For the last few hours, the chills that wreaked havoc on Sketch’s body were hardly noticeable.
There were many reasons for this, even if Sketch didn’t quite have the ability to understand his own emotions yet. They were shrouded in a dim fog, hidden and covered to the point when one couldn’t see it even with 20/20 vision. But, of course, that didn’t really bother a pony like Sketch. With a flick of his tail, and a rather skillful mark with his pencil, he had completely forgotten about life’s worries. He had nothing to fear anymore, choosing to keep his eyes focused on the little piece of paper in front of him, instead of the little clock that adorned the area above his bed.
Sketch had been laying on it for quite some time now. Only a few times he had thought about something other than Swallow—his brand new best friend who would never leave his side—Gallant, and just what the older stallion was actually up to, and the sketch that was slowly being formed before his very eyes. The second one, he decided not to think about very much. It frightened him, and he didn’t like that feeling.
He’d put his emotions into this little piece of paper instead. All of his worries and troubles would be meticulously and perfectly laid out right in front of him, for everyone to see. This was going to be his greatest sketch to date.
Sketch would be a filthy liar if he didn’t say he’d catch glimpses of how long it had been since the start of the game for him. His unwavering curiosity was a fault that he hardly knew he had. Last time he checked, which was quite some time ago, the timer read thirteen hours, forty-five minutes, and two seconds. He could feel the restlessness kicking in already, as he was frequently subjected to a few yawns every now and then. While this was to be expected, the fact that nopony else had even muttered one made him a little uneasy. Nothing to fret though. If he focused on his picture, he’d never fall asleep. He and Swallow could leave together.
Because friends do things together.
Friends would never abandon other friends.
Every now and then, the stallion would turn from the wonderously detailed picture, towards the door. It was wide open, giving him the ability to see out into the foyer quite clearly. Anypony else could have seen this as a pretty smart tactic should his eyes start miraculously closing, but that’s not why he did it. The reason the door was open was so he could hide his drawing before anyone barged in and saw it. Sketch had noted how Tenor had slammed her door open the moment the game had started, like she owned the place. The last thing Sketch wanted was somepony getting a peek before it was all completed.
It’ll be a surprise, Sketch thought to himself every so often. A surprise for all of my dear friends!
Like some kind of madpony, Sketch would repeat this to himself once every thirty seconds. He saw absolutely nothing wrong with what he was doing.
He was getting pretty close, now. It had taken a few hours, but he knew deep inside that everypony was going to love it. While Buttermilk was… long gone, and wouldn’t be able to see it, he knew that deep inside, Buttermilk was looking down at him. He was looking over his shoulder, admiring the work that was before the two of them. He could feel it. The cold chill surely wasn’t mistaken. It was as if his very soul was still in the room with him.
While he missed Buttermilk dearly, Sketch had Swallow, now. The teenager was the happiest pony one could ever meet, at the moment.
Sketch heard someone’s voice, snapping him out of his creative stupor. He cocked his head over to the door, and carefully snatched his drawing off the the bed. Looking out the open door, the young stallion could hear two unmistakable voices. He recognized them immediately as Swallow’s and Alloy’s.
He could not hear what they were talking about, but it was apparent that something was up. He could see some kind of distress in Swallow’s innocent emerald eyes. He could hear a soft whine in her voice, one that made Sketch’s heart melt. He had no idea what Alloy was saying or doing though, seeing as he was facing the opposite direction of Sketch’s room.
Sketch quickly opened one of the drawers in the dresser near his bed, the one adorned with various little pictures of himself and his brothers, and tossed his pencil and paper inside. He slammed it shut with much more force than he would have preferred, but luckily he was fairly sure he hadn’t creased the paper in any way. That was all the mattered.
Sketch hadn’t talked to Swallow in a while, due to how much hard he was working on his drawing. To him, now was a perfect time to intervene. He’d repay the favor. After all, she did cheer him up, earlier. She comforted him, cared about him, talked to him. That’s what friends did. Now, it was Sketch’s turn.
