//------------------------------//
// Chapter Four 
// Story: Kill The Lights 
// by MemoryLane 
//------------------------------//

        Gallant was a high ranking officer. He stood for law, order, and discipline. Unfortunately, looking for windows to climb out of in a pathetic attempt for a daring escape wasn’t completely beneath him yet.

        Gallant’s mind was eerily at ease. It was a deserted wasteland that was void of fear, and any sort of genuine panic. He knew and was taught better. In fact, the definition of trepidation is “a feeling of fear or agitation about something that may happen”. Gallant was the type of stallion who removed the fear of unknown entirely, thus successfully preventing himself from experiencing the type of panic that the others were undergoing.

        That was why Gallant was a natural born leader. At least, that’s what those around him had always said. His family, what little friends he had left who didn’t succumb to illness or a late demise, even those who liked to give Gallant orders some time ago. His mind was constantly in the right place. He knew what to say, to do, what demands to give. He would give a command to his troops, and stand on the front line right along with them. At least, he would should the time call for it. For now, he resorted to practicing drills and maneuvers.

        Being thrown into a game that consists of everything that is unknown is daunting, and even he could figure that out. He could feel a slight nervousness dwelling inside of him. He couldn’t stand for it. He threw his fear into an imaginary bottle, and tossed it far away. He took joy in watching that very same bottle shatter as it collided with a brick wall, never to be reassembled or disturbed again. 

        He did it horrendously often, but he never bothered to care. Now was also a terrible time. After being thrown in some kind of mansion with six others with no way out, as well as being threatened with an untimely death? It’s safe to admit his emotions were so far down on his list of priorities that maybe Miso’s family could find it on the other side of the planet.

        “See anything?” called a voice from the other side of the pillared room. Any normal stallion who had been lost in thought as much as Gallant would have jumped. He didn’t move a single muscle.

        “No,” Gallant muttered lowly under his breath. Alloy sighed, and for a moment Gallant was somewhat surprised that the other stallion actually heard him. 

        The last hour had been wasted, and it was very much obvious as soon as they passed the ten minute mark. Alloy and Gallant continued, but it’s unsure whether it’s from hopeless optimism, or sheer unacceptance. They had inspected the door, each and every one of the seven pillars, and even the hallway for something that could indicate a way out of this dreaded game. No luck.

        “I think we should stop, Gallant.” Alloy uttered a heaving sigh that was impressively long and wearisome. “It’s been a while. If we haven’t found anything by now, then… I think it’s safe to say there’s no way out.”

        Gallant lifted his head in a manner that signified pride and dignity. His eyes were telling a much different story, one full of unrestricted torment. No need for fear. There can only be acceptance at this point. Lying to oneself will do more harm than good, he told himself. “Perhaps you’re right,” he muttered. Alloy simply gave him his four-eyed stare, as if he was expecting something more. Gallant wanted to let the silence play out, but a nagging question stopped that wish cold. “What about that other room? The one connected to this one? Or even everypony’s rooms themselves?”

        Alloy lifted a brow, as if Gallant was a clown tripping over a banana peel. “I don’t think so. We’ve been locked in the rooms for a while. If there was an exit, somepony would have noticed.” Alloy glanced down at the floor, sending his glasses running down his face. He quickly pushed them back up. “I really don’t think there’s a way out of here…”

Alloy looked back up at Gallant like he expected the older stallion to start wailing. Gallant remained undeterred. He couldn’t help but notice the worry in Alloy’s sky colored eyes, and his mouth curl into a frown. 

        Gallant respected the stallion for multiple reasons. Alloy seemed smart and clear-minded, something he looked for in potential soldiers. He also appreciated the way the young lad talked some sense into that rude mare, Tenor. That whole situation almost excited him. Almost. Alloy nearly did a double take when he saw Gallant’s lips grow into a small smirk. “You know, if you were in my bootcamp I’d order you thirty push-ups for frowning like that.” He dramatically paused, letting the words sink in. “You’re very pessimistic, city boy.”

        Alloy’s ear twitched. “Excuse me?”

        “You need to calm down. You’re becoming upset and worried,” Gallant observed. He flicked his short tail in amusement. 

        “Of course!” Alloy exclaimed. Gallant was sure Alloy had intended to sound frustrated, but he noticed the stallion holding back an exasperated grin. “No one’s calm. You think everyone should be happy and chipper right now?”

        “No. I’m thinking that everyone should remain indifferent.” Gallant’s smile fell. Alloy could most certainly see the subtle hardship underneath his features. He gulped regrettably.  “We’re not going to accomplish anything by panicking.”

