[The video starts up, whirring to life slowly. An elderly earth pony appears on screen. Light blue, with a dithered grey mane, worked to hell and back by many years of hard work. He clears his throat, faces the camera, and begins to speak.]

Greetings. I am Ar- Agh, is this thing on? I don't see the light... blinking. [He taps the side of the recording device, the view fuzzing for a brief moment before coming back to clarity.] Probably a loose wire. Well, working now. [He pauses to clear his throat.] I am Artifact, the director of new findings with the Equestria Historical Society, a small but important branch of the Canterlot government. We research ancient pony history, discovering and verifying facts to further the education of Equestria as a whole.

[He leans forward, bones cracking with age.]

That, my friends, is the last time I allow myself to tell such a blatant, disgusting lie. This will be my final journal entry, an entry that I will spread to all of Equestria, for it contains truths that may only ever be spoken by me. Truths that must come to light, lest all of ponydom lose itself to a manufactured, false existence.

[He sits back in his chair, bones popping back into place, the intensity of his resolve burning in his eyes.]

The Equestria Historical Society does NOT, in fact, research ancient pony history. That's all well documented, kept at hand for the Society to manipulate as they see fit. Our sole purpose is to procure ancient technology from old Human societies, to alter them and make them our own. We excavate them, under close guard of course, then send what we find to this very lab I am filming in tonight.

[He gestures to his surroundings. The facility is massive, but completely lacks windows, all light coming from artificial sources. There are several unusual items sitting on nearby tables, some familiar to anypony, others strange and seemingly useless. Items include: umbrellas, large orange cone-shaped objects, large stacks of books, and a strange gray brick with the letters N.E.S. printed on it.]

Here, me and my team of trusted ponies research the findings, discover their function in the dead society, and, if deemed appropriate for use, repurpose them for pony usage. Once our job here is done, we pass it all along to the Integration team, who, through careful manipulation of media outlets and popular culture, bring these objects into modern society.

[He coughs, the faintest hint of blood on his lips. Artifact has a respiratory illness caused by severe dust inhalation, non-fatal (Source: Dr. Tincturehoof, physician assigned to EHT excavation team).]

Apologies. The point I'm attempting to make here is that pony society – from the baked goods you consume, to the music you hear, folk or modern, even the very homes you live in and THE WORDS YOU SPEAK – is a stolen concept, ripped whole cloth from the long-gone Human society.

[A light twitch crosses his left eye, leading to a brief blush.]

Oh, dear, I seem to have forgotten to explain what exactly a Human is. My apologies. Humans are a race of creatures that existed for hundreds of thousands of years, similar to a monkey but capable of speech and complex motor skills. In ways, they were very similar to your modern pony, though one must wonder how much of that is us, and how much is the work done in this lab.

I do not exaggerate when I say that every single facet of your life was made here, in Canterlot, away from prying eyes. At this desk I sit at, 985 years ago as of yesterday, the first cupcake ever made by ponykind was baked. Behind me, the international mail system was created, repurposed from an old courier service known only as FedEx. Over there, [He gestures with a gentle head movement] that's where our language was discovered. It's almost entirely English, a Human language invented on an island nation. One you might know as Bridletannia.

[He eyes a pipe on the desk, giving consideration to a brief smoke break. His head shakes, his focus on his work. Regardless, his eyes wander to it again. Habits die hard.]

I feel I must preface this by telling you all: We, as a species, have only existed as we know ourselves for 1000 years. Please remember this, it will be very important soon. The vast majority of buildings we have in our major cities – Manehattan, Phillydelphia, even Canterlot – are of the Human race's creation. An early version of the EHS repurposed those buildings, as the earliest ponies lived out their days in the podunk of Ponyville, a sort of “original city” created by Celestia to give a base to the stories and “history” lessons we teach our foals and fillies. Many a pony was made to become an “explorer” of sorts, the pilgrimages conducted to end at these pre-made cities, which were considered – at least temporarily – as gifts from the powers that be. Of course, we spent years subtly changing the history books to give them their own origins, founders, many extending far before the rise of our species.