It was unfortunate that the conversation ended the moment that Sketch scampered out of his room like a dog who heard the sound of his bowl being filled. Alloy walked away, with a rather concerned look on his face. Where he went off to, Sketch didn’t see. His eyes were dead set on Swallow, his best brand new best friend forever.
Swallow let out a depressing sigh, and kicked at seemingly nothing at the floor. Her eyes were casted downwards, a motion that Sketch just wouldn’t tolerate. “Swallow!” Sketch practically yelled.
Somehow, Swallow had failed to notice Sketch’s rather abrupt entrance. She almost jumped a mile in the air. If this game was getting to her like it almost was Sketch, then she was surely awake now. She defensively shifted her body, and gritted her teeth. However, when she realized just who it was, she let out a calming sigh, and tossed the stallion a motherly smile. “Oh, hello again,” Swallow chirped. Pretty soon, though, her eyebrow was cocked. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in a bit.”
“That’s not important,” Sketch said. He bore a smile that was either extremely happy or manically creepy depending on how you looked at it. Swallow most likely viewed it as the former, as she showed no sign of being disturbed. “You looked sad! Please don’t be sad! I’m here to cheer you up!”
There was a small pause, where Swallow simply stared at the stallion awkwardly. Their long, drawn out gaze was quickly broken by Swallow’s eyes darting around almost desperately. Maybe I should tone down the staring a bit…? “Uh, right. I’m not sad, though. Just… really hungry,” she admitted, with a small sigh. She turned, and looked down the hallway that lead to a literal buffet of piping hot food. Sketch furrowed his brow.
“Hungry?” Sketch knew of Swallow’s raving appetite. In fact, everypony in this game did. One could hear Swallow’s stomach from the other end of the mansion, if they wanted to. “But we just ate a few hours ago.”
“I know, but it wasn’t very filling…” Swallow whined, childishly. Sketch frowned, his mind eagerly racing for a way to cheer her up, or at least get her mind off her aching belly. He wasn’t the most experienced when it came to communicating with others, but he’d have been a fool not to try.
“Oh,” he said. But, in a flash, his eyes lit up once again. “But I have a surprise for you—and the others!” Sketch did a small jog in place, as if he couldn’t contain his excitement.
“Hm? What kind of surprise?” Swallow asked, turning her head back towards the stallion. Sketch still couldn’t believe that somepony actually cared about what he did. It was almost surreal.
“I can’t tell you!” Sketch said. He brought a hoof to the mare’s nose, making Swallow go cross eyed as she tried to follow it. The touch made the mare blush, but Sketch was unable to notice. “It’d ruin it.”
“Right,” Swallow muttered, wiggling her nose a little so that the stallion’s hoof could finally disconnect itself. “Well, if it’s got you so worked up, I’m sure it’s quite the surprise, then,” she said, with that same kind smile of hers. Sketch’s heart wanted to flutter.
“Oh, it is! You’re gonna love it! Everyone’s going to love it!” Sketch said confidently, while he puffed out his chest. “It’ll be done soon!”
The twinkle in Swallow’s eye only lit the fire inside of Sketch more, like a substitute for gasoline. “I can’t wait for it!” Swallow chirped. Sketch’s heart wanted to explode, overjoyed by the sheer amount of affection and contact. Not even Buttermilk made him feel this good inside. It was so new, so foreign, that Sketch found himself instantly craving more.
“Good! It’ll be done shortly! Just gotta put some finishing touches on it! You’ll love it! You’ll see!” Sketch said pridefully. And, just like that, he was done talking. He found that a perfect moment to break their eye contact, and bolt back towards his room. While the last thing he wanted to do was part with his brand new friend, he had good reason. After all, their friendship could only grow, right? Their conversation had only lasted a minute, but Sketch was just too excited. The drawing was going to be perfect, a wonderful example of his artistic talent, and everyone else in the game was going to love it.
