The death of Swallow was a tipping point in the game, according to Alloy.
He was still having such a hard time believing that she was gone. That once quiet and hungry mare of whom was able to calm the bodies of everypony else in the game was dead. Alloy felt sorrow, however he couldn’t let that stop him from trying to stay awake. He had only known the mare for less than a day, and even still it hurt just to think about. She didn’t deserve to die, he’d tell himself. But it didn’t entirely matter anymore.
The voice of reason in the game was dead and gone, and now Alloy was starting to get more nervous. As time continued to tick on, he could feel himself giving into the temptation of sleep. If anything, so was everypony else.
But the thing was, Alloy didn’t want to win the game. He didn’t want anypony to die. He just wanted to stay alive, and for everyone to follow the same fate as him. But now, with both Buttermilk and Swallow gone, he was finally starting to view the bigger picture as it slowly creeped into his heart, like some kind of virus.
His mind was beginning to fry, and he could feel it break him down more and more as every minute — every hour, passed on. His head wasn’t keeping up the way it used to, like it would back in the lab. He felt slower, like someone had poured honey inside the creases of his brain.
He couldn’t let that stop him. No one else in this game needed to die. Alloy would see to that.
He didn’t know why he thought like that. If anything, as a child he was told to use his gift as a way to fend for himself. As special as his parents called him, he just couldn’t think that way. He hated death, and everything that surrounded its disgusting embrace. Prior to the game, Alloy’s goals were to cure diseases and make the world a better place. Now, his only resolution is to keep death away from everypony, even if it was just for a few more hours.
Alloy sat on his bed, facing backwards towards the wall. He had been there, staring at the clock on the wall as the time drifted upwards. A little less than nineteen hours awake. Any normal pony not in the game would have fallen asleep — exhausted— at least three hours ago, coincidentally along with Swallow. Now the game was starting to get difficult, and Alloy knew that he could only go on for so much longer before he succumbed to his fate.
For the first time in a while, Alloy broke his gaze from the clock. It was time to do something, and find another way to keep his brain occupied. He turned behind him towards the hall, and frowned. He knew what he wanted to do, but wasn’t entire sure if it was a good idea. As much as he’d like to pay his respects in private to Swallow — barging in there while Sketch was doing… whatever— probably wasn’t the best idea. It’d been some time, though. It wouldn’t be dumb to assume that maybe Sketch had left.
Alloy jumped off the bed, feeling his bones crack and groan after standing for the first time in a while. Maybe sitting for damn near an hour or so was a poor idea, for the moment he stood he noticed his undeniable headache. He winced, and did his best to ignore it.
He looked out into the foyer, left and then right. It was completely empty. Everypony was gone. He could hear rock music coming from Tenor’s room, and Miso and Gallant were nowhere to be found, but it could be assumed that they were together. Miso refused to be alone most of the time, preferring to sort of follow somepony else around, which was understandable. Alloy picked this up about her quickly.
Without missing a beat, he strode across the large room and made his way towards the late Swallow’s room. He couldn’t hear anything on the other side, so he decided to simply test his luck.
Empty. The room was empty.
Aside for the lone body of Swallow lying on top of the bed. Alloy let out a sigh. The room was still, and Alloy could feel the strange, distinct chill upon the very moment he entered. Alloy never believed in ghosts prior, but the uneasiness that set upon him made his heart shutter. The poor mare on the bed lied there with her eyes closed, as if she was only taking a much needed nap. Her hooves were draped over her chest — a common burial pose — while her hind legs were tightly locked together. The color had already drained out of the mares face over the course of only a few hours, and her naturally light blue body was beginning to turn an off-white.
Swallow looked peaceful.
Alloy was afraid of how Buttermilk looked at this point in time compared to her.
Alloy kept his eyes trained on the mare, and walked a little closer. His heart had hit the floor moments ago, and a tear welled in his eye — even though he knew full well how much more tired he would be should he let it fall.
“Hey…” he whispered to the mare.
She didn’t reply.
“Swallow, you were… a kind mare… I can tell you this much. I-I only knew you for a bit less than a day, but…” The words kept getting lost and turned around inside of Alloy’s throat. “I viewed you as a friend. You did all those kind things to keep everypony okay… You helped Sketch, and Miso. You helped me…”
Alloy couldn’t control it anymore, as a few tears fell down his face. “I’m so sorry this happened, Swallow. I could have done something, to keep you from dying like this.” He paused. There were only a few moments in his life where Alloy's words were eloquent. This was one where he thought carefully before every word left his shivering voice. “You will not be forgotten here. No matter who leaves this place. Sketch, Tenor, Gallant, Miso, or I… will make sure that the world knows what happened-”
“I didn’t know you two were close.”
