Trigger Happy Equines

“This is incredible!” Inky exclaimed, her cheeks filled with food as she dug into her bowl with abandon. She gulped loudly and let out a delighted sigh. “Oh Dishy, you need to teach me how to make this stuff! Tell me, which meal would make for the ultimate aphrodisiac? My best attempt was a big cream pie with a banana sticking out, and that thing did not live up to expectations. Not only did my date run off like he’d seen a ghost but when I ate it later that evening it tasted like sugary sick wrapped in sponge.”

“Afro… dizzy-yak?” Maribelle pondered aloud. “I’ve not heard that word before. Is it an exotic type of dessert?”

“Exotic? Just change one letter and you’d be right on the money!” Inky said with a wink.

“It’s nothing, just ignore her,” Dish Panner said, rolling her eyes. “Inky, it’s not so easy to just teach advanced dishes in the space of a few days. I have spent years in the culinary business perfecting my art and it is a grueling mountain to climb. And even once I reached the summit I regretfully discovered that others had surpassed me, reached untold levels of skill that even I can’t quite reach. But rather than dwell on my imperfection I realized that another avenue had opened up – a quest to find those delicacies which outshine even my own. My detractors may claim that I am a harsh, merciless ice queen who revels in the destruction of those I supposedly deem lesser beings, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. The way I look at it, there’s no point debasing yourself with mediocrity when greatness exists.”

Inky loudly chomped down on a stuffed pepper before swallowing. “Um, a ‘no’ would’ve been fine, but thanks anyway, Dishy! Being a food critic sounds like a cushy job.”

“Quite,” Dish Panner mumbled, leaning back into her chair. Although she hated the nickname ‘Dishy’ and had reminded Inky on multiple occasions not to call her that, the ever-cheery zebra either wasn’t paying attention or was deliberately ignoring her plea.

I sat in my usual place in the dining room beside Copper, Lancet and Sanscript, while Inky, Maribelle, Button and Dish Panner sat at the opposite table. Dopple, Mesmer, Reph and Elsie were sat together in the corner table (Elsie having moved from her usual spot, presumably to get away from Inky) while Yoko had been given some fresh fruit and escorted to bed, his eyes sagging and his gait wavering.

The room had been generally quiet as we all tucked into our meals courtesy of Dish Panner and Maribelle, and the consensus among everyone present (except for Dish Panner herself) was that this was some of the best food ever served. I – as well as many others – tore into the food voraciously, almost overwhelmed by the diverse and incredible offerings. Inky’s comment about a supposed ‘aphrodisiac’ wasn’t actually that far off from my experience. Not that I became a raging bull filled with testosterone, but my spirit soared higher with each bite, and I wanted to leap, to run, to embrace my companions and fall asleep at their sides. I could only guess, but I sensed this same feeling spreading to everyone in the room. This meal was a brief respite from the madness of the killing game that we all shared as one. It was a simple but effective distraction. An escape.

“Do you really think we can get out of here?” Button had asked Maribelle earlier, his lip quivering.

“Of course, my little lamb,” Maribelle had said to him, holding him tightly to her chest and kissing his forehead. “Nothing is ever truly impossible. I’m sure we can figure a way out.”

“I hope so. I miss my family. I miss my friends. You’ll stay with me until we get out of here?”

“I will, Button, and even beyond that. I promise you with all my heart.”

I understood then that her words held no weight. Whether we could escape from here or not wasn’t up to her; it was up to Monobunny and the supposed Mastermind. What lay beyond these walls was a complete mystery. There had been a few discussions during the meal about hatching our escape plan. It had been agreed that we should sleep well tonight and get an early start tomorrow, dividing ourselves into groups and checking certain areas of the dome. I had little faith in it, of course. Our best hope was that the dome’s creator had left some glaring flaw, either intentionally or by accident. The former seemed more likely, the idea that this was all merely a trial to test our resolve, to see if we could stick together long enough to find that one, magical clue that would set us all free. That was something I could imagine a sociopathic control freak presiding over, but that concept was ill-fitting when taking into account the killing game rules. If we were merely trapped here and told to escape, that would be one thing, but by sowing the seeds of mistrust and increasing the likelihood that someone could die at any moment (even if they were capable of cracking the code and escaping) meant that if it was to find that one special participant who had the resolve they were looking for, the killing game could end them before they ever had a chance to pass the test. The more I thought about it, the more I came to believe that everything was as it appeared on the surface – murder was the only way to survive. It also lined up with what Monobunny had said before:

“Finding out who’s watching you really isn’t going to be much help to any of you. If you want to survive you should start focusing on committing the perfect murder!”

