Kill The Lights

Chapters

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven

Chapter One

Waking up was a tradition that Swallow had come to despise.

It wasn’t necessarily because of the fact that she never wanted to. In her life, she hadn’t known anyone who found any sort of joy in the act of awakening themselves. Then again, who had? It’s an instinct necessity to sleep, to rest the mind after another insufferable day of hard work that the body doesn’t even appreciate. However no one really cares for that either. The younger the individual, the less the mind wants to rest. The older, though, the more that rest is required. It’s a rule, an obligation, among everyone who has ever existed. Fortunately, it’s taken for granted.

Sleep. Just your regular, everyday inconvenience. A way to buy time, stall, let your life pass you like a brief meeting with a stranger. Spending most of your life in a semi-conscious stupor is the norm. In fact, the average individual spends around a third of their life flicking the imaginary lightswitch in their mind to “off”.

No one ever seems to dwell on that fact though. That one unimaginable idea. The reason why illness’ are not cured. Why wars continue to rage. Why hatred and envy run free among every single individual who partakes in it. It’s just a single fact. Uncared for. Unnecessary. One of the many actualities in life that intellectuals like to boast about knowing. Not that anyone listens anyways.

Swallow was by no means a philosophical mare, but her family was. She had been told about sleep's sinful ways, yet she continued to struggle for those few extra seconds of slumber in the mornings. It was pitiful, in the eyes of others. To her, it was nothing more than an everyday act that accompanies both her personality and natural instincts.

Swallow let out a stifled groan. She drifted into consciousness reluctantly. She didn’t dare open her eyes. She knew something was off the moment her leg rubbed against a slightly scratchy surface, one that was not accustomed to her normal bed at home. This only prompted her to close her eyes tighter, harder. She didn’t dare open them. She didn’t even want to think about it.

Unfortunately, curiosity overruled her deepest wishes. Like always.

The moment she realized that she was lying on her left side--which honestly took her way too long to realize--she attempted to let her right eye survey her surroundings, which she almost instantly regretted. She had barely gotten a good look of anything when lights swirled her brain, burning her eye and shrinking it to minuscule proportions. This only prompted another loud, sleepy groan and a kick of her legs in a vain attempt to bury herself back into her pillow. Unfortunately, now all she saw were bright circles inside of her eyelids, popping and shining like stray fireworks.

As much as she wanted to go back to sleep, and let her inner childish curiosity die, there was no way that was going to happen now. Her mind was awake, eagerly egging her limp body up and out of bed. She had no choice but to listen. She lifted up her head, eyes still closed, and shook her head vigorously, putting the old phrase “shaking yourself awake” to good use. When she shook her mane, it almost looked like somepony was twirling pizza dough. She ignored the stinging pain in her eyes, and forced herself to endure it for just a few moments until they adjusted.

With caution, Swallow held her head in her hooves, letting the light slowly filter in through the cracks. In only a few mere moments, her irritated eyes began to calm, and she mustered the courage to look up.

The room was plastered in a deep maroon, reminding Swallow of the color of a freshly picked apple. It was a calming color, one that suggests peace and royalty, even though she knew nothing about either of them. It immediately attracted her attention, for some reason. There were swirls--floral, flexible swirls--placed on the wall, and the similarly patterned bedspread. Upon taking one look upon that simple color, she knew three things. The first was that she had definately not spent last night at her house, back in the shady little town of Stableside. The second being that she was horrendously hungry. The third being that, for some strange reason, she felt the tiniest hint of pride rise up inside her.

That subsided almost instantly, however.

There was a diamond shaped chandelier that hung from the ceiling, like a fragile toy suspended upon a child’s crib. Dozens upon dozens of tiny crystals adorned it, only adding to the dazzling effect that it had on the room. It hung daintily above the edge of the bed.

On the right side of the room was a large dresser, made of what she assumed was most likely mahogany. There were six drawers: two columns of three. On top of it lay multiple fancy vases, candles, and a few other things Swallow didn’t really care to take note of. She never found dressers very exciting anyways. She prefered actual closets.

There were two doors. One was large and gray, made of steel, and resided on the left side of the room. Directly in front of her was another door, this one made of some kind of material Swallow didn’t recognize, that lead to the restroom. The door itself was already half open.

“Where…?” Swallow muttered, however her voice sounded like she had gargled sand. She brought a hoof to her mouth. She looked to her immediate right, then left, before she spotted a small nightstand. For some kind of strange reason, the only thing on it was--you guessed it--a shimmering glass of water. Swallow, in another fit of gluttony, didn’t stop to question it, and gulped the water down greedily.

In fact, it only took two before she tossed the empty glass back on the nightstand.

Swallow was awake, now. She wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. Sluggishly, she squirmed out of the exceptionally large bed, resulting in her doing a full roll and a half before she finally reached the edge.

As soon as her hooves hit the soft carpet, the question that should have been plaguing her from the moment she had awoke haunted her.

Where was she?

“Hello?” she called out. The room was by no means ominous, it was comfortable if anything, but Swallow couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of dread in her chest. A lump was rising in her throat, as if it was begging for more water. Swallow flicked her ears and tried again. “Is anyone else here?”

She fluttered her wings and bit her lip, letting out a nervous moan. She wasn’t quite sure what to do. Waking up somewhere new wasn’t a change of pace for her. However, the fact that she couldn’t recall how she got there was what troubled her. She tried to remember exactly what had happened the night previous, but drew a nasty blank.

Perhaps she had stumbled in here by accident. Swallow never liked to stay in one place for too long simply due to the lone fact that she can’t stand it. But that’s irrelevant now. However, if she would have crashed here for the night, wouldn’t she remember entering, or talking to somepony about it first? Everything in the room looked fairly expensive and irreplaceable, should something happen.

Cautiously, she trudged forward, erratically looking around the room as if she was a child walking through a hall of mirrors. Not knowing what else to do, she turned to the large, steel door. She put a light blue hoof to it. It felt cold, like touching ice water. With a large grunt, she pulled the door handle.

It didn’t budge.

Her naturally wide green eyes, like fields of grass, dropped for a single moment. “Locked? How…? Then how did I get in here last night?” she asked herself. Swallow had a very silly habit of talking to herself. The change in scenery didn’t put a stop to that. It was a good question, nonetheless. If she came in here during the night, who locked the door from the outside, and why?

Swallow sighed, and shivered, and practically jumped when she had noticed something.

There was a timer right above her bed, shining red numbers as they ticked upwards. It was so impossibly large, it’s length was the same as the width of the bed. Swallow watched in awe for a moment. She had no idea when it had started, but the timer was now at three minutes and forty-four seconds.

Did it start keeping time when she woke up?

Swallow looked away. It probably wasn’t important. She didn’t care, or want to know. She kept her fear at bay, and strode towards the bathroom.

The bathroom was exemplary. The surface of everything gleamed white: the toilet, the sink, the jacuzzi-style bathtub. It was as if it had recently been cleaned from head to hoof. Her eyes practically bulged with wonder. She’s seen bathrooms look like this in commercials, or futuristic movies, even. This in itself was impressive. For a moment, she feared if she made one wrong step, she might have went sliding across the floor.

She did a double take as she noticed something on the mirror, right above the sink. There was a note plastered there, with hardly legible hoofwriting on it.

Smile! You’re being watched!

-E

It had took a few agonizing seconds before Swallow had managed to decipher the hoofwriting, and when she did she wasn’t pleased. A chill went down her spine, and she impulsively looked up towards the ceiling for any sort of recording device. The four corners of the bathroom were empty, which only brought up the question whether or not the note was bluffing. She clenched her jaw, and tore the note off the mirror in one quick motion. She crumpled it with a single hoof, and tossed it in the direction of the trash bin eight feet away. She missed.

“‘E’?” she muttered. She searched through the imaginary filing cabinet in her brain, only to come up empty. “Why would they lock me in here…?”

Swallow wasn’t sure to be scared, peeved, or hungry. She romped back into the bedroom. The timer was now at seven minutes and twelve seconds, and counting. She meandered over to the dresser and thrust open the first drawer.

This was where she found all of her things. Fortunately for her, “all her things” only refers to her backpack. It was a dark green, like that of mint, with a silver crescent on the front. Not wasting any time, she opened it up.

“Everything seems to be here,” she said. She may have woken up in a strange place, but at least she wasn’t robbed. She closed her backpack and shut the drawer, of course, making sure to check the other five. They were empty. She was about to walk away, back to the bed, when her eyes locked upon a small picture frame.

Actually, it was multiple.

They were all pictures… of her. There was a picture of Swallow as a filly, on a school fieldtrip to the Royal Castle. There was another of her with her parents, smiling and laughing as they all built a sand castle on the beach near her childhood home. She remembered the day vividly, the ocean crashing along and attacking the sand castle like it was a rushing bull. Swallow was too young to comprehend, and spent the rest of the trip sobbing. It was a shame. She had been so proud of it, even though it was slightly lame looking.

Her family. The thought of them swung through her mind, as if it were a daring trapeze act. There one second, in her mind, gone the next. She didn’t want to think about them, not at a time like this. It would only cause her to become upset again. She had spent enough nights angry. Frustratingly angry.

Eating.

They were good memories. Fun, lovable memories that every child longs for. But she still felt the lead inside of her belly every time she thought about them. They were probably off somewhere, in a big city, having the time of their lives. And here she was, trying to answer the same question for herself.

All of the pictures followed this same pattern: all pictures of her as a kid. Swallow felt like retching. She didn’t need to ask out loud. The question reigned supreme in her mind. What was going on here?

Swallow didn’t have any time to think before a loud voice materialized out of nowhere. It was aggravating and noisy, as if it was coming from a loudspeaker. If there was one, then they did a good job of hiding it. Swallow, for the life of her, could not seem to tell where it was coming from exactly. If there was a God, higher in command that Celestia and Luna, then that was her first thought of who could be speaking.

“Hello, testing? One, two, three?” Swallow tensed up, her spine locking in its place. Her wide eyes grew even bigger, even though it sounded unlikely. It was a male, a stallion. That much she could tell. His voice was low and gravelly. Swallow was reminded of the wheels of a carriage rolling over a pebble trail. It reeked of despair. His voice was airy, but somehow the loudspeaker didn’t blur his words. She could smell his sulfury breathe from where she stood. She unnoticingly wrinkled her nose, and gave her tail a sharp flick.

“Hello? Who are you? What’s going on here!” she shouted. Every word she spoke became sweeter, as time moved. Perhaps, if she remained a good girl, she would receive some answers. Unfortunately, the voice didn’t seem to acknowledge her plea, and the indiscreet desperation inside of it.

“Seems to be working, alrighty then." He spoke slowly. His upbeat word choice didn’t match at all with his malevolent demeanor. “Welcome, to all of you who are listening. My name is E, but you can call me what you feel would be necessary. Don’t worry, I don’t mind.”

Swallow’s ears drooped. A few words came to mind, but she didn’t feel the need to say them out loud. It wasn’t like he could hear her, anyways. Swallow thought to herself, if she was standing face to face with this “E”, if she would still say the words on her mind. Probably not.

“Seeing as all of you are awake, we can let the fun begin.” She cocked an eyebrow at this. She had a bad feeling. “I’d like you all to make yourself at home. This room is yours to sleep in. In case you haven’t noticed, all of your belongings reside inside of your respective dressers. I’m sure most of you already figured that out, though. I guess that’s a good thing, too.” Swallow felt her blood pressure beginning to rise. She bit on her tongue. It was getting harder, ignoring her belly’s subtle begging for sustenance. Maybe she had some food in her backpack that she may have missed. She’ll check in a minute.

“This, in case you haven’t figured out, is my mansion. Everything that occupies my house is priceless, and the best that one could afford. I hope you all had a good rest, because you will not get to sleep again.” Swallow digested that for a moment, and came up entirely confused. She didn’t have time to ask a question. For one, she wouldn’t even know how to phrase it. “Yes, you heard me right. You see, living in this mansion has made me lonely, over the many years. I took it upon myself to create my own sort of...entertainment, and after nine long years, it’s finally time.” The pause after the word “entertainment” crept up Swallow’s back. Nervously, she flattened her mane with a hoof.

“Call it what you may, but I have devised a little game for you all.” Swallow didn’t like the sound of that. Not at all. In fact, her legs felt like they would buckle at any moment. Like they were made of thin twigs, breaking under the pressure, the weight of it all. “There are seven players in my game. You. You, you, you," he repeated. “Each of you are in a… different bedroom. Don’t worry, they’re all the same. Please don’t fight because of such a silly thing. Besides, I’ll open your room doors momentarily, then it’s fair game.”

Swallow felt that her intelligence was being heavily bombarded. His voice was a similar experience as to somepony slowly dragging a dagger acrossed a chalkboard. “The game is simple, one that I’m sure you’ve played several times in your meager lives. It’s a competition, you see.”

Swallow opened her dry mouth. “W-What kind of competition?” she asked. The question was directed more to herself, than E.

“The goal is unmistakably easy. Whoever stays awake the longest, wins a fabulous prize.” There was a long pause, purposefully letting the eloquent silence rage on. “Their lives.”

Her heart dropped entirely, her jaw following soon after. What? What did he say? Who would have the audacity to play such a sick joke? Who would seemingly kidnap her for something like this? Whatever this game was, she wasn’t competing. That was the end of that. The rare, optimistic side of her hoped and prayed that she was on some kind of new reality show. The pessimistic side stomped that idea flat.

“This is not a joke," droned E. Swallow tried to gulp. “It’s my own version of a game. A way to bide my time, if you will. But that doesn’t matter. You see, I’ve rigged up my mansion in a very specific way. You see the timer? The one over your beds?”

Swallow subconsciously nodded, and turned back to the timer itself. It now read 11 minutes, 34 seconds. “That is how long you have been awake. It will keep ticking until you fall asleep. Speaking of which, sleeping is something that I really don’t recommend. You see, I kind of did my research. As we speak, there is a magical gas called Neurosomn--my own creation--being filtered inside each and every crevice of the house. In fact, it’s already inside of you.”

Suddenly, very suddenly, Swallow felt like choking on air. Or the “gas” itself. Either way, she could feel her throat tighten painfully. She needed water, but was too afraid to move. She’d better just listen to E, for now, or risk missing something important. “The gas is designed for one thing and one thing only: to kill you. But only when certain conditions are met. When the body relaxes, even for a split second, the toxin will take it’s course. Entering your blood, your brain, your heart.” He clicked his tongue, awkwardly, seven times. “It basically means what I said: do not fall asleep.”

Swallow was having trouble comprehending. She… she was being threatened? She could get killed? She could die today? She didn’t want to die, but this “E” character was saying that that was a possibility. All she had to do was stay awake, and the poison wouldn’t end up killing her. If she falls asleep for even a moment, she will not wake up. Swallow wanted to vomit, unfortunately her empty stomach wouldn’t produce much anyways.

“The last pony, awake and alive, walks free. I will open the locked front doors, and you can go home. But that can only happen if the other six have fallen asleep. But that’s just a technicality. Go crazy, and have fun. I’ll be checking in every few hours to monitor your progress, as I’m always watching.”

There was a long silence, before the steel door beside Swallow buzzed. It opened, and was now cracked a bit. E took to the microphone one last time, as Swallow looked up reluctantly.

“Who needs sleep anyways, right?”

Swallow didn’t want to go out that door.

She really didn’t. Who knew what lied beyond? It’ll only answer questions, and she wasn’t ready for that yet. She didn’t want questions answered. She wanted to go back into her own little world again, crawl back into bed, forget this all happened. She wanted to go back to sleep.

But she was afraid. She couldn’t go back to sleep. Not afraid what E said, be it true or not. She wasn’t going to risk her life on the hunch that this stallion was bluffing. Why would he? He kidnapped her, after all.

Heaving a shaking sigh, she wandered out of the room.

Upon leaving her bedroom, she found herself in some kind of foyer. The large room was practically an octagon, with a single door on seven sides, and the final one bearing a small hallway that lead somewhere Swallow couldn’t tell from her position. Her door was right next to it. Each door bore some kind of writing, but to her, they were just scribbles. There was a timer above it all, each and every door. Upon turning to look at her own, she saw the numbers ticking upwards, as well as her name in big, blocky letters. 16 minutes, 2 seconds.

The walls were the color of fresh oak, though it was obvious that it was some kind of stone. Though, the floors were indeed wooden. There was a patterned rug with eight sides, matching the dimensions of the room perfectly. Beautifully symmetrical… if Swallow could remember the mathematical term correctly. It wasn’t her forte.

There was a large chandelier hanging from the sky-high ceiling, very similar to the one in Swallow’s own room. This one, however, was absolutely massive. From Swallow’s position, it looked like someone could live in it.

One by one, Swallow watched as the six other doors opened. Some slowly, cautiously. Others a little more eagerly. One more brashly, slamming the door open as if the pony was entering her own bathroom. Swallow did not like the innocent look on most of their faces. She didn’t like anything at all. She felt like crying, letting a few tears drop onto the cold wood below her.

Seven ponies.

Seven ponies stood in front of their bedroom doors--bewildered and confused. They were all looking around, taking in their surroundings, answering questions that weren’t even there. They watched each other. Waiting. Shifting. Waiting for somepony to speak up, even though there was no way Swallow would be able to hear from this distance no matter who spoke. Her ears were ringing too much. Her heartbeat was quickening, and she didn’t know why.

Just what had she gotten herself into now?

Chapter Two

By no means was Alloy okay with this.

He was not okay with the rapid thumping of his chest. He was not okay with the fact that his body was wildly shivering in anticipation. He was not okay with what the mysterious voice had told him over some kind of hidden PA system. He was not okay with this situation, with the others. He was not okay with being eyed up by these six ponies.

No. It simply would not do.

In the octangular room, the ponies simply stared. Nopony knew what to do, like they were glued to that same spot in front of their door. Alloy found himself doing the same. Not that he’d ever admit it, but it was due to fear. Alloy grunted to himself softly, and brought up a charcoal colored hoof to realign his thick-framed glasses.

He needed to do something. He knew that much. This situation was serious. He heard the announcement, the truth behind E’s malignant voice. He could sense the gas in the air as soon as he’d woken up. He had a knack for sensing as such. Most certainly, only he knew the extent of E’s threats. He needed to step up, stop asking himself questions and try to get to the bottom of this before things got worse. He could see the unamusement on some of the ponies’ faces, like they were about to mutter a “whatever”, and wander back into their rooms for a nap. They could have interpreted this as some kind of joke.

No. He couldn’t allow that. The gas was real. The situation was real. The voice was real. There were no doubts in his mind. Even still, he couldn’t answer everything. Who was this “E”? Why were they, of all ponies, chosen for this disturbed game? Where in the world were they exactly? He needed to reach out. He needed to share what he had already figured out.

But his hooves remained still.

Why? Why couldn’t he move? His brain was playing some kind of sick joke, urging him to stay put. It was purely psychological, his fear, but it just wouldn’t go away. It knocked on his head like a woodpecker, pounding away without remorse. The things he had already seen inside of his room scared him senseless enough. All of this beloved things inside of that dresser? The photos on top of the dresser itself? He stared at the pictures for way too long, especially the one where he was holding up a blue ribbon, and pointing at his clay volcano science project that had won him the National Equestrian Science Fair. He even wore a silly labcoat he had bought out of a magazine the week before, and some safety glasses. His classmates were patting him on the back appreciatively, smiling proudly. He never forgot that wonderful day.

There was only one copy of that picture, and it was sitting in his room previous to this.

Alloy had knowingly spent two hours staring at the picture, leading him to believe that--of the seven of them--he was the first one to have awaken. A quick check of the other ponies timers confirmed this.

2 hours, 12 minutes, 17 seconds.

Either way, Alloy was completely freaked out. Frightened, in fact. It kept him from moving, speaking. Alloy grit his teeth…

...and watched with disdain when he realized that he had missed his opportunity. The moment his mind gave him a green light, a small stallion had already begun to make his way towards the center of the room. Surprisingly enough, he had a boisterous smile on his face, as if this entire situation was something to be excited about. Alloy was already annoyed, and puffed out his chest, thoroughly frustrated.

The stallion was a sky blue, and appeared to be extremely young. In fact, he looked like he was just barely old enough to have moved out of his parents house. He had a small spring in his step that only infuriated Alloy more. His mane was two shades: a royal blue and lavender, and it hung down, wet looking and clinging to the side of his neck. He batted his wings as he trotted, like a child.

An unknowing, carefree child.

The six other ponies looked left and right, before cautiously following the young stallion’s example, walking into the middle of the octagon in a straight line. It took a few ponies, like Alloy, a while to actually reach the middle. He was taking one sweet step at a time, racing his mind, thinking about just what to say. How to explain what he knows. Others, like a wild-maned white unicorn mare, reached the middle without much worry, and wasting little time.

The young stallion didn’t even wait for the rest of the ponies to join him before he opened his impatient mouth. “So… some kind of party, huh?” he joked. The moment the stallion spoke, Alloy knew that the stallion was even younger than he had thought. He appeared to be a teenager. He was at least a head shorter than everypony else, with the tallest being an older pegasus stallion with a grumpy look on his face.

Unsurprisingly, everypony chose to ignore him. Alloy noticed him blush. A feeble looking pegasus gave everypony a shy wave.

“Am I the only one wondering just what the Hell is going on here?” said the wild-maned mare, loudly. Her mane was two different colors, and frankly, she looked like a punk. Black and orange, the colors of Nightmare Night. She bore at least three black earrings on each ear, and a freakishly menacing sneer. Alloy noticed that the mare’s eyes were the same color as his: a stunning light blue. Alloy wouldn’t be surprised if the mare was into loud music, tattoos, and being thrown in jail. It honestly took Alloy a second to realize that she had two drumsticks tied into the back of her mane, creating an “X”, like it was a giant wooden bow.

“‘Course not,” said a sunflower colored stallion. He had an increasingly obvious southern drawl. “Surely were not all that dense.” His colorless mane hung limply. The stallion was bulky, and caked with a thin layer of sweat. Alloy wasn’t sure if he was glaring, or if he was just groggy. Looking at the timer behind him, the stallion was the last one to awaken. 6 minutes, 31 seconds--and still counting.

“This is so messed up,” said the frail mare with wide green eyes. “This has to be some kind of joke, right? Some kind of new reality show or something?”

Alloy found himself shaking his head.

“When I find out who this ‘E’ guy is… I’ll make it my mission to make sure that he’s taken into the authorities. This isn’t legal in the slightest,” said the grumpy looking stallion. He was a dull reddish-yellow, the same color one would see when someone left an orange out in the sun too long. He was old, at least within retiring age, and had a perfectly chopped brown mane. Alloy wasn’t sure, but he seemed a little familiar. The stallion radiated authority, and his face became increasingly stoic the more Alloy looked at him. His loud voice echoed. Alloy assumed that he was some kind of officer.

The Punk made a stupid face, giving a toothy smile similar to that of the mentally disabled. “No, really? I don’t know about you, but I get kidnapped and threatened with death every other damn week.”

While this was going on, the only pony to have not spoken--besides Alloy--was emerging from behind the yellow stallion. She had a coat the color of lilies, and a mane and tail the color of mud. They were sleek, and delicate, like it would take to the skies at any moment. Her slanted brown eyes appeared unworried, and her eyes shifted from speaker to speaker. She bore a kind, yet confused, smile. Alloy cocked his head at her. She looked… foreign. Alloy didn’t pay her much attention. Part of him wondered if the mare even understood what was going on, or what anypony was even saying.

“Let’s not argue…” said Young ‘Un, the small stallion who moved first. He didn’t appear to be able to contain his energy, and was swaying back and forth to a tune only he could hear. Perhaps he had ADHD.

“I’m not arguing,” said the Punk. “I’m pointing out just how dumb that sounded. Take a look around,” she spat. She eyed up the few others who had managed to give her eye contact.

“That isn’t necessary,” gulped Alloy.

“We need to get out of here! Who knows how long we’ve been out? What if somepony’s looking for us?” asked Wide Eyes. Alloy thought about that, and shook his head.

“We haven’t been out for more than a day. We can only sleep for so long before hunger sets in,” Alloy explained. He pushed up his glasses. Wide Eyes sighed, and brought a hoof to her stomach. Alloy wasn’t sure if his vision was acting up, or if he could actually see her belly shivering with anticipation.

“So, what? I don’t take kindly to being drugged, or what have you. Who knows how the Hell we got here?” said the large yellow stallion, with a flick of his mane. He rolled his eyes, as if he was bored. Young ‘Un smirked upon the word “drugged”. Alloy glared at him, but he didn’t seem to notice.

The Punk groaned loudly, as if her mind were in a flurry. She let loose a bombardment of curses and stomped her hoof, making no effort to try and conceal her profanity from the ears of others. Wide Eyes looked at the small stallion, and Alloy wondered if she was going to place her hooves over his ears. She didn’t.

“I think the guy’s bluffing,” said Stoic Stallion, cutting off the Punk’s quick and unneeded venting. Alloy, Wide Eyes, and the Young ‘Un cocked a brow.

“Bluffing? Who?” asked Alloy. He deemed this a stupid question two seconds later.

“E, that’s who,” he said. Meanwhile, Big Yellow was nodding furiously, agreeing wholeheartedly.

“Heck yeah,” he bellowed. Alloy took an uncomfortable step away, even though Big Yellow was on the other side of their little circle completely. “Some kind of trick, if ya ask me.”

Suddenly, all of Alloy’s previous thoughts came rushing back to him. The words. He could feel the sense of desperation forming inside of his stomach. He remembered, and was astonished that he hadn’t said anything yet. Inside, he felt a pang of guilt strike him in the chest. It was like somepony nailing a stake inside of him. It was his fault that everypony was panicking. He needed to explain what he knew.

“This isn’t a joke,” Alloy said, calmly. The Punk gave him a bemused glance, as if she couldn’t stand the mere sight of him. The Foreigner continued to smile. Alloy was positive that the mare didn’t speak English, now.

“Oh yeah?” said Big Yellow. His eyes burrowed into Alloy’s like a drill. “What makes you think this isn’t some kind a’ facade?”

“I… I just know, alright?”

Alloy didn’t mean it to come out like that, and realized his grave mistake a second too late.

“You just know?” said Stoic Stallion. His gaze hardened upon Alloy, making his legs sway like a coconut tree. “How?”

All eyes were on him. For once in his life, he didn’t like it. Wide Eyes slunk away from him, like he was the one responsible for putting them all in this situation. Though, it was only to be expected. It’s exactly what he made himself look like. He needed to correct this, before even more accusations went flying. This situation surely didn’t need to take another turn for the worse. Alloy knew that much.

“I can smell the gas… the one he was talking about…” Alloy explained, his eyes turned towards the rug below him. He didn’t wish to repeat E’s name for his creation. If he understood root words correctly, it only made him more nervous. “I-I’m a scientist, and it’s a barely noticeable scent. I’ve never smelt it before, but it doesn’t appear healthy. This is not a joke. I can sense it.”

“Smart guy, huh?” Big Yellow scoffed. “Right. ‘Cause I’m sure you know everything there is to know.”

Alloy opened his mouth, then snapped it shut like it was a bears paw in a trap.

“Hey, if the dude’s a scientist, and he’s saying that he smells chemicals and stuff… I’d listen, bro,” said Young ‘Un. One look from Big Yellow, and to the other side of the circle he went. He stood in between the Punk and Alloy, receiving a peeved stare from the former.

“He claims he’s a scientist. I think it’s a load a’ bull,” Big Yellow added.

Alloy turned back to the ground and sighed. He didn’t wish to argue, not with him at least. He knew the type, and had learned his lesson a long time ago. Alloy took no shame in backing down. The stallion grinned triumphantly. Since Young ‘Un moved away, the newest pony to his left was the older pegasus. He didn’t look happy about the stallion’s new sense of false accomplishment.

“That’s mean!” whined Wide Eyes. Like the Young ‘Un, Wide Eyes also slightly reminded Alloy of a child. He didn’t like it.

“Does it look like I care?” muttered Big Yellow.

“Look,” started Stoic Stallion. “We are not going to make progress like this.” He tossed his head over in Alloy’s direction. “Scientist says that there’s gas. We’d better believe him. Maybe this isn’t a joke. If that’s the case, then we should take it seriously.” The Stoic Stallion’s back straightened, and he gazed coldly at the others. His frown continued, however.

Big Yellow rolled his eyes, disrespectfully and obviously. Alloy was certain that he heard him mutter something under his breath, but Alloy didn’t catch it.

Young ‘Un raised a hoof, as if he was trying to answer a question in a classroom. “So… what do we do first? How do we play?”

The Punk’s eye twitched with fury. “You have got to be kidding. Did you not hear the voice earlier, you dolt?”

Young ‘Un blushed, and scratched the back of his neck. His mane was shiny, only confirming to Alloy that it was wet. “I heard something about not going to sleep, then I saw the door open. I didn’t hear the rest.”

“The voice rang throughout this entire place! How in the world did you not hear?” The Punk practically yelled, her face was turning red.

“I woke up like 45 minutes ago… I may or may not have been utilizing the bathtub.”

“We’re getting off track,” added Alloy. The Stoic Stallion nodded.

“Yes, we are. I’ll give you a quick rundown. You know that gas Alloy mentioned he was smelling earlier?” Young ‘Un moved his head up and down. “Well, it’s poison. The instant we fall asleep, it’ll ‘kill us’.”

