Introduction / Prologue
He felt the cold steel of the wire cutters in his hooves. Such crude things wire cutters, using them in such a field as specific as medicine seemed wrong to him somehow. The room around him was dark, unusually so. A lone light flickered, on and off, in the middle of the room – over the cadaver. The smell of sulphur filled his lungs, making him gag a little. This room made him feel uneasy; its metallic walls offering no safe haven or respite from the task ahead of him. Cutting through the flesh, he thought that would be the hardest part. Alas the steel scalpel, cold to the touch, cut through the mare with ease. Whilst doing this Dogezon had felt out of place, almost like he wasn't himself. He knew that possessing the skills of a Coroner and Doctor would help him bring home the bits, but he knew not if he wanted these skills. To cut open a pony, fiddle with their insides, and treat them with such inhumanity seemed immoral and unjust.
Dogezon inhaled, the sulphuric air filling his lungs, making him gag again. He sensed the end of the wire cutters, and heard the slow crackle as they cut through the rib cage – and the loud crunch when one of the rig bones snapped. This made him feel uneasy, but he had no choice in the matter. Four years he had spent at Trottingham medical College, he couldn't blow it in his final year; what would mother think? It was her who had convinced him that a life of medicine would suffice. He had little interest in the medicine itself, but did rather enjoy seeing the effects of it; families reunited, relatives saved from death, and an answer to prayers given. He had little interest in medicine, but a great interest in its healing effects.
As he cut through the last rig bone he sighed, and place the wire cutters down on the stand next to him. The light slowly flickered on and off, swaying side to side. All around him were containers for the dead, their names replaced by a number – their coffins and beds, which had provided comfort, now replaced by slabs of steel? Steel, such a funny metal; it came in many forms but all them seemed indifferent, all of them seemed to symbolise professionalism. Much like professionals steel just got on with its job, regardless of what that job may be. Much like professionals steel never lost its skills, never grew ineffective with age. Sure it may not be up to the tasks that it could do in its youth, but it could still be used for other purposes. The wire cutters were steel, the scalpel used to open up the mare's body was steel.
But the user of these instruments was not steel, he was put flesh. Dogezon wished at times to be steel, to be able to do his job regardless of his emotions. To physically have your hooves in another pony's body, he could not think about it and not shiver. Such an invasion of personal space, such indiscrimination against the individual involved; you would be opened up and your insides made out regardless of your opinion. Funny, did the dead have opinions? Dogezon let out another sigh. Thoughts like this would occur often to him, yet he would never come to a definitive answer. He looked away from the cadaver, and at the walls. Still steel, still metallic, still unresponsive. The sulphur in the air tasted metallic in his mouth, or at the least the molecules that made it past his mask did anyway. The light above him flicked still, on and off, then back on again. It has occurred to him that this hospital did not have the best funding, but he daren't raise the issue with the residents. After all, he was just a lowly intern, a pair of scrubs. His opinion didn't matter to these other ponies. He looked back down at his cadaver, and smiled
"At least my opinions matter to you"
The cadaver didn't respond, which was to be expected. The smell of the sulphur was rising, making him begin to choke. It was a fault in the air conducts, which were steel as well. It seemed to him that everything was made of steel in this hospital, whether that be the tools used by the Coroners, such as himself, or the Doctors upstairs that dealt with the living. He turned away from the cadaver, and sat down in the corner of the room. When he done so his hairs stood on end, and he shivered. Four years and still the cold floor shocked him. He looked back at the cadaver.
"Oh, it's alright for some. Your synapses are no longer charged, you can't feel the cold steel beneath you."
He glared, angrily, at the cadaver. Again, no response. He wondered why he done this, why he tried speaking to the dead. Perhaps it was because he was too shy to speak to the living. He chuckled under his breath. Perhaps that's it he thought.
He knew what this cadaver had died of; it was a stomach ulcer that had broken the stomachs linings, causing the stomachs acid to break through the wall linings and destroy the intestines. This cadaver was being used as a test for Dogezon, a test as to whether or not he should be a Coroner or a Doctor. He had queried his mentor as to why he couldn't be both. He shook his head and trotted off, mumbling something about "young bloods" and "overzealous". Well, he would prove him wrong; he'd prove them all wrong!
