"All the business of war, and indeed all the business of life, is to endeavor to find out what you don't know by what you do."

- Arthur Wellesley

Gaia, Southwestern "New Pangaea" Continent. July 2nd 2038. 0900 Hours

The low, rhythmic hum of rotors filled the air as several Chinook and Blackhawk helicopters glided over the dense, verdant expanse of "New Pangaea’s" forests. British-man named Jake Ward sat quietly on the cold cargo bench of a Chinook, his gaze fixed on the sprawling greenery through the reinforced window. The sunlight pierced through gaps in the forest canopy, casting golden beams across the treetops. White clouds hung lazily in the azure sky, a stark contrast to the tension thickening the air inside the aircraft.

The team had been dispatched in haste, carrying medical supplies, food, and water for a village—an alien settlement now etched into human history as the site of humanity’s first interplanetary Xenotarian disaster. Jake adjusted his seatbelt, his mind heavy with the weight of their mission.

Jake was no stranger to crisis zones. His career had seen him traverse some of Earth’s bloodiest battlegrounds: the frostbitten trenches of eastern Ukraine, the arid conflict zones of Sudan, and the bomb-ravaged streets of Gaza. Each had left scars—not just on his body, but on his soul. He had witnessed endless cycles of violence, fueled by greed, politics, and fear. Yet here he was, on an alien world, tasked with cleaning up the aftermath of a conflict that should never have escalated.

He sighed, rubbing his temples as the roar of the rotors vibrated through his seat. The news had been grim, the UN First Contact team, escorted by a Bundeswehr detachment, was attacked without provocation. Nearly a quarter of their personnel were dead, another quarter critically injured. The world’s first 'xenotarian disaster', they were calling it. A tragedy of unprecedented proportions, made worse by the sheer strangeness of it all: supernatural power, talking Equine's, and the ruins of what could have been peace.

As the village came into view, Jake leaned forward, squinting through the window. The settlement resembled something out of a medieval painting—a scattering of timber-framed homes with thatched roofs, smoke curling from a handful of chimneys. Narrow dirt paths wove between the houses, leading to a central square dominated by what appeared to be a large town hall. The village was intact for the most part, though patches of rubble and scorch marks betrayed the violence it had endured.

The helicopters circled low over the fields surrounding the village, searching for a flat, secure landing zone. Jake caught sight of collapsed fences, hastily abandoned carts, and the bodies of equines—both civilian and soldier—lying in makeshift burial pits or left where they had fallen. The scene reminded him of the villages he had seen in Kashmir, their serenity shattered by war.

With a gentle jolt, the Chinook touched down on a grassy plain at the village’s edge. Dust kicked up in a swirling cloud as the rear ramp lowered with a hydraulic hiss.

The cargo hold burst into action. UNHCR personnel poured out, carrying crates of supplies, stretchers, and medical kits. Jake joined them, his boots sinking slightly into the soft grass. The sun was warm on his back, but the village exuded a chilling sense of loss. Teams began unloading medical supplies, setting up triage tents, and organizing relief efforts.

Jake headed toward the eastern part of the village, where the UN had decided to establish their temporary field hospital. Around him, the remnants of the Bundeswehr detachment—fatigued, bloodied, and visibly shaken—stood guard. Most of them had survived only because they were better equipped and trained than their equine adversaries, but even light weapons had caused devastating damage to the village.

The village hall, once the heart of the community, had become a grim fortress during the battle. Burn marks scarred its wooden façade, and shattered windows gaped like the empty sockets of a skull. Few equine soldiers remained alive; most had succumbed to their wounds or fled into the forests. Those captured had been disarmed and confined, though their fear and defiance were palpable.

As Jake and his team erected the first hospital tent, the true scope of the disaster became evident. Equines—wounded soldiers, frightened civilians, and orphans—began to emerge from their hiding places. They were ushered toward the medical stations, though many resisted, their distrust of humanity etched into every movement.