Young ‘Un nodded again in understanding. His face rivaled that of being punched in the gut. He looked a little pale. “So… don’t fall asleep?”

“Right,” Stoic Stallion concluded. “Only one of us gets out of here alive. The only way to do that is to stay awake.” There was a long pause as everyone digested the facts. Stoic Stallion quickly fumbled for something else to add. “But I’m sure there’s something else to this. This is absolutely crazy!”

Young ‘Un kept his mouth shut.

“Then… what do we do now?” asked Wide Eyes. She was sliding her hoof around the rug, absently. The tip of it was becoming a light shade of rose.

“We stay awake,” Alloy answered. His chest hardened, and he took a small step forward. “We stay awake for as long as we can.”

Big Yellow smirked. “Well, this should be easy. All ya need is a few energy drinks,” he said. The Punk piped up.

“Easy for you to say, you just woke up,” she snarled, venom dripping from her tongue.

“Besides,” Alloy interrupted. “Energy drinks are the worst way to stay awake. You’ll feel energetic for a while, but then there’s a crash. In this situation, that may be fatal…” Big Yellow’s ears drooped with realization. He gave the rest of the group a stupid glare.

“Pfft, I’ve got this,” said the Punk with a self-satisfied look on her mug. Wide Eyes stared at her, open mouthed and disgusted. “I hardly sleep as it is.”

The Foreigner cocked her head, but she still kept the kind smile on her face.

Alloy ignored the Punk completely.

“Does anybody know who this E guy is, anyways?” Young ‘Un asked, once again raising his hoof. Alloy reached over the thrust it back down to earth. He wasn’t in the mood for immaturity. His question, however, brought on an eloquent silence. Everypony in the room stared at each other, save for the Foreigner, who was busy trying to decipher the numbers on the timers. Alloy almost felt bad for her. Her mouth was turned into a frown, and she brought a hoof to it as she tried to understand the strange symbols.

“I… I don’t think she speaks English,” he said. He had meant to repeat it in his head, but things just didn’t work out the way he wanted them to anymore. Young ‘Un cocked his head.

“I think E’s male… and speaks perfect English,” he said. Alloy wanted to slap Young ‘Un’s face, as well as his own.

“No! I meant her…” Alloy said, pointing a hoof at the Foreigner. Everypony turned to her. A few, such as Big Yellow and the Punk, had failed to notice her earlier, and were sizing her up already. Obviously, they viewed her as just another contender. Another enemy. Alloy felt horrible.

Wide Eyes, who was standing directly besides her, poked the Foreigner’s side. Instead of jumping, or even acknowledging the unwanted physical contact, she plastered that same unknowing smile back on her visage and turned to Wide Eyes. Upon realizing that everypony was looking at her now, she turned the smile over to them as well. The Punk was not amused.

“Great. Not only do we have to stay awake, but one of us needs to play ‘translator’,” she complained. She let out a hot breath, and turned away.

“Where do you think she’s from?” asked Young ‘Un.

“Not sure,” replied Alloy, even though it was technically a lie. “She looks Neighsian…”

“Neighsian? But Neighsia is all the way over the ocean…” said Wide Eyes, with a soft voice.

“We know that,” replied Big Yellow. Another eye roll.

“If I had to take a guess…” Alloy started. He found this entire situation extremely inappropriate. His mother told him that labeling others because of their race was wrong to do. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a choice. “I’d say she’s from Neighpon.”

The Foreigner may have recognized the name of the country, as her smile grew in size just slightly. The Punk threw up a hoof in her direction. “Well? Does anypony speak her language? We need to tell her that she can’t fall asleep, at least.”

No one said a single thing. The Punk sighed. Alloy felt the subject was about the change when another voice piped up.

“Her name is Miso,” replied Young ‘Un. He was looking far past them, to the door fifteen feet away that The Foreigner had come from earlier. Alloy followed his gaze. For a moment, he didn’t really want to. He didn’t want to know the names of these other ponies. If this game was real, he didn’t want to get too close to them. Nopony can stay awake forever. However, thanks to Young ‘Un, that wasn’t going to work now. Now he just didn’t care. In big letters, her name was spelled out: “M-I-S-O”. Her timer read 57 minutes, 44 seconds.

“Miso?” repeated the Stoic Stallion. The Foreigner nodded, recognizing her own name. “Yep. She’s not from Equestria, all right.”

Wide Eyes took a few steps closer to Miso, and waved her hoof over her eyes, as if Miso were under a trance. “Hello? Miso? It’s nice to meet you.”

“Go yōsha kudasai. Wakarimasen.”

Swallow took a shocked step back, her eyes growing just a little bit bigger. They were practically bulging. She retook her spot back inside of the circle, meekly. Obviously, Alloy viewed this as a problem.

“She probably doesn’t even know what we’re saying,” added the Punk. Miso must have been getting nervous. Everypony’s eyes were still trained on her, and her smile faltered for a brief moment. She took a cautious step back, towards Big Yellow.

Alloy knew that Miso most certainly wouldn’t have stepped closer to him if she had known what he was saying earlier. “She’ll figure it out. No one here speaks her language anyways. She’s going to have to be the one to adapt, not us,” said Big Yellow, raising an eyebrow at her.

Alloy wanted to argue, but deemed it useless. He had a point. “Well, since were doing names, and since there’s no real way to get around it...” Their names were on the doors. It’s only inevitable. “I’m Alloy.”

The Stoic Stallion from across the circle chuckled lightly, and stepped forward. He held out a hoof. Alloy stared into his eyes, and they were absolutely beaming, as if they were full of nothing but admiration and wisdom. “Well, nice to meet you, city boy.”

Alloy wondered to himself, Was it really that obvious he was from Manehattan?

“My name is Gallant, Co-Flight Commander of the Royal Equestrian Army,” he said. Gallant said his words with gratification, as if he expected a few others to start ‘oohing’ and ‘ahhing’. No one did. Alloy shook his hoof with gusto, and a smile.

Wide Eyes voice croaked next. “I’m Swallow,” she said. Nothing more, nothing less. Young ‘Un brought a hoof to his mouth, stifling an inappropriate laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Swallow said the words as if she’s said them a million times before. She frowned. Young ‘Un didn’t seem to notice the glare from Gallant, Big Yellow, and Alloy.

“N-Nothing! Nothing at all!” Alloy almost believed him, until an obnoxiously loud chortle trickled past his lips. Swallow’s frown doubled in size.

“I was named after the bird…” she said, sullenly. She looked sadly towards the ground. Upon noticing the upset tint in her voice, Young ‘Un brought down his laughter. Almost immediately after, he blushed again.

“Eheh, sorry,” he apologized. Alloy didn’t deem this as sincere. “I’m Sketch.” He puffed out his chest. The Punk dug her hooves deeper into the rug, looking like she was ready to swing.

“How old are you?” asked Big Yellow. Sketch looked caught off guard by the question, and answered lamely, with his blush now painting his face the color of a stop sign. For a moment, Alloy was not looking forward to hearing the answer.

“Seventeen.”

There was another silence.

“This is so messed up,” Swallow said again. She was on the verge of crying. “So wrong...”

“Let’s not dwell on it,” Gallant replied. He turned towards Big Yellow, eager to change the subject. “How about you, big boy?” Big Yellow did a double take, before flicking his mane and letting out a “harumph”.

“Name’s Buttermilk. Pretty obvious if you think about it,” he admitted, tossing a head towards his flank. Alloy concurred. Buttermilk’s cutie mark was that of a single stick of butter, and a glass of milk. The smirk on his face signified pride, Alloy deduced. He couldn’t figure out why. Buttermilk, at first glance, appeared like your average bully. Alloy knew enough about those. What was strange about Buttermilk was the unmatched amount of honesty and fear in his words. If those two traits weren’t some sort of oxymoron, then Alloy needed to go back to grade school.

“That explains a lot…” Gallant muttered under his breath, after he noticed the cutie mark as well. Alloy held back a scoff.

All of the ponies--save for Miso--turned towards the last one in the group. The Punk cocked an eyebrow, like she hadn’t been expecting the attention on her. “What? What are you all looking at?”

“Well, are you going to introduce yourself or not?” asked Buttermilk, with a huff and a sharp flick of his tail. He would have snapped Miso if she was standing four inches closer. Perhaps he had heard Gallant’s comment after all, and just chose to ignore it. Alloy had a feeling that there were about to spend a lot of time together. Conflict was something he wanted to keep at bay. Unfortunately, that wasn’t on everypony else’s agenda.

“What does it matter?” the Punk asked. Her pierced ears fell flat against her head, but her eyes burned with determination. It was as if the fire was in her eyes, as well as her stomach. “Only one of us gets out of here anyways. Not like we’re all a team here. One versus all!”

“Miss-” Swallow tried to intervene. Alloy could tell that the fragile mare was going to get shot down by the Punk moments before it actually happened.

“‘Miss’ nothing!” she hollered. “You’re all insane! Sick in the head!”

“Calm down!” Gallant shouted. Alloy could feel the stallion’s blood boiling even from their distance. Alloy suddenly felt warmer.

“You’re all crazy!” the Punk continued. Alloy could tell, under her rough demeanor, that she was scared beyond belief. He could see clearly through her desperate front. “Why are you all acting all buddy-buddy when your lives are on the line? Poindexter here just proved the gas to be in our systems!” she said, throwing a hoof towards Alloy a pony over to her left. Alloy’s eyes hardened.

“Do not call me that!” he yelled back. Surprisingly, the Punk didn’t respond to his plea. She just continued her rant, infuriating Alloy more.

“This is ridiculous! We could all die, and your biggest concern is names! We should be trying to figure a way to win! To stay awake. We’re all enemies to everyone else, here. I’m not dying because of you losers.”

“Dear Celestia, will you shut up for two seconds, you disrespectful case of modern indecency!” Alloy shouted, speaking before thinking.

The room was dead silent. Nopony spoke. Sketch’s jaw was practically on the floor, along with a few others. Alloy knew his had made another mistake. The Punk’s face was a bright red, and her cheeks flared. Her eyes were enough to melt glaciers. Alloy didn’t care. “Everything that has come out of your mouth so far has been nothing but negative! We all understand the situation! We all understand what’s going on! Do not act like some kind of superior simply because you have the guts to say whatever’s on your mind. It is not for certain that you will win this game, or leave with your life.”

He paused to run a hoof through his mane and sigh. He didn’t realize that his glasses were quickly becoming smudged and unaligned. “Six of us are not going to make it out of here. That’s the rules, that’s the only way the last one of us can go home to our families and friends. We’re all stressed, we’re all scared, we’re all wondering just how this will transpire. Do you wish to die on a bad note, miss? Or would you at least rather die knowing that these other contenders will at least know your name. Do you wish to die without anypony knowing who you are? The one of us who gets out of here won’t be able to tell others just who in Tartarus you are. Do you wish to die a nobody to us? The last ponies you may ever socialize with? Is that what you want?”

There was another long pause. Even Miso’s smile was wiped off her face. Swallow stared at the ground, trying not to make eye contact. Sketch bit the inside of his mouth. Gallant watched on with a grin. Buttermilk was holding back a smile of his own. Slowly, ever so slowly, the Punk’s face returned back to its original milky color. She grunted loudly, but didn’t look Alloy in the eye.

Alloy immediately felt apologetic. He didn’t mean to say those things. He wasn’t a mean pony. Unfortunately, the logical side of him was burning. That little string had been on fire for the last few minutes, and it was all because of this mare. He knew he had won. He knew he had made a grand point. He just wished that he would have thought a little before blowing up.

The Punk spoke through gritted teeth, like she had just rammed her shin into a coffee table seconds before. “Tenor,” she grunted. “My name is freakin’ Tenor.”

Author's Note

Who do you think will win?

Feedback is appreciated and welcome!

-Cyneryk

Chapter Three

Save for the fact that he only had a one in seven chance of leaving the mansion with his life, Sketch was having a great time.

His disillusioned mind had enjoyed twisting itself around. He felt like he was on one of those new reality shows that he would always watch on weekday nights. Unfortunately, instead of playing for one million bits, he was playing for the opportunity to keep his existence. It was strange, you never saw anypony fighting for something they already had. At least he didn’t, yet.

This was so new to him. He had always craved adventure. This, however, was not exactly what he had expected.

Sketch didn’t view this as an adventure at all, really. It wasn’t as if he was going anywhere, discovering anything new. He was stuck inside of this massive house, after being trapped inside of a fancy room for forty-five minutes. He made the best of that, though. The bath he had taken was so relaxing. It even had strawberry scented shampoo. While in the bath, he imagined that he was not exactly “trapped” in that room, but more so as staying in a really nice hotel, or a castle. He pondered if this was what the Princess’ lived like.

Either way, he wasn’t sure how to feel about it. His inner sense of creativity helped him get over the tremendous amount of fear that had built up in him earlier. He was absolutely terrified… but no worries. As long as he stayed numb to the fact that he could die simply upon taking a nap, he would be fine.

Besides, he was good at imagining things.

He was a Drawer. That’s what he’d been labeled by the other students in his class. You know, one of those students that do nothing in school besides doodle on whatever they can find, and by the end of class they have an entire notebook full of pointless pictures? Sketch took pride in that. He liked his pictures. They provided an escape from reality, allowing him to imagine himself in the little slice of a different world he created. He’ll do many different types of drawings in a day. From mountains, to rivers, to cities. It didn’t matter. As long as it was nothing like the world he lived in now.

Luckily, upon looking through the dresser in his room, he found his notebook and pencil. A single pencil. He wasn’t too happy about that, as he tended to go through pencils like they were sticks of gum. It was plenty sharp, but he just needed to be careful with how he used it. He didn’t find a pencil sharpener anywhere. Then again, he could always just whittle it down with a knife, say he found one. However, the last time he did that he got admitted into the emergency room. Maybe that wasn’t the best idea. Only if it becomes an emergency.

But drawing was not his first priority right now. Though it was a close second. He felt the need again, the need to slip into another reality. He held it at bay, because before him stood six ponies. Six ponies of different personalities, likes, dislikes, and looks.

Six chances.

Six more chances to get a new friend. Maybe, if he said witty or clever things, they would like him, and want to hang out sometime. Maybe, if he showed them a few of his pictures, they would like him. Maybe, if he just kept his obnoxious mouth shut, and pretended not to exist, they would like him. He didn’t know what about him drove others away, but this time he was determined. Only one of them could get out of their mansion, but that didn’t mean that Sketch couldn’t try to make a friend.

What if they could escape, get out of there? What if one of his new friends and he could find a way out? Then they could be friends forever.

Sketch smiled to himself, not realizing just how insane the idea was.

The seven of them stood in a circle, not knowing where to look or what to do. Sketch wanted to draw this moment. But even to him, it would seem a little inappropriate. “Listen guys, I know we’re all freaked out and stuff, but could you hold your poses for a little bit?” The thought almost made Sketch laugh, which also would have been unwanted. He resorted to shifting his weight on his hooves instead.

The quiet one, Swallow, spoke up. Sketch just couldn’t get over her name. Who would name their child something that could be taken so badly? If her mother had backed out in the middle of it, would Swallow’s name have been Spit? Either way, maybe he shouldn’t make fun of her. She seemed nice, like she could use somepony to talk to. That’s how you made friends, right? “So, what do we do now?” she asked, looking at the floor.

“We find ways to stay awake, ‘course,” said Buttermilk. Sketch wasn’t a big fan of him. He was scary.

“I don’t think that should be our first course of action,” replied Alloy. He was a little strange. But he was a scientist, which is pretty cool. Sketch could never do a job so monotonous. He also seemed very smart, which Sketch kind of liked. Perhaps he could provide some actual feedback on his pictures. He looked like the kind of stallion to recognize good art. “Perhaps we should explore the rest of this mansion, first.” He pointed towards the dark hallway, to the right of Sketch’s room. Odd, he hadn’t noticed that there before.

Buttermilk sighed, and Sketch was sure he heard a tint of crossness in it. Surprisingly, after having been completely “told” just five minutes previous, Tenor was back to her original self. Sketch didn’t really like her much either, but maybe that was why he felt such an exceptionally large urge to talk to her. “Well, what about Wonton over here?” she asked, throwing a hoof in Miso’s direction. “Someone needs to tell her just what’s going on.”

Miso creeped him out. Perhaps it was the smile, or the fact that she had no idea what was currently going on that did the trick. He didn’t see himself being good friends with her, unless one of them wanted to take a language class. Then again, he wasn’t sure. He’d give it some thought.

Another thing about this whole situation that made him think, was the fact that Tenor kept bringing up Miso’s inability to understand the situation. That tipped Sketch off. It was as if Tenor, inside, felt bad. Maybe she just didn’t want the game to be unfair. However, that was strange considering what she was saying earlier about how she was going to win this game easy.

Gallant sighed. “That’s going to be a little hard,” he said. He casted a disappointed gaze upon Miso. “Anyone have any ideas how we can communicate with her?”

Silence.

This is it, Sketch! Time to show them all just how smart and creative you are!

“I have an idea,” Sketch said whilst raising a hoof. He didn’t know why he did it, but Alloy insisted on pushing it back down every single time. He was getting more and more forceful. It kind of hurt this time.

Unfortunately, no one seemed to hear. Or he was just ignored entirely. That happened a lot to him, so usually he would just bury his sadness deep inside of him. This time was not one of those cases. “I said I have an idea!” he repeated with more power. This time, he didn’t move his hoof, save for a small stomp.

“Yes, Sketch?” Gallant sighed. Sketch couldn’t hold back a small glare. It was as if Gallant figured that what he had to say wasn’t important. Like he wouldn’t be the one to come up with some sort of idea. He hated that, being underestimated. Sketch didn’t want him as a friend, really. He was too old anyways. If Sketch stood side by side next to Gallant somewhere in public, it wouldn’t be crazy to assume that they were father and son. Much like Miso, he’d think about it.

“I have a notepad and stuff in my room, in my dresser,” Sketch said. He had no idea why his voice was small and trembling. “Maybe we can try and communicate to her through pictures. After all, stick figures and smiling suns are a universal language…” he explained. He noticed Alloy cock a brow.

“That’s… a decent idea,” he said. He realigned his glasses. “Anyone volunteer?”

Sketch didn’t mean to, but he threw his hoof in the air and waved it around like crazy. Perfect! A chance to showcase his drawing abilities! No doubt they would all be lining up to be friends with him after this!

Even after Sketch had had his hoof raised for the better half of ten seconds, no one seemed to acknowledge him. When Swallow raised an innocent hoof, heads snapped to attention. Sketch’s hoof slowly fell back down, and he let out a disappointed groan. He frowned, but the initial response of the others didn’t change.

“I’ll do it,” she said. She wasn’t even too sure of herself. That didn’t make Sketch any happier.

“Wait a minute!” he intruded, desperately. “I’m a great drawer! It’s my special talent, after all! It was also my idea! Let me do it!” He must have sounded like a child again, as Alloy didn’t look very amused.

Unsurprisingly, Gallant was the one to speak up. “Listen, kid,” he started. Sketch’s ears fell downwards. He wasn’t a kid. At least that’s what he thought. “Maybe we should let somepony else handle this. Your ability doesn’t really play much into it, sorry to say. Your goal isn’t to draw pretty pictures, it’s to help Miso understand just what’s going on here.”

Sketch looked at the ground, and held back a tear. “Fine,” he muttered. His chest quivered.

Gallant took up the role as the “leader” while everything’s been playing out. Sketch didn’t like it too much. He didn’t feel like he needed a leader. He just needed someone to laugh with. Gallant appeared to be doing his best to make sure that that didn’t happen. “Go grab your gear, kid.”

Sketch toddled for a moment, hoping that someone would shout at him to stop, not to go, to stay with them a little longer. Nopony did. He wasn’t surprised. He went and did as Gallant asked of him.

His one talent, his one true passion, wasn’t enough to win affection. Gallant saw his love as something that was pointless. He could see that much. And now, somepony else was going to be doing what he loved best, and not give it a second thought. Swallow didn’t look like a Drawer. She wouldn’t put care into it. She would just draw and be done with it. Also, he was going to have to give her his one and only pencil. No doubt by the time she gave it back would it be dull, or on the verge, or even broken.

After running back into his room and reluctantly grabbing his pad and pencil, he trotted back to the group all in under twenty seconds. The entire time, he wished that he wouldn’t have raised his stupid hoof.

“Thanks!” Swallow smiled gratefully upon being handed the supplies. Sketch smiled back.

“Swallow, take Miso into your room and try to get through to her. The rest of us can explore this place. Maybe we can find a way outta here, or something,” Gallant ordered. He ran a hoof through his brown mane, and grunted.

Buttermilk’s eye twitched, and he looked back towards his room for the third time in the last few minutes. Sketch noticed this time. He didn’t question it.

Swallow took Miso’s hoof. Miso wasn’t too thrilled about it. With copious amounts of kind begging, Swallow ushered Miso towards her door, nearest the hallway. Miso kept turning back to look at the other five, like she was being dragged to Tartarus. Her uniquely slanted eyes were soft, and fearful. Sketch didn’t keep eye contact. It made him uncomfortable. Tenor rolled her own eyes, and Sketch became self-conscious.

Sketch looked up just in time to notice that the rest of the group was slowly walking towards the dark hallway. With a yelp, Sketch bounded after them. He only tripped twice. Not bad.

The hallway was much thinner than it was originally thought out to be. They were going to have to go in single file. Instead of barrelling into the darkness, like Sketch would have probably done, they stopped. “Is there a lightswitch? It’s darker than Tenor’s attitude in here,” said Buttermilk. Tenor was second in line, behind Gallant. Sketch, who was at the back, wasn’t able to see Tenor’s face. He thought he saw her turn and give him a death stare.

“Watch it,” she warned.

Buttermilk was directly in front of Alloy, but luckily said stallion was short. Sketch peered over Alloy and saw the yellow stallion smirk. Gallant hushed them, grumpily. Gallant felt along inside wall, leaning in so he won’t have to step into darkness. There was the sound of hoof on plastic, the sound of Gallant fumbling, and a clack. Just like that, the hallway lit up. “Hah! Got it!”

The hallway itself was a loud white, shining like the interior of a hospital. It reminded Sketch of the ultra-shiny bathtub in his provided room. It seemed to go on for miles, or so he thought. He had trouble seeing over all the taller ponies in front of him. Sketch cut in front of Alloy, and was practically clamoring onto Buttermilk’s back before the stallion pushed him backwards. Buttermilk wasn’t happy about it.

Before Buttermilk had a chance to scold Sketch with a bunch of words that the young stallion wouldn’t have been able to repeat at home, Alloy spoke up. He looked peeved. “Let’s get going. Gallant, lead the way.”

Gallant didn’t need to be told twice. With Alloy now at the back of the line, and Sketch right next to him, they walked one by one into the hallway.

Sketch’s forever moving mind was unable to stand it. The blandness of the walls, the monotonous clopping of their hooves on the marble floor. He hated the color white. It was too plain. Then again, black wasn’t good either. You couldn’t paint over black. Either way, the walk was trying to kill him. The sheer amount of imminent boring struck a nerve. He wanted to paint this room, make it pretty. He wanted to add millions and millions of boisterous colors. He wanted to run up and down the hall with colored pencils and markers, watching as the hallway began to take its own shape.

Unfortunately, the others probably wouldn’t have liked that. Besides, he’d never liked coloring vertical surfaces. He always got in trouble for drawing on the walls when he was younger. That action always brought on sad thoughts.

They walked on for what seemed to be ten minutes. It was agonizing and stressful to Sketch. Eventually, Gallant’s voice spoke up from the front of the line, “There’s something ahead.” His voice echoed more so than back in the foyer. Perhaps it was just the hallway. Sketch didn’t care anyways.

The hallway began to open up to a large room. It was white, much like the color of the hallway, and equally as bland and depressing. There were seven marble pillars in the middle of the room, coming up to shoulder height for the rest. To Sketch, they were just as tall as him. There were absolutely nothing on them, and made a large semi circle that faced them. The rest of the room was completely empty, save for two large grey rectangles on the walls. They were connected, and made a square. It took Sketch way too long to realize that it was a door. He felt incredibly dumb.

“Is that the way out?” Sketch asked. Gallant’s brain must’ve been on the fritz, because he didn’t answer.

“Must be,” said Tenor. A creepy smile traced her lips. “Let’s bust it down.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be possible. There isn’t even a door handle…” Alloy added. He was right. Not a single handle to be found.

“Like I said. Let’s bust it down,” she repeated. Buttermilk scoffed.

“Well? You’re the only unicorn here. You try and do something,” said the large stallion. Tenor huffed, and her face grew a little red. Sketch took a precautionary step back. Tenor reminded him of those ponies who would offer drugs outside of an alleyway. He saw it on television once. He made a mental note to never repeat that sentence out loud, or risk a beating.

“Just because I’m a unicorn doesn’t mean I can destroy a freakin’ wall by myself, you dip,” she replied. “Besides, I can only do basic levitation. That’s all I need, anyways.” To prove her point, she enveloped her horn in a startling light blue, untied two foot long pieces of smooth wood out of her mane. Sketch hadn’t noticed them before. He noticed how her eyes seemed to soften as she took control of them. She handled them delicately, like her life depended on those two little sticks. She played a small, impressive beat on the ground, lasting for only three seconds. It was at this time when Sketch actually noticed her cutie mark: Two crossed drumsticks.

Sketch wasn’t sure, but maybe Tenor knew how to play the drums.

“Well, we have to at least try. C’mon, we’re going to ram this door,” said Buttermilk. Alloy furrowed his brow, and followed him. Gallant and Tenor did the same. Sketch didn’t really want to. He was a lover, not a fighter. Why don’t we just try and sweet talk the door instead?

Sketch quickly realized that it wouldn’t have mattered anyways.

Even with the mighty power of a fat stallion, a flight commander, a drummer, an artist, and a scientist, the door absolutely refused to budge. Now, everypony--save for Tenor, as she had resorted to using her magic anyways--had sore shoulders. Sketch knew a bad idea when he saw one, and he blamed Buttermilk for it. The doors didn’t have a single scratch on them, and they looked practically untouched.

“You think we need a magic word, or something?” Sketch quipped, whilst lying in feigned agony on the ground. He mentally patted his own back for such a wonderful joke. He should be a comedian. His ears perked up, and he looked desperately at the other ponies. Sketch’s delusion’s would not rest until he got what he wanted.

He died a little inside when no one else laughed. In fact, he was once again horribly
ignored.

Alloy hobbled over to the door, and inspected it for a brief moment before his eyes fell to the ground. Sketch didn’t like the look of that. He barely gave the door a second glance. “This is pure titanium,” he exclaimed. “Steel enforced. This isn’t gonna budge.”

“Why do you tell us this now? Why wait until we’ve rammed the damn thing three times before analyzing it?” Buttermilk practically yelled. The poor stallion had done most of the ramming, and his right shoulder was the color of a rose. Sweat was pouring down his brow like raindrops.

“Because I didn’t think of it…” he said, truthfully. To save face, he turned back to the door. “E did say that this mansion contained nothing but the best. Anyone could have assumed that the door be impenetrable,” he said.

“So, we’re going to be forced to play this game? There isn’t any windows that we could climb out of?” Sketch asked, hoisting himself off of the ground. His mane was still a little wet, and it left a small puddle on the floor. He stood over it, to prevent anyone else from slipping.

“This is the world’s lamest mansion, if you ask me,” said Tenor, with a huff. She was busy elaborately tying her drumsticks back into her mane. By the time she was done, they were entangled so precise that they probably couldn’t come out no matter how hard you tugged. “I mean, a foyer, seven rooms and some kind of empty room with pillars. There isn’t even a kitchen, or a living room. Boring!”

“Speaking of the pillars, what’s up with them?” replied Sketch, not taking his eyes off them. They appear old, like they would much rather belong in a temple than a deluxe mansion. Some of them were cracked in places.

“Not sure,” answered Tenor, as if the question was directed towards her. Sketch guessed, upon noticing the silence of the others, that the other three really didn’t know either.

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Alloy broke through the silence like he was revving a chainsaw. Gallant took one look at the exasperated scientist only to have the edges of his mouth curl downwards.

“Well, I think I know what I’m going to do,” Gallant started. “I think Alloy and I should stay here and try to figure out what we can do with this door, and try to find… I don’t know, a window or something.”

Buttermilk nodded in acknowledgement, throwing his head upwards. “I’m going to go back to the foyer. I gotta grab something from my room. I’ll probably check in on Swallow and what’s-her-face foreign mare.” Sketch chuckled. Tenor’s eye twitched. The small stallion was getting a little bit concerned, and wondered if the punkish mare would eventually burst into flames.

No doubt, it’d be a tragedy. It’d also be really fricken’ cool.

“I’ll go with,” Sketch added. When Gallant casually looked at his direction, Sketch felt himself redden. It wasn’t even a mean glare, more so of curiosity. Gallant simply made Sketch the tiniest bit nervous, like if he did something wrong he might order the poor stallion to do push-ups. “Not like I have anything else to do anyways.”

“Mmk,” Gallant shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me what you all do. Just make sure you all stay awake, alright? E may have started this game, but that doesn’t mean we have to finish it.”