He stood up with confidence, and trotted, with pride, towards his cadaver. Reaching the autopsy slab he looked down into the open torso. What confronting him was peeled back flesh, dysfunctional intestines, and a stomach that was still producing acid; still dissolving the intestines. As the placed his hoof on the red flesh, and lowered his head, the stomach gurgled – and spat out an intestine, which landed in Dogezon's mane. He stood still for a few second, breathing in the smell of rotting intestines and decomposing flesh – it filled his lungs. He began to gag again, and then felt the presences of a foreign object in his mane. He felt terrified, sick, and thrilled all at the same time. He, slowly and nervously, began to raise his hoof. He had no idea what it was, for all he knew it could be that his scalpel had got stuck in his skull. He wished that his scalpel had got stuck in his skull, for he hated to think what the fluids in his hair could be – if it was his scalpel it'd just be the liquid lining that keeps his brain in place that had leaked into his hair, no big deal, but if it was what he thought it was.
It was.
He immediately retracted his hoof from his mane, as he did so the smell of decomposing flesh and gastronomic fluids suddenly overcame him. He stumbled backwards, away from the source, and vomited on the floor. He cried, as he felt the mixture of fluids and solids rushing up his neck. As the stream of yellow water left his mouth he collapsed on the floor, no longer able to hold back the tears. His gut wrenched, but it was empty. As his body struggled to find a new source of fluids or solids to send up through the neck, the half dissolved intestine fell off Dogezon's head. It landed with a splash, as his face was spattered with vomit. Dogezon closed his eyes; the pain in his gut was unbearable. His thoughts were consumed with pain, and he was mentally pleading with Celestia that the pain would stop. He cried out as he opened his mouth, nothing came out. But the taste of the smell of vomit did, the taste of the smell of decomposing intestines did. He cried out again, still nothing. He stumbled on his hooves, as he backed into his corner, his gut wrenching all the way. He sat in his corner and sobbed.
Eventually the pain subsided, the tears did not. If he couldn't manage a simple stomach ulcer how could he be a coroner? How could he make a career out of vomit and pain? He needed to be like steel, but he was not steel – he was flesh. That phrase echoed in his head "You are but flesh". His stomach was still in pain, his lungs were now filled with the horrendous smell of fresh vomit, and the autopsy room was contaminated. Worst the intestine was just there, watching him. It's like it knew what symbolic message it brought across.
He stumbled to his feet, keeping eye contact with the intestine. A feeling of failure overcame him, and his body language showed this; his shoulders were slumped, and his head was hanging low. The mare on the table was laughing at him, he was sure of it. She couldn't vomit, no matter how hard she tried. She was at peace now. Dogezon was jealous of her in that sense. He stumbled past the intestine, and to the bathroom. The smells changed. Decomposing flesh and vomit, which left a sickly taste in the mouth, were replaced with chlorine. The smell overcame his senses, and he was glad of that. The walls in this room were identical to those in the autopsy, yet they were different at the same time. They seemed, calming, relaxing, at ease. They had not seen the butcher's work. Furthermore, the smell of chlorine made this room seem altogether more medical and not so, barbaric. He inhaled as deeply as he could; filling his lungs with this new, clean, smell. The feeling of nausea left him and, for a few brief seconds, forgot the calamity that had just occurred. A grin found itself upon his face.
He exhaled a long, forceful breath. He felt the breath against the inside of his nostrils, the long forceful breath had dislodged some vomit that was still in his nostrils – it was lining the inside of his nostrils and, when he exhaled, became dislodged so that he found the substance hanging from his nostrils; finding itself mangled in his fur. Whilst he could not see this directly, he felt it. Immediately he cantered to the mirror and looked, in disgust, at himself. Not only did he find his snout fur with pieces of stale yellow vomit scattered around it like some modern art piece, he also saw the, residue, which the intestine had left on his mane. Instead of its usual black, his mane was now red; absolutely covered in flacks of decomposing intestine, and saturated with blood.
