Chapter I: The Mare

View Online

Heavy thunder roars in the air of the evening’s brewing storm. The disarray of ghastly dark clouds looming above crackle with electricity, feverishly erupting into heavy rumbling. The thunderous rolls that rattle the walls with tremors warrants a fright for one, but the other wanderers in the vicinity were easy to ignore the calamity outside. Unbothered, they carry on with their business from inside the multitude of sub levels inside the Anomaly Research Institute of Equestria — otherwise known as the most secure facility to exist on the sanction of the coast of the Celestial Sea.

It wasn't out of the ordinary to get heavy thunderstorms around this time of year, but for the rosy-maned mare working the dreaded graveyard shifts during the peak of the aforementioned nasty weather, she finds herself stuck inside a commonplace state of fear. Days like these were the hardest to endure, usually always spent underneath the confines of her warm blankets, surrounded by the presence of her pet companions. But with comfort and safety a long ways out of reach, the storm brewing above only worsens her anxieties.

She doesn't know how to handle the daunting nights like these on her own — surrounded by strangers and armored guards that never spare her even the slightest sliver of acknowledgement. Though with her terrible fear of confrontation, it's a position she coins as a blessing in disguise. She revels in the isolation. But some rare times, when she yearns for the comfort of a familiar face to help ease her fears, it’s a luxury she rarely gets. It's a frightening reality; one that leaves her feeling asphyxiated by anxious tendencies, that even the dirty gray cleaning apron tied around her middle feels just as suffocating.

She's sure it's just the uncomfortably heavy and itchy fabric making her feel that way. It wasn't the most luxurious, but then again, neither was the work.

She was only the help, after all.

“Dr. McWhinny — Dr. Rosenberg — Please Report To Sector Thirteen. Test Labs.”

“Attention — Emergency Clean up Team to Sector Thirteen. Anomaly Containment.”

The sound of hooves clamoring through the halls snaps Fluttershy's attention back to the present, her eyes following the fleeting figures in lab coats hastily rushing past in response to the announcement over the intercom system.

In their fleeting approach, she recognizes a few of their faces, often crossing paths with them from the main hall. But something in their eyes pronounced distress; their faces downtrodden and troubled. Initially, she presumes they’d succumbed to the usual late night exhaustion, but there was something else in their eyes.

Something dire.

“Hey! You!”

A scientist comes to a sudden halt in the middle of the hallway and Fluttershy’s heart nearly stops, immediately overcome with dread at the unexpected confrontation.

“You’re part of the cleanup crew, dummy! Didn’t you hear the announcement?” The scientist insistently yells, still breathless from his run. “Go!”

“I—“

“Now!” The stallion immediately cuts her off with a harsh glance in her direction, his intense emerald eyes sharp, driven by a sense of urgency. Though before he runs off to answer the call, he seizes something from the pocket of his lab coat with the magic manifesting from his horn. Urgently, he shoves the small plastic object into Fluttershy’s possession, the fizzling green glow fading as she fumbles to grasp what looks to be an ID card close to her chest, shock etched into her features.

“You know what to do with it, now go!” The stallion presses, his eyes narrowing with a glimmer of intimidation before finally turning away and taking off down the hall.

The strange and sudden encounter leaves Fluttershy shaken, struggling to contend her frazzled nerves. With the card still clutched tightly to her chest, she curiously lowers it down from her front to get a better view.

But upon looking, her eyes immediately widen.

The words LAB SECURIGRID written boldly atop the translucent key card immediately catches her attention, but the words in red underneath just about make her heart drop.

LEVEL 10 SECURITY ACCESS - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY

This had to be wrong. These key cards didn’t belong in the hooves of just any pony — especially not the help. Only qualified scientists and highly trained personnel were granted these key cards to the vaults in Sector 13, and with good reason.

Fluttershy was only ever the help on the surface levels, mostly — given limited security access to mop down the control rooms, maintain the bathrooms, and scrape gunk off of the floors in the hallways. And despite only stepping hoof in Sector 13 just once, several weeks ago, it was only on an emergency basis to clean the labs where specimens were taken to be cataloged, and even then she had been escorted, not allowed to wander beyond her clean up point. She had been the only one staffed in the nearest sector that day.

Besides that day, she never went into Sector 13’s containment unattended. But that’s precisely what the key card in her possession is for.

Fluttershy could hardly move, petrified of the fact that she's holding the metaphorical and literal key to the entire facility in her hoof — harboring unlimited access to the most dangerous, highest security research vaults. Where rumored ancient, mythological creatures were locked away, hidden from the public eye. Where the vow of silence was truly enforced, or else met with lethal punishment.

It was like the prison of Tartarus, but worse.

The scientists down in that sector called it ‘The Trench’. That particular sector was cut off from the rest of the facility for good reason — to contain and research the most powerful anomalous beings of Equestria that tore through to this realm by means of incomprehensibly powerful manipulation of magic. The scientists in the trench are the ones who veil their existence to avoid mass panic and prevent attacks on the otherwise peaceful land of Equestria. But they didn’t just lock them up for safety — no.

For them, It was the perfect opportunity to study them.

Fluttershy recalls that time several weeks ago — albeit brief — where she had been summoned to clean up a mess in one of the labs in Sector 13, the present team of scientists at the time completely disregarding her presence as they conversed with one another. Though after a while, she found herself unable to refrain from eavesdropping on their meeting.

There had been word spreading that a new “asset” would arrive that day, and the scientists were occupied with pre-processing and preparing to catalog it into the facility. The mare heard several voices muttering among themselves in speculation, reading off their lab notes and exchanging idle speculation. But she kept her eyes low and her head down. Never once looking up from scrubbing the stubborn fluid spill out from the floors.

Eventually, all the scientists had dispersed once they received word the asset had arrived, all scattering into the hall to enter the processing room just next door. Fluttershy heard the squeak of metal wheels as they carted their new asset in, the scientists expressing their interest in hushed whispers of awe. She heard a rustling of chains, ponies shuffling around, the low hum of magic in the air. There was the sound of something depressurizing, metal clattering to the ground. The scientists started saying something incomprehensible to each other, shouting orders. Then, she heard an odd struggle that sounded like something was being wrestled with in the next room over.

And then suddenly, her heart dropped at the sound she heard.

A strained scream. They had inflicted pain — real, heart-wrenching pain upon what she assumed to be a creature, but carried on conversing as if they had done nothing wrong at all. The creature howled loudly, the sound of chains violently rattling as it thrashed. She heard the familiar sound of sharp nails scrambling against metal and concrete, frantic and desperate. The sound of fizzling electricity hissed loudly through the air, and with it, the creature wailed relentlessly.

And it didn’t stop.

Her mouth had fallen open as she gasped at the noise, horrified by what she heard. Tears of guilt and hurt had stung her eyes as she carried on with the illusion of cleaning the floors without any real care. She sat hunched over on the ground with the dirty scrub brush, her face out of sight behind the thick locks of hair that fell out from her up-do.

She couldn’t see the face of the creature from the other room, but when it cried out, throat raw though sounding muffled by something that forced its mouth shut, she couldn’t find it in herself to push down the urge to turn a cold shoulder.

Swallowing her hesitance, she abandoned her spot on the floor, sneaking out into the halls to inch her way towards the slightly ajar door to the processing room and cautiously dip her head around the corner to peek inside.

When she did, however, she had to suppress a gasp as her eyes flew wide open.

She could see the outline of a creature’s lengthy tail violently lash out through the air, casting shadows against the concrete walls. Two scientists fought to restrain the creature, struggling to force a metal collar around its elongated neck and limbs. It was bound to the ground with chains drilled deep into a metal slab and contained within a magical force field four stallions in white coats were upholding against the creature.

Red eyes glowed intense from inside the low light chamber where it was tightly contained in. But then suddenly, it stopped thrashing. It froze. The creature looked her way — saw her presence — and the mare’s stomach dropped as if she were about to be sick, a sudden cold sweat overtaking her senses.

Fluttershy hastily shoved herself away from the door and scattered back to her cleaning caddy, horrified. The scientists hadn’t known she was there. She wasn’t supposed to see that.

Not knowing what else to do, she hastily gathered her cleaning supplies back inside the caddy and fled the area, hardly able to get enough air through her lungs as she hurriedly left the sector behind.

After that, she hoped to never have to step hoof in Sector 13 again.

But now, she had no choice.

The deep rumbling that resounds from above the underground construes a nightmarish illusion — the hall lights flickering at every hard strike of thunder from above. The walls surrounding her are drenched in a ghastly dull sea-green light that emit from the low light fixtures above. Hardly the most pleasant shade of color. The echo and groan of the creaking corridors in the distance and the lack of personnel was a little more than unnerving.

The wheeling housekeeping cart is the mare’s only source of solace during her meek travel through the excessively long murky corridors, the stench of cleaning supplies a familiar scent among all the other unwelcome unfamiliarity. She's intent on sticking close to the cleaning cart for shielding purposes, but it wouldn't be of much use for any longer considering the area that needed maintenance was right up ahead.

Swallowing her fears with a gulp, she stares at the translucent key card on the yellow caddy with mild apprehension before seizing it between her teeth and turning to the vault.

But as she goes to swipe the key card on the scanner, there’s nothing there.

The access device had been mangled beyond recognition — nothing but a bundle of ripped wires hanging from the wall where the card reader used to be.

Then, the announcement system rings out, fizzling and distorted.

“W—RNING. UNAU—ORIZED BIOLOGICAL FORM DETEC—D IN S—CTOR 13.”

Panic fills her chest like a dead weight, limbs trembling as she nervously begins to retreat backwards. The facility emits an eerie, unsettling groan, distant klaxons echoing from within the unlit corridor behind the massive vault door, bathing it in a dull red light.

Fluttershy’s throat clamps up as she trembles under the weight of her panic attack. The key card falls from her mouth, clattering to the floor. Something stops her from moving away. A mind-numbing fear seizes her muscles and locks her in place.

In a sudden rush of wind, smoke-like black tendrils seize and envelope her shaking limbs like powerful ropes, wafting over her front until it has her clutched tight in a smothering grip to the point it forces a winded gasp out of her. Tears sting at her wide open eyes, darting about the corridor in horror. No sound is able to escape her throat, her plea for help gone unheard.

That’s when the distal whispers start. Mumbling incoherent words, babbling crazily. It's muffled, distant, but just audible enough to hear.

Fluttershy hardly manages to get a whimper out, deathly petrified as she tries to forcefully shove herself away by the heel of her hooves, trying to writhe herself out from the dark that clung to her like a painful vice. But she suddenly slips on something thick and wet pooling across the cold floor underneath her.

She glances down to see a cesspool of black, viscous tar-like fluid pooling across the tiles.

Then, the whispers that started as a distant echo grow into a thunderous roar, and the first tangible thought that rises from the depths of the shadows made her blood run cold.

A great monolithic voice screams terror inside her subconscious:

Ḩ̸̛̗̮̲̼͚͎̱̦̝̝̇́̈́͊͊̒̀̏̔ ̷͕̘̗̲͋̓͑Ḛ̵̢̳͂͆̓͊͒͗́̕̕̕͠͝ ̷̨͓̳͍̓̈́͆̈́̈̾̄͑̏̉L̵͈͚̬͔̊̌̚ ̶̠̼̹͙̯̼̖̠̼͔͔͎̬͊̋̇̍̿P̵̼͖͍̱̩͕̗̭͓̓͌̂̂̈͊͂̍͘̕̚͝ ̶͍͆̽̽͋̀̐̒̌͗̉͒͑̇̊M̵̧̭̥̹͖͎̻̘̩̼͉͉̰̬̤̐̈̒̄̾̆̏͝ͅ ̸̜̱͔̪̠̜͛Ḙ̵̢̧̛͍̤̻̫͍͇̰̫̹̠̎́͗͗́̓͑̈́̓̽

——

A sharp gasp tears through Fluttershy’s throat as she shoots up from bed with taut wings, a cold sweat matting her to the fabrics that clung uncomfortably to her slightly trembling form.

It was the nightmare again.

Struggling to catch her breath from the panic that left her reeling, she clutches at the blankets around her for a sense of familiarity, her gaze following the faint trails of moonlight that seeped through the blinds of her second-story apartment windows. It was still nighttime.

That stomach-churning fear in the pit of her stomach lingers and only threads of her subconscious held onto the details of the nightmare. The quietude of her apartment only gives her a false sense of security. This'd been the fifth nightmare in a row, now. She knows they’re only getting worse.

She wearily glances aside at the clock hanging on the wall, weary and disorientated.

4 AM. She would have to leave to work soon.

Letting out a tensive sigh, she plops back down on the mattress and tries to ease her wings, flexing them restlessly. Her eyes remain glued to the ceiling in absent thought, unable to break away from the unsettling details of the nightmare. It's always the same. The announcements over the system. The same scientist. The same ending. The same awakening in a cold sweat.

The first time it happened, she couldn’t sleep for days after. That voice haunted her subconscious, even manifesting as visions in her waking life.

When she went to work the very next day after the first occurrence, she found herself frozen in fear at the entrance of Sector 13. It was like a beckoning call to the unknown, some unspoken force trying to convince her to cross, but instinctual fear always seemed to override the urge to enter.

In the days that followed, she tried to avoid walking near the sector all together. But it was difficult when she was assigned the nearby sector to keep the labs clean for the scientists. Staying away didn’t stop the nightmares. Neither did not sleeping.

But tonight, something was different. The voice had seemed to grow louder, more intense.

More… scared.

It terrifies her. And the worst part is not knowing why this is happening. It's teetering on the edge of unbearable and not just something she could easily bring up to her friends unless she wants them thinking she's acting childish, or actually losing her mind. She couldn’t tell them the truth about why she looks so tired all the time, or why she's suddenly afraid of closing her eyes at night.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Fluttershy rubs her hooves over her eyes and rolls over in bed to sit up and glance outside the foggy window. There's no point in trying to go back to sleep now, so she figures she may as well get the morning started a bit early. Anything to try to purge the lingering memory out of her mind.

It’s a thoughtless, effortless task to fall into the normal routine of putting out morning feed for her pets and refreshing their water bowls. It doesn't take much to coax the deep sleepers from slumber with the sound and smell of fresh breakfast awaiting them in the kitchen. Soon, they rise with big yawns and go straight to eat in their designated spots, famished from a long night's rest.

Fluttershy is able to muster a small smile at the sight, looking out across her living room to the variety of her animal companions preening themselves post-breakfast and engaging in playful antics with one another. From cat, to squirrel, to bird, to rabbit. The sound of the animals munching on their breakfast meals and their soft chittering to each other in conversation brings her a familiar ease and for just a second, makes her forget about her worries.

After their needs are tended to, Fluttershy moves on autopilot — tending to her own morning routine of preparing a bath, putting breakfast on the cooker, and setting the timer. Hardly putting any meaning into interactions as she normally would. She tries to use her calm and collected voice with her pets despite still having the slight jitters in her voice from a restless night, but it just doesn’t work for a terrible liar like herself. They seem to know that, too, as they appear to saunter with sympathy towards her when they express their good mornings to her.

Of course, she notices their unease for her well-being too. It bothers her even more than the nightmares.

She reassures them gently, giving them the same “I’m okay little ones, I promise.” and brushing it off as nothing. Every morning, a ceaseless reassurance. She knows they don’t fully believe her, but some word of promised relief, even if untrue, is still better than the emptiness of nothing.

When her warm bath is drawn and she washes away the remnants of a cold sweat in the soothing waters, it’s not much later when the timer goes off. Pulling the drain plug on her way out, Fluttershy throws on a warm robe and hastily wraps her mane in a fluffed towel before sprinting to the kitchen to turn the flames of the cooker off. The moment she’s finished with breakfast and preparing a bagged lunch for work, along with setting aside an additional plate of food she routinely makes for her neighbor, she finds herself moving towards the calendar hung on her kitchen wall, gently tearing off the first paper from its hooks to the current date.

Monday, September 17th. Start of a new week.

It's 4:52 AM, and Fluttershy stares at the hands on the clock, dreading that she has to leave soon to catch the trolley on time for her early morning shift.

She could feel eyes on her as she packs up her saddle bag and hangs up her robe and towel in silence, all of her animal inhabitants sensitive to sensing when she’s feeling off-ish. She tries not to let it rub off on them — not when it’s her problem and not theirs. But it’s hard to stop it from happening when she herself isn’t even sure of what’s happening.

Lowering herself down to their level with a sigh, Fluttershy gently drags a hoof behind her pet bunny’s ears. His eyelids flutter close upon contact, leaning into the warmth of his owner’s touch.

“I’ll be home soon, Angel Bunny. You be good today, okay? Take care of the others for me while I’m gone.” Fluttershy says with a more weary-than-normal inflection in her tone, but spares a smile nonetheless.

Angel Bunny seems to catch onto her unrest and decides to simply give an obedient nod, ears low. Not the usual pouty demeanor Fluttershy knows well.

Standing back to full height to hoist her saddle bag over her back and to skillfully balance the plate of food with one of her wings, Fluttershy spares them one last glance and a parting wave goodbye before leaving her little shoddy apartment, locking the door behind her. But before she retreats down the dimly lit hallway, she briefly turns to the wooden door just across the hall from her, key between her teeth at the ready.

Pushing the door open slowly with a soft knock to signal her presence, Fluttershy quietly steps inside to be greeted by a friendly feline, stretching at her front and rubbing against her hooves with a gentle purr.

Fluttershy gives a slight smile as she traverses to the middle of the room, clearing her throat to catch the attention of the unicorn stallion settled on an artist's stool, hunched over a large canvas in the middle of the living room in deep concentration.

“—Ahem.”

“Oh!”

Startled, the stallion fumbles with a glass of paint brushes, round glasses slipping down his muzzle as he swiftly turns around in his seat to greet her.

“Another late night?” Fluttershy implies, glancing over at his messy art station in the living room and scooting over a can of wet paint brushes to make room for the breakfast she’d thoughtfully whipped up for him.

“Fluttershy, my dear.” He sighs gratefully with a smile when his gaze lands upon the small bag of food she set down for him on the coffee table. His eyes are genuine and grateful, and they crinkle at the sides when he smiles wide. “I really don’t know what I would do without you. I would just wither away, without a doubt.”

Fluttershy spares a lighthearted giggle as she steps over to get a better view of her best friend’s artwork, admiring the intricate craftsmanship with a slight raise of her brows and a small “wow”.

“What do you think?” The messy-haired unicorn grins, pushing his glasses up higher to better view his work. “Commendable, is it? Art to inspire the future!” He waves his hooves in the air to exaggerate his words, chuckling at the end. “It’s for that new little art supply shopfront in town. You know, they tell me what to create, and I create it, but it just never seems... enough. It always feels like there could be more that I’m missing. I just don’t know what it is.” He shakes his head at his artwork signage, eyes calculating and judgmental of his work.

“It’s beautiful as always, Miles.” Fluttershy reassures kindly on a soft tone, offering him a reassuring pat to the back. “Your artwork never disappoints. No matter what others think, I think it’s wonderful.”

“Well, if you say so, then I suppose it truly is.” Miles agrees with a playful shrug and spins on the bar stool to face his easel again, teal magic lifting his fine-tip paint brush dipped in red. “As always, I appreciate your approval.”

They both exchange good-natured smiles before Fluttershy re-adjusts her saddle bag and heads back towards the front door, wishing a contented Miles and his six cats farewell for the day.

“Oh Alas, we must part ways! I bid thee adieu, my dear, may fate allow our paths to reconvene once again!” Miles says in theatrics with an exaggerated wave of his hoof, playfully mimicking his favorite actors’ voice inflection from the old movie dramas they watch in good fun on their days off.

Stepping out into the hall and closing the door behind her with a shake of her head and a laugh, Fluttershy trots down the hall of the apartment complex. She could still hear Miles softly humming musical sonnets from his apartment, and Fluttershy couldn’t seem to rid herself of that little smile etched on her face.

Muse Silverdrop — or Miles, as he preferred to call himself; her eldest and wisest friend whom she’s known for years since moving into this apartment complex. Their bond was inseparable — just two ponies trying to make ends meet. It seemed to work out as well as it could. A struggling artist and an overworked cleaner. Apart from her other friends in Ponyville, Miles is truly the only one she could come to at the end of the day and wind down with. To share her troubles, decompress her worries, spill all the tragedies of the day. And Miles would always listen.

Miles — the middle-aged unicorn with a gift in artistry. The stallion with the thin, messy brown hair, speckled with peppered grey, and round-lensed glasses that always seem to slip down his nose whenever he's in deep concentration. The one she could truly call her closest friend, and the one who gave her the most priceless friendship she could ever ask for.

That stallion was like a father figure to her. Always making fun with terrible jokes, but also worrying and caring for the mare as if she were his own. It made her feel safe from the world, and really, she couldn’t ask for anything better than that.

It's hard to shake off the lingering traces of a smile from her face at the thought. There’s a noticeable bounce in her step as she canters down the old metal apartment stairs leading down to the damp streets, glistening from the lights the nearby shops emit in the night.

Through the drizzle of an oncoming rain shower, the sky is still basked in the dark before sunrise — the bus terminal bathed in a damp golden glow from the street lamps.

Rain. The thought of a thunderstorm brewing is enough to make an unsettling shiver crawl up her spine in remembrance of every nightmare burdened with fearsome thunderstorms.

Fluttershy sits and waits patiently on the edge of the wooden bench in silence, leg bouncing restlessly with overwhelming thoughts racing through her mind now that she’s finally caught a moment to sit back and mull over her thoughts. Soon finding herself victim to a hyperfixation of an echo of a long-gone nightmare still rattling around in her head — faint phantom whispers deluging through the sound of soft rain pellets hitting the ground with a light patter.

Then it all vanishes like a gust of wind blowing through the east when the trolley comes rolling up on the cobblestone road some time later, coming to a slow stop and emitting a settling creak when the doors open.

The young stallion driver with a neat indigo blue comb-over mane nudges his head to the side in a welcoming gesture towards the inside of the bus, a friendly smile on his face.

Rising from the dampening bench, Fluttershy boards with a timid smile directed at the driver and pays her dues with an appreciative “thank you” before finding her seat in the middle rear, clutching her saddle bag close to her with a decompressing sigh as she curls up in on herself and leans her head against the foggy window.

The bus departs on the same route it does every morning — bumping over wet cobblestone roads on the same twenty minute commute. Tiny pellets of raindrops stick to the window and slowly glide down into a captivating mirage, catching the mare’s eye as she gazes out the window in absent thought.

She lifts and adjusts the saddlebag against the cold glass surface of the window and gently leans her head against the sack to hold it in place, shifting and adjusting until she finds a comfortable position to rest in.

All within the next fifteen minutes, she spends the time watching all the buildings and trees pass by. Rain drops slide down the window and slightly occlude her view of the outside, but create an optical illusion that reminds her of some of Miles’s artwork. A daydream of blues and violets swept gracefully across a canvas, white and gold pigments highlighting the shadows of the world the way the street lamps illuminated the roads, the way the early sun peaking over the far horizon painted the streets in a muted, faint golden light.

Until it all disappears inside the dark shadows of a tunnel.

The tunnel leads to the other side of town, where all the factories and governed facility laboratories exist, right on the outskirts of the district. Away from the general public, and perfectly obscured from view. Where everyday Fluttershy works, day and night.

She lets her mind wander as she stares off into the greenery scene, eyelids fluttering shut with fatigue. And It’s some time later in the low light of the early morning, that she’s at least aware of.

She knows it’s her stop when the bus rolls to a halt at the entrance of the facility gates where the bus stop is, halting with creaking brakes that makes her slightly flinch. But she knows this is it, and shakes the last remnants of languor from her system before straightening up in her seat with newfound awareness.

Strapping her saddlebag to her back, she reluctantly leaves her seat and rushes off the bus, already falling into the automatic routine of trotting into the building, flashing her identification to the heavily armed guards posted out front, and rushing to catch the next elevator to the underground sub levels.

Of course, there is always a group of lab coat-clad scientists inside, stopping at different floors and running her even later. She could only anxiously wait inside until the elevator chimes and lights up the sub level five button.

When she steps out, the early morning hustle and bustle of the facility is already in full bloom.

“All personnel be advised that sector 10 has now been cleared to level 8 safety. Guidelines will be all clear—“

The announcements over the intercom drone on at their typical intervals the moment the elevator doors slide open, revealing the main atrium of the facility at the height of its morning workflow. While scientists and employees tread in every direction, Fluttershy fumbles through the crowd, uttering apologies and sparing apologetic glances whenever accidentally bumping into anypony on the way to the clock-in station. Her hooves echo against the tiled floor as she rushes to make it on time — mere seconds away from being late. But a familiar face holding up the line in a convenient stall leaves her overcome with a sense of relief.

“Fluttershy, come, come!” The striped Zebra in line loudly whispers through her teeth in an effort to avoid letting the others waiting behind her catch on to her doings.

Without wasting a second, Fluttershy meekly slips to the front of the line at her friend's protection and takes her time card from the holder, punching in and swiftly replacing it on the deck.

“I have to admit — It is no crime, but you must learn to be on time." Zecora scolds her, and Fluttershy spares a small appreciative nod of her head and an apologetic smile in response.

“Excuse me — Hey! What do you think you are doing?” A frustrated voice, thick with an accent yells from the end of the line, peeking out from behind the others with a vexed look etched on the elder mare’s face. “No cutting! In back like rest of us!”

“Leave her alone, I was keeping her place!” Zecora snaps back immediately, guiding Fluttershy away with a protective hoof. “And what shame, now you are late.” She quips.

The elder mare visibly clenches her jaw and huffs, pointing an accusatory hoof in their direction with harsh enunciation to her words.

“I get reported, I come after you and the mare.”

Zecora huffs, muttering something incomprehensible in her mouth tongue under her breath, but Fluttershy chooses to pay no mind to it.

”I really appreciate it Zecora, but you didn’t have to wait for me.” Fluttershy starts, feeling more than guilt-ridden after the verbal scene she riled up.

“Nonsense.” Zecora firmly shakes her head. “It would be regrettable if you were late. Though I can’t help but notice that it seems you’re caught in a very… distressed state.” Her tone softens, features etched with traces of tender concern. Zecora dips her head down to Fluttershy’s level and makes an attempt to coax an explanation out of her.

“Tell me, what is the reason for your apparent fright? You really don’t seem quite alright.”

Of course, Fluttershy was a fool to assume Zecora wouldn’t know something was off. She tenses her brows at the prospect of having to talk about the nightmare after nearly forgetting about it, and she lets out a small breath through her nose. Even the way she’s walking is probably unusual, less energetic — more tense.

Fluttershy stays impassively quiet, but Zecora's persistence is immutable.

“It's that nightmare again, isn’t it.” Zecora states knowingly, not even bothering to use a questioning inflection of her tone. Fluttershy's features immediately shift at the truth, a shadow of gloom altering her demeanor.

“I can sense the stress and fear you so clearly emit.” Zecora declares, and Fluttershy caves in.

“It is.” Fluttershy admits with a defeated sigh, though nervous to even try to force herself to recall the details. But she knows it’ll have to be brought up sooner or later. There's just no shoving it down to be forgotten when her friend is apt at knowing everything about everypony.

“It’s just…” Fluttershy starts, her gaze lowered to the ground. “I’m sorry, Zecora. I just don’t like to think or talk about it. I’m sure you understand. The nightmare is getting worse and I don’t know what to do besides try to ignore it.” Fluttershy whispers, her voice on the verge of shaking. She doesn’t even spare a glance in Zecora’s direction, but she knows the zebra is listening with rapt attention. She could sense her concern, weighing the air around them heavy.

"Why have you not told me sooner of how often these nightmares trouble you?" Zecora says with dismay, her expression downtrodden with worry. "No offense, but to me, it does not seem to be something you alone can get through."

"I just didn't want you to worry about me. You're always so helpful and doing so much for me already, I couldn't possibly burden you with this, too." Fluttershy confesses, her head lowered in mild shame. "Besides, I thought it would go away on its own if I ignored it, but..." She trails off, letting the obvious implication hang in the air.

Zecora casts a pitied look her way, and Fluttershy lowers her gaze to the ground.

“It just won’t go away, Zecora. I’ve tried everything. I keep seeing that nightmare every time I close my eyes, and I can’t stop hearing that… scary, disfigured voice. I’ve never heard a voice like that in my whole life!” Fluttershy waves an exasperated hoof in the air. “I don’t know why it keeps happening... All I know is that I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in ages.”

“The sleep elixir I brewed has not deemed your nightmares subdued?”

“I’m afraid not.” Fluttershy sighs. “If I keep having this same nightmare about my own workplace, I may have no choice but to…" She pauses to sigh. "I don't know... I might have to…”

Fluttershy fumbles over her words, struggling to even spare a thought to the concept of what she was imagining. She's sure it's the exhaustion planting the thought. In her right mind, she would have vehemently refused to give up the job she worked hard to get and worked even harder to keep. But the longer the thought lingers, the more and more inviting the idea sounds.

But there's a sudden strange, aberrant hum of objection in the back of her mind. A thought or urge that tells her "No". A voice she can't discern is her own, or someone else's.

It only drives more fear in her heart.

“Fluttershy, I understand your plight, but think about if what you are saying is right.” Zecora chimes in, stopping and pulling Fluttershy aside a few feet away from the entrance of the locker room where other employees mindlessly enter and depart to start their shifts.