Tenor snorted, “‘Kay, dad.” With that, Tenor turned away. She strode for the hallway, back towards the foyer, obviously bored with the practical nothingness of their current room. Sketch was becoming antsy too. He needed to see colors, preferably now. He found himself doing a small dance in place.

Sketch ran after Tenor. Actually, tried was a better word. As soon as he took one step, he flew face first into the floor, his hooves actually being thrown out from under him. He had forgotten all about the large puddle of bathwater underneath him. There was a sharp thwack as his head collided with the marble below him. Sketch could in no way, shape or form ignore the horrid, dull pain in his temple. The stabs of pain matched the beating of his heart. He let out a low groan.

Much to his surprise, he felt hooves wrap around him. His eyes were closed, his head throbbing, but he could still tell that he was being hoisted up to his hooves. “Whoa! Ya alright?” said a voice inches away from his ear. Sketch didn’t know whether to embrace whomever was kind enough to help him, or not.

He opened his eyes, only to meet a pair of dark green. It was the one and only Buttermilk. The stallion had Sketch’s foreleg wrapped around his back in a poor effort to balance himself. Sketch fought through the pain. It was like swimming through a sea of syringes. “Yeah… thanks,” Sketch gave Buttermilk the kindest smile he could muster.

“Ya fell pretty hard…” Buttermilk stated. Though, Sketch wasn’t listening anymore.

Sketch’s eyes shined like bulbs. The stallion had actually stopped and helped him. Sketch could hardly believe it. He saw it on television, in the books, in the movies. Friends helped one another, that much Sketch knew. Buttermilk went out of his way to make sure that Sketch was okay. That… that meant they were friends now.

They were friends now. Good friends.

Sketch must have been smiling bigger than he had originally thought, as Buttermilk quickly set him down and took a few steps away. “Right…” he drawled, stretching out the word longer than necessary. “Let’s go.”

Sketch felt like exploding.

That was the gist of what he was feeling right now. He wanted to explode. He wanted to jump and scream with joy. He wanted to ask Buttermilk a bunch of questions. He had so many. If they were friends, then they needed to know everything about each other. What was his favorite color? Did he have any siblings? What’s his favorite breakfast? Unfortunately, the last time he had made a “friend”, and asked those questions, it wasn’t long before he was alone again.

This time he was certain. Sketch was positive that Buttermilk and he were going to be the best of friends. Sketch wondered if the stallion could give some of his art a look.

Sketch decided, in the end, to give it a shot. He spoke up from behind Buttermilk. “So, how’s it going?”

Buttermilk turned and gave Sketch a hard glare, bearing a few teeth. Fortunately, before he had let the words fly, his face softened, and he heaved a sigh. “Well, considerin’ the situation, not all that good.”

Sketch felt incredibly stupid after that. Even more so when he unintentionally replied with an “Oh”. Buttermilk looked straight forward, determined not to look at Sketch entirely. Sketch grinned, and increased his pace. Boy, does Buttermilk walk fast.

“So… what do you do for a living?” Sketch asked. Buttermilk didn’t reply, so Sketch deemed it appropriate to keep talking. “I draw, you know? Sometimes I paint, or use crayons, or colored pencils. I have lots of pictures in my dresser, actually. They’re pretty rad, bro.”

“That’s… cool,” Buttermilk murmured. Sketch wasn’t sure if Buttermilk had just said a fact, or indeed asked a question. It didn’t matter. Sketch embraced the compliment. It wasn’t like he got many, anyways. His heart felt like it had just turned into an anvil. “I’m a chef,” he continued. Sketch noticed the stallion smirk, as if he was proud of the fact. The smaller stallion had been completely clueless about Buttermilk’s occupation. Then again, maybe the cutie mark was a dead giveaway. He didn’t put two and two together, earlier.

“Really? Where?”

Buttermilk cocked a brow. “I’m head chef at this fancy restaurant in Las Pegasus. Pays well,” he explained. Sketch stifled a laugh.

“You don’t strike me as a pony to live in Las Pegasus… or a chef, for that matter.” Sketch quickly realized how poorly he chose his words. Buttermilk actually stopped walking. Sketch had no time to react. The stallion did a 180 and feigned a charge, causing Sketch to flinch and slam his flank into the wall.

“What the Hell is that supposed to mean?” he seethed. Sketch thought quickly. Surely, this was just a bump in the road in their friendship. Everypony had those moments, every relationship. They’ll be best friends again in a minute. It’s how it always worked in the movies.

“No! I didn’t mean it like that!” Buttermilk’s eyes burned into his, like the end of a stick spontaneously bursting into flames. Sketch felt like the torch was pointing right at him, threatening to burn, to sear. “I mean… your accent… it doesn’t really match with those in Las Pegasus, or so I’ve heard…”

Buttermilk simply stared at the young stallion, before turning back around. He continued walking like nothing ever happened. “Yah, well I was born in Dodge Junction. Been working in Las Pegasus for the last eight years, cookin’,” he explained. Sketch took this as a good time to get up, and scrambled to his hooves. He fell in step behind the large stallion. “Cookin’ is my life. It’s the one thing I wouldn’t trade the world fer.”

“I feel the same way about drawing,” Sketch added. Buttermilk didn’t appear to care.

“Good. Then you’d best know not to get it confused, kid. I’m the best damn chef on the west side of Equestria. Make the best grilled cheese sandwich you’ll ever have,” Buttermilk chuckled to himself. “Ah wish this place at least had a kitchen.”

Sketch viewed this as good. Friends talked about themselves. They must be friends now. Sketch was learning more about Buttermilk, and the same way around. Sketch felt like crying, for now he had a best friend.

Their conversation came to a halt when they exited the hallway. Sketch missed the dark colors in the foyer, and he found himself staring at the wall for longer than what was necessary. Luckily, nopony else seemed to notice. For some reason, Sketch didn’t see Tenor. She was supposed to have been only a few moments in front of them. Perhaps she just went to her room.

Buttermilk and Sketch made their way over to Swallow’s room. It was the first door they looked at. Her door was to the left of the hallway. Unsurprisingly, it was unlocked. Sketch noticed that the timer above her door read one hour, eight minutes. Compared the Sketch, Swallow must have woken up a while after him. Sketch’s timer was much farther along than her’s.

Upon opening the door, the two stallion’s found the two mares sitting upon the bed. Swallow was furiously drawing on the pad, while Miso’s smile had faded completely, into one of confusion. Swallow looked downright irritated. She held up the pad again after making a small correction in her drawing. She spoke slowly, and kindly. It was like Swallow was talking to a small child.

“Sleep,” Swallow said. She even made the gesture, putting two hooves under her chin and rocking her head. She emphasized every word she spoke. “You cannot fall asleep.”

“Ūn... Nemuru?”

Buttermilk broke into this rather heartbreaking scene. “Any luck? You getting through to her?”

Swallow jumped, and practically flew off the bed. Her eyes were as wide as dinner plates, and she let out a small yelp. Sketch snickered to himself. Obviously, she had not noticed them come in. It was like an act in a bad sitcom. Buttermilk didn’t laugh.

Swallow adjusted herself, and fixed her milky mane. She didn’t look angry, but she did appear to be a little shaken. She was shivering. It made Sketch want to laugh a little harder. Buttermilk got her good. “I’m not sure. I think I’m getting through to her a little bit.” She sighed, loudly. Miso looked downwards. “We need to watch her, to make sure she understands that she cannot go back to sleep.”

“Nani ga okotte iru no? Toki ni watashi wa ie ni kaeru koto ga dekimasu ka?” said Miso, though Sketch had absolutely no idea what she said. Her eyes darted from pony to pony, like a caged animal. Sketch felt horribly sorry for her. With nopony to explain just what’s going on, the poor foreigner probably thought that the six of them had kidnapped her, or something. It was a picturesque moment, and Sketch wanted to steal his notebook back for a moment.

Buttermilk sighed. “That’s a good idea, Swallow,” he admitted. “It’ll have to do for now. I’ll be back.”

Almost as suddenly as he had appeared, Buttermilk make a beeline for the door. Unfortunately, Sketch had been behind him the entire time. His eyes became soft and heartbroken. “W-Where are you going?” asked Sketch. He didn’t want his new friend to go. He had just made a connection. They had actually talked. That obligated them to be friends, to do everything together. Why was he leaving so soon? Buttermilk just shook his head.

“I need to go grab some things. I’ll meet up with everyone later."

Author's Note

Feedback is greatly appreciated!

Who do you think will fall asleep first?

-Cyneryk

Chapter Four

Gallant was a high ranking officer. He stood for law, order, and discipline. Unfortunately, looking for windows to climb out of in a pathetic attempt for a daring escape wasn’t completely beneath him yet.

Gallant’s mind was eerily at ease. It was a deserted wasteland that was void of fear, and any sort of genuine panic. He knew and was taught better. In fact, the definition of trepidation is “a feeling of fear or agitation about something that may happen”. Gallant was the type of stallion who removed the fear of unknown entirely, thus successfully preventing himself from experiencing the type of panic that the others were undergoing.

That was why Gallant was a natural born leader. At least, that’s what those around him had always said. His family, what little friends he had left who didn’t succumb to illness or a late demise, even those who liked to give Gallant orders some time ago. His mind was constantly in the right place. He knew what to say, to do, what demands to give. He would give a command to his troops, and stand on the front line right along with them. At least, he would should the time call for it. For now, he resorted to practicing drills and maneuvers.

Being thrown into a game that consists of everything that is unknown is daunting, and even he could figure that out. He could feel a slight nervousness dwelling inside of him. He couldn’t stand for it. He threw his fear into an imaginary bottle, and tossed it far away. He took joy in watching that very same bottle shatter as it collided with a brick wall, never to be reassembled or disturbed again.

He did it horrendously often, but he never bothered to care. Now was also a terrible time. After being thrown in some kind of mansion with six others with no way out, as well as being threatened with an untimely death? It’s safe to admit his emotions were so far down on his list of priorities that maybe Miso’s family could find it on the other side of the planet.

“See anything?” called a voice from the other side of the pillared room. Any normal stallion who had been lost in thought as much as Gallant would have jumped. He didn’t move a single muscle.

“No,” Gallant muttered lowly under his breath. Alloy sighed, and for a moment Gallant was somewhat surprised that the other stallion actually heard him.

The last hour had been wasted, and it was very much obvious as soon as they passed the ten minute mark. Alloy and Gallant continued, but it’s unsure whether it’s from hopeless optimism, or sheer unacceptance. They had inspected the door, each and every one of the seven pillars, and even the hallway for something that could indicate a way out of this dreaded game. No luck.

“I think we should stop, Gallant.” Alloy uttered a heaving sigh that was impressively long and wearisome. “It’s been a while. If we haven’t found anything by now, then… I think it’s safe to say there’s no way out.”

Gallant lifted his head in a manner that signified pride and dignity. His eyes were telling a much different story, one full of unrestricted torment. No need for fear. There can only be acceptance at this point. Lying to oneself will do more harm than good, he told himself. “Perhaps you’re right,” he muttered. Alloy simply gave him his four-eyed stare, as if he was expecting something more. Gallant wanted to let the silence play out, but a nagging question stopped that wish cold. “What about that other room? The one connected to this one? Or even everypony’s rooms themselves?”

Alloy lifted a brow, as if Gallant was a clown tripping over a banana peel. “I don’t think so. We’ve been locked in the rooms for a while. If there was an exit, somepony would have noticed.” Alloy glanced down at the floor, sending his glasses running down his face. He quickly pushed them back up. “I really don’t think there’s a way out of here…”

Alloy looked back up at Gallant like he expected the older stallion to start wailing. Gallant remained undeterred. He couldn’t help but notice the worry in Alloy’s sky colored eyes, and his mouth curl into a frown.

Gallant respected the stallion for multiple reasons. Alloy seemed smart and clear-minded, something he looked for in potential soldiers. He also appreciated the way the young lad talked some sense into that rude mare, Tenor. That whole situation almost excited him. Almost. Alloy nearly did a double take when he saw Gallant’s lips grow into a small smirk. “You know, if you were in my bootcamp I’d order you thirty push-ups for frowning like that.” He dramatically paused, letting the words sink in. “You’re very pessimistic, city boy.”

Alloy’s ear twitched. “Excuse me?”

“You need to calm down. You’re becoming upset and worried,” Gallant observed. He flicked his short tail in amusement.

“Of course!” Alloy exclaimed. Gallant was sure Alloy had intended to sound frustrated, but he noticed the stallion holding back an exasperated grin. “No one’s calm. You think everyone should be happy and chipper right now?”

“No. I’m thinking that everyone should remain indifferent.” Gallant’s smile fell. Alloy could most certainly see the subtle hardship underneath his features. He gulped regrettably. “We’re not going to accomplish anything by panicking.”

“Indifferent? That may be easy to you, but not so much everypony else.” Gallant didn’t at all appreciate the way Alloy phrased that sentence. He hid his suspicions well. “We need a plan, Gallant. We should stop and think-”

Gallant’s fuse was burning. Plan? He’s the master of plans. A stallion of drills, preparation and organization. His plans contribute to the safety of Equestria. At least, that was what his own mind told him. Telling a Co-Flight Coordinator that he doesn’t have a plan is like telling a doctor that he doesn’t have the knowledge to properly treat a patient.

His one day off work, and even still he had to bark orders. This thought itself almost caused his eye to quiver.

“There is no plan, and there will not be one.” Gallant sighed again, and turned towards the hallway. “We are at the complete mercy of this game. Since we have confirmed that there is absolutely no way out of here, then we’ll have to make do with what we have.” Gallant paused. “Sometimes the best course of action is inaction.”

Alloy opened his mouth, but closed it quickly. “I...I guess that makes sense. But it’s still not at all helpful. So you’re telling us to just lie down and let this toxin kill us?” Alloy’s eyes were watering, and Gallant could easily see a short lifetime of accomplishment in them. The abundant desire for longevity had never been so apparent. Gallant was in the exact same boat. Unfortunately, it caused him to falter.

“No! We wait it out. We light up the future as much as we can, like a cave. We don’t know what’s in store, and until we do, we wait. You don’t run into a war without figuring out the other side's intentions.” Alloy was already nodding by the time Gallant was half done speaking. Gallant wasn’t entirely sure if Alloy understood, or if he wanted the older stallion to stop talking already. “You’re a smart stallion, Alloy. I’m sure you completely understand.”

Alloy said nothing. He simply stared, fearfully.

“Fine, then. As soon as you come up with a game plan, let me know. Maybe we can collaborate on something that doesn’t end up getting us killed in the end.” Alloy flinched. Gallant didn’t understand why. It wasn’t until he noticed Alloy’s eyes sparkle that he felt a good-natured chuckle well up inside of him.

“You can’t just say that…”

“What do you mean?”

Alloy turned his head towards the hallway, where the other contenders were most likely losing their minds with panic. At least, that’s what Alloy presumed. “It’s not a good idea to go back to the group and say what you just said. If they heard that, it’d only make the situation worse.”

Gallant pondered this. “Lying won’t do any good either, Alloy,” he said a few seconds later.

“I’m not saying we lie. I’m just saying, don’t go back and make this worse. I doubt they actually expected us to find something anyways,” Alloy explained. “I mean… would E really be that careless and simple? This is supposed to be a sick game to him. Let’s just go back and say we had no luck. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Gallant almost laughed. Instead, his lips curled into a crooked, old pony’s smile. “You do that, city boy. What those ponies need to realize is that whatever happens, happens. But, if you want to kiss their butts and appease them, go ahead.”

Alloy’s heart jumped as it began to beat a million times harder. He narrowed his eyes. Surprisingly, Gallant caught on. “You and I have something in common. We’re thinkers. A trait that’s good in the field of battle, or behind a beaker of corrosive chemicals. I don’t know what the Hell it is you do.” Gallant only exclaimed this after carefully taking note of Alloy’s cutie mark, which was--unsurprisingly--a beaker filled with some kind of green liquid.

Alloy didn’t see where he was going with this. Gallant could tell. His fuming manner had completely shifted into one of utmost confusion. Gallant held out his hoof towards Alloy for the second time in the last few hours. “If we work together, our minds like one, maybe we can make something of this.”

Alloy’s mouth was open, but he finally managed to speak. He stuttered a bit. “W-What do you think this is? Some kind of game show? Granted, we do need to work together, but not just us two. We need the other five.”

Gallant shrugged. “We have the same mind. We can keep each other awake, as well as make key decisions when need be. Do you really think that the others will stay aware when hours, days, start to go by? Do you think ponies like Tenor and Sketch would really help us at all? They can’t think like we do. I’m not trying to make some bullshit alliance with you. No. This is reality, not a reality show. I just need you to aid me, and in return I’ll give the same to you. No one can do this alone.” Gallant stopped suddenly for a brief moment, as if he realized something. “You can be my cadet.” He winked, playfully.

Alloy noticed that Gallant’s hoof was still outstretched. Gallant was not a mind-reader, but he was pretty sure Alloy was very hesitant when he shook his hoof.

Never, ever, had Tenor been so irritated in her entire life. And to think, her timer only read three hours, six minutes, and 49 seconds. That’s a record.

Waking up in a horrible situation such as this one was definitely not on her to do list. She didn’t know what to think of it, really. All she felt welling up inside of her chest was the increasingly abundant, confident feeling that was almost always there, ever since she was a child. Sure, every few minutes or so she’d think about her impending death. Truthfully, this was the first time she actually thought about her dying this much. She never really envisioned it happening, or how, even. She had mainly spent her life living as if she was invincible. So far, there had been almost no consequences.

But what if she did die? What if she died a nobody? That was her worst fear. This was exactly what haunted her mind. Alloy had unknowingly hit the mark earlier, but there was no way that Tenor would ever admit it. Especially considering the way he talked to her earlier. There was no way she was going to let that go. She didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

Anyway, she’s stuck in a mansion, with absolutely no way out. That was obvious. What could she do in here? How will the world know that, on this day, there was a mare by the name of Tenor that deserved to be known? That deserved to have other ponies acknowledge her existence. She was but a speck of dust in the nation of Equestria, when compared to the rest of the population. But she was so much more. And she wanted other ponies to know this.

But, her time in winding down. She could die at any minute. And when she did, nopony would have any idea of who she was, or how she even died. So this is why, upon hearing E’s rules for the game, that she came up with a single resolve:

She must win. She simply cannot die.

She was a relatively young mare, only two years older than Sketch. They said the good always die young. But she wasn’t good. No, not at all.

Upon ditching Alloy and Gallant as they inspected the hallway, and the strange pillared room, she elusively dipped out of view from Buttermilk and Sketch. She didn’t care about any of them anyways. She figured that if she didn’t keep herself away from the others, that something bad would happen. She simply didn’t believe who they were. She didn’t believe that Sketch was so dumb as to slip on his own puddle. Surely, Swallow wasn’t as innocent as she seemed. There was absolutely no way that the older pony, whose name she had already forgotten, was some sort of army general. Miso, however… Tenor had no idea.

She’ll have to do this alone.

So now, here she lay, in her room. She had found her radio in her dresser, as well as her bright orange pair of headphones. She lied on her belly on her bed, bobbing her head to the sound of pounding drums, the squeals of an electric guitar, and incoherent screaming of the female singer. In short, she had completely turned herself out of the world.

Her music gave her faith. Her music offered her opportunity, and love. She wanted to be a rock star. That was the gist of it. After all, she was the vocalist and drummer for her own band. In her mind, she saw herself in magazines, and television interviews. In reality, her band only played meager gigs in bars. No one really applauded either. Metal really wasn’t all that popular of music anymore. In fact, it was generally hated by the Equestrian public and quoted as being “corruptive to the nation’s youth” by an older mare one night at a gig in some park after nightfall.

Her band mates must have been worried sick, by now. She was pretty sure she had a show today, actually. This thought only infuriated her more.

She took her drumsticks out of her mane, twisting her mane around until they inevitably became undone, and began to skillfully recreate the beat from the current song that was playing. She wished that E wouldn’t have been such a loser, and had remembered to at least supply her with her drumset. She didn’t care that it probably wouldn’t have fit in the dresser anyways. She wanted it, now.

She closed her eyes and played. But it was only a few minutes later when she heard an extra beat of the drum in the song, one that she couldn’t place. Strange, I’ve heard this song millions of times before. Why does it sound so different?

It was almost like a dull thumping sound. Too low for a snare, too high for a kick. Also, it didn’t even match the beat of the rest of the song. It was also getting louder. Tenor was completely oblivious to the fact that Swallow was standing in her doorway. She had excused formalities, and had allowed herself in anyways seeing as Tenor wasn’t opening up the door on her own. Her eyebrow raised itself upon realizing why.

“Hey!” Swallow shouted. She didn’t want to yell too loud, for some reason that she didn’t quite know herself.

Tenor continued to tap her drumsticks on her pillow. Every time one of the sticks made a connection, a muffled “PUFF” noise could be heard. Swallow bit the inside of her mouth and thought.

“Tenor! Hello!” she shouted again. Still, nothing. Tenor was facing away from the door, so she had no idea that Swallow was steadily making her way closer to her. She poked Tenor’s side. Tenor jumped, and accidently threw her drumsticks on the floor. Her headphones fell from her head, but luckily they stayed on the bed.

As soon as Tenor’s eyes met Swallow’s, the latter wished that she had minded her own business. “What?!” Tenor hollered. “What the Hell is so important that you have to sneak up on me in my own freaking room!” Tenor grit her teeth. She did not enjoy being made a fool of. So what if nopony else saw?

Swallow gulped. “Didn’t you hear the announcement?”

Tenor’s angry face lessened. “What announcement?”

“Five minutes after Gallant and Alloy returned, E made another announcement.” Swallow said. There was a brief exchange of awkward stares, before Tenor became impatient.

“Well? Spill it! What’d he say?” she asked. In an effort to keep her hooves busy, she subconsciously reached down and grabbed her drumsticks on the floor. Normally, she’d be downright furious over dropping them. However, what E had to say was just a little more important. She quickly tied them back in her mane.

“He said ‘meal time’, and that we all needed to walk down that hallway,” she said. Swallow was already inching her way out of the door. Tenor wasn’t sure if what she heard was the music blaring out of her headphones a foot away, or Swallow’s stomach growling from five feet.

“Ugh.” Tenor groaned. “This should be good… let’s get this over with. E’s got such a nice place. I bet he’s got a buffet down there.” Tenor knew for sure that there was nothing down that hallway anyways. However, she was having fun toying with Swallow’s empty gut. What’s the harm in playing along? The look on her face when all she sees is some stupid pillars would’ve been priceless.

With a small leap, she followed Swallow out the door, who was practically jogging. Tenor let out a small groan upon seeing the five other faces, each of whom wanted to make her vomit harder than the last. They were standing in a circle, similar to the manner of the start of the game when they all first exited their rooms. Tenor was reminded of a kindergarten classroom, with a bunch of little kids who didn’t know squat. She imagined she was a teacher, wearing a dress colored in red apples and lots of pretty makeup. Alright kiddies, it’s story time!

She wished she hadn’t had thought that.

“About time.” Buttermilk’s husky voice chirped in, moments after Tenor had emerged from her room. She was just barely reaching the circle. “We thought ya may have gotten lost.”

“Shut up,” Tenor said automatically. Buttermilk’s wisecracks were really getting on her nerves. Weirdly enough, it didn’t bother her as much as she would have liked . She sighed silently. “Now what’s the deal?”

“E made an announcement.” Sketch said. “Odd how you didn’t hear it…” His face twisted into a smug grin, obviously hinting to when Tenor barked at him for missing E’s and monologue earlier. Tenor wasn’t an idiot, unlike him. Tenor uttered a low, intimidating growl., strangely similar to that of a wild dog. Sketch’s smile disappeared immediately, and he took a timid step closer to Buttermilk, who only shook his head with annoyance.

“Can we just get going? I’m starving…” Swallow moaned. She put a hoof on her aching tummy, again. Tenor rolled her eyes. If Swallow insisted on mentioning her hunger every ten minutes, her and Tenor were going to have a problem. Fortunately, Swallow was the only pony among them that had yet to piss her off, save for Miso, so that meant Tenor was going to have to hold her attitude back around them.

“Are you sure about this?” Alloy mumbled, looking at the older stallion who stood next to him. “Gallant and I inspected that room for more than an hour. There’s nothing in there.” Tenor felt stupid after forgetting Gallant’s equally stupid name. The feeling subsided quickly.

“Well, he told us to go, so let’s go. I’m getting bored. You interrupted ‘Tenor-Time’ for this, not me.” With this, Tenor barged her way through the middle of the circle, walking diagonally from where she was standing, towards the small hallway. She walked directly passed Sketch, and it took all of her willpower not to hipcheck him. Tenor soon heard hoofsteps right behind her, followed by the light panting of Swallow.

The two of them heard a quiet argument between Alloy and Gallant, but it ended within moments by Gallant’s incessant shushing.

For some reason, her heart skipped a beat.

Swallow’s black hole of a stomach was really starting to irritate her.

Only a few hours into the game, and she felt as if death was looming over her shoulder. Not from sleepiness. Nah. In fact, she felt more awake than ever. It was starvation that worried her more. She hadn’t had a bite to eat since the game began. Normally, she’d have some sort of large meal once every two hours. Right now, her hungriness was devastatingly effective on her train of thought.

But then, from a literal nowhere, E called with a blessing. “It is now 9 o’clock AM,” he said with what she assumed was a kind smile. Of course, she was terrified of dying, as well as E himself and anything he had to say. This time, his announcement actually made her calm down a little bit.“Meal time! Please make your way down the hallway for breakfast. So far so good, eh? You all are doing so great so far! I’m so proud of you.”

She was still horrified.

Though, strangely enough, she found herself at the front of the line of ponies making their way down that strange hallway. This was her first time investigating anything further than the octagonal room, and her room itself. She wasn’t sure if her mind, or her body was causing her to walk at the front of the line, either way.

She stayed absolutely silent as she trudged on. She didn’t say a word. A few ponies chatted behind her, such as Gallant and Alloy in the back of the line, and Buttermilk and Sketch right behind her. Actually, Sketch was doing all the talking. He was blathering on about how the duo reminded him of some ponies he once saw on TV, who fought crime as a team. He kept emphasizing the part that this team were “best friends”. Buttermilk didn’t appear to be listening, considering that he wasn’t replying.

Swallow wasn’t much for talking, nor did she have any problem with Sketch. But she simply did not want to listen to anymore.

The hallway opened up to a small room.

The room, which had previously been painted white(although Swallow and Miso had no idea of this), was now a sky blue. The walls consisted of white, fluffy clouds, and a single, smiling sun that was plastered in the northeast corner of the room. There was green painted grass towards the bottom of the walls, and a few colored flowers scattered throughout. It was painted similarly to that of what one would find in an elementary school lunchroom. However, the painting technique was much more refined, as if the teacher was the one who made the art, and not the children.

In the middle of the room was a rectangular table. It was a dark lavender, in contrast to the bright and shining colors on the walls. There were seven chairs scattered around. Two chairs on one longer side, one chair on the short. Three chairs on the other longer side, and one across from the other shorter side.

There were white plates and glasses neatly placed in front of each table. Swallow was the first one to snap out of her stupor. “Morning breakfast!” she exclaimed. This was the loudest she’d spoked in a while. “Hooray!” She rushed over to the table.

Meanwhile, the other six were absolutely stunned. Everypony’s mouth, excluding Miso, was nearly on the floor. They were struck absolutely dumb. Alloy was the first to speak after at least five seconds of near silence. “N-no way!” he almost shouted. His glasses had slid down his face, just balancing on the end of his muzzle.

“Where are the pillars? They were right here!” Tenor said. She threw a hoof where the pillars were last located a little while ago, in the middle of the room where the table now sat. She glared angrily at Alloy and Gallant, the latter appearing indifferent to the situation entirely. He just stared calmly at the table a few meters away. “You two were in here for what, an hour and a half? And you do this!?”

Sketch’s ears were twitching like crazy. His head humorously snapped in different directions, as if he was trying to look at the entire room at once, including the ceiling and floor. “This is amazing! The painting technique is like that of a feigned amateur!” he suddenly turned to the ground, sadly. “Why wasn’t I asked to help? This is so good! But I know it could’ve been better if I helped!”

Sketch was ignored, yet again. Alloy took a step back. “What are you accusing? That Gallant and I got bored and started painting the walls? With what paint? We didn’t do this!” Gallant said absolutely nothing. He looked like he was lost in thought.

“So what then? The room just randomly decided to shift? The room wasn’t nearly this small when we came in here earlier!” replied Tenor. Luckily, she didn’t appear to be mad. That was a disaster that everyone was glad to avoid. It was apparent that Tenor was not amused by being confused, and she was trying not to let her befuddlement turn into fury.

“I have no idea! We searched this room top to bottom and found absolutely nothing. We’re just as confused as you are. Maybe this was E’s doing.” Alloy spoke his words carefully, but sloppily. He kept stuttering at the wrong moments. Tenor simply rolled her eyes.

“Ya right,” Buttermilk butted in, rudely. “It’d be much easier for two ponies to pull this kind of stunt than one. Besides, any job is easier when you have a unicorn and a pegasus-”

“Knock it off!” Gallant shouted. Buttermilk stopped instantly. “We didn’t do this. When we left the room was white, and had seven pillars. This probably is E’s doing. It’s not that big of a deal.”

