Reluctantly, and not without the convincing of a couple of earth pony orderlies, Handy eventually relented. It was an uncomfortable experience and not one he would be fond of remembering. It was not often doctors got to study an entirely new physiology, but as soon as the bare minimum was achieved, Handy gathered up his belongings—ghetto belt, ghetto shoe, regular shoe, tattered shirt, hoodie and jeans, his wallet which he forgot existed, and his phone which he was amazed was still a shiny expensive brick that turned on—and made to get out of there, but not before they had drained a pint of his blood for future reference and testing. ‘Like they know what human baseline is anyway,’ Handy thought bitterly. It was not that he hated needles—he just made it a rule in life to never let sharp metal objects come near his person unless he was personally using them himself. Comprehension dawned on him. ’Fuck, as far as these ponies know, I am human baseline. I wonder what they’ll think of the high iron content.’