Two Hundred Days

Day 72

Keen Eyes's Log

Well then, I guess it's just you and me journal. The door of this cell is solid stone, most likely granite, and only a small peep whole lets in the candle light from the outside. As I've said, I measure the passage of based on the shifts of the guards. They're shifts are long, lasting from sunrise to sunset and sunset to sunrise.

Food isn't a problem. They clearly want to keep us alive, but that doesn't mean the food is good. It's not even whole. Meals are dropped from a chute that connects to the surface, however no light ever come in. We must be far down. Even if I had the endurance to climb such lengths, I'd never fit into the chute. Not even my hoof can fit. The only things that comes through the chute are apple slices and small breaths of fresh air, and neither can ever satisfy me.

You can imagine the state of the food after it has been dropped from such a height. I count myself lucky not t have been hit by my falling meal, unlike Mint, who yelped in pain when the first meal was sent down. I haven't heard from her all day, but I take it she learned her lesson before lunch.

I can't see what it's like outside, but I can hear Sweet Tooth's endlessly yelling, "Let me out you bastards! I'll roast your asses and serve it to you on a silver platter damn it!" I can see her doing it, I really can, but the Changeling's don't know her like I do. The other things I can tell from the sounds of the outside are this: There is water - not a second goes by without the endless pattering of it against the stone floor. It's also large cavern - the echoes produced by the flowing water would be a welcomed sound to set a calmer atmosphere, if Sweet did not replace it with her screeching and hollering.

With nothing to see or do, the only thing I keeping me from going mad is flashing some light from my horn and writing my thoughts across the pages of this journal.

Day 72 part 2

Keen Eyes's Log

There's really no point in a title, but I can't help but put it there as if it were just another entry. For some short moments I get lost in thought, day dreaming of how I got here. I see Gala Hat, chatting her head off about caring for Lavender and the group; Lavender's face a grim frown as I told every pony of my plans to take the fight to the Changelings; understandably, fear is with every pony else and they are reluctant to follow through, every pony except Crush, Mint, and Sweet - their minds are made up.

The guards have switched, signalling the coming of night, yet I remain in my own memories. Once again my mind lingers for a while before it focuses, this time on the day I first met Lavender. I see her mother, pleading me to help the raiders pry her daughter out; out came the rubble and every pony rejoiced, except for Toxin. Toxin, the mare who had been my friend for almost as long as I can remember, is now most likely dead in Ponyville. Ponyville was our home in the years preceding the invasion, and its castle drew in the great minds and even greater teachers; teachers who would inspire the wonder and imagination of a world full of machines, machines like the detector I designed that would eventually lead us down here. Here, we shall die.

Day 74

I sleep, eat, scream, and sleep some more. The Changelings have started to toy with our hunger, sloshing down water applesauce in place of solid food. I welcome it it all the same. Despite all the struggles in the aftermath of the invasion, water was always plentiful in Ponyville, and of course the mansion was well stocked with all kinds of drinks. But down here, water is found in the juice of the fruit and the condensation on the walls.

I don't even know what they want. Is this some sick game of theirs? Taking ponies and breaking their body and spirit, just for laughs? If so, what have they done with Crush. What sick forms of experimentation or torture can they implement to exact the painful screams from his soft, fleshy throat. Am I mad now, or are those his screams I hear? I don't know which I would prefer - waiting here as my companions are shattered and drained to their very limit, knowing I will soon follow, or wallowing in a dark, damp, degrading room with my mind successfully lost to the Changelings.

I cannot pace about as I normally do, for just a few paces in any direction is met with a hard stone wall, but I am still free to stretch. It is a welcomed comfort, but soon it became another form of the the Changeling's torture; a slim source of hope given to all their prey by the deprivation of nearly all their basic needs developed an idea within my mind and compelled me to forsake reason and slam myself against the door. I fought with tooth and horn to move the stone door by using what little space I was given to generate momentum.

Day 74 part 2

It must have been two hours or so after I began to flail about when my right shoulder cracked under from the stiff granite door. It had not moved an centimeter. I can feel it now, some sort of foul essence that pervades the air, clouding my mind.

It's hard to write coherently now. I struggle to form even short sentences. My thoughts drift more often. As time passes, I go insane. I think..

Day ???

How long has it been now, I do not know. Like when we were first captured, darkness fell upon me and I recall nothing, however I do not think I would see anything to remember anyways. This time, however, I did not awake on my own accord. It was the screams of Sweet Tooth as she was torn from her cell by the Changelings. Her voice echoed by as they left the cavern but the worst was still to come.

Wherever they are taking us, it is far, but still very much connected to our cells. I find myself being awakened from my naps by faint, strained wails of pain, but at other times the exact same voice gives cries of content, relief, or joy. Despicable things are happening here. Will any pony ever discover them? We all may just die here, alone, segregated, and tormented.

