• Published 21st Feb 2013
  • 9,801 Views, 960 Comments

I.D. - That Indestructible Something - Chatoyance



Gregoria Samson awakens transformed into an Equestrian pony - yet no other human being can perceive her new body in any way. What is the incredible, monumental truth behind her impossible change?

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1. One Morning From Uneasy Dreams

I.D. INJECTOR DOE
That Indestructible Something

By Chatoyance

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1. One Morning From Uneasy Dreams

“As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams

he found himself transformed in his bed into an enormous insect."

- Franz Kafka


Dry, ancient grave-soil fell from the bucket of the Kubota Mini-Excavator. The small team of men and women worked quickly in the early light, the excavation had taken longer than anyone had expected. They had struggled frantically through the dark, night-vision goggles alternately helpful and blinded by the lights from the surrounding cadastral district of Žižkov and the rest of Prague. They had permits, forged, if they were caught, because the quest for permission had failed. Getting caught was not an option, if necessary, they would do whatever they had to. The world was at stake.

He sat in the van, outside the cemetery, his driver ready to take him to safety and escape whatever happened. They would call him when it was done, when it was safe, and only if it was safe. No matter what, they would take photographs, he could still use those, but he wanted to see, with his own eyes. It was risky, but it was his money, and of that, he was almost without peer. If he wanted to see for himself, then he would see.

The dawn was breaking now over the New Jewish Cemetery, forcing the team to remove their increasingly useless goggles. There wasn't much time left. Someone would come, someone would notice. The police might be called. That would be bad. Very bad.

They worked with shovels now, they were near the lid. One of them struck wood, and a frantic effort to clear enough soil without breaking the coffin began. The old wood was damaged by the work, but it lifted with effort. Inside, dressed in simple clothes, a shriveled corpse lay, sunken, closed, leather eyelids exposed to light for the first time in almost ninety years. One of the team spoke briefly on his cellphone as the others took pictures and readings with curious instruments. In the van, outside the cemetery, one word was heard: "Come."

The team moved aside as he approached. He was dressed not in his usual fine suit, but instead in nondescript clothing, jeans and a hoodie top. He wore sneakers, he always wore sneakers, or canvas shoes, never leather, even with the most expensive of clothes. His driver stood with him over the grave. He was tall, and muscular, and clean-shaven, and very blond. He put his hand on the shoulder of his driver as he stared down into the exhumed grave, down at the body that lay in the old coffin.

After a short while, he finally let out his breath, a long stream of vapor in the cold air. His eyes were large with fear and wonder and horror too. That meant it must be true. The team looked down at the moldering corpse, but saw nothing unusual. He, however, clearly saw more.

Just before he left, just before they all fled, in van, on motorcycle, in car, leaving all the equipment behind, he said just one single, quivering statement over Franz Kafka's grave.

"Sweet... Celestia."

──── ∆ ────

Greta was banging on her door, which always angered her, but today she just didn't feel angry. "Hey! Get up! We're going out to have pancakes! I'm HUNGRY, Gorilla! Get your hairy ass up already!"

'Gorilla' was Greta's favorite pet name for Gregoria. She liked it precisely because Gregoria did not, yet today it did not seem so grating. Gregoria found herself chuckling at it, strangely happy that her sister was teasing her. Teasing, after all, meant affection, deep down.

That thought suddenly brought Gregoria Samson to full wakefulness. She never thought things like that. Her little sister was a pest. She had always been a vile, verminous bug. It bothered Gregoria even more that remembering thinking that way made her feel ashamed. It must have been that weird dream.

The dream was already fading, which was sad because it had been such a pleasant one. It was rare to have a happy dream, so Gregoria lay still, trying to cling to it. It had been a pony dream! Yes, a pony dream, she had dreamed of... of what? Running, she had dreamed of running, she was certain of that much, and she remembered talking with... with princess Celestia in her dream, though she couldn't remember about what. It was fading away so fast now. In a moment, the last details were gone, and inside herself Gregoria felt sad, because there had been something wonderful about her dream, and it was gone now.

Gregoria yawned and stretched, what remained of the covers falling off of her. Her bed was a mess, the sheets untucked from the mattress, her pillows scattered to the floor. She didn't remember putting on pajamas - she didn't even own pajamas. She always slept in the nude, yet even with the covers off she...

Her eyes were wide now, her pupils small. She wasn't wearing pajamas, that wasn't what was keeping her skin warm and cozy in the cool morning air. Gregoria stared in horror at her forelimbs, covered now in thick, short, golden yellow hair. The hair lay flat and smooth along her limbs, not the fuzzy fur of a bunny, but the neat, slick coat of a short-haired dog... or a horse. Her hands wouldn't stretch, and with mounting terror Gregoria realized that she could not move her fingers apart. She had no fingers... no, that was not right. She had only one finger, on each hand, the middle finger, which now was gigantic, with a huge and heavy nail at the end.

