Those Thirty Days

  Keen boarded the train, quickly moving to her car number with the final Stymphalian in tow, hoping to arrive before the train pulled out, which if she didn't, would leave her stranded in the wrong area. Opening the last door between her and her destination, she heard the shrill whistle as the conductor declared it time to leave. Keen opened the car door, closing the one she had just left from, she backed quickly into the car, closing the door behind her. She turned, closing her eyes as she gave a sigh of relief, having made it just in time for the train to leave, a cosmic mercy in the sea of misfortune and odd turns she had thus far been through. Opening her eyes, she gazed out at the empty train car. Fearing the worse, Keen checked the number beside the door, and the number on her ticket, only to find they matched. As she looked around, attempting to figure out what might have happened, she noticed an odd marking on the bottom of her ticket. There, on the bottom left corner, was the seal of the train master, giving her permission to the request to board a private car. Keen lifted the ticket to the window, looking at the seal to ensure it was authentic, and not some cheap trick, she noticed some writing that didn't appear on the side of the ticket facing her. With no small amount of curiosity, Keen flipped the paper over to discover a mouth written note.

  'Dear Keen Eye,

You probably noticed by now that you are receiving a private car. Before you wonder if that action was necessary on my part, I will tell you it was. If my memory serves me correctly, we got through the nineteenth day on the case you are studying. Last night I woke up and checked the tapes over in a moment of boredom, and saw that there were thirty days. You have eleven days left to listen to, and before you get to Fillydelphia to confront the F.R.I. you will need the whole story, and I doubt other passengers would be so understanding, and so I got you a private car. Take the time you have to finish the recordings and take it to those monsters.'

  Keen lowered the note, quickly taking the tape player out, setting it on the ground with the self of tapes. She'd not let this sacrifice on his part go wasted. If the length of the recordings held out, she should be able to make it to the end before reaching Fillydelphia station. Pressing the play button on the twentieth day, she was met with the sickening voice of the researcher mare, though now it almost made her smile seeing as the voice was more than obviously drained of almost all energy, an apt start to the punishment this mare should receive for what she condoned.

  "Day twenty of Project Solidarity... wait no, I mean Solitude... that's not right either. You know what, if you've been listening to these recordings, by now you've memorized the stupid project's name, whether it be Solitude, Saucer, Salamander, or Sauce in a Bucket. The sauce-ject has continued to talk to himself, personifying the mare painting to an extreme and unhealthy level. It appeared he realized what she, no, what it was during their... his first conversation. You know what, I'm dropping the whole pronoun game. For as much as I care the pony has developed dissociative identity disorder and now has fashioned two ponies from one in his own mind, and so, for all intents and purposes, as well as intensive purposes, I will refer to them as such: THEM; as in two separate entities. So, they have been jabbering on and on through the night, which has done nothing for our already understaffed crew. As a side note, three more ponies left and we have decided to permanently leave the access door leading to the pod open... you know, I don't know if those two clauses, or whatever other grammatical jargon they are, fit together as a coercive... cohesive whole, but what the hay, I'm shooting from the hip at this point. To attempt to continue on with whatever train wreck of a line of thought I had going on, the pony has stopped his silent streak in the most annoying way possible. Under other circumstances, I might have asked the higher ups about the throw rug idea, but currently I am too annoyed and too tired to be bothered with it, not to mention I already know the answer. SWITCHING TO IN ROOM AUDIO!" With that a click sounded, followed by the stallions conversation with his impressive female imitation voice.

  "I don't know, maybe the rug out to be a gray tone, to compliment to white walls. Sure the color is obtrusive, but it is the primary color of the room, and I doubt they'll give us a bucket of paint to throw over the walls." The more feminine voice reasoned.

  "I'm just pointing out a colored rug that goes beyond the gray scale will really pop, besides, the sink is already gray enough as it is, we need variation." The stallion's normal voice replied.

  "What we need is consistency in design. If we get a color far too bright, it won't mesh with the already present colors, and then it will just be an eyesore to look at." The mare-ish voice explained.

  "Alright, you're the designer of the place, so if we can, we'll get a throw rug with you specifications. Now how about the drapes, shouldn't they be a more vibrant shade to liven up to the room a bit?" Another click interrupted the two ponies continued discussion over decorations that weren't coming. The speakers once again relayed the voice of the tired, worn out, and quite grumpy mare as she droned on about the nuisance of the two constantly talking, causing Keen to smile even more, a touch of maniacal schadenfreude coming to her.

  Keen stood up, walking to the nearest window as the player rewound the tape with the same high pitched whir as always, and sound Keen almost found relaxing. As she watched out of the window, her train rushed by the train pulled by the ponies that had left almost a full half hour before them, leaving them a speck in the distance before too long. Keen look back towards the distant train, the only other pony who hadn't been deemed insane who had a gripe with the F.R.I. that they could remember, a realization that pushed Keen back to the tape player, switching the tapes in a hurry as time seemed to be marching ever faster. The next tape quickly began to play the same sad tune as before, filled with the whining and complaining of the researcher mare.

  "If it weren't for the constant reassurance of the higher ups that this project has real scientific value to all of Equestria, I would've abandoned ship long ago." The mare confessed. "It is only know I ask myself this important question: How do I know they aren't just pulling one over on us? How do I know, how do any of us know, that they aren't lying through their teeth and are at this very moment laughing their butts off at us as we scramble about on the day by day, thinking we are being important, when all we are accomplishing for a certainty is teleporting food into a cell and teleporting a plate out? How do we know WE aren't the real experiment? Easy answer: we don't, and that stinks on ice. Our little test subject has continued blabbering on with his new pal, miss blood-stain-on-the-wall. Something, I continue to maintain is more annoying than educational. We had already asserted he lost his waffles a few days ago, and yet we continue pressing on in the vain hope he'll do something interesting for a change. Either way, I got nothing more to say that would maintain the consistency of never swearing, so I'm switching to in room audio. Have fun listening to another pony yammer on until the sun turns cold." Again the click of the audio switching, again followed by the stallion talking to himself, which was again followed by a marginally more disgruntled mare than in the previous part of the recording containing her owe so lovely voice.

