Sunset ate a few more meals. She paced back and forth in her tiny cell. She tried exercising to pass the time, but then she realized that would only make her stink even more, prompting her to quickly stop. They had left her with a tiny bar of soap, but somehow she didn’t think they would be replacing it before they thought she needed it.
With nothing better to do she spent more and more of her time simply laying there on her back, staring up at the blank ceiling. Being alone with her thoughts had initially been a blessing, giving her time to consider the voice and the implications that arose from it. Now she wanted nothing more then company, or some way she could block out the recursive thoughts which plagued her.
There was little she could gain from their constant looping and soon she couldn't even take solace in not being tortured. Simply not being able to speak to another living soul was worse then anything she could come up with. It only became worse the longer she was in there, as her sleep schedule became erratic and her concept of time was starting to slip.
As time passed, her desperation grew, and the cloying thoughts became increasingly hard to ignore. The faces of the humans she had only glanced at briefly during the fight in the theatre returned nearly every night. It was like someone had taken their picture and plastered it to the inside of her eyelids, as she could see them every time she tried to go to sleep.
Anytime she heard a noise from outside her cell door, some part of her hoped a rescue had finally arrived. Or if not that, even Foxtrot coming for another pointless interview would at least break up the endless monotony.
The clang she hoped was the dropping of a key turned out to be a fallen peice of cutlery. The scream of a fellow prisoner was not one of victory, but rather someone being brutalized for unknown reasons. Every flicker of the lights outside her cell made her hope for rescue which she felt was becoming increasingly unlikely.
Sunset couldn’t have said how long had gone by before she heard something from a few hallways over. At first it was just distant shouting, but then came the distinct crack of gunfire, several times in quick succession. Boots pounded on the concrete, and the shouts became cries of pain. Then, silence.
Sunset cautiously leaned against the door to her cell, conscious on some level that she might very well be coming closer to danger. Her sense of self-preservation had thoroughly atrophied during her time in solitary, along with so much else. So she peered intently out the thin slats, hungry to see anyone or anything other than the four blank walls she’s gotten so used to.
She couldn’t see the end of the hall, but what she could make out was the distinct click of the security door, and the creak of metal opening. Then a single set of footsteps, moving towards her.
It probably wasn't an escape attempt, Sunset realized. There’s no way the girls would send just one of them to come get me. Not only that, but whoever was coming wasn’t in a terrible rush. Sunset thought.
Sunset backed away suddenly, having suddenly realized what it had to be. One of the others had to have tried to escape and now Foxtrot was coming to tell her that they’d been forced to shoot them. He would probably tell Sunset that it was her fault for not sharing what she knew as well.
She slumped sideways in her cot, no longer wanting to talk to anyone. Maybe if she tried hard enough, she would just disappear.
The footsteps came to an abrupt halt. Sunset didn’t open her eyes, but she could feel someone’s attention on her. Finally they spoke, and to Sunset Shimmer’s surprise, it wasn’t agent Foxtrot.
“Sunset Shimmer, please tell me they haven’t starved you by mistake. That would be even worse hospitality than Area seven usually extends to its prisoners,” exclaimed the voice in a calm tone.
Sunset blinked, sat up and glanced through the thin slats of her cell door. A man stood outside, a few fresh blood stains glittering on his otherwise immaculate suit. His skin was pale, his hair a mix of black and gold in a simple, modern cut. So far as Sunset could tell, he wore no identification, and carried no obvious weapons.
“You don’t sound like you work here,” Sunset remarked. He sounds familiar, but I can't place where I know him from.
“Astute,” he noted. “Through one convoluted chain of linked monetary interests and lobbying organizations, you might say Area 7 works for me. Its new leadership seems to have forgotten this fact. In fact they were possessed with strange notions of independence that need to be forcibly excised. Your tormentors are being… reassigned, let’s say. Now that I have reasserted control, your time in this cell has come to an end.”
She expected the sound of a keycard being swiped—instead, the air outside glowed suddenly white hot. She covered her eyes with the back of one arm as a wave of magic outside her cell shook the earth around her.
She squealed in shock and fear, but she needn’t have worried for nothing attacked her, and the cell didn’t cave in. After a few seconds she opened her eyes again, just as the heavy cell door landed with a flat thump, melted into bubbling metal.
The man’s eyes faded from white to a soft violet Sunset had seen somewhere before, though she couldn’t say where. He adjusted his tie, then extended a hand.
“Sunset Shimmer, my name is Perfect Tempo. I hope you’ll indulge my company while we rescue your friends?” he offered.
“I…” Sunset murmured before taking his gloved hand and allowing him to pull her from the cell. “That sounds great.”