A daily routine

"It's Sunday..." I grumbled when I heard the sound of my alarm clock which woke up me from a vivid dream. I immediately got up and looked at the calendar and, yet again, it was monday. Instead of opening the door in my bedroom, I accidentally crashed into it. I groaned and rubbed my face with a hoof, thinking that today would be a very long day. After managing to avoid slamming into the door again, I took a shower, ate breakfast and went to work.

I work as a surgeon at the Ponyville clinic, and over the course of my two year career I've seen all sort of cases. Cases that range from accidentally sticking a fishhook though one's hoof to more serious ones like getting skewered with a harpoon or a very unfortunate stallion who got pieced on a spiked gate belonging to his ex-wife. I also saw a bunch of wild-west style shootouts that almost always ended in a dozen wounded and a few who were dead right away. It's not secret that Mr. Colt's and Hooveson's inventions were used the way neither of them intended - but they also brought a revolutionary innovation into the military.

Just like every day, I put on my labcoat, signed myself for duty, and waited for patients to arrive. Much to my surprise, two patients were already in the waiting room. Judging by their clothing and insignias, I immediately recognised them to be members of the army. One of them was an army general while the other was a private.

"Sir, you're wounded, you need medical attention," said the private, taking a long look at the injuries on the general’s back..

"I'm fine, private,” the injured one stated definitively, coughing slightly into his hoof and wincing.

"You are lucky that you survived being shot with a shotgun in the back, and since you've saved my life on a few missions, I'll repay the favor."

"Good morning, what's the problem?" I said as I approached them.

"The general was shot with a buckshot during one of the missions and refuses medical care." The private cracked his neck slightly and glanced at me with a worried look. He shuffled his hooves on the ground, but his attention returned to the wounded one when he spoke.

"You can go home private, I'll  change his mind." The private glanced back at me with a strange look, saluted, and walked down the hallway. I lost sight of him when he turned a corner.

"This way please, I'll take care of the wound." I gestured towards the operation room, ready to start the procedure.

"Whoa, so you found a way to get rid of my annoying friend,” he said, refusing to stand. “For that, thanks. However, it was a waste of your time and I'm not coming with you." I turned around again and glared, adjusting my lab coat.

"You probably don't feel anything right now, but when the lead from the pellets gets into your bloodstream, you'll die from lead poisoning.” Deciding to play one final card, I added, “and believe me, dying from lead poisoning is very painful. If you're looking for a way to prove heroism, this isn't the right way."

"You got a point there, doc.” He stood and nearly fell over, however he managed to keep his legs relatively stable. “I'm quite sure I'll be of more use to the army alive than dead. Now,” he coughed again, “where do I have to go to get rid of pellets?"

"This way, please" I said and led him to the operation hall. After we got there, I instructed him to lay down on the operation table.

"Why do you need me on the operation table?" I sighed.

"It's a part of the standard procedure when taking out projectiles. The next part involves anaesthetics"

"Doctors and their silly procedures...." The General laid down on the operation table and I gave him a dose of anaesthetics. I then started preparing medical equipment and much to my surprise, when I looked at General, he was still awake.

"What the-"

"Something wrong, doc?" asked the general.

"The anaesthetics were supposed to work."

"Try a stronger dose."

"A stronger dose would kill you. I'll have to operate without them."

"WHAT?!" He started to stand back up but I forced him back onto the table, making sure not to touch the wounds on his back.

"Even though this is against the strict rules of the clinic, there's no other way."

"Will it hurt?"

"Possibly." I moved back over to my tool stand and selected a pair of forceps that would do the trick nicely. The general had fidgeted slightly and he was out of place on the table. I gently nudged him back onto the middle and raised the forceps, locking it around the first pellet. I pulled.

The general screamed in agony and thrashed about some on the table. I placed the forceps back on the table and placed a bandage over the spot I had removed the projectile from.

"Only three to go. I'll give you something for the pain." I opened a small cabinet near the door. Taking a small bottle from it, I checked the label and decided that it was indeed what I was looking for, and returned to the general.

"Is that-?" asked the general before I cut him off, unscrewing the top.

"Yep, it's whisky. I have stashes all over the place in case of an alcohol emergency.” I looked around and glanced down the hall, seeing that it was clear of ponies, then whispered, “it'll be best if you didn't tell this to anyone." I hoofed it over to him and he drank half of it, wiping his lips and giving it back. I raised an eyebrow but he ruffled his, indicating that he has experience in drinking. I shrugged and raised the bottle to my lips, but put it down again. While he has experienced with drinking, I have experience with drinking on the job. Needless to say it didn’t end on a high note.

"If you're asking why we have alcohol at the clinic,” I said without turning around, “it's because this building was used as a rehabilitation center for those who were addicted to alcohol. Also, I know this may not be the best moment for talking but it relieves pain, something I have no doubt you are quite accustomed to."

"Proven by who?" he asked, rolling over slightly to face me. I prepared the forceps again.

"A bunch of scientist who tested it on a bunch of mice."

"They talked to mice?"

"Yep." The general burst into laughter.

"Alright, I'll start talking. My name is Shadow Flamehoof. I'm a member of Royal Army's 1st Division." I took out another pellet, but this time the general didn't make a single sound.

"Is this your first injury?" I asked, surprised at the lack of reaction.

"Nah, I've been injured a lot of times, but this is the first time I got shot in the back with a shotgun. I should have brought in a vest." I took out the penultimate pellet.

"What kind of mission were you on?"

"A very complicated hostage rescue. A terrorist with a shotgun caught me off guard."

"The hostages. Why were they kidnapped?"

"Dunno. It was probably something important since the Admiral himself came to our barracks and gave us a very quick briefing." I checked his wounds again and found that they weren’t very deeply imbedded into his flesh.

"You're lucky that none of the pellets got deeper than just a couple of centimeters. Otherwise you might be laying somewhere altogether different." I removed the last pellet. "Well, that was the last one."

"Thanks, doc. I owe you a beer."

"I don't drink beer, sorry." I bandaged Flamehoof's back.

"More refined tastes, huh doc?”

"Please, call me-"

"Random. I read the tag on your coat. If you don't drink beer, can you at least have a bet with me?"

"I suppose I could."

"See that nurse over there?" Flamehoof pointed his hoof to a nurse that was on the other side of the room.

"Yes, I do, why?"

"I bet fifty bits that'll I'll get her into bed before the end of the day." I snorted.

"You can't be serious!"

"I'm dead serious..."

"Fine..." I hesitated, then shook hooves with the general.

"Meet me at the pub tonight" said Flamehoof. He hopped off the table with renewed vigor and started flirting with the nurse. After a couple of minutes, both of them left the clinic.