A haze of green light permeated the room, mystifying and obscuring it. Its luster gave everything in the room a mysterious and somber verdant glow. The room was humid and damp, and as a result, the room looked slightly foggy.

Berry Punch woke up.

Her eyes shot up, and she moved her eyes around madly. Immediately, she felt a cold, hard surface on her forehead. Her vision was blurred, and she could only see hazy splotches of similar colors meshed together. Most of the colors were green, but she could not distinguish an object from another object. Part of her vision was covered by something, but she could not tell what it was from her perspective.

She groaned in excruciating pain. Her head throbbed. The pain in her head pulsated every second. Blood rushed up to her head, then rushed back down. Was this the result of another hangover? How much had she drunk last night? The pain usually wasn't this bad... She didn't even remember going back to her room...

She gasped in terror and sudden realization.

She wasn't in her house. She had awoken sitting upright in a room that she did not recognize. Where was she? Had she been kidnapped? What was this metallic thing covering her face? She raised her legs upward and grabbed onto the helmet-like thing on her head. It felt bitterly cold and hostile. She tugged. It did not move. She tugged harder, twisting her head around as if she could maneuver the helmet off of her.

The helmet did not budge. It grasped steadfast onto her head, not surrendering. Although her vision had adjusted long before, this thing on her head was still covering part of her vision.

She waved her head around frantically, trying to remove the bothersome accessory off of her head. What was happening? Who was doing this? Why was she here? What was this thing? Questions without answers cascaded into her mind, causing her head to pound faster, her headache growing more painful every second.

The pain. She could not endure the unbearable pain any longer. She let out a piercing scream, which was slightly muffled by the helmet, her cry rebounding around the room until they were quickly absorbed by the objects in the room.

Sobbing profusely, she clenched the metallic object on her head again and struggled to pull it off.

A sudden, abrupt sound of buzzing static interrupted her futile attempt.

Berry twisted her head toward the origin of the static. A very old television set had lit up. It was as small as a hardcover book, yet its arcane power it held was great. Constantly moving black and white lines concealed the image behind it. She looked at it in fear, fearing what secrets the screen held.

The streaks of static disappeared, and what appeared before her was much more frightening than she had expected.

The chilling image of a demented, psychopathic leather doll replaced the static, appearing in the eerily low-resolution screen. Its face was as pale as a freshly-preserved corpse; it was presumably covered with a coat of paint. Its stitched lips were etched into a menacing grin. Its button eyes were painted with a deep shade of crimson, the visible cross on it still clearly viewable. Its hair was several thick, messy, completely black curls.

The Smarty Pants doll.

The doll that everypony had briefly adored in their momentary trance. The one that everypony had brawled against each other ferociously in order to keep it for themselves, including herself. Though her memory of that incident was nebulous, she remembered that the ponies in Ponyville had jumped on top of each other, battling each other frenziedly and maniacally. Then Princess Celestia had appeared, and the doll was never seen again.

It was right here. Right out of her reach, through the television screen. But its appearance was totally different. The intimidating color palette had somehow transformed the idle doll into a demonic one. Her teary eyes looked at the doll, and the image on the television screen looked back. Its emotionless visage provided no condolence. Several seconds passed without any movement from the screen.

"Hello, Berry."

Two words completely shattered the stillness of the room. The voice was raspy and scratchy. The voice was not of a pony. It couldn't be. There was nopony whose voice was that low. The doll did not move, yet the voice seemed to come from the doll, giving it an illusion that it was speaking.

"I have been watching you closely. For many years, you have been fueled by only one thing: alcohol. You spend most of your time drinking. Everypony in Ponyville knows of you as Ponyville's biggest alcoholic, yet you are still drinking more than ever. You are almost always inebriated, and it's a miracle how you always manage to get back home every night. Until tonight, that is."

The town drunk? Is that what ponies thought of her as? Her sober mind registered this thought, but she denied it quickly. No. They couldn't! She wasn't always drunk... wasn't she?

