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Test
The earth pony shifted in her seat. On the other end of the table, a suited unicorn used his gift to flip the pages of a rough, but lovingly made binder. Each page contained photographs of large paintings resting against a bare wall, and as the unicorn studied these, he vocalized small ‘hmm’s that only contributed to the mare’s anxiety.
With nothing to do other than to wait for a reply, Sunset looked around, trying to find comfort in the soothing pastels that bathed the many lively painted canvas that hung from the walls. Even in the midst of her anxiety, she couldn’t help but picture her art alongside them, sharing space with some of the greats of contemporary art, even if only temporarily.
”So, Arty... what do you think, are they any good?” she risked asking. The stallion turned to her and swept his eyes over her entire form. From her dichromatic orange and pink mane to her cutie mark, a sunset over a beach.
The silence lingered, making her wish she could simply vanish. Suddenly, Arty Eyes closed the binder with a forceful 'thump' and slid it back to her.
“It's a little hard to tell, Sunset Snow,” he said in a voice that, at the very least, was less harsh than she thought it would be. “Your theme is 'colour', and that's the one aspect of your paintings that doesn't translate well in a photograph.” Sunset Snow's ears perked up hearing this, sensing a sliver of hope.
“Do you want me to bring some of them so you can see it in person?” she asked, her eyes timid. Her quick words had an edge of desperation to them. “I'm especially proud of Atmospheric study #5—”
“That won't be necessary.” His short remark seemed to take what brightness was left out of Sunset Snow's eyes.
“Oh, I see...” She slumped down in her seat.
“I can tell that your palette is excellent, and I’m sure they look even more vibrant in person. However, your brush technique still leaves much to be desired, the strokes have a rather crude primitivistic quality that—”
“Why don't you just say it plainly?” Sunset queried, with a hint of steel in her voice. ”You're rejecting me because I'm not a fancy unicorn!.”
“Being an earth pony is not necessarily a barrier against breaking into the art world, Sunset. Take Pablo Pizzicato for example—” Mentioning this name made Sunset slam her hoof onto the table.
“There's Pablo Pizzicato, and who else?” she snapped. “He's treated as a curiosity! Even my art history book says it: Pablo Pizzicato's technique was excellent, dot dot dot, by earth pony standards! Couldn’t he just be appreciated for his art instead of who he was?” She peppered each ‘dot’ with spite, the hint of steel in her voice had already coalesced into a blade.
The unicorn shielded himself with a raised eyebrow, but otherwise remained unfazed. “Are you alright, miss?” he asked in a tone that said: “Are we going to have to escort you out?”
Sunset reigned herself in with a sharp intake of breath. She slumped back into the chair and said with a much lower and calmer voice:
“Yes I'm fine. Just having a bad day, I suppose. I'll see myself out, thanks for taking a look at my art in any case.”
She put the binder back into her saddlebag, making an attempt to hide the tears that formed in the corner of her eyes. Getting up from the stool, she quickly fastened her saddlebag to her loins. The grip was tight, but she didn’t care; she just wanted to be alone. Turning around to leave, she couldn’t help but feel like his eyes were drilling holes in the back of her skull.
Outside was a stark contrast to the cozy interior of the gallery. Instead of warm pastel colours, a semi-perpetual gray blanket of clouds dulled even the most colorful facade. It was the first day of winter and snow was already piling up on the side of the street. A cold wind howled through the town, leaving a chill that stayed in her lungs after each breath.
“It’s okay,” Sunset told herself dismally. “It’s just a rejection after all. Doesn’t mean I’m a failure. I’ll just have to keep on trying.”
Her words failed as a consolation, however and, since nopony was around, Sunset did nothing to hold back the tears that rolled around her eyes. First a drop quietly slid down her cheek and fell onto the pavement, where it stood for a moment before freezing, then another one fell and yet another. They were soon joined by a couple of miserable sobs from the back of her throat.