Tenor sighed. Buttermilk’s eyes narrowed in Gallant’s direction. Sketch chose this very moment as the best time to chirp in. “It’s so pretty in here!” he exclaimed loudly. “So many colors! I was getting so sick of all the white.”

“Yes… ‘pretty’...” Gallant repeated, after another slightly awkward pause. Nopony had noticed Miso staring curiously at the walls, holding a hoof to her chin. For the most part, everypony had given up trying to communicate with her.

Swallow had not been paying attention to their conversation. She was too disappointed to inquire as to what they were talking about. “You have got to be kidding me!” The rest of the group turned towards the feeble voice. Swallow was not one for attention, but this time she felt as if she needed to be heard. A few ponies such as Sketch, Buttermilk and Tenor wandered over. The other three stayed put.

Water was beginning to fill Swallow’s eternally wide eyes. “This is it? There’s no more?” she was sobbing, but she refused to let the tears fall. She instead turned her gaze back to the ground. Of course, the mare was referring to the small plate stationed at every seat.

There was nothing but a grapefruit, and a small glass of orange juice. It was only half full. This was E’s “breakfast”. Swallow viewed this as nothing more than another sick joke. She could envision E--or what she imagined E to look like--laughing like a crazy pony at how Swallow had gotten her hopes up like that, and have them shattered in moments.

“But… but I’m so hungry. There has to be more somewhere…” Swallow sighed. Tenor blew a hot breath of air from her nostrils, and stomped back towards Alloy, Gallant, and Miso. Sketch simply turned to Buttermilk, who shrugged his shoulders. The sunny colored stallion wandered to the other side of the table consisting of two chairs, and took a seat. Swallow’s head hurt.

She was watching him intently, and little to her knowledge, every other pony in the room had stopped what they were doing in order to watch the curious pony stare at the grapefruit and glass of orange juice in front of him. “Buttermilk, are you sure about this? What if E poisoned them or something?” Sketch called.

“Pffft, if he wanted to kill me, he’d just wait for me to fall asleep.” Buttermilk, without warning, picked up the grapefruit and brought it to his mouth. His bite was so large, he ate almost half of it right then and there. As Buttermilk chewed and swallowed, the rest of the six watched. Swallow was merely watching in hunger, but she was positive that the others were gazing for a much different reason.

“It’s safe.” Buttermilk replied. The stallion grinned, and set the grapefruit down on the plate, and sat back a little farther in his seat. “You guys are idiots.”

If Sketch had not decided to brush his teeth out of sheer boredom a few hours ago, his orange juice would have tasted delicious.

The seven of them sat at that very same troublesome table. The smiling sun in the corner was staring down at Sketch,,like some sort of malevolent angel that was waiting for him to make a mistake. It almost creeped him out. But save for that, he was really impressed with the paintings on the walls, and he couldn’t stop himself from wondering just who created that marvelous piece of art. It was truly spectacular. Unfortunately, the others didn’t see it as such.

Going around the circle, Sketch was really beginning to doubt his positive effect on the group. Deep inside, he knew this. Deeper inside, he knew that he wasn’t really happy himself. Given the situation, it only made sense. However, “sense” was just not a word in Sketch’s vocabulary anymore.

At least I have Buttermilk. A true friend, Sketch thought to himself. Sketch’s “true friend” was currently inching further and further away from him. Then again, Sketch was awkwardly shifting his seat closer to Buttermilk in the first place. Sketch never believed in personal bubbles anyways. Who needs them?

Sketch still hoped that they would be friends forever. He truly did.

“So what now? Just three hours...ish… into the game and here we’re sitting around a table.” Buttermilk broke the uncomfortable silence with his southern twang. “Anyone have any tips to stay awake? I’m gettin’ a little nervous.”

Alloy cocked his head. “Tips? Really?”

“I’m asking nicely. Besides, it’s too quiet in ‘ere.” Buttermilk picked up his glass and finished off the last of his orange juice. Now the only pony that had anything left on their plate and in their glass was Miso, who appeared to dislike the food. Sketch felt bad for her. Swallow stared ravenously at her plate. Her innocent eyes pleaded.

“He’s right.” Gallant turned towards Alloy who was located to his left, completely ignoring Tenor to his right. She was resting a bored hoof on her chin, and staring at the plate with glassy eyes. “We need all the help we can get. Here, I’ll start off.” He sat up a little bit in his chair. “I heard that coffee is one of the most obvious ways to stay awake.”

“Do ya see any coffee machines around ‘ere, moron?” piped Buttermilk. Gallant simply looked at him curiously. Weirdly enough, Alloy was the one who took offense.

“Hey, we’re the ones trying to help you all out here.” Alloy, once again, realigned his glasses. “The least you could do is not insult us.”

Buttermilk sighed. “Fine.”

“I heard that exercise can help you stay awake?” Sketch, for some reason, felt the need to speak. Maybe it was to impress Buttermilk with an idea that’ll help him win the game. Maybe he just got restless.

“Eh…” Alloy looked up at the ceiling with speculation. “I wouldn’t recommend it… I think it’ll only tire you out. It’ll keep your brain occupied though. Perhaps doing some push ups or walk around every so often couldn’t hurt. Were’d you hear that?” Alloy frowned when Sketch grinned.

“Television.”

“What about loud music?” asked Tenor. Apparently, she had been listening the entire time. This was the longest she had went without speaking since the game began.

“What kind? Slow music I’d say no to. It’d be like a lullaby,” Alloy said. Tenor deadpanned. Alloy understood immediately. “I’m sure rock music would work fine.”

“Sorry Swallow,” Sketch bit the inside of his lip. “I also heard that eating a lot will knock you out in minutes.” Swallow, who had finished her meal and licked her plate in a matter of seconds upon sitting down, did not look amused.

“But… this isn’t fair!” she whined. “We need to eat something!” Swallow stuck out her lower lip childishly at her end of the table, by herself. Alloy rolled his eyes, similar to the way he did at Sketch. Alloy didn’t even bother replying, but Tenor did.

“You just did. E gave us just enough food so where we could eat, but not engorge ourselves and fall asleep so quickly.” She put her chin back into her hoof. She spoke slowly and dully, as if she was horribly bored. “He wants us to last as long as possible. He wants to make us squirm. He wants to make us suffer, like some kind of caged pig…” Before she began to ramble, she shook her head. “I’d eat just what he gives you, Swallow…”

Gallant was nodding, and Sketch was almost surprised by Tenor’s sudden articulate shift. Sketch found himself staring at Tenor longer than he should have, and she eventually met his gaze. “What’re you staring at?!” she barked. Sketch suddenly found himself looking at his empty plate, his heart beat a little faster than he would have liked to admit.

Tenor was scary. But what she said made him think in a way he hadn’t yet: only one of them could get out alive. That was the rule, that was the game. That would mean that everypony else sitting at this table would have to be dead before he could leave. This wasn’t like some movie, where the rules could be shifted in favor of the protagonist. No way.

But maybe it could. Maybe Buttermilk and he could leave together. He still had hope.

Speaking of Buttermilk, the pony in question clutched his chest, spasmically. Sketch had looked just in time to notice. Buttermilk was bearing his teeth in pain, and was slightly bent over the table. His snowy colored mane covered his eyes, preventing Sketch from seeing the underlying agony in Buttermilk’s chest. “Whoa, you okay?”

“I’m fine!” Buttermilk snapped. Sketch’s ears flattened against the back of his head. “Just.. fine…”

Buttermilk’s outburst had nabbed the attention of every other pony at the table. Even Miso. “You’re not gonna have a heart attack on us, are you?” asked Tenor, laughing. “I’d have thought Gallant would’ve been the next candidate.”

Tenor shrugged when 10 eyes glared at her.

“Seriously bro, what’s wrong?” Sketch asked again. His eyes were soft, and caring. Buttermilk didn’t seem to notice. He furiously shook his hoof in his direction, eyes clamped shut and head facing the ground.

“Nothing!” he shouted. Sketch opened his mouth again, but quickly shut it again. Suddenly, Buttermilk bolted up from his seat.

“Buttermilk, wait!” Sketch called, but Buttermilk didn’t stop running. In a mere matter of seconds, Buttermilk had sprinted down the hallway, eyes practically closed and clutching his chest for dear life. His hoofsteps echoed down the hallway, until it couldn’t be heard anymore.

Sketch sat in his seat. His heart felt like it was a two-ton boulder that had just been dropped of the edge of space. He couldn’t believe it. He refused to believe it. His best friend, Buttermilk, had just run away from him. Sketch felt the tears begin to well up in his eyes, and his chest tightened. His cheeks felt as hot as embers, but he certainly wasn’t blushing.

Why? Why did this always happen to him? The not-so-distant sense of rejection came running back to him. If it had a voice, he imagined it saying, “Welcome back! Boy, it’s been a while! Oh, whoops, sorry about your friend there. Sucks, don’t it?”

There was another silence among the group. Even Miso’s face was contorted into a frown. “Uh…” Tenor cocked her head. “What was that all about?” she asked. She knit her brows. Everyone except the obvious and Sketch shook their head.

“I...I’m gonna go see if he’s okay…” Sketch said sullenly. His eyes were fixated on the table, and then the ground the moment he jumped off his chair. He needed to. He had to see what was wrong with his best friend. Sketch saw it in the movies all the time. Somepony runs off, sad and hysterical, then the pony who follows normally has a heart-to-heart that makes everything okay. Then everything is happy again. Then, they can be friends again.

Besides, Sketch just can’t let his pained friend be alone at a time like this.

“Sketch, are you sure that’s a good idea?” asked Gallant. Sketch flinched.

Honestly, Sketch didn’t know either. He was being driven by pain, by nothing more than his innermost desire. He wasn’t thinking straight, but he wasn’t able to come to this type of conclusion at a time like this. His determination for companionship was wholeheartedly delusioned by envy and lust. Unfortunately, the only thought in his mind right now was seeing somepony he viewed as a friend, knowing full well nothing everlasting will come from it whatsoever.

He still had to. He’d never been sure of anything else in his entire life.

“Yeah. I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’m sure it’s just stress or something.” He gave the rest of the group a reassuring smile. Alloy obviously didn’t agree with what Sketch had said, and because of this he crossed his forelegs.

“Be careful. Chest pains are symptoms of a number of different things,” Alloy explained. Sketch was already halfway to the hallway. He didn’t hear anything Alloy had to say.

Meanwhile, the rest of the group sat quietly. The only sound being heard by all was that of Miso reluctantly taking a small bite of her grapefruit, and grimacing.

Sketch knew that everything was going to be okay.

On the walk through the hallway, Sketch was wondering just what he would say upon his meeting with Buttermilk. What would he really want to hear right now? Why did he scamper out of breakfast like he was about to vomit and cry? What did Sketch do to deserve being yelled at like that?

So many questions. As if this game wasn’t enough to drive a pony crazy.

Sketch wandered out of the hallway, back to the octagonal room. Luckily, the room had not changed at all, unlike the pillar room. from this position, every door was closed, the rug remained untarnished, and he still felt like he was roaming around a castle. The timers above each of the doors continued to tick. He had never actually paid any attention to them, but for some reason, he felt drawn to them. He read the names on the door, and the times starting from his immediate left.

Sketch’s door was right next to the hallway. His timer read four hours, thirty six minutes, twenty one seconds.

The next door was Miso. She must have woken up a little bit earlier than Sketch had initially. Her timer read four hours, forty five minutes, twelve seconds.

The next door was Gallant’s. His timer read five hours, thirteen minutes, forty-eight seconds. Sketch shrugged. He expected as such. He seemed like the type to wake up early. Gallant almost reminded Sketch of his grandfather.

On the complete other side of the octagon was Buttermilk’s room. His timer had stopped. It was stuck on three hours, fifty-seven minutes, two seconds.

Next to Buttermilk’s room, was Alloy’s. Obviously, he was the one who had woken up first out of all of them. His timer read five hours, fifty-one minutes, twenty-four seconds.

The second to last room belonged to Tenor. Surprisingly, her time was much higher than Sketch had originally assumed. For some reason, he always thought she was one of the last to awaken. Five hours, twenty-two minutes, forty nine seconds.

The last door was Swallow’s. Sketch wasn’t really surprised that her timer was so much lower than the others. Her timer read four hours, six minutes, thirty-six seconds.

Sketch brought his eyes back to Buttermilk’s door. It was straight in front of him. Strange, very strange, for his timer to have just busted like that. Must be some kind of faulty thing. Sketch, not thinking it through, walked slowly over to Buttermilk’s door.

The door had been left slightly ajar, as if it was welcoming Sketch in. As if it wanted to consume him. “Buttermilk?” Sketch called. His voice was trembling. “Friend? Are you there?” Had the door not been cracked open just a smidge, he would have knocked. Of course, he wasn’t going to close the door just so he could knock. Rather rudely, he poked his head inside…

...and immediately wished he hadn’t.

The room was absolutely trashed. The lamps and vases, and even a few pictures that had originally been on the dresser were now strewn about the room like confetti. The chandelier that was so peacefully perched above his bed had fallen, and there were glass shards all over the bed and a few spots on the floor. There were holes in the walls, with some kind of imprint inside them.

And worst of all, a large yellow body was lying on the floor, at the edge of the bed. Buttermilk’s mane was knotted and dispersed, and it was near impossible to see his eyes, which were closed anyways. He was lying on his side, not breathing and not moving. In his hoof, was a medicine bottle. Sketch’s eyes were as wide as dinner plates, and he thought the grapefruit and orange juice he had moments ago were about to betray him.

“No… no, no, no!” he shrieked. He was freely crying. His mind felt like it was hit was a tire iron. His head fizzing out like a television with no satellite. It made no sense. It had no reason. Sketch wasn’t sure what to think anymore. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to either. The game had begun. The poison was real. It was all so very true.

Upon seeing the gruesome sight of his best friend’s body, Sketch did the first logical thing all morning: he turned and ran.

Author's Note

The game has just begun.

There will only be one survivor.

Stay tuned.

Chapter Five

Alloy felt morbidly sick when his first thought upon seeing Buttermilk’s body was “I told you so.”

It was an odd moment, initially, when Buttermilk had bolted from the breakfast table having some kind of fit. In fact, he had no idea the large stallion could move so fast. Alloy couldn’t help but notice Buttermilk’s hoof plastered on his chest as he ran, and the pained sneer on his face. All the while, Alloy’s mind raced faster than he had wished. But no matter how much he thought, Alloy just couldn’t face the truth.

Alloy just didn’t know. He was a scientist, not a doctor.

But that didn’t mean that Alloy didn’t care. Actually, he was curious. Just what was wrong with Buttermilk? Perhaps he had some kind of allergic reaction, or had some kind of medical problem he never bothered to tell anypony about. Alloy was a perfectly healthy stallion, save for some asthma, but something as severe as what Buttermilk was going through should have been shared.

Alloy’s stomach was in his throat, waiting for Sketch and Buttermilk to return. What if something horrible had occurred? What if Buttermilk got injured or something? Alloy certainly hoped not. He never wished bad things upon other ponies, even if they tended to get on his nerves a little bit.

Truthfully, Alloy didn’t know a single thing about Buttermilk, save for the fact that he was cocky, arrogant, and liked to make fun of others. He definately didn’t forget about the fact that Sketch and he were “best friends”. Alloy barely knew the stallion, so why did he feel so ill?

Only a minute had passed since Sketch’s departure did he come running back into the room. Alloy knew what was coming, and frowned when he realized that he was pretty close. Sketch was a mess. His eyes were red and twitching. He was crying hysterically, trying his best to form words through the blood-curdling screaming and wailing. He had collapsed on the ground in a sobbing mess, failing to inform the five other awaiting ponies of just what Sketch himself had seen.

Alloy had seen things. Not with his own eyes, but in magazines, television, movies. He saw things that made his heart stop, and things that made him cry. He’d seen documentaries of war, and death. He’d seen newspapers with pictures of lower-class mares having their children ripped away from them. In no way, shape or form did either of those things make him feel as worse as the live, destroyed kid wallowing in despair on the ground in front of him.

Almost immediately, Swallow was at his side, rubbing his back. In Alloy’s peripheral vision, did he see Tenor and Gallant bolt for the hallway, towards the octagonal foyer. Obviously, they went to investigate. Alloy, at first, was appalled that they left. Upon some thinking, he realized that he really didn’t think it was a big deal. Miso, not completely understanding just what was going on, decided to follow the other two down the hallway, at a much slower and relaxed pace. Alloy almost wished that he was as oblivious as her.

Alloy then joined Swallow in trying to calm down Sketch, who was still frantically crying on the floor. “It’ll be alright,” Swallow cooed “Everything is going to be okay.” She looked at him with wide eyes, eyes that simply couldn’t be ignored. Alloy hadn’t paid attention to her during the game, but for some reason she made him shiver. It was as if he was looking into the eyes of an old children’s doll.

Sketch’s mane was no longer wet from his bath earlier that morning. Unfortunately, his face and cheeks were drenched. “Sketch, what happened? Where’s Buttermilk?” Alloy asked. His only response was another agonizing howl upon hearing the name. Swallow gave Alloy a look. Not a mean one, but one that simply stated “watch what you say”. Alloy understood immediately.

“Sketch, please, calm down. It’ll all be okay.” Swallow pet the stallion’s back, like a mother would her foal.

Alloy couldn’t remember the last time he had a good cry. He did recall, however, being upset once when he was a colt about his Mini-Scientist Kit getting lost in the mail. Unfortunately, he cried so hard that he fell asleep a few minutes later. His parent’s thought it was the funniest thing. In fact, they used to tell it at parties. Specifically, his graduation party.

Alloy’s eyes went wide at the sudden realization. “Swallow!” Swallow jumped, but made no noise. Sketch was too out of it to even acknowledge the loud noise. “We need to hurry up and get him to stop crying. Crying contributes to tiredness, and sleep.” As awkwardly as he had phrased his words, he was simply recalling something he read in a study done by some college a few months ago. He wished he would have paid more attention. Swallow, who appeared to be the type to care and love, rather than use force, practically jumped up from her crouched position, Obviously, she hadn’t thought about this either. The more Sketch cried, the more sleepy he’d become afterwards.

“Sketch!” Alloy poked him in the side, hard. Sketch let out a squeal of discomfort. “Stop crying! Seriously! You’ll tire yourself out!” Sketch’s cries reduced to that of traumatic sniffling. Alloy wouldn’t accept that. “Stand up, come on.” Alloy grabbed Sketch’s side, and motioned for Swallow to help him hoist the sobbing stallion to his hooves.

Considering that Swallow was just as fragile as she looked, and Alloy had almost flunked gym class back in grade school, this proved to be a hard task. This is given the fact that Sketch wasn’t even a full grown stallion yet.

When Sketch was on his hooves, and fully stabilized, he looked like he had just gotten into a train wreck. His eyes were sunken and red, and his face was stained with wet tears. His mane looked like somepony had thrown purple paint into the ocean. No longer, was it stylishly parted. Sketch wobbled, as if he was about to collapse again. He caught himself.

“Are you alright?” Swallow asked. Swallow was a full grown mare. Even still, Sketch was only a few inches shorter than her when they both stood side by side. In fact, Swallow could have kissed his nose without having to adjust her height.

Alloy had failed to realize that he had at some point touched the lenses of his glasses. With a sigh, he grabbed them off his face, rubbed it on the outside on his coat, and put them back on. Now, he could see just a little bit better. Why Alloy cared more about his eyesight than the situation at hoof was a complete mystery.

“No,” Sketch replied bluntly. There was a harsh tone in that one word, and it made Alloy almost wince. He wished Sketch could have made this a little easier, and replied accordingly. Alloy wasn’t a psychiatrist. He merely studied chemicals. “I’m n-not okay. I’ll never be o-okay.”

“Why? What’s wrong, what happened?” Alloy asked, hurriedly. Swallow gave Alloy another disapproving frown.

“Buttermilk. I-I walked into his r-room… it’s t-t-trashed. H-He’s lying on the floor… I-I think he’s hurt…” Sketch stammered, desperately trying to relay what he had just seen literally two minutes ago in the deceased stallion’s room. Swallow looked down at the ground. Alloy didn’t know what to do. It was clear what had happened, what Sketch had just saw.

Sketch had walked into Buttermilk’s room, to find his best friend’s dead body.

Alloy couldn’t believe it. He had seen both Sketch and Buttermilk just a few moments ago, at the breakfast table. Everything was good, and calm for the most part. Then, in a flash, Buttermilk was dead, and Sketch was irreversibly traumatized. Alloy knew in these types of situations, death should never be witnessed by a child. It will implant in their brains for the rest of their lives. They’ll never be the same. It could be argued that Sketch was an adult, not a child, physically. Mentally, that wasn’t the case.

“Swallow, could you keep an eye on him while I join the others?” Alloy asked. He almost felt bad for her. For the second time in four hours, the poor mare was left behind. Swallow nodded wholeheartedly, making Alloy feel just a little bit better about it.

“Yes, please. I really don’t wish to see anyways…” Swallow said, turning back to Sketch. His eyes were still wide, and he was staring at the ground. He appeared to be grinding his teeth. It looked as if one wrong word would send him past the breaking point. Alloy did not wish to speak it.

With this, Alloy sprinted down the hallway. He purposefully did not look back.

Alloy reached Buttermilk’s room only a few moment’s later. By that time, he was panting and puffing like an animal. Unfortunately, E had failed to give him his inhaler at the beginning of the game. This worried Alloy, but also helped him think more clearly. It also felt like his lungs were absolutely on fire. It was like somepony was repeatedly stabbing him in the chest every time he took a meager breath. Somehow, he fought through it.

Miso was sitting outside of the room upon his arrival. She was staring at the ground, sadly, and lost in thought. Alloy had no idea why Tenor and Gallant let her wander into the room in the first place. Surely, the mare knew of the situation now, and was thinking about her own death as well. Alloy wished he spoke her language. If Alloy was stuck in a strange place, unable to communicate with those around him, he’d be panicked. If ponies started dying, he’d be driven insane.

Nevertheless, he walked into the room anyways. For the first time in his life, Alloy saw a dead body.

Sketch was correct about the state of Buttermilk’s room. It was completely destroyed, and it looked like a tornado had run rampant inside the tiny quarters. The massive chandelier lied in ruins on the bed and the floor, in tiny little sharp pieces. There were a few holes in the wall made by something that was definately not a hoof, and Buttermilk’s belongings that used to reside in his dresser were strewn about the entire room. There was a medicine bottle clenched in the yellow stallion’s left hoof, which Alloy disregarded for the time being. Some kind of book sat two feet away from Buttermilk’s body.

Buttermilk’s body. Alloy originally wanted to relish the fact that he was right. He knew from the very beginning of this game that it was not a joke. Fortunately, the situation didn’t call for gloating. In fact, he felt like he wanted to vomit. He’d seen dead frogs in biology class back in grade school. But a fresh body? He never could have dreamed of anything like this.

Tenor and Gallant were standing on the other side of the room, in front of Buttermilk’s bathroom, and away from the body and glass. Tenor’s face was pale as a ghost, this given the color of her coat. She looked disturbed, and was doing a terrible job of hiding it. Her jaw was clenched, and her body would shiver from time to time. The only thing that told Alloy that Tenor hadn’t become traumatized by the situation was the fact that her eyes were still burning with attitude. After all, Sketch and Tenor weren’t all that different in terms of age. The idea couldn’t be excluded.

Gallant, on the other hoof, was practically the polar opposite. In fact, he was still standing up straight and keeping up the authoritative attitude that Alloy had already gotten used to. It appeared like the gears were spinning in his head, because his eyes didn’t seem to be focused upon any place in particular.

Alloy didn’t exactly didn’t know what to say at this point in time. He also wanted to make his presence known. These two things caused him to mumble incoherent words in a desperate effort to break the numbing silence. “I… erm… so…”

Tenor didn’t take her gaze off the body. “This is unreal,” she trembled.

“What… happened in here?” Alloy asked. Gallant simply gazed at him intently for a matter of two seconds, and then turned back to Buttermilk with a shrug. Alloy hoped that Gallant actually cared about all this. It was damn near impossible to read him.

“We can’t panic,” Alloy started. Tenor looked at him, while Gallant didn’t care less. “We can’t. If Miso and Sketch see us panic, then this will only get worse.” Tenor’s nostrils flared.

“Worse? How can this get any worse?” she said. “Were stuck in some kind of makeshift prison. We have a dead body on our hooves. We have a traumatized delusional little freak in the other room. Yeah, I think a little freaking out is overdue, Four-Eyes.” Alloy pursed his lips irritatingly. He pretended to ignore the insult altogether.

“If we freak out now, then we’ll only end up like Buttermilk. Would you like to end up like… this?” Alloy pointed a hoof towards the dead body. That shut her up.

“I’m just trying to think of what the Hell just happened in the last five minutes,” Gallant said. “You think he had some sort of heart condition?”

A light went off in Alloy’s head. “Perhaps. He was clutching his chest as he ran out of that room.”

“He was also crying like a little baby.” Alloy shot Tenor the dirtiest look he could manage. She didn’t seem to notice. Alloy’s eyes shot to the little pill bottle in Buttermilk’s hoof. He had wanted to wait a moment before pointing it out, but he just couldn’t. He was just too curious.

“Lemme see something…” Alloy said, inching his way closer to the body. Tenor had started to intervene, opening her big mouth, but Gallant shushed her.

Stepping over many dangerously sharp pieces of glass and debris, Alloy looked like he was making his way through a minefield. He was positive that--in a place like this-- there would be no first aid kit lying around should he cut himself. He didn’t wish to take the chance. In a matter of thirty seconds, he was standing a mere foot away from Buttermilk.

Alloy was extremely close to vomiting all over the scene, but he hid that fact well. Buttermilk, untouched since his death, appeared to be a lighter hue when compared to when he was eating breakfast not even ten minutes ago. The poor stallion’s eyes were perpetually closed. Slightly trembling, Alloy reached down and pulled apart his eyelids. In return, Alloy receive the morbid sight of two glassy green eyes staring back at him. They appeared to be staring through Alloy’s very soul. Alloy was unsettled, and the little voice in the back of his head told him to leave the stallion alone. For some reason, he just couldn’t do that.

The whites of Buttermilk’s eyes were bloodshot. Alloy wasn’t sure if this was because of the poison taking its effect, or if Buttermilk was much more tired than he let on. It’d answer the question of why he was asking the others for tips to stay awake moments before his departure. With a sigh, he closed Buttermilk’s eye.

Not daring to mess with Buttermilk’s body more than he should, he let out a shaking breath. In Alloy’s mind, he believed that touching the natural state of a deceased pony was frowned upon. If he died, he would like to lie there until the right ponies, specifically specialists, would carry him off towards his own funeral. The strange idea made Alloy a little sicker.

“What’s that in his hoof?” Tenor barked from behind. Alloy jumped, and just barely missed a sharp piece of glass not even two inches away from his hoof. Alloy wanted to glare at her, to make the discovery on his own. Alas, it was too late. Oh well.

“I’m getting to that.” Alloy, without giving the other two another look, reached down towards the pill bottle. Buttermilk’s hoof was still wrapped around it, and it had took way too much effort to pry it free. With each jerk, or touching of Buttermilk’s body in general, he held back a gag. Eventually, he pulled it free. He brought the bottle to his eye, and squinted to read the tiny lettering.

“Talozipherin,” Alloy read out loud. Tenor cocked her head. Gallant merely shifted his weight on his hooves. “Gallant, you’re right. It’s heart medication.”

Gallant simply nodded. Tenor rolled her eyes. Alloy bit his tongue and read the rest of the information on the pill bottle. “So… what does that mean? I don’t get it. He took his pills and decided it was time for a nap?”

“Given the circumstances, I really doubt that,” Gallant replied.

“Well what do you know? Not like you saw it all go down, grandpa.”

“I have enough common sense to know that that’s not possible.”

“Oh yeah, well what’s your answer then?”

“Same as yours should be.”

The only reason why Alloy had not gotten involved in their argument, or at least tried to put a stop to it was because his mouth was practically touching the floor. His thoughts were clustered, like in a black and white movie. He could see it all. Buttermilk’s running away from the breakfast table, his entry into his own room, him destroying his room, him passing out. It made terrible sense in his mind. “Hey… uhm, guys?” he said. Tenor and Gallant stopped bickering and turned to him.

“What? What is it, Alloy?” asked Gallant. For once, the stallion was showing a small trace of emotion in his voice. Alloy read the information from the bottle.

“Talozipherin. To be taken orally once every four hours. Side effects may include irritability, excessive hostility, sore throat, headaches, or… sleepiness…” Silence. “I get it. He took the pills so he wouldn’t… I don’t know… have a heart attack or something.”

Gallant nodded. “Makes sense. Every four hours? Well, if he took the medicine right when he woke up, assuming…” Gallant trailed off. Obviously, not wishing for there to be any sign of awkwardness is the room, he continued. “So he had to choose between having a possibly fatal heart attack, or falling asleep… sounds rough. Poor guy probably knew he wasn’t going to last long in this game. So many odds stacked against him…”

“So? Which one was it? Did he have a heart attack, or did he fall asleep?” Tenor asked. The mere thought of trying to figure that out hurt Alloy’s brain. He was irritable and hostile the moment he woke up, seeing as he most likely took the medicine as soon as he woke up four hours ago. But still…

“His eyes were closed when we came in here. He fell asleep.” Alloy said with certainty. It really didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that much out. There was another lull. “So, now what do we do? We can’t just leave him here. He probably has a family out there looking for him.”

