Chapter 5: The End Diagram

It was obvious to Rock that being here was supposed to mean something. A radio station; that had to be significant somehow. Yet try as he might, he couldn’t make any immediate connections between his current locale and any recent events. Of course, it helped that the only thing he could remember of recent was that ponies were dying. It seemed like such a foreboding and macabre thing to be aware of, yet he was somehow fine with it.

Or, more accurately, he couldn’t summon up anything more than a passing interest in the thought. The station before him seemed to demand most of his attention. He glanced around interestedly at the instrument panels and microphones. He figured that, given their arrangement and the size of the booth he was in, he must be in something like a recording room or sound booth. Most likely where the DJ or radio host worked while the station was on the air.

He recognized some of the instruments, of course. Some of them he’d worked on in his classes, learning to mix music and studying proper audio waveform manipulation. Familiarity washed over him as he toyed with the instruments, adjusting sliders and flipping switches with the practice born of studious repetition.

“Just a little... there. Ok, now, where’s that power toggle?” he asked himself. For a moment, he considered it strange that he didn’t receive a response. The feeling passed, however, as he found what he was looking for. A couple of quick hoof flicks and the station kicked to life. Slowly but surely, lights came on, the speakers gave him some slight feedback, which he adjusted, and monitors flicked on with bits of information, news feeds, and prompts from what Rock assumed to be the last broadcast.

The station itself didn’t so much look abandoned as it did unoccupied. Like nopony had shown up for work yet. He read quietly the prompts on the screen, but couldn’t make much sense of them. Some were written in shorthand, something he didn’t have practice in; others were written as news reports to events he wasn’t aware of or described places he didn’t know. This station obviously wasn’t local.

How had he gotten here again?

“...unconscious...”

The word floated out of a nearby speaker, amidst an array of static, in a familiar voice. Rock looked over the panels, and, making some adjustments, tried to clear up the noise. It seemed to work, somewhat.

“You’re... cold. ...asleep... the bar... wake...”

More words came out, but they seemed forced, strained even. Like they were aware of the static and trying to fight through them. Out of a sense of not really much else to do, and morbid curiosity, Rock toyed with the sliders some, until the voice called out to him, crystal clear.

“Stop! Don’t touch that dial! I... wait, did I really just say that? Nevermind. Rock! Buddy, brainbro, dude, wake the fuck up!”

Rock stared curiously at the speaker. How did it know his name?

“Cause I’m in your head, dude! Look, I don’t know what you brought in here with you, but this station ain’t on any map. It’s in your head, like me. And there’s not a whole lot of room in here. No offense.”

“...do I know you?” Rock asked, staring at the speaker with a blank expression. As a response, he heard the familiar thunk of a cathode ray tube television kicking on, and another light source caught his attention. He turned his head to look over at an older television sitting on a rolling cart, to find, with interest, that he was staring at himself. and he looked pissed.

“Yes you know me you schizo! Look, I’m you, or part of you. Wherever you are right now, somewhere in that fucking beartrap you call a brain, I can barely reach you. It’s these damn numbers, man. It’s like having a whole other pony in here with us. I know you can’t hear them where you are right now, and I’m still working out how you can hear me, but whatever it is these numbers are doing, they’re doing it now.

Rock’s thoughts came to him, slow and steady. Like they were taking their time. “You said something about being asleep?”

The other Rock looked confused for a moment, then slammed a hoof against the screen, like to him it was a physical thing, a barrier. “Right! You’re asleep, kind of. Well, YOU are. Your body’s not! That’s what I’m trying to tell you; the real you has to wake up right the fuck now!”

“What?” Rock, the one in the station, felt himself filled with a sense of urgency. Something that seemed almost foreign to him here.

“It’s the numbers, dude! You’re doin’ the walkin’, they’re doin’ the talkin’!”

Headline stared worriedly at the unmoving form of Rock Holler on the hospital bed. Well, unmoving save for the slow rise and fall of his chest. She’d just watched in wide-eyed shock as he’d fallen out of his seat at the bar and fell flat on the floor. After calling emergency services, Headline had followed him to the hospital, partly out of concern and partly out of the rather less than admirable curiosity born of journalism.

But right now, she wasn’t thinking about how to turn this into a story. She was more focused on what the nurses had said earlier.

