It was located in a small concrete corridor, and at either end of the room were rotating steel gates, designed to funnel the ponies in one at a time.
Miguel, a tough-looking guy who used to work for a security firm, waved a curt “hello” at me from across the table.
“I trust that you're up-to-date with the latest handling procedures?” Greg asked me. “The latest rounds of vaccines are pretty dang expensive. Make sure you make each shot count, eh?”
I nodded briskly. “You got it, boss.”
Greg smiled in a particularly piggish manner. “You're a good guy, Davis. This place just wouldn't be the same without you.”
He strolled out the side-door, whistling the theme song of “Happy Days.”
The door slammed shut, and silence filled the air for a few seconds until Miguel spoke up.
“Kinda hard to remember why you hate him sometimes.”
“I'm sorry?” I asked.
“Have you ever seen him angry? He always serves you his bullshit on a big golden platter. And by the time you smell what's really inside...”
A buzzer rang out, and the teeming horde of ponies began to line up near the left gateway.
“It's too late to do anything about it.”
I couldn't think of anything to say as I got the supply of injectors ready. And fortunately for me, he didn't seem to be hoping for a reply.
Just as the silence was starting to get awkward, a second buzzer filled the air, and the gates dutifully opened.
Just like always, we stopped each pony that came by and gave them a quick injection on their flank. Given how many of the creatures were in close proximity to each other, we had to pump them full of virus-eater nanites and bacteriophages. Some of them took their shots silently, too broken or resigned to resist. Some of them were afraid...and as always, some of them were angry.
I don't know what my life would have been like had it not been for that one stallion that marched in.