As I looked around the room, emboldened by the delightfully sweet fruit salad between my lips, I had to wonder what difference it would have made if the killing game wasn’t a threat, if we merely had to live out the rest of our lives together all under one roof. It would’ve meant that Pinkie, Shetland and Cube Rick would still be alive, and we would all learn to live as one big family. Yoko and Shetland would always be arguing, Pinkie and Inky would practically be joined at the hip, constantly laughing and telling jokes. Mesmer would be his old boring self. Button would grow into a stallion. Couples would form and the size of our group would grow. I might even find a partner myself, and there would be all the time in the world to do whatever we wanted. But then again, it might be boring, I pondered as I finished my bowl and went back for seconds.

“Wait, I’ve just realized something!” Dish Panner exclaimed suddenly. “I was supposed to take the knife back before the MonoMart closes. Is there still enough time?”

“Actually, I don’t think there is,” Lancet replied. “We’ve been back for quite a while now.”

“Crap!” Dish Panner said, pressing her hooves against her temple. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Dopple said. “It’s everyone’s responsibility. For now, it should be kept by someone until morning – someone who will return it first thing.”

“Well I’m not doing it!” Dish Panner cried, folding her hooves defiantly. “I don’t want to be held responsible for any murder weapons!”

“Can’t we leave it in the kitchen?” Reph asked.

“No,” Mesmer said forcefully, almost growling as he stared down the pegasus stallion. “Then anyone could access it during the night.”

“Uh, right you are!” Reph squealed, his cheeks flush and his body quivering under Mesmer’s gaze. “I d-didn’t mean anything by it. It was just a suggestion.”

“Right.” Mesmer rolled his eyes. “We need someone to take care of it. I would gladly do the job, of course.”

“No way,” Copper said sternly, standing bolt upright.

“As expected,” Mesmer said. “I suppose you don’t think I can be trusted?”

“I agree with her,” Elsie called out. “It almost seems like you orchestrated this so you could get hold of the knife! I bet you knew time was running out to return it and kept quiet for that very reason!”

“That’s quite a stretch,” Lancet said. “And surely he’d be the first suspect if anyone was stabbed to death, which I don’t think he’d allow to happen. I think we should trust him.”

Elsie tutted melodramatically. “Oh of course he’d be the first suspect, but he might figure out some wacky way of pinning it on someone, making it look as if someone else stole it from him so they could pin it on him! The way he talks and acts, he’s obviously tricksy.”

“He is!?” Button gasped, staring at Mesmer with wide eyes. “No way… Trixie got a sex change?”

“What!?” Elsie said with a befuddled expression. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. All I’m saying is we need someone trustworthy to keep it.”

“What about Button?” Inky suggested. “I trust the horny little tyke not to stab anyone.”

“No way!” Button screamed. “I don’t want that kind of responsibility! Plus, I’ll probably end up playing with it and cutting myself by accident!” He tapped his chin. “It’s happened before with all sorts of stuff.”

“I dunno, Maribelle then,” Inky said with a shrug.

“N-no!” Reph cried out. “I, uh… I mean, that just doesn’t sit r-right with me.” He glanced over at Mesmer and then back to his forehooves, visibly trying to hold off his jitters. I’d noted before that Reph was a little jumpy, but for whatever reason his problem was noticeably worse, his wings rattling like tuning forks. Given the day so far though, I surmised that all the stress had crept up on him.

Sanscript cleared his throat. “The question is, who can we trust?”

“Let Greyscale have it.”

The whole room turned to Copper. A noise escaped my lips as I tried to respond.

“What?” Copper asked, frowning. “I’d have been happy with Button keeping it, but I understand it freaking him out. I’m not sure if I trust anyone else yet, maybe not even Greyscale himself.” Copper blushed and averted my gaze. “But out of everyone here, I think he’s probably the best for the job.”