They’d told her that Rock was a mental patient, with a case of mild, functioning schizophrenia. And from what they could tell, he hadn’t been taking his medication in weeks. They’d already placed a call in to his psychiatrist, a one Thought Provoke. She thought about how he’d been acting before he passed out, and wondered how much of it was relevant. Hearing loss, lack of spatial awareness. She didn’t know what all his disease entailed, but she wanted to be honest with the doctor when he got here, as much as she could.

She’d already been here about an hour or two, so it wasn’t any surprise when the door slid open, and a pony she didn’t recognize walked in. Given his attire, demeanor, and the glint of recognition when he looked at Rock, she figured him to be the shrink they’d called. He was a stout, sturdy Earth Pony with an eggshell white coat and a mane and tail the color of egg yolk.

“Mr. Provoke?” Headline asked quietly, given the late hour. “I’m Headline, I was with Rock when he collapsed,” she explained, walking up and offering her hoof.

He shook it, amiably. “Thank you. I’m glad somepony was there to call an ambulance so fast. I understand he was... acting strange, before he fainted?” His voice was practiced and smooth, the timbre of somepony who’s used to talking to people less intelligent than him all day.

Headline nodded, and described how Rock had seemed to lose his sense of hearing steadily over the course of the conversation. How he’d seemed surprised at the slightest movement, even when he was watching it, like he wasn’t aware it had happened. “Are these normal, for him?”

Provoke shook his head. “No, not really. Rock’s case is actually one of the most straightforward I’ve come across. Well, as straightforward as any psychological disorder can be. He hears voices, or rather, a voice. And not in the way that most ponies think. To him, the only difference between this voice and having another pony in the room with him at all times is the lack of a physical body. They maintain a continuous dialogue, and so far his relationship with this presence in his head seems just short of symbiotic. In fact, if not for the unfortunate clause in his health insurance that says it won’t pay for his appointments and medicine unless he actively maintains his treatment, I’d stop prescribing him medication and stop sending him letters. But if he stops getting proper treatment, it’s not just his mental health insurance that stops, it’s all of it. And I doubt he can afford to pay his own medical bills, if and when he should get hurt or sick.”

Headline took a moment to process all of this information. “So, he’s really just... fine, normally? Except for the extra pony in the room?”

“Aside from a strangely self-satisfying sense of fatalism, yes. He seems to be under the constant impression that most anything that happens to him is supposed to happen to him. It’s how he’s dealt with his psychosis so well all his life.”

“All his life? You mean...” Headline stopped, and looked over at Rock’s sleeping form.

Thought nodded. “Yes. He’s had this voice in his head as long as anypony can remember. In fact, I’d heard from his last psychiatrist that some of his first words were to ponies that weren’t there.”

“His last psychiatrist? You haven’t been treating him his whole life?” Her sense of inquisition had gotten some of the better of her, and she simply wanted to know more. Just because it was there to be known.

Provoke raised a curious eyebrow at her. “Just how old do you think I am?” After seeing her blush and look away in response, he returned his attention to his patient. “No, I haven’t known him all his life. Just the last several years. I know the medication I’m required to prescribe isn’t good for him. I’ve seen him on it, and frankly, it’s terrifying. Paranoia, hallucinations, and a consuming sense of abandonment. He even spent some time in a psychiatric ward. But all he got out of that was bored and medicated. Neither of which are good in long doses. So I had him released, and set him up on a medical plan that allows him to be a functioning member of society as long as he keeps up the illusion of trying to get better. But honestly, I don’t know how much better he can get. This, though...” Provoke gestured to the bed, “I’ve never seen him pass out, and he’s never complained about the symptoms you listed. Not even on medication. This is something entirely new. When he wakes up I’ll have a lot of questions for him.”

“I’m sure you do, doctor.” Thought and Headline both jumped at the voice, and turned to see Rock sitting up in bed. He was smiling.

Neither of them thought it was a good thing.

Rock leaned against the TV, staring at himself. “Are you saying these.. numbers... are in my body?”

Rock on TV nodded. “Exactly. They’re steering the ship, dude. You’ve got to find a way to wake up. Or I think all hell is about to break loose.”

Rock rolled the thought around in his head. “But what could they do with it? They’re just numbers? At most they’d lock me in a padded room because I won’t stop spouting out random mathematical shit.”