“But I don’t know what to do. I have to do something about it or I’ll have no choice.” The mare’s ears instinctively flatten with the distressing thoughts that followed in the path of her words. “But I really don’t want it to come to that.” She shakily sighs. “I can't. I need this job.”

Zecora falls silent, her demeanor downcast with guilt. There wasn’t much else to be said that could possibly remedy the mare’s losing internal battle. Though while the zebra’s home remedies fell a tad short of being a cure-all, Zecora instead favors to seek infallibility in her mother tongue to reassure her downtrodden friend.

“Worry not for what the future holds, but what you hold for the future." Zecora begins, her tone steady. "For we are the bearers of truth, only we light the path to which will lead us into the wonder of a new lunar, all the more sooner. ” Zecora bears a faint, but sincere smile, settling a reassuring hoof on the cusp of Fluttershy’s chin to raise her attention.

“Liwapokuwa likuwa.”

“What does that mean?” Fluttershy asks through inquisitive blue eyes, rapt with attention.

“When it is to be, it will be.” Zecora nods her head along with her words to emphasize her point, and pulls the mare into a gentle embrace. “My dear, soon you will come to see.”

Fluttershy reciprocates the friendly hug with a more at-ease sigh and rests her head into Zecora’s shoulder, closing her eyes to savor the moment of contentment and reassurance.

“You really think so?” Fluttershy slowly parts from the gentle side-embrace, and Zecora spares a confident nod of her head as she coaxes Fluttershy to walk with her as she talks.

“Msema kweli hakosi.”

Fluttershy slightly raises her brow, and Zecora is quick to translate.

“One who tells the truth, makes no mistakes.”

In an assured manner, Zecora gestures her hoof towards the doorway, urging Fluttershy to go onward with a smile. “Now onward you go — surely our duties for the day still await below.”

“Oh, you’re right. We’re already behind schedule.” Fluttershy realizes as she glances at the clock — already a quarter past the hour they were both supposed to be tending to cleaning the lab grounds already for the day.

With a preparatory breath to ground herself, Fluttershy trots over to her respective locker just across from Zecora's and begins changing into her uniform attire.

“I hope no one made too much of a mess in the labs yesterday.” Fluttershy says in idle chit chat, pushing her saddlebag into the locker with a little more haste than usual. “I don’t think we’ll have enough time to finish cleaning out the rest of sector five if they did.”

As Fluttershy pulls her hair up into a hasty up-do and tucks the stray strands out of the way, she takes her apron from its hook and begins to tie it around her middle. But she doesn’t catch on to the odd look cast her way until she shuts her locker door and turns to face Zecora.

Zecora had come to a halt in the middle of tying a knot on her own pinafore to look towards Fluttershy with a suddenness, appearing caught off guard by something the mare had said.

That’s when she starts feeling uneasy.

“What?” Fluttershy says hesitantly, glancing down at her apron to inspect for some kind of reasoning for the odd look. “Is there something on me?”

Zecora in turn furrows her brows, offering a terse shake of her head with a small “no, no” and closes her own locker shut, replacing the lock and turning to face Fluttershy with her full attention.

“I’m sorry — I thought you were aware.” Zecora hesitates. “They reassigned us to sector thirteen. They haven’t told you of the new routine?”

Fluttershy freezes at the sudden news, dread dousing her from head to hoof. At the mere mention of Sector 13, everything comes flooding back to her. Her fear. Her anxiety. Her nightmare.

She barely manages to get a breath in — stunned into silence until the reality of the situation hits her full force.

Fluttershy shakes her head vehemently when it dawns on her. “No, I — I can’t go back there, Zecora." Her voice begins to waver, thoughts spilling out of her in tandem with her panic. “They — They must have made a mistake! Why would they — There’s no way — ”

“It is alright, don’t be alarmed!” Zecora immediately chimes in at the state of her, approaching Fluttershy to lay a gentle hoof to the side of her head to keep her in focus. “I will be by your side every step of the way to ensure you are safe and unharmed.”

“No, no, you don’t understand —" Fluttershy pleas in desperation, nearly on the verge of hyperventilating. "I can’t go back there. I can’t— I can't— “ Fluttershy clutches her hooves to her mouth to try to suppress the hysterics from spilling out, struggling to regain control with herself.

Zecora hesitantly relinquishes her grip on the distressed mare and shuffles back towards her own locker, messing with the locks and forcing it back open with haste. When she seizes a tinted vial from the pocket of her cloak, she turns back to Fluttershy, popping the cork off and holding it up to the shaken mare.

“Easy, my dear, let's not give in to this fear. This mollifying tincture will render your mind reticent and should appease your tears.”

With a shaken sigh slipping past her lips, Fluttershy desperately accepts the vial held out to her and allows Zecora to tilt it back, pouring the contents of the vial into her mouth. With a large gulp and a sputtering cough at the sharp bitter taste, Zecora reassuringly rubs the mare’s back until she recovers from the bitter remedy.

“There you are. All will be fine.” Zecora says calmly to her, to which Fluttershy nods to, wiping her face down and sitting to catch her breath from the unexpected episode of panic. “With this concoction, you shouldn’t experience any more decline.”

“Thank you, Zecora, but… I really don’t know if I can bring myself to go back there. I don’t want to do this. I'm scared.“ Fluttershy breathes out, but Zecora stops her before she could continue.

“Do not let this fear consume you. I know you can be brave, and if you just give it time, your inner strength will accrue.” Zecora pushes back the undone strands of the mare’s messed hair and tenderly takes her by the shoulder, motherly and gentle in the way she delivers her tone. “No doubt in my mind, I believe it to be true.”

Casting her eyes downward in contemplation, Fluttershy spares a small nod of her head and sniffs, wiping away every last trace of tears from her damp face.

“...Okay.” Fluttershy whispers on a shaken breath, and after a second's worth of time, she gives another small nod as if reassuring herself that she would be fine. "Okay."

Fluttershy feels an odd warmth flooding her veins after, a lightweight feeling clouding her head rather than that of petrified heaviness. Closing her eyes for a brief moment to collect herself, she focuses on pulling in that feeling and letting it envelop her, rather than the former one of oppressive fear. The room settles quiet after that. No feeling, seeing, or hearing anything for a blissful moment.

Just then, the last remaining ponies of the cleaning crew exit the locker room, leaving just the two of them left to hurry to their designated stations.

Fluttershy casts Zecora a sincere look of gratification, her eyes slightly glistening with the panic tears that’d been shed. Settling the situation with an unspoken avowal exchanged through a mere glance, Zecora guides her from the benches and gathers the remainder of their things. And per their typical walking routine, it’s Zecora who’s the one to guide them out of the locker rooms and into the massive echoing halls.

But their walk that is usually spent talkative, is for once, spent in uncomfortable silence.

_____

Soon, they were on the periphery of Sector 13.

The corridors leading up to the sector were swarming with armed guards wavering through the halls, patrolling, casting looks of suspicion towards Fluttershy and Zecora. Upon their approach, the two heavily armored guards standing at the sector’s entryway stop them with a stern “halt”, followed by a request for their level access ID’s.

Without a word, Zecora unclips her key card from her apron and displays it for the guard to inspect. Fluttershy, however, is caught in an unmoving state. Her eyes glued to the massive vault-like entryway.

An ominous chill crawls through her spine at the sight.

“Ma’am.” One of the guards barks, startling her with a jolt to attention.

“H—Huh?” She stutters on a mere whisper, eyeing between the two intimidating stallions in full armor.

“ID.”

With Zecora’s worried gaze on her, Fluttershy gasps with an “oh” of realization and unclips her key card from her pinafore to give to the guard, to which they quickly accept, narrowly cast their gazes on for longer than she expects. She shifts nervously.

They hand it back without question.

“All clear.” The guard states, and his counterpart turns to a wall mounted access control panel, powering it into activation with magic. The panel chimes and brightly glows green, and the vault doors slowly pull apart with a heavy metallic grind, granting access to the deepest parts of the facility.

Seeking safety behind the cleaning cart, Fluttershy silently pushes the caddy through the entrance with Zecora following close at her side, watchful.

There isn’t a single word exchanged between either of them as they wander through the lengthy corridors in search of T4, where their first cleanup duty of the day is. They weren’t exactly sure what to expect. T4 was never heard of between either one of them, only having cleaned the testing labs in the past.

But when they finally arrived, T4 was… not what they expected.

It was another unassuming vault door, though a bit smaller, the tag “T4” spray painted white on the faded green metal exterior. They both spare a skeptical glance each others way, but eventually, Fluttershy gives an affirming nod as Zecora swipes her access key card through the reader. It registers instantly with a green-lit click.

The vault door begins to shift aside, emitting a noisy metallic excursion as it slowly pulls away into the walls and grants them access.

The sight beyond was especially unanticipated.

Gaze caught by the massive glass fixture in the middle of the room, Fluttershy couldn't help but stare, awestruck.

There's a strange in-ground pool in the center of the room, filled to the brim with a strange bio-luminescent cyan fluid channeling into the ground below. It glows in the dim light of the small area, basking the room in a sickly blue-greenish color. Though to the left of the pool, there's something akin to a containment vessel, but all glass, empty with nothing but the same fluids swirling about. There's even a division of metal chains keeping the whole apparatus bound in place with the concrete floor, and it baffles her what they might need all this for in the first place.

Scientists are busy bustling around, constructors clad in orange vests tinkering with the large vessel. They were seemingly on the verge of completion on the project they were operating on.

Zecora is the first to step forth into the room, mouth slightly agape at the state of the space. It was a complete mess — plastic wrap scattered all over the floor in large heaps, used towels, puddles of fluid pooling the ground. The luminescent liquid even seems to leave stains on the concrete, Fluttershy notices.

“Pardon me, what pony folk are responsible for this? The trash belongs IN the bin, you can't miss!” Zecora scoffs in disbelief as she scrapes up the plastic wrapping in a pile, turning to Fluttershy who kindly holds out the trash bin for her to toss the mess into.

“You!” Zecora hollers, aiming her hoof at the stallion in an all-white garb who was caught in the act of throwing trash on the floor from high up on a ladder. “Let me not catch you enacting such disrespect again, or you'll see my anger with the rest of them!” She shakes her hoof holding the trash at the unassuming white-clad personnel, and her stern demeanor seems to startle the working stallion in response.

“Okay, Okay! Sorry, Zecora! Yeesh.” He says, climbing down from the ladder to retrieve the large heap of plastic he had thrown down earlier to properly discard it into the trash bin.

“Have these pony folk not heard of respect?” Zecora utters in Fluttershy’s general direction, shaking her head with disapproval etched in her brows. “Were it not against regulation, I oughta —”

“Zecora!”

A voice suddenly erupts from a stallion stomping towards them, a clipboard tucked underneath his wing. Zecora recognizes the stallion as Fletching, head of security. The same stallion who reassigned them here in the first place.

“Enough with the chatter. There’s no need for any of that.” He reprimands, and Zecora gives a small nod in acknowledgement.

“Yes, sir. My apologies, I —“

“Right, right. Back to work, now. We’ve got a lot to do!” Fletching waves his hoof in the air dismissively, and Zecora averts her gaze from the others and resumes cleaning, mouth shut in obedient silence.

“Anyways,” Fletching says, clearing his throat loudly to draw everyone’s attention in the room. “Everypony, your attention, please. Small moment of your time, If I may.” He says, striding into the middle of the room to become the center of attention. The sound of construction comes to a quick halt as personnel gather around the floor, taking Fletching with full attention.

“As many of you may already know, this morning we are expecting a new team and asset here in T4.” Taking a step aside, Fletching clears the floor for a new stallion to step forward. Stern green eyes, intimidating stature, and immaculate in the pristine white lab coat he dons.

“This is Dr. Hoofstead from our analogous facility in Galleston.” Fletching takes in a breath, turning to properly address the entire room. “Now, I don’t intend to exalt or overemphasize the matter, however, this may be the most sensitive asset we have ever had the privilege of housing in this very facility. They have gone through very laborious lengths to get their hooves on a specimen this phenomenal.” Fletching emphasizes his words with a stern look cast over his glasses.

But before he could open his mouth to continue, the vault door buzzes open.

With a metallic clang that makes even Zecora flinch, Fluttershy finds herself glued to the floor, frightened into submissive quietude.

Four white-clad stallion unicorns enter the vault, escorting a massive metal vat inside. It rumbles on its wheels from the heavyweight inside, all four stallions using their magic strength to push it forth. Ponies around the room part ways to let the massive object through, the dozens of eyes unable to look away at the sight.

With some sort of morbid curiosity, even Fluttershy struggles to rip her gaze away. That is, until the clicking of hooves against the tiled ground following the vat’s entrance draws her attention.

A tall stallion in an all black suit follows behind the specimen, surveying the room with a hostile gaze.

As he comes strolling into the expanse of T4, Dr. Hoofstead approaches him in greeting, making small talk and inquiring about his trip. While it was for the most part, rudely disregarded with an uninterested “fine”, the grey stallion waves off Dr. Hoofstead and regards the room with a stern demeanor. Eyes piercing cold with judgement.

Fluttershy nervously bites the inside of her cheek. She’s never one to dislike ponies, but this one… Something about the unkind, sinister shadow in his eyes makes her blood run cold and settles an unpleasant feeling deep in her gut.

Dr. Hoofstead shakes his head in apathy and instead, takes attention to the vessel’s specimen.

“Security. Who’s security here?”

“Strickler!” Fletching calls out in answer, waving him over with a quick gesture of his hoof. “Welcome to T4, Sir. I’m Fletching, head of security. We are aware of everything, regarding… this specimen. And… oh, of course...” Fletching trails off, walking to the other side of the room to speak with Strickler in private.

Eyeing the two stallions as they stroll away, Fluttershy cautiously sweeps around the vessel, eyeing the glass paneling on the sides that seems to flow with a magical energy field. A familiar cyan fluid fills the vessel to the brim, sloshing around with the mysterious… something that resided inside. Curious, or perhaps driven by some sort of morbid interest, Fluttershy covertly pushes the dust pan aside and slowly creeps up to the vessel, once assured Zecora had her head turned away from sight.

Fluttershy quietly admires the way the bio-luminescent fluid flows against the glass, mesmerized by the motions and sounds of oxygenated gases pumping through the fluids in a consistent rhythm.

Pressing a light-as-air hoof to the cool exterior of the magical barrier over the glass, the mare curiously tilts her head to try to get a better view of what exactly was shifting around inside. The specimen from within emits a low, groan-like sound, to which she furrows her brows at in turn.

By some strange urge compelling her to investigate, the mare gently taps a hoof against the barrier.

She leans in close.

BOOM!

Startled, Fluttershy jolts backwards with a sharp gasp as a claw shoots up at the glass, viciously scratching it from the inside. Zecora, who abruptly shot her head up at the sound, comes to Fluttershy’s aid, pulling her away by the shoulder as Strickler and Fletching approach the vessel, clearly agitated.

“Are you stupid? Get them out of here!” Fletching yells, seizing the vessel by the metal bars for manual transportation. “Out, out!”

But Fluttershy doesn’t budge, even with Zecora at her side. Whatever was inside howled. It cried out, muffled by the thick fluids inside the vessel. The mare’s eyes were locked onto the creature in the vessel, despite it being blurred behind the barrier.

Confusion and worry overcomes her features, unable to move until the vessel is seized by the transporters in white and taken away. Even then, the creature inside still relentlessly howls and scratches from inside the vessel as it rolls away.

“Help me move the vessel into the suppressor, now.” She hears Fletching order, aided by the transporters in the room. “Get it over there!”

As the workers obey his order, Fletching comes rushing up to Fluttershy and Zecora and guides them out of the vault with more force than necessary, shoving them out as Zecora hastily pushes the caddy in tow.

In all the uproar, Fluttershy’s desperate attempt to catch sight of the scene unfolding from within the room is to no avail, as the vault soon closes shut right in her face. But even as the vault door gears click into a deadlock, she doesn’t move, still frozen in utter shock.

“My goodness, what is it that goes on in this place?” Zecora exclaims, hardly able to keep the hastily thrown equipment from falling off the caddy in their rush to depart. “That there is a sight I hope my mind will soon erase.”

Fluttershy, still caught in the whirlwind of it all, swallows uneasily at the threshold of the vault door, still struggling to register the sight of what she saw behind the small glass barrier.

It felt… familiar. Like she’s heard that particular howl before, in some very distant memory. Or perhaps it was familiar in the sense that she’s heard something akin to a noise like that before. Caring for animals her entire life, one tends to pick up on certain animalistic mannerisms. And the noise she heard just now wasn’t of anger — It was fright. Whatever creature resided inside the vessel wasn’t lashing out in rage.

It was defensive out of fear.

“Fluttershy, are you okay?”

There’s a brief pause, no response.

“Fluttershy, let us not delay! It's not wise to stand here all day!”

She hears Zecora speak up, and after a moment, Fluttershy idly nods in response, reluctantly stumbling away from the vault door to reconvene with her friend.

“Did you see that?” Fluttershy said, eyes wide and still struck. “What was that?”

Zecora could only shake her head with incredulous disbelief, an unknowing shrug on her shoulders in reply. But Fluttershy was still caught on the subject, disturbed and far too intrigued by the unnatural presence in that room. She’s never been that up close to one of the facility's specimens before.

No, not specimen. They had called it an asset.

Mulling over the concept as they trot down the endless white corridors, she knows Zecora has long since forgotten about the matter, but Fluttershy finds herself thinking about it regardless, unable to shake the sight out of her mind. And with a looming sense of impending danger giving her a mild chill, she feels something strange overwhelm her — some natural instinct to protect. The noise out of the vessel just wasn’t right.

There was something terribly wrong with this place.

Chapter II: The Creature

View Online

“See, Tantalus never achieved the escape of death. Because the fruit on the branches were just always out of reach, ever eluding his grasp. And the water in the stream receded every time he stooped down to drink. So that’s why we say things today, like…”

Miles pauses to let out a wistful sigh as he stares off into the distance.

“Just look at that tantalizing—“

Fluttershy abruptly interrupts by clearing her throat in mild embarrassment, hiding her face behind the tea cup in her grasp.

“What?” Miles deadpans, feigning a clueless act of innocence — his eyes still gazing ahead at the figure working behind the espresso bar locked in conversation with a blonde mare.

“Well, a thousand pardons if I don’t find it wrong of me to admire one’s eye-catching aesthetics from a distance. A stallion can admire whomever he pleases, can’t he?” He scoffs into his cup of coffee.

Fluttershy meekly shrugs her shoulders and slightly nods in simple reply with a brief raise of her brows, occupied with the task of taking sips from her tea in silence. But Miles was restless, still nursing his coffee and spewing odd remarks here and there in his odd moment of neurasthenia.

Nervousness creases his brows as he seemingly mulls over his thoughts in silence, his hindleg restlessly bouncing up and down underneath the table.

Then —

“I’m going over there.” He suddenly says.

Fluttershy practically sputters into her cup. She immediately whips up a napkin from the table to press to her mouth and shoots a confused look at him, but she’s barely able to spare a word before Miles is already out of the booth, heading over to the bar.

Worrying her bottom lip, Fluttershy throws back the rest of her cooled tea in one swig and abandons their table to reconvene with him at the bar, where Miles has taken occupancy in a seat in his own company. Fluttershy quietly slides onto the stool beside his own, exchanging a fleeting look of hesitation, but Miles simply inhales proudly in response and politely clears his throat, straightening up when a familiar voice pipes up cheerfully from behind the mahogany counter.

“Welcome to The Espresso Room, glad ta’—” The barista whisks around to greet Miles, but stills the second their gazes meet. “Hold on, you look a might familiar. I’ve seen you here before, haven’t I?”

“Ah, well you see—“ Miles starts, trying arduously to suppress every socially awkward tendency he felt rising to the surface.

“You’re the one who always orders the uh, the fruitcakes, right?”

Miles gives a small timid chuckle at the remark and slightly nods his head, averting his crinkled eyes down at the wooden bar table instead.

“Yeah, that’s me. I come here quite often — my good friend here, not so much. She’s more of a tea enthusiast.” Miles rests a hoof on Fluttershy’s shoulder in a weak attempt to coax her into the conversation, but she only smiles shyly, gives the barista a small wave and averts her gaze at the artwork on the walls in distraction.

“Sorry, she’s a little shy.” Miles adds, casting her a side glance. “But this gal here — she’s my partner in crime.”

“Ah, I see.” The comment earns a chuckle from the barista and an acknowledging nod of his head. “Pleasant to meet you, dear. It’s good ta’ have the both of y’all here. The name’s Cider Tart, by the way. Pleasure to officially meet you, sir.” Cider extends his hoof out in a mindful manner, and Miles practically overflows with joy as he accepts the hoof shake, trying to refrain from being too over enthusiastic with it.

“Sir? Oh please, no need with the formalities.” A warm laugh escapes Miles as he parts from the touch, waving a hoof dismissively in the air. “Muse Silverdrop, but you can call me Miles.”

“Oh, of course. Will do, Miles.” Cider gives a small nod of his head with that same charming smile etched into his demeanor, and Miles couldn’t help but let out a small exhale at the sight of his features lit up by the early morning sunrise flooding in through the windows. Even Fluttershy seems to pick up on Miles’s moment of unmistakable infatuation, that she hides her face behind her hair to direct her playful tease of a smile in his direction, to which Miles sees and reacts with a poorly restrained blush and a discreet nudge of her hind leg underneath the table to get her to quit it.

This only made Fluttershy grin wider.

However, in an effort to keep Cider’s interest and evade Fluttershy’s teasing gaze, Miles hones his attention back to the bar instead, tucking his hoof underneath his chin to lean in closer to the bar in a display of interest.

“So... Cider Tart, huh?” Miles regards questioningly in a manner of playful intention. Cider lets out a small, charming laugh as he tilts his head to the side in a partially shy nod.

“Yeah, I know. What’s a pony with a pastry cutie mark doing in a coffee shop? Well, what I lack in coffee expertise, I make up with whipping up one helluva’ pastry. It helps the business, y’know. The apple turnovers are my specialty here, but I dabble.” Cider cracks a smile as he gestures a hoof at the espresso machines behind him, and Miles nods his head in acknowledgement with a smile just as wide to match his.

“So, anyways, what can I get y’all today? The house special?” Cider grins with all teeth and dimples, thick on his country accent. Even the way his thick curly brown hair curls over his forehead, bringing out the vibrant emerald of his eyes is charming and so tantalizing, Miles thinks to himself.

Miles doesn’t even think to say anything in response — so caught up in his infatuation that he doesn’t snap back to reality until Fluttershy firmly nudges his leg underneath the bar to redirect his attention to the question left unanswered.

Miles nervously clears his throat, trying to play it off with a bashful laugh.

“Ah, ahem, no sorry — I’ll just have the usual. Two to go this time, please.” Miles briefly turns his head towards Fluttershy, wearing a bright smile. “Can’t go wrong with a classic.”

“Right ya’ are.” Cider says with a gentle huff of laughter and nods, turning quick on his hooves to fetch a brown takeout bag. “Two fruitcakes, comin’ right up.”

Fluttershy could only watch from the sidelines in silence, casting Miles what is clearly a very confused glance. He leans down to her side, whispering to her a hasty “just go along with it, for me”. And if it was for the sake of her friend, well... There was nothing else she could really do but cooperate for his own sake.

“It’s ah, a little indulgence of mine.” Miles starts up again, leaning over the bar table to address the stallion. “Can’t possibly be good for me in the long term — what with my sweet tooth and all. But you can never really cut it out these days, y’know?” He chuckles lightly, the small spark of a conversation giving him a little glimmer of hope.

But Fluttershy wanted nothing more than to lay her head on the wooden table in defeat. What was he trying to do — bore him to death? She couldn’t stand to listen to much of the conversation out of sheer embarrassment — not that she would’ve been any better in a similar confrontation, though that didn’t mean it was any less painful to have to listen to her friend struggle though it while sitting in her little corner of quietude. So much so, that she eventually finds herself fumbling with the folded napkins as a distraction instead, trying to tune out the sounds of Miles’s blundering amiability.

“It’s a mighty fine indulgence, indeed.” Cider replies, neatly folding over the top ends of the bag to fold over and scoot over to Miles. “Quite unlike any other, if I say so myself.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly agree more.” Miles says gently, making eye contact with the barista for a little longer than he anticipates, and Miles abruptly clears his throat when Cider stares expectantly, starting to shift his features into a slightly more confused one.

“The — The cakes, I mean. A very fine indulgence, yes. Indeed.” Miles plays it off with a breathy laugh as he slides the brown takeout bag to his side of the table, glancing over to Fluttershy to signal it was time for their departure. She couldn’t look any more eager as she slides down from her bar stool, already making her way to the front door.

“Hey,” Cider suddenly pipes up, and Miles whips his head back around to attention with a slight curious quirk of his brow. “I put a little something extra in there for you two. On the house.”

“Oh,” Miles sighed out with a delighted raise of his brows, a trace of genuine gratefulness shifting his features. “You shouldn’t have. Goodness — you’re too kind.”

“Nonsense.” Cider waves it off nonchalantly. “It’s a new recipe I’ve been workin’ on, figured I’d let you have the honor of taste testing it for me.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to report back with my findings.” Miles coolly salutes in acknowledgement, however just before he could get himself wrapped up in another conversation, Fluttershy takes him by the hoof and urges him out of his seat. Indolently leaving his spot with a small grumble and an “okay, okay, we’re going now,'' Fluttershy spares a polite smile at Cider before gently coaxing Miles towards the diner door with a slight tug.

Miles bids him a chaste farewell, and Cider reciprocates with a small wave of his hoof in return.

“Y’all come back now, ya hear?”

_____

A heavy sigh carries through the room.

“Do you think he really meant it?” Miles says out of the blue, poorly-restrained worry dripping from his tone.

Fluttershy glances over at him from her hardly-eaten slice of fruitcake, partially clueless to what he meant.

“Y’all come back now…”

She raises her head in a moment of understanding to what he meant, but finds herself struggling to come up with some kind of pragmatic response. But Miles starts again before she could even construct one good enough.

“He noticed me.” Miles says, staring down at the fruitcake on his plate with a gleam in his eye as if it were the most precious thing in the world. “Like — really noticed me this time. You saw it too, right?”

Fluttershy nods gingerly as she pokes at her fruitcake in disinterest.

“Still, that did not go nearly as well as I’d hoped it would.”

Fluttershy takes in a slight breath fully intending to second that claim, though instead, scrunches up her face at the awkward taste on her tongue from the fruitcake on her plate. Miles notices this right off the bat and can’t help but let out an amused chuckle at the sight.

“What? Is the taste too much? You don’t have to finish it if you don’t like it.”

At that admission, Fluttershy politely pushes the plate away on the coffee table and takes a napkin to try to discreetly spit out the remains in her mouth, turning away to at least try to spare Miles the shame of it. But all he does is snicker amusingly.

“Well, since my refined tastes clearly don’t agree with your taste buds, should we try... the mystery pastry?” Miles comically pauses for dramatic effect, passing her half a slice of a turnover wrapped neatly in brown wax paper. She accepts it with a grateful smile and a hum of admiration, the scent of freshly baked pastries wafting through the small apartment air immediately lifting her spirits.

“Cheers.” They playfully tap their slices together before taking a bite. Almost immediately, their eyes widen in astonishment at the piquancy of flavor that burst across their taste buds.

“Wow.”

A moment of awe passes before they turn to glance at one another and right away, they bubble up with laughter and exchange contended hums of approval, hardly sparing any words as they indulged on their pastry’s abysmal sweetness.

“Ah, well.” Miles starts, sighing happily as he finishes off his half of the pastry. “At least we got something out of this whole mess, right?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t call it a complete mess.” Fluttershy answers gently, crumpling up the wax paper and discarding it on the coffee table near his. “He did smile back at you, even though your conversation was, um… maybe a little lackluster in some parts.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Or a lot of parts.”

“Gee, thanks.” Miles says flatly, slightly furrowing his brows at her but playing it off with a growing smile. Fluttershy counters with a shrug and her own demure smile, leaning back quietly into the couch cushions.

“I see how it is.” Miles playfully retorts, scoffing into his other plate of now-crumbled fruitcake. “I try to get somepony to like me, and that’s mystifying. And what about you?”

Fluttershy slightly quirks her brow in confusion, turning her gaze to Miles.

“You think I haven’t noticed?” Miles gently bumps his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, practically staring her down with that analytical gaze she knew of him well. That look Fluttershy knows she’s about to receive a lecturing in. But she merely sits still in silence, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone and turns tense with being tossed under the spotlight suddenly.

“You’ve been acting real strange lately. You’ve barely even spoken a word today. I know you’re naturally quiet, I get that, but this — this isn’t really like you.” Miles tenses his brows, tilting his head at her. But Fluttershy instinctively dips her head down with chagrin, purposefully avoiding eye contact with Miles.

“And It’s clearly more serious than fruitcakes, I can tell.” Miles’s voice dips softer in tone, and worry is clear on his face. “Is someone bothering you? Did something bad happen?” His tone of voice instinctively lowers in caution.

Right away, Fluttershy quickly shakes her head in denial and habitually fidgets with her mane.

“No, no. It’s — It’s nothing like that. It’s just — ” She stutters over her words, pausing briefly to take a reposing breath to ease her nerves before continuing. “I didn’t want you to worry about me.”

An incredulous scoff breaks the silence.

