The objective of this experiment in to see if this kind of isolation can cure BMS, bring together foals even if they’re different and prevent smarties, and see how long a mare takes to go into an “wan die loop” even if in the presence of her babbehs.
Extra log: The mare cracked part of the glass, the glass has to be replaced as soon as possible the next day. Her hoofs got hurt by this, however just remove the glass from it and ignore the pleas and cries from the subject. The foals were left untouched. The bestest didn’t feed at all surprisingly, it just kept sleeping the whole day.
Note to Staff: Before next day begins, clean Subject MM80’s box and punish it with the sorry stick recommended for this situation. If the mare persists, tries to retrieve the foals or tries to escape, use force. Pillowing allowed ONLY if the situation gets too bad.
The mare pressed her hooves against the cold glass, staring at her foals on the other side. Her heart ached, a deep, primal pull to reach them, to touch them. The glass was thin, almost taunting in its transparency. She could see them—her precious babbehs—but they couldn’t see her. Their tiny, confused faces as they searched for warmth, for the comfort of her body, broke her.
“NUUUU!” Her voice cracked with desperation. “NU TAKE BABBEHS PWEAS! THEY NEE’ MUMMAH!”
She banged her hoof harder on the glass, feeling a sharp pain as it cracked under her force. Blood smeared on the surface, her pleas drowned by her own ragged breathing. The foals didn’t react—they didn’t even know she was there. It was like she was already gone to them.
On the other side, her bestest babbeh, the golden one she had loved since the moment it was born, lay motionless, eyes half-closed. It hadn’t eaten. It hadn’t cried for her. A hollow feeling began to spread inside her chest. Something was wrong.
“Huu-huuu… pwease…” Her voice fell into a whimper. “Pwease wet mummah see babbehs…”
She couldn’t understand what was happening. Her instinct screamed to break through, to hold them, to protect them. But the glass was unyielding, and her foals… they were slipping away from her, just like the warmth inside her heart.
Behind the walls, the scientists watched.
“Subject MM80 is reacting predictably,” one said, scribbling down notes. “Heightened distress, trying to break the barrier. The separation anxiety is working as expected.”
Another researcher stood with arms crossed, watching the mare as she slumped in the corner of her enclosure, her body trembling, voice hoarse from screaming. “She cracked the glass again. Make sure we replace it tomorrow.”
“Do we punish her tonight?”
A pause. The second researcher glanced at the screen showing the foals. “Yeah. She needs to understand the consequences of trying to interfere. Sorry stick should do. Make sure her box is cleaned too.”
“And if she resists?”
“Pillowing’s a last resort,” came the answer, sharp and cold. “We’re not here to be sentimental. The experiment must continue.”
That night, as the lights dimmed and the lab was silent, the mare curled up in her corner, her body aching from exhaustion. The glass, cracked but not broken, stood between her and her world. She could still see her babbehs, but they were drifting, falling into a sleep that felt too deep, too still.
Her mind, usually full of frantic thoughts, was quiet now. Numb. She had no more strength left to scream. No more hope that her pleas would be answered.
The other mares in the facility whispered about something. About a “wan die loop,” a state where the pain became so overwhelming that it consumed you, pulled you into a place where all you could want was to leave it behind.
She never understood that. Not until now.
Lying on the cold floor, the mare pressed her face against the glass one last time. Her hoof, bloodied and bruised, traced the outline of her smallest foal. “Babbehs…” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Mummah… hewe…”
But they didn’t hear. They couldn’t see.
And as her eyes grew heavy, as the sound of her heartbeat slowed in her ears, a single thought rose above the crushing weight in her chest:
Maybe it would be better if she didn’t wake up tomorrow.
The morning brought with it a routine that never changed. The researchers entered the lab, removed the broken glass, cleaned the boxes, and prepared the new day’s notes.
One of them paused by Subject MM80’s enclosure, noting her curled, motionless form. He raised his eyebrow at the lack of resistance. “She’s not trying to break the glass today?”
“She’s probably learning,” the other replied, setting the “sorry stick” aside. “Or she’s starting to give up.”
“Good. We’ll see how much longer she lasts before she enters the loop.”
Without another word, they replaced the glass. The mare didn’t move.
In the other box, the foals squirmed restlessly, still too young to understand that they were being watched, studied.
But the mare knew. And though her body remained in that cold, sterile room, her heart—what was left of it—was on the other side of the glass.
