Iam Noone: The Dope Fiend Prometheus

Some time ago, humans who had been transformed into ponies began falling out of their own respective universes and into Equestria.  Eventually the problem was fixed, but Equestria was left with hundreds of confused alien refugees who were unable to return home, and unused to life in the body of a pony.  Official state programs were established to assimilate these once-humans into equestrian culture.  In Ponyville this program is overseen by Lyra Heartstrings, a mint-coated unicorn therapist.  This is the story of one of her patients...

Prime Material Plane of Equestria

Group Therapy Session, Lyra Heartstring’s Center for Displaced Humans, Present Day

“... and I explained it to Big Macintosh, and it was all one big misunderstanding, and the cow’s not gonna file sexual harassment charges, hell, I didn’t even get fired.”

The light brown earth pony took in the looks of amusement, shock, and disgust from the assembled formerly human ponies in the room and gave an annoyed sigh.  Iam Noone did not do group therapy well.  That’s the reason he never did  well in rehab.  Well, that and his own deep personal disinterest in being rehabilitated.

“Iam Noone, how could you?” Not-a-Child, the age displaced pony about whom Iam could never remember a single detail from sheer personal dislike, “Am I the only one asking why he’s not in jail yet.”

“They told me to milk the cows,” Iam snapped with unrestrained annoyance, “It’s how I’m making bits.  We can’t all be wards of the state and spend however many years you feel like passing elementary school again getting adjusted.  I’m not that good with my hooves.  So I improvised.  Dirt ponies and wing ponies use their mouths for things.  It was a natural assumption, goddamit!”

Not-a-Child hopped from her seat and stomped an angry hoof, “There’s no way you can just write that off as ‘I used to be human’!  You… you make our entire species look like degenerate drug addicts!  He’s growing marijuana and psychedelic mushrooms and god knows what else.  Please tell me nopony is buying that whole ‘smoke alchemy’ story.  Is everypony here just gonna sit back and wait until he gets his cutie mark for reinventing methamphetamines?  Because I’m pretty sure that’s where this is going!”

The mint-coated unicorn named Lyra Heartstrings interrupted, “We do not pass judgements in group sessions!”

“Seriously,” said the unicorn whose name Iam could never remember, “calm down.  Everybody knows Iam isn’t right in the head.”

Not-a-Child’s  nostrils flared in indignation, “And everypony knows he’s not above using that to get out of trouble!  He belongs in jail, or in an asylum.”

Iam jumped to his hooves, “Go fuck yourself, you self righteous bag of cunts!”

Lyra turned her full ire on Iam, “Iam Noone!  How DARE you use that kind of language towards a filly.  Even knowing her true human age, that was… I need to talk to you outside, Mr. Noone.”

Iam Noone felt two very familiar feelings rush through him.  The first was deep sense of personal embarrassment.  The second was a curious falling sideways sensation.  Every one in the room was clearly and openly staring at him/

“Yeah, this is a thing that happens sometimes,” was all he got out before he fell sideways into a hole in thin air.”

Lyra’s troubled voice was the first to break the silence, “I honestly thought he was making that part up.”

Artificial Demi-Plane

The Office of the Text, timeless

Iam stood in a blank field of inky blackness.

“Hey Fred, it happened again,” Iam gave a friendly wave.

‘Please leave me alone.  I got you out of the asylum.  I gave you the drugs.  You got what you wanted.  I just want to wash my hands of this whole thing.  Just go away.’

“Come on, Fred,” Iam was all smiles, “Don’t be like that.”

‘Why do you keep calling me that?  My name is not Fred!  I am a formless and nameless force that exists between the ether of the cosmic spheres.  I sculpt the destinies of men and ponies and gods alike.  DO NOT CALL ME FRED.’

“Dammit Fred,” Iam snapped in annoyance, “Stop being such a dick.  It’s not like I can controll falling out of reality.  Do you really think that of all the places I could land I just happen to pick here two out of three times because I like hanging out with you so much?”

