I slowly came to, regaining my senses one after another. First was my sense of touch. I felt myself lying on a soft surface, warm and comfortable. My head was resting slightly higher than the rest of my body, and I could feel my hair on my forehead.
I’m in a bed, I slowly concluded. With a head on a pillow.
Next, I began to taste. My tongue detected something sickeningly sweet, attempting to disguise the rancid, bitter undertones. I knew this taste, even though I couldn’t exactly remember what it was.
Some kind of food… I thought. A nutrient paste, maybe?
While I was mulling over the flavor, trying to place exactly where I had discovered it, I was overwhelmed by my sense of smell. Antiseptic. Medicine. Stale, filtered air.
Why would I be in a hospital? I wondered. Am I sick? Have they been feeding me paste?
Then I heard sounds. Nothing spectacular. Just the humming of some climate control system. The beeping of equipment. The beating of my own heart.
It’s very quiet, I noticed. Where are all of the staff?
Finally I opened my eyes. I turned my head around, trying to find my bearings. It didn’t help, given the room was completely, utterly dark.
I can’t see anything. I noted, with frustration. Surely they realize that a patient needs some sort of light.
It’s interesting, really. People always talk about some supernatural sixth sense. There’s nothing supernatural about it at all. I know this, because it was the final one that awoke.
My body tensed in agony, the sudden burst of pain sweeping me out of the calm water that was my mind and into a hurricane of base instinct and agony. It felt like my brain was being sawed in half by partially activated fusion saw. But as quickly as the pain mounted, it was swept away. Not gone, but hidden, in the back part of my mind. Even today it remains, constantly informing me that even after all these years, something is amiss.
Panting like some common animal, I finally came to my senses as the lights suddenly flared on. I hissed as I threw up my arm in front of my face. Or was it a leg? I didn’t care at the time. I gingerly pulled it away, squinting into the light as I heard a door behind me hiss open. I tried to turn to face it, but I realized, with some sense of deja vu, that I was tied down to the bed I was in. Sometimes we miss the simplest things, right?
Anyhow, I craned my head as far as I could to see a man, probably around 40 if I had to guess, walk in. He was pale, almost albino, but had dark grey eyes, so dark that you could barely make out his pupils. His hair was black as well, slicked back formally, but not so much as to be ostentatious. He wore, you guessed it, a black business suit, with a painfully familiar logo on the front. Two clasping, golden hands, rimmed with a gold star in order to make it out from the dark surroundings. However, even more familiar was his face. A face that, though I couldn’t place it at the time, I can never forget today.
“Good evening, Miss Grace,” he said, his voice cold and uncaring. “I don’t suppose you remember me?”
At first I didn’t know what he was talking about. He addressed me as Miss Grace, but I was very sure that wasn’t my name. Was it? A sudden spike of pain in my temple made me blink rapidly, but as it receded, I remembered.
“Mr… Wilson?” I asked. I wasn’t really sure how I knew his name, nor why I was so sure that Miss Grace was my own. Though wasn’t Grace my surname? What was my first? I couldn’t remember for the life of me.
He smiled, though his grin didn’t reach his eyes. They stared back, as if maws of darkness, indifferent, but perfectly happy to devour that light which strayed too close.
“That would be correct.”
I watched him uneasily, suppressing my base, but futile, instinct to run away. I felt like I was trapped in a pit with a panther, which knew very well it had all the time it needed to do whatever it wanted.
After observing each other for what seemed like hours, he finally spoke. “Well I’m glad you remember something, but the doctors said not to stress you, and you seem to be… uneasy at the moment. And I’m not so hypocritical as to argue with those who know actually know what they’re doing. Do get better soon, Miss Grace.”
As I watched him leave, I felt another sudden stab of pain. As it subsided, I immediately said the next thing that came to mind.
“Yes, sir.”
I couldn’t see his face, but I know he grinned his cruel, calculating grin as he stepped out the door.
The lights turned off.
It was some time before the lights switched back on. At least I thought it was. It’s hard to tell when you’re tied down to a bed in complete darkness. In any case, as they switched back on, I heard a clank, and felt the restraints binding me release. I quickly righted myself, glad to finally be “free”. Of course, the room I was trapped in was still a problem. Now that I could actually see, though, I began to study my surroundings.
The room was fairly small and completely spartan. The walls and roof were bare white. The floor was a simple pattern of white and sky blue tile. But the bed I had been clamped to was obviously the main attraction, outfitted not only with rings to hold a person in place, but also with many different wires running into the wall, though their purpose eluded me. What confused me even more, though, was the lack of medical equipment.
Shouldn’t there be monitors of some sort? Or machines? Or something?
I didn’t have long to contemplate over this before I heard the hiss of the door opening. I turned around to see the silver ring of the airtight containment door begin to slide open. Another man stepped in, and the door rapidly closed behind him.
Unlike the first man, Mr. Wilson, I didn’t have an inkling of recognition for him. Nothing rang a bell, from his sky blue eyes, to his short, blonde hair. Even though I had no idea who he was, though, I could easily tell what he was. His coat was pure white; it was the coat of a doctor. Emblazoned on the front was the symbol of the HLF. Seeing it filled my head with pain, and my heart with pride.
We silently studied each other. His face was rugged, and just slightly aged. There was nothing particularly special about him, but unlike the last man I had met, he looked at me almost compassionately. Almost. He maintained an air of professionalism, but I felt that he could actually care for others. Unlike Mr. Wilson, who seemed like he would kick a puppy if only to prove he could.