Inside the tent, the air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of disinfectant. Field medics worked tirelessly, their gloves slick with alien ichor. Jake paused near a surgical station, watching as a medic extracted shrapnel from a equine soldier’s flank. The equine’s body twitched as they worked, a mix of anesthesia and alien biology barely keeping it conscious.

Further down the line, amputations were being performed on equine and human alike. The screams of pain—universal, raw, and unrelenting—cut through the hum of generators powering the medical equipment. Jake clenched his fists. No amount of training could make this easier.

Aqua Shadow lay trembling, her body curled tightly beneath her bed. She could hear every thud of her heart echoing in her ears, each beat drowning out the faint howls of wind outside. Her hooves pressed against her mouth, stifling her ragged breaths as tears rolled silently down her face.

Hours felt like days since the news of Whinnypool's attack had reached her—the new species were here. "Whinnypool is under attack! All units, prepare for battle!" The Royal Guard had assured the remaining ponies that everything would be fine. “The village will be safe,” Astral Thunder said with a confident smile. “They won’t get past the Royal Guards.”

But that had been a lie.

She still remembered it vividly: earlier, she’d dared to peek through her window when the creatures arrived. Strange, mechanical monsters painted in muted camouflage. They moved with an unnatural coordination, their weapons—long black devices—held with an eerie precision. The Royal Guards had met them with courage, forming defensive lines and shouting orders.

At first, the Guards seemed to hold their ground. Spears and shields at the ready, unicorns casting spells, pegasi patrolling the skies like ravens. But then it happened. A deafening crack-crack-crack split the air, the sound alien and nightmarish, unlike anything Aqua had ever heard.

Ponies fell. Royal Guards crumpled or turned into red mist, their bodies twisting unnaturally as they were struck down. She remembered the flashes of red—so much red. Shouts of courage turned to screams of agony as the creatures' vile weapons spit invisible fire that tore through flesh and armor alike.

The Guards’ final stand at the village hall was equally futile. Through her cracked shutters, Aqua watched as the hall’s doors were kicked open, bursts of light from the creatures' weapons flashing within. Moments later, silence fell, broken only by the groans of the dying and the distant cries of those fleeing into the northern woods. She wanted to run with them, she truly did—but fear had rooted her hooves to the floor. So she hid, like a coward. Like a filly.

Now she lay under her bed, paralyzed. The silence outside had turned unbearable, broken only by faint, unfamiliar noises in the distance. She thought the creatures had left, but then… the door creaked open.

Aqua froze. The sound was unmistakable: wood groaning softly on its hinges, followed by the heavy thud-thud of footsteps. Her breathing quickened, panic flaring in her chest like a wildfire. She clamped a hoof over her muzzle, forcing herself to stay silent, her body shaking uncontrollably.

Thud.
Thud.
The sound grew louder as the creature moved further inside. Its footsteps were deliberate, heavy—purposeful. From beneath the bed, Aqua heard the faint clattering of objects being moved, the unmistakable sound of breaking glass or porcelain as something was dropped. 'Are they… looting?' The thought only made her more terrified.

Suddenly, she heard the door to her bedroom swing open with a deep creak. Her heart felt like it had stopped. A chill ran through her as the steps approached, slower this time, like a predator savoring the moment. Aqua instinctively tried to inch herself further back under the bed, pressing her body flat against the floorboards.

'Please, Celestia… Luna…' she prayed silently, desperately. 'Please make them go away…'

The creature stopped. Aqua couldn’t see its feet, but she felt its presence—a dark, looming figure that seemed to fill the room. For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then the bed frame creaked softly above her as the weight of the creature shifted, bending down.

Aqua’s muscles locked. Her breathing hitched, her prayers turning to mumbled whimpers beneath her hoof. The floor seemed to tilt as the dread sank deeper into her chest.

The silence broke with a quiet shuffle—and then the face appeared.

It ducked under the bed, its dark, hollow eyes locking onto hers. Aqua’s vision blurred with tears as she stared back in horror. Its skin looked sickly pale, stretched over angular features. Its mouth, curled into a grotesque grin, parted to reveal sharp, uneven teeth that look similar to a beaver. The face was close—too close—and the expression it wore wasn’t anger, or hatred. It was amusement.