Her sorrow was interrupted by a sudden sound coming from behind a corner. She tensed up; she could hear the creak of hooves against the snow underneath the whining of the wind. To avoid having to cross paths with a stranger in this state, she started to walk away.
The stranger’s hoofsteps started up again behind her,  a little quicker this time. The sounds slowly got nearer and nearer, even though she had picked up her pace. They kept following her, only to cease a beat or so after she stopped to look around.
At first, she saw nothing but the quiet town shrouded by snow, not even the sound of the second pair of hoofsteps were present. Looking closer, she thought she could discern a figure through the snow, too far away to see in which direction it was heading. In spite of this, she quickened her pace once more, adrenaline pushing her into a half-gallop. The crunching sound of the stranger’s hooves against the snow kept going, just offbeat of her own.
“Wait,” she thought, trying to calm herself down. “If I'm being followed, maybe it’s just because I dropped something and they want to give it back to me.”
She dared a glance over her shoulder; silhouetted against the snow she saw the stranger trailing behind her, its color dulled by the evening fog. Glimpsing into its eyes dispersed all notions that this could be a fright caused by a harmless misunderstanding. Peering back at her were the predatory eyes of a hunter, and Sunset was the prey in its sight.
“Oh, dear...”
She rounded a corner and at the first opportunity tossed herself behind a pair of bushes where she curled up, waiting to be found or for the stranger to go away. Seconds of silence ticked away as Sunset desperately tried to calm her frantic breathing.
As the seconds turned into minutes and no sound came forth, Sunset slowly peeked from the bush and into the alley. Apart from the trail of kicked up snow after her, there was nothing to even indicate that she had ever been chased. Silence was once again returning to her corner of the world; even the wind didn’t seem to blow as harshly anymore.
She slowly worked her way out of the bush, tense at even the slightest unexpected sound. Once she was back on the street again she did a double take. With no strange figures in sight, she dared to breathe a sigh of relief. Sunset turned around to take a quick look down the street only to find herself staring at a smiling pink face.
“Hi!”
“GAH!”
“Ooh, that’s a good one! Gotta remember that. I usually go with ‘found you’ when playing hide and seek, but I think that also works!” The pink mare giggled, eliciting a curious eyebrow raise from the rather confused Sunset.
“Um...”
“Oops! Sorry if I scared you! It’s just that I saw you hiding in that bush and I thought you were playing hide and seek! Oh! Oh! Can I join? Pretty please?” Sunset shook her head, suddenly remembering the reason she had been hiding in the first place.
“But I’m not playing! Please, you’ve got to help me! There was a pony! And—and—and it was following me!” she pleaded, grasping the pink mare with both forehooves.
The strange pink mare gasped. “A Spyerton McSpy?! NO! Did he hurt you?”
“No... I think he left.” Sunset Snow paused and looked at the pink mare. There was something about her that seemed familiar, but she couldn’t put her hoof on it. “Do I know you? I apologize if it sounds rude, but I feel like I know you from somewhere."
“Balloon Popper! Just like my cutie mark says!” she said and practically shoved her bum on Sunset’s face. Not that she needed the gesture in order to see the the three colorful balloons and a safety pin that donned the pink mare’s flank.
“That’s... um... that’s some int—”
“FUN, right? I’m all about fun things! Parties and streamers and balloons and cupcakes! You seem like a pony who likes fun too!” Sunset’s ears folded back at the comment, prompting Balloon Popper to slow down her verbal artillery. “Oh, I’m sorry! Did I say something wrong? Am I annoying you? Are you diabetic? Maybe you are—”
“No, it’s nothing like that.” Sunset sighed and brushed her eyes with a forehoof. “I’ve just... had a rough day.”
“Oh... well, you know what cheers me up during these nasty gray cloudy days?” Balloon asked and before waiting for a reply, she pulled Sunset into a tight hug. “A party!”
“Well...” Sunset Snow paused and pondered about this, poking her chin in thought. On one hoof, she was mentally exhausted and needed rest. On the other hoof, she didn’t want to be left alone, with only emotions to keep her company. A party was just what was needed, a few hours to forget the rejections of the critics and just relax.
