The RED Cataclysm

Chapter Seven: The Savant’s Scheme

I sigh and lean back. “Well, that’s one plot thread over with.”

“What, that’s it?” Helen asks. She sounds surprised, but not disappointed.

I turn to look at her. One eyebrow is arched, and her head is cocked to the side. Is it me, or is she getting more expressive? “Yes, it is,” I reply, cracking my knuckles. “The Pyro ended up just wandering around Ponyville for several hours after it left Fluttershy’s cottage.”

“You are aware,” Helen sighs, “that the Pyro is actually a M—” Snap, beep. “—H—” Snap, beep. “—w—” Snap, beep. “—you stop doing that?!”

I snort, rather loudly. “No,” I giggle. “This is my story, dammit, and I intend to tell it the way I want to.” I sigh. “But not right now. I need to rest my throat a little. I’m gonna just try to figure out how to work this switchboard for a few minutes…”

I look over that for a few moments. Wow, there are a lot of switches on here… I put my hand over my eyes and randomly swipe my hands over the switchboard. I open my eyes again and turn to the monitors.

“Intruder alert!” shouts Helen’s pre-recorded voice from the monitors. “A RED Demoman is in the base!”

My eyes are drawn to a monitor where a man dressed as a caricature of a soldier sits in front of a series of signs, three of which are lit. I recognize the man as the BLU Soldier, the BLU Team’s honorary field commander and just as batapples insane as his RED counterpart. His head snaps upward in shock. “A RED Demoman is in the base?!” he shouts, just as shocked as he must’ve been the first time.

An idea flickers into my head. I rub my hands together and giggle to myself. I snap my fingers, then flick three more switches at the same time.

“BLU Soldier! Look out behind you!”

The Soldier whirls around, whipping his rocket launcher out from behind his back at the same time, and fires. He doesn’t count on targeting a solid brick wall, though. The rocket explodes before it leaves the muzzle of the launcher. The rocket launcher explodes, and so does the Soldier.

I double over in maniacal laughter. Clutching at my stomach, I wave my hands over the switchboard just before tumbling out of my throne. The switches reset, and a few more of the switches flick themselves.

“The BLU Soldier has exploded!” Helen’s voice shouts to the BLU Team. “Alert! The enemy has taken our intelligence!”

“Oh… Oh, glorious mischief, I missed you so!” I cackle, stomping my hoof against the floor. “Oh, I can see them now! ‘He’s a Demoman! How hard can he be to find?!’”

“You are abusing your position,” Helen points out. “And you’re being immature about it to boot.”

I take a long, deep breath and climb back into my throne. “Ah… Ahhh ha ha ha… But Helen, my dear… what’s the point of power… hee hee… if you don’t abuse it?”

There’s a brief silence while I catch my breath. Eventually, Helen sighs. “I suppose you have a point there,” she says.

“Ahhhh… Oh, it’s the little things.” I sigh and look back to Helen. I think she’s trying to hide a smile. “In fact, it reminds me of this time I dressed up as Conquest and paraded around medieval Ishayel…”

Helen’s false disapproving scowl turns into a real one. “I’m sorry, Ishayel?” she says. “I highly doubt that that’s a real place.”

I snap my fingers and grin. “Oh hey, thanks for giving me a segue!” I remark.

Helen groans and flops down onto the ground again. “Why do I encourage you?” she sighs.

“I love you too, darling,” I reply, winking. “Now, what’s our old pal the Medic been up to?”

Well, first things first, I guess. He headed straight for Fluttershy’s cottage along with the Pyro. He didn’t waste any time. He just walked up to the door, shoved it open and entered. Fluttershy’s cottage is an interesting place. It’s got some basic wooden floors, a fireplace, a green couch—nothing too fancy. Except the 107 bird houses hanging from the ceiling, that is. I know. I counted.

Anyway, Rainbow Dash—you remember, the blue pegasus the Medic clobbered— was draped across it, wings up. A wooden pail was sitting on the floor in front of her, half-filled with her vomit. Her eyes were blurry and unfocused, and her tongue hung loosely out of her mouth. Fluttershy, meanwhile, was standing in front of the couch flipping frantically through a textbook. “Okay… Okay, how are you feeling now?” she said frantically.

“WHAT?” Rainbow Dash shouted. “WHAT DID YOU SAY?”

“Ze doktor is in, gentleponies,” the Medic announced. Fluttershy just about jumped out of her skin. She whipped around to face the door in midair. When she saw the Medic, she shrieked. Wouldn't you?

Would I scream if I saw an alien charging toward me, you mean? No. Possibly the first time, but if one were to charge at me this instant, I most certainly would not.

It happens more often than I think, hm?

You have no idea.

Doesn’t surprise me at all. Anyway… “Calm yourself, Fräulein,” the Medic said, stepping across the room calmly and pulling out his Medigun.

