//------------------------------// // Chapter 8 // Story: Dominator // by totallynotabrony //------------------------------// Author note: Here is a link to more art. This one is kind of a sequel to the picture from last chapter. Even if the flow was less than before, blood still dribbled from Redheart’s neck. A pony could lose about ten percent of their blood with few effects. That was the amount usually donated at blood drives. The spleen held some in reserve, but anypony who lost about twenty percent would feel weak. As more and more bled out, the pony would eventually lose consciousness. Death occurred after a loss of about forty percent. Redheart managed to raise her head from the floor and look around. It was hard to say how much of her blood had ended up everywhere. Even a cupful looked like a lot when it was spread all over. However, there was also the drain in the center of the floor that the crimson puddle was slowly disappearing into. Figuring out exactly how much she'd lost would be difficult, but it was clear that needed help. Operating on the same plan as before—deep breaths, slow heartbeat—Redheart carefully pulled herself up. Her legs were wobbly, and it was hard to move without falling. The painful dislocated fetlock did not help. The room was full of equipment, some familiar, some not. Redheart opened an icebox and somehow the sight of what was inside forced a smile onto her face. It was blood. She located her correct type and found an intravenous needle in a nearby sterile package. Her hooves were begining to shake as she connected the blood bag’s tubing to the needle and carefully tried to find the vein in her right foreleg. The involuntary tremble made her miss the first few times. While it was nothing compared to the mess on her neck, the red stain blooming on her coat from the errant needle looked horrid. The IV finally found the correct placement. Without bothering to properly use tape, Redheart put the bag’s hanger in her mouth and stretched her leg low to let gravity do the work. She lay back against the wall, feeling drained. Redheart rolled her eyes at the terrible pun. Despite her fatigue, she raised her other hoof and gently put pressure on the bag to help the flow. With no restriction on the tubing, the transfusion was complete in minutes. Redheart’s neck was still bleeding, and she went looking for another unit of blood. When removing it from the icebox, she also took a piece of ice from the freezer section and held it against her wound. It would help constrict the area and stop some of the blood flow. By the time another unit of blood had disappeared into her leg, Redheart was beginning to feel better. She was still weak, anypony would have been after trauma like that, but was confident that her life wasn’t in danger from blood loss. She found gauze, fluffy cotton, and a sterile rag to tie around her neck to staunch the residual leak. The makeshift bandage would have to do. There was a sink attached to the wall where she cleaned her white coat as well as she could. Redheart examined her blue eyes in the mirror, wondering if blood loss cut down on the bloodshot look. The mess on the floor would take a while to clean up, and Redheart decided that it wasn’t her problem. She wanted to leave as soon as possible. Her sweatshirt was nearby, having been dropped in an unceremonious pile. The necklace Rapier had given her was with it. Redheart put both of them on. Before leaving the room, she picked up a new scalpel to carry with her, as the one that had been in her pocket seemed to have gone missing. She limped down the hallway, locating the building’s front door. There were a few splintered pieces of the door frame on the floor, as if it had been knocked open violently. Had Dominator done that? Redheart went out the door, finding herself on the street outside the safe house. It had not been very safe at all. Rapier came dashing up. “Where have you been? Why couldn’t I sense the necklace?” She gestured to the building. “I was in there.” The stallion frowned. “Maybe there was some kind of magic-canceling going on. The device we gave you wasn’t one of the more sophisticated pieces.” Redheart felt somehow slighted that she hadn’t received the best, but Rapier didn’t owe it to her in the first place. He looked at her. “Is everything all right?” “No. There are so many things wrong right now that it might take a while to explain them all.” + The train ride seemed rougher than it normally was. Redheart attributed it to being more sensitive than usual. She’d managed to correct her fetlock, although it would be swollen and painful for a while. Her head still carried a residual ache from when she’d been hit outside the safe house, and again when she’d fallen to the floor after untying herself. She wore the hood of her sweatshirt up. It helped hide the improvised bandage around her neck. It limited her vision to the sides a little, but at the moment that was less of an issue. Rapier sat next to her. He’d contacted somepony else from the Royal Guard and gotten clearance to escort her back to Ponyville. The Guard—and probably quite a few others—were busy looking for Caricature. “You’re probably in less danger now,” explained Rapier. “If Caricature is on the run, he’ll have bigger problems to worry about than you. If we’re lucky, he’ll think you’re dead. Maybe we can set you up with witness protection.” “I guess I would be okay with that, but he always seemed to be able to find what he was looking for. How do we know I’m actually safe?” The stallion thought for a moment. “My guess is that his network of ponies like you were all set up to spy on each other. I don’t want to say that for certainty, but now that Caricature is gone he won’t have that help anymore. Still, we’ll keep you under wraps for a while. Redheart thought about her job at the hospital. “I have some sick time saved up, but that won’t work if I’m supposed to play dead.” Rapier nodded. “Speaking of, tell me again how you aren’t dead.” The nurse recounted the story once more. It was the front door bursting open that scared away Caricature. Apparently, he was afraid that it was Dominator. “But if that’s true, then why isn’t he dead?” she asked. “I thought Dominator was the ultimate weapon.” “You needed help,” said Rapier. “Those few seconds are probably why he got away.” “Are you saying Dominator is compassionate?” she asked. Rapier shrugged. “I still don’t know what it is, and even if I did, I probably couldn’t tell you. Didn’t you say that not even Caricature knew? What about his boss?” Redheart nodded. “I think I need to talk to her, if nothing else, to formally end my employment.” “Are you sure? Aside from what happened earlier today, you are pretty good at this.” She almost smiled. “I’ll think about it. No promises.”