“Never mind me. Look at you, Dear.” Miles implores, worry ravaging his tone. “You look like you haven’t slept in millennia. I notice you don’t even smile as much as you used to. It’s like you’re… retreating back into your old self again. I can tell you’re hiding something like you’re scared to death of it. This isn’t like you.” He emphasizes his point by pressing a hoof to his chest, his bright eyes crestfallen. “This isn’t the you I know.”

A heavy sigh slips past her, and she swears she could feel her heart crumble.

“I’m sorry.” Is all Fluttershy musters, resulting in a defeated silence from Miles. But she takes an unsteady breath, hesitating with the words struggling to come out of her. Unsure of how to explain anything.

“It’s, um…” She starts, her grip unconsciously tightening into her mane. “It’s been these bad dreams. They’ve been keeping me up at night — I haven’t really slept.”

Miles’s ears flicker with interest, his brows rising slightly as he turns his head over to her.

“You’ve been having nightmares? For how long?”

Fluttershy nods and swallows, visibly tense just talking about it.

“For a while now.” Her voice shifts into a whisper, hiding her face away. “I can’t even begin to tell you what they are because I— I don’t even know what it is myself.” Her chest rises and falls with heavy sighs, feeling a tingle creep through her head with just trying to recall details of the nightmare. It makes her temples ache with a familiar pang.

“But It’s always the same. Every night.“ Her grip slowly falters from her hair, and she rests her hooves in her lap, staring down at them.

“I think It’s because I saw something I shouldn’t have at work.” She confesses, her tone of voice tensive. “In sector thirteen. I was assigned to clean the testing labs a couple weeks ago, but I heard them in the other room with something, and I heard… Oh, I heard the most awful noise. I think they were torturing a creature.”

Miles looks taken aback at her confession, mouth slightly parted, though quiet in waiting until Fluttershy comes to a short halt in her story to reflect in mild distress.

“Are you serious? What did you do?”

“I tried to see what was happening and I saw something. I don’t know what it was — I could only make out the shadows on the wall at first, but it saw me and looked at me with — with these piercing red eyes. I was so scared, I ran. But ever since then...” Fluttershy suddenly trails off, looking down into her hooves without another word to say next. Her mouth closes, and her tense shoulders sag.

“That’s when the nightmares started.” Miles finishes the sentence for her, putting the pieces of the puzzle together on his own.

“And they won’t stop.” The rosy mare says wearily, fidgeting with the feathers on her wings and mindlessly brushing them out as they talk.

“I’ve worked there for a long time, Miles. It’s a thankless, terrible job, but I need the wages.” Fluttershy sighs as her voice wavers. “But I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this. It’s gotten so bad, I’m having nightmares. I’ve never felt like this before.” Fluttershy lets her shoulders drop, and her voice raises an unusual octave higher, heated with worn out frustration consuming her frazzled nerves. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve made a huge mistake working here.”

A sigh slips from Miles in a wave of sympathy, his eyes wrought with heartache as she pours her heart out.

“Tell me—” She pleads, though pausing as if she were unsure of the words of the words that came from her. “Miles, what do I do?”

Miles hesitates, mouth parted in an incredulous manner but also with an indecisive answer stuck on his tongue.

“This is... My dear, I don’t...” Miles starts in uncertainty, his gaze stuck to the floor as he wracks his mind for some sort of resolve. But eventually, he winds up turning his gaze back to Fluttershy, reaching out for her hoof to give it a reassuring squeeze as he scoots closer to her, seeking her attention.

“I can’t tell you anything that will be worthwhile.” Miles confesses, but adds on posthaste. “As far as any real advice goes. But you know — when I was going through the exact same thing you’re going through right now, do you know how many times I wanted to throw in the towel and call it quits, but didn’t?”

Fluttershy furrows her brows, giving a terse shake of her head.

“Many times.” Miles shakes his head in ponderment. “Many times. There were so many days I spent wanting nothing more than to just run and hide and never look back. But I didn't, because eventually, you realize you can't just run away from your problems and expect them to disappear. That's the burden of the truth. You have to recognize the difference between wanting to give up and being fed up, though. And you know what I see?”

Fluttershy slightly shifts her brows in revelation, and Miles reaches out to extend a hoof for her to draw near. At first, she only casts it a side-glance, but eventually accepts the offer without complaint.

“I see somepony who's fed up and upset over the institute's transgressions. That's completely justified. Doesn't necessarily mean you want to give up, right? I can tell. Deep down, you know you don't want to."

Tugging her forward gently, Miles envelopes her in a hug, easing her head against his chest. She wordlessly accepts the embrace, settling in with a sigh.

“You’re a clever, clever girl.” Miles starts, uttering sincerities with that same fatherly worry written on his face. “You still have your youth — you’re so full of potential. Don’t let this world ruin such a beautiful thing.” He gently strokes a hoof through her rosy hair, then gives a small nudge of her shoulder to get her to sit up momentarily.

Fluttershy does, albeit reluctantly, and Miles could hardly restrain a small sigh at the disheveled sight of her. After a bit of silence, he even makes an effort to preen her messy mane out of her face as he carries on.

“You know, if I were young like you again, you know what I would tell myself?”

“What?” Fluttershy asks softly with piqued interest.

"Don't ever underestimate yourself. Always listen to your gut. Trust your instincts. I promise you, it will never lead you down the wrong path. But most importantly, listen to this: Don't take anypony's bullshit — I mean it, take it from an old stallion like me. I’ll tell you, in the end, it’s worth it.” Miles says with an exaggerated wave of his hoof, and he doesn’t expect the small laugh that bubbles up in Fluttershy’s throat. The small sound from her makes his heart want to burst with joy, but he carries on nonetheless.

"I'm not here to tell you how to live your life, but I will help you get through it. You're not crazy for having these nightmares, you know. You have such a soft spot for creatures and I think that's a wonderful trait, but it could easily become your downfall. You can't always save them all, my dear. You mustn't let it consume you." Miles rests a hoof upon her cheek, giving a tender tap in gentle reassurance in wake of the woeful expression changing her demeanor.

"You'll pull through this. I know you will. You really are stronger than you think you are. I mean, just look at how far you’ve carried all of this weight on your shoulders. Four years? I’ve known stallions who couldn’t put up a day of what you do. That’s the main difference between them and you — your strength of mind is unmatchable. It’s fucking incredible.” He says, amused to see the look of surprise on Fluttershy's face at his choice of words, and oh how he wanted nothing more than to be assured she would never become anything different than this.

“Pardon my language, but you know I’m right, don’t you? Of course you do. You’re Fluttershy. The most remarkable mare I’ve ever met in my lifetime, and I hope you never get tired of hearing that because I fully intent to tirelessly remind you of the fact. But I meant what I said, my dear."

Fluttershy tenses her brow in thoughtful ponderment, fidgeting with the locks of rosy mane in her grasp in quiet fretfulness.

“If there’s one thing you should do, you know what that is?”

“What?” She perks up, finally breaking her gaze away from her mane to cast them upward at Miles in wholehearted interest in what he has to say.

A proud smile crosses Miles’s face at that tiny glimmer of light anew in her bright blue eyes.

“You, my dear, fight like hell.”

_____

RING

A hoof slams over a blaring alarm clock, and Fluttershy sighs herself out of bed.

The stove boils hot water.

The bath runs warm water.

The animals are fed.

The calendar is changed.

Fluttershy flips over the small paper to read the quote of the day as part of her daily routine. Though this time, it stirs a cognizant smile from her.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY

Study the past if you would divine the future.

_____

“You two would not believe the day I’ve had.”

As Fluttershy’s soiled mop sweeps over the surface of the glistening bathroom tiled floor, the mare keeps her head down as a scientist walks up behind her and Zecora from the bathroom entrance with a clipboard in his grasp. She’s not sure who it is, and frankly, she's too nervous to glance behind the fallen locks of her mane occluding her vision to find out.

“And it’s only the crack of dawn. Crazy, ain’t it?” He comments idly as he washes his hooves in the sinks, smearing something inky-black all over the silver faucet without care. And Fluttershy swears she sees him purposefully drag it all over the clean counter surface too, pretending not to notice as he reaches for the towel left there to dry his hooves on.

The mare’s eyes just slightly widen and budding frustration flickers in her chest. She clenches her jaw and looks away, scrubbing the floors just a little harder.

She knows she can’t say anything.

“Sure is somethin’, huh.” The scientist mutters under his breath as he cracks a grin at the two mares, haphazardly tossing the used towel back on the counter.

“Oh, my bad. You’ll clean that up, wontcha?” The scientists cracks a condescending smile before sauntering out the door. And once he’s out of ear-shot, Zecora is the one to huff loudly in disapproval, matching Fluttershy’s same level of unspoken frustration.

And once Fluttershy draws near the counter — once sparkling clean, now a soiled mess — Zecora shakes her head in disapproval as she throws the soiled towels in the caddy bin.

“The greatest minds of a generation with no manners.” Zecora utters under her breath and snatches up a rag from the caddy to help clean up the mess. “At least for some of us, having a little common courtesy does matter.”

Fluttershy reacts with a nod and a light scoff as she gets to work on the counters, switching the sink on and wiping the viscous black fluid down the drain. What is this stuff, anyways?

She furrows her brow as she scrubs it down.

In the silence of the room, Zecora makes small talk in normality, exchanging life stories and jokes with one another to pass the time. Fluttershy spares her idle speculative comments here and there, her occasional small chuckles turning into laughter when Zecora recalls something especially entertaining.

With the counters fresh and new, Fluttershy begins to replace the soiled towels one by one until the sound of the bathroom door opening again catches her attention. This time she glances over, and the pleasant smile on her face vanishes, the laughter immediately dying in her throat.

Zecora awkwardly trails off in her laughter as well, clearing her throat politely in acknowledgement of a familiar stallions presence.

“Mr. Strickler. Excuse us—“

“Oh, no, don’t let me interrupt. You ladies seem to be chatting enjoyably.” Strickler says plainly, hardly any trace of hostile intention in his voice, however still ever so visually intimidating. “Don’t mind me.” He insists, waving a hoof in the air dismissively. “Carry on with your girl talk.”

His polished hooves click and echo against the tile as he wanders over to the sinks, relinquishing his hold of a strange black apparatus to set on the edge of the counter.

There’s a silver glimmer of light that shines in Fluttershy’s vision as she moves closer to the object, her eyes glued to the object in morbid curiosity as she moves close to restock the sinks with clean towels.

”Look. Don’t touch.” Strickler suddenly says as he washes his hooves, and Fluttershy instinctively tenses up at the sound of his tone of voice and immediately moves away when she wanders a little too close for his liking.

Heart pounding much too hard in her chest, Fluttershy re-assumes her spot near Zecora, the small towels in her grasp pressed to her chest insecurely.

After Strickler is done drying the water off his hooves, he steps into one of the stalls, but carries on talking regardless. It makes the entire exchange even more uncomfortable.

“That lovely thing right there is Calfabana-made. Hand crafted molded rubber grip, low-current, high voltage shock picana prod.” The words roll right off his tongue without hesitation or a single pause, clearly proud of this so-called “thing of beauty”.

“The name is Strickler. Security.” He says just as the stall door opens. Pulling a small carton of candies out from the pocket of his black coat with his magic, he steps to the sinks to glance at himself in the mirror, tilting his head back and forth from side to side to acclaim his appearance. A neat and short comb-over mane, black as coal and immaculate, not a single hair seemingly out of place. His light grey complexion intensifying the vivid golden hue of his irises. Lifting a hoof to spruce up his slicked back hair and flattening the strays around the base of his horn, he gives a contented hum. But just before he pulls away from the counter, he catches Fluttershy’s gaze through the mirror, making accidental eye contact.

Fluttershy quickly looks away in silence when she’s caught. Instead, staring down at the towels in her tight grasp.

Strickler slightly shakes his head as he casually pops a candy into his mouth, still staring at her reflection in the mirror. “Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” He says through a half-hearted smirk.

Fixing his gaze on the cattle prod, he snatches the wand off the counter and slides it back into the Velcro holster strapped to his waist before sauntering off towards the doors. But just before he departs, he turns around, sparing a slight farewell wave.

“You ladies have a nice day now.” Strickler says, obviously feigning a real smile.

And just like that, he’s gone.

Fluttershy’s shoulders fall as she lets out the breath she didn’t even know she was holding, easing her tense hold on the towels pressed tight to her chest. She glances over at Zecora, who is clearly just as disturbed from the unexpected encounter. They exchange brief exasperated glances before going back to the task at hoof, though the air between them this time is tensely quiet.

Zecora gestures at the counters for Fluttershy to hurriedly tidy up, and the mare does so obediently in her silence. But as Fluttershy reaches out to set a fresh towel on the edge of the sink, something glistening catches her eye.

Blood.

_____

The sound of a wet mop sloshing against the tile ground disrupts the quietude in the halls — an eerie silence casting over Sector 13 as the scientists had long since dispersed to their duties in the laboratories and gone on their lunch breaks. Only the occasional on-duty guard briskly passes by to monitor the corridors, but even then, they didn't spare any passing chit chat.

As the afternoon lull dawns on them, Fluttershy sweeps and mops in silence, her mind completely disconnected from the menial task as she moves on autopilot. Instead, razing over swarming thoughts. As is Zecora — who's occupied with scrubbing a stubborn oil stain on the ground while lost in her own mind. Despite the silence, neither of them talked, still trying to contend their disconcerted nerves from the unexpected encounter with Strickler earlier.

Leaning herself against the stick of the broom, Fluttershy sweeps the back of her hoof across her forehead to dry the sheen of sweat forming on her temples from the laborious work on her haunches. Turning to face Zecora, she spares a modestly relieved smile.

“I’m finished.” Her voice comes purposefully gentle, as to not disturb the placid quietude of her friend’s own work. This gauges her attention and Zecora lets out a satisfied hum.

“Alright my dear, I’m just about done here. We should grab some lunch now, yes?” Zecora says, leaning back on her hind legs to glance up at Fluttershy with a reciprocating smile. “I think we’ve earned the right to some rest.”

Softly giggling behind the broom to which Zecora spares her own airy laughter, Fluttershy steps over to the caddy to shelf her cleaning supplies, hearing her friend rise with a small grunt and toss her own scrub brush into an empty bucket. But their exchange of smiles and laughter were fleeting.

Instead, replaced with sudden fright.

A conspicuous noise interrupts their moment of palaver — something sounding suspiciously like a gunshot echoes through the halls. It startles them from their stupors with a jolt, their eyes drawing towards one another with confusion and fear etched into their faces. Though before Zecora could get a word out, the facility gives a sudden tremble beneath them, drawing a frightened gasp from Fluttershy.

Even the fluorescent hallway lights momentarily fail, flickering in and out from a strange power fluctuation that leaves them temporarily stranded in the tenebrous dark before the lights are able to kick back on.

Fluttershy finds herself trembling where she stands, feeling her throat clamp up with that familiar creeping of anxiety. Struggling to formulate a sentence in the presence of fear, she's cut short when she hears a shrill scream emanate from down the hall.

She instinctively drops the broom from her grasp and rushes to Zecora in fright — who winds up standing in front of her as a line of protection. As they peer down the hall together in curious regard, their question as to the source of the quandary eventually answers itself.

The scream had come from T4.

Fluttershy flinches in alarm as the vault door opens with a loud clamor, a blare of emergency alarms basking the hallway in an ominous red tone. A figure slowly emerges from the doorway, limping and stumbling into the middle of the hall — and until the odd figure stepped into the light, everything came into full clarity.

It was Strickler.

The arm of his suit coat had been violently ripped apart, three deep claw wounds slicing his left forearm wide open. Blood spurs down his uninjured arm in rivulets as he grips tight at the wound, trying to staunch the bleeding with pressure, but it was to no avail. His once cold, intimidating eyes were wide with shock, donning a thousand yard stare.

As Strickler unsteadily emerges from the shadows of the hall and into the overhead light, there's a rough, ragged fracture where his horn used to be.

Losing the strength in his back legs, Strickler collapses in the middle of the hallway right before their eyes, unable to keep himself upright any longer. That’s when Fletching comes rushing out from inside T4 to hurriedly drop at Strickler’s side, his face as pale as a ghost as Strickler’s blood trickles and smears against his white lab coat.

“Help!!” Fletching shouts, frantic over the clamor of alarms going off. “We need help! He’s bleeding out!”

As a plethora of armed guards come hurriedly marching forth, a team of medical staff in their trail, Zecora backs away and urges Fluttershy with her — who is cowering wide-eyed, face just as pale as Fletching's.

“Don’t look, don’t look.“ Zecora whispers to Fluttershy with unease as she tugs on her pinafore, trying to draw her away from the sight. Eventually, Fluttershy gives in to Zecora’s insistence and she tears her gaze away from T4, following Zecora’s leave as she hastily rolls the caddy in tow down the hall in the opposite direction.

With alarms blaring and whistles blowing in a state of ubiquary panic, they hurriedly flee the scene with their hearts racing in their chests.

____

“In all my years, I have never seen anything like it.” Zecora reflects in a hushed tone, leaning in close to Fluttershy to avoid eavesdroppers from listening in. “What do you suppose it was? Surely no ordinary pony could have been the cause.” She speculates in idle conversation.

“I— I don’t know.” Fluttershy shakes her head and shrugs unknowingly, reflexively stroking the stray locks of her light pink mane. “That was a lot of… you know. Do you think he…” Fluttershy trails off, letting the unspoken implication speak for itself.

Zecora catches on fairly quick to the mare’s connotation and looks down at her lunch, picking at her food with her lapsing appetite.

“With a traumatic injury of that nature sustained, there’s no second guessing the fact that he must be extremely pained.” Zecora notes, giving a slight tilt of her head in thought. “However to answer your question, yes.” She adds, discussing the situation in a hushed whisper. “He’ll survive, albeit under severe duress.”

Fluttershy nods in acknowledgement of Zecora’s claim, but her mind is still reeling with thoughts, theories, and questions.

“Hey Zecora,” Fluttershy suddenly pipes in, brows slightly furrowed together. “You don’t think—”

“Hey! You two!”

Fluttershy and Zecora perk up and instinctively whip around at the loud voice calling across the span of the cafeteria, only to meet the sight of a familiar stallion running up to them in a hurry — Mr. Fletching, with glasses askew and blue mane a mess.

Zecora is the first to rise to attentiveness, her concerned features casting attention to the seemingly frazzled stallion. He approaches them practically out of breath, eyes only sparing the cleaning mare’s a second’s worth of a glance before his gaze immediately darts back behind him in what seemed like a matter of most pressing importance.

Fluttershy, although quiet from where she sits, is keenly aware of this and swallows fearfully.

“I need both of you to come with me right now.” Fletching demands, waving a hoof at the both of them in a gesture for them to follow immediately.

“Now?” Zecora presses in confusion. “Sir, no disrespect, but it’s the middle of our lunch — we’ve barely ate! This could not possibly wait?”

“No, It’s urgent. There’s nopony else available in the sector. Just come with me— Now, please.” Fletching insists with hardly a tinge of tolerance in his tone, clearly not willing to put up with any more than he already had on his plate.

Without question, Zecora lamentably abandons her cafeteria lunch and urges Fluttershy to rise from her seat with a hasty wave of her hoof, a look of indignation portrayed across Zecora’s demeanor. Though Fluttershy knows it isn't directed at her, she still rises from her seat quietly and assumes her usual spot at her friend's side in compliance, not wanting to put up any more of a hassle for either one of them.

“Come. The sooner we go, the quicker we’ll be done.” Zecora presses unenthusiastically, already making her way out of the cafeteria in haste.

By then, Fletching is already halfway down the hall before they have to sprint to catch up with him.

_____

On the periphery of the vault's entrance, the stench of blood is unmistakable.

Fluttershy is keen to keep her eyes down-turned elsewhere, avoiding the lurid sight of Strickler’s freshly smeared blood trail on the floor. Even the smell of it was fetid — the hallway air heavy with the stench of a strange conglomerate of blood and mysterious fluids. Even Zecora was no less unaffected — seen scrunching her nose up in revulsion. Despite neither of them saying a word, they were both undoubtedly thinking the same thing.

Fletching wastes no time in handling the whole ordeal, extremely careful to avoid the mess on the ground by standing on the tips of his hooves as he hastily reopens the vault door with a firm swipe of his key card. When the vault door pulls apart for reentry, the blood trail could be visibly seen continuing into the center of the room.

Fluttershy winces at the sheer amount of it, going slightly weak at the knees in dread of the task to render it spotless. While she’s cleaned her fair share of questionable spills since working here — including that of some rather obscure fluids — never has she ever seen anything quite like this.

“You two have twenty minute to clean this up. I want it pristine. Spotless.” Fletching says demandingly, and as he glances down at the sheer mess of blood, even his face wrenches up in utter disgust.

“Jeez.” He idly mutters under his breath as he turns away, pulling a handkerchief from his lab coat pocket to press against his nose to staunch the smell. “When I come back, I want all of this gone.” Fletching wildly gestures his hoof across the expanse of the floor, and on his way out, yells over his shoulder without sparing a parting glance at all. “Twenty minutes!”

“Yes, sir.” Zecora says in response, though it earns nothing but a dismissive wave by Fletching in return. He disappears around the corner in seconds without another word.

Left to tend to the mess, Zecora wordlessly pushes in the cleaning caddy with a frazzled exhale, fetching the cleaning buckets from the bottom compartment to fill with clean water. But when she turns to address Fluttershy’s task, she stills.

Fluttershy is frozen in place, standing statuesque still at the brink of the massive vessel in the room, eyes fixated on the bioluminescent fluid's swirl and flow, small bubbles rising to the top from the oxygen exchange mingling with a strange effervesce of magic. Even the vessel itself seems to buzz with energy, giving off a consistent background hum from the generators they're all connected to.

But that wasn’t really what her attention was drawn to.

Fluttershy finds herself gazing into the wide open tank built into the ground, exposed and accessible to where she could touch the mysterious fluids. Tempting her, beckoning.

“Fluttershy?”

Caught up in her daze, Fluttershy doesn't respond or acknowledge the voice behind her at all.

Something draws her near — something indecipherably enticing, a strong invitation luring her in. She tries to wade through the deluge of muddled whispers fading in and out of her subconscious, trying to grab onto the vestige of the call that just feels familiar. But just as she would come close to taking hold, it would slip out from under her grasp.

Such a familiar call, she swears she’s heard it before...

The waters were too murky for her to see very far into, and Fluttershy is left feeling more addled and confused now more than ever when her reverie is harshly severed by the grounding sensation of a hoof on her shoulder, pulling her back to attention with a start.

”—Fluttershy! Are you alright?”

Turning to Zecora in haste, Fluttershy blinks, shaking off the odd feeling wracking her nerves.

“Y—Yes. Sorry.” She stutters, habitually messing with her hair to push away at the stray strands occluding her vision. “Um, I was just—” She fumbles over her words, gesturing a hoof at the vessel to imply she'd been observing.

“Is that all? You appeared to be in somewhat of a fright.” Zecora’s tone is questioning, skeptical. Fluttershy stands by her answer and merely shakes her head, trying to look anywhere else but the blood smear in the middle of the room.

“No, I’m— I’m fine.” Fluttershy says quietly, averting her gaze elsewhere to avoid confrontation.

“In that case, come help me fill these buckets with water, will you? We have much to do.”

Fluttershy nods in complaisance as she makes her way towards the built-in water line near the entrance, grabbing the bucket handle in between her teeth and dropping it down right underneath the spigot. Twisting the faucet and letting it fill with water, she idly watches the water swirl and slosh around inside, her mind still reeling with the all-encompassing feeling of discomfiture.

The confounding haze lingering inside her head leaves her struggling to grasp onto her own string of thoughts as she absently gazes into the bucket of water, the buzz of phantom whispers in her head making it hard to focus on anything else but them. It felt intrusive — as if a figment of some delusion was trying to breach the expanse of her subconscious. It makes her temples ache with a dull pain, unable to shake the unsettling feeling from her cognizance.

She doesn’t realize the water begins to overflow until it starts splashing at the ground, drenching her hooves.

Startled back to reality, Fluttershy hastily twists the spigot shut and shakes off the excess water from her hooves, glancing over at Zecora to make sure she hadn’t seen the small mishap. Gone unseen — the other occupied with the task of pulling over her own caddy of supplies to the other side of the room — Fluttershy lifts the bucket by the handle between her teeth, grunting by the weight of it as she strides over to the center of the room and dumps it over the smeared mess of blood.

It washes away immediately, swirling and dissipating into the grid drains channeling into the floors. The miasma of a metallic sting and decrepit dampness immerses the room after the wash, basking the vault in a strange camphoraceous musk that leaves Fluttershy wrinkling her nose up in distaste.

But then something catches in the corner of her periphery, glistening from the water.

Setting the bucket down, Fluttershy carefully traverses across the damp floor to inspect the obscure object. She furrows her brows at the familiar apparatus strewn carelessly on the floor near the ground tank, recognizing it as the cattle prod she saw Strickler with earlier in the bathroom.

Phased with apprehension, though more in disgust at the unidentified black tar-like fluid staining the tip of the prods, Fluttershy handles the cattle prod by gently kicking it across the floor to the other side of the room in repulsion, wiping her hoof off on her apron and refusing to give it another glance after that.

Retrieving the discarded bucket, Fluttershy makes her way back to the waterline in silence when she suddenly hears a shrill yelp come from Zecora, followed by a clatter of the broomstick against the tile floor.

Fluttershy immediately drops the bucket from her grip and whips around to Zecora, her eyes wide with fright and concern.

“What? What is it? Are you alright?” The words frantically rush out of Fluttershy, already making her way over. But Zecora suddenly outstretches her arm at her, urging her to stop in her tracks.

“Don’t come near! Mungu wangu.” Zecora raises her voice — even resorts to her mother tongue out of sheer horror, her eyes shifting between the spot on the floor and Fluttershy’s disconcerted gaze. “Fetch me a container, a bag, anything will do.”

Fluttershy, albeit confused, turns to the caddy near the front entrance to rummage around for something to use as a receptacle. Eventually, she finds an empty brown lunch bag still tucked away inside one of the drawers and decides it'll do, rushing over to Zecora as close as she could get with the bag between her teeth. But when she draws near enough, she’s able to see what Zecora was so aghast by. Her eyes widen right away and she nearly runs off right then and there.

The severed piece of Strickler’s horn.

Feeling sick to her stomach, Fluttershy hands the bag over to Zecora and turns away at the sight, repulsed as she feels the weight of it hit the bottom of the bag. Right away, she shoves it to Zecora, wanting nothing to do with it. Zecora takes it without much disgust, though there is a tinge of shock and urgency in her mannerisms as she discards it on top of the cleaning cart and approaches the threshold of the vault door.

“I’m going to go find Mr. Fletching. You stay here and keep an eye out for anything else you might find, you hear?” Zecora orders, already swiping her key card through the door mechanism and waiting for it to open back up.

Fluttershy vehemently nods her head in understanding, slightly backing away from the door in consternation as she watches Zecora flee around the hall, and Fluttershy is left on her own, forced to endure the silence that fell over the room once the vault closes shut on its own accord.

Taking a breath, she wanders over to the cleaning cart to retrieve the mop, standing on her hind legs to start washing away at the leftover traces of fluids still stuck in between the tiles of the floor. Anything to busy her mind, even with a menial task of labor. But half ways through the task, something strange begins to nudge at the vestige of her subconscious again. That exact odd feeling from earlier, but returned tenfold.

Leaning her weight on the mop, she tightens her grip on the wooden handle, brows furrowing as her eyes bears the weight of undulating fear and dread. Swallowing tensely, Fluttershy lets out a shaky breath, struggling to collect herself. The murmur of whispers and voices in her mind returns, making her wince and shake her head as if that would make it go away. She couldn’t even make out what the whispers were saying. It sounded like gibberish, a twist of tongues she’s never heard in her lifetime before.

But just as fast as it had come, it vanishes.

The silence succeeding it becomes unbearable. Overwhelmed with a sense of trepidation, Fluttershy whimpers, and on a considerably more clean area of the ground, sits herself down to try to ease her shaken nerves. Resting the mop flat on the floor in front of her, she presses her hooves to her face and utters into them, muffled and hardly audible to anyone else but herself.

“What is happening to me?”

Something interrupts her reverie, however — a sound that doesn't come from her own subconscious. It softly vocalizes and echoes lowly throughout the room, catching her attention. It urges her to lift her head from her hooves, her eyes curiously seeking out the source of the sound.

That’s when she sees something shift in the shadows of the glass vessel in Tank #2.

Something in her changes — a fire of curiosity taking over her movements as she rises back to stand in sudden awareness. She hears a guttural groan, muffled through thick fluids though audible enough to hear it for what it was. It sounds like a howl of grief or pain, indiscernible between the two. She couldn’t decipher it in certainty, but she’s keenly aware of the fact that now, she is no longer the only presence in the room.

Fluttershy approaches the vessel in caution to avoid the slew of black cables scattered about the floor, heart racing in her chest. There’s a shadow that shifts in the distance of the bioluminescent fluid, lingering far away as if it were hesitant — afraid of her presence.

Pressing a gentle hoof against the glass, Fluttershy gently taps the cold exterior of the vessel, trying to draw its attention and lure it out from the shadows and into the dim overhead light. Regarding the presence as she would an injured animal in fear, she ever slightly tilts her head to the side, the wispy stray pink strands of her mane drifting across her face as she modulates a ream of gentle hushes in assurance, even kneeling down lower to the ground to regard herself as harmless. Less intimidating.