Alloy, somehow, wasn’t startled. He had already had a hunch. Sketch’s dead voice protruded through the doorway like a depressive beacon. Alloy wiped a tear, and looked back. “We… weren’t. We really weren’t.”
Sketch’s eyes were in a deadlock, switching between Alloy and Swallow as if his life depended on it. “Isn’t that how all relationships are, then?”
Alloy cocked his eyebrow, and turned back to the young stallion curiously. With his dark coat, it was hardly noticeable that a few tears had fallen aside from his slightly reddened eyes. “What do you mean?”
Sketch flicked his ear, the one with the strange earring on it. “I had it all wrong— friendships, didn’t I? They were never as permanent as I wanted them to be. Too bad it took me this long to realize.” The stallion looked at the floor.
“Not particularly,” Alloy answered, carefully. “Friendships are as permanent as you want them to be. Despite the fact that Swallow has… passed, I’m sure that she is still your friend.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Sketch replied, quickly, as if he had already thought of that hours ago. “I always thought friendships were like pictures— because no matter how you look at it, it’s an adventure worth saving— It’s a story worth sharing. I forgot to take in the fact that it only takes a single match to send it up in flames. I have yet to understand what the match is. Maybe it’s the game, maybe it's something higher up, maybe it’s just this curse that keeps happiness from remaining out of my grasp.” Sketch looked back up at Alloy, and pierced his eyes in a way that made the scientist shudder. “She’s gone, but she isn’t from memory.”
Had I underestimated him? Alloy had no legitimate response, so he didn’t bother. He turned away, back to the mare who nopony would ever understand why she was called “Wide Eyes”.
“I brought something for her,” Sketch murmured, just as Alloy heard more shuffling behind him. Sketch, slowly, walked up to Swallow’s corpse with a straight face. With sheer precision, he placed a piece of paper in her hooves, right over her heart. Alloy couldn’t see it all that well, but it looked like some drawing. All he could make out was some kind of unfamiliar planet, and moon. “She really liked this one. She may be dead, but that doesn’t mean she can’t go somewhere new… on an adventure of her own.”
“That’s nice of you-”
“Hello…?”
Alloy went wide eyed, and a quick look at Sketch revealed the same. It was E. Alloy’s teeth clenched. E must have been watching them, yet chose to interrupt now?
“Hello, everyone! How is everyone doing? Good? No? Oh well, I don’t care! You’re a bit over nineteen hours into the game! Only ten minutes after!”
Alloy heard something break across the foyer. He assumed it was Tenor throwing something in response to E. He didn’t think about it too much.
“Not going to lie, I thought there’d be more casualties at this point in the game. Way to go, all you super special ponies proving me wrong. It’s rather late, at the moment. To be honest, dinner was an hour or so ago, but I decided to hold on — you know, because I’m sure you’d want to mourn the loss of… uhm, Swallow…”
Did… did he just hesitate?
Sketch looked at Alloy. He must have noticed too.
“Anyway, dinner is down the hallway, for anypony interested. Oh, and so is one other thing. I’ll let you all find your surprise on your own. Have fun, and stay awake.”
Click.
Tenor didn’t care anymore. She couldn’t let herself. They were going to die anyway.
The moment she heard the announcement from E, all she knew was that she finally had something to do to bide her time. After nineteen hours, and only one CD, Tenor was beginning to get bored of listening to her music. Despite the fact that it’s heavy metal, the monotony of it actually began to lull her. To be honest, if E hadn’t made that announcement, Tenor might have screwed herself over.
Now that she was startled, it gave her a bit more energy. That, and the reminder of what would happen should she actually pass out. It was more than enough motivation to get her ass up and to do something.
She didn’t bother to wait for the other ponies. There was no point in walking down the hallway with any of them. They all hated her anyway, not that she cared. She’s simply doing what she had to to stay alive.
Despite the fact that Miso was onto her. Perhaps it was a good thing that Tenor hadn’t seen the foreign mare in a matter of hours. The more time she stayed away for her, the better. Something about the Neighponese pony was still bothering her. It wasn’t how she knew not to fall asleep, it wasn’t the message on her blanket… it was that smile of hers. It pissed her off, like that mare was toying with her. From the way she started this game, to now, she had had it on her stupid little face. Everyone viewed it as an oblivious one, but Tenor wasn’t so sure anymore. Tenor had a little thought about the mare that she wasn’t able to get out of her head:
Could it be that Miso actually does understand their language? Just how foreign was she?