“Okay then. Say, Balloon Popper, you seem like a really nice pony.”
“Oh, I am! The nicest there is!”
From the director of
Borderline (http://www.fimfiction.net/story/17861/borderline)
Comes another chilling tale
Directed by Owlor (http://www.fimfiction.net/user/Owlor)...
“If cold bothers you, your only option will be to go north.”
... and Lucefudu (http://www.fimfiction.net/user/Lucefudu)
“Our minds are always more cruel than reality.”
Guest director
jmj (http://www.fimfiction.net/user/jmj)
"There are moments when even to the sober eye of reason, the world of our sad humanity may assume the semblance of Hell."
With special effects by
MikhailWilson (http://www.fimfiction.net/user/MikhailWilson)
“The more one learns, the more one truly knows how stupid they are.”
Chapter 1. 13th of Second Ember
Notes:
Owlor:  The original intention was to write this story without any gore whatsoever, just like “Borderline” before it, but that idea got squished almost instantly. However, we did decide from the beginning that gore should not be the point of the story, merely an element to use when and if the story calls for it. As a guideline, we used the movie “Se7en” which features some very brutal crime scenes, yet the focus is still on the characters and the investigation. And since we’re bound to get some down-votes simply because we decided to make Pinkie a killer and write a story where violence happens, I have prepared a statement to those who’d downvote frivolously: “Fuck you! Downvote if you think it is a BAD dark story, not just cus it’s a dark story.” That is all.
Lucefudu: The story begun on an impulse, really. I mainly wrote Borderline because I honestly thought that Cupcakes had some hidden potential rather than gore/shock value, but I was downright sick and tired of all the “AND THEN PINKIE PIE PRANCES AROUND PONYVILLE, DECAPITATING PONIES WITH A CHAINSAW. AND ALL IS WELL IN THE MAGICAL LAND OF EQUESTRIA!” fanfics that were plaguing the site on the first half of 2012. I, being a medical student and an aspiring psychiatrist, wanted to explore a side that was left almost unexplored (and the few who explored it, sorry to say, failed). I’ve read a lot of Cupcakes spin-offs and Rocket to Insanity was the closest it got to being somewhat interesting. That isn’t saying much. Still, Borderline has its flaws. I failed to deliver exactly what I intended to and I honestly believe it to be a failed project of mine. That or an incomplete one. Mostly due to my inexperience with writing and the profession.
The idea came after April Fool’s, where I told Owly that I should’ve written a(nother) troll chapter for Borderline. Owly then queried me as to, if I were to continue with the story, how would I proceed. And we started brainstorming, keeping in mind that we would like to avoid gore as much as possible. Adapt it to the story, y’know? Make it meaningful when it’s needed and cut the parts where it isn’t. This is basically why the story lacks a gore tag.
As for my part in the story, this time it was almost a backseat-ish experience. I wrote some scenes in it, yes, but mostly helped Owly, someone who I consider much more experienced than me, out.
With that said, I do not think that “this [or Borderline] is the greatest spin-off ever”, no. But I honestly think we managed to build something very interesting that, pastel magical happiness aside, manages to be a little bit more realistic than the usual gorefest that usually attributed to the original story.
Mikhail: As the introduction to this particular chapter says, I blame the coffee. I really ended up working on this due to my previous help on Sky Matron, of which I cannot recall a whole lot. When Luce came back after a prolonged absence, he asked if I could help with something about two months down the line; I accepted. Somehow, I’ve ended up helping these two long before I needed to. Shaping up their text has always been a pain in the arse, but they are a lot better than some writers on this site. By the way, if you see anything that I missed, just send me a message. If nothing else, it would help me in the future. (I do more work than they give me credit for.)
I blame the coffee. Some days, it’s our only lifeline, but the pot over at the station is as bitter as my ex-wife, enough to make even the most hardened officer crave something sweet. As a cop,  you become a connoisseur of baked goods by necessity. And like any connoisseur, you get your preferences.