That’s when it begins to slowly emerge from the shadows.

The light shines and reflects against the creature’s serpentine body — the most prominent feature that catches her eye. It’s tail flickers and undulates within the vessel’s fluid, a pair of mismatched wings taut in a display of alarm, clearly on guard at the sight of her. It was difficult to see any sharp details of the creature — only able to see its outline in the dim light, but the one thing that stood distinct was the sheer height of the creature.

From Fluttershy’s place on the floor, it loomed over her from the opposite side of the glass. Tall, imposing, trying in might to be the superior figure. She noticed in perplexity that the creature’s hands were mismatched from where they pressed against the tank’s glass barrier — one a distinct proportion of a lion’s paw. The other, what seemed to be the same anatomy of an eagle’s claw. Both chained tightly by the wrists and bound to some unseen fastener inside the tank. And as her gaze draws upwards, the shadow of two misshapen horns at the top of the creature’s head sends an immediate chill down her spine.

Though as her gaze strives to analyze every aspect of the mysterious creature’s physique, her gaze falls on an open laceration dealt to the center of its midsection, a dark fluid she assumes to be blood seeping out from the wound and suffusing with the waters it was submerged in.

Fluttershy gasps at the sight, her mouth parting in wordless shock.

The ultimate question of “who did this to you?” stung deep in her mind, though remained unspoken when the series of events throughout the day began to connect and make sense.

The cattle prod she had seen Strickler with this morning in the bathroom. His wound. The severed horn. The traces of strange blood on the end of the apparatus...

“...He did this to you, didn’t he?” Fluttershy whispers in realization, looking up from the creature’s wound to try to seek out its face, but she couldn’t make out much of it in the dim light.

She presses her hoof more firmly against the glass, the overwhelming instinct to help triggering a ripple of remorse for having to leave the creature behind in a state like this, injured and utterly helpless.

It makes something in her snap.

The creature even seems to lose some of its grandiose display of superiority, trying weakly to curl in on itself in weakness and exhaustion as it were struggling to breathe correctly. But the thing that baffles her the most is that it doesn’t move away from the tank — it comes closer, pressing its paw against the glass in precise alignment with hers.

It was a display of trust.

Though just as she’s about to open her mouth to speak to it, the vault door gives a noisy grind as it opens from the other side, startling her and the creature from their musings. Snatching her hoof away from the tank, Fluttershy whips around and rises to stand in haste, her attention redirecting to the sight of Zecora and Fletching emerging through the entryway.

“Where is it?” Fletching demands, barely even giving Fluttershy the chance to inhale.

Being the closest to the caddy, Fluttershy immediately fetches the bag from the cleaning cart and passes it over to Fletching, watching him hold it by the bottom to peer inside from the opening. He immediately furrows his brows and glances at Fluttershy.

“Really? An old lunch bag, that’s all you had?”

Fluttershy nods timorously, averting her gaze away from the unnerving sight of his. He spares a disgruntled sigh and closes the bag up.

“Finish cleaning this mess up. You don’t speak a word of this to anyone. Both of you. Understand?”

Fluttershy and Zecora both furiously shake their head in understanding, too shocked to even spare verbal acknowledgement.

“Good.” Fletching utters, rolling up the bag small enough to shove it into the pocket of his stained lab coat. “Back to work.” He says, leaving the two alone in the vault a final time.

With an exasperated sigh from Zecora, she leans against the cleaning cart and glances to Fluttershy. Although neither one of them spoke a word out of sheer fear, they exchange looks of understanding with one another, vowing to keep this an unspoken secret between the two of them.

And once Zecora catches her breath well enough to resume her duties with refilling the water bucket to finish scrubbing the grounds, the silence in the room hangs thick and heavy.

Fluttershy glances back at the vessel to see if the creature had lingered, but it had long since disappeared back into the murky waters. And for some reason, it leaves her feeling inexplicably empty.

_____

“My God. Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure!” Fluttershy cries, pacing back and forth within the small space of Miles’s living room in a frenzy. “I know it sounds crazy, but there’s something seriously wrong going on in that place, Miles. There’s something they’re hiding.”

“Isn’t that what they’re supposed to do, though?” Miles counters, though there was a look of uncertainty across his features as he glances over his shoulder to address Fluttershy. “They hide the unknown — such as that thing — to keep us safe. To keep Equestria safe.”

“Don’t call it that.” Fluttershy chastises, her tone dropping to a warning level. “It’s not a thing. It’s a living creature, just as alive as you or me.” Fluttershy tersely furrows her brows at him in an embittered manner.

“Right, I apologize.” Miles corrects himself, slightly shaking his head. “But I’m not wrong about the other thing, am I?”

Fluttershy sighs.

“No, you’re right, but—” She pauses as she plops down on the couch, her gaze distant with the memory still settling fresh in her mind. “I don’t know. The way it looked at me, Miles. It was hurt.” Her voice slightly wavers, and she has to take a breath to ease her emotions starting to crack at the surface.

“Why would anypony hurt a creature?”

Miles sets his paintbrush down on the drafting table and adjusts his glasses, rising from his chair to fully face Fluttershy with a grim look upon his face.

“My dear, there are some things that just can’t be explained.” Miles says as he plops down next to Fluttershy on the couch, giving her a gentle tap underneath her chin to gauge her attention. “And I think you’re looking at this from the wrong perspective.”

“What do you mean?” Fluttershy tilts her head at him, and Miles sighs.

“We don’t know what that creature has done. It could be there for a reason. Look what you said it did to Strickler, for pony’s sake. Any creature that’s capable of doing that is extremely dangerous and should be contained.”

A breath hitches in her throat as she rises to speak, but the words falter on her tongue. Perhaps Miles was actually right in that regard — she was essentially clueless about the creature’s origin and what led up to the events of its capture and transfer to the facility. It was dangerous, no doubt. But still… something about all of this felt off, rubbing her the wrong way. There was still that nagging voice in the back of her mind, intent on defending her reasoning for wanting to uncover the truth. That the creature she saw looming over her in T4 wasn’t a monster, but accidentally misconstrued as one.

Fluttershy exhales, sitting upright to attention.

“Maybe you’re right.” She says, her tone conscientious. “Maybe the creature is dangerous, but I’m telling you, there is still something horrible going on right under our noses. I just can’t figure out what exactly it is or what any of it is for.” Her expression falls with worry, and Miles spares a delicate pat to her shoulder, trying to usher her back to reality.

Fluttershy in turn, leans over to lightly rest her head on his shoulder, discernibly exhausted.

“Well, until you do, I think you should get some rest.” Miles says gently. “You still owe me a game of chess from the other night. Who else but me will defend my honor?” He teases playfully, clearly trying to lighten the mood. And somehow, It seems to work like a charm.

Fluttershy lets out a small huff before it turns into a faint chuckle, as she playfully throws a nudge at his side, and Miles grins.

“There’s that smile.” Miles lightheartedly teases, and the acknowledgement only makes her smile wider until it completely breaks her from the somber trance she was stuck slumped in.

“Tell you what. Make some dinner, enjoy a bath, spend some quality time with your animals. Try not to stress yourself out too much over this, alright?” Miles says, effortlessly stepping into his role of paternal authority. Fluttershy merely gives a small nod against Miles’s shoulder, never one to turn down his invaluable advice.

“Just—“ Miles intervenes, but sighs when Fluttershy meets his own gaze, completely oblivious to his level of unease at the state of her. “Take care of yourself. I hate seeing you like this.”

"Oh I know, I’m sorry I make you worry so much.” Fluttershy expresses her remorse with an apologetic glint in her gaze, and Miles couldn’t help but gently pat her cheek at the absolute puppy-dog expression she had cast his way.

“Well, you are notoriously good at making me worry.” Miles chuckles, and this compels a scoff to rise from her, however, led by a small bout of stifled laughter behind her hoof.

“Someone’s gotta worry about you, otherwise who else will?”

Fluttershy hums in thought. “Believe me, I can think of a few.”

“Well then, that’s six you have to make sure don’t worry their heads off over you.” Miles gives the mare at his side a gentle nudge before rising from the couch, making his way over to his drafting board and manifesting his magic to meticulously roll up the poster artwork and slide it into a protective sheath.

“I have to go drop this off to a client before the office closes. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, I just ask that you make sure my little troublemaker of a cat doesn’t get into the paints again. You know the little devil. You’re always so good with him, I don’t know how you do it. I’m actually a little envious.” Miles jokes through the crack of a smile as he wraps his favorite red scarf around his neck, already making his way towards the front door.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got everything under control.” Fluttershy assures, giving him an innocent closed-lipped smile.

“Thank you, dear. As always, I bid you adieu!” Miles bows his head with a magically-charged tip of his hat.

Fluttershy smiles widely, leaning her head back against the couch to glance back at him as he waves goodbye, steps into the hallway and closes the door behind him with a soft ‘click’.

Left to bask in the presence of his empty apartment, Fluttershy sighs as she turns her gaze up to the ceiling, letting the ambient melody of Miles’s record player spill through the quietude of the living room as his elder cat hops up on the couch with her, curling atop her lap with the intent to nap. It rises a smile to her lips, giving him a gentle scratch behind the ear as he settles into a comfortable position with her.

But even with the complacent euphony of sonatas and the illusion of ease tricking her mind into a false sense of security, Fluttershy couldn’t impede the urge to linger on the memory of the creature. The recollection of it all stuck at the forefront of her mind.

But soon, as her eyelids flutter close and the sound of a soft melody fades into aught, all that’s left in the shadow of her subconscious is the familiar buzz of a whisper crawling about in her mind, only finally falling asunder when she slips into an exhausted slumber.

Chapter III: The Convergence

View Online

It started as incomprehensible phrases of unfamiliar tongues casting whispers in her dreams. The times she heard the call outside of slumber, she chalked it up to nothing but the unshakable residuum of a bad dream; like the unforgettable tune of a melody stuck inside her head.

However, as the nights passed, something changed. She started hearing the voice in her subconscious more often, manifesting louder. Stronger.

When that unmistakable voice from her nightly terrors began to manifest as waking whispers in her subconscious during arbitrary times of the day, almost always when her guard was down, it dawned on her that this was no figment of her imagination — no longer the remnant of a hallucinatory nightmare. It made a home in her mind and refused to leave. Something was reaching out to her. Calling her name.

And she listened.

The things she’s seen and heard — from the whispers of malicious secrets amongst scientists, to the unspeakable acts she’s caught glimpses of in the institute, for one, were the start of her suspicions in the wake of her worst fear. The day she stumbled across the horrifying confirmation of her suspicions had been the breaking point that sparked a confrontational nerve in her. Forcing creatures into captivity to experiment on in the namesake of science was, by all means, unjustifiably immoral and flat out evil to her.

When Fluttershy accepted this job at the institute, she didn’t anticipate any of this would happen. But now that she knew a sliver of the truth, the deep, relentless need to protect the helpless creature incited a flame in her. She didn’t know what to do, but deep down, she just knew she had to do something.

Today, she lets instinct take over and guide her on autopilot through the bustling halls of the facility without so much as a second thought; Even going as far as to reassure Zecora she could handle herself today, of which she’s only done very few times since her tenure in the institute. But she’s confident. She’s sure of it.

It’s when she feels that familiar invisible pull, a strong gut-feeling urging her to stop in the hall, does she do so. And as she lifts her gaze, she meets the sight of the fading yellow paint on the containment door of T4.

A nervous breath escapes her, unable to shake off the heavy sense of dread that suddenly overwhelms her; standing face to face with the vault containing something dark and sinister. But something unmistakable urges — practically begs for her to enter the vault. And just this once, she lets that instinctive urge guide her.

She covertly slips her hoof into the pocket of her pinafore to retrieve the vault’s corresponding key card, and when she’s certain there’s no wandering eyes turned her way, she scoots as close as she can to the entryway to avoid being seen, takes the key card between her teeth, and swiftly slides the card through the reader.

Before second thoughts could catch up to her and change her mind, she leads herself inside, letting the door automatically roll shut behind her. It seals with a loud ‘CLICK’ of the locking mechanism, the loud noise startling her with a flinch. It’s a frightening jolt to reality — only then fully dawning on her that she just sealed herself inside a containment vault alone with an ancient, potentially dangerous creature.

The unsettling silence that befalls the room compels a chill to run down her spine. The sound of her hooves against the tiled floor echoes as she wanders inside, taking in the sight of the luminescent fluids swirling idly amidst the ceiling-high viewing tank.

The enclosure, alight from the gentle glow emitting from the tank in the corner of the room, bathes the area in an unpleasant, murky sea-green light — basking the air damp and unclean from the tank’s excess humidity mingling with the stench of sterile chemicals lingering in the air. An underlying scent she recognizes as the same cleaning agents she uses to scrub the floors with, but the rest of which she fails to identify. It’s sterile-like, mingling with the scent of electricity — almost like static charge of residual magic. It’s strange and off-putting, leaving an odd metallic taste in her mouth, but she pushes past the oddity and moves on.

Slowly approaching one of the tall vessels to the left of the room, Fluttershy curiously leans forward to peek inside and gives a gentle tap of her hoof against the glass, striving to lure the creature out from hiding. Although it doesn’t immediately expose itself into the open on command, the noise does undeniably rouse the creature from the quiescence of the depths, much to her surprise.

The noisy clamor of chains from the opposite side of the room startles her — her head whipping up with rapt attention. She turns to glance towards the rusted chain line, sturdily attached to the retractable mechanism secured into the ground near the open vessel. Observingly, her gaze follows the long metal chain from its source, noticing how it leads into the depths of the waters channeling underground into the pool-like vessel, exposed out in the open for anypony to approach. It’s an obvious oversight in safety — no doubt a hazard, but she suspects they didn’t exactly anticipate the asset would be having many visitors.

Fixating her gaze on the strange luminating pool in the middle of the room, Fluttershy stares with piqued curiosity. She surmises that the strong chemical stench is definitely emitting from the fluids inside the vessel where the water sloshes around from the chain’s active movement.

She instinctively shallows her breathing as she approaches in caution, as quiet as a mouse. The flow and ebb of the bioluminescent waters catches her interest, mesmerizing enough to admire from afar, but she’s careful not to stray too close to the edge as she takes a seat on one of the lower steps.

She’s conscientious to keep her distance as she peers over the ledge of the pool and experimentally lowers a hoof close to the water's surface, lingering a mere few inches above with slight hesitance. The chains seem to ease from the force of the tugging and the waters settle as a result, almost as if her presence itself soothed the vessel’s elusive inhabitant.

Scooting herself a slight bit closer, the water ripples underneath her touch as she carefully lowers the tip of her hoof into the fluids, delicately swirling it around. It’s surprisingly warm to the touch and doesn’t seem to kindle any harm, thus she keeps her hoof partially submerged, transfixed by the blue incandescence of the waters as she gently swirls it around, waiting for something to happen.

As the silence drags, there’s something that disturbs the calm of the waters below.

A shadow glides past in the depths, compelling her movements to come to a slow halt. In the low light, it’s hard to discern at first, but the long, shadowy silhouette that drifts in the waters where her hoof lingers becomes apparent to her right away. The creature’s tail flows and whips within the pool, rousing a slew of air bubbles to rise to the surface.

Withdrawing her hoof and letting it hover just a few inches above the water as a precaution, Fluttershy slightly tilts her head to the side in intrigue, sending a few strands of loose hair into the waters as she slightly leans forward in an attempt to get a clearer view into the pool.

The ripples amid the surface make it hard to discern any notable features, but she knows when a creature feels cornered and frightened — visible tension, flickering tail, persistent pacing, keeping obvious fair distance, for starters. The shadow beneath the surface keeps a reasonable distance away from her, as if measuring her trustworthiness. She’s seen it all before, and it was no surprise that this encounter wouldn’t be any different.

“It’s okay.” Fluttershy whispers assuringly, her tone intentionally gentle and compassionate. “I won’t hurt you. You’re safe, I promise.”

The chains give a light rattle, rousing another ream of air bubbles to rise to the surface. Then, right before her eyes, she sees a pair of tall horns slowly break the water's surface from the furthest, opposite side of the pool. The same two mismatched horns she’d seen before, glistening in light blue and ivory.

Rising at a slow pace, the creature’s horns catch the light and sparkles in the dim as it shifts. The sight prompts eager butterflies to flutter about in her stomach in anticipation, knowing full well what’s yet to come.

The creature stops when its eyes rise just above water level, however, both of its ears pressed back against its head in a display of apprehension and initial fright. It’s difficult to see anything else in much detail beyond that when the creature insists on staying back near the shadows to avoid being completely seen.

She recognizes the tell tale signs of fear as clear as day.

“Oh, you poor dear...” She frets, intentionally using her softer tone of voice to create a sense of ease to draw away the creature’s apprehensions — though she doesn’t see any immediate change. As to be expected, of course. She doesn’t expect a battered creature to trust just anypony right off the bat.

“Come on out, it’s okay.” She tries to tenderly convince, her tone pursuing reassurance as she gently gestures her hoof in a ‘come here’ motion.

Her coaxing raises a low gravelly noise from the creature, though its movement is still to an absolute minimum beyond just peering at her from the shadows. It’s eyes are shifty, still untrusting. There’s little room for error, now. One wrong move, and she’s certain danger is a given.

Until an idea strikes her.

Digging into the pocket of her pinafore, she finds her object of interest — a single hard boiled egg leftover from lunch.

She holds the egg in between her hooves and eyes the creature with a small, implicative smile. Using food as a bribe to lure a startled creature out is one of the oldest tricks in the book, though undeniably one of the most effective. It has never once failed her, and she can’t imagine it would fail her now.

Holding it into view between her hooves, she carefully lowers the egg to the ledge and gives it a good couple taps against the tile to crack it open, carefully peeling the shell away and leaving behind the goods.

Gently setting the boiled egg down on the tiling, she carefully nudges it close to the edge and scoots herself a few inches away to give the creature ample space to approach.

“You must be hungry.” Fluttershy implies, nudging her head in gesture to the egg. “It’s all yours, if you’d like.”

The creature stares at her intensely, wary, in question of her intent. Clearly it knew better than to take unfamiliar food from strangers in the institute, so to prove her point that it truly was harmless, she leans in to take just a tiny bite off the top of the egg, chewing and swallowing before smiling back at the creature.

“Mmm, see? Harmless and delicious.”

And that seems to do it. The creature slowly eases into the light, head still barely breaching the surface, and analyses the egg suspiciously, though with apparent interest. But In the overhead light casting down, the creature’s facial features suddenly become alight with detail.

The creature’s grey fur drips wet from the waters, slipping down its face and neck in rivulets. But there’s something she notices meddling on the surface of its fur — burn marks and deep scars line the side of its jaw and neck. Old and new. It’s difficult to see much in close detail from where she sits on the edge, but by the glimmer of the light shining into the water overhead, Fluttershy recognizes something odd at the base of the creature’s neck. A dark substance, slightly oozing into the pool and staining its fur underneath the restraints around its neck. It seeps from a fresh wound underneath the collar and she surmises it’s blood, but it was strikingly dark as ink, almost black.

She tenses her brows in confusion and intently observes the oddity, tilting her head to the side to try to get a better view, but the creature immediately takes notice of her studying gaze and slightly retreats back into the pool, just enough to conceal its neck to get her to stop staring. Fluttershy equally eases back in reaction, feeling guilty for unintentionally causing the creature to retreat. The exhausted, jaded look in the creature’s eyes leaves her with a heavy heart. She can tell it’s trying hard to hide the discomfort, but she knows better than to believe that.

Nevertheless, the thought of the creature bleeding black leaves her in tremendous bewilderment, the thought of it stuck in her mind — until a correlating memory suddenly strikes her.

Back when she’d been cleaning the restrooms, she recalls seeing the same black fluids on the countertops, tainted by the hooves of that research scientist and freshly drawn from the prongs of Strickler’s electric prod. She remembers wondering why it had such a strange, strong metallic scent then, but now it dawns on her.

When she finally puts two and two together, her heart sinks to her stomach.

“Oh my stars.” The words fall from her in a stunned whisper. The overwhelm of realization puts her in brief silence as she eyes the extent of the creature’s visible injuries, the nurturing side of her desperately wanting nothing more than to care for its wounds and reassure that everything would be okay.

“What have they done to you?” Fluttershy utters softly under her breath, saddened. She knows the creature is aware of her discovery too, because for a sudden, brief moment, she catches a dispirited shift in its features. A pitiful emotion of pure grief.

It’s undoubtedly a sensitive subject, though one that still wasn’t enough to warrant a verbal response by the creature — if it even did speak. Surely it had to if it understood her.

“...You can understand me, right?” Fluttershy inquires curiously, gentle but insistent to try to evoke a response. The creature doesn’t say anything, as expected, but it does intently stare at her as if it were listening to every word.

“Can you... talk?” She finally asks, but she knows something isn’t right — something feels off. The way the creature’s demeanor falls at her question makes her suspect there’s something else amiss, but she can’t quite put a hoof on it.

Though before she can question it any further, the creature snatches the egg from the ledge and dives back into the bottom of the tank, creating a massive backsplash of water to spill over the edge of the pool.

Startled, Fluttershy flinches and raises her hooves just in time to shield her face from the abrupt backsplash, small droplets of fluid dampening her forehead and cheek. Lowering her hoof, she leans forward a slight bit in search of any movement in the waters, but doesn’t find anything.

Just like that, everything goes still and quiet.

Sitting in the unsettling silence alone, Fluttershy holds her ground where she sits on the ledge, hesitant to make any sudden move. Afraid that if she makes even the slightest noise, she would disturb the tense energy in the room. But as she carefully lets out the breath she’d been holding, the water suddenly begins to ripple again. The chains on the pulley go taut as they‘re roughly tugged on the other end, plunging deep into the depths of the waters.

She thinks it’s fine, it’s nothing — just the creature diving deep into the pit of the vessel to go further into hiding. But then, the chain suddenly turns in her direction.

It catches her off guard and she doesn’t know what to do. Caught between wanting to flee in fear and stay put out of curiosity, Fluttershy bites her lip and feels her wings slightly extend in a fight-or-flight response; rationality telling her to run, but curiosity urging her to stay and see what happens.

Letting curiosity triumph, she grounds herself as she sits in place, watching the chain ease up and go still. Then, as the familiar pair of mismatched horns breaks the water's surface, so follows the rest of the creature, no longer concealed behind darkened shadows and glass barriers. She knows the creature plans to approach with the intention of revealing its face to her in an evident display of trust, but what she doesn’t expect is for the creature’s form to completely emerge from the vessel.

Her blood runs cold, nearly forgetting how to breathe as she watches the creature rise from the depths to reveal its true self to her just a mere few inches away from where she stood.

And at full height, no longer concealed behind glass walls and metal enclosures, the creature is frighteningly tall.

Fluttershy finds herself frozen in place, rooted in shock. Deeply petrified, yet somehow profoundly captivated despite the creature’s intimidating disposition. Because despite her trepidity, she couldn’t help but stare up in utter awe.

The creature is a mystifying amalgam of different interspecies parts — two mismatched wings from that of a bat and bluebird, the paw of a lion and the talon of an eagle, the ivory antler of a deer and the blue horn of a goat; Everything about the creature is mismatched and bizarre, and for the first time in her life, Fluttershy finds herself truly disconcerted with the fact that she’s unable to identify the creature in front of her.

All her life, Fluttershy had encountered and befriended hundreds of creatures existing far and wide across Equestria, and caring for them was her field of expertise. There was a natural attraction that drew woodland animals and creatures of all kinds to her — some common, some more rare and questionable. But this? This was way beyond anything she’s ever known. Of all the books and scrolls she’s ever studied, there was nothing that described a creature like this.

Unable to tear her gaze away from the sight, Fluttershy sits statuesque-still in stunned silence, rendered speechless. The creature gives an ever so slight tilt of its head, eyes narrow as if studying her in a similar fashion. And then suddenly, it begins to slightly lower its body back down into the waters, as if trying to seem less tall and imposing.

At first, Fluttershy doesn’t understand the creature’s actions or intent, all insight lost on her as the initial fear drives her mind blank. But as the minutes pass and the creature doesn’t seem to move, it dawns on her that what she’s seeing is an act of consideration — the creature submerging itself low enough into the waters to match her height. To meet her as an equal.

There’s a warmth in her chest at the creature’s sudden friendly regress, that it starts to chip away at the initial fear in her heart. Her demeanor softens and her wings release their tension, as does the wary look in her eyes. Instead, easing with affection and kindness. Understanding.

Clearly, the creature isn’t intimidated by her and doesn’t wish to inflict any harm. Any lingering traces of fear and apprehension from the creature had long since vanished, turning into mutual trust with a mare the creature knew wouldn’t cast harm upon it for once, it seems. Fluttershy could hardly imagine the moons of pain and isolation the creature must’ve endured — trapped underground, hidden away, silenced.

Fluttershy knows all too well what it’s like being the outcast, rejected and disenfranchised from society. What it’s like to live in isolation, hidden away from the public eye to avoid being seen and teased. She understands how it hurts to be labeled as a freak by contemptuous antagonizers for her social impairments, to live as the estranged shadow no one cares to spare a passing thought to. Always being exploited, ignored, pushed around — powerless and defenseless. Her entire life, she’s known the feeling. Probably a bit too well.

There’s something familiar, recognizable in the creature’s gaze as they stare at each other. There’s a sudden intrusion of emotion and thought that pervades her mind — Pity. Mercy. Trust. A conglomerate of buzzwords intertwining with the respective emotional connotation that makes Fluttershy’s heart and head ache with a pang of hurt. She knows the words aren’t her own, but an unmistakable projection of thoughts from the being in front of her.

She takes a breath and lets out a mildly shaken exhale, feeling overwhelmed by the sudden rush of emotion that crashes over her like a tidal wave. It makes her throat reactively tense up, her heart beats just a little harder, and her breathing turns slightly shallow and uneasy. She doesn’t know what to do — really, there’s nothing she can do as her gaze breaks away from the creature’s red-eyed gaze to glance down and sees the most unexpected motion she would’ve never anticipated.

It slowly extends a paw out to her.

The creature’s movement is hesitant and cautious at first, as if holding its paw out to the flicker of a fire’s flame, and for some strange reason, Fluttershy feels the strongest urge to reciprocate the gesture.

Curiously, she slowly extends her own hoof out to meet the creature’s lion paw half way. It turns its paw over, palm side up as if accepting her approach, and Fluttershy feels the slightest smile rise to her lips as she slowly and delicately reaches out to motion a gentle caress across the creature’s damp palm, feeling the creature’s claws gently curl around her hoof.

As if conveying an unspoken promise of peace — I won’t hurt you.

The creature slightly bristles under her touch, and Fluttershy lifts her gaze to softly smile at its prominent, unforeseen display of trust. It’s eyes are fixated on the sight of her hoof resting in its paw, so much that she sees the slightest glimmer of affection, an extrinsic softness in the creature’s gaze.

Something unexplainable settles in her heart in that moment. The feeling of a severed connection being mended, interwoven. A coalescing sense of unity, completion, peace.

That this, whatever this is, is right.

The creature raises its gaze to look her in the eyes, and without a shadow of a doubt, she knows it knows too.

The moment is cut short when the creature, however, decides it’s done and jerks it’s paw away to dive back into the vessel, down into the black depths to be completely enveloped in the dark.

And this time, it doesn’t come back.

Fluttershy takes that as her cue to leave too, and she breaks away from the edge of the vessel to stumble her way out of the vault, staring the vessel’s way the entire time as she rushes to leave the room.

Hooves still damp from the backsplash that cascaded off the edge of the pool, she quickly shakes them off at the threshold of the entryway, hastily attempting to rid any evidence of her encounter as she waits for the vault door to roll open.

The experience leaves her unquestionably shaken and overwhelmed, yet simultaneously steady and absolute. It all feels so surreal. Caught in a temporary state of disbelief, she couldn’t believe what she’d done — what she saw. She’s aware of the consequences of a confidentiality breach were anypony to find out about her doings, and she’s wise to put a false veil of aloofness to conceal the fact she’d just broken the institute’s most important rule.

Though rather than being seized with unadulterated fear at the thought of being a rule breaker, as she normally would be in any other situation, Fluttershy feels inexplicably audacious, butterflies in her stomach at the thought of her uncharacteristic risk-taking. She knows it isn’t like her to feel or act this way, and she knows she should be even the slightest bit concerned about it, but the strange will of defiance driving her through the motions of bravura just feels... exhilaratingly good.

As she parts ways from the vault to start her way down the hall, fully intending resume her cleaning duties with the memory of her encounter with the creature still fresh in her mind, she only makes it a few steps down the hall when she’s suddenly startled by a voice that calls out her name, nearly stopping her heart with fright as she freezes to a halt, horrified she may have just been caught.

“Fluttershy, is that you? What were you doing in there?”

The mare whips around to find Zecora, a brief flicker of fright in her eyes before realizing it’s only her friend. Immediately, Fluttershy shakes her head, denying any potential allegations ready on the tip of the zebra’s tongue.

“Nothing, just — Um, cleaning.” Fluttershy conspicuously lies, averting her gaze past Zecora’s head to avoid eye contact.