The effects of the chlorine were now redundant, his kinetic sense, and his sight, overcame his sense of smell. He could now feel the flacks in his hair, each individual piece slightly pressurizing his mane. He could feel the blood in his mane too; it had turned his hair into a collection of smaller 'lumps' if you will. Each individual lump had its own constitution, its own government, and its own culture. They would occasionally send representatives to the main 'lump' where 'inter-lump' policies would be discussed. These meetings often deteriorating as the bigger 'lumps' pressured the smaller 'lumps' into accepting their polices, lest action had to be taken. Of course these meetings never achieved anything; small 'lumps' branded together in order to voice their objections to the bigger 'lumps' polices, and each voted against each other in spite and malice. This malice would be felt outside the main 'lump' as the big 'lumps' and the coalitions of the smaller 'lumps' actively attempted to hinder the other. Of course in times of strife politicians will often turn to war as a tool; both to unite a divided people and in order to pursue their own interests. The resulting conflict was disastrous; the 'lump' states sent thousands of innocent hairs to fight each other, and across many battlefields these hairs now lay dying, entangled and trapped with other innocents who are their enemies solely to fulfil a few hairs lust for greed and power. Many of the smaller 'lumps' were gone now, that had been annexed by the larger 'lumps' – but their smaller 'lump' cousins fought on bravely. Of course their struggle was fruitless, and they too were eventually annexed by the larger 'lump' states. When this happened 'peace' was declared across the continent. Smaller 'lump' state hairs were looked down upon by those from the larger 'lump states, and there was friction between the two. But alas, the larger 'lump' states had carved an Empire – an Empire that they weren't soon going to lose. All the 'lumps' were now united into one large lump, one large red lump of hair – that was the site which face Dogezon in the mirror now. He began to gag again, and his stomach began to churn. He felt the acids trying to dissolve food that just wasn't there. He placed his hooves on the side of the sink, getting a firm grip. He took a deep breath, hoping that the chlorine would save him. It did not. As painful tear worked its way out of the corner of his eye, he prayed to Celestia again. It was no use. Instead of inhaling chlorine, he inhaled the smell of blood. Granted it's not particularly nauseating on its own, but he knew its source. His entire body wrenched forward as a small amount of black liquid projected itself from his mouth. It struck the sink ricocheting a little and adding black splodges to his mane. As he collapsed to the floor a thought re-entered his mind: "Perhaps you're not cut out for this after all?"
The class was weary, and Doge asleep. These medical lectures had always bored him, it was the practical side of medicine that he was interested in – in helping other ponies. Of course, this could not be done without the theory but that didn't make it any less tedious. Mares and colts sat either side of him, above and below him, but they didn't notice him; they had grown accustomed to him, they knew this was his norm. Nevertheless, he still surprised these ponies at times; he done strange things in his sleep. There were times when he had snuggled with his text books, talked to them, kissed them even. Such behaviour had caused his lectures to give up hope for him. Sure he was naturally gifted in the art of applied medicine, but he just didn't have the patience, or will, to learn the theory behind it. This could potentially make for volatile situations. Regardless, the tutors didn't interfere. Doge had a, friend, in the College - an Alicorn by the name of Asclepius. According to his record he was Doge's lifelong friend, and thus had much influence over him. The reasoning as to why this eased the lecturers' minds is that Asclepius had a knack for the theory behind modern Medicine. They hoped that he could bring to heel, the Earth Pony.
On the other hoof, Doge wasn't concerned with any of this at present, oh no! Much more concerning to him was trying to find a more comfortable pillow upon which to rest his head. These text books were rougher than an applebucker's hoof after their first day on the ranch. Or rather his hooves after his first day on the ranch – oh, how did they ache. Applejack was right; he was just a soft city pony. He spent his gap year in Ponyville applebucking for bucks – mother had told him that some fresh country air would do him some measure of good. She was right. As these thoughts entered his mind he began to dispute them, presenting logical evidence to his brain that he was no longer a soft city pony. Of course none of the other ponies in the room saw this. All they saw was a lazy Earth Pony, mumbling in his sleep at his text books, in a rather aggressive manner. His mumbling was much like that of a pony who had spent too long in the pub, and consumed too much cider. Their precious life giving cider had in fact intoxicated them, causing all rational to make a hasty retreat as the armies of stupidity marched upon the brain, once they had asserted dominance over the land construction of a barracks and headquarters would soon take place; for the forces in Choate with cider would not leave this land without a fight. This mumbling did not go unnoticed by those around him, or the tutors. The mares to the right of him giggled, the stallions to the left of him laughed – and his friend Asclepius woke him.