“FLUTTERSHY, IS EVERYTHING OKAY?” Rainbow asked.

“S-Stay away from Rainbow Dash!” Fluttershy blurted out, flaring her wings in panic. “I-If you don’t, I swear I’ll—”

The Medic aimed his Medigun at Fluttershy and pushed the lever forward. Red healing gas flowed out of the nozzle like a… big… red… snake-thing—I’m bad at metaphors—and enveloped Fluttershy. Fluttershy stood still for a few moments, but eventually lowered her wings. “…Oh…” she said softly. “Oh, that… That feels very nice…”

“Out of curiosity, how vould you describe how you feel right now?” the Medic asked. “Like you’re being given a relaxing massage, perhaps?”

“That… That sounds about right…” Fluttershy moaned, closing her eyes.

“WHAT? DID YOU SAY MY NAME? IS THERE SOMEPONY ELSE IN HERE? I CAN’T SEE A THING,” Rainbow shouted.

“Good,” the Medic said, releasing the lever. “Zat’s vat your friend here is going to feel vhen I heal her concussion. It von’t be ze slightest bit traumatic or—”

All of a sudden, a white dove fluttered out of its bird house, perched on the Medic’s shoulder and cooed in his ear. The Medic stopped mid-sentence, and his face went blank. He slowly turned his head to the side and looked the dove right in the eyes. There was a silence that felt like it lasted a very long time as the two of them stared at each other. Eventually, the Medic began to speak slowly in German. Fluttershy doesn’t speak German—something we have in common—so she didn’t know what he was saying. Luckily, I understand German, so I happen to know roughly what he was saying. As I recall, it was something along the lines of “Hello, little one. Do I know you?”

The dove cooed and nipped at the Medic’s nose.

Fluttershy, meanwhile, stared at the Medic and tilted her head to the side. “Um, excuse me… Mr. Human?” she asked. “You should be careful around that dove… He… um, he has an—”

The Medic’s head snapped around to face Fluttershy. “Is he hemophilic?” he asked. Not in ze can’t-stop-bleeding sense of ze vord, but in ze can’t-stop-zinking-about-blood sense?” he blurted out.

Fluttershy reared backwards in shock. “Wh-What? No!” she blurted out. “I-I was going to say, he’s sick!”

“Oh,” the Medic replied. “Zat’s… I’m sorry, I just… zought I recognized him.” There was a brief silence after this.

“…Um… you mentioned something about healing my friend?” Fluttershy murmured.

The Medic cleared his throat and shook his head. “Uh, right. Sorry,” he said quickly. He slowly stepped forward and pointed his Medigun at Rainbow Dash. Taking a long, deep breath, he pulled the lever… or at least, he tried to. Confused, he looked down at the Medigun and yanked on the lever again a couple of times. It barely moved half an inch back. “Vhat ze…?” he asked, more to himself than anything.

“I-Is everything all right?” Fluttershy asked.

“Vhy isn’t it—” the Medic started. Suddenly, he cut himself off mid-sentence. He just stood there for a moment, then groaned and slapped himself in the face. “Freakin’ really?!” he blurted out. “How do I keep forgettink about zat?”

Fluttershy blinked. “Forgetting about what?” she asked.

“Oh, never mind zat,” the Medic scoffed dismissively, rolling his eyes. “I svear, I hate interactink vis civilians. Zis Friendly Fire zing is so damn picky. Luckily…” He adjusted his Medigun, taking care to aim it at the red segment of Rainbow Dash’s mane. Which is on her head, so we’re clear. He pushed the lever forward again, and this time it worked. The red gas flowed out of the Medigun and washed over Rainbow Dash. Her eyes quickly began to refocus, and she donned a confused expression. “What the…?” she wondered aloud. “What just happened?”

The Medic released the lever and turned around. “My vork here is done,” he said, stepping toward the door. He slipped his Medigun back into its slot left without another word, completely ignoring Rainbow Dash shouting at his back.

How disgustingly sentimental of him.

I thought it was kind of touching moment, myself. Grief does strange things to a man. A man who still hasn’t given up on finding his friend after he was lost in a tragic dimensional fluctuation… Beautiful. I think Shakespearicles wrote a poem about it once. Shakespearicles was a time traveller at one point, right?

Only if you listen to the raving conspiracy theorists indigenous to this world’s street corners.

Oh, sure. But how can you trust them? I hear some of them believe in this secret society of warmongerers called the Overseers. Crazy, right?

Touché.

I knew you’d warm up to me eventually. Well, that’s the only other noteworthy thing that happened at Fluttershy’s cottage that day. The Medic left the cottage at around “Shrrsh nrrmbrrrsh yrr nrr shrry, rr shrrsh crrrrsh rrlffrrdrry…”

Did the Pyro notice the Medic leaving in the middle of its song?

