Kill The Lights

by MemoryLane


Chapter Nine


Gallant’s heart was beating pridefully as he gazed down at the corpse below him, as if his body was silently boasting “look what I can do”.
        
        His eyes were lidded, half shielding himself from the sleep deprived death that he had eluded once again, the other half saving him the sight of Swallow’s dead, peaceful looking body. He had known Swallow was bound to do something like this eventually. He had known that there was potentially something he could have done to stop her. But he didn’t. For the last few hours, the muscly orange stallion simply minded his own business.

        Due to this, he was now one step closer to achieving his goals.

        Did he feel sorry for the mare? Yes. Swallow did not deserve to die. She was useless, but a kind soul. After all, she helped Sketch and Miso during her total of fifteen or so hours into the game. But it was inevitable. The stallion hardly moved a inch as his eyes looked the mare over in its entirety, like she was a missing piece in some kind of nonexistent puzzle. Gallant pondered if he would even miss the mare. The question was a bit too painful to answer in its entirety.
        
        Swallow was a pity. She was curled up on the floor, hunched over like she had been punched in the ribs. Her mouth was parted ever so slightly, allowing Gallant to see the pink of her tongue hiding underneath, like her teeth were jailhouse bars. Her short white mane was hardly touched, delicately spread underneath her head like a pillow. Her stomach was engorged, to the point where Gallant could have mistaken her for merely being pregnant.
        
        She had eaten herself to death.

        Gallant couldn’t feel anything. There was merely a void in the spot where his conscience should be. He had been to countless funerals. He had been there for the last moments of many of his friends and family. This was just another. He didn’t know the mare, but for some reason he felt just like he did at all the other funerals. Somehow, Gallant’s face didn’t falter. His eyes were locked on to the corpse of the young mare, and his mouth was at rest. He didn’t dare look at the half eaten table that Swallow had left behind in her wake-- her last impression on the world.

        “Swallow!”

        Gallant heard the chants-- the calls that came from the hallway, followed by the familiar sounds of hooves bolting at full speed. However, it didn’t prompt him to move. He just didn’t feel like it. Maybe it was just because he didn’t view it as a priority. Maybe it was just because his muscles were too locked to move. Gallant himself didn’t even know.

        “Swallow! Are you down there?” The voice belonged to Alloy. That much he was able to figure out. He heard the cacophony of hooves, and let out a sigh. Whether he liked it or not, Gallant was going to have to do some damage control.

        “It’s too late,” Gallant replied, just as Alloy, Tenor, and Sketch made their way into the strange room. “I’m too late.”

        Sketch took one look at Swallow, and Gallant could see his eyes go so wide he thought they’d pop out of his head. He looked monstrous--horrified, like his second friend in the game was lying dead in front of him. Gallant stared daggers at Alloy. You imbecile, bring Tenor, fine. But why in the world would you bring the kid?

        Alloy didn’t seem to notice. Upon looking at Swallow’s corpse he took in a deep breath, as if he was trying to keep himself, and his brain, intact. “What happened in here?” He asked, taking a few steps closer to the dead body that cursed the room.

        Tenor pushed the scientist aside, establishing what dominance she had. Her teeth were bared, and her forelegs were tensed, as if she was read to charge at the older stallion. “He killed her, that’s what!”

        Gallant cocked an eyebrow. It had taken him a moment to realize, but when he did, he wasn’t very happy about it. Was getting caught in a room with a dead body something for others to get suspicious about? Honestly, yes. Is Tenor readying the troops so she can pin a murder on him fine? No. No it is not. Upon the mentioning of “killed her”, Alloy looked at Gallant with nervous eyes.

        “Calm down, I didn’t kill her. I found her like this moments ago.” Gallant did his best to remain calm-- to defuse the situation as cleanly as possible. Even he knew it wouldn’t be easy when an approximate half of the ponies in the room were borderline bonkers. Well, alive ponies.

        “Likely story, grandpa!” Tenor seethed. “I knew we couldn’t trust you. You’ve been gone for hours and the minute someone dies you just magically popped back up!”