This is why, each time I managed to finagle a break, I went to Sugarcube Corner with a smile on my face to order my bagels. And why, every day for as long as I could remember, I saw her smiling back at me. Between my job and my ex wife, I looked forward to those soft upturned lips and the gentle bounce in her cheeks.
Later, when I saw her true face—plastered all over the news—every warm curve had withered into cold straight lines. I felt like a lot like a little colt would feel when meeting his childhood idol for the first time off-stage, realizing that the character he knew and loved was just a figment dreamt up by a skilled actor.
I remember how she’d ask me about my work and I’d give her carefully edited accounts, leaving out the details I thought would upset such a delicate soul as her. In retrospect, it was almost laughable; she had committed atrocities ten times worse than the criminals in any of my stories.
So, if not for the bad coffee, I would’ve never gone to Sugarcube Corner in the first place. I would’ve never known who the heck Pinkie Pie was. And I wouldn’t feel like shit right now.
I’m back at Sugarcube Corner, but this time it isn’t to get a bagel. Somepony heard a noise and we were supposed to investigate it. Thankfully, the Cakes left Sugarcube Corner and this forsaken town, they’ve got foals to raise for Celestia’s sake. The last thing they needed was to see their old home turned into a crime scene... again.
“Buckshot! Nightstick! Come here!” I hear Shining Badge shout through the megaphone and I instantly sigh. Ever since Pinkie was apprehended, the town’s been a hellholle. Ponies left and right think took her example and now they too believe themselves too cunning for the law. Damned idiots. It’s like New Horsey’s plague is slowly infecting all of Equestria.
“Come on Buckshot, time’s not going to wait.” My partner flashes me a grin, but it does nothing to lift the mood. I sigh and after adding another curse to my day’s list I walk inside the building.
The place is different from how I remember it. The boarded up windows keep the sun’s light from illuminating the interior, and the smell of mold permeates the whole building. The once vibrant colors are now dull, and I wonder if it‘s due to the passage of time, or if they were always like that. Perhaps I was the one who saw them as being bright. With every creak of the floorboards, a chill rushes down my spine.
“I think I’m going to be sick.” We quicken our pace as we hear Shining Badge moan.
We kick the double doors and I’m hit by a foul smell. The whole place stunk more than a griffon’s butcher shop; fitting, since that’s exactly what it looks like. Blood had been spilled all over the walls and the countertops, a macabre mix of fresh and drying gore. Shining is standing next to the taffy machine, clutching her stomach with one hoof and coughing repeatedly on the other.
It made no sense. Shining Badge may not have the strongest stomach in the world, but she’s danced this waltz before. The corner containing the taffy machine was probably the least gory area of the kitchen; the taffy machine is the only thing in the room without a patina of grease and decay. It’s incongruities like this that makes you suspicious as a cop... Yet, I keep a steady pace towards the machine.
I look over the edges of the vat slowly, expecting a thousand different possibilities. The first thing that strikes me as unusual is the color of the batter. All of the normal taffy colors are there, coalescing in a technicolor swirl. But I’ve had my fair share of taffy in my days. It’s easy to note that there’s a particular dark rusty hue that simply doesn’t belong.
The second unusual thing is how chunky the batter is, and this exactly what shifts my mind into overdrive. It’s like looking at one of those optical illusions where all you see is random blobs of ink until something clicks and you start to see the true image. The colors that sprinkle the batter aren’t taffy. As I squeeze my eyes I’m able to notice the small details; pieces of skin, muscle and even small shards of bone are present. And the chunky red swirl... I feel just about ready to join in with Shining’s nauseated coughs.
There’s something else about the batter that strikes me as odd; it shouldn’t be moving. I reach in to try and see if there’s anything else in there, only for my back hooves to slip on some of the viscera. With my front hoof still in the vat, I can’t help but overbalance and fall, flipping the vat over in the process. The whole machine resonates loudly as it crashes on the floor, spilling the batter and, to my surprise, a body.
