//------------------------------// // Chapter 2: Oh, you poor little thing. // Story: From Biochemistry with Love // by IMN //------------------------------// “So many injuries, so little time.” Who said that? Wait, I must be waking up. Odd, I should be in more pain than this. Looking to my sides, I peered a cask on one of my hooves, and a fusion in the other. Guess I was treated while being unconscious, that’s good. “Ah, you’re awake,” the voice sounded, I turned my head toward it only to be blinded by a strong light. I grumbled in irritation, whomever was talking immediately took the light away, “Apologies for that champ, needed to see your reflexes, which seem fine to me.” Am I in the presence of someone from the medical field? I can’t tell, the light left a lot of shadows in my vision, “No, it’s fine,” I said while standing up. “Oh, you can speak!” the medic exclaimed. Is that something truly surprising? I guess I should have expected it; I mean, I am still a talking black, carnivorous, chitin covered war horse apparently; even I’d be surprised if I can talk as well. “That would make things much easier,” he resumed. However, I should be surprised by the fact that he didn’t send me to the dissection table yet, I mean it’s not every day a talking wing horse appeared out of nowhere; unless he is a UFO cultist, veterinarian, person that will worship me; but I don’t want to be worshiped, I want to prove something to be scientifically valid. … What the hell am I thinking? Most likely I am still hallucinating, and everything will be cleared the moment I get my vision back together. I addressed the healer, “Thank you for the treatment,” Not good, trying to stand shouldn't be this hard, what the hell happened for me to feel so weak? “Might I ask your … name…?” What on earth, heaven, and hell is happening here? “You can call me doctor Loveheart, mister purple changeling,” the talking horse spoke with a Scottish accent, not that I can distinguish, I’m not even an English speaker myself. “Uhhhhh,” I think being aghast is an appropriate response in this situation; anyone would brain freeze in my situation, would they? “Looks like you know the medical drill too, how fortunate!” He cheered as he grabbed a spatula with his mouth then placed it in mine. Shifting the light on his head, he focused on my mouth, “No signs of blood or trauma in there, mouth and upper respiratory system are fully functional,” returning the spatula to his coat, he took out he stethoscope and placed it on my heart,"Lets check the old drumroll shall we?" That... was impossible, “How did you do that?” I need to know. “How do I do what?” “Grab things with your hoof,” I mean it’s just not physically possible to use a hoof in such a manner, neither the bone structure of the hoof nor the friction of fur can replace the fully evolved hand with opposable thumbs. “Oh that?” he gave me a hearty laugh, “You just grab it like this,” he lifted the stethoscope and rotated it his grip for me to fully explore it’s functioning. Fascinating to say the least. No matter how I look at it, it is still impossible for the stethoscope to be held like that. Yet it is held there with the same firmness of a hand grip. I stretch my hand, hoof instinctively, but a sharp pain stopped it near my chest. The doctor shook his head, “You were already injured enough as it is, whatever possessed you to throw a bed over it?” “I thought I was under a hallucinogen,” well, no need to hide the truth is there? “I gave you a few pain relievers, but nothing that strong, could it be that they did not mix well with your anatomy?” The doctor muse brought something to my attention, “perhaps I should revise your medication.” “I highly doubt that normal medication would cause such severe adverse effect doctor,” I stated blandly, “I simply overreacted to an unfamiliar situation, nothing major.” “You overreacted by smashing your hoof with a bed?” The doctor deadpanned. Okay, that definitely wasn't my brightest plan, “What are you? A masochist?” I gave the good doctor a nervous laugh, “No,” I answered with a headshake, “No, just randomly prone to do the extremes,” the doctor shared my chuckles. I decided to pressure him on the notion I picked up on, “Though, if I may ask, what do you mean ‘did not mix well with my anatomy? Have you ever treated one of my kind before?” “Oh, I have,” his reply was self-assured enough, “It’s just that, I... never really treated your type before,” why the sudden apprehension though? “All the other changelings had bluish carapace, with blue to green eyes, they were smaller though not by much, and they had a different set of wings and a different horn, nothing like yours… before they broke.” Hm, well I think I kinda figured out that my wings and horn were broken, though that confirmed it, I have wings and a horn, not sure what to make of that. “So this variety you described, does it represent the majority of the changeling population that lives here?” “No,” huh, the doctor seems to be fidgeting a lot, wonder what’s putting him on edge, “Actually they are the majority of changeling that invaded this city not three days ago,” Okay, this has just complicated things further than expected, “And all the changelings I treated are actually prisoners from this invasion,” That makes sense, “And unfortunately, you are one of them.” I am what now? “I fear they are going to take you back to the dungeon after this checkup.” Bummer. “Won’t there be amnesty to someone who lost his memory?” I asked sheepishly. “Really?” The doctor looked surprised at first, but then he changed into a more sympathetic gaze, “I should expect no less, since you were found smashed head first into one of the city’s walls.” Wow, how is that even possible? “I fear you just have to make your case when your trial comes in,” the doctor continued. A trial huh, I never trusted the judiciary system before, although it’s not like it had failed me or not, but it had always been a gut feeling; I definitely need to probe the doctor for more information on the matter. “So how many trials have the system conducted since the invasion began?” “Oh tons, after we defeated your queen with the might of our captain of the royal guard and the love princess, a lot of the changelings were captured alive trying to scurry through the mega spell of their love. No offence.” … Okay, he mentioned captain of the royal guard and a princess, so I am most likely in a monarchy system where apparently the princess defeated the invasion with a love spell? That also means that the invasion is over and they are cleaning up afterward. “None taken, though it must have been hard on the local changelings to be forced into choosing sides between their invading brethren and the local populace.” “What local changeling?” the doctor added bombastically, “For most of our history we didn’t know the changelings even existed, but we showed those little buggers what true Equestrian might looks like.” Let’s see, the lack of local changelings indicates a lack of perspective, which means those who will trial me lack the requirements of empathy; in other words, I won’t be able to appeal to their emotions for long, I’ll have to rely on logic this time. From his boasting, and the lack of personal impute, I can tell that he is echoing the mood of his people, which from the looks of it, isn’t on my side. If I am going to take everything I have learned from this short conversation, I should conclude that the trial I am facing will most likely be a mock trial, biased, and probably breaks every international law there is; in other words, I am most likely to receive the same judgment as the rest of my kin. “So I’m guessing that a lot of the mines are now filled with workers, huh?” “More like unmarked graves on the outskirt of Canterlot,” the doctor jested with a broad smile that immediately vanished the moment he saw my expression, “Is something the matter?” he asked out of concern, immediately putting his hoof on my head to gauge my temperature. Only one thought kept running through my head, I should not overreact; if I am to get out of this alive, I should remain calm and assess my situation correctly. And to do that I must absolutely, imperatively, NOT overreact.