//------------------------------//
// Chapter 2: St. Nightingale's 
// Story: Agent Con Mane in Undercurrent (to be rewritten) 
// by Fairytail 
//------------------------------//

	“A little more to the left will you?” Donut Joe sighed contently at the feeling of gentle hooves kneading into his lower back.
Joe lay face down on a table of old, padded leather covered with thin paper. The alabaster white mare stopped rubbing his back. With his eyes closed in relaxation, Joe did not see her blue eyes sharpen in protest. She brushed a stray bang of bubblegum pink mane out of her face as she tutted.
“I’m not a misuse, Mr. Mane, I’m your nurse. And nursing you back to health would be a lot easier if you would hold still.”
“Whatever you say, Nurse Redheart.” Joe chuckled, “Whatever you say.”
Nurse Redheart sighed and continued working on relieving the tension from Joe’s muscles. Donut Joe, who was administered under the name Con Mane, arrived at St. Nightingale’s Health Clinic the previous evening. He suffered from several high impact bruising and other epidermal lacerations. The insurance company responsible for leaving Mr. Mane in the clinic’s care did not specify the source of such injuries, and as they were classified under high profile confidentiality reports, the clinic management had no right to make any further inquiries. Still, Nurse Redheart had her curiosities.
“Where did you get all these bruises from anyway?” she asked as she stroke her hoof across a particularly tender spot on his flank that had already turned an ugly purple. The bruise was long and thin, and discolored his donut Cutie Mark.
“I got into an argument with a widow.” Joe said with a steady tone. A sly smile etched Redheart’s muzzle accompanied by a raised eyebrow.
“No, you’re kidding.” she said with a heavy dose of sarcasm, “Not with your irresistible charm. I’d think widows would be crawling at your hooves.”
Joe chuckled again and turned slightly to look at Redheart with a mischievous smile. “Oh no, not this one. He didn't like me at all.”
Redheart stood on three legs with wide eyed confusion. Joe took the time to get off the message table and grabbed a weathered pink bath robe hanging on a hook fastened to the wall painted hospital green.
Redheart was snapped out of her confusion by an overhead roar that lightly shook the instruments in the room. She waited for the E.U.P. airship to pass by before silently cursing her least favorite part of the job. Originally, St. Nightingale’s was built as a small medical outpost for the E.U.P. Guard base mere miles away. The clinic was eventually re-purposed for public use but the military base still existed and airships flew in and out in constant intervals. Redheart aided Joe in tying his robe and hoofed him his expansive watch which was lying on the nearby table. Just as Joe snapped the watch into place, the curtains separating the massage room from the rest of the clinic slid open.
“Ah, Nurse Redheart.” said high range, rather nasally voice. “I was hoping to have a chance to see you, but I can see somepony else is already in your capable hooves.”
Joe turned to see the stallion standing in the entrance way. He was a Unicorn with a sickly purple colored coat, that reminded Joe of a large tender spot of bruised skin, and grayish mulberry eyes that reflected a bright danger. His muzzle tapered to a point that made his smile snide like a rodent’s. His mane was a slimy, avocado green that was poorly barbered and was plastered against his moist forehead. His Cutie Mark looked to be a worm or caterpillar of some sort eating away at a brown leaf. He continued to lurk in the entryway as his eyes shifted between Redheart and Joe.
“I’ll be with you in a minute.” said Redheart, “Con Mane, this is Count Cocoon.”
Joe looked intently at the stallion. He carried himself with standoffish indifference, and his pupils reflected pride.
“What’s up, Count. Sorry if I keep her a bit longer. She’s the only pleasure in this whole joint.”
“I see you've figured that out as well.” Cocoon curled his lip and glanced at Redheart through the corner of his eye. She had turned away from the stallions, and was preoccupied with her clipboard. Joe figured that Cocoon was admiring more than her Cutie Mark and well groomed, pink tail that was tied in a cute, taught bun.
“A-hem!” Redheart barked as she turned around. Her glare was indignant and her cheeks, red. “Mr. Mane, your next therapy session is scheduled for eight o’clock.”
The two stallions approached each other and politely shook hooves. 
“It’s been good to meet you, Count.”
“Yes, I’m sure it has been.”
The ritual was quick and merely a formality, but their eyes remained locked in a silent battle of masculinity. Just as they finished the empty display, a sharp chirp jabbed the air. Joe looked down at his watch. The back-light of the face was blinking. Joe simply pushed a button and silenced the noise.
“Is something the matter, Mr. Mane?” Count Cocoon asked.
“Uh, yeah, sorry.” Joe made a show out making note of the time. “It’s time for my daily dose of donuts. Just what the doctor ordered, you know what I’m saying?”
Redheart rolled her eyes at the remark and returned to her charts. With the weight of the Count’s stare growing increasingly awkward, Joe finally said, “I’ll see you around.” and stepped around the pony and out through the curtains.