As soon as Tenor heard this remark, her face turned just a little bit green. She shook the feeling off, quickly.

“Well, I’m sure E isn’t going to let us give the guy a burial. There’s really nothing much we can do.” Gallant paused. “We could clear off all the shards of glass and rest him on the bed, but-”

“The guy is a lard ass?” Tenor interrupted.

Gallant sighed. “No, there’s just too much glass lying around. It’s dangerous in here as it is.” Alloy nodded in understanding. Tenor rolled her eyes. “I think it’s best if we just left the room entirely. He’s dead. Let him be.”

“But-” Alloy started. Gallant held up a hoof, as if telling him that he didn’t want to hear it.

“We need to lock the door or something on the way out, so the kid doesn’t stumble in here again,” he scoffed. “We don’t need him being exposed to this again. Dunno why he’d come back in here, but you never know.”

Alloy nodded, and turned towards the only thing in the room that was large enough to cover the door. “Good idea,” he said. He motioned his head towards Tenor, then the dresser. Luckily, in Buttermilk’s rage earlier, it was already on the other side of the room, away from any major pieces of glass. “Gimme a hoof, will you?”

Tenor groaned. Gallant walked out.

In the end, Tenor felt sick to her stomach.

She had tried so hard, even though she knew it was pointless. She had tried to view this game as a gigantic joke. She had tried to pretend like nothing bothered her. She had tried to just live her life.

But now there was a dead body. A real, deceased corpse, just a short walk away. In the same house as her. Her mind was on the fritz. What freaked her out more was the fact that she knew absolutely nothing about Buttermilk. How old he was, where he came from… there were just blanks in her mind where words and descriptions should be.

What if the same thing happened to her? What if she were to up and die? Nopony knew anything about her other than just her name, and her drumsticks. Her impending death was slowly creeping up to her, like a snake slithering through grass. She couldn’t let that happen. What purpose did her life serve, if she was only meant to die in some cruel game? Her life had more to it than… this!

Tenor knew that she was brought into this world nineteen years ago for a reason. Whether it be make a change, or become a rockstar, or even to win this thing and have a new story to tell. Pffft, the news media would be all over this. “Local Phillydephian Found After How-Many-Days After Surviving A Sick Game Made By An Even Sicker Stallion!”

Perhaps that was it. Maybe… she was brought into this world so that she could beat the other six, and win the game. She wasn’t sure. But even still, her life was threatening to come to an end. Her life was short, should she die. The young don’t die. That’s just not how it was supposed to work.

Tenor spent the next two hours pondering this. It must’ve been somewhere around eleven in the afternoon, based upon when they had their breakfast. Buttermilk had been dead for two hours, at this point. Buttermilk was on everypony’s minds.

The six of them sat in Sketch’s room--the one nearest the hallway. Sketch absolutely refused to go near that breakfast table anymore, or near Buttermilk’s room. The only thing Swallow could do to help the kid calm down was to bring him to his room. The other four obviously didn’t wish to be alone after what happened, and realizing just how real the game was. Sketch sat on his bed. Gallant stood near the door. Swallow and Miso lied on the floor. Alloy stood in the darkest corner of the room, as far away from Sketch as possible. Tenor had actually jumped up and planted her flank upon the dresser, near Sketch’s pictures. She was shivering, and hoped that nopony would notice.

“So… now what do we do?” asked Swallow. She gazed up at everyone from her position on the floor.

“Ain’t much we can do.” Gallant shrugged. “We’ll just have to stay awake.”

Alloy’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be insensitive.”

“It’s true, though.”

“We need to keep everyone awake,” Swallow said. Her voice was as small as ever. “There’s… an even number of us. We can do what they did in kindergarten? Accountability buddies?” Tenor recalled that. Everypony was teamed up with another kid, and they were both tasked with making sure that the other got their work done. Tenor hated it. She was paired with this skinny, snot-nosed kid of whom she almost immediately hated. Stupid elementary school. More importantly, stupid teacher.

“Really? We’re grown-ass ponies, Swallow. I don’t think that’ll help.” Tenor crossed her forelegs.

“Well, in groups of two, it’d be easy to help keep each other awake. I mean… if we’re all just hanging out in a group like this, that’ll work too.”

“Last time we were in a group, we still lost somepony.” Once again, everypony save for Sketch and Miso glared at her. Tenor was totally used to it by now. Sketch sniffled. His eyes were as red as tomatoes. His quiet sobbing made Tenor uncomfortable.

“Don’t talk about it.” Gallant ordered. Tenor threw her hooves in the air, and leaned back against the wall, as if irritated.

“We need to come up with some kind of plan. Or else we’re all just going to fall asleep one by one. The sooner we come up with something, the better.” Alloy readjusted his glasses.

“Do you have one, city boy?” Gallant said. They talked as if the two had chatted about this earlier. Tenor pondered what else the two of them talked about. In fact, she hadn’t seen Gallant without Alloy directly by his side since the game practically began. Something was up. She’ll inquire later. Six or so hours into the game. She was already becoming paranoid. She couldn’t tell if she was tired or not.

Oh well. With how much Sketch had been crying, Tenor knew that she’d last longer than him. After all, she knew that the moment she ran away from the breakfast table. She didn’t try to help. Not because she didn’t care, but because it was in her best interests. Who cared? Now that the kid had tired himself out, Tenor knew that they’d be down to five ponies in a matter of a few hours.

Tenor didn’t feel well after thinking that way. She wasn’t the nicest pony… but damn… did she feel terrible. She didn’t want the other ponies to die… but she didn’t wish to either… it was difficult.

There was a small pause. Strangely enough, Alloy opened his mouth again. Tenor had a feeling that what he was about to say was only about to piss her off even more.

“Actually… I do have an idea. Swallow, can I talk to you for a second?”

Author's Note

Any predictions?

Anything you say or comment will not sway the storyline of this... well, story.

Speaking of which, feedback is very much appreciated.

Stay tuned for more.

-Cyneryk

Chapter Six

Swallow cocked her head at the mentioning of her name. What could she possibly be useful for at a time like this?

Ever since the death of Buttermilk, Swallow had been holding back an almost primal urge to break down. A strange, innermost lust for some kind of relief through crying and throwing a childish tantrum. She knew what would happen if she began to cry, Sketch was a good enough example. If crying and sleepiness were not linked in any way, she would have cried so much that she could have filled a bathtub. However, her fear held her back, made her stronger in a sense. Swallow didn’t understand it herself.

But Buttermilk--Buttermilk was dead. She couldn’t believe that she could say a pony’s name, a pony that she knew, and “is dead” in the same sentence. She didn’t know how to feel except a little depressed. The game was real, now. There was no denying that. She could have done something to help. She could have ran to Buttermilk’s aid, with Sketch. She could have asked the stallion before if he was doing alright, when he left Swallow and Miso’s session in a hurry. Now that Swallow thought about it, he had probably went to grab his medication or something.

They were down to six. Not even seven hours ago, there were seven confused ponies standing in front of each other, wondering and somewhat scared. Now there was six. Swallow barely even knew a thing about Buttermilk. Where was he from? What did he do for a living? Did he have a family? Sketch was probably the only pony who knew, but it would have been downright cruel to ask him.

The game was underway. Swallow could only wonder if she could win the game. Probably not. As morbid as the thought was, Swallow wasn’t sure if she would survive. She was a quiet, introverted mare. She was small, and weakly built. Back when she was traveling, she would sometimes begin to yawn simply when she heard crickets chirp. Her only advantage was her determination, but that could only get her so far when her mind started to blank out on her, and she almost inevitably falls asleep.

She could only hope and pray, things she hadn’t done in a very long time. She had to try her best. For her family. For her friends. For herself. She had to do this for herself. She kept repeating that over and over in her head until the words became nonsense.

Back in reality, everypony was staring at her. Weirdly enough, Miso had begun to associate certain names with the faces. She still couldn’t understand anything, but whenever a name was spoken, she’d turn to the pony with that name with an almost quizzical look. “Me? Huh?” Swallow almost stuttered.

“Yes. It’s about-” Alloy threw his head in the direction of Sketch, who had turned back to the floor just in time to not catch on. Whether or not he was even in the real world, she didn’t know. He seemed so out of it, it was almost eerie. Swallow felt her heart drop. She had a bad feeling about this. Without another peep from her, Swallow obeyed, and she stood up.

“Hey!” Tenor intervened. “At least let us in on this. For all we know you could be going out there to plot against us or something!” Gallant bit the inside of his mouth, as if he were trying to keep himself from saying something. Alloy frowned, loudly.

“We’re not. I’ll fill you in later. C’mon, Swallow.” With an aggravated grunt from Tenor, Swallow and Alloy exited the room. He practically slammed the door behind him. Almost immediately, she could hear the group inside beginning to talk again.

Before Swallow could even muster up the ability to ask, Alloy answered. “You’re a key, in all of this. What happened with Sketch.”

Swallow took a defensive step backwards. “E-Excuse me? Are you saying that… Buttermilk…?”

“No. I’m sorry, I phrased it badly.” Alloy scratched the back of his neck, awkwardly. “Look, when Miso didn’t understand that her life was on the line, you took care of her and helped her. When Sketch was throwing a fit, and crying his eyes out, you were the first pony by his side to help him--calm him down. You talked to him, and you helped him stop sobbing. In a sense, you just saved his life.”

“Sketch isn’t talking. He’s reverting into something I don’t know the name of. But he’s not acknowledging the world around him. He’s lost in his head. He’s traumatized. Out of all the ponies, you’re the pony that he needs to turn to.”

Swallow was dumbfounded. True, she helped Miso and Sketch, but Alloy was talking to Swallow as if she was some kind of hero. She most certainly wasn’t. Swallow’s immediate sense of urgency towards the feelings and safety of others was purely hers. She had always been like that. Did she care about others more than herself at times? She didn’t know how to answer that without being modest. Actually, a few of her friends that she had met on her travels had said that Swallow could make a great nurse, or therapist, or even a mother. Too bad that Swallow just didn’t like to talk, and use her ability. Her cutie mark depicted a map. Her fate was settled.

“So… what are you saying…?” Her voice was small, like a mouse. Wide green eyes looked at Alloy, who was just barely taller than her. In fact, Alloy was the third shortest pony in the game. The smallest pony being Sketch himself. Alloy sighed a bit, and locked eyes with her. He appeared to be having trouble maintaining, though.

“We need you to talk to him.” Swallow’s breath threatened to stick in her throat. Alloy must have noticed this, so he continued talking. “You’re the only pony who might be able to snap him out of it. He risks dying if he doesn’t become more aware. I mean… look at the rest of us. Do you really think Tenor, or Gallant would be able to calm him down? Miso can’t speak english. I’m not a very good talker. We’ll make things worse. But you, you have that motherly quality that might be able to help him out. Just kind of have a session with him, talk to him, make him feel a little better. You know?”

Swallow was incredibly leery. The thought of sitting in a room with a male, alone, made her blush. Sure, she was with somepony who was just barely an adult--especially a male that she didn’t even know all that well--but the thought still unnerved her. “I-I don’t know about this…”

“Swallow, please. If Sketch doesn’t get help, it’ll only get worse for him. We need you to cheer him up. I’ll owe you big time!” Swallow didn’t pay much attention to his “reward” for if she did what he asked. In the end, it would only be useless. But… she couldn’t say no. She was just too kind to say no.

“I...erm…” she stammered. Alloy gazed at her with hopeful, pleading eyes. “I guess…”

Alloy’s mouth quickly contorted into a pleasured smile, one that could warm the heart of anypony. Maybe even Tenor, Swallow imagined. “Thank you so much,” said Alloy. “You’re doing Sketch a great favor. You’re helping him live.”

Swallow wasn’t too sure about that. “I… I can’t promise anything…” she said, quietly. Alloy didn’t seem to recognize what she had said. He had already opened the door back into the room. Swallow felt herself redden once again, when eyes were all on her. Why couldn’t she control her cheeks? It gave away too many important emotions.

“You done?” Gallant asked. For some reason, he was no longer standing near the door. Instead, he was standing next to Tenor, who was still sitting rudely on top of the dresser. Alloy nodded. Swallow gulped. Alloy said he’d fill the rest of them in later, but she was so tempted to blurt out the plan for Sketch to everypony right then and there. She was terrible at keeping secrets.

“Good,” was Gallant’s only reply. His eyes landed upon Swallow’s. His dark brown eyes peered into her very soul, like he was holding back some kind of inner hatred towards her conversation with Alloy just a moment ago. Swallow was started to feel sick. Then again, it could just be her hunger.

“So, now what?” Tenor said, with a shrug. Upon seeing Tenor do this motion, Miso mimicked her--shrugging absentmindedly. Nopony really noticed as much as Swallow did. “We just sit here and wait for something to happen? We’re not really gonna just sit in the room and watch one another, right?”

If Sketch was in the mood, Swallow assumed that he would have said something like, “As pretty as all of you are…” or something weird like that. Instead, Sketch just sat there on the bed. His eyes looked dead inside.

Instead, Gallant opened his mouth again. “What we should do is figure out why the Hell we’re here in the first place.” His facial expression was nothing less than emotionless. He looked purely undisturbed. Swallow didn’t like how he was looking at the moment.

“Gallant…” Tenor spoke as if Gallant had just made the asked the world’s dumbest question. “E already said he’d been watching us for what? How many years?”

“Nine,” Swallow answered. Tenor didn’t seem to care.

“Obviously, dude’s some kind of pervy stalker stallion. Not like we know who he is,” Tenor finished.

“I don’t think so,” said Gallant. He shook his head, as if it was Tenor who was making the dumb comments the entire time. “A guy that stalks us for nine years, each of us, has some kind of personal interest of some kind. It’s not random. I really doubt he just looked up seven names in the phonebook and decided that he was going to stalk them and throw them into a demented game.”

“Well, then what kind of personal interest?” Alloy piped. Swallow didn’t wish to get involved in the conversation for multiple reasons. “As far as I can tell, none of us have a thing in common.”

“True,” Gallant admitted. “But maybe it’s because we haven’t dug deep enough. Though, maybe not. Maybe we’re all just so damn interesting.” A small, tired grin graced his lips.

“Yep. That’s it,” Tenor added.

“You’re missing the point. There has to be some reason why we were chosen for this game over others. There has to be one factor that defines us seven. One solid reason for why us.” Alloy adjusted his glasses. Considering how much they tended to fall down, or need to be corrected, Swallow thought that maybe Alloy should’ve gotten better fitted glasses. Alas, it’s too late now. There was no chance for that.

“There must be, Alloy,” Gallant replied. “But I just don’t see one yet.”

“Let’s just… just think!” For some reason, Alloy was becoming a little more panicked than what seemed necessary. Surely, he was undergoing stress like the rest of them. Perhaps what he didn’t understand or know was what was stressing him out more so than anything else. “What… what about…”

Swallow knew that Alloy was not going to come up with a genuine answer, that he was simply going to make something up on the spot. Luckily for them all, the strange speakers revived themselves, cutting his unsuccessful collaborative thinking session short.

“Hello, my ponies!” E’s voice blared over the speakers like a sportscaster. Swallow would have covered her ears had she not been afraid of missing what he was going to say. He was speaking, surely this was important. After all, he had been watching them since the game began six or so hours ago. Tenor began grinding her teeth, angrily. “Six hours, thirty-nine minutes, fifty-one seconds into the game! How is everypony doing so far?”

Nopony said anything. Complete silence on both ends of the conversation.

“That’s the spirit!” he replied, as if the group had been cheering. “I see we are missing a pony. Poor Buttermilk. Oh well! At least it was him, and not you. Am I right? Perk up! You hear me, Sketch?”

Sketch, who apparently had been listening, jumped at the sound of his name. A look of worry spread across his face. His face was sunken enough. He looked like he was slowly becoming a zombie, his depression changing him externally. “Good! I see you’re not completely out of it. Keep it that way. It’s no fun when everypony’s all sad all the time.” Most of the ponies in the room were fuming. Swallow was indifferent to everything, accepting everything that was being tossed her way.

“Since Buttermilk placed last in the competition, as had just recently passed on, I’ve decided to do something interesting for lunch. In case you may not have known, Buttermilk was a very accomplished chef from Las Pegasus.” Swallow did not know this previous. Sketch may have, but he was beginning to zone out again. “A cooking protege since birth, if I may add. He had so much potential, so much he had done. He’d placed in many cooking competitions and even appeared on one of those competition shows. Although, he placed last in that too…” There was a small pause. “Well, lunch is prepared in the room down the hall. I’ll check in with the rest of you all later. Keep things interesting for me!”

And then the microphone clicked.

Even with the death of Buttermilk, Gallant was unfazed and unconcerned.

The death was unprecedented and worrisome, that much Gallant could admit, but he wouldn’t. Gallant wasn’t the type of stallion to worry. In fact, he was totally calm about everything. He knew, deep inside, that he would end up winning the game. The deaths of everypony else was imminent. His, however, was not.

After all, Gallant was a soldier. He was a war veteran with the charisma of a thousand suns, with skill and knowledge to boot. When he was just a trainee, he would spend nights awake per orders from a higher general. He would spend nights alone in the woods on the daily for simulations. He did a lot of things that toughened him to the core. This simple game was practically nothing to him. He went to war, for crying out loud. He was like a nail.

Buttermilk didn’t upset him as much it should have. The stallion knew that he was going to die, but yet and still, he didn’t say anything. He did bare minimum to inform the rest of the group about his possibly fatal condition. Gallant knew that Buttermilk’s death was upsetting, but he just didn’t feel sympathy towards stupidity. In the end, he was indifferent.

When the microphone clicked off, there was nothing but silence. Sketch was a little more aware, now that E had talked about him through the microphone. This confirmed two things for Gallant. One, was that the messages were not pre-recorded. Two, was that they were indeed being watched somehow.

“I’m not too hungry,” Gallant replied. It was true. The stallion was older than most, especially the others that were competing with him in the game. His stomach was genuinely small. That grape fruit and orange juice was just enough for him. Besides, he’d ran off much less before. Tenor was already up and off her comfy spot on the dresser.

“Welp, too bad. We gotta go check it out anyways,” she said. In not even five seconds, she was out the door. Gallant only huffed at her. He was very much getting sick of her attitude. Then again, she was a punk. She probably grew up in a house full of irresponsible parents who didn’t give a damn about what trouble their child got into. Tenor was a mystery in herself. Gallant wanted to learn more, but the thought of that actually happening made him sick.

“She’s got a point.” Gallant, with a heaving sigh, made his way for the door. Miso followed, but Gallant had been ignoring the mare for a while now. The foreign mare served him no purpose, so there was no reason to acknowledge her existence entirely. Miso trotted out the door, while Gallant slogged. The Flight Captain waited at the door, while Miso went ahead.

Swallow turned to exit, but Alloy stopped her. Surely, the mare was excruciatingly hungry. She had one Hell of an appetite. Gallant knew what Alloy was doing, so he didn’t intervene. “Swallow, remember what we talked about?” he said, sneaking a small glance at Sketch. The kid was still sitting on his bed, staring into space. His eyes were still reddened, and his mouth was turned downwards.

Swallow stopped. “N-Now? But… but lunch! Can it wait for a second? Please? I’m so hungry…” She seemed very distressed and desperate, but Gallant didn’t realize. It was simply not in him to be able to discern her emotions. Alloy heartbreakingly shook his head.

“We’ll save you some. I promise. For now, please talk to him. He needs you.” Alloy turned tail, and almost bumped into Gallant. Alloy looked up at the older stallion, a look of worry on his face. Was Alloy nervous? The latter couldn’t tell. Gallant, taking the opportunity, turned to Swallow and smirked.

“We’ll be right back, Swallow,” he said. “Do this for Sketch. For us.” Before Swallow could even exhale her breath, Gallant slammed the door shut.

The walk to the aforementioned Pillared Room was agonizing, even for Gallant. Not knowing what to expect was one thing. Knowing what you expect, and discerning the outcome as how you viewed it in your mind, that was disturbing to him. Though, it was nothing to get upset about. He had been through worse. Much worse.

Miso, Alloy, Tenor, and Gallant made their way. Everypony’s thought were as different as the pony next to them. Nothing made sense, but their brains still whispered sweet nothings in their direction that temporarily calmed their minds. They strode in silence. The stranger at their side did nothing to illuminate their way.

These three were something that made Gallant think. Miso, in herself, was a wonder. Why was she even chosen for this game? The mare didn’t speak their language, nor appear to even be from the nation of Equestria. Gallant wasn’t familiar with Neighpon. However, it was a major question how E would know a mare like her. From his view, Miso wasn’t the type of pony to do anything wrong.

Tenor. Whatever Tenor said or did to E must have pissed him off real good. It was no wonder why she was there. If Gallant, hypothetically, had been in charge of this game, Tenor would be one of the first ponies he’d sign up. Her attitude was a key factor in why she was disliked. Gallant personally hoped she’d just pass out soon, and shut up for good.

Then there was Alloy. Alloy was a smart kid, but dumb as well. His natural knowledge of the world around him, as well as common sense was just impeccable. But the kid showed no sense of restraint. He was too curious for his own good. It was probably how he got so smart, from snooping and whatnot. The more Gallant hung around Alloy, the more he wanted to push him away. But he knew he could. Alloy was his ticket out of there, to win the game. He’d keep him around, for help.

Even though the game was well underway, Gallant wasn’t too sure.

“Almost there,” said the pony at the front of the line--Tenor. Gallant had only assumed so. He’d walked up and down this corridor about four times already.

Though, when he reached the “Pillared Room”, he felt like his mind was about to burst.

The room was shifted. It was massive. A hundred feet by twenty feet. The walls were a freshly painted white, shining brightly. They threatened to blind Gallant, in fact. The amount of light in the room was staggering, and off putting. There was a gigantic table in the middle of the room. Skinny and elongated so much that Gallant was almost positive that it belonged in the Royal Castle. Royalty looked like they would have eaten off the table in a heartbeat. There were six chairs all around, spread about. Though, they were extremely far apart from each other.

There was writing on the far back of the room. “In remembrance of Buttermilk, a feast.” The hoofwriting was barely legible, leading Gallant to believe that it was written by hoof, by E.

There was one more thing about the room. One more thing that confused him, and threw all of his previous thoughts and ideas out the window. There was food. There was lots of it. The table was absolutely covered in various gourmet dishes. From spaghetti, to mashed potatoes, to baby carrots and any other food that you could imagine, it was there--sitting on that table. There was steam coming off each prepared dish, letting Gallant know that it was just freshly made.

“No way…” Tenor exclaimed, her mouth open in surprise. “So… so much food!”

“This is a problem,” Alloy exclaimed. “A really big problem.” Unfortunately, his voice was drowned out by the loud knocking that lead to the inside of Gallant’s brain. Insanity answered.

“Sketch?” Swallow said, kindly. Back in Sketch’s room, Swallow was keeping true to her word. She was going to talk to Sketch, and she was going to try and make him feel a little better.

Unfortunately, Swallow had no idea how to do it. Usually, she would have some sort of idea, and in most situations, it was just common sense to her. Caring for Sketch when he was sobbing on the floor? That was instinct. Offering to help Miso understand the game so she wouldn’t make a mistake and perish? She just couldn’t say no. “No” was just not in her vocabulary, and she had been pondering over the years if that was a good or a bad thing. So far, it had been her curse.

Swallow’s stomach was growling. She really wished she could have eaten lunch first. Though, in the back of her mind, she knew that she couldn’t do that. It was a horrid idea to leave a traumatized child alone, especially in a game where taking a simple nap could kill you. No, not could--will. Sketch’s brain wasn’t in the right place and he needed help immediately, before something worse happened. If something happened to Sketch, Swallow would feel personally responsible.

And then she would know just what it felt like to be in Sketch’s position.

Swallow’s mouth was terribly dry, but she wasn’t sure why. She hadn’t stopped blushing ever since Alloy and Gallant and the rest of the group had walked out of the room. Swallow wasn’t afraid of boys. Not exactly. She was just shy and nervous. Though, she wasn’t trying to impress Sketch. She didn’t like Sketch that way. But even still, the possibility of something like that, like something in the movies sparking off made her leery. As her cheeks were flaring, so was her determination.

“Sketch? Can you hear me?” Swallow said, her voice fraught with sympathy. No response. Sketch was sitting on his rump on the bed, staring down at the sheets underneath him. Swallow faltered, thinking carefully before she spoke. “Please, say something. It’s okay, you can talk to me.”

Sketch made no signal, no sign of acknowledgement. The death of his friend had traumatized poor Sketch something fierce. Swallow tried a different approach. “Buttermilk was a good stallion, it seemed. I didn’t know very much about him. Could you tell me about him?”

No response.

“Okay…” Swallow gulped. “Can you tell me about yourself, then? Where are you from?” Sketch’s ears twitched, but only slightly. In fact, Swallow had almost missed it. Perhaps she had said something that tipped him off? Given him a sense of familiarity? She had no clue. But, she did learn that Sketch was indeed listening? Was he even really traumatized, or was he just tuning out the world?

“Sketch? Could you tell me where you’re from? Do you have any brothers and sisters back home?” Swallow had only gotten her hopes up. Sketch--unsurprisingly--remained motionless. Swallow needed to do something, something drove her. It wanted her to help the kid get back on his hooves, help him get over the death of a stallion who wasn’t even his friend.

Swallow felt compelled to keep talking--for once--to keep her mouth busy, and Sketch’s ears. “I’m from Stableside. It’s this really small town near Baltimare. When I was younger, I used to live with my mom, my dad, and my little brother.” No reply, yet again. Sketch continued to stare at the sheets underneath him with dead eyes. “I moved out though. I didn’t have anywhere to go though. I kind of left on a whim. I had just my backpack, and some money, and that was it.” Swallow found herself grinning. “It was really stupid, really. Anyways, I travel for a living. I stay in different places, meet new ponies, that kind of thing. What do you do? I noticed that you liked to draw, did you want to become an artist for a living?”

The small dots that were Sketch’s eyes moved. They turned to give Swallow a small glance her way, before they went back to their original position. Was… was Swallow actually doing it? Was she getting through to him? She had to force herself to keep going. “You know, I met somepony like you once--when I was traveling. His name was Quill. Lived in the woods near Vanhoover. He was a little bit older than you, actually. He was really kind, and sweet. He was an artist, and painted so many beautiful drawings that I couldn’t even begin to describe.”

Sketch was definitely listening.

“He showed me all his paintings, and he let me spend the night in his art gallery.” Swallow adjusted how she was sitting, and lied on her belly on the bed only six inches away from Sketch. Her blush was growing, steadily. “--Gave me a place to stay. You know, everytime I think of one of those drawings, I think of him. And I see a lot of him in you.”

Sketch actually looked up, and to Swallow’s surprise, spoke. “Y-You do…?”

Swallow gave the young stallion the most genuine grin she could manage. She was telling the truth anyways, so it wasn’t that hard. “Of course, Sketch. He was a massive joker, as well. Loved to tell jokes and make others laugh. That’s kind of why we got along so well… He craved acceptance though his work, through his personality, but never really got it. So, his drawings would depict that. He had his own style that defined him, some kind of tick that made Quill’s drawing’s… well, Quill’s.”

Sketch only stared at Swallow. Swallow was starting to feel uncomfortable. His unblinking eyes were starting to creep her out a little bit, but of course she didn’t say that out loud. “So… can you tell me where you’re from? About you?”

Sketch looked reluctant, like he was debating whether or not he should open his mouth. But after a few decisive moments, he let the words flow. “I’m from Canterlot. I… I live in the outskirts, where all those little houses are… you know? On the corner of Brooks and Meadow Street.” Swallow had to keep from wincing when she remembered the area that he was talking about. When she was traveling about Canterlot a few months ago, she had received a tip to stay as far away from that area as possible. It was a bad neighborhood. Run-down houses, graffiti, crime--they were all there. Swallow didn’t mention it. She only nodded. It was hard to believe that a kid like Sketch came from a ghetto.

“I live with my mother and my father, and two brothers,” he said. “Their names are Skips and Skits. They’re very young though, babies practically. I go to Starswirl High School.” Sketch paused. “Home of the Magicians.”

There was a lull in the conversation. Swallow felt pressured. She couldn’t let the conversation die. “How long have you been drawing for?” she asked. She couldn’t tell if this was even a session anymore. Perhaps she just wanted to get to know Sketch a little bit more.

“Since I was a little kid,” said Sketch. “I love to draw… love to paint. I love colors. It makes others happy.” He moved his head, so that his ear was facing her. “You see my earring?” he asked. Swallow observed the small, almost feminine looking, earring. Strangely enough, Swallow hadn’t noticed it before now. “When I was a young foal, I was dared by a kid who I thought was my friend to get it.” Swallow could sense that Sketch was holding back a small snicker. Though, the hint of depression still wavered in his voice. “He said he’d be my friend if I got my ear pierced. Stupid me believed him. When I showed up at school with my earring the next day, he along with the rest of my class laughed at me. They said I looked like a filly.”

“So why do you still wear it?” Swallow couldn’t help but ask.

“I refuse to be defined by ponies who aren’t even my friends. Besides, I was very upset after that. I went home. I took out a piece of paper and a pencil, and I just… drew. I can’t remember exactly what I was aiming for, but in the end, I made a pretty good drawing of the ocean, with a small sailboat.” He paused, one more time. “It’s how I got my cutie mark.”

