//------------------------------//
// The Machine 
// Story: Second Childhoods 
// by Proud Lutheran 
//------------------------------//

Sugarcube Corner was widely regarded as the most pleasant place in Ponyville.  It was a place where anypony could go and have a good time.  Delectable sweets were guaranteed, courtesy of the Cake couple and Pinkie Pie, and nopony could ever feel unwanted there.  
While Mr. and Mrs. Cake ran the front counter and took orders, Pinkie Pie happily pranced about the kitchen, baking all manner of baked goods for the customers.  As Pinkie waited for a batch of cupcakes to finish, she decided to bake a carrot cake.  She went to the storage unit and grabbed some carrots.  She came back to the kitchen, washed the carrots, then reached for the carrot cleaver.  To her surprise, the carrot cleaver wasn’t on the wall where she kept it.  She began to check the drawers, assuming that she must’ve put it in there by mistake the last time she used it.  It wasn’t there, either.  Before she could check the basement to see if she left it with the pickaxe she used to make rock candy, everypony in Sugarcube Corner heard a blood-curdling scream.  The scream was one not of anger or a childish tantrum, but pure, unadulterated agony.
While everypony else froze in fear, Pinkie dashed out of the building.  Clearly, somepony was having a very bad day and needed to feel better.  Following the sound of the scream, she came out the back way and found its source.  It was a gray unicorn colt.  His hair was red and his eyes were shut from pain.  The colt was on the verge of tears as he clutched the bleeding stump where his left foreleg used to be.  The carrot cleaver lay next to him, covered in blood.  Next to the cleaver was a gray leg.
Pinkie screamed.



Ponyville General Hospital was not very busy most days, and that meant comfort.  While the staff might be bored on an average day, that meant that few, if any, ponies were suffering.  It was most relieving.  That was on an average day, however.  Today, the peacefulness of the waiting room was disrupted by Pinkie Pie bursting through the front doors and screaming bloody murder.  On her back was a bleeding, unconscious colt who was missing a leg.  The nurse at the front immediately called for help, screaming for somepony to get in ASAP and other nurses quickly burst in with a gurney.  They put the colt on the gurney and wheeled him away while simultaneously doing their utmost to stop the bleeding.
Pinkie stood there in the waiting room, covered in blood that was not her own.  Her mane was completely straight and tears were in her eyes.  Was the colt going to be alright?
“Miss?” asked the nurse.  “Do you want to use the shower?”
Pinkie didn’t answer.   She simply stared at the doorway which the nurses went through.
“Would you like to get cleaned up?”
No answer.
“Miss?”
Silence.
For hours, Pinkie stood there.  She didn’t respond to anypony.  She didn’t even move.  The nurse had to resort to cleaning the blood off with a rag while Pinkie stared forward.  The party pony didn’t respond to anything until a doctor came in with the news.
“He’s going be okay.”



Two days.  The colt that Pinkie Pie had rescued had been asleep for two days.  Nurse Redheart recognized that this was on account of the tremendous loss of blood, but she still feared for the child, whom they had dubbed Gray until they could learn his real name.  Pinkie had gone back to her old self, thankfully.  She was planning a Get Well Soon party for Gray and kept coming back to ask if he was awake yet so she could throw the party and cheer him up.  Redheart could only hope that the party could fit in the colt’s room from how much Pinkie talked about it.
The nurse walked to Gray’s room to check on him, but stopped at the door.  Strange, mechanical noises were coming from inside, ones that didn’t belong to the equipment they kept in there to monitor the colt.  She turned the knob, but the door didn’t budge.  Fear slowly crept into her as she pushed against the door.  Fear became determination, however, and Nurse Redheart bucked the door with all the strength she could muster.  Whatever had been barricading the door was pushed aside and the door flew open.  Redheart ran in to see what was going on and gasped.
The room was a mess.  The various machines and equipment had been butchered beyond repair, stripped of their parts.  In the middle of it all, standing on the bed with a smile on his face, was Gray.  Where there should’ve been a bandaged stump, there was now metal.  The metal formed the shape of a leg, but there were claws instead of a hoof.
“Wh-wh-what happened?” Redheart stammered.
Gray lifted his crude artificial limb.  “Beautiful, isn’t it?  Far from my best work, but needs must.”
Redheart didn’t believe what she was hearing.  “Y-you did this?”
“Yes.  I would’ve preferred something more precise for the amputation, but one must work with the tools given to them.”
The nurse had heard many a disturbing thing in her time, but this made her want to throw up.  Gray, a mere child, had cut off his own leg?  “But… why?”
Gray’s smile became a scowl.  “Because flesh is weak!  There is no truth in flesh, only betrayal.  There is no strength in flesh, only weakness.  There is no constancy in flesh, only decay.  There is no certainty in flesh but death.  But the machine?”  He held up his prosthetic.  “The machine is immortal.”