"You have yet to realize that your drinking doesn't just affect yourself, but other ponies as well. Look at your friends. They've grown a lot distant from you ever since alcohol has pulled you in its unforgivable grasp."

Her friends? She immediately thought of Colgate, Carrot Top, and various others. When was the last time she had seen-

Her face fell. She remembered a several months ago that she had shouted a stream of insults in her drunken stupor as she was dragged away by some other individual she could not recall. But they were still her friends, right? They must have forgiven her! They must have!

"I want to play a game.

"On your head is a device. A device that will crush your head."

What?!

"The device will clamp down on your head, severing your alcohol-possessed mind from its undeserving body. Here, I've provided a demonstration of that happenstance."

The camera angle of the screen shifted and focused on a device that she assumed was the same as the one she had on. The device was strapped onto a wooden block instead of a head. For several seconds, nothing happened. But she did hear a quiet ticking in the background. It was the ticking of a clock, but much more menacing. Then, without warning, the gears sprung to life.

It was not clear what had happened. One moment, the wooden block was intact. Then in another moment, the block was completely disintegrated. It was shattered. Splinters as sharp as daggers were catapulted away from the device. The block was torn to shreds, pieces of wood and dust raining down seconds later. The block was completely obliterated.

She looked at the screen in horror. Her eyes widened. If that device was on her head, then...

She felt sick to her stomach. Her breathing became more rapid. She could hear every heartbeat, every breath, every movement in her veins and arteries. What kind of convoluted pony would do this to her?

"The key to unlock this device is in a friend's heart."

In a friend's heart?

The camera shifted again and focused on the ugly doll.

"You have sixty seconds. Look around, Berry.

"Live or die; make your choice."

The television showed a final shot of Smarty Pants before flashing back to static.

Sixty seconds. She was given sixty seconds.

Panicked and infuriated, Berry rose from her seat, something that she regretted seconds after. She heard an ominous click, then the sound of ticking. The ticking of a clock. A timer.

The game had started.

Shit!

She automatically raised her hooves and pulled at the stubborn helmet. She frantically waved her body around, desperately attempting to get the clinging device off of her head.

"...in a friend's heart."

What the hell did the voice mean by "a friend's heart?" She looked around the room wildly, her eyes darting around the cell.

There.

On a wall.

An orange pony was strapped to a wall, her eyes closed. Taut leather straps tied the limbs of the unconscious mare to the wall. She looked extremely pitiful, her expressionless visage conveying no emotion. A large question mark was drawn across her chest.

Berry stepped toward her cautiously, the weight of the bulky device slowing her down. Was she another victim? Was she supposed to save her?

Next to the mare was a knife. It was slightly blunt, but it was sharp enough to cut through flesh. The metal part of the knife was burnished beforehand. It reflected the dull green light, coloring it green.

Berry suddenly understood what she must do. Her entire body trembling, she carefully grasped the tool with both hooves. Without thinking, she raised the knife slowly. She poised the knife so that the point faced the mare. She held it above her head.

She stopped. She lowered the weapon.

The mare began to open her eyelids, revealing two startlingly bright green eyes.

Berry's ears went deaf. Her vision doubled. She couldn't hear the pounding of her own heart. She couldn't hear the whimpers of the confused mare. She couldn't hear anything. She couldn't see anything. Her vision was scrambled.

Carrot Top.

"...in a friend's heart."

One of her closest friends. How did she not recognize her before?

Carrot Top mumbled something that Berry did not comprehend.

Tears flowing down her cheeks, Berry swung the knife up high. She had to. She had no choice.

Carrot Top's eyes widened. Her mouth opened, attempting to form a scream, but the only sound that came out was a mumble that Berry never heard. The powerless mare choked out her friend's name.

"Berry...?"

The knife came down forcefully.

The feeble, helpless mare struggled weakly on the straps as the blade came down, nearing her chest as every millisecond passed, staring at the face of her own doom...