Swallow looked at Sketch’s rump. His cutie mark was nothing more than a pencil, tracing a squiggly line on a small scratch piece of paper. When Swallow didn’t say anything, Sketch did. “D-Do you want to see one of my drawings? Tell me what you think of it?”

Swallow was a little confused at first, but that was until he saw the silent gleam of hope inside Sketch’s eyes. She couldn’t resist. “Sure, Sketch. I’d love to.” With this, Sketch hopped off his bed. While his movements were slowed and sluggish, he showed a childish ambition that Swallow herself wish she had. Sketch walked over to the dresser, the same one that Tenor had sat on earlier, and opened it. He pulled out a small sketchbook. It was worn and creased in various places from extended use.

He moseyed back to the bed, and sat back in his usual place. He spread the book out and leaned over, causing Swallow to grow slightly uncomfortable. Too close. However, she was going to have to deal with it. She wished she could just lose her blush already. Her cheeks were on fire.

He opened to a seemingly random page, the last drawing in his book. His best one. Swallow could only stare when Sketch removed his hooves from the book, and allowed Swallow to get a good look.

Her jaw absolutely dropped.

The drawing was seemed to be that of another planet. The view from it was amazing. If somepony was taking a snapshot, they’d be overlooking a scenic cliff, and a dark, rocky land sparse of anything save for dust and the occasional mystic plant. There was a gigantic moon, peering over yonder and gazing upon Swallow like a rabbit coming out of a hole. It took up most of the page. Sketch’s sketch actually painted a picture inside of her head, of a different planet, and looking upon something so beautiful, so there, that she looked like she could have reached up and touched it. It absolutely blew her mind.

“I… wow…” Swallow was unable to comprehend. Sketch was only seventeen years old, but the drawing looked like it was done by a professional. “This is gorgeous. You did this?” Swallow was no longer trying to suck up to Sketch in an effort to cheer him up. She was simply dumbfounded.

Sketch nodded. “Y-Yes…” Swallow turned to him, her eyes large with wonder.

“This is amazing… There’s no way. How are you not world-famous?”

Sketch’s facial features livened up. “R-Really? You think so?” Swallow’s heart was warmed at the sight of the kid. Something had risen up inside of him, some kind of promise. It was just as if he realized that he had suddenly had a reason to keep going--not to give up yet.

“Of course! Can I see some more?” Swallow said, excitedly. “I’d really love to see some more.”

“I...uhm, okay. Are you sure…?” Why Sketch was so hesitant to share his passion with Swallow, the mare was unable to understand. Maybe it was because so many potential friends had fooled him somehow, and that he wasn’t sure that Swallow was being as serious as he had hoped. Maybe it was because he hadn’t really expected to show them to anypony, and had given up. Maybe, he was just shy.

“Yes,” Swallow smiled. “They’re great!”

Sketch looked back at his notepad, the one with the picture of the distant planet. “Uhm, thank you, Swallow.”

“Don’t thank me,” Swallow said, warmly. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

There was a small pregnant pause between the two of them, where they simply stared at each other. Swallow wasn’t sure was to think about it. But then, something amazing happened.

Sketch smiled.

Author's Note

Feedback and thoughts are greatly appreciated.

Stay tuned for more.

-Cyneryk

Chapter Seven

For Tenor, when she laid eyes upon the meal fit for the Gods, she was surprised, but not really. It was as if somepony was throwing things at her in a pattern. An apple, a banana, a grape. This happens for an extended period of time, and then—suddenly—two grapes in a row are thrown. She’s taken off guard, but in the end it’s really nothing she didn’t expect.

But, it was so massive. The pile of food in front of her looked extremely appetizing, and freshly made. The words on the wall, way towards the back, almost hinted towards her. It was odd. Though, she’d have to be an idiot to eat it. For all she knew, E poisoned it or something. Tenor wasn’t about to drop out of this game early simply because she was hungry. Besides, she’d rather stay hungry. It’d most likely help her stay awake. She recalled Alloy mentioning something about not eating in order to stay up. As much as she hated him, she couldn’t just blatantly ignore his ideas.

“How… how did this all get here?” Alloy asked nopony in particular. The air was warm, heat resonating off the food on the table. Tenor could see the steam rise up towards the ceiling. The room was slightly fogged already.

“The room shifted again!” Tenor exclaimed. “The Celestia-damned room shifted again! How does this even happen?”

She was in sheer awe. Never before had she witnessed a stranger concept than this. She wasn’t a mare that took surprise well, but for some reason, her hooves were plastered to the floor, and her heart was heavier than she would have liked. Somewhere, deep inside of her, fear was mingling about.

Sketch and Swallow had joined the other four a few minutes upon their initial discovery. Even though they were at the back of the group, she noticed the fact that Sketch was feeling better, and that Swallow had a grand smile that adorned her lips. Though, perhaps that could just be from the sight of all that food.

One by one, each pony wandered inside of what was the pillared room. Mixed expressions filled the air, giving Tenor an unclear idea of how to react.

With things constantly shifting and changing like this, Tenor knew that her chances of winning this game had gone down just a smidgen.

“How does the room do this? How does E manage this? It’s…” Alloy couldn’t even finish his sentence. His open mouth was focused upon the spectacle in front of them.

Tenor sighed, and flipped a small lock of her mane away from her face. She was the only unicorn in the room, so it was evident that she knew just what the stakes were, now. While she was no expert on magic—which is fairly obvious considering that hers didn't extend past basic levitation—she knew that E was either a very strong unicorn, or something else was going on. Being able to manipulate an entire room in less than five minutes was very taxing on somepony’s energy, if not unlikely entirely.

However, Tenor kept these little speculations to herself.

“It’s a memorial,” said Gallant, his eyes dead set on the feast in front of him. Tenor could feel an almost eerie drawl in his voice, as if he were speaking at a funeral. “E must have known that Buttermilk would have been the first to go, or something or other.” She had a feeling like Gallant had more to say, but kept his mouth shut.

“He’s been stalking us for nine years. I’m sure he knew of Buttermilk’s little problem,” Tenor spat. She was going make a comment stating that it may not even by E’s doing, but didn't. She hated the rest of the group anyways. She didn't wish to hear their opinions.

“Why a memorial?” Sketch asked. Even though he appeared to be doing better, and speaking on his own, his voice was still a little downtrodden. Tenor wondered just what Swallow said to the kid.

Alloy shrugged. “Beats me. Perhaps its just so we remember him. After all, only one of us gets out of here.”

Once again, Alloy had chosen his words terribly. The rest of the group went completely silent, as they were once again reminded of the fact. Tenor simply sighed. She had no reason to be scared, once she thought about it. She was going to win this game anyways. She deserved it, after all. She couldn't live nineteen years of her life, only to have it end this way. She couldn't die until she was known throughout the world, knowing that her existence wasn't meaningless.

Sketch looked and the floor, and sighed.

Oddly enough, Swallow was the one who broke the eloquent silence. Tenor could practically hear her stomach growling. “So… erm… I know this is going to sound really bad, but… I think this is our lunch.”

“This is also a major trap,” Alloy added. “I know what he’s trying to do.”

“What, you think he poisoned the food or something?” Sketch piped, raising his head just slightly.

“He wants us to pig out, then pass out.” Alloy shook his head. “Isn’t it obvious?”

The smile on Swallow’s face did a complete one-eighty. Tenor had to admit, Alloy had a point. She was fairly hungry herself, and the idea of overeating sounded all too possible. She wasn’t going to lose this game simply because she couldn’t control her appetite.

“He’s trying to toy with us, and help us fall asleep so the game can progress,” Gallant interjected. “He’s using Buttermilk’s occupation as a way of doing it.”

Swallow brought a hoof to her belly. “We can’t just starve, though.”

Tenor had forgotten of Miso’s existence almost completely. Even though she was completely unable to put everything together—much less read the incriminating writing on the wall or understand E’s announcement—she appeared totally unfazed. She casted a hungry glance around the room, while folding her ears against her head.

Something about her seemed… off. Miso piqued Tenor’s interest, something that has only happened to the punk mare a few times in her life. Only rarely did she really give a damn about somepony other than herself.

Tenor was going to need to keep an eye on that mare.

“Well, obviously not,” Alloy muttered, turning from Swallow to the buffet in front of them. “We just have to be careful not to overeat.”

“This room has shifted twice in the last seven hours, though. What if we don’t get another chance to eat for a while?” asked Swallow. She was shifting her weight on her hooves, eagerly.

“Yeah, I mean, we should eat while we can,” Sketch said. Tenor wanted to ignore him, like usual, but considering that she almost—almost—felt bad for the kid, she decided not to completely tune him out. However, he still annoyed her to no end. She didn’t like him very much. “I’m starved too.”

Sketch cast a kind smile over to Swallow, who returned a warm one of her own. Tenor wanted to vomit. Though, she could use this to her advantage. Swallow didn’t appear to be a mare who’d be able to control her appetite. This much was obvious. It was also apparent that Sketch was going to suck up to Swallow for a while. She had no idea what kind of talking session the two had had, but it was apparent that Swallow was the new Buttermilk to Sketch. Considering that Sketch was likely the most tired in the group so far, Tenor felt her inner gears turning. A devilish smirk crossed her face, as she opened her mouth.

“Well, why don’t we just dig in? Sketch and Swallow have a point.”

Gallant shook his head. “Probably not a good idea. We need to portion ourselves. The sleepier you are, the less food you should eat.” He shrugged.

Alloy nodded towards Gallant. “Agreed. Perhaps we take a plateful of food, and call it at that? E isn’t going to starve us. If he sees we’re getting hungry, he’ll do something about it. Dying that way isn’t the point of the game. Besides—” he looked upwards, as if he was calculating something, “—dinner should be sometime within the next five hours at this rate. We’ll be fine.”

Swallow’s eyes lit up. “Oh! A plateful works for me!”

“Me too!” Sketch agreed.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Alloy said, fixing his gaze upon the buffet in front of him. The lights above him reflected off his glasses, like honing beacons. He turned to look at Gallant, again. “Let’s eat.”

Tenor narrowed her eyes.

Gallant could feel his stomach wanting to remove the food that he so desperately craved. It only made him devour more.

Eight hours, ten minutes, four seconds into the game.

So far, Gallant wasn’t all that tired yet. Even with a belly more full than he would have initially liked, he felt extravagantly chipper, even for him. The game had failed to take any sort of mental or emotional toll on him, so far. He knew that as time went on, that he’d soon have to learn how to worry, should this game get dragged on for hours upon hours, even days, possibly.

He hoped not.

He felt glad that he was matched up against these opponents like he was. He believed he had a very good chance of winning, after all. During missions in his younger days, he’d stay up for days and nights depending on what the situation called for. He was accustomed to not getting any sleep.

So, why should he be nervous? Simple. He shouldn’t. He stared upon every situation with a sense of indifference that calmed his elderly heart. He wasn’t like other stallion’s his age. He was very fit and strong. He could never envision himself in an old ponies home. His body was like a tank, able to take almost anything the world could throw at him.

In fact, his occasional cases of insomnia played very well into his current circumstances.

How lucky for him.

After everyone had eaten, the six remaining contenders split up, going their own separate ways. Gallant didn’t pay attention to where they all went, however. Truthfully, he couldn’t care less, so much as they didn’t bother him.

He found himself in his specified room. Between the foreign mare’s area—where Miso could most likely be placed right at that very moment—and Buttermilk’s grave site. The stallion was accustomed to death. He’d seen it in its brutalest forms. The fact that he was currently residing in a room next door to a dead pony didn’t exactly bother him, so much as he didn’t think about it.

He stared at the photos of him that littered his dresser, and sighed. He noticed upon inspecting Buttermilk’s room earlier that Gallant had much less pictures adorning his room: only about three. Then again, Gallant wasn’t much for pictures in general. Whenever he was invited to take part in one, the stallion usually came up with a half-assed excuse and wandered away.

The first picture was very old. In fact, it was black and white. It was a family photograph that the stallion’s family had taken when he was barely a child. He sat gloomily on a barstool in front of his smiling parents. His hair was neatly gelled, and he wore a “handsome” suit and tie that matched his fathers. He looked remarkably depressed, and it made Gallant grin. He’d always hated having to sit down and look that nice when he was a colt. It was at that moment where he discovered his hatred for picture taking.

The other two pictures were eerily similar to each other, both being taken in the same place and almost the same time. They were both of him, surrounded by a bunch of his squad mates before he was a commander. Both of them took place at a banquet that Gallant remembered vividly. It was where he was gifted with a few of his medals during a ceremony. He took such pride in them, it almost saddened him to remember that he might never see them again, and recall the glory that earned him them in the first place.

His eyes shifted to his squad mates, all three of them. They all surrounded him, and smiled at the camera. In one of the photos, Marvel—the more outgoing stallion of the squad—was practically jumping on Gallant’s back, laughing away as he gazed into the camera. The other two stallions, Revoir and Zest, were chuckling away as the watched it all take place. The cock of Zest’s eye always made Gallant want to smile nostalgically.

As far as he knew, Marvel was the only stallion from Gallant’s squad that was still alive.

He didn’t bother to think about any of that. Even though Revoir and Zest were the closest things to friends he’d ever had, he just didn’t feel bad. Sure, he felt a little lonelier, but he didn’t find himself upset upon learning of their demise all those years ago. In fact, he didn’t even go to their funeral.

He wondered just what Marvel was doing right then. Probably off breaking a rule somewhere, or causing some more trouble in an old ponies home. Weird guy, he was.

Gallant was jolted out of his memories by a knock on his door. He didn’t even jump. He turned his head to look behind him, maintaining his forever-even glare.

It was Tenor.

He sighed. Of all the ponies in the competition to come to his door, it had to be her. Gallant couldn’t stand that mare—more importantly, her attitude. He contorted his face into a disappointed grimace, and turned back to set his photograph back on his desk. “Can I help you?” he muttered, lowly.

“I need to talk to you,” she replied while walking inside, not even bothering to ask permission. Gallant should have known better than to have assumed she’d do something like that. Tenor rudely barged her way inside, and tried to shut the door behind her.

“Leave it open,” he said, sternly. Tenor paused for a moment, simply staring at him before she rolled her light blue orbs.

“Pfft, whatever.” Gallant didn’t even waste time getting angry at her remark. She obliged, and left the door open, albeit a crack. She let out a small sigh, and stood on the other side of the room. “You have some explaining to do, grandpa.”

“About what?” he asked, knitting his brow.

Tenor dug her hooves into the ground, and bore a frightening frown. Whatever she wanted to talk about, it did not make her happy. “I’ve been observing you ever since this game began, Gallant. Something’s awfully fishy.”

Gallant was still a bit confused. He shook his head. “What do you want?”

Tenor’s eyes flared. She spoke lowly, as if she was having trouble managing to keep her voice down. “You know exactly what. What’s up with you?”

“I’m not going to ask again. You’re the one that came into my room. Get to your point. I’m not in the mood to be bothered.”

“Ever since the beginning of this game, you’ve been so calm,” she said, poison flowing from her ivory lips. “You’ve been staying within talking distance to Alloy ever since you two investigated that Pillared Room a few hours ago. I’ve been watching him too. He always turns to look towards you whenever he has an idea or says something interesting.” Gallant’s heart skipped a beat, but refused to let it falter him.

“And then with Buttermilk. Once again, you were completely calm. The guy died, and there you were, just staring at him creepily. Everyone else is having a panic attack, but you… you weren’t. So, I’m going to ask you once. What’s your deal? Explain yourself, or I’ll tell everyone that you’re acting suspicious.”

Gallant glared at her. He didn’t have much of a tolerance for anything, but he did not appreciate blackmail in the slightest. There was a moments silence, before Gallant stood up tall, and looked back at the mare with eyes destined to kill.

“So, you’re assuming, since I’ve done the right thing and remained absolutely calm throughout this game, that I’m obviously up to something.” Upon rephrasing her words, Tenor grew just a little bit angrier, and shook her head.

“You dolt. I’m saying that you’re acting suspicious. I’m saying that your reactions to these situations don’t add up. Perhaps you’re working with E, and have no need to react considering you know what’s all about to happen anyways, hmm?”

Gallant’s eyes went wide. While what Tenor was spewing was in no way, shape, or form, the truth, the results of her telling those type of lies to the group would be disastrous.

“The room shifted twice, and you didn’t bat a wrinkled eye. Why not? Any normal pony would have at least been a little shocked. You’re actions are evidence that you’re hiding something.”

“I have done no such thing, Tenor,” Gallant replied, calmly. Getting angry would probably not help anything at the moment. “You’re paranoid. It’s understandable, considering this game and its mental toll. I have no part in anything. I woke up here asking questions just like you.”

Gallant mentally sighed when Tenor still continued to talk.

“Then what’s your deal with Alloy then, huh?”

Gallant stayed quiet.

“Something’s up between you two. I wanna know what it is, right now. For all we know, you two could be conspiring against us.” She began to absently pace around the room, while Gallant heard the gears in her head turn and turn. “You two could be plotting to kill us on your own, and win the game yourselves. Or, just an alliance? Is that it? Are you trying to team up to win this game? Newsflash, genius. Only one of us leaves!”

Gallant didn’t say anything.

“Teaming up isn’t fair, Gallant. Either way, I don’t know what you’re doing with Alloy, but you’d better give yourself a kick in the ass and tell me.”

Gallant had had enough.

“First of all, I’m not in some kind of alliance. What, is this some kind of reality show? No. This is real life. You need to calm down. I can see you’re getting tired already, going off and going crazy only eight or so hours into the game. I am not up to anything, nor is Alloy, as far as I know. Why don’t you go talk to him instead? Secondly, you saying something isn’t fair in this game is ridiculous. You need to reevaluate yourself, and stop focusing on other ponies and worry about your own life.”

Tenor let out a furious yell, and picked up one of Gallant’s pictures that resided right next to him with her magic. She slammed it on the floor, where it made a loud cracking sound. “You’re in for it now, hag. I’ll make you regret talking to me like that. You just watch.”

With this, she stopped out of the room.

Gallant only stood there for a few moments, before letting out a soft sigh. He turned to the ground, at the remains of his picture. He bent down, and picked it up. Off all three pictures Tenor could have grabbed, she picked his family portrait.

He looked at it, and frowned.

The picture was nearly blemish-free.

Unfortunately, young Gallant’s face was cracked, and shattered—contorting the depressed frown on his face into something even more grotesque.

Sketch had heard everything.

Even though it was eight hours into the game, Sketch’s boredom was increasing. Even though he still felt a bit of grief for his late friend, he had a new one now. Swallow was his new best friend. And for once, she seemed to be okay with that fact. She was very kind to him, unlike the others.

But now, with a full belly, he decided to walk off his emotions, taking a minute to simply ponder things while his best friend took a bathroom break. Alone, yet again, and unable to find any of the other contenders, he took to roaming about aimlessly.

This, was how he stumbled upon Tenor and Gallant.

He knew he shouldn’t have been listening, but he couldn’t help but hear Tenor’s angry rants and points. There were times that his eyes would go wide with realization, as he contemplated just what was going on.

His inner coward was beginning to beg for freedom.

He couldn't ignore Tenor’s words. What if… what if Gallant was working with E? What if Gallant and Alloy were working together, plotting to kill him?

What if his death would be at the hooves of Gallant?

The more he thought about it, the more creepy and malevolent his views of Gallant became.

As soon as he heard something break, Sketch became spooked. “I’ll make you regret talking to me like that. You just watch!” he heard Tenor shout.

Those were the last words Sketch heard before he darted away.

Chapter Eight

For the last few hours, the chills that wreaked havoc on Sketch’s body were hardly noticeable.

There were many reasons for this, even if Sketch didn’t quite have the ability to understand his own emotions yet. They were shrouded in a dim fog, hidden and covered to the point when one couldn’t see it even with 20/20 vision. But, of course, that didn’t really bother a pony like Sketch. With a flick of his tail, and a rather skillful mark with his pencil, he had completely forgotten about life’s worries. He had nothing to fear anymore, choosing to keep his eyes focused on the little piece of paper in front of him, instead of the little clock that adorned the area above his bed.

Sketch had been laying on it for quite some time now. Only a few times he had thought about something other than Swallow—his brand new best friend who would never leave his side—Gallant, and just what the older stallion was actually up to, and the sketch that was slowly being formed before his very eyes. The second one, he decided not to think about very much. It frightened him, and he didn’t like that feeling.

He’d put his emotions into this little piece of paper instead. All of his worries and troubles would be meticulously and perfectly laid out right in front of him, for everyone to see. This was going to be his greatest sketch to date.

Sketch would be a filthy liar if he didn’t say he’d catch glimpses of how long it had been since the start of the game for him. His unwavering curiosity was a fault that he hardly knew he had. Last time he checked, which was quite some time ago, the timer read thirteen hours, forty-five minutes, and two seconds. He could feel the restlessness kicking in already, as he was frequently subjected to a few yawns every now and then. While this was to be expected, the fact that nopony else had even muttered one made him a little uneasy. Nothing to fret though. If he focused on his picture, he’d never fall asleep. He and Swallow could leave together.

Because friends do things together.

Friends would never abandon other friends.

Every now and then, the stallion would turn from the wonderously detailed picture, towards the door. It was wide open, giving him the ability to see out into the foyer quite clearly. Anypony else could have seen this as a pretty smart tactic should his eyes start miraculously closing, but that’s not why he did it. The reason the door was open was so he could hide his drawing before anyone barged in and saw it. Sketch had noted how Tenor had slammed her door open the moment the game had started, like she owned the place. The last thing Sketch wanted was somepony getting a peek before it was all completed.

It’ll be a surprise, Sketch thought to himself every so often. A surprise for all of my dear friends!

Like some kind of madpony, Sketch would repeat this to himself once every thirty seconds. He saw absolutely nothing wrong with what he was doing.

He was getting pretty close, now. It had taken a few hours, but he knew deep inside that everypony was going to love it. While Buttermilk was… long gone, and wouldn’t be able to see it, he knew that deep inside, Buttermilk was looking down at him. He was looking over his shoulder, admiring the work that was before the two of them. He could feel it. The cold chill surely wasn’t mistaken. It was as if his very soul was still in the room with him.

While he missed Buttermilk dearly, Sketch had Swallow, now. The teenager was the happiest pony one could ever meet, at the moment.

Sketch heard someone’s voice, snapping him out of his creative stupor. He cocked his head over to the door, and carefully snatched his drawing off the the bed. Looking out the open door, the young stallion could hear two unmistakable voices. He recognized them immediately as Swallow’s and Alloy’s.

He could not hear what they were talking about, but it was apparent that something was up. He could see some kind of distress in Swallow’s innocent emerald eyes. He could hear a soft whine in her voice, one that made Sketch’s heart melt. He had no idea what Alloy was saying or doing though, seeing as he was facing the opposite direction of Sketch’s room.

Sketch quickly opened one of the drawers in the dresser near his bed, the one adorned with various little pictures of himself and his brothers, and tossed his pencil and paper inside. He slammed it shut with much more force than he would have preferred, but luckily he was fairly sure he hadn’t creased the paper in any way. That was all the mattered.

Sketch hadn’t talked to Swallow in a while, due to how much hard he was working on his drawing. To him, now was a perfect time to intervene. He’d repay the favor. After all, she did cheer him up, earlier. She comforted him, cared about him, talked to him. That’s what friends did. Now, it was Sketch’s turn.

It was unfortunate that the conversation ended the moment that Sketch scampered out of his room like a dog who heard the sound of his bowl being filled. Alloy walked away, with a rather concerned look on his face. Where he went off to, Sketch didn’t see. His eyes were dead set on Swallow, his best brand new best friend forever.

Swallow let out a depressing sigh, and kicked at seemingly nothing at the floor. Her eyes were casted downwards, a motion that Sketch just wouldn’t tolerate. “Swallow!” Sketch practically yelled.

Somehow, Swallow had failed to notice Sketch’s rather abrupt entrance. She almost jumped a mile in the air. If this game was getting to her like it almost was Sketch, then she was surely awake now. She defensively shifted her body, and gritted her teeth. However, when she realized just who it was, she let out a calming sigh, and tossed the stallion a motherly smile. “Oh, hello again,” Swallow chirped. Pretty soon, though, her eyebrow was cocked. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in a bit.”

“That’s not important,” Sketch said. He bore a smile that was either extremely happy or manically creepy depending on how you looked at it. Swallow most likely viewed it as the former, as she showed no sign of being disturbed. “You looked sad! Please don’t be sad! I’m here to cheer you up!”

There was a small pause, where Swallow simply stared at the stallion awkwardly. Their long, drawn out gaze was quickly broken by Swallow’s eyes darting around almost desperately. Maybe I should tone down the staring a bit…? “Uh, right. I’m not sad, though. Just… really hungry,” she admitted, with a small sigh. She turned, and looked down the hallway that lead to a literal buffet of piping hot food. Sketch furrowed his brow.

“Hungry?” Sketch knew of Swallow’s raving appetite. In fact, everypony in this game did. One could hear Swallow’s stomach from the other end of the mansion, if they wanted to. “But we just ate a few hours ago.”

“I know, but it wasn’t very filling…” Swallow whined, childishly. Sketch frowned, his mind eagerly racing for a way to cheer her up, or at least get her mind off her aching belly. He wasn’t the most experienced when it came to communicating with others, but he’d have been a fool not to try.

“Oh,” he said. But, in a flash, his eyes lit up once again. “But I have a surprise for you—and the others!” Sketch did a small jog in place, as if he couldn’t contain his excitement.

“Hm? What kind of surprise?” Swallow asked, turning her head back towards the stallion. Sketch still couldn’t believe that somepony actually cared about what he did. It was almost surreal.

“I can’t tell you!” Sketch said. He brought a hoof to the mare’s nose, making Swallow go cross eyed as she tried to follow it. The touch made the mare blush, but Sketch was unable to notice. “It’d ruin it.”

“Right,” Swallow muttered, wiggling her nose a little so that the stallion’s hoof could finally disconnect itself. “Well, if it’s got you so worked up, I’m sure it’s quite the surprise, then,” she said, with that same kind smile of hers. Sketch’s heart wanted to flutter.

“Oh, it is! You’re gonna love it! Everyone’s going to love it!” Sketch said confidently, while he puffed out his chest. “It’ll be done soon!”

The twinkle in Swallow’s eye only lit the fire inside of Sketch more, like a substitute for gasoline. “I can’t wait for it!” Swallow chirped. Sketch’s heart wanted to explode, overjoyed by the sheer amount of affection and contact. Not even Buttermilk made him feel this good inside. It was so new, so foreign, that Sketch found himself instantly craving more.

“Good! It’ll be done shortly! Just gotta put some finishing touches on it! You’ll love it! You’ll see!” Sketch said pridefully. And, just like that, he was done talking. He found that a perfect moment to break their eye contact, and bolt back towards his room. While the last thing he wanted to do was part with his brand new friend, he had good reason. After all, their friendship could only grow, right? Their conversation had only lasted a minute, but Sketch was just too excited. The drawing was going to be perfect, a wonderful example of his artistic talent, and everyone else in the game was going to love it.

They were going to love it so much. Everyone would line up to be his friend once they laid eyes upon his masterful creation. They’d talk to him. They’d like him. No longer, would he be ignored.

Sketch would be loved.

The young stallion was so lost in his own head, he failed to hear the strange “Err…” sound that came from the confused mare still standing in the foyer.

Tenor’s course of action was simple now.

A little over fourteen hours into the game, and the punkish mare was just now starting to form a plan in her mind. She had locked herself in her room for hours, just listening to her music and thinking. She had shunned herself from the five other remaining players, but all for something that she considered to be a great cause: her survival. The survival of a future star, Tenor herself called it. Maybe she could write a book with that title, depicting what all happened here, and how she’d come to win.

Of course, she’d have to change a few things. Then again, book are for losers anyways. Maybe she could just get a movie deal instead.

She spent the entire time on her bed, thinking. The music was booming so loud from her headphones that they could have been mistaken for speakers, or even a radio. Drowning out her worries, drowning out her less comforting thoughts, drowning out her ability to hear the world around her. That was how she liked it. It wasn’t as if the world was worth listening to, anyways. After a good while, she slid her headphones off, onto her bed, and turned off the blaring music. She had bore an almost malicious grin on her face for a while now.

This, was the moment where Tenor was going to start winning. This was the moment where Tenor was going to start putting her plan into action. She could feel the anticipation inside of her bones, ringing like a church bell—even though she’d never heard the sound of one herself.

One by one, she was going to mess with the minds of the other contenders.

She even had her first victim in mind.

And she was just in the other room, all by herself. Alone. Then again, she was always alone. No one paid any attention to her. No one thought twice about Miso. She simply didn’t speak English, nor could she understand it herself. Tenor could use that to her advantage. After all, every pony who falls asleep brings Tenor closer and closer to victory.

Tenor had considered going after Gallant first, but that’d just be a waste of time. Gallant disliked her, and Tenor disliked him. There was really no point in trying anything. Gallant would catch on quickly if she did.

She knew what she had to do. Convincing a player that didn’t know how to play the game to lose wasn’t going to be very hard. She never liked Miso anyways. There was something about her that gave her chills that she never bothered to look into.

