>It is now a month later.
>You haven’t heard from your brother or his organization since that day where you turned him into a punching bag, which you haven’t decided is good news or bad news. That hasn’t stopped you from increasing the little security you have, though. You now have some weapon in every room of your little shack, and after a second thought you had decided to show Oz how to use them.
>Just in case.
>Her levitation ability made recoil not as large as a problem as you thought it might. The weapon might jump a little, but about the same as when you held it. Of course, being the lady she was, she liked the little .38 Pink Lady you had left over from when you had been last in a relationship. You honestly hated the thing but it had made her happy so you left it alone.
>Speaking of Oz…word travels fast in a small isolated town about a white unicorn with a blue mane. After the initial shock, the town generally accepted her and got used to seeing her at the auto parts shop. Hell, it actually brought a little more money in, and Jeb couldn’t fault you for that. Oz had sort of become the town’s favorite citizen; like a three-headed sheep or a dog with five tails. As long as people kept away when you went home, though, you didn’t mind, nor did Oz.
>Things had gotten a little…steamier between you two. Maybe she was finally getting acclimated to the environment or maybe you two were finally hitting it off. You could have sworn she said “y’all” in a conversation, but she denied it. 
>You had finally let her into your shed, too. She had seemed much taken aback by everything, including the fox and the hound-bong, but accepted it. That had led to some awkward questions about your hunting and what happened to the animals, but again, Oz accepted it due to the fact that’s who you were, and she shouldn’t expect that to change simply because of her.
>So now, here it was a month later. You were off work, sitting on the couch watching the fan favorite known as a Netflix. Sipping on a Jack and Coke, you glanced over at Oz in the kitchen as she prepared dinner. 
>Steak for you, a salad for her. Natch.
>It had been a quiet day. You had gone to work; she had tagged along. You had come home and after a shower found the evening relaxing. You even had the windows open, which was why you didn’t notice the sound of leaves crunching until the power suddenly died. Oz groaned in dismay. “Your steak isn’t even medium-rare, Anon-“
“Ssh.”
>You silence her and reach slowly between the seat cushions of your couch. You close your fingers around a pistol grip. You slide the weapon slowly up to you as you look around. Oz has a confused look on her face. 
>”Anon, what-“ Her face goes into an expression of shock as she looks at the window beside you. Without hesitation you fully draw your weapon and flip the safety and pull the trigger, only to get a dull click as the hammer hits the weapon. Hurriedly, you pull back the slide; you have a full mag, so why isn’t it-
>Something hits you from behind and you fall forward, smashing through the wooden table. The last thing you hear before you lose consciousness is Oz screaming your name, and there’s a smell of burnt fur.
~~~~~~~~
>Something smacks your face. Hard.
>”Time to get up, Anon.”
>Mike. You growl around the cloth gag in your mouth as you slowly open your eyes. Man, your head is throbbing.
>You’re on your butt in the middle of what looks like the clearing right in front of your home. There’s floodlights filling the place up with light, and you can see men in battle rattle walking around, keeping a perimeter. Your truck is sitting lower then it usually does; there’s a pair of holes on each tire. Something has your hands behind your back, and there’s something warm on the back of your head.
>Mike is standing before you, a triumphant grin on his face. His nose is still crooked, you note for later.
>”Well, Anon, isn’t this a pretty pickle? You may recall the offer I made you last time…well, that’s no longer in play.” He strikes you with a fist hard; well, as hard as he can anyway. You’ve had worse. “You see, we’re no longer interested in separating the pieces of the puzzle. Remember how I told you about the other client with a similar…horse problem?”
>You glare at Mike dully, ignoring the pain in your cheek. “Oh, right, of course.” He gestures at one of the armed men to come over, and the man rips the duct tape off your mouth and removes the wad of cloth. You spit on the ground and attempt to work your jaw to unstiffen it. “Anyway, he was willing to part with his anomaly for a hefty sum, but we found something interesting. When separated from the User, the anomaly begins to shut down. It loses its drive and motivation, and after only a week with us…terminated functions.”
>You say nothing, just looking up at your brother. Mike uses this moment to give you another haymaker; this one hits your eye and you feel it begin to swell shut. You pull yourself back into a sitting position and shake your head slowly. “We learned a wealth of information, but we need a specimen that won’t get the ‘blue screen of death’, so to speak. So, to prevent that, not only do we have the anomaly…”
>You follow his gaze to see a crate, similar to something you’d put a Great Dane in for traveling. You can barely make out Oz inside. She’s unconscious, and you finally find the strength to speak.
“What the hell did you do to her?”	
>”We hit her with a taser charge, and while she was down, we hit her with a sedative. Don’t worry, it won’t affect the anomaly enough to ruin her. Turns out the networking functions are somehow separate from the biological in a way we don’t understand; physical trauma will not harm it, but if the software gets a virus, it affects the whole being. Odd.” Mike shrugs and walks over to Oz, looking at the pony. You start to stand up but a firm pair of hands forces you back down.
“Get away from her, you fuckwitted dweeb.”
>”Big words for a man who can’t go a day with ingesting half a bottle of Jack Daniel’s,” countered Mike, giving you a grin that would look right at home on a serial killer. “Come now, don’t be upset. You get to tag along! We’re not repeating the same mistake as last time and separating you two.”
“And if I refuse to go along?”
>Mike walks back over, and this time delivers a vicious kick that breaks your nose, followed by a sharp smack to your stomach, leaving you gasping for air. He grips you by your chin and forces you to look into his eyes.
>”As if you had a choice.”
>He looks at the guard watching you. “Rough him up if you want, but I need him alive. If he dies you don’t get paid, understand?”
>”Yes, Mister Mike.”
>”Good. Now get this pathetic excuse for my brother loaded up so we can get out of here.” He starts to walk away, and you’re roughly hauled to your feet. As you’re escorted past Oz towards a waiting blacked out van, you stop to look at her. She looks so vulnerable, so alone.
“…I’m sorry, Oz.”
>You hang your head as the guard shoves you away from the scene.