Gregoria curled her single finger on her right forelimb, and stared at the thick, heavy nail that went nearly all the way around. It was a hoof. Her right arm ended in a hoof, as did her left. Wildly twisting on the bed, raising her nightmarishly long and muscular neck, Gregoria tried to take in her utterly changed body. Everywhere golden yellow hair, except for a small patch between her rear legs, where two flat bumps rested, topped with small nipples. Her chest was flat and tall, her sides narrow. As she struggled, her flowing black tail slapped the bed, and stung the inside of her squirming legs. Her legs were equine legs, and they too ended in hooves.

Her proportions were not natural, they were not the proportions of an earthly creature. She was a living cartoon beast, made of flesh and bone and blood, but there was no question that she was a pony, an Equestrian pony, right out of Friendship Is Magic. Gregoria's heart pounded within her new, oddly shaped chest, as panic began to strip her ability to think.

A dream! She was still dreaming! Of course! This had happened before, it had happened several times before - those awful, awful nightmares where one thinks one is awake and then goes to pee and suddenly really wakes up only to find the bed wet and... oh, this had to be a dream! Absolutely! The thought sent waves of relief flowing through her, and made her laugh out loud. Her voice was high and cartoony, a proper pony character voice, not her own. A dream. She would awake now, that's how it always happened. Realize that it's a dream and wake up. Yeah... any moment now.

Gregoria flopped her limbs down, her ears twitching high on her head at the sound of the impact of her hooves on the mattress. Any moment now. Only a dream. Hee! It was almost cool. She certainly liked My Little Pony, it was fun enough, her friend Rachel had gotten her into it. She wasn't the pony fanatic Rachel was, but it was something they could share.

Any moment now. "GORILLA! OOK-OOK! WAKE UP ALREADY!" Greta was at the door again, pounding as if she were trying to break it down. "Come on, Grilla-willa, get up! We don't get to do this very often!"

That was true. With the economy the way it was, getting to go out for pancakes was a treat. It was hard on her parents, having to deal with two failed launches from the nest - both she and her sister had been forced to return home. They just couldn't afford to live in their own places right now. "In a moment! I'm waking up!" Gregoria had spoken before thinking, the words had just tumbled out, all in that strange, cartoon voice.

"Well hurry up and get dressed! Don't make us wait!" The sound of stomping faded down the hall. Greta hadn't seemed to notice anything wrong. That proved this was a dream! Gregoria's new voice sounded utterly different, kind of like Twilight Sparkle, but really more like Tara Strong trying to be overly cute. It was kind of a silly voice, really. Greta would have noticed and said something, so this had to be a dream.

It was an awfully long and oddly lucid dream. Oh... that must be it. This must be one of those 'lucid dreams' people posted about. Gregoria had always wanted to have a lucid dream, they sounded amazing. Supposedly, lucid dreams were realer-than-real and you could do anything in them just by wishing. Ooh! Excitement built where previously fear had reigned. Gregoria rolled over onto her side, her hooves clocking together loudly, the sensation vibrating the bones of her legs - all four of them. 'Ow, actually', she thought. That wasn't pleasant. OK, then, wish time.

Gregoria closed her eyes and with still pounding heart wished to turn into Arwen from The Lord Of The Rings. She opened her eyes. She wasn't in Rivendell. She was still laying on her side, on her torn-up bed, staring at... her hooves. Her golden-yellow hooves. No. This isn't how it was supposed to work. "I want to be an elf!" She spoke the words out loud, in her odd pony voice. Fear returned, rising like a rocket inside her. "I want to wake up!" She waited. She carefully, gently, tapped her forehooves together three times. "There's no place like waking up!"

Nothing. "I WANT TO WAKE UP NOW!!!" she found herself screaming the words. Her heart leapt against her chest like a caged bird. "WAKE UP! WAKE UP!" Gregoria flailed in her bed. She tried to pinch herself, but flat hoof met foreleg to no effect. She brought a hoof to her head and saw stars for a moment, reeling from pain. Her world was terror now.

"HELP!" Gregoria found herself screaming, helplessly, almost out of her mind. "HELP! HELP ME! MOM! GRETA! DAD! ANYPONY! HELP!"

It seemed like forever until Greta and her mother burst into her room. "What? What's the matter?"

Gregoria was sobbing, crying, as her mother held her, stroking her head. "Mom - I can't wake up! I just can't wake up and I don't know what to do and I need to wake up, oh PLEASE help me wake up!" The tears ran down Gregoria's hairy cheeks and dribbled onto her forelegs, soaking into her coat. She stared, helplessly into her mother's eyes. "Please mom, please help me... oh sweet Celestia, I can't wake up!"

"Gregoria?" Her mother was puzzled and concerned. "What do you mean, dear? What do you mean 'you can't wake up?"

Greta stood by, looking a little scared by her sister's bizarre behavior.

"MOooOOM! Look at me! I can't wake up! Just look at me!" Gregoria pointed a yellow hoof at her flat, pony chest. Her ears lay flat against her skull, she could feel them, and her tail was thrashing because of her fear.