Tenor couldn’t wait. Every moment that passed was another moment she had to stay awake. She slowly removed herself from the bed, stretching out her dozing muscles and letting out a small groan of discomfort. She lightly shook her head. The drumsticks that were tied in the back of her mane clacked lightly. As tough as the mare was, she cared deeply about her perfectly styled mane, and her drumsticks. Before she left the room, she stopped to look at herself and her mane in the mirror. She didn’t really like to tell others about her responsibility when it came to the former. It wasn’t very cool.

Giving herself a determined glare in the mirror, the mare left the bathroom, and then her own room entirely. For some reason, nopony was out in the foyer. Everypony was off doing something else, it seemed. What else there was to even do in this mansion was a mystery, but Tenor really didn’t care. She only had one thing on her mind.

Miso.

Miso’s room was second, going counter-clockwise. Tenor had remember this when Miso’s name was revealed earlier. E may be a gigantic sociopath according to her, but at least he had the decency to write everypony’s name on their room door. The last thing she wanted to do was wander into the wrong place.

Tenor, almost immediately, made a mistake. She had a bad habit of simply barging through doors, as proven earlier. Tenor grasped the door handle and, without so much as knocking, turned and swung it open. “Yo, Miso?” she called.

Great. Miso was just where Tenor wanted her. Miso was sitting on her rump, on the bed. Her muddy brown eyes were the size of peas for a split second, probably by Tenor’s sudden entrance, but they relaxed just a moment later. There was a small book in front of her, but even at a distance Tenor could tell that it wasn’t written in English. Some weirdo Neighsian book, probably.

Miso closed the book in front of her, gently. A little too gently. She rested it in front of her, cover down, and gave Tenor a very awkward wave of her hoof and an oblivious smile.

This was going to be too easy.

Tenor was actually a little bit surprised when Miso opened her mouth. “Anata ga watashi o odoroka se Tenor.”

Tenor obviously had no idea what the mare said. She didn’t speak… whatever it was she spoke. Neighponese? She was fairly sure that her name was said, so she quickly decided to roll with it.

“Uh, yep. That’s me,” Tenor said, a bit weirdly. She turned and threw a hoof in the direction of the door just behind her. “Mind if I chat with you for a second? I really just… need someone to talk to,” she said, doing her best to throw as much emotion inside of her voice as possible. Tenor wasn’t necessarily an actor, but she knew how to make herself look innocent. Back when she was a filly, she used this tactic a million times on her parents when they suspected her of doing something she shouldn’t have. She got away with it most of the time. Most.

Miso’s smile faltered just slightly, as if she picked up Tenor’s tone a little bit. Miso actually waved the mare inside, and said something similar to: “Son'na koto wa arimasen, dete kuru.”

Maybe Tenor was a better actor than she thought. Then again, she had so many talents, it was a wonder she wasn’t famous already. Well, at least, that was how she saw herself. Tenor forced a genuine smile on her face. Not too small, not too large. Simply an appreciative one. She turned, and closed the door behind her with a small click.

“Thanks,” Tenor said. Miso picked up her book, set it on the dresser, and quickly slid over on the bed, patting it, as if she wanted Tenor to sit with her. While it was impossible to figure out Miso’s personality without understanding what she was speaking, Tenor was already assuming this mare was a lot like Swallow in terms of caring for others. At least, that’s what it looked like so far. Tenor walked over, and plopped herself down, and gave a small sigh. She put on the most depressed face she could muster, sticking out her bottom lip and turning her gaze to the floor. She saw Miso frown just out of the corner of her eyes.

“I… I’ll be honest,” Tenor started. “You’re the only one that I trust here,” she said. Tenor firmly believed that she’d get farther if she talked to the mare first, before putting her plan into action. It would look less suspicious that way. “Everyone else doesn’t like me, wants me dead, Miso.”

Miso just watched her, with some kind of strange look on her face. It was as if the mare was doing her best to try and decipher the words that were coming out of Tenor’s mouth. The punkish mare was eternally grateful that the mare couldn’t understand her, either. Just keep talking. Make it seem like you’re pouring out your heart to her, or something stupid like that.

“Aren’t you scared?” Tenor asked, still staring absentmindedly at the sheets underneath her. “Aren’t you afraid of dying? There’s only a sixth of a chance that any one of us are getting out of her alive. I know you can’t understand me, but…”

Miso bit the corner of her mouth. “Onegaishimasu,” she said. “Kanashimanaide kudasai.”

“One of us will surely die,” Tenor said, quickly starting to become lost in her own mind. Her inner fears were slowly starting to reveal themselves. “No one will know of our names, know who we are or what we were meant to be. Doesn’t that frighten you?” Tenor asked.

No answer. Miso simply went back to staring at her. Those brown eyes pierced Tenor like a kitchen blade, and she didn’t like it. They bothered her, greatly, but she tried not to let it show.

“This game, Miso,” Tenor said. Miso’s eye’s flickered at the sound of her own name. “It messes with your head. Makes you think and do things you don’t want to. Like, I don’t know, try to win. Don’t you want to win? Would you manipulate another pony just to win a game, and keep your life? I would.”

Miso cocked a misunderstanding eyebrow. Tenor was hardly caring about what was coming out of her mouth anymore. “I would do it in a heartbeat. I don’t deserve to die. My life isn’t over. I’m not famous yet. The attention isn’t all on me yet. But, wow, it will be once I win this game. Newspapers, talk shows. They’ll all want to talk to me, praise me. Oh, I’ll be the star.” Tenor forced a smile on her lips, a feigned kind one. “Are you excited for me the last one standing, Miso?”

Miso tried to mimic Tenor’s smile. However, it came out… different. It wasn’t as oblivious as Tenor would have expected. She didn’t pay any attention to it, but she did try to move it along.

“You look sleepy, Miso.”

Miso herself furrowed her brow at the mentioning of her name again. Tenor turned towards her, reluctantly staring deep into the mare’s brown eyes. Miso looked away, obviously uncomfortable. “S-sumimasen?”

“Tired, Miso?” Tenor was determined, this time, to make sure that the mare understood. She rested two hooves on the side of her cheek, as if the communicate through the popular motion. “Sleep?”

Miso nodded, as if she understood. However, it was very apparent that she was thinking about something. Her eyes were quickly becoming glazed over. “Are you sleepy, Miso? Maybe you should take a nap,” Tenor said.

Miso still appeared like she didn’t understand, but Tenor was pleased when the mare blindly started smiling at her, and giving for a small nod. Tenor grinned, but just barely. “Here, have a blanket. Take a small nap if you’d like.” Tenor was unaware if anypony else in the game knew this, but there was a soft blanket located underneath everypony’s beds. Tenor levitated one out, and rested it on the bed. “I’ll wake you up later, if you want. Then we can talk more. I really do like talking to you,” Tenor said, barely withholding a gag.

Miso eagerly grabbed the blanket, and wrapped it around herself. “Yoi aidea. Kansha!“ Miso spoke, with a smile. “Anata wa hijō ni shinsetsudesu.”

Tenor was barely able to contain her excitement when she saw Miso lay back, resting her head on the pillow. The punkish mare jumped up from the bed, all while bearing her fake smile. “I’ll wake you up later. You sleep for a nice, long, while. Mmk?”

A bright smile was her only response.

Tenor made her way for the door, but before she left the room, she switched off the light behind her, shrouding Miso in a coat of sheer darkness.

“Goodnight, Miso. Sleep well,” she said, slowly.

Tenor closed the door behind her.

Swallow was going insane.

Was it possible to lose your ability to rationally think when one was to the point of starving? Nopony knew. This, however, was exactly what Swallow felt. Her belly was content, but Swallow just hated that feeling. She was starving, and she knew it. It was was her brain and belly were telling her, even though they were false signals.

So false. She wasn’t fine. She was starving.

Fifteen hours, forty-five minutes, and fifty-one seconds into the game, and Swallow stood at the entrance of the hallway that lead to the wonderful buffet in what was that strange pillared room. She could smell the steaming hot delectables from where she stood, and it made her mind twitch knowing that she couldn’t have it.

I don’t want to fall asleep.

I don’t want to die.

But… I’m so hungry...

Swallow had done everything she could, and looked everywhere for some smaller morsels of food to eat. Unfortunately, both ideas failed. Her backpack was completely devoid of any sort of food. In fact, it itself was entirely empty. Why E had given her her travelling backpack, but nothing that was originally inside it, she didn’t know. In fact, it made her want to cry. Her belly was rumbling non-stop, like a neverending aftershock inside of her stomach, and it hurt so bad.

She had tried to convince Alloy to let her have some, just a few plates full. But he wasn’t for it. He threatened that she’d die if she had any more than he specified. Sketch had awful timing, speaking of which, interrupting the conversation just before Swallow had any time to coerce him to reconsider. Swallow liked Sketch, but she wasn’t the happiest after that.

She was pretty curious as to what he was doing, though. He’d locked himself in that room for hours, now.

But even still, Swallow couldn’t think about it all that much. Her mind would almost immediately be directed back to the pains derived from her empty stomach. The only food in the entire building was in Buttermilk’s memorial, and it was the most beautiful meal Swallow had ever seen.

And she was only instructed to eat a little bit.

It bothered her, hated her. She wanted to throw a little hissy fit, stomp her hooves around and cry like a child throwing a tantrum. It hurt every single muscle in her body. Every bone, every wish, everything. They all begged for her belly to be filled.

It was pure torture.

So there she stood, on the border of the entrance to that pillared, scrumptious room, thinking.

She could go in, take a plate, and leave. That’s what she could do. She could eat just a little bit. Just a very little bit, and then come back, before anypony had a chance to notice that she’d even been gone. If she ate just the right amount, who knew? Maybe she’d even have a bit more energy afterwards, and be able to stay up longer! If she ate the right amount, that is.

The temptation. The sheer temptation was pulling at her, whispering in her ear. She could feel a demon on each of her shoulders, without an angel in sight. She wanted sustenance. She wanted something to eat. She hadn’t had a proper, filling meal in more than half a day, a record for her. She couldn’t handle it.

Swallow needed food.

She couldn’t take it anymore.

Just… one little bite wouldn’t hurt, right?

Alloy just couldn’t stop thinking. It was a habit that would probably be his demise someday.

Hopefully, it wouldn’t be sometime in the next few hours.

He was growing paranoid as time went on. The inner fear and reality of the game setting in much slower than the rest of the group. The more he contemplated just how sleepy he actually was, the more he began to feel his eyelids weighing down. This contributed to his seemingly endless bout of panic. However, he wasn’t an idiot.

Panicking was the last thing the stallion should be doing. Even he knew that. It was a proven fact that anxiety and fear were the numbers one and two cause for bad decisions. Back in Manehatten, the laboratory next to the one he worked at actually did a study on it. However, he was increasingly jealous about the success of it, stupidly enough, so he didn’t bother to look into it. However, he was certain that the facts were still correct.

The more and more Alloy got lost in his head, the more and more he lost sight of what was around him. Every other time he’d snap back to reality, there would be one less pony around him. He had left Swallow alone in the foyer after having enough of her incessant begging, but it’s been more than an hour, and he hadn’t seen or heard from anyone.

E had had the decency to give him some of his lab notes, which he found sitting neatly inside one of the dresser drawers. Even though peering at it was a complete waste of time, something even he knew, he didn’t care. Gaining knowledge at this point was useless, but it filled him with some kind of purpose that he wasn’t able to find anywhere else. It warmed him a little inside, in a way no one else could.

However, the reigning silence was getting to him. The quietness was much too loud for his busy head to ignore. He found himself weirdly shifting on the bed, as the notes on his bed would crackle and move about as well.

Eventually, it just became too much. Surely, there was something better he could be doing besides sitting around. The more he remained idle, the more tired he’s eventually become. Besides, he was rather curious as to what the other five were up to. He had a bad feeling when it came to not being around them for too long. He still didn’t know any of them very well. He trusted them, sure, but he still didn’t know them.

Alloy exited his room, letting out a very tiny and almost unnoticeable yawn. The door behind him closed, quietly. Behind his black, square-rimmed glasses, Alloy’s eyes darted about, purposefully. The foyer was horrendously silent, shrouded with a thick sense of abandonment. He could hear a loud ringing in his ears that he desperately tried to get out of his wavering mind.

“Hello?” Alloy said, calling out the empty room.

He heard a sniffle as his only response.

Alloy was unsure how he didn’t see it the first time. There was a light blue body, sitting down in front of one of the many doors inside of the foyer. It was obviously Sketch. His head was facing downwards, and his mane was covering the entirety of his face. His shoulders would bounce with every pathetic sob he gave.

“S-Sketch…?” Alloy called out to him, nervously. Why was he crying again? Was he thinking about Buttermilk, perchance? There was no way to know. Sketch was sitting directly in front of one of the doors that were opposite Alloy, like a dog at his master’s hooves. “Are you okay? What happened?” he asked.

Alloy took a few steps closer to the young stallion, who’s crying was only starting to grow more harsh, louder, with every passing second.

Alloy wanted to understand. He didn’t like not knowing what was going on around him. He stopped and paused…

...and let his eyes observe. And once they did, Alloy’s eyes went wide.

The timer in front of the door Sketch was sitting before had stopped.

Author's Note

For the record, the author of this story does not know Japanese. Therefore, he apologizes if he butchered any of the sentences.

Thank you for being patient for this update.

Comments are greatly appreciated!

-Cyneryk

Chapter Nine

Gallant’s heart was beating pridefully as he gazed down at the corpse below him, as if his body was silently boasting “look what I can do”.

His eyes were lidded, half shielding himself from the sleep deprived death that he had eluded once again, the other half saving him the sight of Swallow’s dead, peaceful looking body. He had known Swallow was bound to do something like this eventually. He had known that there was potentially something he could have done to stop her. But he didn’t. For the last few hours, the muscly orange stallion simply minded his own business.

Due to this, he was now one step closer to achieving his goals.

Did he feel sorry for the mare? Yes. Swallow did not deserve to die. She was useless, but a kind soul. After all, she helped Sketch and Miso during her total of fifteen or so hours into the game. But it was inevitable. The stallion hardly moved a inch as his eyes looked the mare over in its entirety, like she was a missing piece in some kind of nonexistent puzzle. Gallant pondered if he would even miss the mare. The question was a bit too painful to answer in its entirety.

Swallow was a pity. She was curled up on the floor, hunched over like she had been punched in the ribs. Her mouth was parted ever so slightly, allowing Gallant to see the pink of her tongue hiding underneath, like her teeth were jailhouse bars. Her short white mane was hardly touched, delicately spread underneath her head like a pillow. Her stomach was engorged, to the point where Gallant could have mistaken her for merely being pregnant.

She had eaten herself to death.

Gallant couldn’t feel anything. There was merely a void in the spot where his conscience should be. He had been to countless funerals. He had been there for the last moments of many of his friends and family. This was just another. He didn’t know the mare, but for some reason he felt just like he did at all the other funerals. Somehow, Gallant’s face didn’t falter. His eyes were locked on to the corpse of the young mare, and his mouth was at rest. He didn’t dare look at the half eaten table that Swallow had left behind in her wake-- her last impression on the world.

“Swallow!”

Gallant heard the chants-- the calls that came from the hallway, followed by the familiar sounds of hooves bolting at full speed. However, it didn’t prompt him to move. He just didn’t feel like it. Maybe it was just because he didn’t view it as a priority. Maybe it was just because his muscles were too locked to move. Gallant himself didn’t even know.

“Swallow! Are you down there?” The voice belonged to Alloy. That much he was able to figure out. He heard the cacophony of hooves, and let out a sigh. Whether he liked it or not, Gallant was going to have to do some damage control.

“It’s too late,” Gallant replied, just as Alloy, Tenor, and Sketch made their way into the strange room. “I’m too late.”

Sketch took one look at Swallow, and Gallant could see his eyes go so wide he thought they’d pop out of his head. He looked monstrous--horrified, like his second friend in the game was lying dead in front of him. Gallant stared daggers at Alloy. You imbecile, bring Tenor, fine. But why in the world would you bring the kid?

Alloy didn’t seem to notice. Upon looking at Swallow’s corpse he took in a deep breath, as if he was trying to keep himself, and his brain, intact. “What happened in here?” He asked, taking a few steps closer to the dead body that cursed the room.

Tenor pushed the scientist aside, establishing what dominance she had. Her teeth were bared, and her forelegs were tensed, as if she was read to charge at the older stallion. “He killed her, that’s what!”

Gallant cocked an eyebrow. It had taken him a moment to realize, but when he did, he wasn’t very happy about it. Was getting caught in a room with a dead body something for others to get suspicious about? Honestly, yes. Is Tenor readying the troops so she can pin a murder on him fine? No. No it is not. Upon the mentioning of “killed her”, Alloy looked at Gallant with nervous eyes.

“Calm down, I didn’t kill her. I found her like this moments ago.” Gallant did his best to remain calm-- to defuse the situation as cleanly as possible. Even he knew it wouldn’t be easy when an approximate half of the ponies in the room were borderline bonkers. Well, alive ponies.

“Likely story, grandpa!” Tenor seethed. “I knew we couldn’t trust you. You’ve been gone for hours and the minute someone dies you just magically popped back up!”

Sketch’s head and body were twitching. Gallant had seen something like that before. The manic shaking, the thousand yard stare, the death in his eyes:

Now, Gallant knew.

Sketch was now, fully, traumatized.

“Come look at the body before you start throwing accusations, Tenor,” Gallant grumbled. His gaze was focused on Alloy, as if he was the one the older stallion was trying to convince, not Tenor or Sketch. “Look at her stomach. Look at the table. She snuck in here and ate herself to death.”

“Right! Of course she did!” Tenor shouted, in what Gallant could consider the literal most irritatingly sarcastic voice he had ever heard in his entire life. It almost made him lose his cool.

“Come take a look at i--her,” Gallant said, hardly managing to catch himself. “I’ve been minding my own for the past few hours.”

“You were probably plotting out how you were going to get her killed. You probably tempted her into doing it!” Tenor replied.

“Tempted her? She tempted herself.”

“Your hooves are covered in food! You probably stood there and watched her eat herself silly!”

“The floor is covered in food. Can you stop trying to play detective?”

“I’ll knock anyone out, you old bag, but I won’t think twice when it comes to murderers!”

“It’s true,” Sketch interrupted. His dull, monotonous voice had somehow managed to pierce the screeching that Tenor had oh-so lovingly brought forth. At some point in the argument, Sketch had wandered forward, closer and closer to Swallow’s ever freezing body. Gallant was honestly surprised that he hadn’t noticed. “Just… just look at her,” the young stallion said. His eyes were broken, a shell of a kid that used to be there a little more than fifteen hours ago. Whatever zest the kid had before was now completely gone, and replaced with what could only be considered as a drone.

“Sketch, don’t get too close,” Alloy quipped. Sketch didn’t even turn to look at him. His eyes were staring right through Swallow and her peaceful, motherly body. Gallant's icy face stumbled at the sight of him.

“I will be fine.”

Gallant had seen trauma like Sketch’s. He knew full well of what it could do, how it could break someone. For a brief moment, he contemplated taking a step closer to the teenager. He talked himself out of it easily. “Hey, kid. You gonna be alright?”

“I will be fine.”

Gallant didn’t believe that in the slightest, but he let it rest. The others didn’t know it, but Sketch was gone, now. There was no way he would be coming back, either. Not without extensive medical treatment, anyway. Back in basic training, one of the rookies with him got word that his younger sister had passed in some kind of flight accident back home.

Last Gallant heard, the young stallion was still taking medicine to this day.

Suddenly, a cry from the back of the room.

It was new, foreign almost. It was one Gallant wasn’t entirely sure he had heard before. It had actually been enough to startle him, but only slightly. It took moments until the stallion figured out why.

It was Miso, and her eyes were welled up with tears.

Her legs were shaking in the entrance to the room, and her curtain-esque mane was draped over her face pathetically. Unfortunately, the way everyone was located in the room gave Miso an almost perfect view of Swallow’s dead body. If only Sketch had remained where he was standing prior, but Gallant wasn’t as rash to say anything to him about it.

Tenor’s jaw dropped at the mere sight of Miso. Gallant didn’t care enough to wonder why.

“Okay, okay, she ate herself to death,” Gallant cleared up, just in case. “Now, Alloy, can you please get Sketch and Miso out of here? They don’t need to see this. Nopony needs to see this.”

Sketch turned, and for the first time since the game started, stared Gallant directly in the eyes. It was off-putting, but Gallant wasn’t as weak spined to be jarred by a little runt with some Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. “No,” he replied sharply. The ear with his golden ring flickered suddenly. Gallant raised an eyebrow.

“No? What do you mean no?” Tenor said. Whether she was just impatient or if she was genuinely curious, no one will know.

“Sketch, it’s not good to be in here…” Alloy added. Gallant mentally sighed. If only Alloy hadn’t brought the kid in there in the first place, maybe this situation wouldn’t be as bad as it currently is. Not to mention Miso following everyone, but then again Gallant can’t really blame them. No one really cares enough about her to keep tabs on her whereabouts.

“I don’t care. She is my best friend. My friend. I will treat her like one, now. I will do what friends do.” With this, Gallant could only watch as Sketch reached down, and placed Swallows limp tail in his teeth, and began to forcefully drag her towards the hallway.

“Whoa,” was all Tenor could manage. Gallant had seen enough.

“No, no, kid! Stop it!”

“No!” Sketch shouted through the hair in his mouth. Not for one moment did he pause on his mission. He kept fiercely tugging on the end of the corpses tail, as if his own life depended on it. “I’m going to lay her down in her bed. I’m going to say a few words. Because that’s what friends do!” It was at this moment that the tears had begun to pour down the young stallion’s face, cascading onto the food ridden floor beneath him. Alloy made the mistake of taking a step closer, something Gallant could have told him was probably a bad idea. But didn't.

“No! Just me! Just me. I will do this alone. Don’t touch me! Don’t touch her. Just leave us alone.”

Gallant was started to regret treating the kid the way he did earlier, but not that much. Tenor must not have taken a liking to Sketch’s new personality, so she let out a huff. “Fine by me. Have as much fun as you want. I’ll be in my room.” She turned around, and shoved Miso so hard that the foreign mare was actually slammed into the right side of the hallway. Alloy exclaimed, but Gallant shushed him.

“Let’s go. Leave him be. You too, Miso,” said the pegasus. He wasn’t sure whether Miso understood him or not, but surprisingly she was the first one through the hallway, rubbing the back of her head where she and the wall connected.

Following her, Gallant and Alloy made their way out of the room. The former indifferently, the second hesitantly. Gallant had done his best to tune it out, but as he made his way down the hall, he could hear Sketch.

Grunt. Slide. Exhale.

Grunt. Sobs. Slide. Exhale.

Grunt. Sobs. Slide. Cries. Exhale.

Crash. Grunt. Grunt. Muffled howls. Silence.

______________________________________________________________________________

Tenor was now one step closer to winning the game with her life. She had yet to figure out just why it made her feel so anxious.

Maybe it was the stress of the game getting to her. Then again, it could possibly be the excitement of the idea that she could actually get out of this twisted game alive. Perhaps, the sight of Swallows body made her fear the inevitability of death just a little more. Eh, it was probably the first one.

Tenor didn’t like Swallow anyway. She was a goody two-shoes who used her innocence as a way to further her own goals. Tenor knew what Swallow’s motive was right from the very start: win the hearts of everyone, and then backstab them when the number of ponies started to dwindle. There was no way she was just all good. Her cheering up Sketch, which turned out to be worthless, was obviously some ploy to show how kind she can be. Tenor wasn’t falling for it anyway. Back in the sketchy parts of Phillydelphia, Tenor had met her fair share of mares like Swallow.

Only then, none of them were as stupid as to literally eat themselves to death.

It didn’t matter. Two ponies were down. That means she now has a 20% chance of getting out of this place. She had to admit, the chances are getting better and better with every death, every sob, every depressed PTSD driven kid.

Tenor was standing in the foyer. Her eyes were trained onto the commotion, like she was a guard awaiting some sort of natural duty. For some reason, she just couldn’t look away— and to be honest, she really didn’t want to. It was like watching some sort of strange television drama.

It was almost seventeen hours into the game. It had taken Sketch a little less than one hour to drag Swallow’s corpse down that dreaded hallway. Tenor’s eyes were starting to hurt, but she paid no attention.

She had told herself many times that sleeping is not an option.

Sketch’s face was dry, but stained with the sticky remnants of uncontrollable snot and tears. His eyes were blank and as dead as the corpse he was carrying. He looked very, very weak. Despite the fact that Swallow was one of the smallest ponies here, Tenor herself couldn’t imagine having to haul her that far just to lie her in her stupid bed.

What a waste of time.

Sketch opened Swallows door wide, quivering and giving forth heaving breaths. He took a break for a total of fifteen seconds before he reached down and grabbed the dead mare by the tail again, and continued to drag her into the room. Tenor watched on, mesmerized.

Sketch was insane.

Completely, irreversibly insane. Tenor wasn’t sure if the weird sounds the small pony was making were quieted sobs, odd chuckles, or weird gasps for air through his constant mouthful of hair. Either way, Tenor watched— not only that, but she plotted.

Sketch had finally succeeded in bringing the mare to her room. Her reached down and, using some sort of weird technique that Tenor didn’t know how to even begin to replicate, set the mare on her bed. He spread her out, on her back. The next thing Tenor knew, Swallow was on her back, her hind legs pressed against each other and her forelegs crossed over her chest. She was actually laid to rest, just like Sketch said she would be.

“There,” Sketch puffed, his face red and with a tiny laugh. “There you go, Swallow. You can rest… you can sleep now. My friend. My best friend. You're away from them now. They won't bother you in here.”

Tenor had dawdled for too long. Sketch had turned around, and had taken notice of the creamy mare staring at him from across the foyer. The young stallion gave a sad look, walked over, and gently shut the door.

Now, Sketch and Swallow were alone.

Tenor sighed. Who cared about them anyway. One was dead and the other was as good as. If anything, it was as if they were already down to four ponies left. Tenor untangled her drumsticks from her mane. She was getting bored again, but that was nothing a little drumming couldn’t fix. Her haunted colored mane fell down, and her drumsticks floated into the air.

That’s when she noticed Miso.

Miso. That reminded Tenor. Why did she get up? Tenor had put her to bed, after all. Why didn’t the mare fall asleep? If she didn’t know about the game, then why didn’t she just go asleep? Is there something Tenor missed about her? She had never been as shocked as she was when Miso appeared next to everyone when Swallow was discovered.

Tenor was nervous, now.

Miso smiled at Tenor, her usual absentminded grin that had been plastered on her face all game, even after she had seen Swallow’s body. Everything was the same about her, but Tenor wasn’t exactly too sure about that.

“S...Suh-leep?” Miso enunciated, in the exact same manner that Tenor had tried to use to lull the Neighsian mare to sleep not even a few hours ago. She put a hoof to her cheek, and rocked herself like a baby in a cradle. Tenor’s eyes went wide.

Miso was mimicking her.

Tenor didn’t think twice. Miso knew. Swallow’s session with her must have actually worked. Miso actually knew that falling asleep meant certain death. Which means…

Tenor had made a grave mistake.

The unicorn fled, disappearing back into her room like a flash. “No, no, no, are you kidding me! Damnit!” she muttered under her breath the mere millisecond that the door closed behind her. Tenor’s plan to trick Miso had failed, and she had a feeling that it was going to backfire tenfold. All Miso had to do was tell everypony, and soon she’d be a major target. As far as everyone knew, Tenor was just trying to survive, not win the game, per say.

Wait a minute.

Miso won’t tell anyone. She’s overreacting. Miso can’t speak English. She had no way whatsoever to convey Tenor’s intentions. With this, the unicorn let out a soft sigh.

“Get it together…” she told herself. The game was starting to take its mental toll on her. No matter how hard the mare was trying to fight it, she was starting to get a bit tired. She could tell everyone else was too. Alloy had a few bags under his eyes back when everyone was near Swallow’s body, and Gallant’s judgement was starting to turn. Standing near an undiscovered body? Yeah right.

She still had faith. She could win the game easy.

“Yeah… Yeah, don’t worry, mare. You’ll be just fine,” she spoke, slowly. She remembered that she was still levitating her drumsticks, which jolted her brain back into its original state. At least, the best she was going to get. She threw her eyes towards the bed, where she last left her headphones and music player, and prepared herself for the party she was about to endure in her head.

But she stopped.

On her bed, was Miso’s blanket, neatly folded like Tenor had found it earlier.

On top of it was a little note written on a folded note card.

Tenor gulped, and set her drumsticks neatly on the dresser nearest her. With ill-focus, she mentally grabbed the note, and levitated it closer to her. It read:

“ : )

- 味噌”

Chapter Ten

The death of Swallow was a tipping point in the game, according to Alloy.

He was still having such a hard time believing that she was gone. That once quiet and hungry mare of whom was able to calm the bodies of everypony else in the game was dead. Alloy felt sorrow, however he couldn’t let that stop him from trying to stay awake. He had only known the mare for less than a day, and even still it hurt just to think about. She didn’t deserve to die, he’d tell himself. But it didn’t entirely matter anymore.

The voice of reason in the game was dead and gone, and now Alloy was starting to get more nervous. As time continued to tick on, he could feel himself giving into the temptation of sleep. If anything, so was everypony else.