[An audible knock at the door is heard. Artifact turns his head, tapping a button on the corner of his desk. Sugarlumps, his personal secretary, comes in with a cart with a full tea set. She is a somewhat fuller figured unicorn, quite attractive nonetheless, pale pink with a silverish mane done up in fetching curls, a mature style for her young age. He offers her a nod and smile, and she gracefully pours him a cup of tea, setting it on the desk for him. He thanks her, and she departs. Her cutie mark is that of a traditional Bridletannian teaset, visible clearly as she turns and exits the lab. With a glimmer of joy in his eyes, he takes the first sip, practically melting into his seat.]

Ohhh, that's the stuff. An interesting note, tea as we know it originated in a Human country known as China, around where Shanghay is located. As the royals and bluebloods of Canterlot cared quite a bit for it, we moved it's origins to Bridletannia, cementing them as the economic powerhouse of the world.

[He takes another long sip, staring wistfully at the ceiling. After a moment, his mind snaps back to the task at hand, and he sets the cup down, pushing it to the side so as not to distract him.]

Now, I've mentioned that we're only a millennium old as a race, and that we effectively stole everything that made the extinct Human race and made it our own. I'm sure I don't need to connect the dots here. But, it's one thing to hear about it, and it's another to see it for yourself. What I'm about to show you has only been seen by me, my direct predecessors, and Celestia herself. These are the last days of the Human race.

[He leans over, tapping something on the side of the camera. The image changes immediately to a setting not unlike the laboratory, with a strange creature before the camera. It was practically bald, except for a mane atop it's head. It's mouth and nose were strangely inlaid, seemingly lacking a muzzle. Perhaps strangest of all is that it stood on two legs, like a bird. It wore laboratory clothing very similar to what Artifact and his crew wore about the office, but that was about the only familiar thing about it. It cleared it's throat, and began to speak in a Southern Pony dialect.]

Creature: This is the video blog of Professor David Thorndyke, meteorologist, dated August 18th, 2017, from my private observatory outside Branson, Missouri. Viewers, I have some horrible news. Remember those solar flares I had mentioned on Wednesday's video? They've become something else entirely. Something horrifying. Their light has intensified to a point where I'm forced to use instruments to save my own eyes, narrowed their scope to concentrated beams, and on top of that, they seem to be... directed by something. They are reaching Earth, breaking through the atmosphere, and landing on small towns. Yesterday, they were landing too far away for me to do anything but gather data on radiation levels – which thankfully remain low enough that the populace needn't worry about radiation poisoning. Today... it struck Kirbyville.

[The creature, which can be assumed to be a Human, secreted moisture from it's forehead. The heavy breathing accompanying it suggests that it's a response to fear for the species.]

Human, cont.:Those of you that know me personally know that I'm a mere quarter mile West of Kirbyville, so after the background radiation dissipated a bit, I headed down there. What I saw... it was Hell on Earth. The town was a crater. There were whispers of skeletons where men had once stood. A house on the edge of town was cleaved in half, cinders still burning on the edges. Is this some sort of divine judgment? A crazed bio-weapon from the Chinese? Nonetheless, I've notified the state government, with what pictures I could bear to take and a full report. I've dubbed this phenomenon Celestial Wrath, and I hope with all my heart that this name becomes a footnote in history, instead of the end of it. Professor David Thorndyke, signing off.

[The screen flickers to black, then comes to life again on a different scene. Several items frame the screen, including the time and date – 2:16 PM, August 20, 2017 – and a banner reading CBS 2 NEW YORK CITY – JONATHAN SKYE. Jonathan is assumed to be the human taking up most of the frame, looking very similar to David, but in different attire. His left sleeve is torn off, blood is pouring from a wound in his head, and he's speaking into a still camera with labored breath, scrawled on the street. All around him is flames, bodies, and innumerable craters. The bleeding grows immeasurably stronger every few seconds, shortening his breath.]

Jonathan: New York, if you're still watching, run! There's some sort of shining light in the sky, and it's killing us all! Reports from all over are saying it looks like a giant, rainbow horse, but that can't AAAAAAGH!

[Jonathan is cut off when the very edge of a beam vaporizes his legs, leaving two smoldering stumps. He vomits, tears streaking down his face and mingling with the blood. This Human is about to die.]

Jonathan (through heavy breaths): Damn... you... Celesti.... [His head falls into the pool of fluids he's expelled, the life leaving his eyes.]

[The camera cuts back to Artifact, hoof trembling as it tries to bring the teacup to his lips. He sets the cup down firmly, wisely choosing to let his nerves calm before another attempt.]