After a few moments, or maybe centuries, he finally began walking towards me. As he approached I had to crane my neck back to keep eye contact. He was tall. Finally, he stopped, leaving us a few feet apart.
“How do you feel?” he asked, concern flickering in the corners of his eyes, but never breaking the surface.
I blinked, almost startled by the words from the previously silent figure. “Fine, I suppose. I keep having these terrible headaches, though.”
“That’s better than anypony else who we put through this procedure.”
I pondered over his word for a moment. Something seemed inherently right wrong about what he said, as the stab of pain in my mind reminded me. Anypony…
I must have grimaced or something, for his concern broke through the surface, and he stepped towards me and kneeled down so we could easily meet eyes.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. That any of this happened to you. But you should make the best of it. Unfortunately, you have to be kept under observation for now. Too many unknown variables. I’m to take you to your quarters. They should have food waiting for you in there. Follow me.”
He stood up and turned around, moving towards the door. I saw him wave his palm towards it, and, both to my surprise and as expected, it began to slide open of its own accord. He stepped through, and I followed shortly after.
Just on the other side of the door was another. An airlock room of sorts. As we entered, the door behind us began to close.
“Close your eyes,” my companion said.
I saw a flash through my eyelids, but I was more concerned with the sudden wave of heat I felt on my skin. I jerked back, my eyes opening of their own accord, only to find the doctor doing the same, though much more calmly. I quickly checked myself over, only to find I was not, in fact, on fire.
“I’m sorry, I should have warned you. The UV burst can be slightly uncomfortable.”
I searched his face for any trace of sarcasm, but he seemed genuinely sorry. I only nodded, and we exited through the other door, which had apparently opened during my momentary panic. We stepped out into a barren hallway. I saw noone down either direction, only a few intersections and doors splitting off to the left and right before the eventual end of the hallway. The doctor stepped of to the left, walking rapidly. I quickly ran to catch up, not wanting to get lost in this seeming labyrinth of corridors. We occasionally made turns down other hallways, eventually reaching a staircase. We began to climb up, towards the Officers’ Quarters, as a sign proclaimed.
We moved into yet another hallway, but this one was far less clinical. The walls and ceiling were primarily black, decorated by golden gilding shaped into tasteful swirls and patterns along the wall. The floor was similarly black, decorated with a network of red diamonds. This time our destination was readily apparent.
Just to the right and across the hall was a door, manned by a single armed and armored guard. I vaguely remembered the design of the armor, but the specifics eluded me. The black and gold, though, was very recognizable.
He snapped the doctor a quick salute before returning to attention, and the door beside him opened. The doctor gestured for me to enter, and I got my first glimpse of the room that would be my home for the next few weeks.
Saying it was well decorated would have been a stretch, but it was certainly better than any room I had seen so far, save for the semi-lavish hallway immediately outside. The dark colors continued their presence, and the room physically wasn’t that large. Even so, though, it had a modest bed, a CIH (Computer Interface Holograph) sitting on a desk, complete with a chair, a bookshelf that was lightly populated by its inhabitants, a skillfully crafted wardrobe, and two doors, which I knew, somehow, lead to a bathroom and a closet. A few decorations hung on the walls, both artistic and sentimental. A painting of a beautiful mountain range hung opposite the bed. The Appalachian Mountains, my headache reminded me. A few medals hung in a case on another wall, near the door. They seemed familiar, even though I couldn’t quite place which each one was. Everything felt familiar. It felt wrong. It felt like home.
I noticed the doctor watching me inspect the room silently. I felt a little silly having not even glanced at him since I had first entered. “So this is where I will stay?”
“Yes,” he replied. “As I said before, you will be under guard for the time being. Someone else should come shortly to speak with you further, but for now I have to leave. Is there anything you need before I go?”
I thought for a moment before shaking my head. He smiled at me, not a joyous or jovial smile, but a smile all the same, and he began to turn and leave. But just as he was about to step out of the doorway, I remembered what I had forgotten.
“Your name!” I blurted. He turned back to face me, surprise written on his face.
“I suppose I forgot to introduce myself,” he replied. “How rude of me. I am Dr. David Jones.” He smiled at me once again. “But I really must go. Have a good evening, Miss Grace. I hope you recover swiftly.”
The door shut behind him as he walked out. I decided to inspect my room more closely, now that I had nothing better to do. I found the food that I remembered Dr. Jones mentioning sitting on the desk. It was little more than granola, but it tasted like the best thing I had ever eaten. Beside it was a glass of water, complete with a straw. I was thankful for the straw, because I didn’t know how I would manipulate the glass with my appendages. As I drank the water, I became aware of my urgent need to use the facilities. After all, going for, as I know now, several days under medically induced stasis without using the restroom tends to make one need to relieve oneself very badly.
After I had taken care of business, I moved to wash myself in the sink. First I cleaned my hooves. Then I brought water up to my face. It felt divine. I looked up into the mirror. Then I looked down at my hooves. Then I looked up into the mirror.
I saw a mare in the mirror. No horn, no wings. Just a simple mare. Her coat was a dark yellow, almost brown. The color of dirtied gold. Her mane was grey, with streaks of jet black through it. It looked unkempt. Her eyes were turquoise, the color of the ocean. They seemed familiar. I blinked. She blinked. The realization hit me like a truck.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl. And if realization hit me like a truck, then the pain hit me like a freight train. I saw our pupils dilate in fear, and then wince in pain. I saw us begin to fall to the ground, our legs unable to support us. I felt as we hit the ground in unison, no longer able to see each other. I could only watch as our vision turned red from pain, and then began to blacken back into the darkness.
My last thought was simply an incredulous What?