They were going to love it so much. Everyone would line up to be his friend once they laid eyes upon his masterful creation. They’d talk to him. They’d like him. No longer, would he be ignored.
Sketch would be loved.
The young stallion was so lost in his own head, he failed to hear the strange “Err…” sound that came from the confused mare still standing in the foyer.
Tenor’s course of action was simple now.
A little over fourteen hours into the game, and the punkish mare was just now starting to form a plan in her mind. She had locked herself in her room for hours, just listening to her music and thinking. She had shunned herself from the five other remaining players, but all for something that she considered to be a great cause: her survival. The survival of a future star, Tenor herself called it. Maybe she could write a book with that title, depicting what all happened here, and how she’d come to win.
Of course, she’d have to change a few things. Then again, book are for losers anyways. Maybe she could just get a movie deal instead.
She spent the entire time on her bed, thinking. The music was booming so loud from her headphones that they could have been mistaken for speakers, or even a radio. Drowning out her worries, drowning out her less comforting thoughts, drowning out her ability to hear the world around her. That was how she liked it. It wasn’t as if the world was worth listening to, anyways. After a good while, she slid her headphones off, onto her bed, and turned off the blaring music. She had bore an almost malicious grin on her face for a while now.
This, was the moment where Tenor was going to start winning. This was the moment where Tenor was going to start putting her plan into action. She could feel the anticipation inside of her bones, ringing like a church bell—even though she’d never heard the sound of one herself.
One by one, she was going to mess with the minds of the other contenders.
She even had her first victim in mind.
And she was just in the other room, all by herself. Alone. Then again, she was always alone. No one paid any attention to her. No one thought twice about Miso. She simply didn’t speak English, nor could she understand it herself. Tenor could use that to her advantage. After all, every pony who falls asleep brings Tenor closer and closer to victory.
Tenor had considered going after Gallant first, but that’d just be a waste of time. Gallant disliked her, and Tenor disliked him. There was really no point in trying anything. Gallant would catch on quickly if she did.
She knew what she had to do. Convincing a player that didn’t know how to play the game to lose wasn’t going to be very hard. She never liked Miso anyways. There was something about her that gave her chills that she never bothered to look into.
Tenor couldn’t wait. Every moment that passed was another moment she had to stay awake. She slowly removed herself from the bed, stretching out her dozing muscles and letting out a small groan of discomfort. She lightly shook her head. The drumsticks that were tied in the back of her mane clacked lightly. As tough as the mare was, she cared deeply about her perfectly styled mane, and her drumsticks. Before she left the room, she stopped to look at herself and her mane in the mirror. She didn’t really like to tell others about her responsibility when it came to the former. It wasn’t very cool.
Giving herself a determined glare in the mirror, the mare left the bathroom, and then her own room entirely. For some reason, nopony was out in the foyer. Everypony was off doing something else, it seemed. What else there was to even do in this mansion was a mystery, but Tenor really didn’t care. She only had one thing on her mind.
Miso.
Miso’s room was second, going counter-clockwise. Tenor had remember this when Miso’s name was revealed earlier. E may be a gigantic sociopath according to her, but at least he had the decency to write everypony’s name on their room door. The last thing she wanted to do was wander into the wrong place.
Tenor, almost immediately, made a mistake. She had a bad habit of simply barging through doors, as proven earlier. Tenor grasped the door handle and, without so much as knocking, turned and swung it open. “Yo, Miso?” she called.
Great. Miso was just where Tenor wanted her. Miso was sitting on her rump, on the bed. Her muddy brown eyes were the size of peas for a split second, probably by Tenor’s sudden entrance, but they relaxed just a moment later. There was a small book in front of her, but even at a distance Tenor could tell that it wasn’t written in English. Some weirdo Neighsian book, probably.
Miso closed the book in front of her, gently. A little too gently. She rested it in front of her, cover down, and gave Tenor a very awkward wave of her hoof and an oblivious smile.
