//------------------------------//
// Taken 
// Story: Making Progress 
// by Filler 
//------------------------------//

After hours of breathing the rancid air that could only be left by rotten potatoes, Prince Blueblood finally had the old burlap sack lifted from over his head. Much to his chagrin, however, his horn was still laced with countermagic and his hooves were still tied together like a pig’s.

He peered around the room—no, the dungeon he was now in. It certainly felt like a dungeon. It had no windows, the air was dank and stagnant, the walls were made of uncut cobblestone. It wouldn’t have surprised him to learn that hundreds of spiders made their homes in the crevices of this place. There was one door, made of what had to be solid steel, at the other end of the room. At its top was a small slot, and when he tried to peer through it, it slid shut. There was no handle. The room-dungeon had one light, a lamp, shining in his face, and blindingly so.

“Untie me at once!” he shouted. Or tried to shout, as he also had his mouth taped shut, so it came out as “Mmph mmph mm-mph!”

And with that, a glow of magic surrounded the tape and tore it off, causing the prince to let loose a colorful stream of expletives.

The standard thoughts that one thought after being kidnapped went through his head. First, who grabbed him? The last thing he remembered was riding his aunt’s new chariot back to the castle, crashing it somewhere, stumbling about the eastern quarter drunk out of his mind, and emptying the contents of his stomach into some unlucky sod’s bird bath. Second, why was he grabbed? The answer to that, of course, depended on the answer to the first.

“Who are you?!” he demanded.

But there came no answer from the door. He shouted again, but the door remained silent as the stone in the walls. He pondered who it could have been. The last two times he was kidnapped, it was for ransom, but he was released after the kidnappers learned that nopony at the castle was willing to pay for his return. It couldn’t be for ransom. An old flame, perhaps? He didn’t leave many of them on good terms.

“Twinkleshine? Is that you? Moonbeam? Poppy Dreams?”

No, it couldn’t have been them. If those three were willing to kidnap him, they’d be willing to kill him. That also ruled out about nine others.

He hummed pensively. “Heartlace? Marigold? I’m pretty sure you were the ones I didn’t infect.” He hummed again, then bit his lips.

“Are you... Pierce?”

Silence. Perhaps not.

“Cloverleaf, if it’s you, I’ll pay all those tabs. I’ll pay! My aunt’s the herself-damned princess; you know that! I swear I’ll pay!”

More silence.

He squirmed around on the ground, his hooves still tied, the light still in his face. He had no idea who was behind that door. Whoever it was—he knew this much—had something against him. Something personal.

And until he found out who it was or whoever it was was satisfied, he would keep shouting blind apologies into the emptiness.


*


Atop the observation tower, Princess Luna stepped away from the scrying orb. Princess Celestia and her new intelligence force kept watching.

“Surely,” said Luna, looking down at the royal dungeon, “there must be a better—or at least, a more ethical way to test new interrogation techniques.”

“Perhaps,” replied Celestia, “but I find demonstration and hands-on experience to be as enlightening as it is rewarding for both myself and my students. Now keep listening; I want to know what he did to my new chariot.”