The Entity of Chaos

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 knewwouldn’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 looksinnocent, 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.