Where are our princesses? Strangely, this is all I ask myself now. An unknown number of days have passed, and all I wonder is why not even the slightest comfort is given to us. Luna, Protector of Dreams, Conqueror of Nightmares, Vanquisher of Fears, Sister to Celestia and Guardian over the Night, why can she not save me in my sleep. I want to go in peace, not fear. I want to bask in the peace of the silent moonlit night, not rot in a dungeon. I want to leave this world as my own being, not a lab rat or toy for the Changelings. None of these come. I do not think they will ever come.

Day ????

I will not listen this time. I cannot listen.

Mint Tooth's soothing tone, her beautiful figure, soon to be taken from this world by the depravity of the Changelings. They do not know what they do, what an amazing creature they have destroyed this day.

I write this with hooves tightly over my ears, and it shall be so for all time. Every shriek from every provocation rings in my mind nonetheless, but it is what I must do to stay sane.

Day ?????

Time has passed, that's all I know. The guards mean nothing to me. The slosh they serve as food, I lick it up mindlessly. Each sentence is a struggle, each word a whole year in my mind. I am the last one now. So be it. Let them come, I'm ready.

Oh, it's them I hear. Yes, too many are coming for a normal shift change. The clank of equipment, stomping steps of soldiers, they are all familiar. In all this, I still have a happy thought. For the first time in a long time, I can finally leave this cell. Yes, they are here. A click in the key, no, the guard had the wrong key. A quick fix however, and the door it unlocked. It slides. It moans from its weight. In the corner of my eye I see them. I give no resistance to them; they are shocked. They whisper, they mock, they kick and stomp on-

Day ??????

Day ???????

Day ????????

Day ?????????

One day they say. "They" being the inquisitors, the researchers, the wardens and the masters. It doesn't matter what name they take; it's all the same. The say their business will take just a day. It is eternity on my end. I should be dead, but it is by their dark powers that I live, so that they may have more fun.

At the end of each daily session, I am left in a room, much more spacious, well lit, and smelling of fresh air. It is pitiable then that I cannot enjoy any of it. I can only feel hate, only see pain, and only smell my own blood dried and smeared across every instrument of suffering. This room is where the business is conducted. They ask nothing, say nothing - pain just comes and with it a piece of myself is lost.

I have said before that the confinement had broken my spirit and body. I was naive to think it would be so easy. It was in that cell where I was cultivated, marinated, and seasoned for the oven of hell the Changelings have built. "A wondrous cavern of Canterlot's mountain" they call it. "Just begging for the personal touch!" they exclaimed.

Nothing has come for me this morning, as expected. They are very punctual and were explicit last evening as they cauterized my wounds. "We must attend a staff meeting, so I must apologize in advance for delaying tomorrow's appointment," were the exact words of the Changeling researching me. I finally have the time to somewhat recover, and it will be all for naught.

Day 83

Eleven days, or so they say, since I was first brought to this hellish place. To think, I had planned to go into Canterlot and leave unharmed in a single night, and despite all that has happened, I'm still left with a quill, a vial of ink, and this journal. I don't know why the Changelings left it with me. Perhaps they are amused at my anchor to sanity, or perhaps they simply do not care.

Well, I do not care for whatever they think of me. They have not harried me for some time now, and by now enough of my strength has returned to allow me to stand.

I suppose now would be the right time to record the happenings of this forsaken place, but truth be told, I cannot bear it. Writing eases my mind but it burns my soul. I think back to the cuts along my legs, the deep incisions and samples they drew from my flesh. My own blood, leaked from my veins, tampered with, and pumped back into my arteries and burning every inch of my being with what felt like acid in my blood.

These experiments are vital to understanding the enemy, but forgive me if I cannot describe them. I cannot return to that moment, even in memory, of how I was tormented, of how I suffered. And worse, such acts of violence has been done to my friends as well. Crush, the first of us to be lost, he must have suffered this the most.

Oh how I wish this fate had been made known to me long before we journeyed into Canterlot. I was deluded to think that I, a single piece of an extravagant and dark puzzle, could be they key to the Changeling's defeat. Maybe that's why I must write. My punishment for my arrogance, an eternal hell in my mind. My only redemption, revelation of such savagery.

Yes, somehow the world must know how we lived in anguish under the eye of the Changelings. All of Equestria must learn to hate the methods of the Changelings; the burns, the drowning, the deprivation of base requirements and the overindulgence of the very same needs.

Day 83 part 2

I recall the first event that occurred within these walls. I awoke to a cold sting in my hindquarters; a simple prod given by the handler. Surrounding me were his assistants. The handler would bark orders with buzzes and hisses, and the assistants would respond. None showed any interest in my screams or struggles - I was cemented to the cold stone table by a glue similar to the green slime on the surface.

It was soon clear to me what they intended to do with me as the handler commenced his invasion into my flesh. Layer after layer my coat and skin were removed, exposing my left rear leg. I screamed and pleaded but to no avail; an assistant had sealed my mouth shut with more of their disgusting green glue.