She knows Zecora can see right past her little white lie by the way she narrows her eyes suspiciously at her, however, but oddly chooses not to press on the matter in favor of gesturing at Fluttershy to come with her. A shadow of urgency seems to replace Zecora’s demeanor, and Fluttershy anticipates nothing good to be said with a look like that.

“Nevermind that, now. Come with me.” Zecora starts, that sense of urgency showing in her voice as she speaks. “There is somepony we need to see.”

“There is? Who?” Fluttershy questions in suspicion and a tinge of fear toward the unsettled and nervous overtone in Zecora’s voice. Hearing wariness and unease come from the one zebra she sees as unfalteringly brave and effortlessly resilient makes something in Fluttershy’s stomach twist with dread. It takes a lot to unsettle Zecora, and this situation plants a deep-rooted fear in the pit of her stomach.

“The Colonel requests our presence in his office right now, so I really do not think it wise to stand around.” Zecora presses, already making her way down the hall. Fluttershy automatically follows after her without much thought, but the realization doesn’t settle in until a few seconds later.

Fluttershy’s eyes go wide.

“The Colonel? As in... Colonel Strickler?” Fluttershy says nervously, her tone lowering into a near-whisper full of anxious dread. “What does he want with us?”

Zecora casts a clueless shake of her head, giving a weighted sigh. “I haven’t a clue. Be what it may, I hope it isn’t any more bad news.”

Swallowing hard, Fluttershy merely nods in agreement and silently follows after Zecora in haste without another word, briefly turning her head back to spare the vault one last fleeting glance before they disappear around the corner.

_____

“Sir, they’re here for you.”

The apathetic assistant at the doorway hardly spares a greeting besides a curt nod of her head, peering down judgingly at Fluttershy and Zecora from the top of her red-rimmed cat eye glasses as she takes a step back to allow them entry.

“Thank you. Bring them in.” Strickler’s voice carries over from the other side of the room. He’s standing in front of the massive wall-to-wall length filing cabinets, sorting through a case of files. Occupied with his task, he hardly spares any further acknowledgement to the new presence in the room.

Trying not to let their discomfiture show, Zecora and Fluttershy hesitantly make their way inside, standing intentionally close to one another as Strickler turns away from the cabinets and saunters back to his desk, nonchalantly slapping two files down on his desk.

“Please, have a seat, if you will.” Strickler says casually, waving his non-bandaged hoof towards the two chairs angled at the front of his desk.

Zecora is the first one to take the lead, purposefully putting herself in front of Fluttershy in an instinctive act of protectiveness. Though even with Zecora’s defensive intention to guard her, Fluttershy could still feel a pair of eyes burning into her, unsettling her to the core.

Taking their respective seats in silence, Fluttershy keeps her eyes pinned on the sight of the dark cerulean desk in front of her, alight by the dim light fixtures hanging above. As an adverse reaction to her anxiety, she has a habit of avoiding eye contact, already disassociating from the situation out of sheer anxiety. It’s common though, especially so when in the presence of a stallion who’s energy and demeanor frightens the absolute daylights out of her.

Zecora, on the other hoof, is unable to take her eyes off of Strickler, her attention irrefutably drawn to the sight of his severed horn, the vicious-looking scratches across the left side of his face and neck, the white sling around his neck cradling his wounded foreleg, wrapped elbow to hoof with thick wrappings of white gauze.

The wound she remembers spilling a frightening amount of blood — that of which they had to clean the unpleasant aftermath of.

“Don’t let the sight of it unsettle you.” Strickler says to them, pacing behind the two mares. Zecora notices his oddly fixated gaze on Fluttershy, a pondering look etched into his demeanor as he continues to speak. “Looks a lot worse than it feels.”

Tensing her brows, Zecora’s eyes flicker between him and Fluttershy, no longer interested at the sight of his injuries, but rather at the sight of his apparent and strangely piqued interest in the quiet mare.

“So,” Strickler starts, turning his gaze over to Zecora. “How long have you two known each other?”

Zecora draws her attention away from his unusual mannerism and reroutes to the question instead, answering in confidence.

“On the verge of about four years now, though by the means of our meeting, I’m sure you already know how.”

“Mhm, I do.” Strickler idly nods his head in acknowledgement, though clearly seems disinterested. “Interesting. And uh, what about you, Zecora? Any family?”

The question makes Zecora hesitate, finding it odd of him to want to know about her personal life, though left with no choice but to supply an answer.

“Um — Yes Sir, I am the eldest of three, though my kin live outside of Equestria in the land of Zebrabwe.”

“No kiddin’.” Strickler quirks his brow in mild interest. “All the way from Zebrabwe, huh? What brings you to this side of Equestria?”

“Well you see, when a mysterious illness struck and spread across my village, I left in search of a remedy many moons ago, exploring to and fro. I discovered a cure in the land of Equestria and returned to heal my addled kin, but chose to stay here in Equestria and pursue my…” Zecora briefly trails off, catching sight of Fluttershy looking her way. “...research alone, where I’ve managed to hold my own.”

Strickler notices the brief exchange of glances between them and hums, nodding his head slowly.

“Mhm. and you chose to work in this facility because?”

Zecora lets out a slight exhale.

“With my particular upbringing from a foreign land, I am often seen as an unwelcome presence by many. Any opportunities from town to town — Scarcely any.” Zecora lowers her gaze, pondering on her thoughts. “The institute however, forgoed any judgement and offered me stability by extending an open position my way. It’s been enough to carry the days.”

“How touching.” Strickler says, leaning back in his chair. “An outcast of society accepted by the charitable hoof of this wonderful institute. Awful about the maladies striking your village, however. Though that’s pretty common, is it? For you folk.”

Zecora’s eyes widen at his bold slander, though she bites her tongue to refrain from making an equally snide remark in retort. He doesn’t seem to care much after that and decidedly drops the topic. Instead, shifting his attention to the other presence in the room.

“And... you.” Strickler addresses the quiet mare at Zecora’s side, nonchalantly flipping through the manila file of her employee records. “Fluttershy.”

Fluttershy immediately tenses at the mention of her name, visibly tense and uncomfortable as she averts her gaze on anything else but him, absentmindedly brushing at her tail.

“Says here you came all the way from...” He pauses a brief second to look down at her file. “Ponyville? That’s also a considerably long distance for a position here as the help.” Stricker notes, eyeing Fluttershy curiously. “You must’ve been pretty desperate too, huh?”

Shifting uncomfortably under Strickler’s gaze, Fluttershy persists in her silence, the only movement from her being the consistent bouncing of her hindleg as an anxious habit. When he doesn’t say anything, however, her gaze shifts upward curiously, timidly observing the scars across his face, down to the wound on his forearm, peering from behind her loose locks of hair. It’s a glance that hardly lasts a few seconds, but it’s a motion that Strickler keenly notices nonetheless.

“Yeah, not a very flattering sight, is it?” Strickler says, clearly taking note to the poorly restrained peek cast his way.

“Thirteen hours in the hospital, over a hundred stitches.” Strickler slightly lifts his slinged hoof up to view. “They say it should heal back to normal in no time. Said I was lucky.” He scoffs on the word. “Good for me, huh? Can’t say the same for my horn though.” He leans back in his chair, giving a slight shake of his head in condemnation.

“It was you who found the other half.” He gestures in Fluttershy’s direction, though his tone takes on a sudden monotonous level, unimpressed.

“It had food crumbs on it.”

“Our sincerest apologies, Colonel — It was all we had. She deeply apologizes for it and certainly feels bad.” Zecora apologetically chimes in, sticking up for the quiet mare.

Strickler, however, furrows his brows at this.

“What’s wrong with her, why ain’t she speaking?”

“I often answer on her behalf, as do many others on staff.” Zecora says, sparing a brief look over in Fluttershy’s direction.

The mare keeps herself distracted by brushing the out of place strands of her hair back into place on her tail; at least, until she feels all the attention on her. It only makes her instinctively cower in on herself more, slightly sinking into the chair.

“Really? Is she deaf?”

“Selectively mute, Sir. She sometimes struggles with the inability to speak when in stressful situations, thus we often act as her line of communication.”

“Damn. Is that so?” Stricker leans forward against his desk, purposefully casting his attention at Fluttershy in observation. He lets out a slight scoff and gives a slight shake of his head.

“What a shame.” Strickler casually muses out loud, unbothered by his choice of words. “You know, they always say to keep an eye out for the quiet ones.”

Though he lets out a slight casual chuckle, neither Fluttershy or Zecora were amused by his remark. Visibly uncomfortable, Zecora sits up a slight bit straighter in her seat, internally fighting the urge to intervene right then and there.

“Though, I don’t exactly see you as the confrontational type.” Strickler says offhandedly, and Zecora notices his gaze linger on Fluttershy with a strange glint in his eyes, as if analyzing her behavior, trying to gauge a reaction out of her.

It doesn’t work, of course. Fluttershy sits in absolute stillness, as if she’d completely tuned out of the conversation. This didn’t seem to phase Strickler in any way — or at least, not that Zecora could visibly notice.

After a moment, however, Strickler sits up in his seat and neatens the stack of papers on his desk, taking a breath in a sudden behavioral switch of seriousness.

“Well, let me just say this upfront.” He begins, glancing between the two mares. “You clean that vault, you get out. That thing we keep in there is an affront. Do you know what an affront is, Zecora?”

Zecora lifts her head up to attention, her tone deferential.

“Something offensive, Sir—“

“That’s right, and I should know. I wrangled that… filthy thing South of Equestria all the way here. And along the way, we didn’t get to like each other much.” Strickler says with obvious distaste, tapping his hoof idly against the surface of his desk. “Now, you may think that thing looks innocent, but you don’t think that’s what an innocent looks like, do you?”

Silence befalls the room at this question in particular. Neither one of the mares give any sort of answer — though out of concern that he would consider their non-reply as disrespectful, Zecora is the one who gives a slight shake of her head in answer to appease him. The quiet answer seems to satisfy him for the most part, and without a beat, he delves right back into the conversation.

“The institute had to create a high security containment vault from scratch just to keep it under control. Clearly, you’ve seen what it can do.” Stricker loosely gestures to his injuries to prove his point. “And it can do a lot worse than this.”

Fluttershy tenses her brows in mild thought, taking Strickler’s statement of the creature to mind. Something about it didn’t sit right with her, though she’s keen to hide her skeptical expression behind her mane, occluding most of her from his view.

All the evidence of the creature’s physical strength is staring her right in the face, but even then, based off of her vastly different encounter in the vault just moments ago, surely the creature couldn’t be as malicious as Strickler is making it out to be.

No, It couldn’t be true.

“But rest assured, we’ve taken the necessary precautions and security measures to ensure the safety of those involved in the maintenance of T4. Now, you two in particular were selected to upkeep the area based on,” Strickler pauses to peer down at the files in front of him. “Trustworthiness, perfect attendance, zero incidents, hard work ethic — you get the picture.”

Closing their files shut, he shoves them aside and eases the weight of his forelegs to rest on top of his desk, leaning in a slight to look them both in the eyes with a sudden shadow of seriousness.

“Your job is to clean and get out. That’s it. Don’t let that thing fool you into a false sense of security. This is a force of manipulation and deceit we are dealing with. That thing will do anything to gain your trust so it can have free reign. You don’t want your worlds turned upside down and destroyed, do you?” Strickler’s tone falls dangerously low as he peers between the mares, his eyes sharp with intimidation.

Fluttershy swallows as she slowly lifts her head to meet Strickler’s hardened gaze, giving a quick, terse shake of her head ‘no’ in answer before swiftly lowering her head back down to avoid even another second of uncomfortably prolonged eye contact.

“Good.” Strickler says, leaning back in his chair.

Just then, a sudden knock at the door interrupts their brief lull of silence.

Strickler lifts his gaze towards the interruptive noise, only to meet the sight of General Trot waiting patiently in the doorway, his assistant leaning in the room to inform Strickler of his presence.

“Pardon me, Colonel, but General Trot is here to see you.”

“Thank you. Bring him on in.” Strickler answers eagerly, pushing his chair away from his desk to rise and make his way to the General.

“General Trot, pleasure to see you.” Strickler extends his hoof to the General, greeting each other in an official, polite manner. Before they could get into any actual conversation, however, Strickler quickly turns to both mares and gestures his head towards the doorway, stepping out of the way in indication of their dismissal.

“You ladies are dismissed.”

With an acknowledging nod, Zecora and Fluttershy immediately leave their seats in pursuit of the exit, glad to deem this dreadful meeting over.

Though as Fluttershy nears the doorway, she pauses to impart a quick backwards glance in Strickler’s direction out of more or less curiosity. Strickler, in return, lifts his gaze in acknowledgement of her lingering eyes and dismissively waves her off.

“Close the door on your way out.” Strickler says demandingly to her before averting his attention elsewhere.

Fluttershy obediently turns away and closes the door shut with a soft click, her interest in the sight of the Colonel and General still piqued as she peers through the glass windows in her slow departure.

Though her eyes were hidden behind the fallen locks of her mane most of the time, she didn’t need to see the General to feel that unsettling aura emit from the tall stallion, clad with a stone cold expression and stoic disposition. Something about the situation made her feel extremely uneasy — that familiar gut feeling returning, weighing a bad feeling in her heart.

As she descends the staircase with Zecora, she can still hear Strickler’s voice carrying through the glass walls. Muffled, but just audible enough for the words to drive fear in Fluttershy’s heart.

“I’ve been looking forward to your visit, General. Decisions need to be made about the asset.”

_____

A locker slams shut.

“I’m telling you, I do not trust that stallion, Fluttershy. Through and through.” Zecora snits, her expression wrought with disgust. “Did you see the way he was looking at you?”

Fluttershy softly closes her own locker and wearily sighs, pulling her hair pin from out of her mane and letting it fall.

“I did...”

“Honestly, the nerve of that stallion angers me so. What he did was disrespectful and uncalled for, and I’m certainly not disinclined to reckon him rotten to the core.”

“Yeah...”

“It’s easy to see that stallion has bad juju written all over him, right down to a T.” Zecora scoffs, shaking her head.

“Mhm...”

“Fluttershy, are you even listening to a single word?” Zecora raises her brow, turning to face the mare in worry. “Or should I presume I’ve gone completely unheard?”

Fluttershy throws her saddle bag on top of the wooden benches between them with a soft thud, lost deep in thought, still taking no notice of Zecora's questioning. Only when Zecora clears her throat loud enough for the other to hear, does Fluttershy finally raise her gaze to attention with an utterly oblivious look in her eyes.

“Something on your mind?” Zecora asks, and when Fluttershy’s gaze instinctively expresses an indication of confusion, Zecora counters with a knowing look on her face. “My dear, I’m not blind.”

Fluttershy lowers her head in slight humiliation, guilty for unintentionally ignoring her friend’s rant.

“I’m sorry. I was just…” Fluttershy starts but trails off into a pause, unsure how to word her thoughts correctly.

Mind still clinging to the words Strickler had said left Fluttershy completely enthralled by the dangers he preached of the creature’s deceptive nature, spewing threats of an entire world’s downfall. It just didn’t seem… fathomable to her. It felt like an over exaggeration to instill fear in her — like exaggerating a scary story to a young filly to frighten them into staying away from something.

From the moment she met the creature, she couldn’t deny her initial fright. But the last encounter… She couldn’t deny that intangible pull, an unseen force that kindled some inscrutable connection between them. There was no fear of impending danger, no hesitation, no panic in its presence. She didn’t feel scared for her life, nor did she find any implications the creature felt threatened by her presence either.

All she saw was a scared creature, desperate for freedom.

“What Strickler said earlier. About the creature...” Fluttershy starts, taking a seat on the bench with her gaze cast down towards the ground. In the corner of her eye, she sees Zecora tilt her head with a slight quirk of her brow in waiting, as if wordlessly saying ‘what about it?’.

Fluttershy lets out a tense breath.

“You don’t really think it’s that dangerous, do you?” She turns to face Zecora, her expression teeming with doubt.

Zecora stills, seemingly taken aback by the unexpected question.

“He was just saying those things. Zecora, I've seen what Strickler’s done. He hurts the poor creature —I’ve seen the wounds.” Fluttershy says, trying not to make the emotional waver in her voice too apparent as she fights to keep her composure. “The creature lashed out because it was being tortured. It was defending itself. You would do that too if someone held you against your will and hurt you, wouldn’t you?”

When Zecora doesn’t say anything right away, Fluttershy continues.

“I don’t believe him. I don’t believe a single word that comes out of his mouth.” She huffs in upset. “I don’t trust anypony who hurts innocent creatures.”

“Oh, Fluttershy.” Zecora sighs. “If what you say is true, what then could we possibly do?” Zecora says, taking a seat on the bench next to the mare to rest a hoof on her back. “We may be aware of their wrongdoings and want to stir a scene, but it’s not our place to intervene. As unfair as it is, we mustn’t meddle in their affairs. It’ll only end in despair.”

“You’re right.” Fluttershy utters, her remorse manifesting into a small flame of anger in her gut. “It’s not fair.”

Zecora gives a slight shake of her head as she leaves the bench and hauls her saddle bag over her back, giving it a brief adjustment.

“As much as I feel for the creature, you must let it go, Fluttershy. There’s more to this than what meets the eye.”

Fluttershy sits in silence, taking heed to Zecora’s approach on the matter. Realistically, she knows her friend is right to an extent, but that doesn’t ease the upset written into Fluttershy’s demeanor much.

“There are forces at play we know nothing about. Under their authority, all we can do is what we’ve been doing, day in and day out.” Zecora says, casting a pitied look the mare’s way.

Fluttershy lets a heavy sigh escape her as she stands back to her hooves, reaching for her saddlebag to fasten to her back with a solemn “I know” in reply.

Yet as Zecora reassures her in sincerity as they depart from the locker room to clock out and accompany each other to the bus station, Fluttershy leaves the facility that night completely miserable with resentment and sorrow. Stuck ruminating on the thought of how there truly was nothing she could do to free the creature from the clutches of the institute.

It just wasn’t fair.

_____

As the daily routine goes, Fluttershy finds herself stuck with the same menial task of scrubbing the floors and sweeping the halls in Sector 13. The midday rush is on the verge of dying down as the time for lunch breaks draws near, so the halls are almost nearly empty, apart from two or three straggling scientists here and there rushing between labs, or the occasional guards patrolling the sector.

While Zecora is off busy elsewhere, taking care of her quarterly paperwork with a supervisor, it was on Fluttershy to tackle a few of their tasks in Sector 13 on her own for a while. Though, she finds she really doesn’t mind. It’s almost serene, the quietude and stillness of it all.

Though just as she begins to head back to her cart to wheel to her designated lunch spot for the day, there’s a voice that suddenly calls out her name, startling her with a sharp intake of air.

“Hey, Shy! Fluttershy!”

As she shoots her head up and glances around the hall in search of the caller, Fluttershy turns around to find a familiar stallion in an orange construction vest, peering from around the corner of a vault room a few feet away, waving her down with a hollered “over here!”.

She grabs her cart and draws near, confusion etched into her features. It only worsens with a brief lurch in her gut when she realizes all the commotion is happening inside T4.

“Is — Is everything okay?” She asks apprehensively, her gaze flickering between the maintenance stallion she knows and the room behind him, secretly worried for the creature inside.

“No no, yeah, everything's good. Sorry to startle you. We’ve just got a small mess in here — you mind cleanin’ up for us? We’re just wrappin’ things up and we figured, since you’re right here, you wouldn’t mind.” He says, stepping aside to reveal a mess of drill shavings, plastic wrap, and fluid spills. “There was a real bad leak in one of the main water pipes, but we got it taken care of.”

“Oh dear.” Fluttershy leans in a bit to get a glimpse of the area in mention, a sense of relief easing the momentary fear in her gut when she realizes there’s no real reason to panic. “Of course, I don’t mind.”

“Thanks hun, ‘preciate ya.” The stallion tips his head to her before turning back into the room.

As she makes her way into the vault, cleaning cart in tow, her attention is immediately drawn to the glowing vessel in the room, compelling her to conspicuously peer around for any inkling of a sign the creature is present. It wasn’t, of course, and her gaze turns away when she sees the three construction workers in the room taking their leave, though not before tossing soiled towels her way.

Her reaction time is quick, catching the soggy towels they throw in heaps her way just in time. As they pile up in her arms, she huffs in mild displeasure as she drops the pile of towels on top of the cleaning cart, glancing back at them in silent indignation as the vault door rolls shuts behind them.

Though rather than switching her attention back to the cleaning she knows she should be starting on, a sudden lack of will to clean up drives her to dismiss it. Instead, her attention is drawn to the vessel in the middle of the room, completely transfixed in a state of curiosity. Longing.

A quick glance to the clock on the wall confirms it is lunch time. Perhaps a short break wouldn’t hurt.

Pushing her cart to the side of the room out of the way, Fluttershy dips her head into the bottom of the cart to grab her paper lunch bag with a swoop of her wing. But before she heads over to the pool, she grabs a suitcase-sized case from underneath a folded sheet, lifting it by the handle with her teeth and carrying it out.

Approaching the ledge, she confidently takes a seat on one of the steps and carefully places the case down at her side, setting her lunch down at her other side. She unlocks the two latches at the front of the case with a loud ‘pop’ and carefully lifts the top, revealing her favorite record still intact.

It wasn’t often she pulled out the record player — one of the many things she’s managed to smuggle into the facility under the radar as a personal comfort item. Some times, on the days where she would find herself alone and anxious mid-shift, the music was an escape. Oftentimes, on slow days and long breaks, she’d retreat to one of her hiding spots in an isolated corner of the facility and daydream to one of her favored records. Though this time, she intends to share the gentle fill of quietude with one equally as alone.

Despite Strickler’s insistence of the creature’s “vicious” tendencies, Fluttershy begs to differ. What she’s seen and what she’s heard were two vastly different sides of a matter, the only difference being that only one of them has inflicted harm and intimidation.

There’s a lot to be said when she fears Strickler more than she does the creature itself.

Letting a calm sigh escape her, Fluttershy lifts the needle and gently sets it atop the ridges of the record. A crackling static gives upon contact, then a few seconds later, the gentle melody of an old serenade fills the silence in the room.

Reaching over for her lunch, Fluttershy digs inside for the cucumber sandwich bites and the additional snack for her accompanying guest this time — a hard boiled egg.

Fluttershy gently sets the egg on the ledge in offering to the creature and returns to indulge in her own lunch, taking small bites of her sandwich with a tiny contented smile on her face. As she eats, occasionally, she shoots a side-glance towards the egg, knowing that any second now, she’ll notice signs of its approach.

And just as expected, she starts to see the water ripple.

A talon slowly emerges from the bottom of the ledge and grabs the entire egg, pulling it back down into the waters.

Fluttershy watches the movement from the corner of her eye as it happens, regarding the claw that delves back into the waters with a smile. She slightly leans over the ledge to see if it was still around, but she couldn’t tell, the water being more murky than usual. So, she leans to the record player and lifts the needle off the record, silence filling the room as she attempts to listen for signs of the creature’s nearby presence.

She isn’t sure if the creature is in fact, still nearby, or the sudden stop of the serene music rouses it from the depths — but right away, she sees the creature’s head emerge from the waters, peeking out from behind the ledge.

The creature draws closer, grabbing the edge of the pool to pull itself near. Fluttershy tilts her head curiously, the creature appearing oddly transfixed on the sight of the record player with a look of want. Fluttershy figures out right away what it wants.

“You want me to keep playing it?”

The creature stares at the record player, then up at her, gently taps a claw against the tip of the case, and quickly nods its head.

Fluttershy gladly obliges and carefully returns the needle back on the record, picking up where the song left off. The creature leans itself against the ledge, the metal shackles around its wrist clattering against the tiles as it lowers and tilts its head to rest on the cold tile, seemingly enjoying the melody by the way its ears slightly raise to hone in on the sound, its gaze transfixed on the sight of the spinning record.

Fluttershy watches with a fond smile, taking a bite of her own sandwich as they sit together in silence, enjoying each other’s presence. A warmth settles in her heart at the sight of the creature warming up to her. She knows it must be a drastic change in its routine — being held in total isolation, completely alone. Never having felt a sliver of kindness in all the time it’s been held captive here and, who knows, even possibly before this facility, too.

She ponders over the thought a little too much, evident by the way her emotional features shift into a slight display of sadness. The creature remains blissfully unaware of her blundering thoughts, however, still enthralled by the tune of a gentle melody. Though eventually, the creature does lift its head from the ledge to meet her gaze, noticing her sudden lack of appetite and deciding to stare, though still not saying anything to her.

“What is it?” She gently asks, tilting her head in concerned curiosity.

She watches as the creature lifts its paw to reveal the egg she’d given it earlier, eyeing between her and the egg. It lifts the egg in between its pointed talons and raises it to its mouth to take a firm bite, shell and all.

It doesn’t phase her much, not exactly knowing what the eating habits of a creature like this were, exactly. But what does pique her interest is the way the creature gestures towards her untouched lunch, and then to her. And when she doesn’t quite understand, sitting in a few brief seconds of unsure silence, it repeats the gesture, and takes a finishing bite of the egg.

Fluttershy lightly breathes out a voiceless “oh” with a forming smile, realizing it was telling her to eat. Of course.

In understanding, she raises a slice of the cucumber sandwich to her mouth and takes a slow bite, watching the creature for a change in reaction. There’s a shift of its gaze from her sandwich to her, and for some reason, it rouses a smile to her face and a light humored giggle. The creature lets out a light huff of air with an oddly pleased glimmer in its eye, and she watches it gently sink back into the waters enough to rest its chin back on the ledge comfortably, its gaze falling back on the object of interest from before.

Fluttershy looks between the record player and the creature, taking a hint to its apparent interest in the melody by the way its attention completely shifts back to the sight of the spinning record.

“It’s Fillie Holiday.”

The creature turns an ear toward her, listening to her speak.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” She says with a sigh slipping past her lips, savoring the graceful melody of the tune.

“When I was a little filly, my mother used to sing me to sleep. Whenever I’d wake up from a bad dream, she would stay by my side and sing this song to comfort me until I fell asleep. It worked every time.” Fluttershy smiles, recalling the memory in fondness.

“Sometimes when I’m alone on break, I still listen to the songs. It makes me feel… safe. Less lonely.” She turns her gaze over to the creature, feeling a twinge of sadness in her heart.

“It must be really lonely being here all on your own.” She says.

The creature doesn’t react or move an inch at all at that, its eyes still glued to the record. But after a few seconds of consideration, there’s the slightest, slowest nod of its head that drives a pang of hurt in her heart, her expression saddened.

Her gaze follows the sight of the creature’s sharp talon gently tracing imaginary lines across the edge of the record case, still endlessly captivated by it. However, the claw draws her attention, though not out of any concern for the condition of the case, but out of disguised fear veiled as mild fascination at the nature of its physique.

It’s almost unbelievable — the same claws that struck down upon Strickler with unimaginable force roaming near her now with such caution and gentleness. Not that she doesn’t know why; that being the unspoken rule of universal karma. Cast harm upon a creature, and harm will return to the offender tenfold.

Even Fluttershy wasn’t averse to the fact that Strickler got what he deserved.

“I know how badly he hurts you.” Fluttershy says just barely above a whisper, though it comes as her gaze falls on the conglomerate of questionable scars and burn marks dealt to the creature’s neck -- not to mention the way Strickler just talks about the creature so hatefully.

Her comment rouses the creature’s attention — evident by the way it shifts its ears to hone in on her voice and casts a side glance her way.

“That’s why you did what you did to him yesterday. You were just defending yourself.”

Right away, the creature’s ears press flat against its head, its expression heavily laden with shame and remorse. It turns its eyes away from her and fixates its gaze on a random spot across the room out of apparent guilt.

The remorse is as clear as day. Validating her assumption in that the creature truly didn’t want to inflict harm, but did so out of sheer instinct and desperation to survive. The predisposition of self preservation. Any creature would make an attempt to fight back, to lash and bite and growl in the face of mortal danger. She can’t imagine a creature who wouldn’t.

“I’m so sorry he did this to you.” Fluttershy says sadly, reaching out to tenderly caress her hoof against the back of the creature’s head, paying no mind to the wet dampness of its fur or the act of the physical contact itself.

Upon contact, the creature instinctively flinches, wary and hesitant of her touch. Though it makes her heart absolutely shatter — the thought of the creature never having been under an affectionate touch. She mindfully eases the weight of her caress into feather light touches for the creature to grow accustomed to until finally, it eases under her touch.

When she hears a reposing sigh escape from the creature, she soothingly brushes through the tresses of its black mane, letting the tranquil lull ease them both into a moment of contentment.

“I promise,” Fluttershy starts in a practical whisper so as to not disturb the peace. “I wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt you.”

Shortly after, the creature turns to cast a glance her way, but this time, with a thoughtful, almost doubtful expression written in its gaze.

“Cross my heart, hope to fly.” She gently says, making an ‘X’ motion with her hoof across her chest to prove her point. The creature sees this and lets out a small huff of air — almost as if it were giving a slight chuckle in a mannerism of amusement.

And when she smiles, so does the creature.

_____

The menial tasks thrown on the transfer specialists from Galleston were nothing less than tedious and unpleasant. Order after order per Strickler’s command, the daily routine didn’t fall short of becoming somewhat of a massive nuisance.

Hour after hour delivers the same headache — stuck in an endless loop of fetching this, delivering that. Little time is actually spent studying the asset in T4, as his transfer title insists, that it irks him to unfathomable depths.