“Nightstick! Call the medics!” I instantly yell. My partner gallops outside while Shining and I move the body, carrying it to the only dry spot we could find. I notice the delicate curves of her snout and instantly recognize it as a mare. Her body is still warm.  I can only hope that she’s still alive. I place my ear over her chest and allow a few seconds to fly past while listening for any signs that the heart still beats; there’s no sound.
I curse, there’s not a second to waste. Who knows how many minutes this mare has gone without any blood flowing in her brain? I shift over her and place both my forehooves on top of her chest before I bring my weight down over her, repeating myself in constant rhythm. I have to be careful; too much force and I could do her more harm than good.
“One, two, three, four...”
I hear her ribs cracking under my weight but I continue the compressions; Celestia knows that a pair of broken ribs is the least of her worries. Shining Badge moves close to the mare’s head and grasps it between both her forehooves, extending her neck as I continue to pump her chest.
“... twenty nine, thirty!”
I’ve barely said the word and Shining quickly wraps her lips around the mare’s and attempts to force the air in. She repeats the process once more before I resume the compressions. We repeat this for minutes, struggling to somehow bring her back from the brink. My back feels like it has a knife lodged in it and I feel like I’d be the next to have a heart attack. My lungs crave for oxygen, and the kitchen’s foul stench does nothing to alleviate the burning within them. Still, against my body’s protests, I struggle to keep pumping.
What seems to be hours pass as my body seems like it’ll fall apart like a little filly’s plastic doll. That is until we hear a faint wheeze. I immediately stop the CPR, but Shining Badge keeps her head still as the body thrashes some. The wheezing continues. Good. At least she’s breathing by herself now. Barely, but still. Shining moves her head closer to the mare’s open muzzle as I look around. We didn’t even notice when Nightstick came back.
“They’re coming, Buck,” he says, smiling proudly at me. I finally manage a grin of my own, grateful that we were able to save this mare’s life. Shining doesn’t look at us, busy as she is in keeping the mare’s head as still as possible. Nightstick nods at me and goes outside to guide the medics in.
“I’m no doctor,” Shining says as she inspects the mare’s mouth further, “but her airways are almost completely blocked!” Just as she’s done speaking, the doctors, seemingly undeterred by the pittoresque scene, rush into the kitchen.
“Move aside!” We obey the command as they approach her and begin their procedures. Shining Badge keeps staring at the stallion and the mare that are now intubating the unconscious mare and I take the time to look around once more. After the initial shock of being confronted with this visage, I’m hardly impressed by it. We’ve seen worse when we first raided Sugarcube Corner looking for Pinkie. Upon remembering this, I start to look for anything out of ordinary. Whatever the current definition for that is, anyway.
“It’s too messy.” I manage to say as the doctors haul the mare away. There’s no way she would leave one of her unfortunate victims alive for long. And even if she did, the victim would show more signs of abuse than this.
“What’s that?” Shining Badge asks me, perking her ears. She looks after the medics, possibly in sympathy, before turning back to glance over the scene again.
“I said it’s too messy... this isn’t her usual MO. And she wouldn’t just dump a couple of bodies here either.” I turn to Nightstick for some sort of confirmation, but the only kind I can find is that his face looks as green as a freshly picked olive. “Besides that, there’s no way that she would leave somepony alive. Either we’re missing something here, or she wasn’t quite done. Could we get some kind of ID on the—”
My breath is cut short as I see it, those unmistakably insane blue eyes from beyond a broken window. I open my mouth to warn my colleagues, but I’m stunned when I see her smile. That same sunny smile she always offered me before, right before handing me a delicious bag of bagels. In the split-second I’m stunned, she lunges through the window and lashes at Shining Badge.
She can’t help but fall backwards and clutch the new five inch gash on her face. Nightstick rushes towards Pinkie, but she’s too quick; he’s instantly felled by a well-placed buck to his jaw. I turn around to go get aid from outside, but freeze once more at the sight of that manic smile right in front of me.
