The Entity of Chaos

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 isa 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 sureyou 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 reallywanted 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 youcan 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.