Tenor knew she wouldn’t like the answer should she ponder it too much — it would only make her angrier. All she knew was that she had no will to talk to Miso ever again.
Thoughts of the strange mare filled Tenor’s head until she was almost through the exhaustingly long hallway for what must have been the seventh time since the game started. “Finally…” she muttered. It’s almost as if somepony stretched it out since she’d last been in it.
Her hooves were getting heavier with every hour that passed. Maybe a little bit of food will help her out a bit, as long as she didn’t pull a Swallow.
Tenor was unsurprised upon entering the strange room.
In the middle of the room was a circular table, like the one at the beginning of the game. The only thing was that it was a pure white, and it was substantially smaller. It had just enough room to fit five ponies as well as a plate of food and a drink. In fact, it reminded Tenor of the tables back in the cafeteria of her old high school. Even though the table was shined to perfection, the chairs were metal. Each spots plate came accompanied with different meals: one with carrot bread, the other with a daisy sandwiches, and so forth.
Normally, Tenor would have just jumped on the seat with her favorite bread, but something else in the room stopped her.
It was the gigantic map in the back of the room.
It was massive, covering damn near the entirety of the wall. It was all of Equestia -- Vanhoover to Fillydelphia, all spread along this map. It was covered in colorful tacks, and strings that connected them, maybe a spider web of locations and points of interest. Tenor walked straight past the food, and closer to the tacks. Some of the tacks had pictures hanging underneath them, and Tenor was curious.
She wished she wasn’t. She wished that she had just waited out by the entrance to the hallway, instead of wandering in there alone. She had made a mistake. Her jaw hit the floor the moment she looked at all six of the pictures.
Every single picture was a picture of Swallow, taken before the game had begun.
And each picture contained one of the other ponies in the game.
Gallant didn’t know what to expect upon walking into the room. He had no idea what E could have waiting in store for them this time. All the surprises would be the death of him, eventually.
Gallant was at the front of the line of ponies heading up through the hallway, and was the first one to see both Tenor as well as the large map that covered the back wall. He did what he did best, and kept quiet.
The remaining four ponies followed his example, and stared at the map silently, as if they were having conversations with it in their heads.
Alloy was the very first pony to speak, after what must have been a good five minutes of just nothing. “So it’s Swallow. She’s behind this game.”
Sketch didn’t take his eyes off of the map, staring at the pictures of Swallow as if they were the last remaining shred of her he had left. Aside from her body, that is. “No. She couldn’t have been.”
“Swallow said she was a drifter, right?” Tenor piped, staring at one picture in particular. “This must have been her route… for the past few years. Look, it even comes with dates.” Gallant didn’t need to double check to see the bags underneath Tenor’s eyes. He stifled a laugh.
“So she was the link,” said Alloy, with a sigh. “She’s the one thing that binds us all together. Each picture here was taken when we were all linked with her in our lives. Look,” Alloy reached past Sketch’s small frame, and pointed to the tack on Manehatten. It was a odd picture, compared to the rest of them. Most pictures were taken from a distance, with Swallow most likely not even realizing that the camera was there, except for this one and one other. Swallow was in the bathroom, taking a picture of herself in the mirror. It was an innocent picture, but Gallant could tell Alloy was onto something.
“So what? She took a selfie,” Tenor scoffed, rolling her eyes. Alloy paid her no mind.
“No… on the desk. That’s a prescription for Dihalprozide. It’s a medication… for night terrors.” Night terrors? Gallant pondered. Excessively frightening, recurring nightmares? The letters on the bottle were too tiny to read, but in the corner of the photo was a sloppy, chaotic enlargement of the name of the medication, and a date. “I… A bunch of my colleagues created that medication… including me. I was the one who put the finishing touches on it. It’s perfectly safe in every way… This picture was taken before the drug released, though.”
Tenor sneered. Her blue eyes grew cold once again. “So what does that mean? You made the medicine that she used to take?”
Alloy nodded. “Not only that, but she got one of the first few prescriptions released for it. She was one of the test subjects. Why the number one?” Alloy said suddenly. At first Gallant was confused. So, Alloy is in the game because she took medicines that Alloy helped to create? Why did that deserve death — to be put in this game from Hell?
Alloy was correct, however, there was a number one in the corner of the picture. Gallant didn’t even think about it. “It’s because it’s the first picture. This is a timeline. What does it lead to?”
“Mine,” Sketch spat. Gallant followed the string from Manehatten to Canterlot, and immediately understood. It was Swallow, in some kind of gymnasium. The pony who took the picture must have been extremely stealthy to get a picture that clear, yet so close to the mare that they were within spitting distance. She was standing at a booth, pointing at a poster on the wall. There were bits on the table.