As Asclepius shook him Doge mumbled.
"No, no, I don't want to go to school mummy …"
Asclepius just about contained his laughter as he shook Doge a little more, telling him,
"You don't need to go to school silly, now wake up"
He whispered the next part,
"You're embarrassing me"
Doge mumbled some more and then tried kissing Asclepius' hoof.
"I really love you mummy…" he mumbled with a strained voice as he kissed his hoof.
Asclepius now turned a deep shade of red, hitting Doge and yelling at him,
"WAKE UP!"
Doge recoiled as he was hit, Asclepius hoof leaving a small bruise on his cheek. His jolted up and blinked his eyes rapidly, taking in his surroundings and breathing deeply. He could smell a mixture of bad aftershave and stale perfume; it clung to the back of his throat – making him cough. He looked below him and saw Asclepius, slightly red, smiling at him turned round in his seat. He looked, confused, at his surroundings – still a bit sleep dreary.
"Confused are we, Doge?"
His eyes darted around and then identified the source of the question, his tutor. Who was stood on his hind legs, which was never a good sign, at the front of the class. Doge brought his hoof to his cheek and rubbed the bruise, gritting his teeth and exhaling a little. He brought his hoof down and then opened his mouth, thinking a little before he spoke,
"N … no sir. I just …"
He searched the depths of his mind for an excuse, an answer as to why he had fallen asleep in class, again. He could find none, and so stood on the spot – deciding the best course of action. He closed his eyes and breathed out, and spoke, in an apologetic manner,
"Sorry sir"
This response was met with my giggles from the mares, a unified low grumble as the stallions gossiped amongst themselves, a deep sigh from Asclepius and a quizzical look from the tutor. He lowered himself down on all fours again and levitated some chalk with his horn, ready to resume the lecture,
"It's quite alright Doge"
He spoke in a sarcastic manner,
"Not all of us can-"
The next part was emphasised,
"Conform to standard procedure now can we?"
This was met with courtesy laughter from the rest of the class, and a deep blush from Doge – who sat back down in his seat. A look of extreme embarrassment plastered on his face, which was accompanied by a sinking feeling in his heart. The tutor spoke again,
"Now take notes class, that includes you Doge …"
Doge nodded to himself and took a pen in his hoof, ready to take notes. Asclepius put a hoof on Doge's knee,
"It's okay Doge, we'll talk after class"
And with that the lecture resumed, Asclepius took his hoof off Doge's knee, and one very shy Earth Pony spent the next hour feeling like he was trapped in the Evertree forest, with a broken leg, and with a terrifying assortment of creatures circling him. He scribbled and he noted, he rose his hoof and asked questions – he hoped that over time this would cause the creatures to back off. Instead they moved closer to him, suffocating him with fear.
…
And so the hour passed. Scribbling down some final notes Doge took hold of his note book, and his text books, and began to place the text books in his saddlebag. All around him ponies snickered and laughed, watching him place the books in his bag. He was out of place here, different. Medical science was traditionally the premise of Unicorns, even Alicorns. The role that these students would play in society was deemed too … prestigious by some for, 'humble', Earth Ponies. Of course this bigotry wasn't official, or even recognised by the establishment. It was like the rules of Ponyville's Winter Wrap Up. They're not written down, or even official, but everypony knows them – and everypony abides by them. Everypony recognises them, everypony, abides by them. Of course Doge wasn't the only Earth Pony in the College – he was just the only one in this class.
Doge went a deep shade of red as he pulled the straps over his saddlebag with his mouth; extremely embarrassed because of the other ponies sniggering and laughing at him. He cursed them all under his breath. These pompous landed elite only got in this College because their father or mother knew the College principle, or something along those lines. His parents had bankrupted themselves to give him this opportunity; he had worked his flank off to get here. Of course nopony here cared. Many times he tried to explain; many times he tried to tell them what life was like outside of their glass houses. About how ponies shouldn't throw bricks in glass houses. Of course they dismissed this as an Earth Pony saying. They were throwing bricks at his glass house, and it was already damaged beyond repair. He sat back in his seat and rubbed his forehead with his hoof, the other ponies were getting too much for him. He breathed in deeply, no stale perfume, no bad aftershave. He felt at ease, relaxed. He'd often take a few minutes after a lecture to relax like this. Not only did he have trouble understanding the theory, but being aware of the other ponies' sentiments towards him, he could never fully concentrate.