        Sketch’s head and body were twitching. Gallant had seen something like that before. The manic shaking, the thousand yard stare, the death in his eyes:

        Now, Gallant knew.

        Sketch was now, fully, traumatized.

        “Come look at the body before you start throwing accusations, Tenor,” Gallant grumbled. His gaze was focused on Alloy, as if he was the one the older stallion was trying to convince, not Tenor or Sketch. “Look at her stomach. Look at the table. She snuck in here and ate herself to death.”

        “Right! Of course she did!” Tenor shouted, in what Gallant could consider the literal most irritatingly sarcastic voice he had ever heard in his entire life. It almost made him lose his cool.

        “Come take a look at i--her,” Gallant said, hardly managing to catch himself. “I’ve been minding my own for the past few hours.”

        “You were probably plotting out how you were going to get her killed. You probably tempted her into doing it!” Tenor replied.

        “Tempted her? She tempted herself.”

        “Your hooves are covered in food! You probably stood there and watched her eat herself silly!”

        “The floor is covered in food. Can you stop trying to play detective?”

        “I’ll knock anyone out, you old bag, but I won’t think twice when it comes to murderers!”

        “It’s true,” Sketch interrupted. His dull, monotonous voice had somehow managed to pierce the screeching that Tenor had oh-so lovingly brought forth. At some point in the argument, Sketch had wandered forward, closer and closer to Swallow’s ever freezing body. Gallant was honestly surprised that he hadn’t noticed. “Just… just look at her,” the young stallion said. His eyes were broken, a shell of a kid that used to be there a little more than fifteen hours ago. Whatever zest the kid had before was now completely gone, and replaced with what could only be considered as a drone.

        “Sketch, don’t get too close,” Alloy quipped. Sketch didn’t even turn to look at him. His eyes were staring right through Swallow and her peaceful, motherly body. Gallant's icy face stumbled at the sight of him.

        “I will be fine.”

        Gallant had seen trauma like Sketch’s. He knew full well of what it could do, how it could break someone. For a brief moment, he contemplated taking a step closer to the teenager. He talked himself out of it easily. “Hey, kid. You gonna be alright?”

        “I will be fine.”

        Gallant didn’t believe that in the slightest, but he let it rest. The others didn’t know it, but Sketch was gone, now. There was no way he would be coming back, either. Not without extensive medical treatment, anyway. Back in basic training, one of the rookies with him got word that his younger sister had passed in some kind of flight accident back home.

        Last Gallant heard, the young stallion was still taking medicine to this day.

        Suddenly, a cry from the back of the room.

        It was new, foreign almost. It was one Gallant wasn’t entirely sure he had heard before. It had actually been enough to startle him, but only slightly. It took moments until the stallion figured out why.

        It was Miso, and her eyes were welled up with tears.

        Her legs were shaking in the entrance to the room, and her curtain-esque mane was draped over her face pathetically. Unfortunately, the way everyone was located in the room gave Miso an almost perfect view of Swallow’s dead body. If only Sketch had remained where he was standing prior, but Gallant wasn’t as rash to say anything to him about it.

        Tenor’s jaw dropped at the mere sight of Miso. Gallant didn’t care enough to wonder why.

        “Okay, okay, she ate herself to death,” Gallant cleared up, just in case. “Now, Alloy, can you please get Sketch and Miso out of here? They don’t need to see this. Nopony needs to see this.”

        Sketch turned, and for the first time since the game started, stared Gallant directly in the eyes. It was off-putting, but Gallant wasn’t as weak spined to be jarred by a little runt with some Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. “No,” he replied sharply. The ear with his golden ring flickered suddenly. Gallant raised an eyebrow.

        “No? What do you mean no?” Tenor said. Whether she was just impatient or if she was genuinely curious, no one will know.

        “Sketch, it’s not good to be in here…” Alloy added. Gallant mentally sighed. If only Alloy hadn’t brought the kid in there in the first place, maybe this situation wouldn’t be as bad as it currently is. Not to mention Miso following everyone, but then again Gallant can’t really blame them. No one really cares enough about her to keep tabs on her whereabouts.