        “Indifferent? That may be easy to you, but not so much everypony else.” Gallant didn’t at all appreciate the way Alloy phrased that sentence. He hid his suspicions well. “We need a plan, Gallant. We should stop and think-”

        Gallant’s fuse was burning. Plan? He’s the master of plans. A stallion of drills, preparation and organization. His plans contribute to the safety of Equestria. At least, that was what his own mind told him. Telling a Co-Flight Coordinator that he doesn’t have a plan is like telling a doctor that he doesn’t have the knowledge to properly treat a patient.

        His one day off work, and even still he had to bark orders. This thought itself almost caused his eye to quiver.

        “There is no plan, and there will not be one.” Gallant sighed again, and turned towards the hallway. “We are at the complete mercy of this game. Since we have confirmed that there is absolutely no way out of here, then we’ll have to make do with what we have.” Gallant paused. “Sometimes the best course of action is inaction.”

        Alloy opened his mouth, but closed it quickly. “I...I guess that makes sense. But it’s still not at all helpful. So you’re telling us to just lie down and let this toxin kill us?” Alloy’s eyes were watering, and Gallant could easily see a short lifetime of accomplishment in them. The abundant desire for longevity had never been so apparent. Gallant was in the exact same boat. Unfortunately, it caused him to falter.

        “No! We wait it out. We light up the future as much as we can, like a cave. We don’t know what’s in store, and until we do, we wait. You don’t run into a war without figuring out the other side's intentions.” Alloy was already nodding by the time Gallant was half done speaking. Gallant wasn’t entirely sure if Alloy understood, or if he wanted the older stallion to stop talking already. “You’re a smart stallion, Alloy. I’m sure you completely understand.”

        Alloy said nothing. He simply stared, fearfully.

        “Fine, then. As soon as you come up with a game plan, let me know. Maybe we can collaborate on something that doesn’t end up getting us killed in the end.” Alloy flinched. Gallant didn’t understand why. It wasn’t until he noticed Alloy’s eyes sparkle that he felt a good-natured chuckle well up inside of him.

        “You can’t just say that…”

        “What do you mean?”

        Alloy turned his head towards the hallway, where the other contenders were most likely losing their minds with panic. At least, that’s what Alloy presumed. “It’s not a good idea to go back to the group and say what you just said. If they heard that, it’d only make the situation worse.”

        Gallant pondered this. “Lying won’t do any good either, Alloy,” he said a few seconds later.

        “I’m not saying we lie. I’m just saying, don’t go back and make this worse. I doubt they actually expected us to find something anyways,” Alloy explained. “I mean… would E really be that careless and simple? This is supposed to be a sick game to him. Let’s just go back and say we had no luck. Nothing more, nothing less.”

        Gallant almost laughed. Instead, his lips curled into a crooked, old pony’s smile. “You do that, city boy. What those ponies need to realize is that whatever happens, happens. But, if you want to kiss their butts and appease them, go ahead.”

        Alloy’s heart jumped as it began to beat a million times harder. He narrowed his eyes. Surprisingly, Gallant caught on. “You and I have something in common. We’re thinkers. A trait that’s good in the field of battle, or behind a beaker of corrosive chemicals. I don’t know what the Hell it is you do.” Gallant only exclaimed this after carefully taking note of Alloy’s cutie mark, which was--unsurprisingly--a beaker filled with some kind of green liquid.

        Alloy didn’t see where he was going with this. Gallant could tell. His fuming manner had completely shifted into one of utmost confusion. Gallant held out his hoof towards Alloy for the second time in the last few hours. “If we work together, our minds like one, maybe we can make something of this.”

        Alloy’s mouth was open, but he finally managed to speak. He stuttered a bit. “W-What do you think this is? Some kind of game show? Granted, we do need to work together, but not just us two. We need the other five.”

        Gallant shrugged. “We have the same mind. We can keep each other awake, as well as make key decisions when need be. Do you really think that the others will stay aware when hours, days, start to go by? Do you think ponies like Tenor and Sketch would really help us at all? They can’t think like we do. I’m not trying to make some bullshit alliance with you. No. This is reality, not a reality show. I just need you to aid me, and in return I’ll give the same to you. No one can do this alone.” Gallant stopped suddenly for a brief moment, as if he realized something. “You can be my cadet.” He winked, playfully.

        Alloy noticed that Gallant’s hoof was still outstretched. Gallant was not a mind-reader, but he was pretty sure Alloy was very hesitant when he shook his hoof.





        Never, ever, had Tenor been so irritated in her entire life. And to think, her timer only read three hours, six minutes, and 49 seconds. That’s a record.

