Sudden, blinding light violently disturbed the deep, dreamless slumber of Queen Chrysalis. She felt strangely numb. The room was dark, so the only thing she could see was a vague form of a head resting above her and, within the shadow, a pair of red-glowing, slitted orbs peered down at her from behind the dark shades of the monstrous man. Those eyes brought back the memories of the last few hours. She shuddered involuntarily, feeling the slow and steady breath of the man on her carapace. The Queen noticed she was strapped to a flat, cold surface that reflected the artificial light, likely metal, and gagged with a towel.

Uncontrollable fear gripped her heart. She tried to mentally reach out to her children, hoping that at least a few had survived, but unfortunately, her magic failed her. The usual warm embrace of the hive mind could not grace her, leaving her most important sense blind, lost in a painful void of personal loss. It was like a blockade prevented the Queen from redirecting the familiar power its usual way through her horn. Chrysalis felt lost, alone and violated. What did this cruel human do to her? What did he do to her children?

“Good morning. Did you sleep well, sunshine?” he mockingly asked, now aware she was awake, “Oh, I forgot. You aren’t really in a postition to talk now, are you? I apologize for my rude behavior. Here, let me get that for you,” he removed the cloth from her muzzle. “Using your magic is useless. The effect of the jammer will at least last for a few more hours at this rate of recovery.”

Wesker chuckled grimly, his gloved hands playing with her green hair. Then he inquired,

“What was the point of this little incident? Couldn’t you have just… asked for my help. Now I will have to make sure you will regret this, my lady. That I can promise. Your lack of creativity disappoints me. I expected more from you, the great Queen of the changelings, the one who almost managed to conquer Equestria. But this only proves how foolish the ponies are to fall for such a pathetic individual like you. Now you are at my mercy. Your fate lies in my hands, so to say,” he said flexing his appendages.

Silent tears rained down the sides of her cheeks. The ugly monkey was responsible for her misery. In her head, Wesker died a hundred cruel deaths right then. Her mind could not break the barrier of reality however. Helplessly, she’d have to suffer through his treatment. But he wouldn’t break her, she promised herself. She was still Chrysalis, the powerful and fiery Queen of the changelings.

“What did you do to my children?” the Queen demanded weakly, hardly able to put any aggression into her words.

“Well, let’s just say they were less than cooperative. Unfortunately for you, they are all dead,” he stated with coldness, not an inkling of regret in his voice. This bastard had enjoyed killing her children, the last of their kind. This didn’t mean her race was dead, though, she reminded herself, trying to push her grief aside. Only a changeling Queen was necessary to reproduce.

“You are a monster!” she screamed, but his face remained emotionless.

A shiny object entered her view. A scalpel neared her chest and a devilish smile spread on the man’s face, a facade straight from Tartarus.

“That is quite impolite to say, my dear Chrysalis.”

The first cut wasn't as painful as she had anticipated. The numbness of the magic jammer took away the worst of it. Nevertheless, Chrysalis gasped in shock, as the cold metal divided the blank chitin, that covered her torso. His work was an example of professionalism. Only relatively little blood was spilled, since he managed to avoid piercing any major veins despite his limited knowledge of changeling anatomy.

All he knew about the physiology of this race was what he had learned by studying the dead specimens' bodies. These little buggers had been full of surprises so far, and he was sure he could use the research on this subject to develop useful tools. Especially their green, gooey blood fascinated the man since it carried an enormous amount of magic. There was a quiet possibility that it was the key to understand how this magic worked on a biological level.

After few cuts the queen passed out again. The torrent of pain took away her consciousness. Unfortunately, she didn't stay asleep for the whole procedure. Randomly she would wake up, disoriented and weak, in a world of agony while the man continued to do his cruel work. And even when her generous consciousness spared her the images of getting torn apart alive, nightmares of shattered corpses and her crying children haunted the queen.

It had cost him a whole day to prepare the procedure and conduct the necessary tests to ensure compatibility and effect of P30. The secret room under the laboratory hidden by a trapdoor he commissioned with the money from his loan, unknown to the princesses, had already been finished. This was where he stored the Queen and her cooled, dead subjects.

Fortunately, sleep was only a luxury to the super human. The man decided he’d work at night to arouse as little suspicion as possible. Wesker couldn’t risk a random work pony walking in to him performing the surgery. Waiting even longer could lead to the Queen developing an immunity to the jammer, the IV drop next to the laboratory bench drugged her with.

That it worked at all was a small wonder itself judging by the immensely differing nature of changelings compared to his earlier test subjects. However, the long time effects of such a treatment were unknown. Albert couldn’t rule out they were harmful and he didn’t want to risk that, because he had great plans for the changeling Queen. She was a valuable asset - so much much was clear.

The only question that remained open was if he could manage to acquire the necessary materials in time. His 'friend' at Canterlot Hospital had been very helpful to accomplish this task because he had excellent connections to the other departments of the institution.

The plans for the device he intended to build were still in his head. Once before he had tested it on a living subject. Brain-washing that fool Jill had been amusing to say the least. The once proud and hard-headed woman had been degraded and reduced to a simple pawn. Straight-faced, the woman had attacked her former comrades, even her beloved Chris. It was a complete success.

Only a few slight modifications would be necessary to configure the serum for the new application 'environment'. Chrysalis couldn’t do much but obey the first person she saw after she woke up. Or at least he hoped so… If it didn’t work he had another syringe prepared with a high dose of the jammer to send her back into Morpheus’ embrace. Also, P30 acted as a physical performance enhancer.

There was room for improvement too. Instead of solely relying on an electrical battery, he could in addition use a magic-electric converter, the man ‘borrowed’ from Twilight, so the injector could refill itself by using its new host's capabilities. This adjustment would also make it unnecessary to attach the device to the outside of the host's body to regularly change out the power storage - the weak point of the system, since the drug it would inject into the blood was so potent one could store enough for a few decades in the small device. It would be a lot harder to remove hidden by the changeling’s thick carapace and therefore nearly undetectable. The perfect soldier.

Synthesizing the P30 drug hadn’t been a problem at all; the ingredients were readily available to the general public. He’d picked them up at a local drug store. Only the process of manufacturing it had been quite a task because not all equipment he needed for Parasol’s labs had been delivered yet. But with his resourcefulness, he overcame the troubles.

Finally, he had stitched her up and removed the latex gloves from his fingers, deposing them in a small trash bin beside the lab bench. The surgery had been performed without any major complications, and the subject should recover completely within the next few days, assuming there was no infection. The blond was eager to see the results of his work. He felt a grotesque joy, like a child at Christmas awaiting to open up his presents.

He grabbed a simple glass flask and filled it with water from the sink. Albert drained its contents on the creature before him, careful not to wet the Queen’s wounds.

Chrysalis stirred and her eyelids fluttered. Then she awoke. Her eyes were clouded, there was no emotion evident on her face. Only her silent breath gave away she was still alive.

“Who am I,” he asked quietly, full of expectation but still wary.

A moment passed. Then she answered with a zealot’s conviction, “You are my master.”