Joe swiftly cantered down the faded greens and off whites of the clinic until he rounded a corner. After quickly checking to make sure he was alone, Joe turned his attention back to his watch. He turned the silver plated dial that surrounded the face and suddenly the hands and numbers of the clock disappeared and were replaced with the image of a magical formula. Although admittedly not very talented himself when it came to magic, Joe had to study magical formulations for years. After about a year without study, Joe had grown rusty, and it was only due to his recent exposure to things such as Dark Magic, Chaos Magic and Nightmare Energy that he was motivated to brush up on what he had learned. Even still, he did not need remedial knowledge to recognize the formula in front of him. He remembered it clearly from his days at the academy, for it was one of the most important categories of magic that he had to know. Suddenly overcome with a cold sweat and a racing mind, Joe hurried to the nearest phone.

“The Doctor finished analyzing the data from the TMD.” said the voice of Miss Raven on the other end of the line. It had only been about an hour since Joe contacted Canterlot and sent over the readings. He knew The Doctor would work fast. That pony had a knack for getting the job done efficiently. Sometimes, it even felt as though he already knew what was expected of him before he was even asked. “He called it… Transmuphormic Cytometamorphosis.”
“Ok, so what does that mean for those of us who don’t speak geek?” Joe said rather irritably. He kept a diligent eye on the clinic hallway for any sign of passers-by. For the time being, he was alone.
“Changeling transformation magic.” Miss Raven responded, “Unmistakable.”
A surge rushed through Joe’s brain. The sudden pique of attention caused Joe to speak out without hesitation. 
“Change--!” He caught himself just in time for a nurse to calmly turn the corner. Joe turned his back to face the wall and patiently waited for her to walk out of earshot before he whispered more cautiously into the receiver. “So I was right. But, Equestrian Law dictates that all Changelings in Equestrian borders need to be registered along with their disguises.”
“But this ‘Count Cocoon’ isn't showing up in the registrar. Not to mention the E.U.P. Guard operates outside standard Equestrian jurisdiction. There shouldn't be any Changelings near that base, period.”
“So much for my relaxing getaway.”
“Joe.” Raven said quickly. Her tone was harsh and accusing. “Mane6 is not to interfere with the E.U.P. So if you insist on getting your sticky, glaze covered hooves on everything, you’ll be seriously reprimanded.”
“Well then, Miss Raven, next time you see me you can bend me across your knee and give me a good spanking.”
“Joe--”
Joe hung up the phone before anything else could be said.


The chill of the stale hospital air clung to Joe’s goosepimply skin like a wet shirt. He longed for his usual tailoring of a pressed, white, collared shirt, red bowtie and black dinner jacket. Instead he resigned to simply trot around in his off-white, practically pink, hospital gown. At least, he figured, it was better than wearing nothing.
As he made his way down the hallway, he made note of a passing window. A harsh glare of orange twilight flooded the floor. It was late evening according to Joe’s watch which further froze his ankle. His massage session with Nurse Redheart occurred strictly at 3:30 since she insisted on his punctuality. The nurse was so boorishly tempered that it was almost alluring in a way, and Joe decided best not to resist her too much. He didn't get out from under her until near a quarter past four. At around five, the cafeteria off the lobby would be passing out the horrible atrocities that they passed off as buttered muffins and raisin bread, and so the stagnant hallways were devoid of ponies save for the occasional rogue nurse or janitor.
The clinic receptionist was more than willing to tell Joe where Count Cocoon had been booked for his stay at St. Nightingale’s which apparently was  for the purpose of a sort of all-around treatment package. Another example of the wealthy needlessly indulging in their own deep pockets. Possible Changeling magic aside, Joe was curious to find out just what sort of pony it took to treat a hospital like a day spa. The answer to that question stood before him in the form of Accommodation Room Seventeen.
Joe opened the unlocked door slowly. The silence invited him into the still room. As expected, the Count had not yet returned. Being in the health clinic portion of the facility, Cocoon’s room was very similar to Joe’s own. It more closely resembled a hotel room than a hospital room for a patient. The furnishings, although fairly cheap, were comfortable enough. A recliner, bed, love seat, small dining table and writing desk. The windows were heavily curtained, the carpet cleaned to perfection and the air conditioned to only slightly above freezing. A small vanity station stood next to the entrance on which was a simple black phone and a small platter of muffins. Freshly baked banana nut by the smell.
Across the cozy quarters were two doors. The brown, lacquered door on the left was mostly open and led into a pristine bathroom. The other door, painted hospital white, was shut tight and was most likely some sort of walk-in closet. Joe drew his attention towards the writing desk. He eyeballed through the various papers strewn about on top of the desk, but very little caught his attention. A brochure for the clinic, itinerary and other travel documents that suggested that the Count was also from Canterlot. 