        Waking up in a horrible situation such as this one was definitely not on her to do list. She didn’t know what to think of it, really. All she felt welling up inside of her chest was the increasingly abundant, confident feeling that was almost always there, ever since she was a child. Sure, every few minutes or so she’d think about her impending death. Truthfully, this was the first time she actually thought about her dying this much. She never really envisioned it happening, or how, even. She had mainly spent her life living as if she was invincible. So far, there had been almost no consequences.

        But what if she did die? What if she died a nobody? That was her worst fear. This was exactly what haunted her mind. Alloy had unknowingly hit the mark earlier, but there was no way that Tenor would ever admit it. Especially considering the way he talked to her earlier. There was no way she was going to let that go. She didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

        Anyway, she’s stuck in a mansion, with absolutely no way out. That was obvious. What could she do in here? How will the world know that, on this day, there was a mare by the name of Tenor that deserved to be known? That deserved to have other ponies acknowledge her existence. She was but a speck of dust in the nation of Equestria, when compared to the rest of the population. But she was so much more. And she wanted other ponies to know this.

        But, her time in winding down. She could die at any minute. And when she did, nopony would have any idea of who she was, or how she even died. So this is why, upon hearing E’s rules for the game, that she came up with a single resolve:

        She must win. She simply cannot die. 

        She was a relatively young mare, only two years older than Sketch. They said the good always die young. But she wasn’t good. No, not at all.

        Upon ditching Alloy and Gallant as they inspected the hallway, and the strange pillared room, she elusively dipped out of view from Buttermilk and Sketch. She didn’t care about any of them anyways. She figured that if she didn’t keep herself away from the others, that something bad would happen. She simply didn’t believe who they were. She didn’t believe that Sketch was so dumb as to slip on his own puddle. Surely, Swallow wasn’t as innocent as she seemed. There was absolutely no way that the older pony, whose name she had already forgotten, was some sort of army general. Miso, however… Tenor had no idea.

        She’ll have to do this alone.

        So now, here she lay, in her room. She had found her radio in her dresser, as well as her bright orange pair of headphones. She lied on her belly on her bed, bobbing her head to the sound of pounding drums, the squeals of an electric guitar, and incoherent screaming of the female singer. In short, she had completely turned herself out of the world.

        Her music gave her faith. Her music offered her opportunity, and love. She wanted to be a rock star. That was the gist of it. After all, she was the vocalist and drummer for her own band. In her mind, she saw herself in magazines, and television interviews. In reality, her band only played meager gigs in bars. No one really applauded either. Metal really wasn’t all that popular of music anymore. In fact, it was generally hated by the Equestrian public and quoted as being “corruptive to the nation’s youth” by an older mare one night at a gig in some park after nightfall.

        Her band mates must have been worried sick, by now. She was pretty sure she had a show today, actually. This thought only infuriated her more.

        She took her drumsticks out of her mane, twisting her mane around until they inevitably became undone, and began to skillfully recreate the beat from the current song that was playing. She wished that E wouldn’t have been such a loser, and had remembered to at least supply her with her drumset. She didn’t care that it probably wouldn’t have fit in the dresser anyways. She wanted it, now.

        She closed her eyes and played. But it was only a few minutes later when she heard an extra beat of the drum in the song, one that she couldn’t place. Strange, I’ve heard this song millions of times before. Why does it sound so different?

        It was almost like a dull thumping sound. Too low for a snare, too high for a kick. Also, it didn’t even match the beat of the rest of the song. It was also getting louder. Tenor was completely oblivious to the fact that Swallow was standing in her doorway. She had excused formalities, and had allowed herself in anyways seeing as Tenor wasn’t opening up the door on her own. Her eyebrow raised itself upon realizing why.

        “Hey!” Swallow shouted. She didn’t want to yell too loud, for some reason that she didn’t quite know herself.

        Tenor continued to tap her drumsticks on her pillow. Every time one of the sticks made a connection, a muffled “PUFF” noise could be heard. Swallow bit the inside of her mouth and thought.

        “Tenor! Hello!” she shouted again. Still, nothing. Tenor was facing away from the door, so she had no idea that Swallow was steadily making her way closer to her. She poked Tenor’s side. Tenor jumped, and accidently threw her drumsticks on the floor. Her headphones fell from her head, but luckily they stayed on the bed.

        As soon as Tenor’s eyes met Swallow’s, the latter wished that she had minded her own business. “What?!” Tenor hollered. “What the Hell is so important that you have to sneak up on me in my own freaking room!” Tenor grit her teeth. She did not enjoy being made a fool of. So what if nopony else saw?