‘You need control to leave me alone?  That seems… surprisingly reasonable. Fine, I’ll help you get your cutie-mark.  You can then get your special talent, and then you can leave me alone.  Agreed?’

“If that’s how you feel, Fred,” Iam shrugged apologetically, “I thought we were friends.”

‘We are not.  And can you please stop calling me Fred?’

“So what?  I gotta have some kind of epiphany and realize what I’m really good at?” Iam None braced himself, though he didn’t know what exactly he was bracing for.

‘In your case it’s more like what you are.  You need to remember how you got here.  How you really got here, not that “overdose” nonsense you tell the ponies’

And then it happened.

*Prime Material Plane of Atabnae*

*Prozate Center for Mental Wellness, Much, Much Earlier*

“It pains me to do this, and I would rather have your consent, but your family has approved the procedure,”  the doctor spoke calmly, “You really left us no choice.  You’ve refused medication, generously offered at no cost from Prozate, LCC, whom you have chosen to maliciously slander with every word from that filthy mouth of yours.”

The restrained patient’s eyes darted about as orderlies strapped the remote surgery robot into place over his face.  He wanted to run, but he couldn’t even move.  He wanted to beg, to scream for help, but the restraint in place to keep him from biting or swallowing his own tongue prevented more than a muffled whimper.

“Now there’s no need to fret,”  The doctor smiled with fake kindness, “It’s not like the lobotomies of the old days.  We’re just going to… remove some undesirable traits.  There will be some loss of intelligence, but you will be able to live a normal, drug free life.  You will no longer feel the need to avoid your medication.  You will longer be burdened by your paranoid delusions that Prozate, LCC, is anything but a beacon of corporate responsibility.  In short you will no longer be a burden on society and the people around you.  That’s why we’re doing this, just so you know.  It’s not for you, it’s for them,” the doctor made a sweeping motion with his hand, “I’ve come to realize that you are not a patient to be treated, you are a plague to be cured.  And that’s precisely what we’re doing now.  Soon it will be like the person you are now will have never existed.  He is no one…”

The tiny mechanical arms moved into place as the patient struggled impotently against the restraints that held him fast. There was a bright flash as the laser scalpel activated.  And it was over.  And Iam Noone, a pony once again, writhed in a fetal position in an endless field of darkness sobbing bitterly.

Artificial Demi-Plane

The Office of the Text, timeless

“They gave those butchers permission to cut up my brain, Fred,” Iam sobbed, “And they didn’t even come to visit me once.  Not even to tell me what they had done.  I was already dead to them.  I...I was no one.”

‘And I took pity on you.  You asked to go somewhere where no one knew you.  I sent you to Equestria.  I asked what you wanted to bring with you, and you said you wanted two book-bags full of drugs and and your favorite t-shirt.  I complied because I thought it would be entertaining.  I was mistaken.  That doctor was right, Iam Noone.  You are a plague.’

The earth pony shook his cyan-maned head ignoring the writing on the wall, “That’s why it always happens isn’t it?  Why I keep falling in and out of the universe?  Because I really am no one.”

There was a small flash of light and a sharp sting, like getting a large tattoo done all at once.

‘There, now get out and don’t ever tell anyone, human or pony. that I had anything to do with any of this.’

“Later, Fred,” and Iam fell easily back into the world.

Prime Material Plane of Equestria

Lyra Heartstring’s Center for Displaced Humans, Somewhat Later

Iam lay on the floor, twitching and muttering to himself.  A thin line of drool gathering in a small puddle on the floor.  The former humans from the support group were gathered around him looking worridly to Lyra for guidance.  Their voices not quite reaching Iam in his topor.

"Is he allright?"

"Should somepony call a doctor?"

"He's probably just passed from whatever he's high on."

"How do even get a cutie mark for passing out in group therapy?"

It has been said before, and will be said again.  Iam Noone was never good at group therapy.