This was going to be too easy.
Tenor was actually a little bit surprised when Miso opened her mouth. “Anata ga watashi o odoroka se Tenor.”
Tenor obviously had no idea what the mare said. She didn’t speak… whatever it was she spoke. Neighponese? She was fairly sure that her name was said, so she quickly decided to roll with it.
“Uh, yep. That’s me,” Tenor said, a bit weirdly. She turned and threw a hoof in the direction of the door just behind her. “Mind if I chat with you for a second? I really just… need someone to talk to,” she said, doing her best to throw as much emotion inside of her voice as possible. Tenor wasn’t necessarily an actor, but she knew how to make herself look innocent. Back when she was a filly, she used this tactic a million times on her parents when they suspected her of doing something she shouldn’t have. She got away with it most of the time. Most.
Miso’s smile faltered just slightly, as if she picked up Tenor’s tone a little bit. Miso actually waved the mare inside, and said something similar to: “Son'na koto wa arimasen, dete kuru.”
Maybe Tenor was a better actor than she thought. Then again, she had so many talents, it was a wonder she wasn’t famous already. Well, at least, that was how she saw herself. Tenor forced a genuine smile on her face. Not too small, not too large. Simply an appreciative one. She turned, and closed the door behind her with a small click.
“Thanks,” Tenor said. Miso picked up her book, set it on the dresser, and quickly slid over on the bed, patting it, as if she wanted Tenor to sit with her. While it was impossible to figure out Miso’s personality without understanding what she was speaking, Tenor was already assuming this mare was a lot like Swallow in terms of caring for others. At least, that’s what it looked like so far. Tenor walked over, and plopped herself down, and gave a small sigh. She put on the most depressed face she could muster, sticking out her bottom lip and turning her gaze to the floor. She saw Miso frown just out of the corner of her eyes.
“I… I’ll be honest,” Tenor started. “You’re the only one that I trust here,” she said. Tenor firmly believed that she’d get farther if she talked to the mare first, before putting her plan into action. It would look less suspicious that way. “Everyone else doesn’t like me, wants me dead, Miso.”
Miso just watched her, with some kind of strange look on her face. It was as if the mare was doing her best to try and decipher the words that were coming out of Tenor’s mouth. The punkish mare was eternally grateful that the mare couldn’t understand her, either. Just keep talking. Make it seem like you’re pouring out your heart to her, or something stupid like that.
“Aren’t you scared?” Tenor asked, still staring absentmindedly at the sheets underneath her. “Aren’t you afraid of dying? There’s only a sixth of a chance that any one of us are getting out of her alive. I know you can’t understand me, but…”
Miso bit the corner of her mouth. “Onegaishimasu,” she said. “Kanashimanaide kudasai.”
“One of us will surely die,” Tenor said, quickly starting to become lost in her own mind. Her inner fears were slowly starting to reveal themselves. “No one will know of our names, know who we are or what we were meant to be. Doesn’t that frighten you?” Tenor asked.
No answer. Miso simply went back to staring at her. Those brown eyes pierced Tenor like a kitchen blade, and she didn’t like it. They bothered her, greatly, but she tried not to let it show.
“This game, Miso,” Tenor said. Miso’s eye’s flickered at the sound of her own name. “It messes with your head. Makes you think and do things you don’t want to. Like, I don’t know, try to win. Don’t you want to win? Would you manipulate another pony just to win a game, and keep your life? I would.”
Miso cocked a misunderstanding eyebrow. Tenor was hardly caring about what was coming out of her mouth anymore. “I would do it in a heartbeat. I don’t deserve to die. My life isn’t over. I’m not famous yet. The attention isn’t all on me yet. But, wow, it will be once I win this game. Newspapers, talk shows. They’ll all want to talk to me, praise me. Oh, I’ll be the star.” Tenor forced a smile on her lips, a feigned kind one. “Are you excited for me the last one standing, Miso?”