I was too stunned to speak. Suddenly, everyone’s attention turned to me. I could feel their eyes and minds inspecting me, judging me, weighing my worth. Really? I wanted to yell. Why should I be the one to keep hold of it? What’s the point? Why not someone – literally anyone – else?

“Yeah, I get you,” Inky said with a satisfied nod. “Greyscale gets my vote.”

“I also agree,” Lancet said. “I shan’t worry if it’s in his hooves.”

“I suppose that’s okay,” Elsie said. I could barely believe that Elsie – the most outwardly aggressive and accusatory pony here – was supporting the decision. My jaw hung open as she continued. “I can’t say he is completely trustworthy, but he is perhaps the most adequate.”

“Then it’s decided?” Mesmer said. “Any objections?” The room was quiet besides a few shaking heads. “Good, that’s that out of the way.”

“B-but…” I stuttered. “Can I really?”

“If you truly don’t want to,” Dopple began, “we won’t force you. I agree with Copper, but in all manner of fairness, it should be your decision.” She smiled that warm, comforting smile I had seen several times before. It was enough to turn my joints into jelly.

“O-okay, I can do it,” I said, my heart dancing madly. I had been so used to fading into the background and being forgotten. It took me a moment to process that the others thought so highly of me, or that they even thought of me at all. I felt respected. The sensation was so exhilarating I felt the sudden urge to cry. With all my willpower I held back the tears and simply concentrated on breathing.

“Thank you, Greyscale,” Dopple said. “Now, how about we discuss our schedule from now on?”

The next hour or so was spent deciding our collective timetables. I stayed silent throughout, generally uninterested in the topic at hoof but still took notice so as to avoid becoming a burden. The constant reminders to stay safe, stay with a group, stick to the plan, share our ideas, report our findings… It all sounded so dull and repetitive, a regimented series of rules and regulations that would ultimately amount to nothing. It reminded me of school, of those endless days that meshed into a muddled blur, walking from room to room at this time, at that time, time to learn, time and time again, everything ever so important until the day it isn’t and never will be. That wasn’t what I wanted, not with my new family. I knew though that no matter how strictly we held to these plans, they couldn’t last forever. I had already been subjected to wonders and feelings I had no concept of before. And now, I yearned to see what else there was behind the curtain.

“You’re looking remarkably hopeful,” Copper said quietly, breaking me out of my daydream. She bit her lip. “You really think we can get out of here? You seemed so skeptical before.”

“Uh, well it won’t hurt to try,” I quickly responded. “And we can’t assume we’ve failed before we’ve started.”

Copper looked down at the floor and nodded slightly, then brought her forelegs against her chest as if trying to stave off a chill. I looked at her for a moment, wishing I could understand her plight. She had been terribly pessimistic since we’d arrived and had had numerous emotional outbursts. I considered her a kindly and beautiful mare, but her current state was a dangerous sign. I had to wonder, what did she have on the outside world that made her turn this way?

She spotted me looking at her and I immediately turned away, blushing. “I w-wasn’t…”

“I know, I know,” she whispered back. She paused for several seconds, the main discussion going on, Sanscript, Dish Panner and Mesmer droning on about their current suspicions concerning the dome and its purpose. “Sorry for being like this and making you worry. I don’t mean to bring everyone else down. Just… this place has given me a lot to think about.”

A while later we decided to call it a night. “Greyscale,” Dopple called, motioning towards the kitchen. “If you would.”

All eyes were on me I crept into the kitchen to retrieve the knife. The blade was left spotless and gleaming next to a green chopping board. I took the smooth plastic handle in my mouth and turned around to see my reflection staring back at me in the metallic shine of the waste bin. There I was, carrying an instrument of death. A memory resurfaced and I strode out of the room, my pulse quickening. Everyone was saying their brief goodbyes, their goodnights, and reminding each other of the morning to come.