        Swallow gulped. “Didn’t you hear the announcement?”

        Tenor’s angry face lessened. “What announcement?”

        “Five minutes after Gallant and Alloy returned, E made another announcement.” Swallow said. There was a brief exchange of awkward stares, before Tenor became impatient.

        “Well? Spill it! What’d he say?” she asked. In an effort to keep her hooves busy, she subconsciously reached down and grabbed her drumsticks on the floor. Normally, she’d be downright furious over dropping them. However, what E had to say was just a little more important. She quickly tied them back in her mane.

        “He said ‘meal time’, and that we all needed to walk down that hallway,” she said. Swallow was already inching her way out of the door. Tenor wasn’t sure if what she heard was the music blaring out of her headphones a foot away, or Swallow’s stomach growling from five feet.

        “Ugh.” Tenor groaned. “This should be good… let’s get this over with. E’s got such a nice place. I bet he’s got a buffet down there.” Tenor knew for sure that there was nothing down that hallway anyways. However, she was having fun toying with Swallow’s empty gut. What’s the harm in playing along? The look on her face when all she sees is some stupid pillars would’ve been priceless.

        With a small leap, she followed Swallow out the door, who was practically jogging. Tenor let out a small groan upon seeing the five other faces, each of whom wanted to make her vomit harder than the last. They were standing in a circle, similar to the manner of the start of the game when they all first exited their rooms. Tenor was reminded of a kindergarten classroom, with a bunch of little kids who didn’t know squat. She imagined she was a teacher, wearing a dress colored in red apples and lots of pretty makeup. Alright kiddies, it’s story time!

        She wished she hadn’t had thought that.

        “About time.” Buttermilk’s husky voice chirped in, moments after Tenor had emerged from her room. She was just barely reaching the circle. “We thought ya may have gotten lost.”
        
        “Shut up,” Tenor said automatically. Buttermilk’s wisecracks were really getting on her nerves. Weirdly enough, it didn’t bother her as much as she would have liked . She sighed silently. “Now what’s the deal?”

        “E made an announcement.” Sketch said. “Odd how you didn’t hear it…” His face twisted into a smug grin, obviously hinting to when Tenor barked at him for missing E’s and monologue earlier. Tenor wasn’t an idiot, unlike him. Tenor uttered a low, intimidating growl., strangely similar to that of a wild dog. Sketch’s smile disappeared immediately, and he took a timid step closer to Buttermilk, who only shook his head with annoyance.

        “Can we just get going? I’m starving…” Swallow moaned. She put a hoof on her aching tummy, again. Tenor rolled her eyes. If Swallow insisted on mentioning her hunger every ten minutes, her and Tenor were going to have a problem. Fortunately, Swallow was the only pony among them that had yet to piss her off, save for Miso, so that meant Tenor was going to have to hold her attitude back around them.

        “Are you sure about this?” Alloy mumbled, looking at the older stallion who stood next to him. “Gallant and I inspected that room for more than an hour. There’s nothing in there.”  Tenor felt stupid after forgetting Gallant’s equally stupid name. The feeling subsided quickly.

        “Well, he told us to go, so let’s go. I’m getting bored. You interrupted ‘Tenor-Time’ for this, not me.” With this, Tenor barged her way through the middle of the circle, walking diagonally from where she was standing, towards the small hallway. She walked directly passed Sketch, and it took all of her willpower not to hipcheck him. Tenor soon heard hoofsteps right behind her, followed by the light panting of Swallow.

        The two of them heard a quiet argument between Alloy and Gallant, but it ended within moments by Gallant’s incessant shushing. 

        For some reason, her heart skipped a beat.





        Swallow’s black hole of a stomach was really starting to irritate her.

        Only a few hours into the game, and she felt as if death was looming over her shoulder. Not from sleepiness. Nah. In fact, she felt more awake than ever. It was starvation that worried her more. She hadn’t had a bite to eat since the game began. Normally, she’d have some sort of large meal once every two hours. Right now, her hungriness was devastatingly effective on her train of thought.

        But then, from a literal nowhere, E called with a blessing. “It is now 9 o’clock AM,” he said with what she assumed was a kind smile. Of course, she was terrified of dying, as well as E himself and anything he had to say. This time, his announcement actually made her calm down a little bit.“Meal time! Please make your way down the hallway for breakfast. So far so good, eh? You all are doing so great so far! I’m so proud of you.”

        She was still horrified.