Well, no. Why do you ask?

Well, if it had, then you giving a play-by-play of the musical number would have been warranted.

That’s fair, but it’s not what happened. Would I lie to you?

Without incontrovertible evidence against that assertion, I wouldn’t rule out the possibility.

You crack me up, little buddy. Anyway, after he left Fluttershy’s cottage, the Medic ended up walking back to Ponyville. He didn’t have anywhere in particular to go. He didn’t run into very many ponies, but those he did come across gave him the widest berths they could. Because he didn’t know where else to go, he ended up walking back to Twilight’s house. Of course, that’s where the portal was, glowing white and hovering in midair. The Medic slowed to a stop before the glowing orb. He stared at it for a moment, then looked down at his feet and sighed heavily. As a single tear slid down his cheek, he muttered a solemn vow—heh heh—in tearful German. “Eines Tages, Archimedes… Eines Tages.”

Hmph.

Psh, stoneheart. Anyway, after that, the Medic walked around the tree, hoping he’d randomly find something to entertain himself with. As he stepped around the tree, however, he spotted a previously unnoticed sign in front of it. The sign had an open book written on it, and the words “Golden Oaks Library” were written across its pages. “Ah, a library,” the Medic mumbled to himself. “Perfect…” He stepped up to the door and knocked on it three times.

A few moments later, the door opened. Standing in the doorway was Spike, looking no worse for wear after being punted earlier that morning. “Can I—” He didn’t get any farther than that. When he saw the Medic, he stopped in mid-sentence.

“Ah, you again,” the Medic said, kneeling down. “Your name vas… Spike, right?”

“I…” After a few moments, Spike’s face hardened into a stern expression. “Yeah,” he said simply, crossing his arms. “And you’re… Red Medic, right?

“Ze RED Medic, zank you very much,” the Medic corrected sternly. “Lovely to see you again. So… no hard feelinks about zis morning, right?”

“You threatened to cut unicorns up while they were still alive,” Spike pointed out. “I mean… you’re not even trying. It’s like you stepped out of an Amareican comic book or something.” The Medic’s eyebrow went up. Before he had the chance to ask the obvious question—you know, ‘Did you say American?’—Spike spoke up again. “No offense, but… you haven’t been making yourself seem very sane so far, and I’ve been told not to let you in.”

“It’s only fair zat I seem insane,” the Medic admitted. “I am, after all, a SADist.”

Spike snorted. “You don’t say,” he remarked.

“It’s a pun, Spike,” the Medic scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Ve’re speakink different languages. You vouldn’t get it. Look, I zink ve may haff gotten off on ze wrong foot.”

“You don’t say again,” Spike said again, baring his fangs.

“I don’t mean you or your mistress any harm,” the Medic said calmly. “I just vant to come in and—”

“Twilight’s not my mistress,” Spike interrupted. “And no, you can’t come in.”

“…And read,” the Medic finished. “Zis is a library. All I vant to do is read. Books. Zere vere some qvestions I didn’t get ze chance to answer in my experiment earlier, and—”

Spike’s eyes went wide, and he reflexively took a step away from the Medic. “What experiment?” he blurted out.

“Oh, she’s fine!” the Medic blurted out instinctively, raising his hands defensively. “Don’t vorry, she’s fine. Granted, I did leave her at kind of a bad time, but—vait, zis isn’t comink out right.”

“I-I think you should leave now!” Spike stammered through his fangs, trying to make himself look tough.

“I von’t touch anyzink but ze books,” the Medic said calmly, leaning forward a little. “I’ll be very qviet. Tvilight von’t even haff to know I’m here.”

“Go away,” Spike growled, trying to scowl as menacingly as he could. “I’m not letting you in here, you Trazi scum.” A flicker of a smile crossed his face. “Heh, I’ve always wanted to say that.”

Trazi scum?

See? Remember those cards from earlier? They’re relevant, still.

No, just a moment. …That cannot possibly be where you’re going with this.

Heh heh heh… just you wait, Helen. Anyway, the Medic could’ve left it at that, but then Archimedes cooed in his ear. Or that’s what he thought, anyway. He snapped his fingers, a gesture that drew a nervous flinch from Spike. “Good idea, Archimedes,” he said. He looked Spike right in the eye before speaking again. Also before speaking again, his eyes began to glow yellow. “Allow me to enter,” he commanded in a low, sinister growl.

Spike’s eyes went wide for a brief moment, but then they returned to normal, and Spike kept on scowling at the Medic. “No,” he insisted.

The Medic balled his hands into fists, and the light in his eyes grew brighter. “I mean you no harm,” he snarled. “Allow me to enter.”

“I said no,” Spike snarled back.

