Those Thirty Days

  "Day four of Project Solitaire, the subject is starting to show signs of minor mental trauma, much to be expected under his current situation. He does appear, however, to be aware of what is happening to him in some measure, and has made rather audible attempts at staving off his inevitable insanity, at least it is inevitable if our conceptions of what solitary confinement on a pony's psyche are to be believed. Switching to in room audio."

  The stallion paced back and forth, focusing desperately to find some difference in his surroundings, something to focus his mind on, something to distract him from his plight, but he found none. He whipped around, staring at the plate on the floor, now empty of its contents. It hadn't disappeared yet like all the others, but that only made him all the more concerned.

  "M-my name is... is Calculated Risk... I am... I am thirty-two." Looking around again as he repeated his last traces of identity as best as he could. "I live in Fillydelphia, I work as a statistician in the private sector. And... and..." Looking around desperately for anything, "I'm... I'm..." Risk fell to his knees giving a loud groan as he put his hooves to his head, "AM GOING INSANE!" He shouted as loudly as possible before breaking down into sobs as he tried his best to remember anything specific, anything he knew was true about his life before The Box, as he had uncreatively begun to call it. It was utter madness, all of it, nothing made sense, nothing like this should make sense, and yet here he was. His world, or at least the construct he had believed to be the world, was falling apart around him, his isolation causing him to grow stir crazy, along with an actual crazy to act as the cherry on top.

  As he watched, the platter finally vanished, leaving him with the same white room as he had had for the past four days. Really? Had it only been four days? Considering that was the fourth diner he had had in this blasted place, the odds pointed to yes. Risk stood up and limped over to the sink toilet, not limping because of injury, but of sheer disorientation as up and down no longer were solid concepts in his mind, much less left and right and the point between them. Pressing the button ringed with blue, he found cold water splashing across his face. Looking at the water on his hoof, he suddenly felt weak, slumping down into the bowl of the fixture, feeling utter exhaustion after doing nothing.

  "The stallion appears to not be improving, though his condition, though precarious as it is, appears stable for now. The pony's constant reminding of his former life seem to give him a form a surety in the chaos his life has doubtlessly become for this poor soul. Besides that, there is not much to be reported on his status. This is end of night researcher's notes, and end of the fourth day." Keen leaned back in her chair, drinking down the rest of her coffee as she listened to the tape rewind to the beginning before the machine popped open. Keen didn't like this, nothing about this was like anything she could imagine a pony doing to any other living being, much less another pony. Keen considered going down to the records office and asking about this Mr. Calculated Risk, but she wasn't sure she wanted to know how it ended for him, at least not yet. For not the first time, Keen felt the nagging urge to skip forward a few days to cut to the chase, but again, that would run the risk of actually skipping something of importance, not to mention her client's wishes. She'd have to tough it out and get to the bottom of this insanity.

  "I don't know what you're talking about, I've always been by you side, always looking after you, no matter what happens!" The stallion shouted in exasperation.

  "You never loved me though! You just stand there as if I'm not there. You act like I don't notice, and I even play along just to see where it will go, but it never ends in anything but heartache!" The scratchy voiced mare retorted. "I've finally come to my wits! I'm leaving you now, and I won't come back!"

  "Wait, no, don't go! I love you!" The stallion begged. The mare huffed and walked away... only to bump into the cushioned wall as the stallion broke his own illusion of some random soap opera he had never watched. Shaking his head he quickly thought up another scenario, his body quickly going into form as he did, tucking his legs underneath his chest, closing his eyes as the cool mountain air whisked by him, his body changing to an aged pony's. He sensed another presence nearby, a unicorn by what he felt.

  "Welcome young one. You have traveled far to reach this point in your journey." He said in a gruff, aged voice, his nonexistent beard twirling in the light breeze. Twirling to his hooves he began to struggle up the quite plain floor, the cold stones that weren't poking at his hooves as the cool air nipped at his lungs. "Please, make yourself welcome." He said, quickly switching positions, his eyes closed still. Switching again, he opened his eyes to see the steel gray stallion sitting on the mountain peek, a top of steaming tea beside him.

  "Thank you, sir." He said in a lighter voice, as if he were a younger colt. "I've heard tales of your prowess in battle..." The stallion shook his head. "No, that isn't right... let me try that again." Looking back up to the stallion. "I've come to be taught by you." Switching positions again, he nodded with closed eyes.

  "Have some tea, it will do you good in this chill." He said, pushing a cup full of the brew towards his new guest. He sniffed at the cup before quickly drinking it down.