As a renowned scientist in the field of biological and medical research of rare and ancient creatures, Dr. Hoofstead was over the moon with excitement at the opportunity of getting to study this mysterious creature at the institute. Though as he’d come to find out that Strickler would be his superior, suddenly things weren’t as great as he originally sought it out to be.

Traversing the halls with a worn demeanor makes the occasional passerby shut their mouths and turn their gazes away, second guessing their meager conversations with him in hesitation. As they should. What with little time and no patience to spend chit chatting, and all.

After an unquestionably unpleasant confrontation with Strickler regarding the significance of these trivial tasks, Dr. Hoofstead persisted reconsideration of his duties and involvement with the asset. It made no sense, the Colonel’s initial resistance and protection over the asset. It came off as odd to Dr. Hoofstead, but it wasn’t his place to pry.

Though it took an unnatural amount of convincing to get Strickler to budge, they parted in mutual agreement to alter Dr. Hoodstead’s up close involvement — starting by taking the lead in observation and frequent vital monitoring.

Making his way to T4 to take the asset’s vitals for the evening, Dr. Hoofstead skims over the creature’s previous test results and lab reports levitating in front of him as he walks, giving a mild hum in satisfaction of everything being well within exceptional values. Though in doing so, of course, he hardly pays mind to the fact that he hears a calm ballad of old-time music slightly echoing through the empty hallways and thinks it a pleasant melody amid the common silence.

Until it dawns on him.

He’s hearing music.

As realization hits him, Dr. Hoofstead lowers his paperwork from view to lift his gaze in shocked suspicion, searching the hall to find the source of the tune only to discover the vault door wide open, and the source of the music coming from T4. He doesn’t exactly recall any of the other scientists claiming they needed to tend to work in the vault this late in the day, which leaves a weight of sudden fear in his gut.

Approaching the vault in cautionary quiet, Dr. Hoofstead peers around the corner from the shadows, only to discover the sight of the last thing he ever expected to find.

The quiet cleaning mare and the asset. Together.

Situated at the edge of the tiled pool, the mare sits laughing, smiling with the creature, the both of them basking in the melody of the record player at her side. They seemed to be content in each other’s company, completely comfortable. Trusted. Unafraid.

Were his glasses not deceiving him, Dr. Hoofstead swore the asset seemed… happy.

Dr. Hoofstead hesitates, his conscience urging him to report this to Strickler and Fletching right away as a security breach and confidentiality risk. But something about the situation stalls him, holding him back from making a decision in finality.

In all the time Dr. Hoofstead has seen the asset up close, it only ever reacted in bouts of anger and agitation. The creature would never allow anypony to get close without means of force. This is the first time the scientist has actually seen the asset exhibit any signs of trust and reveal an emotion other than fear or rage, and it leaves the scientist standing there in utter bewilderment and fascination.

Who in Equestria is this girl?

Backing away from the vault, Dr. Hoofstead glances down at his blank reports left to fill out with a contemplative stare, the tune of a saccharine melody a persuasive influence to his internal conflict. The scientist in him craves to use this chance as a learning opportunity — to study the asset and the mare. To see if there truly did exist goodness in the creature’s being. To see if this strange pony — a cleaning mare of all — could change everything. But the logical part of him knows of the repercussions he would face were he to let this slide under the radar. Strickler wouldn’t be pleased.

Taking quiet, gradual steps away from the vault, Dr. Hoofstead plucks a pen from his lab coat pocket with his magic, clicks the top, and makes his final decision in ink.

He falsifies the asset’s medical report.

Chapter IV: The Conspiracy

View Online

In spite of everything, Fluttershy had grown fond of the mysterious creature.

It hadn’t come without its qualms, however. She remained compliant in her orders of labor, but with a new heightened sense of awareness to the passing scientist’s furtive interactions among the halls — quiet whispers and stern orders exchanging from one to another in secrecy. Before, made to wear a veil of ignorance, she would have never spared a passing suspicion to their shady dealings.

Now, it took everything in her to hold her raged tongue and feign ignorance.

There wasn’t anything she could do that would make any genuine difference. She knew this. She had no power or authority, no voice to be spoken and heard, no presence that would matter to those in charge. She, in essence, was nopony. Nothing but another cog in the machine made to feel insignificant, inferior.

Being an invisible presence in the shadows of the facility, however, ended up turning out in her favor. Because after all, being a part of the unseen gave her the advantage of sneaking around without any wandering eyes being cast her way.

What started as something meant to only happen once, maybe twice out of sheer curiosity, soon turned into a daily habit of preparing extra food in her lunch bag for the creature in T4. This morning, she did so without even so much a second thought to it. It was a simple act of kindness, a routine she’d quickly grown accustomed to.

Ever since their first meeting, Fluttershy made it a habit of visiting the creature in T4 everyday during her breaks, offering food to eat and a friendly voice to fill the silence. It wasn’t difficult to see that the creature liked having her around. With time, she felt the same.

She wasn’t really sure if they fed the creature, or if it even required food for sustenance at all like ponies do. Its dietary habits weren’t exactly known. She never catches sight of any scientists carrying in food — at least, from what she can tell during the hours she’s cleaning the halls nearby to watch who goes in or out. But whether or not they do, the creature always seemed to appreciate her daily offerings of hard boiled eggs, that it soon became their signature thing.

An egg on the ledge had been her peace offering, a distinct way of signaling her presence to the creature. That soon, it quickly associated the egg with the positive connotation of getting to indulge in a treat in her company. Though sometimes, she’d switch things up and bring it something new. An apricot, a pear, a crisp apple.

The creature didn’t care much for the fruit.

On one rare occasion where she had the extra bits to spare, she had brought a chocolate bar from her favorite local chocolatier downtown, wrapped and stamped finely in its wax paper and all. It had been the first time she’d even seen the creature give the slightest semblance of genuine joy, so alight with a sudden blossom of interest and happiness as if it were the most precious thing in the world. She’d never seen such a look on the creature before, that it caught her off guard. This couldn’t be the same creature that wounded Strickler — the one they called dangerous and deadly.

With every one of their secret rendezvous, there were deep layers slowly unraveling — layers Fluttershy never would have thought existed.

It really put things into perspective. After all she’s seen and done, after everything she’s learned of the creature, how could they treat it with such cruel disregard?

She couldn’t deny the scorn she felt in her gut — not once in her life has she ever had to turn a cold shoulder to a creature being tortured and it burned, searing words into her head in a mantra on repeat: it isn’t fair, it isn’t fair, it isn’t fair —

A wet mop haphazardly lashes down upon a stubborn stain on the floor amid her thoughts.

In the middle of her rambling reverie, Fluttershy wrinkles her nose at the task of cleaning up a blood spill mess in the medical bay in diligent silence. Her movements, however, are fueled by the frustrations born of her thoughts. So much so in fact, that this time around where the presence of blood would usually make her woozy and uneasy, she hardly pays much regard to it, only sparing an impulsive reaction of disgust at the smell. Not so much the sight.

It’s been getting harder and harder trying to focus on reality when there’s deep-hearted misery surrounding the thought of the creature suffering all alone in Sector 13.

Carefully, she tilts over a bucket of clean water to wash away the soapy remains of the fluids, watching the conglomerate of liquids swirl together and flow down the ground drain. Then, with a fine-bristled scrub brush, she scrubs away at the last of the residue in silence, listening to the sound of the present nurse’s hooves click against the floor as she strolls about the room, tending to her own tasks.

In the corner of Fluttershy’s eye, she catches sight of the nurse using her cyan magic to levitate an assortment of medical supplies, quietly approaching to restock the unlocked cabinets and drawers near her one by one.

Antiseptics, gauze, medicine, pre-packaged needles, salves, ice packs — to name a few from what Fluttershy could visibly tell from her position.

When she turns her gaze away from the humming nurse, however, an aberrant thought strikes her. All these medical supplies, and the institute couldn’t spare a single stock to tend their denizens with?

With the creature in T4 left harboring a slew of lacerations and burns from their blatant oversight, the potentiality of infection naturally worries her. She’s aware the creature isn’t being cared for in the way a wounded being should be cared for, and it inherently triggers a strong instinct in her, urging Fluttershy to take matters into her own hooves.

Meddling with the thought in her head, she reaches into her cart for a dry rag to wipe the floor down with, making sure the floor tiles are as close to sparkling clean as possible before considering her job complete.

Though of course, since it is a blood spill and considered a biohazard, the rag would have to be disposed of properly.

Shifting her gaze to the biohazard receptacle on the other side of the room, Fluttershy takes the soiled rag with the tip of her wing in mild disgust as she strolls to the disposal unit, her vigilant gaze adhered on the distracted nurse in observance the entire way there.

Stepping on the pedal to open the lid, she tosses the rag inside.

And lingers.

A fleeting moment later when the nurse finally turns around and starts walking in her direction, Fluttershy immediately lowers her gaze in complete naiveté, sauntering back towards her cleaning cart in her usual mannerism of demure quietude.

Upon approach, however, Fluttershy fixes on the sight of the unlocked drawers and cabinets exposed out in the open.

Glancing back towards the nurse, Fluttershy hears her grumble something indiscernible under her breath as she ducks low to shuffle through a supply cabinet, and Fluttershy looks back to the medical supplies with irresistible temptation.

With the nurse’s back turned, Fluttershy slowly approaches the open drawers, and without a second thought, takes a bottle of antiseptic, salve, and gauze with a swift sleight of hoof, slipping them into the pockets of her pinafore.

Looking back to make sure her back is still turned, Fluttershy returns to her cart in haste and quietly transfers the supplies into one of the sorter pouches in a hurry, not noticing the nurse already making her way back.

“What are you doing?”

As the last item falls, the nurse’s voice rings out, and the mare’s heart practically drops to her stomach.

As she looks up from the cart, making a wholehearted endeavor to conceal her fear, Fluttershy points a hoof towards the floor to purposefully divert the nurse’s attention away from her and shifts her mop handle to the other side of the cart, intentionally feigning the act of putting her own supplies away to thwart any lingering suspicions.

“U—Um, I’m — I —” Fluttershy stutters, a miserably poor attempt at concealing the anxious waver in her voice. “M’done.”

The nurse glances downward to observe her job in suspicion, and Fluttershy swears the silence that drags on could kill her right then and there. Though as the nurse raises his brow in observance of her cleaning job, he eventually gives a low hum and a nod of her head.

“Mm. Looks good.” The nurse says flatly before waving a hoof towards the door. “Alright, you’re good to go. Thanks for the help.”

With a slight exhale and a curt nod, Fluttershy hastily wheels the cleaning cart over towards the open door, leaving the medbay with her heart pounding in her chest.

_____

Later that day on her lunch break, Fluttershy returns to T4.

As she covertly slips into the vault, hauling her cleaning cart in tow, it’s the usual level of silence that greets her. Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary as far as she can tell — the same ambient sounds of leaky pipes and the low rumble of generators a familiar element to her visits.

But as she wanders inside this time, something feels… slightly off.

Toting her cart near the pool with a momentary halt in hesitation, she lets out a slow exhale, brushing off the odd feeling with a mild shake of her head — chalking it up as her merely being inherently paranoid about her many rendezvous’ in the vault. She’s been risking everything coming in here without orders, defying Strickler’s demands to stay away.

It’s considerably forbidden to meddle in the affairs of T4 — especially after what’s been demanded of her — but she just couldn’t stay away even if she tried.

As she takes a seat on the edge of the open pool, an involuntary smile forms across her lips as she dips her hoof into the warm waters, giving it a light swirl. There comes a slew of bubbles emerging from the depths, followed by a ripple in the waters as a pair of familiar horns slowly breach the surface at her presence.

Naturally, Fluttershy’s smile widens into something genuine as the creature swims up to the ledge, languidly emerging its head from the water to greet her fully.

“Hey there.” Fluttershy says soft and endearingly, reaching out to gently caress the side of the creature’s head in greeting. It doesn’t seem to mind this at all, giving a small twitch of its ear as it eases into her touch.

The display makes her heart swell with emotion — though, settling a mere few inches away from the base of her hoof, exposes the painful looking welts and scars on its neck she’s specifically come to tend to.

“I have something for you.” Fluttershy says as she pulls away, much to the creature’s apparent, short-lived disappointment.

Pretending not to hear the huff the creature gives in protest, Fluttershy turns to her cart and rummages through the pouch she’d stashed the supplies in from the medical bay, scooping them up in her hooves and carefully setting them down on the tiled ledge.

The creature eyes the objects suspiciously, slightly pulling away from the ledge in apprehension of her intention with the array of medical supplies. She’s quick to catch onto the creature’s apparent trepidation, however, and offers immediate reassurance.

“It’s okay, I just want to make sure those wounds of yours don’t get any worse. It doesn’t look like they’ve taken care of them at all.” Fluttershy says, her eyes falling upon the awful sight of them. “I promise, I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

Though the creature is wary, its trust in the mare doesn’t falter. In acceptance, albeit a bit reluctantly, the creature slowly returns to the ledge and casts a brief side glance her way before gradually resting its head on the cold tile, fully exposing its neck to her in a complete display of trust.

Popping the cork off the bottle of antiseptic solution between her teeth, Fluttershy fetches a clean towel from the cleaning cart and carefully tips the bottle over the cloth, letting it amply soak through. Once satisfied, she gently rests her free hoof to an unaffected area of the creature’s neck, offering a few reassuring strokes against its fur.

“This will sting just a bit.”

With a careful touch, Fluttershy gently presses the cloth down upon a fresh laceration. Right away, the creature tenses and hisses through its teeth, reactively lashing its tail in the water.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Deep breaths.” Fluttershy hastily reassures, giving the cloth a few swipes and pats for extra measure with as much caution and haste she could manage.

The creature bristles under the sting of the antiseptic, though it doesn’t make any sudden moves or give off any signs of fear or aggression towards her. She’s intent to make quick work with the cuts and burns, treating each one with equal amounts of attention and care. Only when she’s satisfied enough with the amount of coverage to finally pull the cloth away, does the creature ease into complaisance.

“There you go.” Fluttershy praises soothingly, a smile gracing her face. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

The creature lets out a huff, to which she softly chuckles as she reaches for the healing salve.

“Now, this should help ease the sting,” She says before tearing the packet open between her teeth, careful not to get any in her mouth. “And should help speed up the healing process. This won’t hurt a bit, I promise.” She assures.

Squeezing the salve into her hoof, she attentively leans in close and gently massages the medicine into each minor cut, burn, and scar, taking heed to apply the lightest possible pressure. Occasionally, she’ll see the creature wince under her touch and she’ll retract her hoof away to give it a moment, shifting her attention to other areas that needed tending to. It carries on this way for a few minutes, lost in the quiescence of concentration as she gently tends to every visible contusion.

Fluttershy is almost certain the creature seems to eventually relax under her cooling touch towards the end, eyes half lidded as it settles its head comfortably against the ledge. She’s never seen the creature quite this placid and serene before, that it’s almost disarming. That when she spreads the last smidgen of salve against the creature’s wounds, she feels a familiar warmth settle in her heart. Inklings of empathy, tenderness, fondness.

As she retracts her hoof away, content with the salve’s application, the absence of her touch consequently rouses the creature’s attention.

It searches for the lost touch with a semblance of sincerity in its eyes, the barest hint of gratitude replacing its typically weary gaze; and whilst she wipes the salve off her hoof with the discarded cloth, she looks down to the creature with an equal level of fondness in her gaze, rousing a smile to her face.

But as she opens her mouth to speak, a deep voice suddenly interjects the silence.

“He can speak, you know.”

With a sharp gasp, Fluttershy whips around to face the intruder with a start, her wings spanning out in fright. Scanning the room in search of the voice, she instinctively moves into a protective stance in front of the frightened creature, her wings taut to shield it from view.

Then suddenly, her gaze catches onto the silhouette of a mysterious figure emerging from the shadows from the other side of the room.

As the shadowy figure steps out into the light, her eyes widen.

Dr. Hoofstead — the research scientist she remembers seeing during the transfer just a few moons ago; and after playing it safe as best as she could, just so happens to be the one to have caught her red handed.

The sickening dread of the situation sinks in right away.

She’d just been caught.

Panic seizes her immediately, fight-or-flight kicking her senses into overload. The adrenaline and cold sweat that breaks out across her figure makes her slightly tremble in alarm, her chest rising and falling with quickening breaths from the startle.

Though she’s addled with anxiety and unmistakably terrified under the gaze of his presence, unknowing of his intent, she still stands her ground for the creature’s sake nevertheless — the sound of water shifting and spilling over the edge of the pool an extant reminder to stay for the defenseless creature’s sake.

She persistently keeps her guard up, what with the adrenaline rushing just enough to kick her senses into high alert. The air is tense — neither one of them opting to make a single move yet.

But she attentively notices the way Dr. Hoofstead is looking her way, observing her in an unusual manner. Unusual in the sense that he stares at her with a glimmer of unanticipated fascination in his eyes — a gentleness in his gaze and a kind softening to his features.

The sight leaves Fluttershy confused, unsure what to believe.

“Don’t be afraid. I mean you no harm.” The scientist begins, his tone matching the same level of softness in his gaze. “I’m not here to report you, I promise you.”

Fluttershy’s gaze shifts nervously, still apprehensive despite his reassurance. Though she doesn’t dare make a move, she does, however, listen intently to what he has to say with rampant thoughts of confusion.

Then why is he here?

“The collar around the creature’s neck — It’s a suppressor. It hinders the vocal cords, preventing the ability of speech.” Dr. Hoofstead reveals, gesturing in the direction of the creature still lingering nervously behind the mare.

Fluttershy doesn’t move or respond right away, still wary of his intent. Though there’s still lingering traces of panic in her gaze, what he says soon dawns on her, compelling her to eye him in suspicion.

A suppressor?

“...Why?” Fluttershy musters the courage to raise her voice in response, though her unsteady, near-whisper of a voice isn’t exactly free of mistrust and is wrought with confusion, bewilderment.

“Precautionary measures.” Dr. Hoofstead answers straightforwardly, utilizing the opportunity of their conversation to take another small progressive step closer.

Instinctively, Fluttershy draws herself closer to the edge of the vessel, taking in a nervous breath as she tenses up. Dr. Hoofstead seems to notice her fright, however, and thus halts where he stands in the middle of the room, still a considerable distance away in an apparent display of respectful consideration of her personal space.

The simple act urges her to reconsider her stance on his trustworthiness — surely if he really meant any harm, he wouldn’t take the time to assure he didn’t make any moves to instill mistrust in her. Right?

But the notion of the suppressor is still a thought that lingers fresh in her mind, piquing her curiosity.

It urges her to raise another question, her trembling voice gradually steadying as she collects enough of her composure to speak clearly.

“Can it be reversed?”

“Do you want it to be?”

Fluttershy inhales with a reply on her tongue, but hesitates. What kind of question was that? Initially, in her head, the answer is simple: yes, of course! But as she falters to give an answer right away, mulling on the thought, it occurs to her that the idea of the creature speaking to her feels like an outlandish notion to her now after having spent plenty of time in the vault having one-sided conversations.

She couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would sound like, or what it would say. She’s had the thought before — If the creature could talk, what would it say? But after everything she’s found out about the facility — the things they’ve done to this creature, she isn’t sure she wants to hear after all. She doesn’t know if she’d be able to handle listening about such dark, terrible things.

But with the thought being fleeting, it suddenly dawns on her from what Dr. Hoofstead had said. What exactly did he mean by "precautionary measure”?

“The asset seems to have taken a liking to you.” Dr. Hoofstead starts anew with mild intrigue in his tone, his gaze turning to the creature peeking out from the top of the ledge behind the mare’s protection. “I’ve never seen the creature behave this way before.”

Fluttershy counters his statement with a perplexed expression crossing upon her face. How could he possibly know that? There was no way he could know that unless he were closely following her around the facility and watching —

The color drains from Fluttershy’s face as realization suddenly dawns on her, her breath faltering as anxiety grips her nerves. That strange feeling she’d been having every time she’d wander through Sector 13 wasn’t just her being paranoid about being caught. She’d been right all along.

She was being watched.

“Tell me, have you been having bad dreams lately?”

Fluttershy suddenly stills, stunned by the accusation, even if it were true. How would he possibly know that? And what even warranted such a question in the first place?

“I —“ Fluttershy stutters, unsure of how to react. “How did you know that?”

“I could tell.” Dr. Hoofstead gestures to her, his gaze calculating, observing. “I’ve seen it before.”

Fluttershy falls quiet, her mind faltering, desperately struggling to process the situation. Completely in the clutches of utter bewilderment, she casts an addled look Dr. Hoofstead’s way, hardly even knowing where to begin with the slew of questions wracking her mind. That each time she parts her lips to raise a question, all that comes out is a faltering breath, her voice failing her.

She watches the scientist delicately nudge his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with the tip of his hoof, and with an ever-slight tilt of his head, he glances towards the vessel where the creature lingers.

“You see, the asset has the ability to form a type of psychic link — A telepathic bond.” Dr. Hoofstead begins to explain, his voice strangely mellow and calm as he speaks. “It puts these thoughts and feelings inside your head that aren’t yours. It’s a form of self-preservation, if you will. Think of it as a—” He waives a hoof in the air as he searches for the right word. “Survival instinct.”

As Fluttershy merely watches, listening in attentive silence, Dr. Hoofstead tugs the collar of his lab coat aside, exposing a strange metal collar with strange lettered inscriptions around his neck, glistening under the light.

She couldn’t tell what the writings said, too small to tell from afar. But as she studies her gaze on it, trying to decipher what exactly it is, she soon realizes it isn’t even in a decipherable language — nothing but odd, foreign markings she’s never seen before.

“These collars protect us against it. It deflects magic, protecting us from the creature’s influence.” He explains, tapping his hoof against the collar with a tinny clink. “If you’re not wearing one in the asset’s presence, you’re vulnerable.”

Fluttershy takes a slight inhale, visibly on edge.

“And if somehow you stumbled upon the asset outside of the suppressor, then you were vulnerable.”

It occurs to her — that time she’d stumbled across the creature in containment processing. The way she let her curiosity get the best of her and made accidental eye contact with the creature. That’s when she felt that jarring shift in reality. Back when it all started. The nightmares, the whispering voices.

It all begins to make sense, but she isn’t sure she likes this truth.

“You confirmed you were having nightmares.” Dr. Hoofstead addresses with a curious glance her way, rousing her attention. “You might even be hearing voices outside of them, yes?”

Fluttershy tenses her brows in momentary wariness, but ends up wordlessly nodding her head in reply. It’s obviously clear Dr. Hoofstead somehow knows everything about this down to a T — aware of such trivial details regarding the creature’s influence on other beings. But she supposes working in such a place as a scientist is an occupational hazard in itself, after all.

“What you’re hearing is the asset trying to communicate with you. Since it can’t physically speak, the asset resorts to its telepathic ability in an attempt to reach out, thus why we wear these collars. But without caution, and if the creature is desperate enough, it can latch onto the subconscious of another presence and quite literally drive them mad.” Dr. Hoofstead explains, a slightly warning edge to his tone.

Fluttershy nervously swallows, dread weighing her shoulders.

“And I’m going to take a wild guess and say you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Lowering her wings, Fluttershy casts her gaze downwards in thought, shaking her head in unmitigated disbelief, thinking no, this can’t be true.

“Whatever the Colonel may have told you about the asset, he’s right. This creature may appear harmless and innocent. But I assure you, the danger this asset poses is... insurmountable.”

Fluttershy is immediately taken aback by this statement, drawing her gaze back towards Dr. Hoofstead with a sickening, unsettling feeling deep in her gut.

“How dangerous?” She asks.

“Unfathomably.”

Struck by an overwhelming sense of devastating trepidation, Fluttershy slowly turns around to acknowledge the creature’s presence behind her, but finds nothing there.

Though the creature had long since disappeared back into hiding without her noticing, Fluttershy sits in the same spot in utter silence, staring into the empty waters feeling more than a little emotionally torn.

“You really don’t know anything about this creature, do you?” Dr. Hoofstead says inquisitively, evidently taking heed to her apparent self-conflict.

Fluttershy, in turn, tersely shakes her head, still struggling to process the heap of information given to her on such an unexpected whim — overthrowing her thoughts into complete and utter turmoil.

In the midst of her silent reverie, however, Dr. Hoofstead magically fetches a notepad and pen from the pocket of his lab coat and silently jots something down, his brow slightly tensing in concentration as he writes in haste. Moments later, he tears the note from the binds and levitates it her way, hovering it up to view for her to take.

Fluttershy eyes the folded yellow note in confusion, initially hesitant to take it. Though eventually, as inescapable curiosity overwrites wariness, she accepts the note with slight apprehension written on her face, glancing down at the piece of paper to see what’s been written.

Though before she could even begin to decipher the scribble of what seemed to be a conspicuous address, Dr. hoofstead’s voice interrupts the silence again, urging her to redirect her immediate attention on him.

“Meet me at 322 western boulevard, right off of route 21. Brick building, 7th floor.” The scientist says in a hushed tone as he makes his way towards the vault door, swiping his keycard into the reader. “Tonight. Eight o’clock sharp. Make sure no one sees you come in and make sure you are not followed.”

“Wait — what?” Fluttershy exclaims, her eyes widening.

“I think you should know the truth.”

Fluttershy’s expression shifts into utter shock and confusion, stuttering over her words.

“The — The truth? About what? This— I don’t understand—”

“You will soon. But you mustn’t tell anypony about this.”

“I— But—!“

“Trust me.” Dr. Hoofstead stresses, turning away to make his way to the open threshold of the vault door in departure.

Before Fluttershy could raise another question, the vault door seals shut behind the scientist, leaving her all alone in the cold silence of the room to steady her nerves.

_____

With the note tucked into the pocket of her pinafore as she moves about the rest of the day, a constant reminder of what was unveiled in T4, Fluttershy just couldn’t shake off the unfathomable magnitude of dread the strange confrontation left her in.

For the remainder of her shift, Fluttershy tried to feign normalcy in Zecora’s presence. She tried not to let the encounter distract her from her responsibilities, but it was an effort undeniably gone to waste. Though Zecora hadn’t suspected anything out of the ordinary — Fluttershy’s quiet nature being an advantage to her when it really counts — she couldn’t stop thinking about the creature and what Dr. Hoofstead had told her. So much, that it was all she thought about for the remainder of her eight hour shift.

Because after everything, how could she know for sure it wasn’t a trap?

It was plausible, sure, but Fluttershy chastises herself for even thinking the thought, knowing full well that it was a preposterous notion considering the lengths he went through just to prove his trustworthiness to her. Jeopardizing his own position here, for one. Risking getting caught and punished to the highest degree, another.

The truth had been apparent — clear as day in his eyes. If there were anypony she could put a little trust and faith in inside the institute, she knows her intuition would lead her to Dr. Hoofstead.

She surmises all this unease rises at the thought of her potentially losing her own job at the institute for inadvertently involving herself in dangerous, confidential affairs. And of course, potentially exposing the institutes wrongdoings. Though she has her own list of wrongdoings to confess in guilt, none of them could even begin to compare to the level of unethical offenses the institute has committed right under everypony’s noses.

She’s fully aware that what she’s doing is wrong — putting not only her job at risk, but her own life. That if she continues to consort with these powerful forces at play, as Zecora warned, it would bring nothing but danger and despair.

But she knows if she doesn’t do something, nothing will ever change.

When the end of her shift finally rolls around, Fluttershy languidly unties her pinafore and hangs it on the hook inside her locker; exhausted from the day, that she almost misses as the note from earlier slips out of the pocket and glides to the floor.

Fluttershy indecisively glances down at the note with a tense expression on her face, shutting her locker with slight force. She knows that as the hour draws near, she needs to make a definitive decision. There wasn’t much time left anymore.

Heart pounding, she picks up the note paper and glances over at the clock on the wall, hearing Dr. Hoofstead’s voice in her head.

Eight o’clock sharp.

_____

As loud thunderclap rolls in the sky, Fluttershy flinches.

She never did like the rain. It always frightened her, ever since she was a little filly. She never could understand how some ponies considered rainstorms comforting — especially those ones with loud, rolling thunder and sharp lighting strikes. Just like tonight’s downpour.

She especially hated them.

From behind the bus windows that protect her from the rain, Fluttershy sits in her usual seat clutching her saddlebag close to her chest for comfort, trying to block out the sound of the thunder as much as she could. As she closes her eyes shut, she unsteadily breathes in and out, trying not to fall off the tightrope of a creeping panic attack for what seems like eternity until the voice of the driver suddenly rings out, startling her out of her reverie.

“Last stop, western boulevard. Last stop.”

As the bus rolls to a stop on the bumpy cobblestone roads, Fluttershy reluctantly opens her eyes back to reality. Greeted by the shuffle of the last two passengers disembarking into the dimly lit streets, she glances out the windows, the barren roads glistening wet from the rain and illuminated by intermittent lightning strikes. Ones that make her reactively flinch, sending her deeper in perpetual fright.

Even as the last passenger departs, leaving her left as the last passenger, something holds her in stillness. A lingering vestige of fear. A shadow of doubt, creeping in at the last minute.

“Hey. End of the line, Miss.” The driver calls out to her from the front, grabbing her attention.

Not wanting to hold the driver any longer, Fluttershy slowly slips from her seat with reluctance and fastens her saddlebag underneath her carmine red cloak, giving it a brief adjustment as she nears the step of the exit. The driver glances her way with a tired look in his eyes and gives a brief nod of his head — a wordless acknowledgement of their parting of ways.

