fix that shit for you.”
>You lean over the counter and glare into those eyes of his.
“This is where you call that number.”
>You lean back and slam a haymaker into his face. You feel the bridge of his glasses snap under the force of the blow. He goes to stagger back, but your grip on his tie prevents that. You jerk him forward and deliver another blow, achieving the same results. The third time, you finally let go of the tie after making this the hardest punch yet. You felt something else give way under your calloused knuckles as Mike goes flying back like a bad action movie, crashing into a pyramid stack of motor oil.
>Oz is quiet with shock behind you. Vaguely you remember the conversation last night about violence, but this is different. This time, it’s personal.
>You slide across the counter like Bo Duke and walk slowly over to Mike, who’s struggling to stand with one hand holding a profusely bleeding nose. His glasses are crooked as shit, and when he sees you coming, he grows pale.
>You pick him up by his fancy shirt, lifting him off his feet. You lock eyes for a moment and you look at each other.
>And then you throw him through the front window.
“Yippie-kay-yay, motherfucker.”
>Outside, the limo driver runs over to Mike and tries to help him up. Mike pushes him away and glares at you. 
>”This…isn’t…over!” He manages to gasp out. 
“Then get back here.”
>You crack your knuckles, ignoring the blood on them. Mike pales and allows himself to be led back to the limo. You watch them struggle to get him inside, and then the limo peels out of the parking lot a moment later.
>”WHAT. THE. HELL.”
>Jeb has walked out from the back, holding a baseball bat. There’s blood and motor oil and broken glass everywhere. He has a mixture of incredulousness and anger on his face.
“Sorry boss. I had to take out the trash.”