“It’s funny,” Mesmer said to me, looking somewhat amused. “You’ve managed to gain quite a bit of support from the others, yet we’ve only been here two days. And you’re supposed to be the Ultimate Nobody? I have to wonder, just what are you?” His expression grew serious and he began to whisper into my ear. “I suggest you be extremely careful from now on. If you were to die or commit murder, I daresay the results may be catastrophic.” With that cryptic statement he left with total nonchalance. I didn’t have the state of mind to think over his comment; I needed to get out of here, to get to my room. I started up the stairs, Dopple and Lancet staying by my side as I walked down the corridor.

“Remember to be up before seven,” Dopple reminded me. “We need to return it as soon as possible.”

I merely nodded in response. My mind was elsewhere. I opened my room door, firmly shut it behind me and quickly tossed the knife into my wardrobe. I was sweating now, and I took deep gasps for air as I realized that I’d been holding my breath. I threw myself onto my bed and curled up into a ball. I wished then that I’d said no.

While my life had been shamefully uneventful, there was one night in particular I would never forget…

I was fifteen at the time, and a wild thought had crossed my mind. It had come after a series of lessons on the different religions of Equus, mostly those that had come and gone throughout history. For most of my school life I paid little attention, just as the world did to me, but in this one instance I took notice. Throughout all of history, and in almost every religion, there was an immense focus on the concept of afterlife, a place all creatures would go once we had shed our mortal coil. Whether we would become spirits and roam Equus until we had fulfilled ‘unfinished business,’ be transported to a lush paradise beyond imagination, or be reincarnated into something new, the idea of an afterlife was a common thread, a pivotal point of thinking throughout all the cultures of Equus for thousands of years. It got me thinking.

A few nights later, after I had dinner in my room (my aunt and I rarely ate together), I merely sat in the corner and began contemplating my own demise. If I were to turn into a ghost, maybe I could travel all across the world, or, even if I was fated to remain stuck in a fixed location, make contact with living ponies and become something of a phenomenon. If I returned as an animal – any animal – it would open up a whole new life experience. I could discover things that would otherwise be impossible. I blushed at the thought of coming back as a beautiful mare, living a full life and giving birth to foals, perhaps soaring through the skies as a pegasus, dancing in the wind. I imagined wondrous, carefree, eternal bliss in places where pain and grief were nonexistent. No longer would we be constrained by the physical realm, chained to our bodies and places in society, free to see and do all beyond comprehension.

Then I considered the possibility that this was all make-believe, that death would bring no comfort, no solace, no second chance. Perhaps we were all fated to lose ourselves in an endless void and taste the purest oblivion. Perhaps once it ends, it ends. Much as the world existed before we were born, soon it would return to that state. I pondered these possibilities and came to a conclusion: No matter which of these things were true, it would be worth the risk. To stay the same way I was would leave me as nothing, so what was the harm in leaving? It wasn’t as if anyone would miss me. Even my aunt, I’m sure, would get over my death quickly, and my fellow peers and teachers would surely forget I was even there. I mulled it over, viewing the choice with as much gravity as deciding which flavor of ice cream to have, snuck into the kitchen and took a knife from the top drawer.

If I do it in the bathtub it’ll be easier to clean up the mess, I said inwardly, and crept into the cramped bathroom on the bottom floor. Whoops, don’t lock the door, I reminded myself. Otherwise it’ll be really annoying to get to my body. My aunt was asleep, and I surmised it was unlikely she would catch me in the act. I hope I go somewhere nice. Maybe I’ll come back as a bunny rabbit.

I sat in the bathtub with the knife between my teeth and held up my left foreleg. It seemed really easy. All I had to do was nestle the tip of the blade against my skin and push through, then I could move on to my other foreleg for good measure. Next, I could lay with my hind legs up against the edge of the bath, forcing my blood flow even quicker, and pass away. Oh, so simple. I held the blade in place with a sense of excitement. Then I pushed.

The blade just about punctured my skin, less than half an inch deep. The pain was sharp and vibrant, accentuated by the warm blood that began to trickle from my wound. I yanked the knife back on reflex and simply stared as the pattern of red traced itself down my leg and dribbled into the bathtub. The sight roused something within me and I clambered out of the tub, breathing hard through my nostrils, my grip on the knife tightening. I felt faint, not from the blood-loss, but from the sudden rush of terror. I had been sure about ending it. I had kept my cool. I had been filled with nothing but gleeful anticipation, waiting to see those pearly gates. But now my nerves were shot and I paced thoughtlessly in the tiny space, bumping into the sink, the bathtub, the walls, my blood dotting the neatly-placed woven mat in the center of the floor. That’s when I finally saw it.

