"A kid in an abusive home has far fewer rights than any POW. There is no Geneva Convention for kids."

- Andrew Vachss

Gaia, ????, ????. July 2nd 2038. 0550 Hours.

The clinking of chains echoed hauntingly through the crisp, quiet air as Karliana and Nuñez were led out of the damp confines of their prison. The early morning was still cloaked in pre-dawn darkness, save for a faint glow on the horizon hinting at the coming sunrise. Their steel shackles bit into their wrists and ankles, leaving faint impressions on their exposed skin, each step accompanied by the grating sound of metal scraping against itself.

Karliana’s heart pounded in her chest, her breath visible in the freezing air. Stripped of her blanket—the only semblance of protection against the elements—she felt utterly exposed. The chill wrapped around her like an icy serpent, its fangs sinking deep into her flesh. Every step was agony, her bare feet battered by the rough mixture of dirt, gravel, and sand beneath them. She winced with each jagged pebble that dug into her soles, the pain a constant reminder of her vulnerability.

As they continued into the open, the cold struck her full force. She shivered violently, her teeth chattering uncontrollably. Around her, the alien equines moved with practiced precision, their stoic expressions offering no sympathy. The few villagers who had dared to remain in Whinnypool peeked out from behind shuttered windows and cracked doors, their wide, curious eyes locked onto the new captives. Karliana’s cheeks flushed a deep cherry red, a volatile mix of humiliation and fury burning beneath her skin.

She hugged herself instinctively, her chains rattling as her arms brushed against her bound torso. She tried not to meet the gazes of the equine onlookers, their expressions varying from cautious curiosity to outright disdain. The whispers that followed her stung worse than the cold, though she couldn’t understand a word. Her humiliation deepened with every step, and she glanced at Nuñez for reassurance.

He walked behind her, his expression frustratingly calm, as though he were merely observing a curious spectacle. His dark eyes flitted across the scene, taking in every detail—perhaps even too much. Karliana caught him stealing a glance at her bottom, and though she gritted her teeth in anger, she couldn’t entirely blame him. It was hard to maintain dignity when completely exposed and vulnerable.

As the group trudged forward, Karliana’s mind raced with possibilities. What do they want with us? The question lingered like a dark cloud. The worst scenarios played out in her head. She had read enough dark fantasy novels and manga to know what often happened to prisoners in such situations. Would they be paraded as trophies? Forced into labor? Or worse... enslaved for their amusement? The thought sent a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

Her instincts screamed at her to resist, to lash out, to do something—but she restrained herself. Surrounded by armed equines, many wielding weapons and wearing hardened armor, she knew any rebellion would be futile. The memory of their the strange energy blasts that had overwhelmed her and Nuñez during their capture—remained fresh and terrifying.

After what felt like an eternity, the small group approached their destination. The structure stood out against the sparse village landscape—a quaint wooden building, its exterior weathered by time. The peeling paint and crooked shingles reminded Karliana of an old garage she had once seen in rural Germany. A small, frosted window peeked out from the front, revealing faint hints of the interior.

The door itself was narrow and low, clearly not designed for creatures of their stature. As they reached the entrance, Karliana and Nuñez were forced to bow their heads awkwardly to avoid hitting the frame. Inside, the air was slightly warmer but carried a musty smell of aged wood and mildew. The faint glow of a lantern illuminated rows of tiny desks and chairs, each meticulously arranged but coated in a thin layer of dust.

The sight was surreal. The layout reminded Karliana of her own childhood classrooms—except everything was designed for creatures half her size. The desks were low to the ground, the chairs even smaller, clearly built for young equines. She noted faded drawings pinned to the walls, depicting scenes of happy villages, colorful skies, and fields of flowers. For a moment, she felt an odd pang of nostalgia, juxtaposed sharply with the absurdity of her current situation.

The guards wasted no time. They shoved Karliana roughly into one of the diminutive chairs. She yelped as her legs struggled to fit beneath the desk. The seat was absurdly small, forcing her to lift her thighs and spread her legs awkwardly. Her bare knees stuck out embarrassingly, and the position left her feeling even more exposed. Her chains were secured to the chair’s legs, ensuring she couldn’t move.

Nuñez was placed beside her in a similar manner. Though he struggled at first, he eventually sank into the chair with a resigned sigh. His casual demeanor grated on Karliana’s nerves. As the guards secured his chains, he smirked and muttered, “Well, isn’t this great? Back to school on our birthday suits.”