“That’s… that’s my school. That’s our art showcase. We have one every single year. Every student in the art club make drawings, paintings, or sketches to show to the other students in the school. I remember it… that one. I was sick that day,” Sketch’s bottom lip started to tremble, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to guess what was going to happen next. Gallant tried to ignore the crying as the kid spoke.
“So my art teacher offered to watch my booth. I had what must have been a hundred pictures… the biggest booth. The next day after the showcase, I realize that one of my paintings disappeared. I looked all over. My art teacher said she never even saw it, and that I must have misplaced it. Now I know what happened… she sold it to Swallow and pocketed the money. I figured that was what happened, but I had no proof. I got detention for trying to accuse my teacher.”
Nopony said anything. Gallant was confused, but kept it to himself. Sketch was in the game for selling a painting to her? That’s ridiculous. However, Gallant had nothing else to go on. “So, it goes from Swallow getting Alloy’s medicine, to her buying a poster from Sketch. Then…”
Gallant peered ahead. The next picture was of Miso— number three. It was a simple picture, Swallow in front of some kind of foreign statue that Gallant hadn’t seen before with that meek smile on her face. From the angle of the picture, Gallant could tell that she was reading some kind of writing below it. Swallow was standing there, right next to Miso.
A little too close.
Gallant turned to Miso, who was standing way behind everypony else quietly. They locked eyes for the briefest of moments.
“It says ‘Directions’ underneath Miso’s picture,” Alloy speculated. “Okay, so Miso gave Swallow directions at some point in time. That’s… a minute detail…”
“But so far Miso is the only one who actually talked to Swallow before. Why didn’t she say anything?” Tenor shouted, pointing a hoof at the mare in question. Gallant kept himself from evening bothering.
“Because she can’t speak our language,” Alloy replied, with a sigh.
“No, look!” Tenor physically tapped the spot where the picture and tack were placed, as if her very life depended on it. “It’s in Baltimare! She’s not foreign! That place has Neighponese speakers sure, but still most ponies there are bilingual. What if she’s lying?”
Gallant popped an eyebrow, and took another look at the mare, who was staring at Tenor oddly. Maybe I will have to pay more attention to that mare.
Alloy was impatient, not taking his eyes off the raw information in front of him. “We’ll worry about it later. Let’s go back to the map. Let’s see, after Miso…”
Number Four, Tenor.
“It’s clear cut,” Tenor growled. Gallant mentally applauded Alloy just for pissing her off a little further. “That was a band I had in the past, called Chocolyte. It was just a bunch of loser kids from Fillypelphia. They seemed cool at first, but they turned out to be a bunch of douchebags who were only in it to pick up mares,” Tenor explained. Her horn was lit, tugging at her drumsticks, yet keeping them tied. “That was a really important gig. There was a talent scout. I gave it my all there, but the vocalist forgot his lines.” She sighed. “Stupid, stupid.”
Gallant didn’t take his eyes off of Swallow in Tenor's picture. She was at the very front of the room, just in front of the guitarist on top of the stage. She’s so close, it’s no wonder how Tenor didn’t see her from the back of the stage on her drum set.
Alloy was one step ahead of everypony. “The fifth picture’s Buttermilk. See? That’s him in the back, cooking.”
He was correct. The picture was taken a literal two seats away from the mare, who was gorging herself on some sandwich that Gallant wasn’t bothered to try and identify. The words underneath the photo said “The beginning of her problem.”
“That must be Buttermilk’s restaurant. That’s his specialty grilled cheese sandwich right there,” Sketch squeaked. There was a pamphlet next to Swallow, but it was impossible to identify it. Whoever took the picture must not have even bothered.
“That makes no sense,” Gallant finally spoke, unable to contain the one major question everyone had been thinking of. “Sketch sold her a picture, Tenor performed in front of her, Miso gave her directions, Buttermilk made her a damn sandwich. They’re such tiny interactions. How does this warrant a game like this?” Gallant did his best to avoid saying the word “petty”.
Alloy wasn’t listening. Nopony was. All Alloy had to do was point. It was a picture that was connected to VanHoover, all the way in the Northwestern corner of the map. It was a picture of Swallow, yet again. Nothing about it seemed too off. She was standing, side by side with a rather familiar pony, smiling with a forearm around the mare. Maybe it was some kind of livingroom? Gallant would never know.
What Gallant did know, after about five seconds, was that the pony standing next to the mare was, indeed, somepony he knew.
It was Marvel, and for the first time in a very, very long time, Gallant looked at Marvel’s smile and was finally reacquainted with fear.