Just then, the humming of the A/C kicked in to blow more cold air into the room. A loud slam behind him made Joe jump. His brain jolted into adrenaline fueled action as he whisked around, his horn ablaze with a shimmering emerald light. He sighed himself calm when he realized that the change in airflow merely caused the entrance door to slam shut. He returned to scouting the room. He figured that the room must have just recently been cleaned by the staff because, aside from the muffins and writing desk, it showed no signs of being inhabited. He crossed to inspect the bed when a shuffling noise caught his attention. The unmistakable sound of carpeted hoof falls could be heard on the other side of the closed white door, and they were getting closer. The brass doorknob rattled and slowly turned.
Forced to act fast, Joe leaped towards the direction of the door and pressed himself against the wall next to the hinges in hopes of obscuring himself. The door opened and stopped just short of bumping into his body. Through the tiny slit between the door and the wall it was hinged to, Joe could see a sliver of the room it contained. From what he could tell, it was another accommodation room just like the one he was in.A pony peeked his body partially through the door frame. At least Joe assumed it was a pony given the body shape. The entire creature was bandaged, wrapped from head to two in gauze like some sort of mummy on Nightmare Night. The pony was wrapped up so tight that no fur was visible. Even its tail had been shorn bald. No horn protruded through the bandaged forehead so Joe assumed it must have been an Earth Pony, or possibly a Pegasus with his wings wrapped to pin his sides. And he was most certainly a stallion, given his shape.
The mummified pony scanned Cocoon’s room with bright, golden eyes that blazed like suns against the white wrapping. He cautiously inched forward into the room. Joe could feel his heart pounding against his chest and the sweat beading his neck. He braced his muscles. As soon as the bandaged pony stepped through that threshold, Joe would have no choice but to knock him out. His magic would be easily heard at such close distance, so he bent his hindquarters and readied a solid punch.
Joe nearly gasped with a jolt at the sudden sharp chirping of a ringing phone coming from the other pony’s room. The mummy stopped and returned to his own room to answer the phone. Joe waited to hear the tingling click of the phone and the mysterious pony, muffled by the gauze around his muzzle, answered into the receiver.
“This is Mosquito. Yes, I've recovered nicely.”
Not wanting to waste the opportunity. Joe swiftly darted across the room to the exit and swiftly opened the door, making sure not to rattle the handle or latch. He could still hear the muffled voice of the pony in the other room, although it was impossible to make out what he was saying. His curiosity pricked at his skin more than the chilling air. Still he sided with his better judgement and quickly left the room, leaving it just as pristine as he first found it. But before the door closed shut, a muffin levitated off the platter and out the door.

An hour later, Joe walked into the dimly lit Examination Room. Much of the light was being provided by a holomagic display in the center of the room. The display was a large, flat rectangle of brilliantly glowing white. Standing before the display, mostly silhouetted by the intense glow, was Nurse Redheart.
“You’re late, Mr. Mane.” Redheart pressed a button on a nearby panel and two images appeared in the holo display. Both images displayed a pony’s skeleton superimposed in front of a black border, each showing the skeleton from a different angle. Joe could get a better sense of the room under the harsh artificial lighting. Several other machines lines the room. Some were simply recognizable such as the treadmill, but other had far more questionable purposes. All of them, however, were connecting to the various instruments lining the wal that were used to take readings of the patient. In the far corner of the room was an area sectioned off by a sheet of opaque glass. The sign on the door to this area read 'Steam Room.' Joe's body ached to try it, and that thought naturally transitioned his attention back to Nurse Redheart.
Joe approached Redheart and placed a hoof around her shoulder while he gazed upon the x-rays. “Me?” he asked. Redheart merely hummed in the affirmative with little interest as she removed the unwanted hoof. “Well, I’d never recognize myself. So, do I look healthy?”
“Too healthy.” Redheart pushed another button on the panel and the holo display vanished and the room was filled with usual fluorescent lighting which revealed a simple med lab with bleach white walls and various pieces of complex looking equipment. She turned to Joe with a frown. “Bend over.”
“You never say that as if you mean it.” Joe said lightheartedly as he disrobed himself. It did little to change Redheart’s mood and she proceeded to inspect Joe’s body from various angles.
“Hooves over your head please.” she commanded, not asked. Joe obeyed and stood on his hindquarters while Redheart looked closely at his underside. “You still have significant bruising around the chest. Support yourself on my back while I apply the lotion.”
Joe rested his forelegs on Redheart’s back. Her fur felt soft and well groomed. He could feel the rhythm of her breathing. She wasn't wearing perfume as far as he could tell, but the addictingly strong smell of disposable gloves and sanitizes had been soaked into her body.