“So, you’re the kind of pony they’ve got going after me now? You don’t exactly look like much. But perhaps... I can have a little fun after all.” Her voice is different from what I remember: a mix of cold, jagged-edged realism and sultriness. It makes my fur crawl.
I open my mouth to scream for help and she tackles me to the floor, clapping one hoof over my mouth. I thrash around, trying to break free of her bear-like grasp. It’s all for naught, however. The exertion of having to perform CPR has me almost completely drained.
“It’s a shame I find myself having to leave; after all, I can’t exactly leave loose ends behind. Nevertheless, I’ll see you later.” She pats my back almost consolingly, before dashing out the back.
She let’s go of me and I’m left staring at nothing in particular. My mind is completely jammed and everything else seems to happen in a blur. I see her vague shape jumping outside and gallop away as Shining Badge tries to follow suit before grunting and collapsing on the floor. It’s only after she’s gone that I finally snap out of it.
I hear Nightstick shouting orders, but I know it won’t matter we only had enough ponies for regular call.. Now, out of the five of us, one lay semi-incapacitated and one is probably bleeding to her dea—
“Shining Badge!”
I instantly leap to my hooves and gallop towards my fallen colleague. She seems to have lost consciousness, but the pain etched in her face is evident. Without thinking about it twice, I haul her over my loins, despite the protests of my fatigued muscles, and gallop as fast as I can towards the hospital, shouting orders for the other two officers to call in reinforcements.
A raspy wheeze escapes from my throat as the air feels acidic to my lungs. My body, propelled by the thought of having a colleague dying because of my stupid mistake, rushes towards Ponyville General. When I barge through the entrance doors, I acknowledge that I don’t even remember how I got here so fast.
“DOCTOR! SHE NEEDS A DOCTOR RIGHT NOW!” I scream and instantly all eyes are on me. The nurse behind the counter, instead of faltering like I did, rushes and magicks Shining Badge from my back before carefully placing her onto a gurney and hauling her away.
I can do nothing but carry my sorry flank to one of the seats at the reception and sit down. Minutes pass before a nurse, different than the one who took Shining, tells me that my friend is in a stable condition but will need to go through reconstructive surgery. I meekly nod at her and she’s off her way. The “good” news do nothing to stop my mind from elaborating various scenarios in which I acted differently. Or in which Pinkie acted differently...
Further Evidence #1
The following is a confidential recording taken during the investigation into Pinkamena Diane Pie’s escape from The Mental Health institute. The subject, NAME WITHHELD, listed as a unicorn, occupied a cell adjacent to Ms. Pie’s isolation habitat. The recording was done by a pegasus psychologist named Sherbet West.
NOTE: The following report is confidential and its circulation without the knowledge or consent of the Canterlot Police and the Canterlot Criminalistics Department is expressly forbidden. Anypony found in possession of this document or the audio log faces imprisonment or more extreme punishment.
Tape recorder turns on. The sounds of motion are captured for a moment until a chair squeals from someone sitting down. In the background, a nervous whimpering can be heard, punctuated with crescendos of fear.
W/H- Let me go back, doctor... I’m expecting a package from The Savior.
Dr. West- Alright, Mr. WITHHELD, let’s just calm down and have a nice little chat about the months before your “savior’s” escape.
W/H- No! You can’t know... she’ll never forgive me. She won’t help me!
Dr. West- Why won’t she help you if you talk to me? We’re just friends having a conversation.
W/H- Sh—she said, if I told she wouldn’t send me her magics. She won’t send them, doctor!
Dr. West- Alright then, we won’t talk about her. What do you need help with that requires magic?
W/H- The voices... I can’t sleep. They tell me to do things. They want me to pull my mane out. The Flambers need it. That’s what they say.
Dr. West- Flambers? What are they?
W/H- Those who dwell outside... you know. Of our reality. The realm beyond? The scorching world?
Dr. West- I... see. And what do they need with your mane?