Karliana shot him a glare, her lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t dignify his comment with a response, though inwardly she marveled at his ability to maintain humor in such a dire situation.

The purple equine—one she recognized as their apparent leader—stepped forward. She held a piece of chalk using her strange telekinesis, her expression calm yet determined. She approached the blackboard at the front of the room and began to write.

The symbols were unlike anything Karliana had ever seen. They flowed like water, curling and twisting in patterns that seemed both alien and artistic. Some resembled abstract pictograms; others looked like a hybrid of geometric shapes and calligraphy. She couldn’t decipher their meaning, but the fluidity of the writing was mesmerizing.

Karliana’s frustration gave way to curiosity. 'Is this their language? Are they trying to teach us?' For a moment, she forgot her chains, the cold, and her humiliation. A spark of excitement ignited within her—she was witnessing something extraordinary, the first attempt at communication between two intelligent species. But as she glanced down at her bare skin and felt the bite of her shackles, the reality of her captivity settled in once more.

Karliana decided then and there to focus on the lesson. If she could understand their language, she might bridge the gap between their species. She might even convince them to provide her and Nuñez with something—anything—to cover themselves. The process, she knew, would take months, perhaps years. But it was a start.

Her eyes fixed on the purple equine, her mind already working to memorize the alien symbols. If this is how I survive, so be it, she thought grimly. Beside her, Nuñez leaned back in his tiny chair, still grinning, seemingly oblivious to the gravity of their situation. Karliana envied his ability to find humor in chaos but focused instead on the task ahead. For now, all she could do was learn—and wait.

Gaia, ????, ????. July 2nd 2038. 0600 Hours.

The first rays of sunlight spilled over the horizon, painting the rugged hills in shades of gold and amber. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of wildflowers and dew-soaked grass. Edward crouched low behind a dense thicket of bushes, his binoculars pressed firmly to his face. Through the lenses, he monitored the movements of the Equine patrol, their armor glinting faintly in the morning light.

The alien village lay nestled in a shallow valley, its layout simple yet picturesque. Straw-thatched roofs covered most of the buildings, which stood unevenly along dirt roads. The patrols moved in predictable routes along the main thoroughfares, their rhythmic hoofbeats echoing faintly. Edward checked his watch: the gap between patrols was precisely 15 minutes.

He shifted slightly and glanced back at Nikolayev. The burly soldier stood over their prisoner—a butter-yellow Equine with a pink mane, bound and gagged. The makeshift gag was Nikolayev's spare sock, tied cruelly tight to muffle any cries for help. A rope looped tightly around her neck connected to Nikolayev's hand. The Equine wide, tear-filled eyes darted between her captors, her breath hitching beneath the gag. The raw fear emanating from her was palpable, but Nikolayev remained indifferent.

“Keep her quiet,” Edward whispered sharply. “One sound, and this whole mission is blown.”

When the last patrol disappeared down the road, Edward gave a curt nod. “Time to move.”

Nikolayev tugged the rope, and the alien Equine stumbled forward, her hooves catching on loose stones. She whimpered but obeyed, her head low. Edward led the way, skirting the main road and slipping into the narrow alleys between buildings. They moved with the practiced silence of hunters, boots crunching softly against the packed earth.

The village felt eerily abandoned. The streets were mostly empty, except for a few Equines wandering aimlessly. Most of the houses appeared boarded up, their occupants probably having fled days ago. Signs of hasty evacuation were everywhere—abandoned carts, overturned baskets, and tools left in the middle of tasks. Edward scanned every shadow, every doorway, his grip on his rifle tightening with each step.

The Equine stumbled again, this time letting out a muffled cry. Nikolayev jerked the rope, nearly pulling her off her hooves. She winced, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks, but she didn’t resist further.

They reached an open square near the village center, its flagstones cracked and overgrown with weeds. In the middle of the square stood the building their prisoner had indicated. Unlike the wooden structures surrounding it, this one was built of cobblestone, its solid frame a stark contrast to the ramshackle homes. A pair of Equine guards flanked the heavy oak door, their spears glinting in the sunlight.

Edward raised his binoculars again. The guards wore intricate armor adorned with insignias resembling celestial bodies. Their postures were stiff, professional, but their eyes betrayed nervousness. He noted every detail: the distance between them, the angle of their weapons, the lack of reinforcements nearby.