        Though, strangely enough, she found herself at the front of the line of ponies making their way down that strange hallway. This was her first time investigating anything further than the octagonal room, and her room itself. She wasn’t sure if her mind, or her body was causing her to walk at the front of the line, either way.

        She stayed absolutely silent as she trudged on. She didn’t say a word. A few ponies chatted behind her, such as Gallant and Alloy in the back of the line, and Buttermilk and Sketch right behind her. Actually, Sketch was doing all the talking. He was blathering on about how the duo reminded him of some ponies he once saw on TV, who fought crime as a team. He kept emphasizing the part that this team were “best friends”. Buttermilk didn’t appear to be listening, considering that he wasn’t replying.

        Swallow wasn’t much for talking, nor did she have any problem with Sketch. But she simply did not want to listen to anymore.

        The hallway opened up to a small room. 
        
        The room, which had previously been painted white(although Swallow and Miso had no idea of this), was now a sky blue. The walls consisted of white, fluffy clouds, and a single, smiling sun that was plastered in the northeast corner of the room. There was green painted grass towards the bottom of the walls, and a few colored flowers scattered throughout. It was painted similarly to that of what one would find in an elementary school lunchroom. However, the painting technique was much more refined, as if the teacher was the one who made the art, and not the children.

        In the middle of the room was a rectangular table. It was a dark lavender, in contrast to the bright and shining colors on the walls. There were seven chairs scattered around. Two chairs on one longer side, one chair on the short. Three chairs on the other longer side, and one across from the other shorter side.

        There were white plates and glasses neatly placed in front of each table. Swallow was the first one to snap out of her stupor. “Morning breakfast!” she exclaimed. This was the loudest she’d spoked in a while. “Hooray!” She rushed over to the table.

        Meanwhile, the other six were absolutely stunned. Everypony’s mouth, excluding Miso, was nearly on the floor. They were struck absolutely dumb. Alloy was the first to speak after at least five seconds of near silence. “N-no way!” he almost shouted. His glasses had slid down his face, just balancing on the end of his muzzle. 

        “Where are the pillars? They were right here!” Tenor said. She threw a hoof where the pillars were last located a little while ago, in the middle of the room where the table now sat. She glared angrily at Alloy and Gallant, the latter appearing indifferent to the situation entirely. He just stared calmly at the table a few meters away. “You two were in here for what, an hour and a half? And you do this!?”

        Sketch’s ears were twitching like crazy. His head humorously snapped in different directions, as if he was trying to look at the entire room at once, including the ceiling and floor. “This is amazing! The painting technique is like that of a feigned amateur!” he suddenly turned to the ground, sadly. “Why wasn’t I asked to help? This is so good! But I know it could’ve been better if I helped!”

        Sketch was ignored, yet again. Alloy took a step back. “What are you accusing? That Gallant and I got bored and started painting the walls? With what paint? We didn’t do this!” Gallant said absolutely nothing. He looked like he was lost in thought.

        “So what then? The room just randomly decided to shift? The room wasn’t nearly this small when we came in here earlier!” replied Tenor. Luckily, she didn’t appear to be mad. That was a disaster that everyone was glad to avoid. It was apparent that Tenor was not amused by being confused, and she was trying not to let her befuddlement turn into fury.

        “I have no idea! We searched this room top to bottom and found absolutely nothing. We’re just as confused as you are. Maybe this was E’s doing.” Alloy spoke his words carefully, but sloppily. He kept stuttering at the wrong moments. Tenor simply rolled her eyes.

        “Ya right,” Buttermilk butted in, rudely. “It’d be much easier for two ponies to pull this kind of stunt than one. Besides, any job is easier when you have a unicorn and a pegasus-”

        “Knock it off!” Gallant shouted. Buttermilk stopped instantly. “We didn’t do this. When we left the room was white, and had seven pillars. This probably is E’s doing. It’s not that big of a deal.”

        Tenor sighed. Buttermilk’s eyes narrowed in Gallant’s direction. Sketch chose this very moment as the best time to chirp in. “It’s so pretty in here!” he exclaimed loudly. “So many colors! I was getting so sick of all the white.” 

        “Yes… ‘pretty’...” Gallant repeated, after another slightly awkward pause. Nopony had noticed Miso staring curiously at the walls, holding a hoof to her chin. For the most part, everypony had given up trying to communicate with her. 

        Swallow had not been paying attention to their conversation. She was too disappointed to inquire as to what they were talking about. “You have got to be kidding me!” The rest of the group turned towards the feeble voice. Swallow was not one for attention, but this time she felt as if she needed to be heard. A few ponies such as Sketch, Buttermilk and Tenor wandered over. The other three stayed put. 

