It started out simply enough. I had an idea, something that could change the world for the better. I rounded up a bunch of talented ponies, and together we built a prototype. We found a wealthy benefactor that was willing to risk his fortune to bring our pet project to life. Honest to Celestia, we only had the best of intentions. I don't know how it got to this point, and I'm not sure I can fix it anymore. All I can do now is explain, and hope that you listen and understand.
When I made my first prosthetic, about twenty years ago, I was trying to help somepony. She lost her leg during a hiking trip; nearly bled out. When she woke up in the hospital bed, the first thing she did was complain about how cold her left hoof felt. Nopony wanted to tell her, of course. Not that we had to. She found out soon enough.
That's when it all started, and it only grew from there. Believe me when I say that I never wanted anypony to get hurt. I guess that's too little too late, though. The Gulf War saw to that. So much blood…I heard the stores, and I thought I was far removed from it. I couldn't have been more wrong. Not long after word came back from the front, I was hailed as both a saint and a demon. I had given regular stallions the power to rise over their inabilities, to better themselves in ways that have never before been possible. They used it as a weapon of war.
I'm not asking you to feel sorry for me. I have more than enough pity. Feel free to hate me for what I did. I deserve every ounce of it. I thought that science and magic could cure the ailments of pony-kind, but I was wrong. All I did was enable it to commit heinous crimes that would have otherwise not been possible. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that ponies had to die because my ideals were brought to life. Remember me however you want, but don't pity me. Save it for those that are still suffering, because if you're reading this, I won't be needing it anymore.