A cobweb clung to Rarity's face and she shuddered as she shook it off. "I shan't miss this dirty old place," she said to herself, using the light of her horn to guide herself out of the mill. Taking the last turn, she at last found herself facing the exit. Pushing the doors open with her magic, she saw Spike, who had been pacing outside the mill. He looked up when she opened the door. "Rarity!" he cried in relief, rushing to hug her.

She returned the embrace, equally as relieved to see that he was all right. "Oh, Spikey-Wikey, it was simply awful! I was nearly eviscerated!"

"Well, you're safe now," Spike said.

"But the others!" Rarity cried, worry cutting through her relief.

"Phillip will get them out," Spike said. The "I hope" at the end of his sentence didn't have to be spoken: it hung in the air like a foul odor. Spike and Rarity both turned and looked back at the doors behind them. The wood seemed to stare pitilessly back at them, offering no hope.

More painted arrows guided Phillip down another set of winding hallways. He felt like he was being given a guided tour of Hell, every step taking him to new and worse torments, baited by the promise of being able to save his friends.

If he was smart enough. If he was fast enough. If he...

He shook those thoughts out of his head. "If" was no good. "Will" was much more important. And right now, he would keep walking and see where this took him.

Turning a corner, he found himself in a long, wide room that probably once held machinery. A long table was set on either side of him. He heard movement in the darkness.

"Is somepony there?" said a southern-accented voice, tinged with fear and anger. "Get me outta here!"

"Applejack, it's me," he said, stepping forward and shining his light ahead of him. He saw Applejack, who had metal clamps around her body, which were holding her down to the metal floor of some kind of cage-like mechanism set up on the table to his left. Thick metal bars set in a square shape around her stretched towards the ceiling.

Applejack managed to lift her head to look towards him. "Well don't just stand there! Get me out!"

No sooner had she said it than a pair of spotlights snapped on, illuminating the mechanism that Applejack was caught in. On the table in front of it was a balance scale and a set of gold coins, arranged in three stacks of five. Phillip also saw that the "cage" had a slot attached to it, like one would use to insert coins into a jukebox. Above them, a timer clicked on: 02:00.

Then they both heard a heavy whoosh. Looking up, Phillip and Applejack saw that the cage supported a mechanism that carried a pendulum-like blade attached to a metal arm that slowly swung back and forth, perpendicular to Applejack's body and aimed over her neck. It began to gradually lower itself closer to its prey. Applejack's eyes widened in fear and she began to struggle against her bonds with a renewed, desperate energy. Phillip attempted to grab the clamps to try to force them open, but only got a painful electrical shock. He leapt back with a cry of pain, cursing his stupidity.

Seeing another sign on the table as he tried to rub life back into his numb forelegs, Phillip turned his attention to it and read the instructions on it. "One of these coins is fake, made of iron pyrite. Use it to free your friend. The balance scale can only be used three times."

Tuning out the heavy whooshing of the blade as it sliced through the air, Phillip considered the problem. Obviously, I have to use the balance scale to find the fake coin. Iron pyrite is less dense than gold, so it'll be lighter than the others. But I can only use the scale three times, and there are 15 coins. I have to eliminate all of the real coins to find the fake one...

He visualized a way to use the scale to determine which were real and which were fake, plotting out each move and its result in his mind. Time relentlessly counted down as he thought, and the blade came closer and closer to Applejack, who was panting as terror gripped her.

Finally, in a flash, Phillip knew what he had to do. Removing one coin from the stack, he placed seven coins on each of the two pans of the scale. The scales wobbled back and forth, as if deliberately wasting time, then the left pan tipped down beneath the heavier weight. The fake coin must be in this group, Phillip realized, taking the seven coins on the right pan and discarding the other eight. He repeated the process, removing one coin from the group and placing three coins on each of the two pans.

"Hurry!" Applejack shouted. Glancing up, Phillip saw that he had 35 seconds left. The blade had traveled almost halfway down its path. Was it his imagination, or was it swinging faster? And was the noise of the blade getting louder and heavier, echoing within his brain?

The scale slowly tipped towards the right. Discarding the four real coins, Phillip now took the three coins. One of these has to be the fake. Placing one aside, he now put one coin on each of the pans. The scale began to slowly wobble back and forth. The timer now indicated that he had 20 seconds remaining. Phillip became aware that he was sweating and his heart was hammering in his chest like a drum. Applejack had gone very still and was panting audibly, watching the progress of the blade as it inched closer and closer to her neck: it was now within inches of her skin. The sharp edge glimmered menacingly in the spotlight, promising death.

As if it couldn't make up its mind, the scale slowly tilted back and forth, then almost imperceptibly, tilted to the left. Snatching the coin in the right pan, Phillip stuck it into the coin slot and shoved the slide forward. With a series of clicks, the coin fell into the mechanism. The blade was now so close that Applejack could feel it slightly touching her skin, as if stroking her teasingly. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, thinking of her brother, sister and granny back on the farm and how they would take the news that they had lost another member of the family...

Then the whooshing stopped. Slowly, the blade retracted up towards the ceiling, the timer having stopped at eight seconds. The clamps holding her down released.

"Are you okay?" Phillip asked, helping Applejack up off the table.

"Yeah. Thanks, partner," Applejack said, standing up and putting her hat, which had fallen off, back on. Elation at being alive rushed through her body, and she reared back up onto her hind legs and kicked up into the air. "Now come on! We gotta find the rest of our friends!"

"Applejack, wait," Phillip said. "You need to head outside and wait."

"Ain't happening, partner," Applejack said sternly.

"Listen to me," Phillip said in a firm but calm tone. "This place is rigged with bombs. I have to do this alone: if you try to help me, we all die."

Applejack frowned, but slowly nodded after a moment. She turned and headed towards the door. "Just be careful, all right?" she said over her shoulder.

"I will," Phillip said. "Now get yourself to safety." Applejack opened the door and shut it behind her. As soon as the door closed, another light turned on, revealing the next door at the end of the room. Phillip proceeded forward through it.

Author's Notes:

Just to allay any fears--this is not just some Riddler wannabe. There are reasons for this. Be patient with me, that's all I ask.