>You are Oz.
>Your internal clock reads around nine in the evening, and the weather forecast calls for clear skies and a light breeze out of the northeast. There’s a new episode of that sitcom Anon’s addicted to on tonight at ten, only on /mlp/.
>They know drama.
>Apparently you do as well. A pair of shackles holds you to the work table, around which several men in white coats are examining you. One, a vet by trade, attempts to see if you are a real pony. 
>They had to bust out the manacles after you booted his predecessor into a computer two days ago.
>They’ve threatened both you and Anon with punishment if you refuse to cooperate; presumably they’ve told Anon the same thing because aside from the group text, he hasn’t shown much inclination to rebel against his captors.
>You sometimes sit and watch him when your room thinks you’re asleep. He just sits there, twirling a toothpick and watching the door, as if expecting something. He only seems to have two ranges of emotions: sorrow and worry when he looks in your room, and anger and hatred when your captors stop by. 
>Mike hasn’t shown his face around lately; you did hear his voice briefly after being escorted out of the room after kicking the vet.
>He sounded slightly amused.
>For the most part, they seemed to leave Anon alone. Anon had explained to you what he had been told, and it sort of made sense, but you didn’t think if Anon were gone you would die.
>Or would you?
>Finally, the vet finished his checkup, pronouncing you not only a flesh-and-blood pony, but one hundred percent healthy. Of course he would run some tests on some samples of your blood and saliva he took, but it didn’t seem like that would present a problem.
>The vet returns after making some notes, this time with a technician. They begin to hook up machinery to you, ignoring your questions like they’ve done every day before. “And we’re connecting in three…two…one-“
>Your mind suddenly feels like a massive book, lines of code replacing your normal vision. Your horn burns with pain as you realize they are not only copying your information but copying it. Everything you’ve said, done, and seen since you arrived to the living world. The pain begins to grow and you begin to scream.
>The doctors and technicians let you rest only briefly, but otherwise ignore your pain.
~~~~~~~~~
>You are Anon.
>It’s been three days since you arrived here. Poor Oz has been through so much, and yet they keep testing her. They seem to think her horn is not only useful for magic but how she connects to the outside world and your data plan, like an antenna on an old school cell phone.
>It’s all you can do to keep calm and sane. You’ve been doing your best to try and act defeated and discouraged, but that’s been really easy to do. You may have a plan, but its not like the whole experience didn’t suck. And now someone else was paying for it.
>You had to wait one more hour. One more hour, and then you could act and get you guys free. You owed it to Oz. She didn’t deserve this. 
>A sudden prolonged scream fills your ears. Its faint and distant, but it’s all too recognizable. Your heart breaks where you sit and you look at the ground. You try to keep a stiff upper lip and wipe the water near your eyes, but then, before the sound vanishes completely, you hear the cry you were dreading.
>Oz is screaming for help. From you.
>You can’t take it anymore. It’s time to act. Screw the waiting.
>You get up and move to the doorway. Grabbing a fresh toothpick, you begin to play with the lock on the door. Its electronic, and not meant to take wooden sticks. Soon the thing is crackling and fizzing and popping, and you step back as footsteps approach. They must have watched you on camera, but they didn’t know the shit storm they were getting into. The door bursts open and a single guard rushes in.
>”Get against the wall, farmboy!” You comply, facing the wall. “Jesus, what the hell did you do-“
>He had turned away from you, his third almost fatal mistake.
>His first had been not searching you properly.
>His second had been not complaining or forcing you to change outfits for three damn days.
>You turn, drawing the Bowie knife you’ve had tucked into your boot all this time. You had moved it one night while “asleep” to fit behind your impressive belt buckle, where it went unnoticed. You smash the hilt of the weapon against the man’s skull, causing him to fall and drop his weapon in both surprise and being stunned.
>You quickly perform a proper search of him, taking away his weapons and handcuffing him with his own cuffs. You drag him to the corner and see he is semi conscious. You tap the tip of the blade against his throat and yell at him in a voice only Christian Bale’s Batman could appreciate.
“WHERE IS SHE?!”
~~~~~~~
>You continue screaming and yelling, unable to stop though your throat is dry and raspy. Your horn feels like it’s being set ablaze, and there’s nothing you can do about it except thrash about, and even then that is next to nothing due to your restraints. 
>Tears stream down your muzzle at an alarming rate, and their only reaction was from Mike, who had stepped in. “Keep the door closed; last thing I need is my simpleton of a brother to hear this.”
>It feels like this has gone on for hours, but in truth it’s only been about fifteen minutes. 
>They turn off the machine again, and your vision returns to normal, albeit blurred thanks to your tears. “She seems to be fighting it somehow, boss.” Mike’s voice cuts through the air. “I don’t honestly care if she’s giving you her information willingly or if you have to wring her like a wet rag. Get what the hell we want-“
>A sound of firecrackers comes from the hallway and a startled yell. “What in the fuck…you, check out that noise!” A guard moves to open the door of the little laboratory, but finds himself sent flying back by an unseen force, or at least unseen to you. He lands on the floor beside your table, and reaches for his sidearm when a familiar voice sounds, one that makes you think everything is going to be okay.
>”Whatever you’re reaching for better be a sandwich, because I’m going to make you eat it. The rest of you, hands where I can see them. Back against the far wall, now.”
>The two workers and Mike slowly walk over to the wall where the guard is laying, his own hands raised. A rough hand snaps the lashes holding the equipment to you, and you feel a rush of cool air on your horn and forehead. You jump slightly at the rattle of automatic fire beside you and a computer bursts into sparks and scattered metal. The manacles that bind you in place snap free.
>You try to stand, and find yourself rather weak. You did, after all, experience a lot of torment and exertion. A strong arm wraps itself around your waist and holds you close to a familiar red plaid sleeveless shirt.
>”Anyone that tries to follow me or stop me I will shoot.” Mike steps forward only to be met with a weapon’s barrel. “Even you. You’re no brother of mine.” Slowly Anon backs up, keeping his weapon trained on them. When he reaches the door, he checks it swiftly before hurrying off down the hallway.
>Even over Anon’s boots, you hear Mike yell “Get up you imbecile! Do what the hell I’m paying you for! STOP HIM!”
“A-Anon…?”
>”Yes, Oz, it’s me.” Anon keeps running down the hall as a klaxon begins sounding off. Word travels fast.
“What’s…going…on?”
>He smirks as he rounds a corner.
>”Jailbreaking iOS.”