        Water was beginning to fill Swallow’s eternally wide eyes. “This is it? There’s no more?” she was sobbing, but she refused to let the tears fall. She instead turned her gaze back to the ground. Of course, the mare was referring to the small plate stationed at every seat.

        There was nothing but a grapefruit, and a small glass of orange juice. It was only half full. This was E’s “breakfast”. Swallow viewed this as nothing more than another sick joke. She could envision E--or what she imagined E to look like--laughing like a crazy pony at how Swallow had gotten her hopes up like that, and have them shattered in moments. 

        “But… but I’m so hungry. There has to be more somewhere…” Swallow sighed. Tenor blew a hot breath of air from her nostrils, and stomped back towards Alloy, Gallant, and Miso. Sketch simply turned to Buttermilk, who shrugged his shoulders. The sunny colored stallion wandered to the other side of the table consisting of two chairs, and took a seat. Swallow’s head hurt.

        She was watching him intently, and little to her knowledge, every other pony in the room had stopped what they were doing in order to watch the curious pony stare at the grapefruit and glass of orange juice in front of him. “Buttermilk, are you sure about this? What if E poisoned them or something?” Sketch called.

        “Pffft, if he wanted to kill me, he’d just wait for me to fall asleep.” Buttermilk, without warning, picked up the grapefruit and brought it to his mouth. His bite was so large, he ate almost half of it right then and there. As Buttermilk chewed and swallowed, the rest of the six watched. Swallow was merely watching in hunger, but she was positive that the others were gazing for a much different reason.

        “It’s safe.” Buttermilk replied. The stallion grinned, and set the grapefruit down on the plate, and sat back a little farther in his seat. “You guys are idiots.”





        If Sketch had not decided to brush his teeth out of sheer boredom a few hours ago, his orange juice would have tasted delicious.

        The seven of them sat at that very same troublesome table. The smiling sun in the corner was staring down at Sketch,,like some sort of malevolent angel that was waiting for him to make a mistake. It almost creeped him out. But save for that, he was really impressed with the paintings on the walls, and he couldn’t stop himself from wondering just who created that marvelous piece of art. It was truly spectacular. Unfortunately, the others didn’t see it as such.

        Going around the circle, Sketch was really beginning to doubt his positive effect on the group. Deep inside, he knew this. Deeper inside, he knew that he wasn’t really happy himself. Given the situation, it only made sense. However, “sense” was just not a word in Sketch’s vocabulary anymore.

        At least I have Buttermilk. A true friend, Sketch thought to himself. Sketch’s “true friend” was currently inching further and further away from him. Then again, Sketch was awkwardly shifting his seat closer to Buttermilk in the first place. Sketch never believed in personal bubbles anyways. Who needs them?

        Sketch still hoped that they would be friends forever. He truly did.

        “So what now? Just three hours...ish… into the game and here we’re sitting around a table.” Buttermilk broke the uncomfortable silence with his southern twang. “Anyone have any tips to stay awake? I’m gettin’ a little nervous.”

        Alloy cocked his head. “Tips? Really?”

        “I’m asking nicely. Besides, it’s too quiet in ‘ere.” Buttermilk picked up his glass and finished off the last of his orange juice. Now the only pony that had anything left on their plate and in their glass was Miso, who appeared to dislike the food. Sketch felt bad for her. Swallow stared ravenously at her plate. Her innocent eyes pleaded.

        “He’s right.” Gallant turned towards Alloy who was located to his left, completely ignoring Tenor to his right. She was resting a bored hoof on her chin, and staring at the plate with glassy eyes. “We need all the help we can get. Here, I’ll start off.” He sat up a little bit in his chair. “I heard that coffee is one of the most obvious ways to stay awake.”

        “Do ya see any coffee machines around ‘ere, moron?” piped Buttermilk. Gallant simply looked at him curiously. Weirdly enough, Alloy was the one who took offense.

        “Hey, we’re the ones trying to help you all out here.” Alloy, once again, realigned his glasses. “The least you could do is not insult us.”

        Buttermilk sighed. “Fine.”

        “I heard that exercise can help you stay awake?” Sketch, for some reason, felt the need to speak. Maybe it was to impress Buttermilk with an idea that’ll help him win the game. Maybe he just got restless. 

        “Eh…” Alloy looked up at the ceiling with speculation. “I wouldn’t recommend it… I think it’ll only tire you out. It’ll keep your brain occupied though. Perhaps doing some push ups or walk around every so often couldn’t hurt. Were’d you hear that?” Alloy frowned when Sketch grinned.