There's a good reason I only saw that once. Haunting. So, as you now know, our Princess Celestia wiped out the Human race to make way for ponies. Just, uh, let that sink in for a moment.

[He actually gives a moment for it to sink in, finally taking that sip of tea he was going for. Much more relaxed now, he continues.]

Now just this last year, we celebrated the thousandth year of the Summer Sun Celebration, which I'm sure you all know was interrupted by our other princess, Luna. Her crimes reach far from what she was banished for, and her hooves are soiled just as much with the blood of humanity as her sister's, perhaps even moreso.

[He reaches under the desk, coming back up with a black rectangular object, the boxes on either end of it similar to the speakers used at traditional pony parties. He presses a button on the top, the speakers crackle to life, and audio plays from the boxes. Immediately identifiable sounds are those of heavy rainfall, labored breaths, and a high-pitched, rapid alarm. There is another difficult to identify sound, like a series of rapid, tiny explosions, going off in perfect succession. A voice starts speaking, clearly feminine, clearly exhausted.]

Voice: Alright, this works, cool. Barbara Harrison here, running an audio log for the sake of my own sanity. Shit's gone to hell. That Celestial bullshit fried SFU campus, pretty sure all my friends are dead, and cell phone towers are down, so I can't call my folks and see if they're alright. Fuck, hope they are. Highways are all sorts of fucked up, so I went down to the bay and-

[A loud thud is heard, followed by the loud rumble of thunder. Some distortion on the mic, which calms down a moment later.]

Voice, somewhat louder: Goddamnit, this had better still be working. So, yeah, stole a coast guard boat. There was nobody guarding them, guess they've got better things to worry about. Or they're dead. Fuck, I dunno, this whole thing still has my head spinning. Gonna head up the coast, make it to Oregon, see if mom and dad are still alright. If all this shit blows over soon, I might be able to use these recordings to just skip school and get into a job as an investigative journalist. Fuck, waves are getting worse, probably gonna have to kill this for the ti.. wait, the fuck is that?

[The woman in the recording quickly goes to loud sobs and screams, the sound of water growing louder and louder. The only words one can make out through the gurgling shouts are “horse” and “dark”. The recording tapers out, turning to low, crackling static.]

This recording was salvaged from a wreck off the coast of Saddle Francisco, oddly enough in the wreckage that led to our earth pony ferry system. It was clear that Celestia had everything covered on land, but many a human had tried to flee by sea. With the reflective properties of water, she had nearly no way to stop them from escaping. That's where Luna comes in.

Those of you that live in a coastal town know some of the mishaps that came when she returned and regained control of the moon. She'd been out of practice for a full millennium, so her aim was pretty well off for a week or two. That caused quite a few tidal disasters, nearly destroying the kelp and seaweed industry in much of the world. Now, imagine if you will, those sort of “mishaps” conducted intentionally. Pretty clear what happened to Barbara now, isn't it?

[He finishes off his tea, which must be cold by now. He doesn't seem to mind, the look in his eyes suggesting his mind is elsewhere. Setting the large box and teacup aside, he reached one hoof down to his hips, and comes back up with a curious instrument. It seems to be made of polished steel, a long tube attaching to a block with an elongated wheel running through it. Attached to that is a wooden protrusion, similar to many odd ends on several human artifacts. Studies have shown that these protrusions are what Humans held these devices from, similar to how griffons and dragons can hold small instruments easily. With his other hoof, he reaches down under the desk, pulling up some sort of leather strap contraption now fixed to his hoof, which seems to move certain clips on the hoof end of the strap with subtle movements of his leg. He demonstrates it's usage by using it to somewhat effortlessly pick up the instrument from the desk.]

This is a Colt Python single-action revolver. It was excavated just outside of Manehattan, in a small Human settling, inside a large metal box. It propels small pieces of metal at lightning fast speeds, with the intent to destroy a target. This is also the very reason I decided to make this video, knowing that I could never wash these bloodstains from my hooves. I have used this very revolver to take the life of someone very dear to me.

[He visibly tears up, setting the revolver down and pushing it aside. This seems to calm him down enough to continue.]