"Oi, mei lady! Yu all roight? Need a 'and, do ya? Wot in the Queen's flippin' name are ya doin' rollin' about down there like a bloomin’ loon? Lost yer marbles, ‘ave ya? Or are ya just takin' a little kip on the cobbles, eh?, is yer mum’s mate’s brother wot got caught nickin’ biscuits from Tesco?” The creature said in a weird and theatrical tongue that sounded like someone trying to chew marbles while balancing a teapot on their head.

Aqua Shadow’s body shook violently. Her mouth opened, and the scream tore from her throat—a raw, primal sound of pure terror. She had never screamed so loud in her life, the sound erupting into the still air like a siren.

The creature didn’t move, its grotesque grin unwavering as it watched her, frozen in her place under the bed.

Aqua screamed again, louder, her vision tunneling as the overwhelming fear consumed her.

By the day’s end, Jake’s team had accounted for 119 civilians. So he did the math, in total they inspected 89 houses, if one house contained 4 Equines, in theory this village would have an original population of around 350+ civilians. Two-thirds of its population were now either dead, or missing. Jake’s clipboard felt heavier with every statistic he recorded, each number a grim testament to the cost of failure.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Jake sat on a supply crate, his body weary and his mind racing. He stared at the horizon, the colors of the sunset bleeding into the alien sky. This world, with its vibrant forests and innocent inhabitants, had become yet another stage for humanity’s violence.

Why did it have to come to this? he wondered. The equines had attacked, yes, but had humanity provoked them somehow? A mistranslation, a cultural misstep, or even the mere sight of their weapons might have sparked the bloodshed.

For now, all they could do was pick up the pieces. Establish trust. Bridge the gap. Jake swore under his breath. The road to peace would be long and treacherous, but it was the only path worth taking.

The camp lights flickered on, illuminating the village in a pale, sterile glow. Jake rose from his seat, the chill of the night air nipping at his skin. Tomorrow, the work would continue. For the equines and for humanity—there was no turning back.

Whinnypool, Southwestern Equestria. July 2nd 2038. 1900 Hours.

The tent was a somber, sterile enclosure, its white canvas walls dimly illuminated by the harsh artificial glow of portable floodlights stationed outside. Inside, the air was thick with an oppressive quiet, interrupted only by the occasional shuffle of boots and muted voices beyond the flaps. At the center of the tent, Fluttershy lay strapped to a metal-framed hospital bed, the leather restraints binding her legs and wings digging slightly into her fur. The chill of the evening seeped into the space, yet a bead of sweat trickled down to her body.

Her gaze was hollow, fixed on the ceiling. Her once-bright aquamarine eyes were clouded with sorrow, and her pastel pink mane, now matted and streaked with dirt, clung to her face. The faint scent of antiseptic hung in the air, a cruel reminder of her predicament. The only sounds were the faint rustle of the wind outside and the distant hum of alien machines—monstrous, metallic creatures that still loomed in her mind.

The images were seared into her consciousness, replaying mercilessly. The situation unfolded exactly as Fluttershy had feared. After she, trembling and desperate, led the strange, towering creatures to Whinnypool, she hoped they would only retrieve their imprisoned kin from the small village jail. But what came instead were monsters of steel and fire.

Through her tear-blurred vision, she had watched them arrive—strange, boxy contraptions rolling on massive, rubber-clad wheels. Their angular forms were painted in dull greens and browns, blending unnervingly into the forested backdrop. Smaller vehicles, more nimble but equally intimidating, followed, bristling with mounted weapons and devices she couldn’t begin to comprehend.

She remembered the way the ground trembled beneath their advance, the unyielding churn of wheels crushing anything in their path. The machines, with their turreted weapon, belched fire and thunder, their weapons tearing through the ranks of the Royal Guards like a hot knife through butter.