The TV Rock shook his head. “It’s not like that. The numbers are alive, man. It’s not just a stream of information. It’s a fucking consciousness. That’s what it wants. It’s a mind without a body. Or was. Now it’s got you to wear around town like a meatsuit. And it’s nothing nice. This thing, this, numbers station, it wants to be heard. And not just what’s been going around town. I think it’s going to start a lot of really bad shit pretty fucking fast. So far it’s just been driving ponies crazy, making them off themselves or do really self-harmful shit. Sometimes they just go nuts and lock themselves away. But not anymore. It’s actively trying to hurt ponies, make them suffer, all that creepy horror movie villain shit.”

“So... how do you know all of this?”

Just like earlier, Rock’s answer came in the form of static. This sound, however, quickly corrected itself. He hadn’t even touched an instrument panel.

“Because I told him.”

Thought leaned over the bed, putting on a soothing smile and adapting what was obviously a practiced calm in an attempt to put Rock in a relaxed mood. “I’m glad to see you’re awake, Rock. You had us worried?”

Rock looked puzzled for a moment. Then he surprised both of the other ponies in the room by throwing his head back and laughing. “You?! Worried! Ha! You’ve got all the empathy of the cheap tie you’re wearing. Don’t insult me and sit there with that ‘sad for me’ face and tell me the world’s gonna be all ok. You really think I’m stupid enough to buy into any of it? Oh, sure, you care enough to try and keep me insured. That’s almost admirable. If not for the fact that you don’t get paid if I lose my insurance.”

Thought Provoke was, for the first time in a long time, taken aback by Rock’s behavior. He’d always been, if nothing else, predictable. Outside of whatever delusional nightmare landscape his medication drove him into, he’d always been just the same pony with an imaginary friend. But the psychiatrist wouldn’t let himself be shaken so easily. “While that may be true, Rock, it doesn’t mean I’m not concerned. Your recent symptoms lead me to believe that something inside of you may be very wrong. I’ve gone over your EEG scans, and I have to say your neural patterns are much different than what I’ve seen before. I’m going to recommend you for some new medications, and maybe some time in a ward-”

Before THought could finish his sentence, Rock had him by the front of his shirt, and was inches from his face. “No. What you’re going to do, doc, is let me go about my happy little existence, and pretend I was never there. Just like always. You let me walk out of here, back to my normal jacked up college boy life, fill out paperwork like you always do, and we’re both happy. Or do you want your wife to know why she can’t get pregnant?”

What little color he had drained out of Thought’s face like somepony had pulled a plug. “What... what are you talking about?”

“Do you know she blames herself? She thinks she’s not good enough for you, that she can’t give you a child. But it’s really you, isn’t it? You and those damn pills you take. All those reassurances you give her about how much you’d enjoy having a child, all the while making sure you never see hide nor hair of the little devils. Cause you really hate kids, don’t you, doc? But you could never tell your wife that. No, not her. Not the elementary school teacher. No, you’d rather let her stew in her own self-loathing every day under some grand delusion that she’s not even half the mare you deserve,” Rock’s words corroded Thought’s will like viscous acid, all of the doctor’s strength pouring out of him with each revelation. By the time the pegasus had finished laying into his psychiatrist, the Earth pony was a sniveling mess being held up only by Rock’s sturdy grip.

Rock let go carelessly, and smiled as Thought slumped to the floor. Not moments later, the doctor pulled himself hurriedly to his hoof, and ran out the door.

Headline stared at the stallion in the hospital bed like an alien. Or a serial killer. “What.. what was that?”

It was as if he’d forgotten she was there. His head snapped around, and he fixed his gaze on her. Jabbing a hoof in her direction, he growled, “You. Out.”

Headline stood her ground, despite the earthquake threatening to erupt in her knees. “What is wrong with you?!” she shouted.

“I said, out. Unless you need reminding of how you got your cutie mark,” he hissed, baring teeth that she was sure weren’t that sharp moments ago.

The full impact of his words hit her like he’d hit the floor only hours ago. Turning pale much like the doctor had, she turned tail and ran.

Rock stared bemusedly at the now empty room for a moment, before rolling his eyes up to his forehead. “I know you boys are in there. I hope you’ve having fun, because I’m going to be here for a very long time. And it’s just. Getting. Interesting.”

Author's Note

Shit. Meet fan.