On a recent expedition to Manedrid, a land mass off the coast of Bridletannia, my team and I had made a huge discovery. Medical supplies and research materials, a wealth of them, enough to keep the Equestrian populace fit and healthy for decades to come. As is procedure, the dig site was cordoned off, tour groups were given the usual loaded reasons for not disturbing the site, and security forces were brought in to keep non-official eyes away. This has worked flawlessly several times before, leaks being very few and far between, but the fates couldn't leave well enough alone that day.

[He starts tearing up again, making no effort to clear his eyes.]

A group of pegasi were clearing rainclouds that day, moving them primarily to the plains. They were supposed to stay well out of our site's airspace, but one of them broke off formation and wandered over our site. Our air guards quickly captured him and escorted him to the site, where he was brought before me. Now, procedure states that any unauthorized personnel on site must be dealt with swiftly, as we maintain a strict “no witnesses” policy. Such unpleasantries were often handled by the guards on hand, but upon discovery of this revolver, it was deemed appropriate that I demonstrate these policies, some nonsense about enforcing respect of authority. I had no problem performing such tasks in the past, but this time was different.

This young, scared pegasus before me was my nephew. He had my sister's eyes, his father's mane, and the theme of cutie mark that ran in my family, exploration, which showed itself as a map on his flank. Worst of all, he recognized me. When I was inducted into the Equestrian Historical Society's discovery and research branch 17 years ago, my family had received word that I had been killed. It was a lie told to protect my identity, my family's safety, and, simply put, to keep me in. Little Atlas was barely 7 years old when this had happened, though him and I had been very close. I could see nearly two decades of anger, longing and sorrow in his eyes, and knew they were a reflection of my own. Unfortunately, Celestia's word is absolute, and I had a job to do.

[His hoof inches towards the discarded revolver, picking it up and bringing it to his head. Sniffles joined his tears.]

Through tears, shouts for mercy and words that stung my very soul, I forced myself to look him in the eyes. I gave him my deepest apologies, brought the revolver to his temple, and pulled the trigger.

[He pulls the trigger on the revolver, the weapon giving a loud click and nothing else. The chamber holding the piece of metal was empty. He drops the weapon with a loud thud, burying his muzzle between his hooves on the desk, crying. Clear words are heard once through this, stating “Atlas forgive me”.]

[A few minutes pass, and he finally pulls himself up from his sobbing. His hoof instinctively reaches for the teacup, and upon finding it empty, he sets it down firmly, a small crack forming on it's side.]

Apologies, those were inner demons I was hoping to never face again. I would never wish such a fate to befall even my worst enemy, and pray that this video provides the first step towards a peaceful future where such a tragedy is unthinkable. What you do with this knowledge is up to you, of course. Whether you choose to suppress it and never show another pony, expose it to the world, or use it as a catalyst for an uprising, that is entirely up to you. I only wish for you to express your free will.

I will be wrapping up this recording in a moment, then proceeding to make several copies and sending them out via private courier to various people of interest I know. Friends, I trust you to do the right thing, work towards a brighter tomorrow, a tomorrow free fro-

[His speech is cut off by a loud slam and thud, drawing his attention to the door. His hoof reaches and grabs the revolver, swinging it in a wide motion that topples the camera, teacup and black box to the ground. In it's new position, the legs and chests of Luna's private forces (as indicated by the insignia of Luna's cutie mark in a large shield, emblazoned on their protective chestplates are visible. Artifact soon moves into the camera's view, futilely pulling the trigger on his weapon until one round fires and wounds one of the troops. In a moment of desperation, he throws the weapon at the other guards.]

[It lands uselessly before the charging guards, who quickly descend upon the weakened Artifact. The one-sided scuffle that ensues results in the teacup, previously cracked, shattering, revealing a small black microphone embedded into the bottom. The officers had been listening in on the whole recording. One officer brings a hoof above Artifact's neck, and brings it down with calculated force. His neck snaps, killing him instantly. Two guards drag his lifeless body across the lab floor, past a sobbing Sugarlumps. The remaining guard kicks the camera, turning it off.]

It is the opinion of the Homeland Office Regarding the Security of Equestria (H.O.R.S.E.)

that this recording is deemed too dangerous to be seen by all but those with top-tier

clearance. Therefore, it has been reviewed once, transscripted and sealed, to be contained

at an undisclosed location until deemed necessary to review. This concludes the

transcript of Incident #3051, dubbed the “Dug Up Artifact” Incident.

IN CELESTIA WE TRUST