Welcome to Los Pegasus - Prologue

>be struggling hourly worker anon
>make your way to work, the usual way with your bicycle
>running a few minutes late, in a hurry
>making the second of many turns in your daily commute
>lose traction on some wet leaves and skid out
>rip up coat a bit, otherwise fine, but shaken
>go to pick up your bicycle and the handlebar is bent
"Damn it."
>spend a few minutes pushing it back into place, before resuming your trip to work
>arrive six minutes into your shift, clock in and hit the round running
>one week later, be trying to keep roommate from puking in the living room whilst hilariously drunk
>succeed in getting them to bed without gastric incident
>past usual bedtime, flop into bed
>stay awake for nearly an hour still, staring at the ceiling
>finally succumb, sleep gloriously
>sleep gloriously right through your alarms
>wake up ten minutes into your shift
>call in, show up as soon as you can manage
>rock it out, or more accurately, go through the ropes of a robotic and humanity-killing routine for less compensation than you can do more than scrape by.
>sometime next week, make your way to work in your slightly ripped jacket with until now hidden duct tape, starting to fray to the point of needing outwardly tacky or more time consuming means.
"Ehh... fuck it."
>turn back right outside of your door, fetch duct tape, and get your shit in order with an external patch
>hurry back to work on bicycle
>skid out, luckily don't break anything on your trek
>get into work your coat bearing a new rip on the opposite side
>clock in five minutes late
>do your usual, your best of a mind numbing job that you cannot bear an ounce of passion for
>go home
>patch up the coat from the inside, staring in disdain at the other, externally duct-taped section of garment
"Fuck it, it's already ugly."
>put down some duct tape on the outside to match the internal patch
"Going to need a new fuckin' jacket."
>the next day, go into work, taking extra time to get up early
>go to work, and at lunch get called in for a write up for tardiness
>sign some form saying you'd been at the meeting and go about your day
>work is running late with next week's schedule, go in early the next day not knowing if you will or won't be scheduled for that day and when
>arrive, name is not on the schedule
>ask to see manager
>speak to them, they inform you that your write-up was the second in a year-long period, and you were on a week's suspension
>you walk out of the building in disbelief
>begin looking for work elsewhere, putting the resume out and putting in applications, getting papers together to apply for unemployment, just in case.
>week goes by, the next schedule is up, and you are not on it
>you go in and speak to the managers, who they decided not to renew your employment
"Why couldn't you have told me this last week?"
>no real answers of any consequence to be offered
>go home, headache beginning to pulse
>drop off your phone and keys in your room and head to the bathroom
>examine the cabinet to find a near empty bottle of headache meds, popping two tabs into your mouth, and washing it down with tap water
>it doesn't wash away the taste that you'll have to stand in line for hours in a government building tomorrow
>your migraine doesn't go away
>it just suddenly becomes quite less of a worry due to more pressing matters
>your fingertips are cold and numb, strikingly so, and more and more it feels as such within the confines of your socks
>a strange ache permeates your muscles, starting about your skull, as if that migraine were pouring downward, sapping your energy as you felt an unease move through your gut
>you knock over your glass, which thankfully doesn't shatter, rolling from side to side on the counter in a small arc. Staggering backward, you make your way clumsily towards the bathroom exit towards the door to your room
>your roommate wouldn't be home at this hour, and your phone or computer were the best bet for figuring out what was happening or getting help
>fuck, how do you even pay for hospital shit when unemployed? you didn't know
>the headache was worse, but as you  trundled into your private abode you couldn't quite keep your balance, resorting to leaning against the wall for support.
>spotting your phone on your bed, you  made your way on shaky legs with numb toes towards the digital device's resting place only to find that your knees weren't where they were supposed to be, or rather that your ankles were too high up, and your foot certainly felt long
>this doesn't make for good walking to the uninitiated, so you faceplant into the side of the bed, falling to all fours
"Buck!"
>what