The handler then, amused by my anguish no doubt, propped my head up for a full view of what took place. An assistant handed him a small vial of green fluid, much more fluid than the generic slime. To my horror, a writhing organism lurked within the vial, like a maggot but much bigger.

I cried, I shook, and I kicked with all my strength, but I did not yet know it only pleased them more. The green liquid was injected deep into my leg, excruciating slow as the green maggot slithered its way down my flesh. I believe it was at this point I passed out from the pain as it bore a whole to my bone.

Day 83 part 3

That of course was only the first part of the day. I was only offered a moment of rest before I was subjected to general torture; hot metal brands etched their way across my skin, water flooded my lungs for hours as they slowly drowned me, only to remove the water with telekinesis and begin again.

At every emotion I felt the thing in my leg festered and grew. Pain, it grew. Woe, it grew. Hatred, it grew. Miraculously, the day did end at some point, and while I was unconscious from the inflicted suffering the handler finally removed the creature in my leg.

I awoke on the table once more the next day. At least, I think it was the next day. I recall a different Changeling now, one much stouter that his colleague before him. There were fewer assistants, but it did not matter - the glue that held me remained.

This Changeling did take notice of me. He chatted like a friend and introduced himself as Mr.Glutton. He commented on my state of nutrition, expressing disappointment at having such a malnourished subject. I was hopeful that I would be granted real food, even if it was to be another false sense of hope to break my spirit further. But not even a small light of hope makes its way this far down. Instead, Mr.Glutton introduced me to his feeding tubes; six long, narrow pipes attached to the wall that would funnel "nutrition" into my mouth.

Oh yes, those pipes were strapped down into my mouth as I screamed once more for mercy, but it was then I learned of Mr.Glutton's taste for the "unappreciative." He scolded me as his assistants operated a contraption built into the wall, slapping me and spitting on my face, calling me a "spoiled pony brat." He said he would punish me for not accepting his efficient cuisine; the thick, chunky, black fluid that flowed down the pipes and flooded my mouth.

I choked and gagged when it burst out the pipes and down into my stomach - it tasted of blood, but bitter - and it made it nearly impossible to breath. Its texture was grainy, like sand rather than oats, and it cut my mouth at times when I would spas around. My struggles only delayed its effect, and by one hour my stomach was beyond bloated. It stretched by belly and forced me to regurgitate, crossing over into my windpipe as well and knocking me out once more from asphyxiation.

And like the prior day, this continued many times. Each time would be quicker as water was added to turn the black chunky syrup into a sinister dark liquid, and each time I wretched and spammed from its horrid taste; its bitterness, the taste of rot and mold, blood and sweat, thy were all pieces of the overall sensation. It was even spicy at times, burning my mouth and throat as it ran down to my gut.

By about noon time Mr.Glutton left for his lunch break, and afterwards it was back to general torture, just as the day before. Electrocution was implemented this time due to an assistant's remarkable skill in shock magic. Thus I was punctured in the chest, legs, and flank and severely shocked by such magic.

Needless to say I did not remain wake through it all. I was bested five times and only gained consciousness after a violent stomp to the head by Mr.Glutton. Burning, drowning, bone snapping, and forceful whippings were included as well for the rest of my day, but none of that could compare to whatever I was force fed that morning, and nothing could ever compare to it.

Day 83 part 3

The other three days were mere imitations of the first day. I was vivisected and patched back together by Changeling magic, only to be taken apart once more the next day. Sometimes they used red hot scalpels for some added effect, or poured their magic draining slime across the entirety of my body and watched as I writhed from its pain.

I was twisted, chopped apart, sampled, and put back together dozens of times. Their ability to innovate new methods to make me suffer never ceased. They did nothing they could not reverse; acid in the eyes, dislocation of my joints, festering insects left on my wounds, they were all repaired, but not truly healed.

I looked upon myself now and I can still see the points where crystals were sewn into my flesh and ripped out, or the scar left after an assistant spilled acid across my back. Whatever is coming tomorrow, whoever they have sent to torment me this time, I would not be surprised if it surpassed many of these things in their depravity and my agony.

Day 85

No... not this... my hooves.

Sweet Celestia, WHERE ARE MY HOOVES!

My blood is my ink. Everywhere, is my BLOOD!

The SAwBladE, THE suRGeon, my TWO REAR HOOVES ARE GONE! oh LunA WhY? i cant stop writing I HaVE to RITE it is all I HavE LEFT IN mY sOUl. by the mOOON I can here tham outSIDE talking AND LAffinG at ME.

they wont stop nd they cant stop as i bleed my blodd out thees wounds they look at me and i know they know that i know that they know what they will do to me

i wONT LeT THEm takE ME and I wONt let theM KilL me and i wunt Wait hear and SEE them come and-