        “I don’t care. She is my best friend. My friend. I will treat her like one, now. I will do what friends do.” With this, Gallant could only watch as Sketch reached down, and placed Swallows limp tail in his teeth, and began to forcefully drag her towards the hallway.

        “Whoa,” was all Tenor could manage. Gallant had seen enough.

        “No, no, kid! Stop it!”

        “No!” Sketch shouted through the hair in his mouth. Not for one moment did he pause on his mission. He kept fiercely tugging on the end of the corpses tail, as if his own life depended on it. “I’m going to lay her down in her bed. I’m going to say a few words. Because that’s what friends do!” It was at this moment that the tears had begun to pour down the young stallion’s face, cascading onto the food ridden floor beneath him. Alloy made the mistake of taking a step closer, something Gallant could have told him was probably a bad idea. But didn't.

        “No! Just me! Just me. I will do this alone. Don’t touch me! Don’t touch her. Just leave us alone.”

        Gallant was started to regret treating the kid the way he did earlier, but not that much. Tenor must not have taken a liking to Sketch’s new personality, so she let out a huff. “Fine by me. Have as much fun as you want. I’ll be in my room.” She turned around, and shoved Miso so hard that the foreign mare was actually slammed into the right side of the hallway. Alloy exclaimed, but Gallant shushed him.

        “Let’s go. Leave him be. You too, Miso,” said the pegasus. He wasn’t sure whether Miso understood him or not, but surprisingly she was the first one through the hallway, rubbing the back of her head where she and the wall connected.

        Following her, Gallant and Alloy made their way out of the room. The former indifferently, the second hesitantly. Gallant had done his best to tune it out, but as he made his way down the hall, he could hear Sketch.

        Grunt. Slide. Exhale.

        Grunt. Slide. Exhale.

        Grunt. Sobs. Slide. Exhale.

        Grunt. Sobs. Slide. Cries. Exhale.

        Crash. Grunt. Grunt. Muffled howls. Silence.

______________________________________________________________________________

        
        Tenor was now one step closer to winning the game with her life. She had yet to figure out just why it made her feel so anxious.

        Maybe it was the stress of the game getting to her. Then again, it could possibly be the excitement of the idea that she could actually get out of this twisted game alive. Perhaps, the sight of Swallows body made her fear the inevitability of death just a little more. Eh, it was probably the first one.

        Tenor didn’t like Swallow anyway. She was a goody two-shoes who used her innocence as a way to further her own goals. Tenor knew what Swallow’s motive was right from the very start: win the hearts of everyone, and then backstab them when the number of ponies started to dwindle. There was no way she was just all good. Her cheering up Sketch, which turned out to be worthless, was obviously some ploy to show how kind she can be. Tenor wasn’t falling for it anyway. Back in the sketchy parts of Phillydelphia, Tenor had met her fair share of mares like Swallow.

        Only then, none of them were as stupid as to literally eat themselves to death.

        It didn’t matter. Two ponies were down. That means she now has a 20% chance of getting out of this place. She had to admit, the chances are getting better and better with every death, every sob, every depressed PTSD driven kid.

        Tenor was standing in the foyer. Her eyes were trained onto the commotion, like she was a guard awaiting some sort of natural duty. For some reason, she just couldn’t look away— and to be honest, she really didn’t want to. It was like watching some sort of strange television drama.

        It was almost seventeen hours into the game. It had taken Sketch a little less than one hour to drag Swallow’s corpse down that dreaded hallway. Tenor’s eyes were starting to hurt, but she paid no attention.
        
        She had told herself many times that sleeping is not an option.

        Sketch’s face was dry, but stained with the sticky remnants of uncontrollable snot and tears. His eyes were blank and as dead as the corpse he was carrying. He looked very, very weak. Despite the fact that Swallow was one of the smallest ponies here, Tenor herself couldn’t imagine having to haul her that far just to lie her in her stupid bed.

        What a waste of time.

        Sketch opened Swallows door wide, quivering and giving forth heaving breaths. He took a break for a total of fifteen seconds before he reached down and grabbed the dead mare by the tail again, and continued to drag her into the room. Tenor watched on, mesmerized.