>scrambling, you sit up and reach for your socks. Your legs weren't their usual selves, the proportions subtly and soon to be not-so-subtly altered, enough to impede movement.
>the sock comes off to reveal swollen toes with bruised-looking toenails, all pushed together and you could swear the nail seemed almost continuous
>mustering some courage, you tug upwards on the pant leg, noting the numbness in your fingers, your movements lacking a bit of dexterity
>examine leg
>well that looks to be a perfectly mutated pile of horse apples. What is this even
"Buh--" you start to curse, but again the wrong word exits your lips. "Buck. Shoot. Ponyfea... feathers?"
>your confusion is mounting as you juggle this development with your legs. The once sparse hair on your shins has managed to raise a mighty army in a scarce few seconds, and they seem to be marching and taking no prisoners, down to cover your lengthening feet, and upward
>little hairs sprout outward at an alarming rate, and at this point you decide that pants are a greater hindrance than help in figuring out what is going on. As you shed your trousers you are met by further stiffness in your fingers, the button proving a worthy adversary in your quest for freedom
>you are in your boxers, jacket, and a tee shirt, and your leg hair is rapidly becoming a color it ought not to be, and your ankles are as high up as your knees used to be and you can't move your toes, because they are some sort of mega toes.
>your phone
>right, the hit to the head had certainly disoriented you enough to delay your initial task's completion. Reaching over the side of the bed you fumble for the device, managing to paw it off of the bed and somewhat against your chest. As you move your fingers, you notice that they are visibly beginning to lengthen, the nails forming bruises beneath as you manage with added effort to navigate to your web browser app
>you begin to type your search into the quickly loaded Google window, and are met with many interesting autocompletes as your message string grows
"Hands and feet numb, changing" you speak aloud as you type, a suggestion of "into hooves" catching your eye in the text box
>you tap the phrase, and your phone crawls to load the results, your fingers drawing inwards towards one another
>you chance a look at your leg once more, your thigh beginning to thicken as the broadening cyan pelt encroaches more of your legs, your toenails pushing over and twisting as they change to a similar hue. You can see the bone reshaping as if it were liquid, an intense heat behind the numbness as your cells run in overdrive, growing and dying and growing to change your form according the the instructions of a chemical messenger
>your toes had gone all Highlander on one another leaving one massive and deformed digit with all their quickening in tow
>it seemed like your brain didn't know how to react between the migraine that was still there, your inability to remember how to use profanity, the tingling, burning and yet numb new hooves, and the fingers now following suit in front of your eyes
>you manage to flub your juggle check and drop the phone to the carpeted floor, attention drawn to your hips as the heat radiating through the changing portions of your body grows uncomfortable
>you groan out, raking your changing hands over your thighs as if to stave off the hotness coursing through your muscles. Your legs were filling out into quite the thick haunches to complete the oddly equine look of their lower halves. Cyan fur moved inwards, enveloping your pride and joy beneath its warm embrace
>things only seemed to be getting worse with your hands
>as you brought your changing hands up before your eyes you watched as the fingertips pushed in as one, repeating whatever eldritch ritual your toes had previously performed, much to your dismay
>your heart was pounding, your head throbbed, and you were panting, sitting half curled with a pair of horse legs and hands becoming hooves before your eyes, in the same cyan tone that now branded your back end
>you rolled onto your back, painful bump making you regret your decision as it seems you've managed to smack your coccyx
>wincing, you roll over just a bit, your back suddenly feeling like it was caught on something, right above where you had landed, and then suddenly something inside twitched
>that isn't right
>you look down to see fur creeping up the line of your boxers, scrambling to remove them with your nearly minted forehooves in what amounts to panicked and morbid curiosity
>something tickles your furred buttocks, your shorts increasingly cramped
>you manage to wriggle them down to your ankles, having a bit of difficulty maneuvering your legs to rid them of the boxers, but that wasn't your primary concern
>you had a tail
>you were missing something rather difficult to misplace, too, and that was the bigger issue

>WHERE WAS YOUR JUNK?
>you just saw an expanse of fur in its place, but you could feel a strange burning within, beyond a small downturn, you didn't see anything what oh sweet Jebuz you have a vagina
>it doesn't look human, either it's all gross and horse what the crap okay look away
>luckily, it is easy to look away and not dwell on your lost membership to pen island as the changes never considered your feelings on the matter and were going along at the same crazy pace
>you make noises of discomfort that would put Schwarzenegger to shame at the incredibly strange feeling of your ribcage expanding, all the while more of that blue green pelt marches down from your forehooves towards your elbows
>organs shift in various levels of discomfort within, though your shock the suddenness and of this evening's strangeness of it all  seem to mute much serious pain, the pelt marching over your wider chest
>you feel a tickling sensation behind you as it seemed a long set of golden locks had sprouted from the little wiggly extension of your spine that you had so unceremoniously discovered earlier
>the last vestiges of humanity leave your arms as fur moves from your chest to your shoulders and meet up with the other fronts seamlessly
>it seems you are roughly the same size, save for your shorter legs, and for some reason your legs refuse to move where they're supposed to
>you're not screaming because honestly this is just so bucking surreal
"No, no, no, no," you begin to mutter as the line of unfathomable change beyond your withers and up your neck, which gives you the sudden sensation of tilting forward as it doubles in length
>you roll back over, finding your limbs surprisingly comfortable beneath you, but your neck and chin begin to burn with the heat of the change
>your jaw aches, your head throbbing with more intensity than you can say you've ever experienced
>gritting your teeth turns interesting as they begin to move, your jaw pushing forward right in front of your eyes
>your nose widens, and you feel amidst the barrage of novel sensations a huge increase in airflow from the action of inhaling, probably something great for long distance running or something
>the throbbing worsens, focusing in your forehead right smack dab in the middle
>your eyes feel incredibly strange and suddenly everything is blurry. You close them, the heat inside of them rather uncomfortable as they swell in size considerably
>cartoonishly
>the feeling in your eyes subsides but your ears feel out of place, and you can swear you feel them twitching actively, shifting about.  You feel at them with your hooves, trying to make sense of the sensation of a lengthening horse ear against a fetlock
>the migraine reaches a peak, worse than the worst hangover after the sickest night of drinking, and suddenly explodes forward bone creaks and pushes forward, your forehead gaining a monument to your weirdness right up the center
>bone pushes out in a flat block, which begins to twist, and you can swear you can feel it twisting at your brain as it spirals, covered in the same cyan of your new coat, and comes to a final point
>you don't manage to utter anything particularly poignant at this time, rather twitch your face and various muscles as you lie there with your limbs tangled below you on the floor beside your bed
>the heat stops, the aching stops, and only the migraine persists
>the world isn't spinning, but you can feel this itch inside that you cannot explain whatsover
>then it happens
>you feel an involuntary twitch in this new appendage, but in your brain
>amplifying the pain of the world's worst headache
>you scream in some lady's voice and cradle your head in your hooves, the twitch turning into a spark that glows brighter and brighter before your eyes, some sort of ball of plasma at the tip of your forehead peg
>your brain is dumping endorphins and suddenly you feel the pain fall back to nearly nothing, a buzzing feeling like a reverb pushing through you as you stare dumbfounded at this  growing light, which grows until it's enveloped all of you and a bit of the floor around you
>you try and stop flexing whatever muscle this is and suddenly time stops.

Anon's room bears a large hemispherical hole in the floor, the patch of carpet, Anon, and anything in the radius nowhere and nowhen to be found.