The Medic hesitated for a moment, then sighed deeply. “All right,” he growled, slowly removing his glasses and stuck them in his breast pocket. “I didn’t vant to haff to do zis, Spike, but you leave me vis no choice.”

All of a sudden, quick as a flash, the Medic’s hand shot out and grabbed the green spines on top of Spike’s head. Spike had no time to swat the hand away, breathe a plume of flame, or even try to maneuver out of his grasp. All he had time to do was jerk his head upward and look the Medic in the face. That was his mistake. In an instant, the yellow light in the Medic’s eyes vanished, as if someone had flipped a switch. His eyes transformed into tiny green balls with lighter-green spirals in their centers, spinning wildly out of control. Two rays of green light shot out of the Medic’s eyes and right into Spike’s. “Listen to me, you impotent, smoke-spewing juvenile!” the Medic snapped, with utter rage in his voice. When he spoke again, though, the rage was wiped away, and he began speaking in a calm, entrancing voice. “You love me… You adore me… You vant to name all your children after me…”

As Spike stared into the face of the Medic, his own went blank. His eyes, once possessing green irises and the slitlike pupils of a cat, suddenly transformed. His eye sockets were filled with green. Out of where his pupils had once been, there flowed a pair of spirals. “I love you…” he repeated in a low, expressionless voice. “I adore you… I want to name all my children after you…”

The Medic let go of Spike’s spines. Spike’s eyes, along with his own, returned to normal. “Zat’s better,” he said casually, retrieving his glasses and slipping them back on as he stood up. “Now, allow me to enter.”

Spike craned his neck upwards and smiled at the Medic. “Of course, Red Medic,” he said cheerfully, stepping out of his way.

“Danke, Spike,” the Medic said cheerfully, stepping into the tree. It looked pretty much exactly what you’d expect a library inside a tree to look. Bookshelves were carved into the walls, and a wooden ladder leaned against one of them. The place felt a lot more lived-in than a standard library, judging by the few books that lay discarded on the floor. The Medic’s eyes were drawn to the center of the room. A large, round wooden table fashioned to look like a tree stump sat there, and atop it there sat a large wooden bust of a horse’s head.

“Vell, zis is homey,” the Medic observed. He shut the door behind him, stepped up to the table and flopped down cross-legged in front of it. As he removed his backpack, he turned to face Spike again. “Retrieve an anatomy book,” he commanded. Spike dashed off into the library without another word.

The Medic sighed and set his backpack down next to him. Following a brief and uneventful silence, Spike came back into the room, carrying a thick book with both hands. The Medic noticed him before he got there. “Ah, excellent,” he said, reaching out to take the book. “Zank you, Spike.”

“You’re welcome, Red Medic,” Spike sighed, still wearing a dopey grin. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Not yet,” the Medic replied, setting the book down in front of him. The title, of course, was written in the Equestrian symbol language, but the Medic could still read it as clearly as if it were English. “Dressed Vound’s Anatomy of ze Eqvine Body, Eqvestrian Publication,” he read aloud. “Vonderful…” He shifted his weight slightly, sighed contentedly, cracked open his anatomy text, and began whistling a song from his childhood. I’m sure you know the one. By sheer coincidence, he opened to an anatomical diagram of the unicorn’s skeletal system, viewed from the front. The other page was almost all text.

“Ze unicorn’s skeletal structure,” he mumbled under his breath, “is remarkably similar to zat of ze earth pony, vis ze obvious difference being zat ze unicorn possesses a horn. Compositionally, however, ze skeleton is qvite different. A unicorn’s skeleton, unlike zat of an earth pony or pegasus pony, is composed of a bone-like substance called alicorn, not to be confused vis ze fourth pony race of ze same name.”

I know this already. Is there a point to this?

…Okay, fine, we’ll skip ahead to the interesting part. “In an interesting, zough macabre, side note,” the Medic read, “because alicorn is a natural magical conduit, it is possible to construct a…” The Medic arched an eyebrow and leaned in closer to the text. “Synzetic horn?” he remarked in disbelief. “How ze hell do zey know zat? …construct a synzetic horn out of a deceased unicorn’s horn or bone. Ze former is markedly more effective, zough never as effective as a livink unicorn’s magic, for reasons detailed earlier.” The Medic reflected to himself that this made sense, but he didn’t know what that sentence was doing in an anatomy textbook. Equestria had seemed a little too… bright and colorful to know something like that. Intrigued, he kept reading.

“Ze process vas believed to be zeoretical until Vorld Var II, ven vait vat?!”

Oh, you must be kidding me.

Ha ha ha ha ha… That was about the Medic’s reaction, too,” I tell her, grinning. “The Medic just read over that line over and over again for a very long time. Eventually, he turned to Spike and said “Spike. Retrieve a book about ze history of Vorld Var II and an atlas. Qvickly.” Spike hadn’t moved since he returned from getting Wound’s Anatomy, but he took off without another word. Adjusting his glasses, the Medic leaned closer toward the textbook.”

