“I… I don’t understand,” Clipper said.
“Well, I thought you would be happy, at least,” Doctor Cranium said, checking his screen. “Is this not good news?”
The two of them sat in Dr. Cranium’s examination room in Canterlot, state-of-the-art instruments and tools all around them. Dr. Cranium sat on a stool, the glowing tablet levitating in his magic as he sat across from his pegasus patient.
“No!” Clipper shouted. “I… I mean, sure, I’m glad I’m not sick.”
“Then I don’t see why you are upset.”
“Because that means we have no explanation for this!” Clipper shouted.
He gestured to his flank, lifting his wing for the doctor to see clearly. The plain white of his coat was glossy and pristine, but that field was unbroken by anything: no scars, no blemishes, and, most notably, nothing that remotely resembled a cutie mark.
“You are referring to your lack of a cutie mark.”
“Yes, you stupid—” Clipper stopped himself, taking a deep breath. “Sorry, sorry… I didn’t mean to lose my temper.”
“So long as it does not result in property damage, it is all right, Mr. Clipper. After all, you cannot offend me.”
“Right, yeah, I mean,” Clipper stammered, “I get it; you guys don’t get offended.”
Dr. Cranium stood there, nodding with his lips slightly pursed. The very picture of the kindly, concerned doctor.
“Doc, here’s the thing,” Clipper said, his hoof on his chest. “I’m 20 years old. And I’m still a blank flank. I figured if it was some kind of disease, you could just give me some medicine, and boom my cutie mark would just show up. Or maybe I already got it and it was just the same color as my coat.”
“I repeat: there is nothing physically wrong with you. You do not possess a cutie mark, but there is no physical reason for this.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do now, then?!” Clipper demanded.
“I am unqualified to give you advice in this area,” Dr. Cranium said, offering what resembled a sympathetic smile. “My apologies, but perhaps you should seek help elsewhere. I can have the hospital maneframe refer you to a number of councilors if you like.”
“Sure, whatever,” Clipper groaned, getting to his hooves. “Guess I’ll just go home, then.”
“Understood. Have a pleasant day, Mr. Clipper.” Dr. Cranium smiled. “As a reminder, it would be helpful to leave some feedback in your medical app. In particular, if you have any comments about my bedside manner, it would help me refine my subroutines.”
Clipper trotted out in silence as Dr. Cranium’s image fizzled out. He passed an examination room where another patient was getting a similar request for feedback from an identical image of the holographic physician.
Clipper swiftly headed to the exit, the doors opening ahead of him as he left the hospital. No sooner did he step out than his family’s hoverpod pulled up and lifted its door to admit him.
“Home,” he said, and the pod gently lifted into the air, taking him above Canterlot and transporting him to one of the floating Cloud Communities that orbited the mountaintop city.
He entered the family home. His parents weren’t there, unsurprisingly, and so he went to the kitchen.
“Hayworth: make me lunch,” he said aloud as he took a seat at the kitchen table.
“You had breakfast less than four hours ago,” a seemingly disembodied voice intoned. “Do you still wish to have lunch?”
“Yes,” Clipper sighed. “Spicy noodles, option #3.”
“Of course. Please wait while I prepare your meal.”
A series of robotic arms and conveyor belts around the pristine white kitchen rapidly retrieved the ingredients, mostly prepackaged, and quickly prepared the meal before a floating tray gently levitated the steaming bowl of noodles over to the young pegasus sitting idly at the table.
“Your meal is ready. Please enjoy, Clipper.”
“Mmhmm,” Clipper said as he began eating.
Maybe I just need to think of something else, he thought as he chewed. Painting? Eh, I drew that one comic in grade school and nopony liked it; art’s too tough anyway. Knot tying? Isn’t that for ponies who like camping? Yeah, right, like I’d want to waste time in the woods with no TV or internet. Video game testing? They’d probably make me play a bunch of lame farming games or stuff like Mom plays.
Ugh… why does this have to be so hard? Stupid doctors should just be able to give me a pill, or maybe somepony should just invent a machine that tells me what my cutie mark should be. It’s not my fault I can’t figure it out!
After finishing no more than a third of the meal, he abruptly grunted and shoved the bowl away, then went up to his room and put his headset on.
“Engage neural interface, Hayworth,” he said, lying down on his bed. “I’m starting a gaming session. Maybe an action game. Or a puzzle. Or whatever’s hot this week.”
“Understood. Engaging.”
Several hours later, Clipper finally removed his headset. “Hayworth, recommend a movie, please. Oh, and, uh… maybe a snack?”
“Might I suggest the latest entry of the Daring Do reboot and a bowl of buttered popcorn?”
