The young mare's face contorted into an expression of mild discomfort as she felt the familiar feeling of a sharp needle piercing the skin of her thigh. Wincing, she closed her pale grey eyes tightly and bit her teeth together, fighting the feeling of nausea which always came with injections and instead focusing on her growling stomach and the promise of a delicious dinner; the facility always gave better meals after having a test. It was a bribe, of course—a bribe to encourage ponies to be complacent, to not struggle or complain whilst the doctor prodded and poked at them. It usually worked, as well; the food served up by the facility was usually very bland so the weekly offer of something more exciting was extremely tempting.

The mare gave a small sigh as she felt the needle be removed from her thigh, impressed with herself for not having a panic attack; most weeks she would end up reacting badly to the injection, often fainting and thus making the doctor have to wait for her to regain consciousness before the tests could be resumed. She was often in the other ponies' bad books as a result—a lot of emphasis was placed on punctuality in the facility, hence why she was often the last pony to be tested in a day. That way she couldn't hold other ponies up.

"Brace yourself, Bleu Celeste," the doctor said in a steely tone. Despite his lack of concern at causing distress, it was hard to hate someone too much when one signed oneself up to said pain willingly; the facility made it clear that ponies were free to leave, but why would anybody ever want to? It was either endure the tests in the facility which were (almost) never fatal or go outside and face almost certain death. Of the few ponies that had left, none had ever returned. It was hardly an honourable way to go; most probably ended up being killed by the plants, let alone by the fauna. Ever since the first outbreak of the plague one hundred years ago, the outside world had been turned into a bloodbath.

"Please don't call me that. You know I hate it-oh!"

The mare's words were interrupted as her body convulsed, a high electrical charge flowing through her. She whimpered and whined but was otherwise perfectly willing, forcing her mind to try to focus on the slap-up dinner she would later get from the kitchen. Nonetheless, the test couldn't have ended sooner—though she didn't realise at first and continued to shake and whimper.

"Steady there, Miss Celeste," the doctor said as he placed his front hooves on her body, ignoring her muttering with a faint smile ("Can't you just call me Blue?"). He held her firmly for a few seconds as she recovered from the jolts before backing up to retrieve yet another needle, bringing it forwards and hovering it just in the corner of her vision, making her cower slightly. He recognised his mistake immediately and jerked it away a little so that she couldn't see it; she began to turn her head to watch, to keep an eye on what was being done, but was a smidgen too slow. The second needle pierced her skin and elicited a sharp yell, making the mare kick out with her rear leg in a panic. It wasn't until she calmed that she realised the doctor had been watching her with slight amusement, a syringe full of blood held with his magic; she stopped thrashing, gave a small sheepish smile and then promptly passed out.

Awakening a few minutes later in a darkened room, the mare groaned in frustration as she rose to her hooves groggily, hopping down from the bed which she'd been laying on and trotting a little wobbly over to the door. Softly nudging it open she peered at the sign which read "Test bay three" and she huffed a little, flicking her tail in frustration as she stumbled out, cursing the doctor for leaving her in there again. It got annoying after the fifteenth time she woke up alone.

Her thigh was numb and tingly, a rather unpleasant feeling which left her feeling vulnerable. Why she should feel that way inside the facility she didn't know—the danger was locked out using the very best defences—but the weakness still managed to make her worry. That was probably instinct, of course; she would have had to keep fit and healthy back when she lived on the outside. To be weak was to hand over your head on a silver platter.

Not that she could remember life outside, of course. The plague had made sure of that; all of her memories of her previous life, her foalhood, her family, everything, were completely gone. They vanished in a poof of smoke when the disease began to take effect.

Different ponies reacted differently to the plague, usually based on the strength of their immune system. The weakest died straight out—over half of the pony population at the original outbreak had succumbed immediately in this way and even now, almost a century later, many ponies still passed away from just the virus; if anything, the percentage had risen. Next came the mad'uns. Again, about half of the survivors descended into a genuine state of lunacy which was hardly any better than death really; some couldn't even think straight enough to understand which body parts were their own. Then there was every pony else; the mutated, the amnesiacs, the mares and stallions who had lost their senses and the rare, much-loathed point one percent of the population who could resist the disease altogether. Lucky buggers.

Now Bleu Celeste was your typical amnesiac pony; she had no recollection of her past, nor did she know anything about herself. She'd awoken from a plague-induced coma unable to speak, not remembering her own name, her own talents, her own hobbies. She'd lost her cutie mark, a distinct symbol of her past. Even her coat had lost its colour, as did the coats of all amnesiacs; she was lucky that her mane, presumably once a royal blue or similar, had retained some of its original vibrancy, now the shade for which she'd been named after by the facility staff. After all, what else did they have to go on? Still, she hated the name; it was much to fancy for her liking—"Blue" suited her just fine.

Wobbling into the canteen on unsteady hooves she trotted over to the first serving bay and smiled at the pony working there, a deaf amnesiac stallion with a ripped off left ear and large scars down the side of his muzzle. She batted her eyelashes at him and then tossed her head; the stallion laughed as he levitated a small plate up onto the counter, placing it down and snorting.

"Stop it, Blue," he teased in a slightly unenthusiastic voice and the mare's ears fell as she pouted slightly, "I'm only giving you this 'cause you're on the list for special meals, especially since you had th-the electric test today." The stallion faltered slightly with his words as if something was particularly wrong but quickly smiled again. "But really, you should know that trying to flirt with me won't work. You're really no good at it."