  "I should take the case on how these ponies sleep at night next, that might be even more difficult." Keen joked to herself as she waited for the tape to rewind. As she did, a pony with a food cart appeared with the shimmering sparks of a teleportation spell floating around her and the cart of goods beside her.

  "Anything to eat or drink ma'am? " He asked politely. "I have complimentary sodas and a small snack bag, though everything else will be made charge for."

  "I'll take a Ginger Ale, please." Keen replied. The stewardess nodded, removing the canned beverage and setting it down beside Keen.

  "Peanuts or crackers, ma'am." The pony asked, holding a bag of each in her magic. Keen quickly pointed to the peanuts before switching out tapes as the pony once again vanished. Opening her drink and snack, Keen began the next tape, only to find it directly skipping to the in room audio without giving the lead mare a moment to explain anything previous.

  "Here, you can have some of my food. I don't really need it all to be honest." The stallion stated. "It isn't that bad, really." Keen could only guess he was trying to feed his painting, then again, he might be trying to feed the dust mite that had made it into his cell.

  "I don't want to impose on you any unnecessary hardships just so I can be at comfort." The mare intoned her protest. "You've been in this situation far longer than I. You need it more than I do."

  "That's just it, I have been here for longer, but that only means I've had better meals than usual for several days and weeks, meaning I'm in better shape than you." The stallion pushed. "I can deal without half of this meal anyway. Come on, I insist." Before the mare could reply, the audio jumped again, the voice of a better rested stallion coming over the speakers.

  "Researcher Vile has been removed from the team after an incident this morning involving her spewing profanities at the heads of the institute while making morning notes, a clear violation of regulations. Many of the ponies here stood up for her in face of opposition, citing lack of rest and overly large burden placed on the mare as lead researcher of this project, which constitutes a major leap from being the assistant morning researcher. The subject continues his monologues, though at this time we cannot ascertain whether this is bad for his mental health, or a healthy release from the tensions he has suffered. Only time will tell. This is the end of day twenty-two and of night researcher log."

  Keen stepped off the train at Fillydelphia, charging out of the station as quickly as possible, her course charted straight to her office. The streets were crowded, much as they should be, a welcome relief from the last memories she had of a place that looked like this one. No matter how hard she might try, the image of the empty Fillydelphia from Project Cat and Mouse would never leave her. During her trip, she had listened to all of the tapes except the last day, feeling it more proper to do so in her office, not to mention the train was two minutes away from the station when the previous tape had ended.

  Charging up the stairs, Keen moved into her office, surprised to find police officials scouring over every detail of the room. She stood stock still at the doorway, looking over the ponies, who each in turn turned to look at her in equal amounts of surprise. The pony she recognized as the chief from her visit to the station all those days ago, really, had it only been just a few days, stepped forward.

  "Miss Keen Eye?" She asked, looking the mare over as if she hadn't been expected.

  "What's happening? Why is my office the center of what look like the search of the century?" Keen Eye questioned right back, looking over the three other ponies besides the chief in the room.

  "We are looking into a missing pony report, to be precise, the report of your disappearance." The police chief replied, "Would you care to explain where you've been the past few days?" Keen blinked a few times, attempting to process the information, until something finally clicked in her head.

  "A few days ago I had been working the case I had been given, when I became the subject to an experiment, though to what ends I'm not sure, but I do know the perpetrators." Keen stated. "I can make a full statement, though I do believe the station is a better option." The captain looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "And if my testimony doesn't prove to be enough, I have another pony that will be arriving in a few days who can back up my story."

  "Very well, we' take you down to the station for a statement." The police mare replied. "Alright ponies, let's get going." The other police ponies formed up around Keen, providing a protective barrier as they began moving through the complex. The group traveled in silence for a good while, leaving the building behind and making it past two city blocks before Keen began to speak.

  "So, who reported me missing? That is, if you can divulge the information to me." Keen asked. The group stopped as the crossing sign on the other side of the street went red.

  "A friend of yours... let me see, Cherry Blossom I think was her name. She got the report to us about... I'd say three days ago." The chief replied. Keen froze in place, her eyes growing wide.

  "I don't know a Cherry Blossom." Keen said in almost a whisper. "This... this isn't good. Chief, we need to move, NOW." She emphasized. The police pony looked back at her, and as if on cue, a dart slammed into the pony's neck, laying her low on the sidewalk to the multiple screams of ponies around them. Keen quickly traced the line of fire, spotting a pony reloading an dart into a modified pressure sprayer. Keen shot away, zipping past the crosswalk, moving in irrational patterns, occasionally hearing the clink of a dart hitting something around her.  Ducking into an alleyway, she found herself facing a brown earth pony wearing a security uniform with the F.R.I. logo on the sleeve.

  "Halt!" the pony shouted as she fully realized what was happening, but instead of slowing down, Keen barged straight into the pony, knocking her to the ground. Keen quickly reared up and slammed her hooves into the back of his head, knocking him out cold. Keen looked around for a hiding spot from the sniper, but then realized, above her were multiple laundry lines filled with various clothes set out to dry. It was a rare sight, but one she more than even was thankful for. Looking back to the unconscious pony again, an idea quickly  began to form.