“…until Vorld Var II, vhen it vas used to grant ze power of magic to Germane troops. Needless to say, horn-reaping, as it came to be known, has since been outlawed by ze… Geneighva… you haff got to be kiddink me.”

Germane troops… the Geneighva Convention… Ishayel… Allegations of Trazism… Please don’t try to tell me…

A few moments later, Spike returned carrying three books. The Medic quickly took them and cracked open the one on top, which he identified as a moderately thick atlas. He opened to a two-page spread depicting the topography of the planet Equus as shown from space, and… waaait for it… and as he’d suspected, it was almost identical to the topography of Earth.

No! NO! This is completely implausible! I do not accept this! You must be lying to me!

The Medic and I were just as surprised as you. Equus was—still is, in fact—almost completely identical to Earth. All the usual suspects were there— North and South Amareica, Eucroupe, Zebrica, Haysia, Austalia and Antlertica. The only difference between the two worlds, in fact, was that Equus had an extra continent. Guess where it is?

…It is as an island in the Atlantic Ocean, approximately five hundred miles off the coast of… your world’s equivalent of Portugal. It is the smallest of all the continents, including Austra… Austalia… and it is called Atlantis.

That’s almost exactly right, Helen! It’s actually as an island in the Atlointic Ocean, and it’s not called Atlantis. It’s not called Atlointis, either. It’s called Equestria!

…You mean to tell me… that your world… is parallel to mine.

Well, not exactly, but it sure looks that way if the light is just right and you squint a little. Of course, the Medic sure thought that, but he needed more proof. So he cracked open the second book Spike had brought him, A Brief History of World War II and the Hornlocaust.

All he had to do was open the book to the table of contents. Rudolf Antler: From Hoofsoldier to Fürher, read the title of one chapter.

Aaaargh… Are terrible puns really the connection between your world and ours?

Pretty much. The Medic dutifully flipped to that chapter. Right off the bat, he saw this. “Rudolf Antler is remembered today as one of the world’s most loathed villains. As history remembers him, he is the reindeer who ruled over Germaney with an iron hoof, enforced by his blindly loyal Trazi followers, who launched a mad campaign to conquer the world, and who was single-hoofedly responsible for the state-sanctioned murder of hundreds of thousands of unicorns during the Hornlocaust. This popular conception of the Fürher, though accurate to an extent, leaves out much of the…”

The Medic stopped didn’t read anything else. He didn’t think he needed to. He was convinced by that point that Equus and Earth were, in fact, parallel worlds. After all, if a world as saccharine as Equus had an equivalent of the Holocaust, then the rest of history must have also been preserved, warts and all… right?

Wait a minute… if the rest of history was the same, then…

“Spike, retrieve an Equestrian history book.”

“Yes, Red Medic.” Spike took off and returned a few moments later with a brand new copy of A Brief History of Equestria. The Medic eagerly snatched the book away and pried it open. Again, he didn’t have to go any further than the table of contents. A series of chapters were labeled as referring to “The Age of Chaos.” That was promising, he thought, so he flipped to them. And again, right off the bat, he found what he was looking for.

“The Age of Chaos refers to the era when Discord ruled Equestria. To this day, next to nothing is known about where Discord came from. However, the founders of Equestria believed him to be the spirit of chaos incarnate, and he ruled over the newborn nation as a fickle but harsh dictator who would not tolerate dissent. The Age of Chaos was ended when Discord was encased in stone by the Elements of Harmony, wielded by the Royal Pony Sisters (see Chapter 8). In the year 2011, however, the seal keeping Discord imprisoned was broken (see Chapter 21), allowing him to escape and run free for approximately two days. Due to this incident, much of the mythology surrounding Discord— particularly, that he possessed the ability to bend the fabric of reality to his whims— was verified as fact.”

How self-indulgent of you to reveal all that.

Oh, there’s a point to it, I promise. The Medic put his hand on his chin. “Spike, answer my qvestions,” he commanded.

“Of course, Red Medic,” Spike responded eagerly.

“Vat year is it?” the Medic asked.

“2012, Red Medic,” Spike answered.

The Medic began stroking his chin. “So, vhat ze book is referrink to here,” he continued. “Discord’s recent escape. Zis happened… last year?”

“Yes, Red Medic,” Spike answered.

And then the Medic got an idea. An awful idea. The Medic got a wonderful, awful idea. As this idea slowly dawned on him, a devious smirk spread across his face. He placed his elbows on the table in front of him and began slowly tapping his fingertips together.

“Spike,” he commanded, “retrieve a writing implement and lots of paper.” He let out the low, sinister chuckle of a scheming mastermind. “I haff a lot of calculations to make…”

“Yes, Red Medic,” Spike said, darting away.