The other ponies, all Unicorns with one or two Alicorns, left the room. Asclepius stayed, unbeknownst to Doge – as well as the tutor, who was judging the shy Earth Pony from afar. Doge was slumped in his chair, looking over the pitiful amount of notes that he had taken during his time spent awake in the class. All the while he was rubbing his forehead with his hoof, and breathing in the now clear air – filling his lungs and then emptying them again. His weary breath, the only noise heard in this now empty place of learning. As he slumped back in his seat, which felt distinctly cold and metallic to his light brown fur, he once more took in his surroundings. Deprived of the ponies which normally resided here, he quite liked this lecture hall. Row upon row of seats, each one elevated above the other stopping at an apex at the end of the hall, contained a total of three hundred seats that could contain, at any one time, the same amount of ponies across the entire spectrum of individual species. Each seat was made from stainless steel, but contained two fixed cushions.
Well, the term cushion is used loosely. Doge had always wondered what was put in them. They were as stiff as a zap apple tree, and just as immovable. Truly they were fixed cushions. One time the College had a visit from the Equestrian Games weight lifting champion – of course he only visited so as to present the students with a practical example of how an athlete's haemoglobin reacts differently compared to a normal ponies under the same circumstances. That normal pony being him as he was the only Earth Pony in the class, and thus the only pony that could be used as a reasonable controlled sample. Once the heart rate monitor had been set up he and the athlete competed. Needless to say he tried his best, but was no match for the professional. He had a good laugh that day though; some of the Unicorns tried to lift the weights with their hooves – they couldn't, even when they turned to magic. He got quite a laugh out of that indeed, and it became the talking point of his and Asclepius' conversations for the rest of that academic year. During those talks they had wondered if the athlete could have moved these cushions, they had come to the conclusion that he could not.
Regardless, these cushions were still extremely stiff – and hurt his back. Each seat had them, and each pony would come out of the five year course with their backs worse for wear. He breathed in once more, but this time he could smell the scent of bad, cheap aftershave again. He chuckled, and coughed a little as the smell clung to the back of his throat. Without looking up, or removing his hoof from his temple he smiled and spoke,
"Asclepius."
The red maned Alicorn stopped in his tracks and gave Doge a startled look.
"That party trick still amazes me"
Doge chuckled and slouched back in his chair, and turned to look at the Alicorn.
"You should be used to it by now mate."
He moved a few of his note books and turned back to Asclepius.
"I suppose you'll want that talk now?"
Asclepius nodded and took the seat next to Doge, flapping his wings a little as he fur touched the cold back of the chair. Doge was still sorting his notes, but noticed this.
"Four years Asclepius, you should be used to it by now …"
Asclepius shivered a little as he tucked his wings in and placed the last of Doge's note books in his saddlebag for him and clipped the strap with his magic. He lay back in the seat and placed his hind legs on the headrest of the chair in front of him. This 'lyra' style of sitting had become very popular with the College, after all it allowed the College to be more cost effective with its space – and bits really did matter this day and age. He turned his head to Doge, who was looking back at him with a rather scornful look. Asclepius raised an eyebrow in question.
"You know I …"
Doge rubbed his forehead again, gathered his thoughts. Trying to think of the best way to phrase what he was about to say.
"You know I don't like it when you do that Asclepius. I don't fit in as it is, I don't need you reminding me."
Asclepius took a deep breath, filling his lungs with air and a small amount of his aftershave, and let out a weary sigh. He placed a hoof on Doge's shoulder and looked him in the eyes.
"You know I don't mean anything by it Doge, besides"
Asclepius looked around and, as he surveyed the room, he swept his hoof in an arching motion – gesturing towards the entirety of the room. He spoke as he done this.
"Who's here to see it?"