        “Television.”

        “What about loud music?” asked Tenor. Apparently, she had been listening the entire time. This was the longest she had went without speaking since the game began. 

        “What kind? Slow music I’d say no to. It’d be like a lullaby,” Alloy said. Tenor deadpanned. Alloy understood immediately. “I’m sure rock music would work fine.”

        “Sorry Swallow,” Sketch bit the inside of his lip. “I also heard that eating a lot will knock you out in minutes.” Swallow, who had finished her meal and licked her plate in a matter of seconds upon sitting down, did not look amused.

        “But… this isn’t fair!” she whined. “We need to eat something!” Swallow stuck out her lower lip childishly at her end of the table, by herself. Alloy rolled his eyes, similar to the way he did at Sketch. Alloy didn’t even bother replying, but Tenor did.

        “You just did. E gave us just enough food so where we could eat, but not engorge ourselves and fall asleep so quickly.” She put her chin back into her hoof. She spoke slowly and dully, as if she was horribly bored. “He wants us to last as long as possible. He wants to make us squirm. He wants to make us suffer, like some kind of caged pig…” Before she began to ramble, she shook her head. “I’d eat just what he gives you, Swallow…”

        Gallant was nodding, and Sketch was almost surprised by Tenor’s sudden articulate shift. Sketch found himself staring at Tenor longer than he should have, and she eventually met his gaze. “What’re you staring at?!” she barked. Sketch suddenly found himself looking at his empty plate, his heart beat a little faster than he would have liked to admit.

        Tenor was scary. But what she said made him think in a way he hadn’t yet: only one of them could get out alive. That was the rule, that was the game. That would mean that everypony else sitting at this table would have to be dead before he could leave. This wasn’t like some movie, where the rules could be shifted in favor of the protagonist. No way.

        But maybe it could. Maybe Buttermilk and he could leave together. He still had hope.

        Speaking of Buttermilk, the pony in question clutched his chest, spasmically. Sketch had looked just in time to notice. Buttermilk was bearing his teeth in pain, and was slightly bent over the table. His snowy colored mane covered his eyes, preventing Sketch from seeing the underlying agony in Buttermilk’s chest. “Whoa, you okay?”

        “I’m fine!” Buttermilk snapped. Sketch’s ears flattened against the back of his head. “Just.. fine…”

        Buttermilk’s outburst had nabbed the attention of every other pony at the table. Even Miso. “You’re not gonna have a heart attack on us, are you?” asked Tenor, laughing. “I’d have thought Gallant would’ve been the next candidate.”

        Tenor shrugged when 10 eyes glared at her.

        “Seriously bro, what’s wrong?” Sketch asked again. His eyes were soft, and caring. Buttermilk didn’t seem to notice. He furiously shook his hoof in his direction, eyes clamped shut and head facing the ground.

        “Nothing!” he shouted. Sketch opened his mouth again, but quickly shut it again. Suddenly, Buttermilk bolted up from his seat. 

        “Buttermilk, wait!” Sketch called, but Buttermilk didn’t stop running. In a mere matter of seconds, Buttermilk had sprinted down the hallway, eyes practically closed and clutching his chest for dear life. His hoofsteps echoed down the hallway, until it couldn’t be heard anymore.

        Sketch sat in his seat. His heart felt like it was a two-ton boulder that had just been dropped of the edge of space. He couldn’t believe it. He refused to believe it. His best friend, Buttermilk, had just run away from him. Sketch felt the tears begin to well up in his eyes, and his chest tightened. His cheeks felt as hot as embers, but he certainly wasn’t blushing.

        Why? Why did this always happen to him? The not-so-distant sense of rejection came running back to him. If it had a voice, he imagined it saying, “Welcome back! Boy, it’s been a while! Oh, whoops, sorry about your friend there. Sucks, don’t it?”

        There was another silence among the group. Even Miso’s face was contorted into a frown. “Uh…” Tenor cocked her head. “What was that all about?” she asked. She knit her brows. Everyone except the obvious and Sketch shook their head.

        “I...I’m gonna go see if he’s okay…” Sketch said sullenly. His eyes were fixated on the table, and then the ground the moment he jumped off his chair. He needed to. He had to see what was wrong with his best friend. Sketch saw it in the movies all the time. Somepony runs off, sad and hysterical, then the pony who follows normally has a heart-to-heart that makes everything okay. Then everything is happy again. Then, they can be friends again.

        Besides, Sketch just can’t let his pained friend be alone at a time like this.

        “Sketch, are you sure that’s a good idea?” asked Gallant. Sketch flinched. 