In the reflection of the medicine cabinet I could see myself, the color of my face drained beneath my coat, my pupils dilated and sweat dripping from my forehead. My bony chest rose and fell like a broken set of bellows and my entire body shook with an arctic fervor. Still held in my mouth was the knife, a set of teeth-marks etched clearly into the splintered wood from my vice-like clenching. I had never seen something so terrible. I dropped the knife and curled into a ball, sobbing and choking on my own breath as my blood was smeared across my body. The fear was as great as it was indescribable. For whatever reason, my body had rejected my wish to go.

After an hour or so I wrapped a towel around my leg and began to clear up what I could, rinsing the bath and mopping up with the mat before rolling it up and tossing it in the washing basket at the bottom of the stairs. Once in bed I slept poorly, unable to shake the illogical fear that drifting off would see me slip away forever. I followed my normal routine the next morning, taking some extra time to scrub off the encrusted blood before heading to school. Nobody mentioned my leg. When I got home, my aunt said this, not even looking me in the eye: “Don’t do that again, Grey.” I never did.

I contemplated suicide a few times more, but the memory of that overpowering dread kept me at bay. Once I’d moved into my apartment I got hold of some razor blades, not unlike those found in the MonoMart. They were there for a ‘just in case’ scenario and had remained in a drawer up until my capture. No doubt, my captors had taken notice of this. It explained why Monobunny had mocked me during the initial tour.

The thought of suicide, in and of itself, wasn’t all that scary. But then that’s exactly how it was on that night when I was fifteen, and the result had scarred me for life. Seeing my face in the waste bin had brought that same feeling back. Just as before, all I had to do was put the knife in place and push through. Simple. Easy. It would only take a minute.

I switched off the light and bundled the duvet around me, trying to put it out of my mind. What would the others say if they found your corpse? Would they be sad? Would they be angry? “Shut up.” I turned over. What if, one day you’ll regret not killing yourself when you had the chance? What if you discover a pain that’s beyond your own imagination? I pressed my hooves to my head. “I’m happy here. I’m happy here. I’m happy here.” I repeated the phrase over and over, reminding myself of the bonds I’d made, the case I had solved, the family I was now a part of, those who looked up to me. So what if I was being watched? “I’m happy here.” This was a new era, a new life. I’m glad I didn’t go through with it. The same cycle rolled around in my head until I fell asleep.

I was awoken by the sound of vicious knocking. I groggily reached for my alarm clock and blinked until my eyes adjusted. It was 03:42.

“It’s too early,” I called out instinctively, turning to the wall and maneuvering my pillow. I began to drift off.

KNOCK KNOCK

“It’s not even four!” I called back angrily, sighing and getting to my hooves.

KNOCK KNOCK “Greyscale!”

The frenzied, gruff tone I heard sent a shiver down my spine. I then remembered where I was, what I was doing, the killing game, the plans, everything. I imagined the most horrific scenario, everyone dead, their bodies beaten into a pulp surrounded by a sea of blood, the lone survivor calling me for help as the murderer stalked them, ready to finish us all.

KNOCK KNOCK “Please…”

This time the voice was quieter. I took several deep breaths to calm my nerves. There hadn’t been a body discovery announcement. If anyone was trying to call for help, I would be far from the first port of call. This meant there probably hadn’t been a murder. “Hold on, just a second,” I said, flicking on the lights. I could hear heavy breathing from behind the door. I reached for the handle before hesitating, realizing my mistake. Tentatively, I peered through the peephole.

“Yoko?”

The colossal stallion was hunched over, facing my door, tears streaming from his bloodshot eyes. Globs of saliva fell from his lips as he respired in erratic fashion. “Please, I just want to see you.”

I was frozen solid. I knew he could break down the door if he wanted to. In fact, after seeing him – a sobbing beast nearly five times my size – I was expecting it to come any second. I fell backwards and eyed the wardrobe. My only chance to stop him would be with the knife. If he came at me, delirious, I could maybe launch myself at him in the darkness, gouge out his eyes and then run for my life. I watched the scenario play out in my head and took several deep breaths before slamming open the wardrobe door and arming myself. I would only have one shot.