Fluttershy could still hear the screams—the piercing cries of her fellow ponies as magic shields shattered like fragile glass under the relentless assault. The weapon roared, spitting streams of explosive shells that ripped through armor and flesh alike. She had seen a unicorn mage try to conjure a barrier to protect herself. The shield held for a fleeting moment before being obliterated in a brilliant flash, sending shards of magic and blood spraying into the air.

A pegasus squadron had attempted an aerial counterattack, darting toward the metal beasts from above. But they had been met with rapid bursts of the creatures weapon, their graceful forms torn apart mid-flight. Feathered bodies fell from the sky like broken kites, leaving trails of crimson that stained the earth below.

The earth ponies had fared no better. Their unmatched strength was useless against the relentless advance of the steel machines. She had seen one earth pony soldier charge at the steel monster, his war cry echoing through the chaos. The machine’s turret swiveled with mechanical precision, its weapon flashing once. When the smoke cleared, all that remained of the soldier was a broken, lifeless form that was immediately crushed by the wheels of the steel monster.

Fluttershy had shut her eyes, trembling as the carnage unfolded. The warmth of tears had streaked her cheeks even then, her heart breaking with every life snuffed out. 'This is my fault', she had thought, her stomach twisting with guilt.

Now, in the cold confines of the tent, the memories felt like physical blows. Tears slid down her cheeks, silent and unrelenting. She tried to pull her hooves free, but the straps held firm, their rough edges biting into her skin.

"This is all my fault," she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of her despair. “They’re all… gone because of me.”

She thought of the ponies of Whinnypool, the innocent civilians who had been caught in the crossfire. Families torn apart, homes destroyed—all because she had led these creatures here. Her fear of them, her desire to protect herself, had doomed them all.

For what? To save her own skin? To avoid the horrible fate she had imagined—her eyes gouged out, her body mutilated? Fluttershy let out a choked sob, her chest heaving. She was pathetic. A coward. She had betrayed Equestria, her friends, her very values.

Her parents’ faces flashed in her mind. What would they say if they could see her now? Would they be disappointed? Ashamed? And Rainbow Dash—loyal, brave, always willing to fight for what was right. What would she say? Would she ever forgive her?

Fluttershy buried her face in the pillow as sobs wracked her body. She had always admired Rainbow’s courage, her unwavering determination. And yet, here she was, tied to a hospital bed, a traitor to her kind.

Her ear twitched at the thought. Her left ear—or what was left of it—throbbed faintly. She winced, the pain a cruel reminder of the battle’s aftermath. At least her body was mostly intact. Her eyes were still in place, her wings unbroken. But at what cost?

The flap of the tent rustled, and Fluttershy’s heart leapt into her throat. Three figures entered, their silhouettes casting long shadows across the dimly lit space. They moved with an eerie precision, their bulky yellow suits rustling faintly with each step.

Her wide eyes darted to their faces, but there were none—only smooth, reflective visors that hid their features entirely. The suits were intimidating, their thick fabric reinforced with strange metallic panels. Tubes and wires snaked across their surfaces, connecting to devices on their backs that hissed softly with every movement.

One of them carried a rectangular suitcase, its edges gleaming under the sterile light. When it was placed on a nearby table, Fluttershy caught a glimpse of its contents as it was opened. The tools inside were alien and horrifying—shiny metallic implements, sharp blades, and devices she couldn’t begin to name.

Her breathing quickened as one of the figures reached into the case and retrieved an object. It was a knife—or something like it. Its blade was curved and wickedly sharp, its surface gleaming with a faint, bluish hue. The sight of it made her stomach churn, her thoughts spiraling into panic.

'Are they going to kill me?'

Her chest heaved, and her breaths came in short, ragged gasps. Fear gripped her, cold and unrelenting. If this was the price for her betrayal, then she would pay it. But the thought brought no comfort, only the bitter sting of regret.