Miso tried to mimic Tenor’s smile. However, it came out… different. It wasn’t as oblivious as Tenor would have expected. She didn’t pay any attention to it, but she did try to move it along.
“You look sleepy, Miso.”
Miso herself furrowed her brow at the mentioning of her name again. Tenor turned towards her, reluctantly staring deep into the mare’s brown eyes. Miso looked away, obviously uncomfortable. “S-sumimasen?”
“Tired, Miso?” Tenor was determined, this time, to make sure that the mare understood. She rested two hooves on the side of her cheek, as if the communicate through the popular motion. “Sleep?”
Miso nodded, as if she understood. However, it was very apparent that she was thinking about something. Her eyes were quickly becoming glazed over. “Are you sleepy, Miso? Maybe you should take a nap,” Tenor said.
Miso still appeared like she didn’t understand, but Tenor was pleased when the mare blindly started smiling at her, and giving for a small nod. Tenor grinned, but just barely. “Here, have a blanket. Take a small nap if you’d like.” Tenor was unaware if anypony else in the game knew this, but there was a soft blanket located underneath everypony’s beds. Tenor levitated one out, and rested it on the bed. “I’ll wake you up later, if you want. Then we can talk more. I really do like talking to you,” Tenor said, barely withholding a gag.
Miso eagerly grabbed the blanket, and wrapped it around herself. “Yoi aidea. Kansha!“ Miso spoke, with a smile. “Anata wa hijō ni shinsetsudesu.”
Tenor was barely able to contain her excitement when she saw Miso lay back, resting her head on the pillow. The punkish mare jumped up from the bed, all while bearing her fake smile. “I’ll wake you up later. You sleep for a nice, long, while. Mmk?”
A bright smile was her only response.
Tenor made her way for the door, but before she left the room, she switched off the light behind her, shrouding Miso in a coat of sheer darkness.
“Goodnight, Miso. Sleep well,” she said, slowly.
Tenor closed the door behind her.
Swallow was going insane.
Was it possible to lose your ability to rationally think when one was to the point of starving? Nopony knew. This, however, was exactly what Swallow felt. Her belly was content, but Swallow just hated that feeling. She was starving, and she knew it. It was was her brain and belly were telling her, even though they were false signals.
So false. She wasn’t fine. She was starving.
Fifteen hours, forty-five minutes, and fifty-one seconds into the game, and Swallow stood at the entrance of the hallway that lead to the wonderful buffet in what was that strange pillared room. She could smell the steaming hot delectables from where she stood, and it made her mind twitch knowing that she couldn’t have it.
I don’t want to fall asleep.
I don’t want to die.
But… I’m so hungry...
Swallow had done everything she could, and looked everywhere for some smaller morsels of food to eat. Unfortunately, both ideas failed. Her backpack was completely devoid of any sort of food. In fact, it itself was entirely empty. Why E had given her her travelling backpack, but nothing that was originally inside it, she didn’t know. In fact, it made her want to cry. Her belly was rumbling non-stop, like a neverending aftershock inside of her stomach, and it hurt so bad.
She had tried to convince Alloy to let her have some, just a few plates full. But he wasn’t for it. He threatened that she’d die if she had any more than he specified. Sketch had awful timing, speaking of which, interrupting the conversation just before Swallow had any time to coerce him to reconsider. Swallow liked Sketch, but she wasn’t the happiest after that.
She was pretty curious as to what he was doing, though. He’d locked himself in that room for hours, now.
But even still, Swallow couldn’t think about it all that much. Her mind would almost immediately be directed back to the pains derived from her empty stomach. The only food in the entire building was in Buttermilk’s memorial, and it was the most beautiful meal Swallow had ever seen.
And she was only instructed to eat a little bit.
It bothered her, hated her. She wanted to throw a little hissy fit, stomp her hooves around and cry like a child throwing a tantrum. It hurt every single muscle in her body. Every bone, every wish, everything. They all begged for her belly to be filled.
It was pure torture.