        Sketch was insane.

        Completely, irreversibly insane. Tenor wasn’t sure if the weird sounds the small pony was making were quieted sobs, odd chuckles, or weird gasps for air through his constant mouthful of hair. Either way, Tenor watched— not only that, but she plotted.

        Sketch had finally succeeded in bringing the mare to her room. Her reached down and, using some sort of weird technique that Tenor didn’t know how to even begin to replicate, set the mare on her bed. He spread her out, on her back. The next thing Tenor knew, Swallow was on her back, her hind legs pressed against each other and her forelegs crossed over her chest. She was actually laid to rest, just like Sketch said she would be.

        “There,” Sketch puffed, his face red and with a tiny laugh. “There you go, Swallow. You can rest… you can sleep now. My friend. My best friend. You're away from them now. They won't bother you in here.”

        Tenor had dawdled for too long. Sketch had turned around, and had taken notice of the creamy mare staring at him from across the foyer. The young stallion gave a sad look, walked over, and gently shut the door.

        Now, Sketch and Swallow were alone.

        Tenor sighed. Who cared about them anyway. One was dead and the other was as good as. If anything, it was as if they were already down to four ponies left. Tenor untangled her drumsticks from her mane. She was getting bored again, but that was nothing a little drumming couldn’t fix. Her haunted colored mane fell down, and her drumsticks floated into the air.

        That’s when she noticed Miso.

        Miso. That reminded Tenor. Why did she get up? Tenor had put her to bed, after all. Why didn’t the mare fall asleep? If she didn’t know about the game, then why didn’t she just go asleep? Is there something Tenor missed about her? She had never been as shocked as she was when Miso appeared next to everyone when Swallow was discovered.

        Tenor was nervous, now.
        
        Miso smiled at Tenor, her usual absentminded grin that had been plastered on her face all game, even after she had seen Swallow’s body. Everything was the same about her, but Tenor wasn’t exactly too sure about that.

        “S...Suh-leep?” Miso enunciated, in the exact same manner that Tenor had tried to use to lull the Neighsian mare to sleep not even a few hours ago. She put a hoof to her cheek, and rocked herself like a baby in a cradle. Tenor’s eyes went wide.

        Miso was mimicking her.

        Tenor didn’t think twice. Miso knew. Swallow’s session with her must have actually worked. Miso actually knew that falling asleep meant certain death. Which means…
        
        Tenor had made a grave mistake.

        The unicorn fled, disappearing back into her room like a flash. “No, no, no, are you kidding me! Damnit!” she muttered under her breath the mere millisecond that the door closed behind her. Tenor’s plan to trick Miso had failed, and she had a feeling that it was going to backfire tenfold. All Miso had to do was tell everypony, and soon she’d be a major target. As far as everyone knew, Tenor was just trying to survive, not win the game, per say.

        Wait a minute.

        Miso won’t tell anyone. She’s overreacting. Miso can’t speak English. She had no way whatsoever to convey Tenor’s intentions. With this, the unicorn let out a soft sigh.

        “Get it together…” she told herself. The game was starting to take its mental toll on her. No matter how hard the mare was trying to fight it, she was starting to get a bit tired. She could tell everyone else was too. Alloy had a few bags under his eyes back when everyone was near Swallow’s body, and Gallant’s judgement was starting to turn. Standing near an undiscovered body? Yeah right.

        She still had faith. She could win the game easy.

        “Yeah… Yeah, don’t worry, mare. You’ll be just fine,” she spoke, slowly. She remembered that she was still levitating her drumsticks, which jolted her brain back into its original state. At least, the best she was going to get. She threw her eyes towards the bed, where she last left her headphones and music player, and prepared herself for the party she was about to endure in her head.

        But she stopped.
        
        On her bed, was Miso’s blanket, neatly folded like Tenor had found it earlier.
        
        On top of it was a little note written on a folded note card.

        Tenor gulped, and set her drumsticks neatly on the dresser nearest her. With ill-focus, she mentally grabbed the note, and levitated it closer to her. It read:

“ : )

- 味噌”