        Honestly, Sketch didn’t know either. He was being driven by pain, by nothing more than his innermost desire. He wasn’t thinking straight, but he wasn’t able to come to this type of conclusion at a time like this. His determination for companionship was wholeheartedly delusioned by envy and lust. Unfortunately, the only thought in his mind right now was seeing somepony he viewed as a friend, knowing full well nothing everlasting will come from it whatsoever.

        He still had to. He’d never been sure of anything else in his entire life.

        “Yeah. I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’m sure it’s just stress or something.” He gave the rest of the group a reassuring smile. Alloy obviously didn’t agree with what Sketch had said, and because of this he crossed his forelegs.

        “Be careful. Chest pains are symptoms of a number of different things,” Alloy explained. Sketch was already halfway to the hallway. He didn’t hear anything Alloy had to say.

        Meanwhile, the rest of the group sat quietly. The only sound being heard by all was that of Miso reluctantly taking a small bite of her grapefruit, and grimacing.





        Sketch knew that everything was going to be okay. 

        On the walk through the hallway, Sketch was wondering just what he would say upon his meeting with Buttermilk. What would he really want to hear right now? Why did he scamper out of breakfast like he was about to vomit and cry? What did Sketch do to deserve being yelled at like that?

        So many questions. As if this game wasn’t enough to drive a pony crazy.

        Sketch wandered out of the hallway, back to the octagonal room. Luckily, the room had not changed at all, unlike the pillar room. from this position, every door was closed, the rug remained untarnished, and he still felt like he was roaming around a castle. The timers above each of the doors continued to tick. He had never actually paid any attention to them, but for some reason, he felt drawn to them. He read the names on the door, and the times starting from his immediate left.

        Sketch’s door was right next to the hallway. His timer read four hours, thirty six minutes, twenty one seconds. 

        The next door was Miso. She must have woken up a little bit earlier than Sketch had initially. Her timer read four hours, forty five minutes, twelve seconds.

        The next door was Gallant’s. His timer read five hours, thirteen minutes, forty-eight seconds. Sketch shrugged. He expected as such. He seemed like the type to wake up early. Gallant almost reminded Sketch of his grandfather.

        On the complete other side of the octagon was Buttermilk’s room. His timer had stopped. It was stuck on three hours, fifty-seven minutes, two seconds.
        
        Next to Buttermilk’s room, was Alloy’s. Obviously, he was the one who had woken up first out of all of them. His timer read five hours, fifty-one minutes, twenty-four seconds.

        The second to last room belonged to Tenor. Surprisingly, her time was much higher than Sketch had originally assumed. For some reason, he always thought she was one of the last to awaken. Five hours, twenty-two minutes, forty nine seconds.

        The last door was Swallow’s. Sketch wasn’t really surprised that her timer was so much lower than the others. Her timer read four hours, six minutes, thirty-six seconds.

        Sketch brought his eyes back to Buttermilk’s door. It was straight in front of him. Strange, very strange, for his timer to have just busted like that. Must be some kind of faulty thing. Sketch, not thinking it through, walked slowly over to Buttermilk’s door.

        The door had been left slightly ajar, as if it was welcoming Sketch in. As if it wanted to consume him. “Buttermilk?” Sketch called. His voice was trembling. “Friend? Are you there?” Had the door not been cracked open just a smidge, he would have knocked. Of course, he wasn’t going to close the door just so he could knock. Rather rudely, he poked his head inside…

        ...and immediately wished he hadn’t.

        The room was absolutely trashed. The lamps and vases, and even a few pictures that had originally been on the dresser were now strewn about the room like confetti. The chandelier that was so peacefully perched above his bed had fallen, and there were glass shards all over the bed and a few spots on the floor. There were holes in the walls, with some kind of imprint inside them.

        And worst of all, a large yellow body was lying on the floor, at the edge of the bed. Buttermilk’s mane was knotted and dispersed, and it was near impossible to see his eyes, which were closed anyways. He was lying on his side, not breathing and not moving. In his hoof, was a medicine bottle. Sketch’s eyes were as wide as dinner plates, and he thought the grapefruit and orange juice he had moments ago were about to betray him.

        “No… no, no, no!” he shrieked. He was freely crying. His mind felt like it was hit was a tire iron. His head fizzing out like a television with no satellite. It made no sense. It had no reason. Sketch wasn’t sure what to think anymore. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to either. The game had begun. The poison was real. It was all so very true.

        Upon seeing the gruesome sight of his best friend’s body, Sketch did the first logical thing all morning: he turned and ran.