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I had a very odd dream. I dreamed I was back in ponyville hospital, but it was not like the place the native recorders described. It was how it should have been. Dr. Cortex was actually able to make progress on my treatments. Shoeshine, Stable Rate, and even Mom visited almost weekly. I had a few friends among the other patients. They took on the appearances of Minuette, Moondancer, Twinkleshine, and Lemon Hearts–not as they were when I–when I had to kill them–the brown and brittle skinned, walking corpses with patchy coats and thinning manes–but as they must have looked before the megaspells fell.
The dream went on to see me successfully treated. No Cortexaphan, Cortexamine, Vial, Beh–**gagging**–Bedside, or radiation. Legitimately better. I got married and of all ponies Pinkie afficated the ceremony. I was happy. Then I woke up and the fractured reality came back. Hold on.
**boop**
Now I can track this FXR pipbuck tag.
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Is it just me or is this pipbuck getting fused to my leg? I noticed my gown started to stick to my thinning coat last time I was here, but never thought it worth mentioning.
Now let’s see where this FXR is.
**pipbuck sound**
The industrial district? I thought all industry was based in Manehatten, Fillydelphia, or Detrot. Guess they had to squeeze factories where they could to support the war effort.
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The more I think about this, the more I get a bad feeling that it is setup to deliberately mess with me. The only pony likely to need the list of Stable 1 residents in the whole wasteland would be me.
Who did I piss off? I was a mental patient. I had every mannerism of a dog.
What are the odds my rapist would be in Zebratown? Or the list would be gone? FXR? Who the hey are you?
Guess it is time to find out.
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