The tent was dimly lit, the air heavy with a mix of sterilizing chemicals and a faint metallic tang. Dr. Torenov Minovsky, clad in a bulky yellow hazmat suit, stood at the head of the operating table, his gloved hands resting on the edges of a surgical bag. To his left, Dr. Tony Wells was unpacking leather straps and sterile tools, while Dr. Sako Bunzo meticulously prepared syringes filled with anesthesia and neuromuscular blockers. Their task tonight was daunting and grim: to uncover the secrets behind this creature's alleged supernatural abilities.

The subject of their study, designated "Specimen E-17," was visibly trembling. From an outsider's perspective, it seemed like any ordinary equine—yellow coat, pink mane flowing longer than average, delicate features. But the reports from Scout Team 7 told a different story. This being, which humans now referred to as a 'Equine' or 'Gaian', had demonstrated a telepathic ability to manipulate human thoughts and actions. Initial skepticism within the team evaporated after reviewing the GoPro footage: a squad member frozen mid-step, weapon dropped, eyes glazed, utterly under the creature’s control.

Such a phenomenon was beyond scientific explanation, a biological anomaly far surpassing human understanding. It was Minovsky's task to explore this enigma, not just for scientific progress but for humanity's survival on Gaia. He opened his surgical bag, inspecting the gleaming instruments within. Each scalpel, clamp, and retractor was precisely aligned, sanitized to perfection. These tools were extensions of his will, devices that would help him dissect the unknown.

The equine—no, the subject—lay strapped to the table. Her eyes, large and filled with tears, seemed to plead for mercy. It was a look Minovsky had learned to ignore; emotional attachment would compromise the mission. "Tony," he said, his voice muffled through the suit, "secure the head. I don't want any movement once we start."

Tony moved efficiently, looping the leather strap around the subject’s forehead. The Gaian struggled weakly, her ears twitching and her breathing quickening. But Tony’s hands, practiced and firm, held her steady as he cinched the strap tightly. "All set, Doc," he said, stepping back to give Minovsky space.

Meanwhile, Sako carefully injected the anesthetic into several key nerve clusters. The Gaian flinched with each prick of the needle, her struggles growing weaker with every dose. "Administering neuromuscular blockers now," Sako announced. The creature’s limbs slackened, though her chest still heaved, and her wide, tear-filled eyes remained locked on Minovsky.

Satisfied, Minovsky nodded. "Good. Let's begin."

To minimize distress to the team, the creature’s head was draped with a sterile surgical cloth, leaving only the left eye exposed. Minovsky leaned closer, inspecting the organ with clinical precision. "Tony, I need you to hold the eyelid open," he instructed. Tony complied, using gloved fingers to gently pry the lids apart, exposing the trembling eye.

Minovsky’s scalpel hovered just above the surface. The tools of modern science, he thought, were humanity’s greatest equalizer against the inexplicable forces they now faced. He moved slowly, carefully tracing a line to cut the optic nerve and surrounding tissue. The subject’s reactions, muted by anesthesia but still present, tugged at the edges of his thoughts, but he pushed them aside.

“Sako, I’ll need the containment unit prepped,” he said without looking up. The anesthesiologist nodded, retrieving the nitrogen-cooled container. It was a standard device used for preserving fragile biological samples, and frost formed on its exterior from the liquid nitrogen within.

Though their approach was meticulous, the tension in the room was palpable. The creature's faint whimpers, muffled beneath the surgical cloth, were a stark reminder of the moral and ethical lines being tread. For Minovsky, this was not cruelty—it was necessity. Understanding the Gaian’s abilities might one day save human lives, or even unlock technologies far beyond their reach.

“Almost there,” Minovsky murmured, his scalpel shifting to the final layer of nerves. The team worked like a well-oiled machine, each member focused on their role. And yet, even as the operation continued, none could fully ignore the quiet sobs of their subject beneath the cloth, or the weight of what they were doing.

This was just the beginning—a first step into understanding the power of Gaia’s inhabitants.

Author's Note

This chapter was really roller-coaster to write. We went from traumatized UNHCR agent to Certified Bri*fish classic.

I originally wanted to add more details about Minovsky prying Fluttershy's eyes out of her sockets. But I realize that it would be too graphic/sadistic and would violate my "Teen" tag.