Returning the wordless gesture of their goodbye, Fluttershy lifts the hood of her cloak and steps into the rainy night.

Trying with all her might to at least feign composure and fortitude, she sets about her trek though the unfamiliar streets; shaken, but determined. Being so obviously out of touch with hardly ever seen risk-taking side of her leaves her scared witless, constantly checking over her shoulders in paranoia as she walks. Though this time especially, it’s for more reasons than just one.

“Brick building... Seventh floor...” Fluttershy whispers to herself under her breath in repetition, glancing around the dim streets for the right address.

319... 320... 321...

322.

As Fluttershy turns her gaze upward to the rest of the complex, she practically shudders at the sight of the decrepit old brick building that greets her, sleek and dreary from the late nighttime rainfall. The windows on the lower level were haphazardly boarded up and the foggy windows on the top floor were completely void of any light, leading her to think no pony is even there and she should just turn back right now and forget about this whole thing —

“No, I can’t. I have to do this. I have to.” Fluttershy whispers in convincement to herself, forcing herself to rid the thought. She didn’t come out all this way for nothing.

Approaching the top of the apartment steps in caution, Fluttershy spares a second to glance over her shoulders in search of wandering presences. Make sure you are not followed, she recalls Dr. Hoofstead’s warning. Make sure no one sees you come in.

Raising her hoof to the doorknob, she gives it a turn and a push, and the door creaks open.

Peeking around the corner of the doorway, she discovers a straightforward entryway foyer. It’s dim, alight only by a single gaslight lantern mounted on a wall. Though still, even so, she’d rather be inside and deal with the mystery than linger out in the cold rain any longer.

Cautiously stepping in and closing the door behind her, she shakes off the hood of her cloak with an exhale, giving a brief shake of her head to rid the excess rain clinging to her mane, smoothing the stray strands out of her face with her hoof as she glances around apprehensively.

She finds the walls an odd shade of beige, decorated with old mahogany antique trimming lining the ceilings and window frames. She surmises it’s certainly an old building — too old to safely house many tenants, she thinks. Perhaps that’s why it seemed so vacant.

As to why Dr. Hoofstead would ever choose a place like this was beyond her.

Entering the depths of the building, she stops half way down the hall to find a black metal staircase to the far right of the foyer, tucked behind the apartment elevator that looks far too old to be trusted.

In any other circumstance, Fluttershy would turn right back around and never even think about coming back to a place like this. Even she’s aware it’s unfathomably uncharacteristic of her to throw caution to the wind and take massive risks, going against her very nature. The sudden thought unexpectedly strikes a chord in her and renders her still, the realization of what she’s doing dawning on her. All this, for a creature.

A creature she realizes she doesn’t even really know, but is about to find out.

With the thought completely encompassing the forefront of her mind, Fluttershy hardly registers the motion of her reaching for the elevator button going up, letting instinct lead her into autopilot until the elevator gates creak open in front of her.

Despite its rather antique appearance, It seemed functionable enough to ride. Not that she wanted to actually take seven long flights of stairs with her already aching haunches from a long day of work. This time, she’ll risk it.

When she reaches the seventh floor and the exterior gates noisily creak open, she takes an unsteady breath and peers around the empty hall with unease, the distal sound of rain still audible from the exterior of the building, pelting against the old, dilapidated windows. But before she goes out into the hall, it suddenly dawns on her.

He never told her which room.

What was she supposed to do now?

Slowly stepping out into the hall and letting the elevator gates close shut behind her, Fluttershy glances back and forth hopelessly, debating on which way to go. Left, or right? There weren’t exactly any traces or indications telling her where to go, so she merely follows her gut with this one and turns left, moving along at a slow, cautious pace down the hallway.

But as she wanders, she begins to hear something new. Muffled from behind the walls, she distinguishes the noise as music. A familiar tune. And the longer she listens, It soon dawns on her.

The same song from the record she played for the creature in the vault.

Seeking out the source of the familiar tune, Fluttershy listens with rapt attentiveness, soon coming to a halt at the end of the hallway in the vicinity of the door she hears it coming from, clear as ever. This had to be the one.

With a preparatory inhale, she raises her hoof and gives a few gentle knocks against the wooden door.

But when there’s no answer, she begins to dread.

Maybe she made a mistake? Maybe it was just a coincidence, or maybe nopony was home. Though that’s absurd — if that were the case, why would there be music playing on the other side? Fluttershy takes a hesitant step back in doubt, running through every potential excuse in her head as she turns herself away from the door, already preparing to leave.

Maybe this was a mistake. Perhaps she should just go back home and —

The door suddenly gives a slight rattle from the other side, drawing her attention with a startle.

The door slowly opens, and she’s greeted by the sight of Dr. Hoofstead on the other side. Though, he doesn’t exactly welcome her with any fanfare. His gaze is stern, observing, calculating.

“You weren’t followed?” Dr. Hoofstead asks, slightly leaning out from his doorway to peer down the hall from where the mare had come from.

Fluttershy shakes her head, quiet.

The scientist eyes her momentarily, as if searching for confirmation in her gaze. Eventually, he gives a terse nod of his head and steps aside, offering her entry to his apartment.

“Come in.”

Fluttershy wordlessly obliges, despite her heart beating so hard in her chest that she feels she might faint.

As Dr. Hoofstead shuts the door behind her and replaces the chain lock, Fluttershy timidly observes her surroundings, taking in the sight of the scientist’s home.

It’s certainly... modest. Simple, clean. Not a thing strewn out of place or a mess to be found. It’s a small space, most definitely only fit for one pony to live in. Not much different from her own, though she notices it does lack a personal touch.

To her, It feels unquestionably… empty. Lonely.

“Would you like some tea?” Dr. Hoofstead chimes in, making his way to the small kitchenette left of the entryway to prepare a fresh brew.

“Oh, um — I’d love some. Thank you.” Fluttershy softly answers out of respect with a quick nod, though she can’t deny the circumstance highly unusual. Never in her lifetime would she ever have thought she’d be socializing with a scientist from the institute in his own home, yet here she is.

“You can take a seat at the table right over there.” He says, pointing a hoof at the wooden table near a curtained window in the adjacent room.

Fluttershy accedes with another understanding nod and heads over to the table with a slowly growing sense of ease now, somewhat relieved to settle with the tune of a familiar melody and warm up from the rain over a cup of tea. It isn’t exactly the coziest place she’s ever been in — the lack of decor or any personal touches just slightly off putting — but she feels safe. Since meeting Dr. Hoofstead, come to think of it, she doesn’t recall ever feeling unsafe in his presence. There was never a hint of hostility, never a trace of aggression or intimidation.

Unlike the others in the institute, Fluttershy felt that she could trust him.

As Dr. Hoofstead approaches, he carefully sets down two white teacups at the table with the field of his magic. Fluttershy pulls her cup close to her in silence, watching him summon a stack of Manila files from the briefcase on the living room floor, setting each file down in the middle of the table to view.

The first file laid before her is positioned upside down, but the red ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ stamp on top of the crest of the institute on the folder’s cover is prominent, clear to see from where she’s sitting.

Clutching the warm cup between her hooves, she eyes the heap of files with anticipation, butterflies in her stomach at the sight. It almost feels unreal.

The answer to the institute’s most well guarded secret, sitting right in front of her.

“The institute prefers we scientists upkeep our oath of secrecy.” Dr. Hoofstead starts, taking a seat at the table with an exhale. “But lately, I’ve begun to question the standing of their morals. And I’m sure you have too.”

Fluttershy spares a slight nod of her head in affirmation, though an inconspicuous quirk of her brow professes her interest in his statement. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one bearing suspicions towards the institute.

“Since General Trot’s recent involvement with the institute, I’ve been inclined to believe what they’re planning to do with the creature in their possession isn’t good.”

“What do you mean?” Fluttershy says with evident worry in her tone, apprehensive to the notion.

Dr. Hoofstead takes a hesitative inhale, resting a hoof over the stack of files as he seemingly ponders what he’s going to say. The emotional aspect in his gaze brims with consternation, driving a terrible feeling to settle in her gut as he speaks precariously.

“That creature you stumbled upon in Sector thirteen is not who you think it is.”

Turning the file away from himself and carefully flipping the cover open, Dr. Hoofstead slowly slides it across the table Fluttershy’s way, revealing the contents in full to her.

Reluctantly, she draws her gaze downward to the slew of confidential documents opened up and exposed before her, overwhelmed by the heaps worth of information that’s been typewritten and annotated in red ink — some pages even being excerpts from scrolls of ancient texts in a language she couldn’t decipher.

The drawn sketches of the creature, however, is the first thing that catches her eye. Because alongside that, is a portion of a typewritten document with a bolded annotation that sends a jolt of dread and utter terror through her heart.

The text reads heavily underlined in red ink — ‘THREAT LEVEL: HIGH’

“This creature is called Discord, the spirit of chaos and disharmony.” Dr. Hoofstead begins, settling his hoof near the drawn diagrams of the creature. “Discord is a trickster with powerful chaos magic we assume to be several millennia old. At the dawn of its — sorry, his reign, he was once worshipped by the tribes in Fort Leota for his unusual magical abilities. But his desire to spread chaos and disharmony across the land became so great, he went on to practically rule over almost all of Equestria.”

Dr. Hoofstead parts the documents to seek a specific page, emerging from the very bottom of the stack an old page that appears out of place with the others; likely a page removed and restored from an old book, Fluttershy presumes.

Right away, she recognizes the creature painted at the center of the portrait, but not exactly in the way she’s used to seeing.

The portrait depicts the spirit of chaos ruling over the land of Equestria — puppeteering brainwashed ponies, levitating chaotic structures of inverted buildings over deserted lands, manifesting odd weather patterns amess in the sky. The sight illustrated such utter pandemonium and disarray, that Fluttershy couldn’t believe the creature in the portrait and the one in the institute were the same being.

She never would’ve thought that lingering behind the unassuming veil of these suppression devices, resides an inconceivably powerful being. Were it not so utterly terrifying, Fluttershy might almost have been fascinated by the thought.

But right now, all she feels is disbelief.

“His origins are unknown, and with very few records of his existence, besides what’s been documented and examined in ancient scrolls and old Ponish literature, there’s little known about him. Which is why the institute requisitioned my assistance.” Dr. Hoofstead explains.

“So… He’s…” Fluttershy utters under her breath, a sense of foreboding dread stirring a chill up her spine. “...a God?”

Dr. Hoofstead, raising his gaze in all seriousness to meet hers, nods.

“This is why the institute went through such extreme measures to keep him contained. He’s very powerful.” Dr. Hoofstead says, sifting through the pile of papers to reveal blueprints of the suppressor and its supplementary forms of restraints.

“I’ve briefly told you about the collar around his neck.” He taps his hoof against the blueprint for the collar, rousing a nod from Fluttershy. “That’s the suppression device that prevents him from casting his magic, and the vessel we have him in is what counters the side effects of it.”

“Counters what effects?” Fluttershy tilts her head in confusion, turning her gaze from the blueprints to look Dr. Hoofstead’s way.

“Suppression Field Sickness. The fluid we keep him in is a magically charged crystalloid solution similar to intravenous solution — the IV bags you’d find in hospitals. But this is re-engineered specifically to keep the side effects of the suppressor at bay. That’s why it has a glow and smells sterile and faintly like electricity, you might’ve noticed. The fluids essentially sustain him, keep him alive.”

Fluttershy thoughtfully hums, casting her gaze downward at the documents with thoughtful intrigue. That makes sense — all the times she’d sit near the water and feel that strange hum of residual magic. Initially, she thought the source stemmed from the inhabitant, not vice versa.

Pausing to take a sip from his steaming cup of tea, Dr. Hoofstead returns the cup to the table with a sigh, a troubled look following. Fluttershy in turn, breaks away from the files scattered in front of her to look his way at the sound of his sigh, a terrible feeling settling in her gut at the sight of his distraught demeanor.

“So the institute considers this their most valuable asset. It’s perhaps one of their most intriguing captures by far, even.” Dr. Hoofstead starts, leaning back in his chair with an expression of dissent. “But their intentions under the Colonel’s management… deviated.”

“What do you mean?” Fluttershy pries curiously, her brows tensing with concern at this.

“The institute is supposed to be a place of research and study of rare and powerful creatures. To safeguard them and keep Equestria safe. But…” Dr. Hoofstead trails off with a chagrined look on his face, his gaze averting in thought. “Turns out, Strickler was never in it for the research. When his team sought out this creature, they had other plans in mind.”

“Plans?” Fluttershy says with a tinge of unease in her tone. “What plans?”

“They basically lied and manipulated me into doing their dirty work, because what they really wanted this whole time was for somepony to figure out how to harvest and weaponize Discord’s chaos magic so they could use it as a weapon.”

“Weapon for what?”

“For war.”

Fluttershy falls silent as the revelation slowly registers in her mind. A weapon of war? Equestria wasn’t even at war.

“I don’t understand...” Fluttershy says breathlessly, her expression struck with trepidation. “A war? Are we in danger?”

“I wish I could give you a straightforward answer. Their intentions are never transparent when it comes to confidential matters of warfare.” Dr. Hoofstead gives a slight shrug. “All I know is that if they go through with this, there certainly will be one.”

Fluttershy absently slumps back in her seat in utter fear of the thought and realization, increasingly difficult to fight off that sense of impending doom lingering over her head. More than anything, the thought leaves her reeling. Because after everything, after trusting her gut, she’d been right all along about Strickler.

His intentions were malicious from the start.

“Strickler has become dangerously overzealous.” Dr. Hoofstead prepares to explain with a troubled exhale, his expression far from positive. “He sees the asset too tempting a prize to let loose, and his desire for power and control is consuming him. He’s a master manipulator and easily persuades others into heeding his demands, but you know the main reason why he does it? Why he’s doing any of this?”

Fluttershy shakes her head, hanging on every word of his with attentive interest.

“He does it to gain General Trot’s favor. He’s a Stallion that thrives on his superior’s validation and will do just about anything to support his delusions of grandeur. We’re dealing with quite literally, a dangerous narcissist.”

“So you’re saying he’s doing all of this... just to prove something?” Fluttershy says, her expression displaying utter bafflement.

“Once Strickler sets his mind to something in an act of his own convincement, not even the truth can change his mind. There’s nothing we could possibly do to make him question his allegiance to the General, and that’s what worries me the most about this whole thing.” Dr. Hoofstead worries his brows at his last sentence, garnering Fluttershy’s attention.

“Strickler and General Trot — those two are both very power hungry, greedy bastards, making them two very dangerous beings in positions of power. Strickler alone went from feigning the intent to study the asset, to wanting to steal the power of an ancient creature just to impress the General without any concern to whether or not they kill him for it. And if they get away with this, there will be a surplus of powerful chaos magic in their control they have no business meddling with.”

A look of horror crosses Fluttershy’s face, her blood running cold.

Did he say kill?

“Miss Shy, I urge you to listen.” Dr. Hoofstead pleads, resting his hooves flat against the table in reach of the mare’s attention. “Strickler plans to convince General Trot to sign off on the order to perform this dangerous experiment, but if he does this, the asset won’t survive the procedure he wants to do. If the General agrees, and I have every reason to believe he will, they plan to euthanize the asset in four days. That’s all the time Discord has left.”

“What?” Fluttershy’s voice comes out a near-broken whisper, a tremor tightening her throat as his words dawn on her. “No — You have to do something! Please, you can’t let him die.” She begs, unadulterated devastation and panic in her tone. “There has to be somepony who can stop this, right?”

“I certainly have no intention of turning a blind eye. I’ve seen first-hoof what Strickler has done — the way he’s treated the asset, and it bothers me just as much as it hurts you to see him in pain. I’ve seen you two together and I’ve seen how much you care. I don’t want to see this creature destroyed at the hooves of some narcissist craving military accolades and power over some nonexistent operation.” Dr. Hoofstead says with barefaced indignation in his tone, though his demeanor is steady and determined as he prepares a breath to speak his next sentence.

“Which is why I plan on extracting him from the facility with your help.”

“What?!” Fluttershy accidentally exclaims out loud, reeling back in her seat in disbelief with eyes wide open. “Me? What do you mean me?”

“You’re the help, you slip by undetected! You have access to every part of the facility. They would never suspect a thing.” Dr. Hoofstead attempts to convince her, leaning forward a slight in his seat to assert his sincerity in the matter. “And I’ve watched you interact with the asset since the very beginning. He trusts you, and I sense something in you... Something that leads me to believe you can reform him.”

“Reform him? But — He’s a God! You said so yourself! I’m just — I’m just a cleaning mare!” Fluttershy exclaims with a slight tremor in her voice, taken aback by his bold proposition.

“You’re a mare the creature trusts.” Dr. Hoofstead counters, giving a slight tilt of his head as he locks eyes with the mare in all seriousness. “I’ve never seen any creature look at you the way he looks at you. I’m urging you, Fluttershy, to consider. For his sake.”

Fluttershy stills and turns her gaze down to the tea cup held tight in her hold, hesitant. Days ago, she would have never spared a second thought. She’d do it in a heartbeat. But after learning of the creature’s true identity, she’s caught in a moment’s hesitation — the thought of her having been convening with an all-powerful ancient God of disharmony this entire time in ignorance, and now being urged to take a literal spirit of chaos under her wing and reform?

The thought of Discord’s fate resting in her hooves quite literally makes her feel sick to her stomach, twisting and tensing with anxiety. The grip on her teacup tenses as she contemplates her only two choices.

“They will never believe what you and I believe.” Dr. Hoofstead interrupts her contemplative reverie with a strong measure of disappointment in his gaze, though his tone conveys ire. “If we don’t do something about this, Equestria will be in danger with two idiots wielding powerful magic they have no business having, and Strickler will continue to manipulate and harm the next defenseless creature he captures. Not just this one.”

Fluttershy clenches her jaw at the thought. Dr. Hoofstead is right. Strickler wouldn’t just stop at Discord — it would happen to others if it didn’t stop here.

The thought of Strickler getting away with such a vile thing rouses an unbridled anger to rise in her gut. Afraid or not, she couldn’t leave Discord to suffer by the hooves of somepony like Strickler. She couldn’t let him have the satisfaction of such an “accomplishment”. She couldn’t let him get away with this.

Fluttershy glances down at the illustrated portrait of Discord, letting out a tense exhale.

She knows what she has to do.

Chapter V: The Ruse

View Online

That night, she hadn’t come home until the late hours past midnight.

Miles had heard her coming down the corridor of the apartment complex and emerged from the doorway of his own apartment, curiously asking her where she’d been — why she’d been gone so long, and how he started to worry. The words fell stuck in her throat, any coherent response failing to come out at all. She fumbled with her keys, struggling to get the key in the keyhole with how unnerved she was. Miles noticed it right away. Of course he would.

He hadn’t bothered to jokingly admonish her lateness a second after seeing the shaken expression on her face. Immediately, the deeply concerned fatherly side of him emerged, taking her side and urging her to spill what had happened.

Initially, Fluttershy hadn’t said a word. She couldn’t. Perhaps it was still the lingering sense of shock and disbelief over her settled decision in the end. Not until the bus ride back home did it hit her just how drastic a deal she’d made. Even then, however, she knew she could seek comfort in Miles. If there was a single soul she could confide in without fear of consequence, it would be him.

Thus eventually, letting him guide her to the safe confines of his apartment living room to talk, she spilled.

To say the least, Miles was stunned.

Fluttershy had told him everything — the intricate details of the institute’s conspiracy, the creature’s true identity, the entire plan. The conversation kept them up well into the late hours, neither one of them getting much sleep that night. While Miles had simply sat silent most of the time, ruminating over his thoughts as he sat there, letting Fluttershy pour her heart out, she could see the shift in his features — that gradual alter from confusion, to realization, to horror.

Though Miles tried his utmost best to console her in the end, they parted ways that night in unsettling silence.

Everything felt like a terrible waking nightmare. Through the moonlight and morning sunrise, Fluttershy’s troubled thoughts of the institute and Discord’s imprisonment persisted. It poured hot fuel to the fire of anger simmering in her gut, wanting nothing more than to set him free from the institute and get him as far away from Strickler’s clutches as possible. Despite what she may have learned about the creature, nothing she discovered could deter her from Sector 13. Because deep down, she knew she was making the right choice.

Dr. Hoofstead had been right about everything, and she’d had plenty of time to think about it through the night.

Though Discord’s legacy told a tale of turmoil and disharmony in the history books, real life seemed to tell a different story. From Fluttershy’s perspective, she saw nothing but a scared, misunderstood creature. No malicious intent. No real evil as others made him out to be. All she saw was a creature rooted in fear, desperation, and utter loneliness.

No creature of pure evil intent would look at her with any amount of vulnerability and sincerity as it had all those times, let alone trust her to get close enough to engage in physical contact. They both equally entrusted each other, seen up close in the hushed moments of their reverie, and she’s certain of it with every fiber of her being.

Though she didn’t see it before, she certainly sees it now. It had been written in the stars from the start, a bond forged by fate. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind about it.

What she hadn’t told Miles the night prior, however, were her plans to break the creature out of the institute.

During her shift the following day, pretending she knew nothing proved to be a difficult task. Though she upheld her silence around Zecora and the rest of the staff, apart from Dr. Hoofstead, Fluttershy couldn’t help but let her mind wander as she tended to her work in habitual silence; unable to wonder what repercussions Strickler would surely endure upon the asset’s disappearance and what would come of their twisted plan. To think it could all so easily fall apart at her will. Surely, he’d be furious.

That particular thought sticks to her. She isn’t sure what it is that makes the thought so appealing — perhaps it’s the sense of sick satisfaction at the prospect of karma that entices her. But as she briefly passes Strickler in the hall on her way to her designated sector, sparing a fleeting glance his way to see him caught up in a conversation with another scientist, there’s a certain thrill that rises in her at just the mere thought of his downfall. Such a vile being, undeserving of even an ounce of gratification.

As she turns the corner of the hallway leading to T4, she stations her cleaning cart just a slight distance away from the entrance, making a quick reach for her paper lunch bag in the bottom of the cart before she heads to the vault per her normal routine.

Swiping her keycard through the reader, she slips into the dim vault with the paper lunch bag tucked close to her chest, checking back to make sure the steel door fully closed shut behind her and that no one had caught sight of her entering. But as the vault door shuts with a clamor and silence befalls the room, she suddenly hears a pained noise emerge from inside the room, strained and short-winded.

Instinctively, with a terrible feeling setting in her gut, she whips around to face the direction of the sound with a sudden sense of panic.

Rushing into the light of the room, Fluttershy’s heart drops to her stomach.

“Oh no, no, no, no no —“

Dropping her lunch bag to the ground in shock, Fluttershy runs to the center of the vault with a horrified gasp, eyes wide as her gaze falls on the sight of Discord laying outside of the vessel, visibly wounded and sodden in a conglomerate of fluids and spilled blood. Heavily chained and bound to some sort of strange concrete platform drilled into the ground to keep him restrained, the chains rattle as he strains to push himself up from the ground, his feeble arms shaking as they weakly give out under him.

In a state of frantic panic, Fluttershy falls to his side, frantically grabbing at the heavy chains in search of a way to undo the lock. But there wasn’t one — not any that she could see. There wasn’t a single keyhole or mechanism to release the cuffs that she could find. Raising her panicked gaze up to his, she reaches out to cautiously assess the extent of his injuries, her mouth fallen open in speechless shock.

But just as she slightly grazes her hoof against his chest, she feels something wet, compelling her to glance down. There’s an alarming amount of dark blood that comes back on her hoof, smeared and dripping down in rivulets into her fur.

But before she could do anything, her attention is captured by the sound of a muffled voice interjecting the silence from the other side of the vault door, emitting from the hallway.

“Fletching, I have to wrap up some things in here. Fetch the General, will you?”

Strickler.

As the keycard scanner chimes from the other side of the door, Fluttershy scrambles away from the creature in a frantic rush, hastily snatching up her discarded lunch bag as she frantically scans the room in search of a feasible hiding spot.

As she’s searching, however, her gaze incidentally catches sight of two chairs positioned near the vessel; Strickler’s cattle prod laid neatly across the seat of one of them, still dripping fresh with blood. It occurs to her right then what she’d just walked into.

Short of time to react as the gears of the vault door grind open, Fluttershy scurries to hide behind a pillar on the opposite side of the room; making it by mere seconds as she hears the sound of somepony wandering inside.

“Aww, you missed me, huh?”

Forcing a hoof up to her mouth to keep quiet and stave off the sound of her breathing, Fluttershy’s gaze locks onto a blank spot on the wall as she listens to the gut-wrenching sound of the creature struggling against the chains, audibly distressed as Strickler enters the room.

Though she can’t see what’s going on, she does hear a brazenly triggered electric shock from the cattle prod that drives an icy shiv of dread in her heart. Her throat tightens as Discord let out a frightened, intimidated snarl. She’s never heard a sound like that come from him before, that it deeply unsettles her.

“This is what scares you, huh?” Strickler speaks sickeningly calm, his hooves slowly clicking against the tile floor as he seems to pace the room. “Well, gee, you should be used to it by now.”

A startlingly loud electric shock crackles in the air and Discord howls in agony. Fluttershy’s heart drops to her stomach in horror at the horrific sound of torture. Stifling a gasp with her hoof, she squeezes her teary eyes shut, trying desperately to block out the noise by flattening her ears, though it doesn’t do much. She could still hear everything.

“There you go again, making that God awful sound. Is that you crying, huh? Is that what that is? Are you hurting? Or maybe you’re angry!” Strickler sneers, threatening with another electric jolt from the prod that rises a warning snarl from the creature.

“Maybe you’d like to get another swat at me. Go ahead.” Strickler provokes, his tone low.

Fluttershy hears the sound of chains violently rattle as if Discord genuinely made a lunge at Strickler, challenging his taunt. But a consequent wail tears from the creature as another jolt of electricity strikes him in punishment. She hears the chains tense, pulled taut in the throes, and a consequent heavy ‘thud’ moments later, the chains clattering as the creature presumably collapses from what she can hear. But Strickler doesn’t stop there.

He strikes him again.

“I can’t tell!”

And again.

“I mean, are you begging?”

And again.

“Because to me,”

And again.

It’s just the worst fucking noise I ever heard.”

Strickler scoffs under his breath when he finally eases off, the sound of his hooves echoing through the room as he wanders off somewhere she couldn’t see.

Trying to compose herself from the sickening wave of nausea that threatens her, Fluttershy squeezes her eyes shut tight to rid of the tears that blind her vision, shallowing her unsteady breaths as she cautiously peeks around the corner of her hiding spot, cautious to stay hidden.

Right away, she catches sight of Strickler circling around Discord’s collapsed figure, carelessly kicking the edge of his tail out of the way as he watches him writhe on the platform. But then, all of a sudden, Strickler stops. Something on the ground catches his eye. An object?

Fluttershy notices his strangely fixated gaze with a sense of unease. As he gives the obscure object a slight roll underneath his hoof, it suddenly comes into view.

The egg from her lunch bag.

As Strickler lifts his gaze to glance around the room with narrowed eyes in suspicion, Fluttershy immediately goes back into hiding, stifling the urge to cry in horror. How could she not have seen that fall out of her lunch bag?

Though before Strickler’s suspicions would compel him to investigate the area, the vault door rolls open just in time, tearing Strickler from his sudden qualms and redirecting his attention to the new presence in the room.

“General Trot! Welcome, Sir.” Strickler exclaims enthusiastically, his interest completely diverted from the egg. “Everything’s ready. Glad to have you, Sir.”

Fluttershy’s eyes widen in horror in realization. The proposal meeting Dr. Hoofstead had warned her about — this was it. Happening right in front of her.

“Good to see you, son.” General Trot greets him as he strolls in, giving a mild huff. “Is that him? Hell of a lot bigger than I thought.”

“You’re tellin’ me. Ugly as sin.” Strickler replies, poorly concealed disgust implied in his tone.

Caught in the distraction of conversation, Fluttershy cautiously peeks around the corner again, keen to watch the exchange. She spots Dr. Hoofstead quietly trailing alongside General Trot, followed by two other lab coated scientists entering the vault she doesn’t recall seeing before. Fletching is there too, standing on the sidelines with a mildly disturbed look on his face as he observes the state of Discord. But she doesn’t care to study her gaze on anypony else. Her attention is drawn to General Trot with a sort of morbid interest — overwhelmed though oddly unable to look away. Though she’d seen him briefly before, this time felt tremendously different.

Outwardly, General Trot maintains an impassive demeanor, his gaze stern as he idly observes the creature with a slight glimmer of intrigue in his steel blue eyes. His military regalia is pristine, as is his neat greying flattop mane. His features too are quite telling — the years of his occupation showing through by the way he stands rigid and intense and by the wrinkles around his narrowed eyes, or the intimidating dip of his brows. Something about him deeply unsettles her to her very core. Even more so than Strickler.

Though by unexpected means, she knows the reason why.

“You know, the natives in the forest of Leota worshipped him like a God.” Strickler casually starts by saying as he approaches Discord, briefly poking him against the side of his head with the inactive end of the cattle prod.

“Doesn’t look like much of a God now, does it?” General Trot says with a slight quirk of the corner of his mouth as he moves towards the chairs in the room.