“We’ve got two guards,” Edward muttered. “Not much of a challenge. Let’s move in.”

Nikolayev nodded grimly. Edward turned to the yellow Equine, his voice low and threatening. “You’re going to help us. Walk to those guards and distract them. Understand?”

The Equine wide eyes flickered with confusion, then realization. She hesitated, trembling, until Edward raised his knife. With a reluctant nod, she began walking.

The guards noticed her immediately, their ears perking up. They exchanged glances before stepping forward cautiously, their weapons lowered slightly. Their confusion turned to alarm as they saw the rope around her neck and the gag in her mouth.

Edward and Nikolayev used the moment of distraction to close the distance. Like shadows, they emerged from the alley, knives glinting. In one swift motion, Edward plunged his blade into the throat of the first guard, clamping a hand over his mouth to stifle the scream. Nikolayev dispatched the second guard just as efficiently, his knife slicing cleanly through the Equine’s neck.

The guards crumpled soundlessly to the ground, their blood pooling on the cobblestones. Edward wiped his knife on the nearest guard's furs before putting it back in his pocket.

“Drag them inside,” he ordered. Nikolayev complied, hauling the bodies through the heavy door and into the dimly lit interior of the building. The yellow Equine stood frozen, her legs trembling violently.

“Move,” Nikolayev barked, tugging the rope. She stumbled after them, her eyes fixed on the lifeless bodies.

The interior of the building was cold and damp, the air thick with the scent of mildew and decay. Torches flickered along the stone walls, casting long, dancing shadows. Wooden beams supported the low ceiling, and the floor was uneven, worn smooth in some places by centuries of use.

They moved deeper into the building, encountering little resistance. In one room, they found a solitary Equine guard seated at a desk, engrossed in paperwork. A ring of keys lay on the table beside him. Edward crept forward, his footsteps silent. The guard didn’t even look up before Edward’s knife found its mark.

With the keys in hand, they pressed on, eventually finding a narrow hallway lined with iron-barred cells. Edward’s heart sank as they searched each cell, finding them empty save for scattered hay and crude bedding.

“Сука, Их здесь нет,” Nikolayev growled, his frustration boiling over. He grabbed the Equine by the neck, lifting her off the ground. “WHERE ARE THEY?”

The Equine sobbed, her tears soaking the gag. She shook her head frantically, unable to answer.

“Wait,” Edward said, crouching by one of the cells. He picked up a strand of long, white hair from the floor. “Karliana was here. Recently.”

Nikolayev dropped the Equine, who collapsed in a heap, gasping for air. “Then where are they now?”

Before Edward could answer, his radio crackled to life. He adjusted the frequency, and Alex Hill’s voice came through.

“Edward, what’s your status?”

“We’re inside the target building,” Edward replied. “No sign of Karliana or Nuñez, but we have evidence they were here. Awaiting further orders.”

“Hold your position,” Alex instructed. “Reinforcements are inbound. UN First Contact team is with them.”

Edward glanced at the bloodied bodies on the floor and the terrified Equine trembling in the corner. He exchanged a grim look with Nikolayev.

“They’re not going to like what they find,” Nikolayev muttered.

Edward nodded. “No, they won’t.”

Whinnypool, Southwestern Equestria. July 2nd 2038. 0620 Hours.

The morning light bathed Whinnypool in a golden glow, casting long shadows from the abandoned houses and silent alleyways. Colonel Comet Flash, a Royal Guard with a shimmering silver coat and a fiery blue mane, let out a deep yawn as he trudged through the empty streets. The village, once vibrant with life, was now eerily quiet. Most of the residents had fled after news of the massacre by the “new species” reached them, leaving only soldiers behind to patrol the desolate streets and man the occasional watchpost.

Comet stretched his wings lazily, his armor clinking softly in the stillness. The air was crisp, the kind that promised a pleasant day ahead, but it did little to lift his spirits. His night shift had been uneventful, as usual. Watching the same empty roads, checking the same deserted homes—it was all a monotonous routine. He hadn’t even seen a squirrel during his watch.

He passed a small fountain in the village square, the water’s gentle trickle the only sound accompanying his hoofsteps. Nearby, a field kitchen tent was set up, its thin walls fluttering in the breeze. The smell of freshly baked haybread wafted through the air, and Comet’s stomach grumbled.