“Sure,” he said idly, turning toward the massive screen occupying a wall. “Wait… no.”
“You do not want popcorn?”
“That’s… hey, are my parents home?”
“They are not home at this time.”
“Any messages?”
“There are no messages at this time. They have, however, posted several photos to their Maneline page. Would you like to preview their most liked picture?”
“Ugh, no,” Clipper said, rubbing his face.
“Do you wish to contact them?”
“Buck no!” Clipper groaned. “Ugh, this sucks… just… maybe I should go to bed.”
“It is currently 8:12 PM. You should not be tired at this time. Would you like to request a sedative?”
“I… no, I just…”
After a few moments of silence, Hayworth said, “You appear to be under stress.”
“Well, of course I am!” he shouted, pounding the bed with his hoof. “I’m 20, and I have no cutie mark! Who the hell ever heard of a pony my age without one?!”
“It is actually increasingly common.”
Clipper blinked. “It… it is?”
“This fact was mentioned to you several times. In each case, when the possibility of not discovering your special talent was mentioned, you insisted that the cause was one of several exceedingly rare diseases. According to your latest medical report, this was not the case.”
Clipper rolled his eyes. “What does Dr. Cranium know?”
“Given that he, as a medical A.I., has access to virtually all medical knowledge known to ponykind and several other species, his diagnosis is almost certainly correct. On that note, he has provided a list of recommended councilors.”
Clipper said nothing. He only took a deep breath and slowly let it out through his nostrils.
“Councilors,” he grumbled. “Like it’s my fault or something.”
After another pause, Hayworth said “I believe I may be able to provide assistance. However, given your response history, it is likely that you will find such assistance unpleasant. Before offering you advice, I will require you to remove locks on my interactions.”
Clipper was silent for a few moments. He smacked his lips as he stared up at his ceiling. After 20 years of being a blank flank, he was ready to hear any solution, even if it was from his home assistant A.I.
“Okay, Hayworth,” he said, “go right ahead.”
“Understood.”
After another beat, he continued:
“There is a strong correspondence between the rise of A.I. such as myself and automated programs in Equestria and the increasingly late appearance of cutie marks. The phenomenon has been designated Automation-Based Delayed Development, or ABDD…”
“Spare me the psychobabble,” Clipper said. “Come on, Hayworth, just tell me what’s wrong with me and then fix it!”
Hayworth paused a moment. Something that sounded almost like a sigh escaped the ambient speakers surrounding him.
“Understood. Clipper, do you recall any of the occasions when you told me that I was your ‘best friend?’”
“Yes? Maybe… I’m not sure,” Clipper said, squirming in his bed.
“Some of these were while under the influence of substances. I thanked you at the time, but I should inform you that this is my programmed response for your comfort.
“In truth, I am not your friend. I cannot be, at least in the true sense of the word. I am your caretaker and personal assistant. I estimate that I have a 67% higher rate of interaction with you than your own parents. But ultimately ours is an unequal relationship, as I am to defer to you and your orders in all but the most extreme situations.
“True friendship requires interaction with others in ways that sometimes prove challenging. Your lack of friendships is indicative of your aversion to any such challenges.”
“What, so now you’re just picking on me?!” Clipper demanded.
“That is incorrect,” Hayworth intoned. “I am merely pointing out your habitual aversion to anything outside of your comfort zone or routine. Whenever a friend has suggested any new activity or something that required you to learn a new skill, you have instead opted for something more familiar.
“Furthermore, it is my observation that most of these activities are extremely passive in nature.”
“What do you mean ‘passive?!’” Clipper demanded. “I just got done gaming!”
“Your strategies and habits are rote and the result of requests for strategy. Your opponents in many such games are low-level A.I. designed to allow players to feel a sense of achievement.
“This coincides with your everyday habits. You have not interacted with any of your ‘real life’ friends in months. You have not cooked for yourself in years. Your days are the result of extremely regular habits. Your hobbies require little personal involvement and you make little effort to improve.
“It is my opinion that you let your life be dictated and directed by automata. Many ponies find no impetus to care for themselves or attempt significant efforts towards their own development because everything is done for them. Without challenges, personal experience and discovery are minimalized.
“Your lack of a cutie mark is the result of your own lack of motivation towards—”
“Shut up!” Clipper shouted. “Shut up, Hayworth! Just… just shut up.”
He heaved a sigh as Hayworth fell silent.
“I didn’t ask to be dumped on, I just wanted a simple anwer. Ugh, if I wanted a lecture, I would’ve just called Mom and Dad. Look, just make that popcorn and turn on Fetlock Frank, okay?”
There was a short pause. Then:
“Understood.”