Redheart squirted the lotion onto her her hooves and slightly turned her body to lather Joe’s belly. As she turned her head, Joe slipped his leg over her neck so he could look her eye to eye, and before she could react, Joe passionately met his lips with her. She squirmed and struggled against Joe’s lips and forelegs until she was able to push him off of her. The struggle undid the bun in her bubblegum mane which fell messily onto her face. Her loose mane and face contorted in anger gave her an alluring wildness.
“BEHAVE yourself, Mr. Mane!” She stormed across the lab to one of the machines in the corner. “I see there’s only one place to keep you quiet.” The base of the machine was low to the ground. From the base rose four mechanical arms, each with several articulating joints. At the end of each arm was a thick clamp. The whole thing resembled an insect dead on its back, or four Manticores poised to strike. It made for a menacing silhouette that made Joe swallow hard.
“What the heck is that supposed to be?”
“A motorized traction machine for relieving tension from the legs and spine.” She said plainly, “Some patients call it the Spider.”
“I can see why.” The trepidation was clear in Joe’s voice.
“Oh get on.”
Redheart eventually was able to get Joe to stand on the base and clamped his hooves in place with the uncomfortable vices.
“So what do I do? Say giddy up?”
“Oh, stop fooling around and stand up straight.” Redheart proceeded to attach leeds to Joe’s chest that were wired to a nearby heart monitor. The gel used to hold the leeds in place were even colder than the air in the room.
“By the way,” Joe asked, “who’s the pony in the room next to Count Cocoon’s?
“I really don’t know too much about him.” She calmly adjusted the dials and switches on both the heart monitor and the spider machine. “His name is Mosquito. From what I understand, he was involved in some sort of fire. His entire coat burned off and his skin horribly synged.” Red activated the spider machine and with a sudden jolt, the machine springed to life and the four arm lifted Joe until he was suspended several hooves off the ground. “There now,” Redheart looked up at the uncomfortable stallion with a wry smile, “First time I’ve felt safe all day.”
She pushed a button on the spider’s base and the arms began manipulating Joe’s hooves. The arms forced Joe to simulate a midair gallop. They pushed and pulled and stretched Joe’s limbs at different angles. It was not as painful or intense as he had imagined, but it was certainly uncomfortable, awkward and rather embarrassing. Redheart laughed at the sight before turning to leave the lab.
“I’ll come see how you’re doing after fifteen minutes.”
She left, leaving Joe slone in the room, stuck in the air at the bizarre contraptions mercy. With the way the arms were constantly undulating Joe’s legs, he could do little in terms of looking around. All he had to focus on was the clock on the wall directly in front of him. Joe sighed and resigned himself for what was likely to be the longest fifteen minutes of his life.
After precisely four minutes and thirty seven seconds, Joe could feel his legs growing numb from the constant manipulation. He could feel the slight bobbing up and and down of his body caused by the arms having a toll on his body, and he regretted having that muffin from earlier.
After precisely six minutes and eleven seconds, Joe jerked up at the sound of the door opening. He realized that he must have fallen asleep sometime around five minutes and forty seconds. Joe looked at the clock and was disappointed by both the amount of time that had actually passed and the thought that Redheart likely wouldn’t check on him this early in. But then, Joe realized, that begged the question: who just entered the room?
Joe tried to turn his vision the best he could, but from his positioning he couldn’t see the machine’s base directly underneath him. He could hear the shimmering of a horn, but the rhythm of the pulse was different than that ofa typical pony’s. A familiar voice laughed from below.
“Nice to have met you, Mr. Mane.”
The spider machine was temporarily encased in a dark, sickly green aura. The voice continued to laugh as the smooth undulation of the mechanical arms became more forceful. They stopped moving Joe’s legs in a smooth galloping motion, and instead started twisted them in differing and odd angles and they whipped joe’s body back and forth and up and down and side to side. Through the chaos, Joe was able to catch the sight of a flank adorned with a caterpillar eating a dead leaf walk out the door.
The mechanical arms moved faster and faster as they continued to whip Joe around like a bucking bronco and pulls at all his legs in an attempt to rip them from his body. With nothing beneath his hooves to ground himself, Joe was unable to fight back. His neck was whipped in all directions by the out of control arms. His hooves seared with pain as they reached the limits of being pulled from their sockets.
“HELP! HELP!!” Joe cried out against the pain, although between the ringing in his brain from being tossed around and loud clanging of the out of control machine, Joe was unsure whether he was making any sound or not. Still he screamed out as loud as he could. He looked ahead at the clock on the wall, but was he was not allowed to be still enough to even have a chance of seeing the time. His face became soaked with tears and sweat as his spine was contorted in painful, unnatural angles. The pain became too great. His vision blurred blood red, and with one final strong toss of the arms, Joe’s head lashed backwards and he was consumed by darkness