“And fetch me some coffee!” the Medic shouted after him. “Milk, no sugar. I can’t concentrate vis zis Empathol in my system…”

And so, for the next few hours, the Medic was consumed by complex mathematical equations, research of Equus’s history, and sending Spike on errands to fetch different books, new quills, or more ink. Books that had outlived their usefulness were deposited in a huge pile next to him. He’d long ago removed his gloves, backpack and lab coat, revealing a sensible long-sleeved shirt and beige sweater-vest beneath them. His hands were stained with ink, as were his face and his lab coat. He was very frustrated trying to reconcile what, in the brief time he’d been researching, he’d dubbed “The Hornlocaust Discrepancy.” After realizing that he was trapped in yet another infinite loop of calculations, he growled in anger and stabbed the inkwell with the quill. He buried his face in his hands and let the frustration wash over him. “Ba bada ba, wird Sturmalarm geblasen…” he sang at a remarkably brisk tempo. “Ba bada ba, wir alle schon bereit…”

“Here’s your coffee, Red Medic,” Spike said, coming back into the room yet again with a steaming-hot mug of coffee. The Medic snatched it out of his claws, causing a few drops of coffee to splash onto his notes, and knocked it back in one. Like a pro. Like the Demoman with his scrumpy.

“Okayokayokayokayokay,” he said, slamming the empty mug onto the table. “Ze Empathol’s almost out of my system. I just need to concentrate. Concentrate concentrate concentrate concenaaaagh, I can’t do zis!”

“You have been working for a long time,” Spike interjected. “You should relax. It’s not a good idea to wear yourself out. Do you need me to get you anything?” The Medic had been so engrossed in his studies that he’d forgotten Spike was even there.

“No, Spike!” the Medic replied, randomly waving his trembling hand. “Vat I need is a dramatic flash of inspiration prompted by somezink completely unrelated to my research. Talk to me.”

“Okay. What do you wanna talk about, Red Medic?” Spike asked, just as awestruck by the Medic’s mere presence as ever.

“I don’t care. Your… dreams. Talk about your dreams,” the Medic snapped.

“Sure thing, Red Medic,” Spike answered. “First of all, I have a crush on Rarity.”

The Medic blinked. “Rarity?” he repeated. “Zat tailor Tvilight mentioned?”

“Yes, Red Medic,” Spike answered.

“Is she a dragon too?” the Medic asked.

“Nah, she’s a unicorn, Red Medic,” Spike answered. “The most beautiful unicorn in all of Ponyville…” He let out a wistful sigh. “Maybe in all of Equestria…”

“Hm. Interestink…” the Medic grumbled disinterestedly. “Is zat c-common here? Interspecies relationships, zat is?”

“Well, not really common, Red Medic,” Spike answered. “But they can happen.”

“And you’re hopink it vill,” the Medic grumbled.

“Yep, Red Medic,” Spike replied.

The Medic groaned and buried his head in his hands again. “Zis isn’t vorkink,” he groaned. “Tryink to relate to ozzer people? Vat vas I zinkink. I need somezink else. Retrieve… a… fiction book.”

“Sure thing, Red Medic,” Spike replied, taking off into the library. Grumbling, the Medic looked back down to the writhing mass of notes in front of him, running his fingers through his mane as though he was one step away from ripping it out. Suddenly… “Oh, hi Twilight!”

Perplexed, the Medic looked up. Sure enough, Twilight Sparkle was standing at the top of a staircase he hadn’t noticed until now, staring at him with a look of abject horror. “Ah, guten Tag, Fräu Sparkle,” he mumbled dismissively before looking back down at his papers. A few good seconds passed, and then he just about jumped out of his skin. “Ack! F-Fräu Sparkle!” he blurted out, scrambling to his feet and overturning the half-empty inkwell. “Hello! I… ah, z-zis is your house, isn’t it?”

“What are you doing in my house?” Twilight blurted out.

Spike waddled back into the room with a book under his arms. “I let him in, Twilight,” he answered.

“Wh-Why?!” Twilight shouted. “I thought I told you not to do that!”

“He asked!” Spike answered, walking up to the Medic and handing him the book.

The Medic chuckled. “Ja, zat seems like it should haff been obvious,” he added, righting the inkewell and putting the quill back in it. “Uh, Spike, return ze book. I don’t need it.”

“Sure, Red Medic,” Spike replied, jogging back off to where he’d gotten the book from.

Keeping one eye on Twilight, the Medic bent down slightly and began to gather his notes into a pile. “So… Did you sleep vell? I’m not goink to be sleepink at any time in ze forseeable future.”

Spike charged back into the room, and Twilight’s eyes were drawn to him. “Spike, I was very clear on the fact that you weren’t to let the humans in here!” she said frantically. “Especially not the—that one!”