"But, but-" Blue began, dismissing his stutter and she made her grey eyes wide and shining as if she were about to cry. It was all an act, of course, and not a particularly good one at that.

"Still not working, Blue," the stallion said as he nudged her plate towards her with a hoof, "and if you must talk, please write it down. You know I can't lip read well."

"Fine," the mare muttered as she ruffled her feathers and nodded to convey her message before picking up her meal in her mouth and winking as she trotted off to a nearby table, having a fairly large selection seeing as the canteen was, at this point, nearly deserted. Sitting down she sighed as she began to eat, a large amount (the chefs knew the substantial size of her appetite) of grilled vegetables sending her into heaven.

This was how the facility made ponies oblige.

All too soon she'd finished, the generous meal (as usual) barely enough to even make a dent on her appetite; returning to the counter she placed her plate down, making sure to lick it thoroughly clean once she did so and then she looked up at the stallion with the same fluttering eyes she'd used earlier. The action didn't send her companion into a sexual fluster, nor did it even make him slightly weak at the knees, but it wasn't meant to; he understood exactly what was being asked of him.

"Yes, fine. I'll bring you some oat cookies later." he whispered tersely as he took the plate, turning around to place it in the wash stack and flicking his colourless tail at her mock scoldingly. She yelped and jumped backwards before laughing, though it was strange that he hadn't done so himself.

"Thanks, Rip!" Blue yelled though there was no chance that he heard her as she trotted out before giving a wild buck, cantering off to her room in anticipation for her "delivery". It would be a while before the stallion—RipEar—got off of his shift in the canteen, at least half an hour or so, but she always liked to be organised and, honestly, her room was a tip. It hadn't been tidied for a whole day, after all.

A soft tap came at the door and Blue's ears perked up as she yelled, "One second!" and hastened to shove the rest of her junk into storage. The room was poxy with only enough room for a small closet and a bed but, impossibly, it was constantly messy. Even the walls were a state with old art projects—pretty sloppy work, really—and the like scattered around and, in one small corner, an old photograph of the sunset. Blue couldn't remember ever seeing the sunset; she'd never seen outside. The facility didn't want any pony looking in or out.

Unable to hear her cry to wait, RipEar nudged the door open and squeezed in through the gap, a pile of rubbish preventing it from opening fully. He wore a pair of saddlebags over his back and he pulled out a few cookies for her, crispy around the edges just the way she liked them, and Blue accepted them readily, munching happily. Moaning in pleasure, she snatched the second as well and scoffed that too, huffing when they were gone and licking her hooves and mouth greedily. "Only two?" She asked somewhat disappointed, quickly scribbling it down on a note of paper and RipEar nodded; scooting around he began to softly nudge Blue's rear end as if trying to get her to walk forwards. She did so suspiciously.

"Rip... What are you doing?" she asked but got no reply, of course, so instead resulted in kicking out slightly with her rear leg, pushing the stallion away from her slightly. Spinning on him she glared, pawing at the ground. "Hey!"

RipEar looked at her sympathetically, hanging his head. He couldn't understand her words but the meaning behind her actions was hardly subtle. "I can't hear you, Blue, but you've got to trust me. Please." his words were rushed and he had suddenly become extremely apprehensive, his ears pressed flat back. "They're going to kill you. They tell you that the electric test ponies leave—they don't. Every pony who has the electric test gets murdered so you've gotta trust me now, else you'll end up food for the guard dogs."

"Guard dogs? What!"

RipEar flinched at the mare's expression. "Calm down, Blue—I'm not going to let them kill you. But we've got to get going now."

"I—"

The distinctive wail of a tannoy as it flared into life sounded around the room and Blue winced as she buried her head in between her knees, trying to block out the sound; RipEar couldn't hear the noise but could feel the very vibrations on the air and it made his own grey eyes widen. "Would miss Bleu Celeste please report to test room X. Repeat, would miss Bleu Celeste please report to test room X. Thank you."

The tannoy's message ended and RipEar's expression grew truly terrified, knowing what the message had been—it had been broadcasted so many times before. His ears were almost blending into his neck by now and he danced on the spot.

"Time's up. Let's go." he whispered urgently and grabbed Blue's mane roughly, galloping into the corridor and along its length as fast as he could. The mare stumbled after, still somewhat shaken from the electric shocks, her heart thudding in her chest.

"Message for one miss Bleu Celeste: we are sending ponies to your room now to talk with you. Please wait there for them or meet your doctor in test room X. Thank you."

Blue slowed slightly on instinct, ready to turn back, but RipEar was on the ball and urged her on in a panic; shoving her roughly, he panted as he ran and whispered to her that if she returned, she would be killed. She couldn't quite believe it, but she couldn't imagine that her oldest (and only) friend would be lying to her either. Thankfully the floors of the facility were carpeted; had it been any other way, the two would have easily been heard and stopped.

"Message for one miss Bleu Celeste and one Mr RipEar; you have both been located on security cameras taking part in reckless activity. We are sending guard ponies after you now. If you resist, we will have to force you to leave the facility."

RipEar couldn't hear the words and Blue was slightly glad that he couldn't; still, he'd recognised the change in the atmosphere and was now running even faster. "Just a little further, Blue." he assured and, true to his word, they reached a small door in less than a minute; placing his hoof on the wood, he spun and saw, a long way down the hall, the first ponies thundering towards them. His eyes widened and he ushered Blue through. Spinning back around, he levitated a nearby painting and hurled it towards the attackers before running after the mare.

Never to return to this place again. Next Chapter: Fighting For The Light Estimated time remaining: 2 Hours, 18 Minutes