Asclepius chuckled as he spoke, bringing his hoof back down on Doge's shoulder with full force. His chuckle was one that would instantly brighten the room he was in, and force a grin upon the faces of anypony nearby. His hoof found itself firmly placed upon Doge's shoulder and his chuckle – firmly in Doge's heart. Asclepius knew this; he could read Doge like an open book that, when you brought it, also came with an audiotape, a film, and a signed copy of the author's notes – all contained within a nice collector's set that in it contained a visual map of the plot. All this lead to Asclepius being able to understand whatever was on Doge's mind just by looking at him. It's an equilibrium shared by the closest of friends that, as of yet, just could not be understood by medical science. Of course one member of a friendship doesn't just gain it overnight, much rather they both do at the same time. Seeing as Doge and Asclepius were friends since colthood it was only natural that they had reached this stage in their friendship.
Doge looked at Asclepius, with an immovable grin firmly on his face, and brought his hoof down on Asclepius' shoulder, taking care not to apply too much force least he unbalance the Alicorn – who was after all weaker than him physically. When he brought his light brown hoof down on the red maned Alicorn's shoulder he himself chuckled. His laughter was nowhere near as infectious as Asclepius', but his voice was much deeper and as such it echoed throughout the room and crept into every empty space – filling the room with the sound of genuine laughter. His laugh found its way to the front of the class and vibrated, if a tad bit roughly, the eardrums of the classes' lecturer. A white coated Unicorn, with a blue mane; he was the very symbol of majesty, finesse and nobility. That was all he was though, a symbol. Mr.Todoravic was just your bog-standard Trottingham Medical lecturer; laid back in approach, extremely knowledgably, and a pony who most students would take an instant liking to. He was from Trotonto originally, but had to move down to Trottingham for reasons that his class had yet to discover. They were, personal, and he figured that giving his students access to information on that level would be unprofessional and, most likely, would come back to bite him on the flank. As he heard the laughter of the Earth Pony he knew that his intervention wouldn't be needed, and so he placed his briefcase on his back and trotted out the room. But, when he reached the door, he called out to the two ponies sitting on high in their makeshift heaven,
"Remember to lock up when you're done, you two."
And with that he left the room, leaving both Asclepius and Doge truly alone with each other, open to discuss their thoughts with each other – free from judgement from any would-be onlookers. Or rather, on listeners. Both of the students turned and observed their tutor leaving the room, and both let out a heavy sigh of relief when he did. Doge was the first to turn back to face his friend, and when he did so he spoke in a calm, reflective manner – though his undertone hinted at frustration and anger.
"I really don't fit in here you know Asclepius, sometimes – sometimes, when I'm alone with my thoughts. I really do think about packing it all up, just walking out of this College and … and. I don't know Asclepius, just go somewhere where I'd fit in."
Doge looked to the floor as he spoke, unable to look his friend directly in the eyes when he knew that what he just said was akin to him giving up on life in Asclepius' eyes. As he brought his head down he let out a small sarcastic chuckle, then rose his head up – if only a little.
"It's not like I'm any good at this medical business anyway is it?"
Asclepius let out a weary sigh as he heard this, his brain telling him that his ears must be wrong, that this wasn't happening. After all, it was Doge who had the Hospitality Cutie Mark. Perhaps that was the trouble Asclepius thought. Doge was so concerned with others, so concerned with helping everypony out there – he hardly ever gave thought to himself. When he applied to the College he had told Asclepius, he had said:
"This is going to be a great opportunity to help ponies out there Asclepius. Imagine it, me, a doctor! Every day of my life I'd be helping others. What could be a more glorious and worthwhile existence?"
Those thoughts were still his main motivation, Asclepius knew that. He wondered if Doge knew it, if he remembered why he chose this career in the first place. If not he knew that it was his place to remind him. To give him back that motivation and desire that burned so deeply in Doge. There was once a time when it consumed his thoughts, when every waking moment of everyday was dedicated to pursuing his dreams, his desires, he wished to help other ponies. He pursued his passions with such a fury that it was no surprise that he would burn out eventually. All that Asclepius had to do was replace the rusty nails and give the cart a push. Of course this is much easier said than done, nails are a pesky beast to tame, nevertheless Asclepius reaffirmed his hooves' place on Doge's shoulder and took in a deep breath; preparing himself for the trial ahead.