Strickler chuckles to himself as he moves to stand next to General Trot, though Dr. Hoofstead stays behind in favor of carefully inspecting Discord’s inflicted wounds from a reasonable distance, a visible shadow of concern crossing his face.

“Well, they were primitive, Sir. You know, they would give offerings to him. Flowers, fruits, crap like that.” Strickler scoffs. “Then he went on to reign. That didn’t turn out too well for them in the end.”

“He’s bleeding.” Dr. Hoofstead interrupts, his tone serious as he turns his gaze to Strickler. Though as he reaches out to examine the increasing pool of blood on the concrete and raise his blood-stained hoof to Strickler, his tone suggests a tinge of indignation. “What happened?”

“It’s an animal, Hoofstead. Just keeping it tame.” Strickler answers nonchalantly, not even seeing anything wrong with what he’s done.

Fletching approaches the General from behind, handing over a confidential file that Fluttershy could only assume contained all the information to be had about their asset. General Trot casually flips it open and sorts through the pages, idly reading it aloud as he skims through the file.

“Male draconequus of unknown origin. Retains ability to effectively alter reality… Physiological and structural adaptation extant... Presence of abnormal erythrocytes… Oxygen osmosis and dioxide exchange...” General Trot reads off sections from the document in his possession, his brows tensing as he reads. “Just what the hell have we got here, son?”

“This creature, Sir… can quite literally alter reality with just the snap of his fingers. He has an even stranger mystery of a physical body that won’t pick up on any of our machines— we’re working on that, however. But from observational research, we found he can change between two entirely separate breathing mechanisms and—“

“A mudskipper can do that.” Strickler rudely interjects.

“No—” Dr. Hoofstead objects, but exhales in slight displeasure at the way General Trot casts a brief side glance Strickler’s way with an amused smirk at his remark.

“Look, Sir, with all due respect,” Dr. Hoofstead begins to say, wiping his hoof clean of Discord’s blood. “We’re dealing with an… extremely remarkable creature here. Nothing of which we've ever seen the likes of before. He has physical attributes that render him capable of surviving in any environment, and the magic he possesses, Sir… could very well change the world. Not just Equestria.”

General Trot quirks his brow at this statement, driving Dr. Hoofstead to counter with his own level of concernment.

“Suffice to say, Sir, in my professional opinion…” Dr. Hoofstead continues with a slight pause, a slight sigh escaping him. “What he is capable of goes way beyond anything I’ve ever seen in my field of research, and I just don’t think this arrangement for preliminary experimentation is the right route to go down, considering the nature of the asset’s physical being. It’s much too risky.”

General Trot seems to be listening, though whatever the results of his scrutiny and appraisal might be, he kept them entirely to himself. With a casual hum, the General disguises his obvious refutal as a question, his tone flat and apathetic.

“How probable are the chances we’d be able to conduct an alternate method of experimentation with the same results?”

“Um—” Dr. Hoofstead hesitates, struggling to construct an answer. “Well, I can’t exactly say for certain without—“

“Insufficient.” General Trot says, effectively silencing Dr. Hoofstead. “According to the report here, It would be insufficient. Not only would we not get results, but we’d be wasting our time. And I do not like wasting valuable time.”

“But Sir, I—“ Dr. Hoofstead tries to chime in, but his words fall on deaf ears.

“The reality is, Sir, we don’t know jack shit about this thing.” Strickler says, eyeing the creature from the sidelines. “He’s powerful. We know that much.”

“Certainly a power I want my hooves on.” General Trot says, glancing between the paper document in his possession and the creature in question. “This, right here, could change the power of warfare as we know it. We have, quite possibly, the most powerful asset in the cosmos in our grasp and I’d be a fool to let it slip away because of, what is it… unsubstantial machines?” The General raises his gaze towards Dr. Hoofstead, who’s sitting in idle, uncomfortable silence.

“This is a wild creature. We’re a developed, civilized, technologically advanced race. What does that mean? It means we get results. We learn, we improve. So, when I read ‘Impossible to evaluate without the consideration of analgesia, that of which would put the asset in a position of little to no survivability’, I can’t help but see this as nothing but —“

As General Trot rambles on, Dr. Hoofstead draws his attention elsewhere in the room, ignoring his rambling with an ire of displeasure. Though as he lifts his head and unintentionally looks across the room, he catches sight of Fluttershy eavesdropping, peeking from behind the pillar.

Dr. Hoofstead’s eyes ever-so-slightly widen as their gazes meet, but right away, they both turn away in fear of the others noticing her unauthorized presence. Though Fluttershy’s heart nearly skips a beat, she knows he wouldn’t say anything.

What scares her the most, however, is the glint of discomfiture in his eyes. They both know the situation is going south.

Paying little regard to Strickler and General Trot’s blatant indifference to the creature’s well-being, Dr. Hoofstead cautiously approaches Discord. Reaching out with a gentle touch of his hoof, tries to steady him from squirming so much and aggravating the open wounds. It’s a poor attempt to console him with two unsympathetic figures in the room clearly casting judgement, but Dr. Hoofstead acts regardless.

“Sir, he needs medical attention.” Dr. Hoofstead urges, his face shifting with clear concern as he glances between the creature and the two Stallion’s staring him down.

“See, these scientists, they’re like artists, Sir. They fall in love with their plaything.” Strickler says with a tinge of malice in his tone, turning his gaze towards Dr. Hoofstead with an unreasonably judgemental expression in his eyes.

Though Dr. Hoofstead doesn’t say anything back, rendered silent by his bold remark, he does however, intently follows Strickler’s approach — even slightly narrowing his eyes as he lifts his cattle prod near the creature’s heart to trace a line down his sternum.

“Now right here, see?” Strickler slightly taps his prod against Discord’s chest. “Right along the middle. This creature has a thick-jointed cartilage under the fur that separates the primary and secondary lungs. Am I explaining this correctly, Hoofstead?”

Dr. Hoofstead reluctantly nods his head. “Yes, but we have—”

“It makes the x-rays inconclusive.”

“In principle, Sir, yes. But—“

“Now, I believe that if we want to get satisfactory results, we need to vivisect this thing.”

“No, no.” Dr. Hoofstead interrupts, but is blatantly ignored.

“Take it apart. Learn how it works—“

“No! That would defeat the purpose!” Dr. Hoofstead exclaims, trying to grab Strickler’s attention while simultaneously trying to soothe the creature under his hoof, concerned by the sound of his rasping and labored breathing, clearly unwell from the pain.

Though as Dr. Hoofstead carefully reaches out near his neck to monitor his pulse, Discord slumps to the ground, going completely unresponsive and still.

“Sir, he’s passed out, please.” Dr. Hoofstead begs, looking between the two stallions with a plea in his gaze. General Trot promptly nods his head towards the vessel, sparing no attention to the creature’s wounds.

“Put him back in the tank. Stabilize him.”

The scientists lingering on the other side of the room approach per Strickler’s command, but as Dr. Hoofstead notices Strickler and General Trot heading towards the vault door, Dr. Hoofstead hurries to get their attention before they could exit the room.

“General Trot, Sir?”

When both Strickler and General Trot halt to turn and face the scientist, Dr. Hoofstead seems to let out a nervous exhale, though he’s adamant to stand his ground. Asserting his stance, he looks to General Trot, his gaze defiant and certain.

“You cannot, under any circumstances, kill this creature.”

This in turn, rouses a displeased scowl from General Trot.

Dr. Hoofstead instinctively recoils a slight step back as General Trot re-enters the vault to confront the scientist. The look in his eyes is harsh, unforgiving.

“Count these stars with me, boy.” General Trot utters sternly, gesturing to the pins on his uniform. “There are five of them. Means I do whatever the hell I want. Now, you wanna plead your case? I’ll listen to it. But at the end of the day, it is my damn decision. You understand?”

Dr. Hoofstead, left with no other choice, nods his head in reluctant agreement.

As the vault door buzzes open, General Trot turns and follows after Strickler heading out into the hall without another word, leaving Dr. Hoofstead behind in the vault, lingering in a moment’s hesitation. Though eventually, he regains his composure and courage, and leaves the room to follow after them down the hall.

Noticing his eventual exit and the scientists facing the tank with their backs turned, Fluttershy seizes this moment as the perfect opportunity to slip out of the vault unseen.

Right away, she darts out from behind the pillar and books it to the vault door as it rolls shut. Stumbling into the hallway, lunch bag still clutched to her chest, she stares down the hall after Dr. Hoofstead as if she’d just seen a ghost.

The solemn scientist seems to sense her presence and turns to glance back to perceive her, meeting the mare’s gaze for a fleeting moment. A faint, strangled whimper of a cry breaks from her throat as she looks out to him, her mouth fallen open in devastation of what they’ve just heard. His face writes sympathy and remorse, mirroring her own transparent distress. Dr. Hoofstead silently turns his eyes away from her almost apologetically.

As Dr. Hoofstead and the two stallions disappear down the left wing, Fluttershy lingers in the middle of the dim corridor, helpless and utterly devastated.

_____

Left with nopony else to confide in, Fluttershy turned to Miles.

That evening, she returned home frantic. She wasn’t sure how he’d react. She’d been anxious about it all day — going back and forth with herself during her shift trying to decide whether or not she wanted to tell him what had happened, down to every little detail. She knew she could trust him — in fact, she trusted him with her life. But still, that didn’t exactly waver any amount of her worry in the scenario where he would object to her bold plan.

But turns out she’d been right in that make-believe scenario.

He immediately rejected her idea.

“Get him out? What are you talking about?” Miles questions her incredulously, shaking his head as he goes to gather his artwork from his drafting table to roll into a protective sheath. “No, absolutely not!”

“Why not?” Fluttershy counters despairingly. “Please, they’re hurting him and he’s all alone.”

“Because it’s breaking the law, that’s why.” Miles presses, his tone resolute. “We’re probably breaking the law just talking about it.”

“But he’s alone — Completely alone. He has nopony.” Fluttershy’s tone saddens, watching as he distractingly tidies up his art space from across the room.

“Oh, he’s alone? Ohh. Does this mean that whenever we go to a Chinese restaurant, you wanna save every fish in the tank?” Miles sighs in exasperation, shaking his head and uttering under his breath. “So what if he’s alone. We’re all alone.”

Fluttershy’s shoulders drop disappointingly. She didn’t know what else to say. He refused to even spare her idea a second’s worth of thought, and while it deeply upset her, she couldn’t deny the irrefutable anger turning over in her gut. She needed her voice to be heard. She didn’t come this far to be ignored.

“Don't ever underestimate yourself. Always listen to your gut. Trust your instincts. It will never lead you down the wrong path.” Fluttershy firmly recites without missing a beat, drawing a baffled expression from Miles.

“What’re you talking about?” He questions cluelessly, turning to look her way.

“That’s what you told me. Don’t you remember? You gave me this advice.” Fluttershy says, and right away, a look of realization and regret crosses his face.

“Oh, okay, so now you’re using my own words against me.” Miles exhales. “I said you should trust your gut, not break the law.”

But Fluttershy persists, her tone stubborn. “Weren’t you the one who also told me that my choices led me down this path for a reason? To not give up? To fight?”

Miles briefly hesitates, averting his gaze away from Fluttershy with a trace of visible regret in his demeanor.

“Yes, yes I did, but Fluttershy, you have to understand I meant that in a much, much broader sense. Not —“ He pauses to sigh. “Not whatever “this” is you’re trying to do. You shouldn’t even be thinking about doing something like this, for crying out loud!” Miles slams his saddlebag atop his drafting table with a little more force than he intended with his magic, rising an abrupt flinch from Fluttershy. He seems to notice this in the corner of his eye, and seemingly feeling immediate guilt, he consciously softens his features and eases apologetically.

“Look, I know you have a soft spot for animals — and in this case, creatures — but that doesn’t mean you should get involved in affairs we, as law-abiding citizens of Equestria, have no business being in. Do you even realize how much trouble you could get in for this?”

“Miles, please.” She begs, her face wrought with hurt. “He’s the loneliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

‘The loneliest thing you’ve ever seen? Well you just said it right there. You said it! You called it a thing. It’s a thing.”

Fluttershy lets out a fed-up sigh, shaking her head.

“Miles, listen to me! You’re not hearing me!” She cries out, following Miles as he fetches his striped scarf, throws his saddlebag over his back and heads in the direction of the front door.

“No I understand you, I do!” He says, trying to quell her troubles, but it’s a half-hearted attempt, at most.

“No, listen to me! Listen!” Rushing to beat him to the door, Fluttershy blocks off his path, flaring her wings out to drive him away from leaving just yet, a desperate gleam in her eyes as she stops him.

“Calm down! Sweet Celestia almighty, calm down.” Miles says with audible agitation in his voice, stopping directly in his path without much of a choice. She refused to move out of his way.

Eventually, he concedes with a defeated sigh.

“Alright. Fine. I’ll listen.”

At this, Fluttershy eases her wings to her sides and lets out a heavy sigh, momentarially hesitating as she thinks over her next words carefully. Her eyes are stricken with a type of sorrow; a heartache clear to see in her demeanor. But she’s steadfast, sincere as she looks up to Miles, readying her words with a straightening of her posture.

“What am I?” She starts, gesturing a hoof to herself. Miles remains silent, understanding this as a metaphorical question rather than a literal one. “I move my mouth, like him. I laugh and cry, like him. What does that make me?”

“All that I am, all that I’ve ever been… brought me here. To him.”

“See, you’re saying ‘him’. It’s a ‘him’ now.” Miles utters under his breath with a slight raise of his hoof to point out her choice of words.

Without even thinking, Fluttershy immediately swats at his hoof.

“Ow— You just hit me!”

Patience wearing thin, Fluttershy reaches out for the sleeve of his coat, insisting him to actually look at her with at least some level of sincerity.

“Miles, listen!” She urges, pleading.

“Fluttershy, let go of me. I’m looking — I’m looking!” Miles reacts, his features shifting into slight shock and disbelief. “You never hit me.” He briefly mutters under his breath, caught off guard by such uncharacteristic assertiveness.

Backing off, Fluttershy gives a slight shake of her head and takes a composing sigh, but her demeanor is still laden with discomfiture, her eyes beginning to glisten with the barest hints of tears as she fights the urge back.

Miles is caught off guard at this, every attempt to leave suddenly coming to a straightforward halt as he looks to Fluttershy with sudden regard and concern, watching her struggling to fight back her emotions with a tense swallow.

This time around, when she brings herself to speak, there’s a slight waver in her voice.

“When he looks at me, the way he looks at me… He doesn’t know what I lack… or how I am incomplete. He sees me for what I am, as I am...” She lets out an unsteady exhale, a grief-laden smile edging at the corner of her lips in recollection of her memories with the creature. “He’s happy to see me, every time… every day. And now I can either… save him...”

Her voice chokes up, tears threatening to spill.

“...Or let him die.”

In an exchange of gazes, Miles falls completely silent.

At first, in those few unsettling seconds of utter quiet, it’s almost as if he’s genuinely pondering the thought. But something suddenly switches up in him, a sudden moment of realistic clarity that makes Miles abruptly shake his head in utter disbelief at what she’d just said, completely disregarding her narrative as if he were appalled that she would even have the audacity to say that to him.

“Oh God, I’m leaving.”

Side-stepping the stunned mare, Miles tries to step out the front door, but ultimately doesn’t make it very far again. Fluttershy immediately grabs him by the sleeve of his coat, pulling him back with every ounce of utter strength she has.

Miles grunts as he tries to get past her, but her grip is forceful. He didn’t think Fluttershy was that strong that he would actually struggle to release from her grip, but nevertheless he persists, trying in might to get past.

“Fluttershy, no. I have to leave.”

“No, Miles, please—“

“Just— Fluttershy, please stop.”

“No, I won’t!”

“Listen to me. Just LISTEN to me!”

Fluttershy goes still in stunned silence, her glistening eyes going wide as she finally eases up her grip, though still doesn’t quite let go just yet.

Miles, feeling a sudden wave of guilt for raising his voice at her, eases his defensive stance and lowers his voice, an apologetic expression crossing his face as he turns to fully address her.

“I have to go. I’m leaving now because, Fluttershy, this is very important for me. This is my second chance for me! I’m sorry, but I have to go.” He says, but Fluttershy wordlessly shakes her head in a silent plea through her tears, desperate to get him to stay, though she doesn’t force the strength of her grip on him this time.

“When I come back, we will not talk about this ever again. Fluttershy, there’s— I—“

Miles suddenly trails off in frustration, growing fed up with trying to struggle past her, that he abruptly releases his grip from her in defeat with a rough exhale.

“Alright! That’s enough!” Miles exclaims, backing away from her in an exasperation manner, letting out a loud huff as he throws his hooves up in frustration, scoffing in disbelief.

“What are we? What are you and I? Do you know what we are? We’re nothing! Nothing! There is nothing we can do about this! I’m sorry, but this — this is just — It’s not even — God, It’s not even... ” He trails off in exasperation as he storms off past Fluttershy and down the hallway.

Though even as he manages to slip past her and leave this time, Fluttershy refuses to leave it at that.

Stubborn, she rushes out into the hallway after him, stopping half ways when he clearly has no intention of turning back. In a last ditch effort, when desperately calling out after him brings no result, she loudly stomps her hoof against the wooden floorboards, finally drawing his attention back to her.

Miles stops mid-step and turns his head back her way, an emotional exhaustion in his gaze. But there’s a visible tinge of remorse in his eyes, too. Something in his gaze that compels Fluttershy to believe that with the right words, he just might change his mind.

With voice trembling, raw with emotion, Fluttershy counters his last remark, warm tears sliding down the curves of her face as she speaks.

“If we do nothing… Neither are we.”

All Miles seems to do is stand there in silent contemplation. There’s a conflict in his demeanor, as if there had been a brief flicker of understanding. Of mercy, empathy. But to her immeasurable disappointment, it leaves as soon as it shows, vanishing as the shadow of reality comes back down upon him. It drives grief deep into her heart, spilling tears freely as she stands there in the hallway, now alone.

It still wasn’t enough to get him to stay.

_____

“Miles, I’ve been waiting!”

In the midst of his rush, Miles struggles to catch his breath, galloping up to the brown-hued, neatly kept stallion waiting impatiently on an empty street corner. There’s an apologetic expression evident on Miles’s face as he prepares a slew of apologies on approach.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry—” Miles huffs out, snatching the roll of art from his saddlebag with his magic to slide it out of its protective sheath, carefully unraveling to show off.

“You should have just mailed the art.”

“No, I wanted to show it to you personally! I think it’s some of my best work, don’t you think? I’ve made huge improvements— I’m sure the team would agree. What do you think?” Miles says with a distracted smile on his face, glancing between his artwork and the face of an indifferent stallion. There’s an obvious displeasure written in his expression, though, and it makes Miles experience a pit of dread in his stomach. This wasn’t going at all how he expected it would.

Showing up late, of all things. To his one and only chance to make it up to his old boss, Mr. Morion, for… past mistakes of insobriety on the job that he’d rather let die as a long forgotten, distant memory. But that had been the old him, long since stripped and gone. Ever since his next door neighbor-now-close-friend had come and graciously helped clean up his act, Miles made it a several months long objective to get his old job back with the company. And this here was his redeeming moment, his chance to prove to Mr. Morion that he’s improved. He cleaned up, got better.

But his one and only chance at redemption is quickly falling apart.

“Look, now’s really not a good time...” Morion utters, hardly sparing any mind to the artwork floating in his line of sight in lieu of checking the time on his watch as if he were late for another important event.

“Oh, well, sure. No problem. What would be a good time for you?”

“Miles,” Morion sighs, turning his gaze to directly address him in all seriousness. “This isn’t going to work.”

And Miles stills, the smile from his face slowly faltering.

“I don’t… I don’t understand, what do you mean?” Miles tries to casually chuckle it off, but the look on Morion’s face deadens his laughter into silence.

“I know what you’re doing here. We let you go for a reason. Just because I asked you to finish this piece, doesn’t mean it’s a go pass for you to just come back like nothing happened.” Morion explains as he pulls over Miles’s artwork closer to him with his magic, rolling it back up and replacing it back into its protective sheath. “Our client needed this piece done on time and we couldn’t pull anypony else in to finish the job on time.”

“But if you could just hear me out, If you could give me one more chance, I could—“

“Miles, I can’t.” Morion says firmly, effectively silencing him from continuing his plea. “You know I can’t. Things can’t go back to the way they used to be because you want it to. That’s just not how it works.”

“No, no, it’s…” Miles lets out an exhale, shaking his head as he rubs the back of his neck. “No, I know. It’s fine.”

“I’m sorry.” Morion sighs, his tone sympathetic. “I really am. But things are different now, and you have to try to move on.”

With that, all Miles can do is watch Morion tuck the roll of artwork into his saddlebag with his magic and turn back to nod his head appreciatively towards Miles. Miles sees the hint of a sorry look in his demeanor and knows nothing could change his mind.

“Thanks for everything you’ve done. I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, yeah, no problem... See you around.” Miles gives an equally respective nod of his head in response, though his voice conveys evident tones of hurt and disappointment.

And as Morion heads off down the sidewalk, Miles lingers there in defeated silence and just a little bit of anger and disbelief. Watching his former boss disappear around the street corner stings more than it should, despite knowing there was always the possibility of rejection. But watching the moment he’s worked so hard to get to slip between the cracks of his characteristic faults hurts more than it ever has before.

Because not only had he completely blown his chance with Mr. Morion, but he had gotten so caught up in the moment, that he went and turned his back on somepony who really needed him the most.

He sighs a curse under his breath, head hanging low as he starts making his way down the route back home in thoughtless silence. There’s a low rumble in the sky that warns of a storm brewing, the idle grey clouds from earlier moving in at a fastening pace as he wanders through town. Though Miles doesn’t fright in storms, he does however, hate getting caught in the rain.

Glancing up from the sidewalk, he feels compelled to take a detour to the cafe for sanctuary. If anything, he desperately needed to wind down from this tension, maybe help ease his mind over a cup of coffee and a non judgmental, familiar face.

The door chime of The Espresso Room jingles as he steps inside. There’s only a few patrons scattered about, sitting at tables with friends or reading a book by one of the window nooks. Though rather than seating himself over to one of the open tables near the windows, Miles drags himself over to the bar instead. Shoving his saddlebag off and resting it on the floor, he pulls himself up on the last bar stool, deliberately sitting far away from the patrons on the other side to avoid getting pulled into conversation.

In any other circumstance, Miles wouldn’t mind the idle chatter of the latest town gossip and talk of weather by the locals. It filled an empty part of him that lacked having many friends to chat with, as his bestest friend wasn’t much of a conversationalist. But today, he didn’t have such energy.

Since coming here regularly, he really didn’t mind the conversation with the barista behind the counter. Even on his worst days. But right now, Miles feels completely drained. Exhausted, worn, and burnt out from a stressful day, he doesn’t draw attention to the barista this time as he usually does. Instead, he exhaustively lowers his head into his forelegs and releases a long exhale, letting his eyelids slide shut as he lets the ambient sounds of dishes clinking and idle chatter over gentle jazz soothe his frayed nerves.

After a few moments of silence, a voice suddenly breaks through the din.

“Looks like somepony’s had a rough day, huh?”

Over the noise, a familiar country accent breaks through. Miles glances up from the counter to see Cider Tart standing there with flour and coffee stains on his apron, but gently smiling in empathy and understanding. His approach being kind and gentle, as always.

Miles fails to find his words, unknowing where to even start, that he merely spares a sigh and a nod. Cider Tart seems to take the hint, however, and hums in acknowledgement before abruptly walking away in an unusual quietude.

Then suddenly, there’s a plate in front of him. A slice of freshly baked cream pie. Its warm, vanilla scent wafts upward to his senses, drawing his attention and making his stomach flutter with appetite and gratitude in the kind, unexpected act.

“Here. On me.” Cider says, gently pushing the plate closer towards Miles to insist against any refusal.

“For me?” Miles raises his brow in surprise, glancing between the plate and the barista.

“Yes, for you.” Cider nods with his trademark smile, a light chuckle slipping from him. “We don’t get many like you in here. You seem very educated and I like talkin’ to you.”

“Oh Gosh, thank you. I’m — I’m flattered, truly.” Miles says in near-awe, raising a growing smile to his face as he lifts the neatly set fork with his magic, raising a small bite to his mouth. “The thing is, that’s the only reason that I come in here — Is the conversation.”

Cider Tart tilts his head with a slight raise of his brows for a brief moment in anticipating silence, as if expecting Miles to say more. Miles doesn’t notice this right away, however, too busy indulging in the delectable, savory taste of the barista’s incredible baking.

“And?”

Miles glances up from the plate, realizing what Cider was awaiting, and raises a forkful of pie up to view.

“The pie!” Miles exclaims with a lighthearted laugh.

“Yeah, yeah.” Cider Tart chuckles softly as he idly brews rosehip tea behind the counter for another patron. The moment falls into comfortable silence as Cider pours cappuccinos for patrons and Miles indulges, and as Cider retreats to the other side of the bar to serve patrons their orders before returning, Miles takes a breath and finally speaks up again.

“You know, I work alone.” He starts, gently poking at the edge of the pie crust as he speaks. “And uh, my best friend isn’t much of a conversationalist.” Miles rests the fork down on the edge of his plate with his magic, raising his head to connect his gaze with Cider’s.

“Mmm.” Cider Tart hums in acknowledgement, leaning his forearm against the counter as he waits for the tea to steep. “You see, that's part of the job here — sort of like being a bartender. You serve ponies coffee and pastries, listen to their problems. Get to know ‘em.”

Miles doesn’t know what it is about the moment that completely shuts down his brain from all logical thinking — maybe it’s the absolutely irresistible look Cider is intentionally or unintentionally giving him that rouses the sudden, overwhelming urge to make a move.

Feeling compelled to act on his desideratum by some unyielding, carnal desire, Miles reaches across the bar to rest his hoof atop Cider’s forearm.

“I’d like to get to know you better.”

“Uh, wh— what are you doing?” Cider reels back from the sudden touch with a shocked raise of his brows, catching Miles off guard.

Miles immediately leans off the bar countertop in equal surprise at his reaction, his words stuck on a stutter. Nearly nauseous with dread at the thought of being rejected a second time in the same day, burning red with embarrassment, Miles internally fights the urge to get up and run away, hide, and never show his face in public again. The mortification in knowing he’d just made a vital mistake is enough to make him feel sick.

“I’m — I’m sorry, I thought— I didn’t—“ Miles stutters over his apology, but his explanation is interrupted by a secondary voice cutting in.

“Excuse me, barista?”

A patron seated at the other end of the bar raises her hoof to grab Cider Tart’s attention. Cider briefly draws his gaze over to his other customer, giving a firm nod of acknowledgement and a brief “one moment, ma’am” before hesitantly turning his attention back to Miles with a halting, unsettled expression as he pours a cup of tea in tense silence.

“I have to get back to work… Maybe you oughta head back home.” Cider utters softly to avoid the other patrons from hearing, and Miles feels his heart drop to his stomach.

Sliding off the barstool without another word, Miles snatches up his saddlebag from the floor and barges out the front door, blindly pushing past two patrons and ignoring their disgruntled remarks as he vanishes around the corner to get as far away from this place as he could get.

The bell’s jingle is a fading noise as he takes off down in sullen humiliation. Under the start of light rainfall, he couldn’t care less about getting caught in a downpour. The ache in his throat and the glint of poorly-restrained tears burning at his eyes distracts him from everything else. All he can think about is the dread of having to return home and confront his bad conscience. Because after losing grip of everything in his life, he has nothing to lose anymore.

On the way home, the heavy raindrops that land on his face hide his shame out of sight.

_____

It’s sometime around 8 PM when there’s a knock at Fluttershy’s apartment door.

She snaps from her daze at the sudden sound, glancing up from her boiling tea kettle to glance back towards the front door. She isn’t expecting any company this late, thus initially she considers letting it go unanswered. Though then again, there were only two visitors she knew who would come to her door this late without notice, and as another knock raps against her door in unique succession, she recognizes the familiar pattern.

It makes her stop what she’s doing, her heart faltering as she carefully removes the kettle from the flame and rushes over to the front door to undo the locks.

When the door opens, she finds Miles standing there, dripping damp from the rain and teary-eyed in the most miserable state she thinks she’s ever seen him in.

Fluttershy’s expression falls, replaced with immediate concern. Though she doesn’t get the chance to question his morose mood before he speaks first, his tone laden with humiliation.

“I’m sorry.” Miles starts with a slight crack in his voice, his tone sincere and apologetic. “As your friend, I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did. I shouldn’t have dismissed you like that. You have every right to be angry and upset with me right now, I don’t blame you.”

Fluttershy finds herself standing in the middle of the doorway quiet, though her demeanor lightly shifts, taking his genuine apology to heart. She doesn’t have to say anything to know he understands this; the tender empathy in her expression says it all. And though Miles seems to sense her forgiveness, that doesn’t seem to completely quell his upset.

“I have no one.” Miles continues, his gaze instinctively lowering to the ground. “And you are the only one that I can talk to. Now, whatever this thing is… you need it. So…” Trailing off with a soft exhale, Miles redirects his gaze upward to meet hers, his eyes genuine with sincerity.

“You just tell me what to do.”

The Entity of Chaos

by ATROPA

Chapter I: The Mare

Chapter II: The Creature

Chapter III: The Convergence

Chapter IV: The Conspiracy

Chapter V: The Ruse