So there she stood, on the border of the entrance to that pillared, scrumptious room, thinking.
She could go in, take a plate, and leave. That’s what she could do. She could eat just a little bit. Just a very little bit, and then come back, before anypony had a chance to notice that she’d even been gone. If she ate just the right amount, who knew? Maybe she’d even have a bit more energy afterwards, and be able to stay up longer! If she ate the right amount, that is.
The temptation. The sheer temptation was pulling at her, whispering in her ear. She could feel a demon on each of her shoulders, without an angel in sight. She wanted sustenance. She wanted something to eat. She hadn’t had a proper, filling meal in more than half a day, a record for her. She couldn’t handle it.
Swallow needed food.
She couldn’t take it anymore.
Just… one little bite wouldn’t hurt, right?
Alloy just couldn’t stop thinking. It was a habit that would probably be his demise someday.
Hopefully, it wouldn’t be sometime in the next few hours.
He was growing paranoid as time went on. The inner fear and reality of the game setting in much slower than the rest of the group. The more he contemplated just how sleepy he actually was, the more he began to feel his eyelids weighing down. This contributed to his seemingly endless bout of panic. However, he wasn’t an idiot.
Panicking was the last thing the stallion should be doing. Even he knew that. It was a proven fact that anxiety and fear were the numbers one and two cause for bad decisions. Back in Manehatten, the laboratory next to the one he worked at actually did a study on it. However, he was increasingly jealous about the success of it, stupidly enough, so he didn’t bother to look into it. However, he was certain that the facts were still correct.
The more and more Alloy got lost in his head, the more and more he lost sight of what was around him. Every other time he’d snap back to reality, there would be one less pony around him. He had left Swallow alone in the foyer after having enough of her incessant begging, but it’s been more than an hour, and he hadn’t seen or heard from anyone.
E had had the decency to give him some of his lab notes, which he found sitting neatly inside one of the dresser drawers. Even though peering at it was a complete waste of time, something even he knew, he didn’t care. Gaining knowledge at this point was useless, but it filled him with some kind of purpose that he wasn’t able to find anywhere else. It warmed him a little inside, in a way no one else could.
However, the reigning silence was getting to him. The quietness was much too loud for his busy head to ignore. He found himself weirdly shifting on the bed, as the notes on his bed would crackle and move about as well.
Eventually, it just became too much. Surely, there was something better he could be doing besides sitting around. The more he remained idle, the more tired he’s eventually become. Besides, he was rather curious as to what the other five were up to. He had a bad feeling when it came to not being around them for too long. He still didn’t know any of them very well. He trusted them, sure, but he still didn’t know them.
Alloy exited his room, letting out a very tiny and almost unnoticeable yawn. The door behind him closed, quietly. Behind his black, square-rimmed glasses, Alloy’s eyes darted about, purposefully. The foyer was horrendously silent, shrouded with a thick sense of abandonment. He could hear a loud ringing in his ears that he desperately tried to get out of his wavering mind.
“Hello?” Alloy said, calling out the empty room.
He heard a sniffle as his only response.
Alloy was unsure how he didn’t see it the first time. There was a light blue body, sitting down in front of one of the many doors inside of the foyer. It was obviously Sketch. His head was facing downwards, and his mane was covering the entirety of his face. His shoulders would bounce with every pathetic sob he gave.
“S-Sketch…?” Alloy called out to him, nervously. Why was he crying again? Was he thinking about Buttermilk, perchance? There was no way to know. Sketch was sitting directly in front of one of the doors that were opposite Alloy, like a dog at his master’s hooves. “Are you okay? What happened?” he asked.
Alloy took a few steps closer to the young stallion, who’s crying was only starting to grow more harsh, louder, with every passing second.
Alloy wanted to understand. He didn’t like not knowing what was going on around him. He stopped and paused…
...and let his eyes observe. And once they did, Alloy’s eyes went wide.
The timer in front of the door Sketch was sitting before had stopped.