“Well, Red Medic was very convincing,” Spike replied. “He’s not as bad as you think he is, Twilight. He’s really smart, and diligent… I don’t think a hurricane could tear him away from his notes!”

“Notes? What notes?” Twilight asked.

The Medic quickly realized that he couldn’t tell anyone about his wonderful, awful idea before he was done with it, and quickly decided to draw attention away from his notes. “J-Ja, I’m just goink to come clean here,” he said, neatening his stack of papers and picking up his backpack. “I vasn’t all zat convincink, but I did use Intentionmancy.”

“Red Medic’s great at magic, too, Twilight,” Spike pointed out. “He might even be better than you!”

Twilight blinked. “Intentionmancy?” she repeated. “I-Is that… a fancy term for mind control?”

“Hypnotic domination, actually,” the Medic clarified, slinging his lab coat back on. His fingers trembled mightily as he tried without success to do the buttons back up. “But you know, semantics. Actually, he vas a lot harder to hypnotize zan I zought he’d be. Vas he exposed to a powerful magical conflagration of some kind as a hatchling? Or is he a powerful vizard himself?” He gave up on the buttons and slung his backpack back on at this point.

Twilight didn’t answer. She started stammering random syllables that didn’t add up to any word the Medic recognized. After a long time, she finally managed to get out a full sentence. “S-Stop hypnotizing Spike!”

“Vell, I do basically haff vat I need,” the Medic replied, pulling on his gloves and snapping them, “barrink ze rest of my calculations, so… ja, I don’t need him any more.” Once he was fully back in-uniform, barring the buttons on his lab coat, he reached down to his hip and pulled out his Solemn Vow. “I’ll release him at vonce, FräulAAAGH!”

Before the Medic realized what was happening, the pile of books next to him suddenly exploded. The Medic cried out in shock and stumbled backwards, blindly swinging his bust at the air next to him. But then he was stopped in his tracks by the sheer force of nature that is confusion.

The book pile had exploded because Pinkie Pie had popped out of it. She glared at the Medic for a few moments, shook her head, and slowly ducked back into what was left of the pile. The Medic hesitated for a few moments, then put his weapon away, stepped forward and began sweeping the books aside. “Vat in ze hell?” he wondered aloud. That was a perfectly fair reaction to Pinkie Pie not being there any more.

“What are these, Medic?”

“GAH!” the Medic blurted out, whirling around. Pinkie Pie was standing on the table, looking at his handwritten notes. “H-How did you get behind me?”

“Yes, what are those, Medic?” Twilight asked, trotting up to the table. The Medic hadn’t noticed her moving toward the table until now. Her horn activated, and several pages floated off the table. “What is so important to you that you had to break into my house to do it?”

The Medic winced. “Ah! I-I vouldn’t look at zose if I vere you!” Twilight and Pinkie began to look over the papers silently. The Medic cringed and began to rub his hand together nervously. “Ah… C-Can I at least explain my violation of ze veapons ban?” he asked. “I vas planning to bring Spike out of ze hypnotic state, but in order to do zat, he has to be unconscious. Zat’s all I was planning to do. Knock him out. So if you could just…”

Suddenly, Twilight's horn let out a bright flash of light. Spike stood still for a moment, then shook his head. “What the… what just happened?” he asked. He then looked up at the Medic, reared back and screamed like a little girl. “Wh-What's he doing here?!”

“I think I can handle it, Medic,” Twilight said sternly.

“…Vell played, Tvilight,” the Medic mumbled, wringing his hands and not looking at anyone present. “Very clever. Very… very cool. Now can I haff my notes back, please?”

“What happened?” Spike asked again.

“I hypnotized you,” the Medic replied dismissively.

“What?!” Spike blurted out, backpedaling and darting behind Twilight. “Wh-What did you make me do?”

“I just made you assist me. Nozzink serious,” the Medic replied.

“Assist you with what?” Spike asked.

“It vasn’t permanent,” the Medic grumbled. “Now. Tvilight. Notes.”

“Tell me what they are first,” Twilight replied. “Are you writing in Egglish?”

“Ja, in fact, I am,” the Medic replied. “You see, I vas doing research about ze history of your vorld and how it relates to ours. As it turns out, it’s more zan you might zink. Our histories are very similar, very nearly even—”

“Are you using a swastika as a variable?” Pinkie interrupted. The Medic, Spike and Twilight all winced at once. “Wow, I hate to use stereotypes, but that reallly explains a lot, Mr. Mad Scientist!”

“I’m not a mad scientist!” the Medic snapped.

“No,” Twilight replied, setting the papers back onto the pile. “But it’s beginning to look increasingly likely that you’re some kind of dimension-hopping Trazi.”

“I’m not a Trazi!” the Medic shouted.