“Greyscale, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry…” Yoko thudded against the floor and began weeping feebly.

“W-why?” I answered back. “What have you done!?”

“I’m so pathetic,” he replied in little more than a hushed whisper. “Look at me. I’m supposed to be the strongest pony who’s ever lived and I break down like this. I just couldn’t take it, Greyscale. I just couldn’t.”

I dropped my guard just a little, placing the knife on the floor. “Yoko, are you drunk?”

“Y-yes!” he cried with a groan. “More than I ever have been. I always drank beer to pile on the pounds, but not like this. I started with one bottle of liquor and then kept going; I didn’t know when to stop. I wasn’t even sure if I’d survive but I just kept at it! I thought maybe it would make me feel better… but no. No! I’m truly sorry. Please, forgive me.”

I exhaled and put the knife back. I didn’t believe he meant to cause me any harm. Still, I was reluctant to open the door. He was unwell, and more than capable of injuring me by accident. “Yoko, it’s alright. It’s been a tough day. Nobody blames you for reacting this way.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

His helpless response tugged at my heartstrings and I almost opened the door out of guilt. I could never have imagined he’d be so fragile. But something bothered me. “Yoko, why did you come to me?”

Yoko grew silent for a moment. “You stood up for me,” he said plainly. “Elsie was giving me what for and you talked her down. Back in the dining hall, remember?”

“Uh, yeah,” I replied. “I’m surprised you remember.”

“Yeah,” he said with a chuckle. “That’s understandable. I thought that was it, I’d be made out to be the big bad wolf of the story and everyone would turn on me. I’m dangerous, I’m a liability and all that. Not that I blame Elsie or anyone else for that matter. I get it. I’m a monster. A freak of nature. If it made everyone else feel better, I might’ve just drowned myself in the pool, give you all less to worry about.”

“No!” I cried suddenly, feeling a tightening in my chest. “Yoko, you can’t think like that. Please, promise me you won’t!”

Yoko sighed. “Alright. So long as you promise me something in return.”

“What?”

“I want to hold a proper send off for Pinkie and Shetland. I know, sounds strange I’d want to remember that murdering bastard, but I figured he’s seen some shit in his time, probably messed him up real bad. He paid for his crimes in the end. As for Pinkie, I reckon she was the best of us all. Smart, joyful, kind… Beautiful beyond words, too. But now they’re gone. Everyone’s making plans and I… I’m just worried we’re gonna forget them.” He exhaled unsteadily. I peered through the peephole to see him still and somber. “I think it’s the right thing to do. Not to mention it’ll give those sick fucks who’re watching us something to think about for what they’ve done. What do you think? Will you join me?”

I breathed a sigh of relief. This was what he’d wanted all along. “Of course I will. In fact, I’d be honored to.”

“Thanks, Greyscale. Knew I could count on ya.” Yoko coughed a few times and pummeled his chest with one hoof.

“You should get some rest,” I said with a yawn. “And drink plenty of water. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Yoko sniffed loudly and got to his hooves. “Oh, and one more thing.” He smiled, peering back at me through the other side of the glass. “Good job on the trial. Let’s hope we don’t see another, eh?”

“Yeah. Let’s hope.”

“Later.”

I watched Yoko slink out of sight before I got back into bed. I wasn’t sure, but I felt as if Yoko had just become my friend. I’d never known that feeling before, and I had yearned little for it in the first place. Interacting with others had always been so difficult, yet now things had changed. I was experiencing things beyond conceivability.

“It’s funny. You’ve managed to gain quite a bit of support from the others, and we’ve only been here two days. And you’re supposed to be the Ultimate Nobody? I have to wonder, just what are you?”

I wondered too. Looking back on the thoughts that drove me to consider suicide, those hopeful, enthusiastic thoughts, I flirted with the idea that I had died in my apartment and this was my new heaven. It was ridiculous, of course. But on the other hoof, I couldn’t shake the feeling that everything here – from the companions to the rent-free accommodation and the limitless food and drink – had all been made just for me.