  "Thank you, I needed that." Before he could continue, he suddenly heard the distinct sound of his food appearing. Giving a sigh, he walked up to his lunch and began to chow down. Though he had gotten to a point where he almost didn't care about his surroundings, it still was hard not to feel sad about what he had lost. Never again could he see the outside world, and only having white to look at really didn't help his eyes. The only difference in coloration his new world offered was the steel gray of the sink toilet and the colors of his food. He had been trying to think of ways to send a message to wherever his food came from to request some paints, but since none of his meals came with napkins, much less anything he could write with, there was no hope of sending a message. Then again, the likelihood of the entity that kept him here giving him anything he wanted, even the most inane of objects, was so low that he might as well ask to be let out.

  Keen sipped from her now empty coffee cup, groaning in no small amount of annoyance. Standing up, she walked to the kitchen, grabbing the coffee pot and putting it in the sink, filling up with hot water. Putting it back into the coffee machine, she replaced the well spent coffee grounds, allowing the pungent scent of the blend bring her a bit closer to the point of wakefulness. She started the machine before wandering over to the fridge, from which she procured a Sparkling Cherry Water. Opening the can with a satisfying hiss, she drank down the carbonated drink in a few swift gulps as she waited for her coffee to get ready.

  She had reached day six already, the sun already starting to rise over her city. She had read through the rest of the days that she had on project Illusions and had briefly considered opening the investigation on the F.R.I., but she once again convinced herself to hold off on it for as long as she still had days from Solitaire to listen to.

  "The pony appears to have deteriorated severely from yesterday, as he now talks to himself far more often than anypony in their right mind should, but then again, he isn't exactly in anything close to what can be maintained as a 'right mind'." Keen heard the pony in the recording say from the other room. "Project Illusions had that one advantage over this one, that we had access to reports of a psychiatrist on our subject's status, while as this test requires this pony to be completely isolated, so there is no method through which we may determine the mental fortitude of our subject as it stands at the moment. We can only hope that by the end of this time we will be in some state of sanity that will allow him to function in some form of normality when we returns to civilization, though at this point it would be a miracle if when he returns that he actually knows what society even is." Keen could understand this ponies concerns, but even though they agreed on concerns for what might become of the pony after testing, they obviously didn't agree on the matter of the ethicality of this test. Keen shook her head, attempting to stay awake as she waited for the coffee, only to realize both the coffee had finished, and the tape player was now waiting for a new tape.

  Keen quickly grabbed the now refilled pitcher of coffee, bringing it over to the small table, pouring some of the brew carefully into her mug before adding some sugar to stave off the pungent acidity of her favored taste in refreshment. She was getting close now, she could feel it, but she had to stay awake if she had any hope of actually getting t the point where all would be revealed. Taking a sip of her coffee, she lifted the file, turning to the seventh day, but as she began to read, her vision continued to refuse to focus properly. Groaning in annoyance, Keen forced her eyes to look at the black type on the simple page.

  Project Status: Optimal

  Subject's Physical State: Sub-optimal

  Subject's Psychological State: Heavily Deteriorated

  The subject's monologues, or rather dialogues that simply required him to play both parts, continued on through the night and into the early morning hours until he finally collapsed in exhaustion. In the very least, he continues to eat all the food provided, almost dutifully, so he will not be suffering from nutritional deficiency. We have had some concerns about the budget on this project in relation to how many crates of ground up vitamins and minerals have be purchased to maintain this pony in optimal condition, but the higher ups have assured us that the stream of bits that have been promised for this project is still at a steady flow. The team is still in relatively good spirits, though some are beginning to have doubts, more for the fact that this pony has only been inside for seven days and is already showing signs of mental distress, along with other things. The project moves on, though, and so it will continue until we have had our answers. Enter tape for day seven for fuller details.

Keen  set the file down with a sigh. I was getting extremely heard to focus now, but she'd press on for as long as it took. Filling her mug once more, she placed the new tape into the player with a certain measure of difficulty. With a sigh, she pressed the play button down, leaning back with her again empty mug after having drank it down in a few quick gulps.

  Waking with a start, Keen looked around the room. Everything was in order, the evidence from the case still resting on the table in front of her. Glancing up at the clock, she saw that she had only been out for a few minutes, the tape player open, having dutifully played the tape to the end, and then rewound it. Keen rubbed a hoof across her eyes, removing the crust that had already begun to form. Keen set about gathering the things together, placing them back into her bags with a sigh. She needed rest, and she couldn't let her curiosity or dedication get in her way of taking care of herself. Picking the bags up, she moved to her room, setting the bulging bags down at the foot of her bed before moving to the nightstand beside her bed, turning off the lamp and setting her alarm before crawling into bed, thoughts of the investigations still dominating her slowly sleeping mind.