Gregoria's mother stared at her daughter. "I don't understand, Greggie. What, are you in pain? Is there something else wrong? What is it?"

She began hitting her head with her hooves. "WAKE UP! WAKE UP!"

Gregoria felt her forelegs restrained by her mother's hands. "Stop that! What has gotten into you? Everything's OK! I'm right here!" Gregoria was sobbing now, unable to cope, unable to think. "Come on, it's OK, I'm right here. Just relax, you're awake. Shhh... Shhhh...."

It took some time before Gregoria could stop crying. Finally, some shred of reason returned to her. She was still terrified, but she could think. She held up her right hoof. "Mom. What do you see?"

Her mother was startled. "Huh? What do you mean?"

"Look, here." Gregoria waved her hoof in her mother's face. "What is this, what do you see here?"

"I don't know what you're asking!" Her mother released her, and sat more upright on the bed.

"HERE! What is this? Right here?" Gregoria shook her hoof violently, letting her joints wiggle.

Her mother stared, blankly. "...Is it something about your hand? Does your hand hurt?"

"THAT'S NOT MY HAND!" Gregoria pulled back, her mother strange to her now. Why was she pretending everything was normal? Why was she acting this way? "Look at it! Do you see any fingers? Do you?"

Now her mother looked frightened. "Do you want me to call the doctor? Maybe we should have you looked at?" Suddenly, her mother's expression changed "Wait... you're just pulling my leg, right?" The voice was almost pleading. Her mother wanted to believe the question, she wanted to hear that it was all a joke.

Something in Gregoria jumped a gear. Her original fear was replaced with a sudden new terror. She didn't want to have a doctor look at her. Somehow, that was even more frightening than what was happening to her now. Dream, or insanity, or whatever was going on, thoughts of being locked up, experimented on, maybe even cut up for research - these thoughts flooded her mind now. No. No doctors. This was getting out of hand. No doctor could help this, whatever it was.

If it was a dream, then going to the doctor could become an even worse nightmare - she'd had terrible, terrible nightmares about doctors offices before. If she had gone crazy - and the thought was very prominent in her mind now - then what would they likely do? Lock her up, shoot her full of drugs... she might never see daylight again. Get put away, and you might never get out. No... no... this was getting way, way out of hand.

She needed time. Time to think. Time to wake up, time to try to get sane on her own, first. Time to try anything except getting locked away somewhere, alone, apart, afraid. No. This situation needed to be settled down. Everything needed to settle down.

"Ye...yeah!" The cutesy voice came out of her muzzle, so strange to her new ears. "Yeah. Sorry... sorry mom. Sorry sis..." Greta was looking very, very worried, more than mom was. "I... I was having a real muffin of a dream and..." What was she saying? Even her words were odd, not just her voice, but... no doctors. No getting locked up. Not yet, anyway. "I guess I just lost it there for a bit. I'm sorry. I kind of ran with it after that. Kind of a jerky think to do, right?" Gregoria hoped the insincerity and fear in her voice would not be too obvious.

Her mother was dubious, but it was clear she desperately wanted things to be alright. Mom always wanted everything to be right. She was willing to accept Gregoria's words, because she wanted them to be true. "Don't ever pull that again! You had me half-scared you'd lost your mind. That was a mean thing to do, Greggie. Don't think you're too old for a paddling!"

Her mother was up and off the bed. "I guess you really did have a hell of a night. Your bed is a mess." She turned to the door, eager to leave, clearly still nervous from the outburst. "You can clean it up later. Get dressed and get downstairs. Your father is probably furious by now."

Greta stayed a moment longer, after mother had left. "You really pissed her off, Gregoria. That was a fucking stupid thing to do. You had me worried too, you idiot!" Greta stormed out, affecting anger, but Gregoria's new nose smelled fear coming from her sister. It was a very strange thing, to smell fear and know what it meant. "Get dressed, I'm hungry!"

Gregoria sat up in her bed, as best she could. She felt clumsy in her new body, all legs and no arms and everything so strange. Her heart had calmed down, and she was breathing shallowly now. Nothing had changed. She was still a pony, the bed was still a mess, and she could hear her mother and sister downstairs fussing and fuming over the 'rotten trick' she had performed on them. Her mother had held her, touched her, looked at her close up and had not seen anything different at all. Her sister was oblivious. Only she could tell she was a pony.

She wanted to cry. She began to wonder if maybe she should go to the doctor, maybe it was a brain tumor or cancer or that she really had gone completely insane? Gregoria put her weight on her forelegs on the bed. It was all solid, real, unchanging. She felt the pressure on her joints, the tension in her muscles. She felt her yellow coat, and her long, flowing tail. She moved her tongue around inside her longer, flat-toothed muzzle. She snorted with her new nostrils, and a world of impossibly strong scents and smells informed her in ways she had never even considered possible.

No. This was much stranger, far weirder and more dangerous than a brain tumor or going crazy.

This was real. It was utterly impossible, yet every sense, every part of herself told her this... was real.

She wasn't ever going to wake up. She would never-ever-ever just wake up.

Because she already had.