“Finally,” he muttered. Breakfast was the one highlight of these dull shifts. He looked forward to a hot meal after a long night. But as he walked, he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease creeping into his thoughts.

The monotony of the past weeks gnawed at Comet. He had trained for years in the Royal Guard, honing his skills with spear and shield, mastering formations, and practicing swift flight maneuvers. But here, stationed in Whinnypool, he felt more like a glorified watchpony than a soldier. The drills his commander conducted were barely enough to keep them sharp, and real action seemed like a distant dream.

'I’d trade my left wing for some excitement,' he grumbled to himself. Then, shaking his head, he added, 'Though knowing my luck, it’d probably be a false alarm.'

He sighed again, his hooves clopping against the cobblestones as he rounded a corner. The prison building loomed ahead, its sturdy stone walls and iron-barred windows a stark contrast to the quaint wooden houses around it.

As he approached, Comet’s sharp eyes immediately caught something amiss. The guards who usually stood at attention by the oak front door were nowhere to be seen. He stopped in his tracks, frowning.

“Deserting their post?” he muttered. That wasn’t like them. The two stationed here were some of the more disciplined guards in the unit. His gaze shifted to the door—it was ajar, creaking faintly in the breeze.

Comet hesitated for a moment, a cold dread settling in his chest. Something wasn’t right. He pushed the door open cautiously, the hinges groaning loudly in the silence. The smell hit him first—a coppery tang that turned his stomach.

Inside, the dimly lit hallway stretched before him, its stone walls slick with dampness. He stepped forward, the clinking of his armor echoing ominously. The further he ventured, the stronger the metallic scent grew, until he turned a corner and froze.

His breath caught in his throat. Two bodies lay sprawled on the cold stone floor. The guards who should have been at their post now lay in a pool of their own blood, their throats slashed open in jagged, brutal cuts. The dark crimson liquid seeped into the cracks of the floor, spreading out in grotesque patterns.

Comet’s legs trembled, but he forced himself closer. One guard’s eyes were still open, staring lifelessly at the ceiling, his face frozen in an expression of shock and pain. The other lay slumped against the wall, his spear still clutched in his hoof—a futile attempt to defend himself.

“Celestia above…” Comet whispered. He swallowed hard, fighting the bile rising in his throat. He wanted to scream, to call for help, but something told him to stay quiet.

His mind raced. Who could have done this? The brutality of the attack was unlike anything he’d ever seen. The cuts were precise, deliberate, yet savage. His thoughts turned to the prisoners—the strange creatures they had captured yesterday.

Could it be them?

Comet’s eyes darted to the blood trail leading deeper into the prison. His heart pounded as he pieced the puzzle together. If the new species were behind this, it meant they had already breached the village’s defenses. They were inside Whinnypool.

“We’re under attack…” he muttered to himself, the words barely audible.

He stepped back, his breaths coming in short, panicked gasps. He had to act quickly. They needed to be warned. Every guard, every soldier—they all had to be alerted immediately.

Comet turned and bolted out of the prison, his hooves pounding against the ground. The sunlight outside felt blinding after the darkness of the building, but he didn’t stop. His wings flared, ready to take off, but he decided against it. Flying might make him an easy target if the enemy was watching.

He sprinted towards the command post near the village’s edge, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. They had underestimated these creatures—creatures who had not only escaped but had done so with ruthless efficiency.

As he ran, he shouted at the top of his lungs, “To arms! To arms! The enemy is here!”

Guards and soldiers emerged from their tents and posts, their confused expressions quickly turning to alarm as they saw the panic in Comet’s eyes.

“Commander!” Comet yelled as he skidded to a halt outside the command tent. “The prison guards are dead! The new species—they’ve breached the village!”

The commander, a grizzled unicorn with a scar across his cheek, stepped out, his face hardening as he processed the news. “Sound the alarm,” he ordered sharply. “All units to their posts. We’re under attack.”

As the bell of Whinnypool rang out, its sharp peals echoing across the valley, Comet stood amidst the flurry of activity, his chest heaving. He had done his duty, but a sinking feeling in his gut told him it wouldn’t be enough.

Author's Note

Remember guys, this is not a NSFW fic, we need to calm down and think about something normal. *BONK*

Anyway, what do you think about Fluttershy being the victim of a mad scientist's experiment?