But the thing was, Alloy didn’t want to win the game. He didn’t want anypony to die. He just wanted to stay alive, and for everyone to follow the same fate as him. But now, with both Buttermilk and Swallow gone, he was finally starting to view the bigger picture as it slowly creeped into his heart, like some kind of virus.

His mind was beginning to fry, and he could feel it break him down more and more as every minute — every hour, passed on. His head wasn’t keeping up the way it used to, like it would back in the lab. He felt slower, like someone had poured honey inside the creases of his brain.

He couldn’t let that stop him. No one else in this game needed to die. Alloy would see to that.

He didn’t know why he thought like that. If anything, as a child he was told to use his gift as a way to fend for himself. As special as his parents called him, he just couldn’t think that way. He hated death, and everything that surrounded its disgusting embrace. Prior to the game, Alloy’s goals were to cure diseases and make the world a better place. Now, his only resolution is to keep death away from everypony, even if it was just for a few more hours.

Alloy sat on his bed, facing backwards towards the wall. He had been there, staring at the clock on the wall as the time drifted upwards. A little less than nineteen hours awake. Any normal pony not in the game would have fallen asleep — exhausted— at least three hours ago, coincidentally along with Swallow. Now the game was starting to get difficult, and Alloy knew that he could only go on for so much longer before he succumbed to his fate.

For the first time in a while, Alloy broke his gaze from the clock. It was time to do something, and find another way to keep his brain occupied. He turned behind him towards the hall, and frowned. He knew what he wanted to do, but wasn’t entire sure if it was a good idea. As much as he’d like to pay his respects in private to Swallow — barging in there while Sketch was doing… whatever— probably wasn’t the best idea. It’d been some time, though. It wouldn’t be dumb to assume that maybe Sketch had left.

Alloy jumped off the bed, feeling his bones crack and groan after standing for the first time in a while. Maybe sitting for damn near an hour or so was a poor idea, for the moment he stood he noticed his undeniable headache. He winced, and did his best to ignore it.

He looked out into the foyer, left and then right. It was completely empty. Everypony was gone. He could hear rock music coming from Tenor’s room, and Miso and Gallant were nowhere to be found, but it could be assumed that they were together. Miso refused to be alone most of the time, preferring to sort of follow somepony else around, which was understandable. Alloy picked this up about her quickly.

Without missing a beat, he strode across the large room and made his way towards the late Swallow’s room. He couldn’t hear anything on the other side, so he decided to simply test his luck.

Empty. The room was empty.

Aside for the lone body of Swallow lying on top of the bed. Alloy let out a sigh. The room was still, and Alloy could feel the strange, distinct chill upon the very moment he entered. Alloy never believed in ghosts prior, but the uneasiness that set upon him made his heart shutter. The poor mare on the bed lied there with her eyes closed, as if she was only taking a much needed nap. Her hooves were draped over her chest — a common burial pose — while her hind legs were tightly locked together. The color had already drained out of the mares face over the course of only a few hours, and her naturally light blue body was beginning to turn an off-white.

Swallow looked peaceful.

Alloy was afraid of how Buttermilk looked at this point in time compared to her.

Alloy kept his eyes trained on the mare, and walked a little closer. His heart had hit the floor moments ago, and a tear welled in his eye — even though he knew full well how much more tired he would be should he let it fall.

“Hey…” he whispered to the mare.

She didn’t reply.

“Swallow, you were… a kind mare… I can tell you this much. I-I only knew you for a bit less than a day, but…” The words kept getting lost and turned around inside of Alloy’s throat. “I viewed you as a friend. You did all those kind things to keep everypony okay… You helped Sketch, and Miso. You helped me…”

Alloy couldn’t control it anymore, as a few tears fell down his face. “I’m so sorry this happened, Swallow. I could have done something, to keep you from dying like this.” He paused. There were only a few moments in his life where Alloy's words were eloquent. This was one where he thought carefully before every word left his shivering voice. “You will not be forgotten here. No matter who leaves this place. Sketch, Tenor, Gallant, Miso, or I… will make sure that the world knows what happened-”

“I didn’t know you two were close.”

Alloy, somehow, wasn’t startled. He had already had a hunch. Sketch’s dead voice protruded through the doorway like a depressive beacon. Alloy wiped a tear, and looked back. “We… weren’t. We really weren’t.”

Sketch’s eyes were in a deadlock, switching between Alloy and Swallow as if his life depended on it. “Isn’t that how all relationships are, then?”

Alloy cocked his eyebrow, and turned back to the young stallion curiously. With his dark coat, it was hardly noticeable that a few tears had fallen aside from his slightly reddened eyes. “What do you mean?”

Sketch flicked his ear, the one with the strange earring on it. “I had it all wrong— friendships, didn’t I? They were never as permanent as I wanted them to be. Too bad it took me this long to realize.” The stallion looked at the floor.

“Not particularly,” Alloy answered, carefully. “Friendships are as permanent as you want them to be. Despite the fact that Swallow has… passed, I’m sure that she is still your friend.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Sketch replied, quickly, as if he had already thought of that hours ago. “I always thought friendships were like pictures— because no matter how you look at it, it’s an adventure worth saving— It’s a story worth sharing. I forgot to take in the fact that it only takes a single match to send it up in flames. I have yet to understand what the match is. Maybe it’s the game, maybe it's something higher up, maybe it’s just this curse that keeps happiness from remaining out of my grasp.” Sketch looked back up at Alloy, and pierced his eyes in a way that made the scientist shudder. “She’s gone, but she isn’t from memory.”

Had I underestimated him? Alloy had no legitimate response, so he didn’t bother. He turned away, back to the mare who nopony would ever understand why she was called “Wide Eyes”.

“I brought something for her,” Sketch murmured, just as Alloy heard more shuffling behind him. Sketch, slowly, walked up to Swallow’s corpse with a straight face. With sheer precision, he placed a piece of paper in her hooves, right over her heart. Alloy couldn’t see it all that well, but it looked like some drawing. All he could make out was some kind of unfamiliar planet, and moon. “She really liked this one. She may be dead, but that doesn’t mean she can’t go somewhere new… on an adventure of her own.”

“That’s nice of you-”

“Hello…?”

Alloy went wide eyed, and a quick look at Sketch revealed the same. It was E. Alloy’s teeth clenched. E must have been watching them, yet chose to interrupt now?

“Hello, everyone! How is everyone doing? Good? No? Oh well, I don’t care! You’re a bit over nineteen hours into the game! Only ten minutes after!”

Alloy heard something break across the foyer. He assumed it was Tenor throwing something in response to E. He didn’t think about it too much.

“Not going to lie, I thought there’d be more casualties at this point in the game. Way to go, all you super special ponies proving me wrong. It’s rather late, at the moment. To be honest, dinner was an hour or so ago, but I decided to hold on — you know, because I’m sure you’d want to mourn the loss of… uhm, Swallow…”

Did… did he just hesitate?

Sketch looked at Alloy. He must have noticed too.

“Anyway, dinner is down the hallway, for anypony interested. Oh, and so is one other thing. I’ll let you all find your surprise on your own. Have fun, and stay awake.”

Click.

Tenor didn’t care anymore. She couldn’t let herself. They were going to die anyway.

The moment she heard the announcement from E, all she knew was that she finally had something to do to bide her time. After nineteen hours, and only one CD, Tenor was beginning to get bored of listening to her music. Despite the fact that it’s heavy metal, the monotony of it actually began to lull her. To be honest, if E hadn’t made that announcement, Tenor might have screwed herself over.

Now that she was startled, it gave her a bit more energy. That, and the reminder of what would happen should she actually pass out. It was more than enough motivation to get her ass up and to do something.

She didn’t bother to wait for the other ponies. There was no point in walking down the hallway with any of them. They all hated her anyway, not that she cared. She’s simply doing what she had to to stay alive.

Despite the fact that Miso was onto her. Perhaps it was a good thing that Tenor hadn’t seen the foreign mare in a matter of hours. The more time she stayed away for her, the better. Something about the Neighponese pony was still bothering her. It wasn’t how she knew not to fall asleep, it wasn’t the message on her blanket… it was that smile of hers. It pissed her off, like that mare was toying with her. From the way she started this game, to now, she had had it on her stupid little face. Everyone viewed it as an oblivious one, but Tenor wasn’t so sure anymore. Tenor had a little thought about the mare that she wasn’t able to get out of her head:

Could it be that Miso actually does understand their language? Just how foreign was she?

Tenor knew she wouldn’t like the answer should she ponder it too much — it would only make her angrier. All she knew was that she had no will to talk to Miso ever again.

Thoughts of the strange mare filled Tenor’s head until she was almost through the exhaustingly long hallway for what must have been the seventh time since the game started. “Finally…” she muttered. It’s almost as if somepony stretched it out since she’d last been in it.

Her hooves were getting heavier with every hour that passed. Maybe a little bit of food will help her out a bit, as long as she didn’t pull a Swallow.

Tenor was unsurprised upon entering the strange room.

In the middle of the room was a circular table, like the one at the beginning of the game. The only thing was that it was a pure white, and it was substantially smaller. It had just enough room to fit five ponies as well as a plate of food and a drink. In fact, it reminded Tenor of the tables back in the cafeteria of her old high school. Even though the table was shined to perfection, the chairs were metal. Each spots plate came accompanied with different meals: one with carrot bread, the other with a daisy sandwiches, and so forth.

Normally, Tenor would have just jumped on the seat with her favorite bread, but something else in the room stopped her.

It was the gigantic map in the back of the room.

It was massive, covering damn near the entirety of the wall. It was all of Equestia -- Vanhoover to Fillydelphia, all spread along this map. It was covered in colorful tacks, and strings that connected them, maybe a spider web of locations and points of interest. Tenor walked straight past the food, and closer to the tacks. Some of the tacks had pictures hanging underneath them, and Tenor was curious.

She wished she wasn’t. She wished that she had just waited out by the entrance to the hallway, instead of wandering in there alone. She had made a mistake. Her jaw hit the floor the moment she looked at all six of the pictures.

Every single picture was a picture of Swallow, taken before the game had begun.

And each picture contained one of the other ponies in the game.

Gallant didn’t know what to expect upon walking into the room. He had no idea what E could have waiting in store for them this time. All the surprises would be the death of him, eventually.

Gallant was at the front of the line of ponies heading up through the hallway, and was the first one to see both Tenor as well as the large map that covered the back wall. He did what he did best, and kept quiet.

The remaining four ponies followed his example, and stared at the map silently, as if they were having conversations with it in their heads.

Alloy was the very first pony to speak, after what must have been a good five minutes of just nothing. “So it’s Swallow. She’s behind this game.”

Sketch didn’t take his eyes off of the map, staring at the pictures of Swallow as if they were the last remaining shred of her he had left. Aside from her body, that is. “No. She couldn’t have been.”

“Swallow said she was a drifter, right?” Tenor piped, staring at one picture in particular. “This must have been her route… for the past few years. Look, it even comes with dates.” Gallant didn’t need to double check to see the bags underneath Tenor’s eyes. He stifled a laugh.

“So she was the link,” said Alloy, with a sigh. “She’s the one thing that binds us all together. Each picture here was taken when we were all linked with her in our lives. Look,” Alloy reached past Sketch’s small frame, and pointed to the tack on Manehatten. It was a odd picture, compared to the rest of them. Most pictures were taken from a distance, with Swallow most likely not even realizing that the camera was there, except for this one and one other. Swallow was in the bathroom, taking a picture of herself in the mirror. It was an innocent picture, but Gallant could tell Alloy was onto something.

“So what? She took a selfie,” Tenor scoffed, rolling her eyes. Alloy paid her no mind.

“No… on the desk. That’s a prescription for Dihalprozide. It’s a medication… for night terrors.” Night terrors? Gallant pondered. Excessively frightening, recurring nightmares? The letters on the bottle were too tiny to read, but in the corner of the photo was a sloppy, chaotic enlargement of the name of the medication, and a date. “I… A bunch of my colleagues created that medication… including me. I was the one who put the finishing touches on it. It’s perfectly safe in every way… This picture was taken before the drug released, though.”

Tenor sneered. Her blue eyes grew cold once again. “So what does that mean? You made the medicine that she used to take?”

Alloy nodded. “Not only that, but she got one of the first few prescriptions released for it. She was one of the test subjects. Why the number one?” Alloy said suddenly. At first Gallant was confused. So, Alloy is in the game because she took medicines that Alloy helped to create? Why did that deserve death — to be put in this game from Hell?

Alloy was correct, however, there was a number one in the corner of the picture. Gallant didn’t even think about it. “It’s because it’s the first picture. This is a timeline. What does it lead to?”

“Mine,” Sketch spat. Gallant followed the string from Manehatten to Canterlot, and immediately understood. It was Swallow, in some kind of gymnasium. The pony who took the picture must have been extremely stealthy to get a picture that clear, yet so close to the mare that they were within spitting distance. She was standing at a booth, pointing at a poster on the wall. There were bits on the table.

“That’s… that’s my school. That’s our art showcase. We have one every single year. Every student in the art club make drawings, paintings, or sketches to show to the other students in the school. I remember it… that one. I was sick that day,” Sketch’s bottom lip started to tremble, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to guess what was going to happen next. Gallant tried to ignore the crying as the kid spoke.

“So my art teacher offered to watch my booth. I had what must have been a hundred pictures… the biggest booth. The next day after the showcase, I realize that one of my paintings disappeared. I looked all over. My art teacher said she never even saw it, and that I must have misplaced it. Now I know what happened… she sold it to Swallow and pocketed the money. I figured that was what happened, but I had no proof. I got detention for trying to accuse my teacher.”

Nopony said anything. Gallant was confused, but kept it to himself. Sketch was in the game for selling a painting to her? That’s ridiculous. However, Gallant had nothing else to go on. “So, it goes from Swallow getting Alloy’s medicine, to her buying a poster from Sketch. Then…”

Gallant peered ahead. The next picture was of Miso— number three. It was a simple picture, Swallow in front of some kind of foreign statue that Gallant hadn’t seen before with that meek smile on her face. From the angle of the picture, Gallant could tell that she was reading some kind of writing below it. Swallow was standing there, right next to Miso.

A little too close.

Gallant turned to Miso, who was standing way behind everypony else quietly. They locked eyes for the briefest of moments.

“It says ‘Directions’ underneath Miso’s picture,” Alloy speculated. “Okay, so Miso gave Swallow directions at some point in time. That’s… a minute detail…”

“But so far Miso is the only one who actually talked to Swallow before. Why didn’t she say anything?” Tenor shouted, pointing a hoof at the mare in question. Gallant kept himself from evening bothering.

“Because she can’t speak our language,” Alloy replied, with a sigh.

“No, look!” Tenor physically tapped the spot where the picture and tack were placed, as if her very life depended on it. “It’s in Baltimare! She’s not foreign! That place has Neighponese speakers sure, but still most ponies there are bilingual. What if she’s lying?”

Gallant popped an eyebrow, and took another look at the mare, who was staring at Tenor oddly. Maybe I will have to pay more attention to that mare.

Alloy was impatient, not taking his eyes off the raw information in front of him. “We’ll worry about it later. Let’s go back to the map. Let’s see, after Miso…”

Number Four, Tenor.

“It’s clear cut,” Tenor growled. Gallant mentally applauded Alloy just for pissing her off a little further. “That was a band I had in the past, called Chocolyte. It was just a bunch of loser kids from Fillypelphia. They seemed cool at first, but they turned out to be a bunch of douchebags who were only in it to pick up mares,” Tenor explained. Her horn was lit, tugging at her drumsticks, yet keeping them tied. “That was a really important gig. There was a talent scout. I gave it my all there, but the vocalist forgot his lines.” She sighed. “Stupid, stupid.”

Gallant didn’t take his eyes off of Swallow in Tenor's picture. She was at the very front of the room, just in front of the guitarist on top of the stage. She’s so close, it’s no wonder how Tenor didn’t see her from the back of the stage on her drum set.

Alloy was one step ahead of everypony. “The fifth picture’s Buttermilk. See? That’s him in the back, cooking.”

He was correct. The picture was taken a literal two seats away from the mare, who was gorging herself on some sandwich that Gallant wasn’t bothered to try and identify. The words underneath the photo said “The beginning of her problem.”

“That must be Buttermilk’s restaurant. That’s his specialty grilled cheese sandwich right there,” Sketch squeaked. There was a pamphlet next to Swallow, but it was impossible to identify it. Whoever took the picture must not have even bothered.

“That makes no sense,” Gallant finally spoke, unable to contain the one major question everyone had been thinking of. “Sketch sold her a picture, Tenor performed in front of her, Miso gave her directions, Buttermilk made her a damn sandwich. They’re such tiny interactions. How does this warrant a game like this?” Gallant did his best to avoid saying the word “petty”.

Alloy wasn’t listening. Nopony was. All Alloy had to do was point. It was a picture that was connected to VanHoover, all the way in the Northwestern corner of the map. It was a picture of Swallow, yet again. Nothing about it seemed too off. She was standing, side by side with a rather familiar pony, smiling with a forearm around the mare. Maybe it was some kind of livingroom? Gallant would never know.

What Gallant did know, after about five seconds, was that the pony standing next to the mare was, indeed, somepony he knew.

It was Marvel, and for the first time in a very, very long time, Gallant looked at Marvel’s smile and was finally reacquainted with fear.

Chapter Eleven

Tenor had a hunch this whole time, and now it had all come together in the most delicious of fashions.

The map that draped itself over the formerly alabaster wall loomed over the remaining five ponies like an omen of death. It casted wonder into their minds — a question to keep them contemplating as they lay on their deathbeds in anticipation. To Alloy, it was a clue. To Gallant, it was a reminder. To Miso, it was a coincidence. To Sketch, it was a fact.

To Tenor, it was hope.

Tenor’s eyes scanned every inch of the photos in front of her, making her brain run faster than it had ever since the game had began twenty or so hours ago. Alloy was certainly correct, Tenor was tough enough to admit that much. They were all linked, however, it as with the most odd thing. Er, rather, pony.

Was it true that Swallow was the center of all their troubles? Tenor had always known something was up with the mare from the minute she took notice of her annoying, so-called innocent eyes. From the way Swallow walked to the way she talked, She didn’t trust her. At least, even if Tenor did end up dying, she could go knowing that her instincts were still something to admire.

Tenor didn’t want to give up just yet. She turned to Gallant and Miso, and stared them down aggressively. Her gut told her something was very much off about Miso, but she couldn’t prove it. Tenor turned back to the mare’s photo, and listened as the voices cascaded in the background.

“Gallant? That’s your picture. Who is that with Swallow?” asked Alloy. The room was so large that his voice would echo off of the walls, making it horrendously obvious whenever he turned his head to talk. Tenor contemplated calling him a loudmouth, but she wasn’t really one to talk, was she? She spat on the floor next to her. E can clean it up.

Tenor's eyes glazed over, as she focused a bit more on Gallant’s inevitable answer. The old geezer cleared his throat, and went right back to being his usual, apathetic self. Pity. “I have no idea. Maybe it was somepony in my neighborhood or something. It’s probably something like everypony else’s, where the connection is so small it’s hardly even noticeable.”

You know, Gallant, if you’re gonna lie you should at least come up with a good one.

“Liar.”

With a single word, Tenor had managed to garner the attention of everypony in the room with her. She wasn’t sure why, but she took a bit of pride in that. Gallant grunted forcefully, and walked out from Alloy’s side. If Tenor didn’t know any better, it was as if the stallion was trying to intimidate her as if you would a bear. The white mare’s grin was larger than ever, despite the hidden fury that threatened to break free at any moment.

“Excuse me?” Gallant bellowed. Tenor stared the stallion in the eyes, and shook her mane lazily.

“You heard me. You’re a dirty liar. Why don’t you just tell us? Or are you just trying to hide what you know?” Tenor’s legs were locked firmly into the ground, as she wasn’t planning on moving for quite a while. “You’ve been shifty ever since the game started, you old bag.”

“Watch your mouth, little mare,” Gallant ordered. The wrinkles on his face twitched. Was the almighty Gallant finally losing his cool? Perfect.

Gallant must have noticed his own manners, because he coughed and relaxed all within the time span of three seconds. “I’m no liar. I’m the honorary Flight Commander of the Royal Equestrian Army. I do not tell lies. Unlike you, Tenor, I am respected and don’t need to throw out petty accusations and cast doubt for nothing more than personal gain.”

For once in her life, Tenor thought about her response carefully, all while bearing that signature smirk of hers. “Your rank can’t save you in this game, ‘Commander’. Don’t act so high and mighty just because you can. You can still lie. Just come out with it.”

“And what makes you so sure that I’m hiding anything? You’ve had a problem with me ever since this game started. As a matter of fact, you’ve had an issue with every single pony in this room. Not to mention the deceased in the other room.” Everyone in the room did their best to keep their gaze as far away from Sketch as possible. It worked so well that nopony even picked up his downtrodden sigh. “You’re just paranoid. Knock it off and grow up.”

Tenor was actually glad that Alloy intervened when he did, because her heart was starting to race as it was. As much as she wanted to trot forward and sock the stupid old stallion in the face, she’d save it for later. “Look, Gallant, are you sure you’re being honest? If there’s information here that we don’t have, it'll only raise more questions and problems in the long run.”

Gallant huffed, and stared the smaller stallion down with vigor. “You too, eh? I’ll remember that, kid.” Without any more mentioning of Alloy, the older pony turned back to Tenor. The mare’s eyes were brimming with fire. “I don’t know who that stallion is. Act like some hotshot all you want, but you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

Tenor smiled as the next few words left her lips.

“Then who’s that kind stallion in that photo you have in your room?”

Gallant’s eyes went wide — faltering for a moment as he contemplated his actual emotions. Tenor snorted. That’s it folks! In just a few easy steps, you can totally debunk anything anyone says. The unicorn would be a liar herself if she said anything about her never snooping in anypony’s personal affairs. In fact, she was quite good at it at this point.

For a minute there, everypony forgot that Sketch was even in the room. He took a step forward, dominantly. Tenor still viewed the kid as the little annoying brat from earlier, so his gesture didn’t bother her too much. “So you do know who that stallion is?”

“Celestia dammit,” was all Gallant could mutter before Alloy piped up.

“So you were lying?”

“Go look in his room,” Tenor quipped, digging her hooves into the floor. For a second, the part of her mane that usually covered the right half of her face was actually moved aside, allowing her a better look at Gallant’s anguish. “He has a photo of that exact same stallion, along with two others. Probably friends, or something. Last I checked, Gallant hid the photo in one of his dressers.”

Gallant stared the mare down so hard that Alloy actually took a step away from him. Tenor didn’t back down. In fact, she took a few steps closer. She wasn’t going to be shown up by a dirty, lying stallion. If she had to go down fighting, then so be it. “When were you in my room, you little punk? Who said you could ever go in there and rummage through my things!” Gallant hollered. Miso was quick to follow Alloy’s example, and take a fearful step back.

“Because I knew you were hiding something, that’s what! Oh, and look at what we have here! I was right! If I hadn’t, then everypony else in here would still be wondering what your picture meant.” Tenor almost took her eyes off the stallion for a quick second to motion to Sketch, Alloy and Miso — however she immediately realized how big of an error that would have been. Last thing she wanted was to be sucker punched. Her horn lit up, and she enveloped the drumsticks in her mane — hoping that she would have to take them out and shut Gallant up for good.

Boredom does things to a mare. Maybe that was why Tenor had taken the time to sharpen both ends of her drumsticks down to a deadly point, just in case.

Good thing she had.

“That doesn’t give you the right to snoop. Have you been going through others’ rooms too? What, are you just trying to play ‘Spy’ now?” Gallant argued, casting a large shadow over Tenor’s small frame.

“Hey, if somepony’s being suspicious, I’ll do what I want. If you want to be bold and publicly announce that you’re trying to sabotage everyone else and win the game by lying to us, then go ahead.” Boom. With that single sentence, Alloy looked at Gallant in a much different way than she had seen prior. Tenor still had no idea if the two were in an alliance, but at this point she was pretty sure she helped shatter that tie.

Gallant let out a sigh, and turned away from Tenor. The mare squinted furiously. Is he going to backtrack now right when i cast doubt on him? "No. Look, it's not like that. I’m just trying to survive. That’s what we’re all trying to do. I don’t care about winning. I don’t care about this game.”

Sketch’s voice echoed through the room as he spoke calmly. “Then tell us the truth.”

There was a small pause, as Tenor waiting impatiently. Moments before Tenor would have lost her cool yet again, Gallant opened his mouth. “That stallion’s name is Marvel. He, along with two other stallions who died some time ago, were in my squadron back in the day, alright? That’s it. That’s all I know.”

“Why hide it, though? That’s not that bad,” Alloy proclaimed, adjusting his glasses for what must’ve been the hundredth time. Gallant didn’t respond, instead turning back to look at the photo.

“But then what’s Marvel’s connection to Swallow? Why is this all based around her anyway? She was… a nice mare," said the light blue stallion in the corner. Tenor did her best to ignore Sketch’s depression. She didn’t really care for the melodramatics of what he was going through.

Gallant let out a large sigh — one that filled the entirety of the room with faux warmth.

“Marvel had a family.”

Tenor understood, and upon taking a single glance around the room, everypony except for Miso caught on.

“So your squad mates daughter was Swallow? But that still doesn’t answer anything. We still don’t know why we, of all ponies, are here.” Alloy said, his face getting increasingly sweaty. His eyes were wide, and Tenor could see his nerdy brain working at a mile a minute. Tenor stifled a yawn. “We have so many puzzle pieces but none of them are fitting together in a productive way. All we have is more questions!”

“Calm down, Alloy” Gallant replied. Just like that, he was already pretending that his and Tenor’s argument had never happened. How boring. “I didn’t even know what Marvel’s kid looked like before now. I haven’t seen Marvel in years, so his descriptions were fuzzy, honestly. I’m not surprised that Swallow didn’t recognize me either.”

“Swallow didn’t recognize any of us,” Sketch added, kicking at the floor. “That’s the thing. Or, at least, she didn’t say anything about it.”

It was then that Alloy asked the question that was already popping through Tenor’s head. “Do you think Marvel could be… E? Do you think he’s the one behind all of this?”

Everypony looked at each other, afraid to answer the one question that needed it. It hung in the air for a good minute. The idea that it could have been Swallow’s stupid army dad behind Tenor’s possible death made her fume. How dare somepony do that to her? All for what? Swallow seeing Tenor’s amazing performance?

“No,” was the simplest answer everypony received. Gallant flicked his short tail, and passed his attention to each and every being in the room. “That’s idiotic. If Marvel was the cause of this, then why would he put his own daughter in the game? There’s no way he could leave her here without knowing if she’d leave alive or not.” Gallant pointed at Buttermilk’s picture, and the words underneath. “'The beginning of the problem'. If Marvel did this, then he had to have known of his daughters eating problem just based on this and this alone. There was no way she’d survive, much like Buttermilk. I know Marvel. He was an odd fellow, but he talked so highly of his daughter. Besides, E doesn’t sound like him.”

“Not to mention—” Sketch interrupted. “Why is he named E if his name is Marvel?”

Gallant gave Sketch a stupid look, one that almost cracked Tenor up. “Yeah, sure, that too. Point is, Marvel can’t be behind this.”

As much as Gallant said those few words with certainty, Tenor wasn’t buying it. The stallion lied once, surely he could do it again to cover for his old friend. However, his point about Swallow’s father made a bit too much sense for even Tenor to argue. If Marvel really was behind the game, then why put his daughter in it?

Tenor didn’t know, and she was much too tired to think about it. She’d leave the extended thinking to the dork for now. Every single bone in her body was begging for rest and leisure, but Tenor knew that that wasn’t going to be happening soon. Perhaps that revelation was the reason for why she was going as long as she was.

“Well, I’m done with everything. I’m going to eat,” Tenor declared, walking away from the group with a strange little strut in her step. What everypony else viewed as sass, Tenor only viewed as staying balanced after the sheer lack of sleep.

That didn’t mean she couldn’t feel it, though — that little tingling sensation on the back of her neck. She had noticed it the entirety of the game, and it pierced a hole into her very subconscious. Tenor looked back, and confirmed her suspicions.

Sketch, Gallant, and Alloy had turned back to talk among themselves.

So why was Miso still staring at her?

It wasn’t why Miso was doing it, per se, but moreso the way. Tenor was appalled at how nopony else would notice those overly creepy stares that she would give. Most of the time, she looked relatively normal — oblivious, as usual. This, however, was one of those times where Miso made her contemplate what was actually going on. When Tenor turned around, Miso’s eyes bore into Tenor like a power drill. They were full of… something. What it was, Tenor couldn’t tell. Intent? Compassion? Malice? It didn’t matter. In the end, Tenor knew what it came down to.

She was very sure that Miso was lying this whole time. Tenor was absolutely positive that Miso could understand them.

Tenor was able to prove that Gallant had been lying for personal gain. She’d be damned if she couldn’t do it again.

Tenor sat down at one of the seats, not entirely caring for what meal she ate anymore. She kept her eyes trained on the lily colored mare across the room, who still hadn’t managed to break even a moment of eye contact.

Suddenly, Miso smiled. She waved her hoof, changing her entire demeanor in a matter of milliseconds. Tenor didn’t bother to wave back, instead choosing to take a rough bite of her sandwich.