W/H- Not just MY mane, doctor. Everyone’s mane. They build their starships out of them. Their world is quite devoid of... hair.
Dr. West- And how does the magic help?
W/H- Not magic. Magics! She... she said her magics would make the voices stop. If they would stop I could... leave. I could go home again. See my family.
Dr. West- Now, Mr. WITHHELD You killed your family. Do you remember? You skinned them alive and—
W/H- NO! I SAVED THEM! The Flambers were threatening to take them away. I couldn’t... Sobbing breaks his words. They would... have... them. I saved them from their treachery! The HORRORS they will bring about on this world! THE HORROR, DOCTOR! THEIR RUBBERY GELATINOUS BODIES DISPLAY THEIR VICTIMS! I... couldn’t see my beautiful children’s faces in their bloated bellies. Do you understand?
Dr. West- I understand; we’re getting off topic. How would the magics stop the voices?
W/H- They feed through me. I’m a gateway for them to this world. If I ate the magics, it would contaminate their plane. They can’t survive you see, not the magics. They would be silent because they would all be dead, doctor. Strange giggling.
Dr. West- And the Savior promised you the magics for remaining quiet about her escape?
W/H- Not for being quiet. For being her subject. For listening. For following, just like all gods request of their devoted. She is the unicorn of mercy. Our only hope against the Flambers. She fights them now. She’s our only hope. She’s going to close the gateway inside of me.
Dr. West- I see. How did you come into contact with her?
W/H- Biding my time. Feeding their wishes. Giving them hair to make them quiet for a short time.
Dr. West- Where were you getting hair and how did you send it to them? Please explain.
W/H- My body. I told you! My body is a gateway. What I eat is sent to their world.
Dr. West- How did you get hair in your cell?
W/H- The rats had made several holes in the walls. Sometimes they would come out at night... and... the Flambers would tell me to eat them. Their fur was a favorite tool.
Dr. West- You ate live rats?
W/H- Yes... I had to. The voices would keep me awake if I didn’t! They may have even tried to come through the portal. A moment passes with some grumbling murmurs I know she’s doing her best, but I wish she would hurry. I’m afraid they will try to come through soon. They may know about her. I can’t let them know.
Dr. West- Is that why you won’t talk about her?
W/H- Yes. They’ll hear me. They’ll prepare for her.
Dr. West- Did they not hear her when she spoke to you before?
W/H- She pushed little notes through the rat hole. They can only hear what I hear, not know my thoughts. They aren’t listening now, but they could! With only a moment’s notice they could tune in to our world. I can’t talk about the Savior, doctor. Not if I want to destroy the portal inside of me.
Dr. West- Did she tell you she planned to escape?
W/H- She said she would be able to help me once she escaped...
Dr. West- Why did she contact you?
W/H- She needed the key.
Dr. West- What key?
W/H- The key to her room. She said her magic was too weak and she couldn’t break out without it.
Dr. West- And how did you get the key from the guards?
W/H- Guards? No... no no no no no! She needed a special key. One that once lived.
Dr West- What do you mean?
W/H- I snapped my horn off and slid it through the rat hole. She promised to give me her magics if I did.
Dr. West- You willingly gave up your ability to use magic? You understand it was all just a ruse to help her escape, right?
W/H- No! She is a powerful unicorn!
Dr. West- She’s not even a unicorn. She’s an earth pony.
W/H- She told me they would send someone to tell me that. To stop her. A rough growl is heard.
Dr. West- They who?
W/H- You know damn well who! Your masters! The Flambers! She said they had spies here. Now I know why you doctors keep me locked up! It’s too late! She already sent the first magics in a cupcake! There will be more! You didn’t think to check an innocent pastry! Your people are sick and dying from the first magics! You won’t bring them through me! YOU WON’T!
The sounds of furniture being knocked around and scuffling fills the tape. Growling, sickly wet thudding noises, and cries for help can be heard until the sounds of many other ponies securing the screaming unicorn echo as the recorder is turned off.