Spike suddenly began scratching the back of his head. “H-Hang on…” he interjected, lifting his head. “I… I think I remember something. While he was working, he… he was whistling a song…”

Twilight and Pinkie looked down at Spike. “What song, Spike?” Pinkie asked. “How’d it go?”

Spike scratched his head for a few moments, then began whistling the song. “…Something like that,” he said when he was done.

Twilight stared at Spike for a few moments, then looked back up to the Medic with a surprisingly blank expression. “You were whistling Horse-Wessel-Lied while you took these notes?” she asked.

The Medic threw out his arms. “Can I help it if I grew up in Nazi Germany?” he spat.

“Nazi?” Pinkie repeated, cocking her head to the side. “Oh, that explains everything!” She giggled and elbowed Twilight in the side. “See, Twilight? He’s not a Trazi! He’s a Nazi! There’s a difference!”

“Vell, technically, zere is, but—” The Medic suddenly did a flawless double take. “Now vait a minute! Don’t call me a Nazi, eizzer! I get enough of zat at home!”

Twilight took a deep breath and bravely stepped toward the Medic. “Medic,” she said, “I’m going to be frank here. Through the filter of my universal translation spell, you sound like you have a Germane accent, and you occasionally slipped into speaking Germane.”

“Coincidence!” the Medic countered. “Nozzink but coincidence!”

“You hypnotized Spike,” Twilight pointed out.

“Antler never got anyvhere vis his experiments in hypnotism, and neizzer did Hitler!” the Medic replied. “I mean, neizzer did my universe’s equivalent of Antler!”

“You whistled Horse-Wessel-Lied while working,” Twilight said.

“I heard it all ze time growing up!” the Medic explained.

“Not to mention,” Pinkie interjected, “you threatened to cut up unicorns when you showed up!”

“I didn’t know zey vere beink targeted! I didn’t even know vat ze Hornlocaust vas!” the Medic countered.

“You used a swastika as a variable in the complex calculations in your notes,” Twilight pointed out.

“Zat’s ze universally recognized symbol for—” The Medic stopped mid-sentence. The thought had occurred to him, you see, that revealing that wonderful, awful idea he’d had too early wouldn’t be a good idea. “…Um… ze symbol for… uh… beink… good. A good… person. Or, uh… eternity! It means eternity in… er… Japanese… symbolism…”

“Do you have any idea how dumb that sounds?” Spike asked.

“Medic,” Twilight sighed, “I don’t actually know if you’re a Trazi… or a Nazi, whatever you want to call them. All I’m saying is, with every action you take, you start looking like one. Everything you do makes you look incrementally more like a member of the Third Reinch.”

The Medic blinked. “Incrementally?” he repeated.

“So if you want to avoid any more… misunderstandings like this,” Twilight continued, “then you should probably… well, at the risk of sounding crude… stop living up to the stereotype.  If you lived in… Nazi Germany, as you say, you should know what that is, so…” Twilight petered out here, clearing her throat awkwardly.

The Medic stood still for a few moments, then slowly picked up his notes. “Incrementally…” he mumbled under his breath.

“Are you okay, Medic?” Twilight asked.

On the top page of the Medic’s notes, there were three stains in a vertical line. The first was a small drop of coffee. The second was the contents of a spilled, half-empty inkwell. And the third was a ring of coffee born by leaving a hastily chugged mug on the notes.

The Medic’s eyes went wide and he let out a whoop of joy. “INCREMENTALLY!” he cried. “Of course! It doesn’t vork zat vay!”

Twilight and Spike took a few steps away from the Medic. “What doesn’t work that way?” Spike asked, sounding slightly less happy than normal.

“Don’t you see? It’s incremental! Of course it’s—” Luckily, at that precise moment, the Medic received a psychic distress signal. I’ll get to that later. Stopping mid-sentence, he whirled around in the direction the signal was coming from. At that moment, he realized that the only people in the room, or ponies, rather, were ponies he couldn’t reveal his wonderful, awful idea to. “…I mean, um, never mind,” he said, turning around again. “You’ve given me some good advice here, Fräu Sparkle. I vill be sure to consider it. I’d love to stay and chat, but I haff urgent business to attend to elsevere right now. I go.” With that, the Medic whirled around and charged out of the library, crashing through the door like a linebacker. He charged away, waving his notes over his head and cackling like the madman he was.

Author's Note

As I've addressed in the comments below, I realize that the existence of Trazism, as I call it, is something that may not resonate well with everyone. But it's my headcanon, and I'm not sure I'd be able to remove it if I tried. And besides, the existence of Trazism is actually significant to the overall plot of my story. I don't plan on featuring Trazism prominently in future portions of this story, but but regardless, if I've offended you, I apologize. If you no longer have an interest in my story after this, I understand completely and wish you well. For members of my audience that remain, thank you, and don't forget to tell me what you think of all this in the comments.