A weak yet audible grunt.

A splatter of viscous liquid.

The knife rose again, this time in a hoof covered in red.

Down.

Another grunt.

Another splatter of liquid.

A tear from Berry's eyes dropped onto the floor, where it mixed with the blood.

Up.

Down.

Grunt.

Splatter.

She stabbed her friend until she grew quiet. Until she stopped grunting. Until she stopped making that hideous noise.

There was no time to lose. She tossed away the knife behind her, which bounced twice before hiding in a darkened corner, spraying blood over the floor as it went. She hovered a hoof over the puncture overflowing with blood. She hesitated, but she jabbed her hoof into the incision.

She wriggled her hoof inside, searching for the solid object. A deluge of disgusting liquid poured out every time her hoof moved. She wanted to vomit. The pressure inside of her was too much. But she couldn't. She only had seconds left before her head would be crushed to smithereens.

Her hoof only touched slippery, slimy organs that she could not discern. She shut her eyes, not wanting to look at the vivid gore and blood. Her hoof twisted around, digging through her friend's body.

At last, her hoof found its target through the mess: a small, metallic object, curiously shaped. She grasped onto it firmly, and with a jerk, liquid being propelled everywhere, she pulled the key out of her dead friend's chest. Blood dripping from it, she held the scarlet key as if it was her most prized possession.

Quickly, her hooves snapped back behind her head. Blood sprayed into her mouth, but she did not care. She wanted the device off. That was all she wanted. She stabbed the helmet with the key desperately, trying to force it into any opening in the device.

The incessant ticking grew louder.

The key was suddenly taken by the helmet. It fit. It was the right one!

Clenching her teeth, she twisted her hoof clockwise. She heard a click. She shut her eyes and braced for impact.

The only impact she felt was the resounding clatter of the device hitting the floor.

The mechanism bounced and came to a rest. A few seconds later, with a spastic jerk, it suddenly snapped shut.

She had beaten the timer! She was alive! Even though she felt overly ecstatic, she did not smile. She could not smile. She began to sob. She covered her face with her blood-drenched hooves, traumatized by the event and the loss of her friend.

She killed her friend. She killed Carrot Top with her own hooves.

She let out a loud sniffle. She petulantly jerked her head back and screamed.

"Berry," Rarity said. The other mare was sobbing hysterically, her face buried in her hooves. "You do know that you were an alcoholic, don't you?" Berry nodded, still looking down. "What do you think of this experience?"

The mulberry mare slowly looked up at her interrogator. Her face was red, and her eyes were puffed up from crying. Somehow, her feelings about her experience were mixed. She despised the unknown pony for making her kill her friend. But somewhere in her heart, she felt grateful. Grateful for curing her of the disease of alcoholism. Had it not been for the experience, she would never have been able to escape from drinking.

"I'm no longer an alcoholic," she said. She briefly choked before impassively finishing, "He helped me."

"She had to stab her friend to death?" Joe asked, appalled at the thought. His skin had grown cold. His complexion was paler than he was before. Doctor Whooves nodded grimly. "And yet she believed that he helped her?" He nodded again.

Neither of the stallions said anything. The only sound in the room was the inimical ticking of the sinister clock.

"What do you think, Rarity?" Spike asked as soon as Doctor Whooves was out of earshot. He watched as the dark-maned stallion stepped out of the room.

"I think that the pony that just exited is the one. I'll bet he's lying," Rarity said, levitating sheets of parchment in front of her as she perused them.

"I think so, too. We should keep an eye on him. Want me to write to Princess Celestia?" Spike offered, pulling out a quill and parchment.

"No, no, she's too busy with other things, darling," Rarity denied politely, still not looking back at the dragon, "but please, call the others. We need to discuss this."

"But today's their breaks! They won't be too happy about this."

"Spike, darling, Princess Celestia appointed us for this. It's our duty to take down this psychopath once and for all," Rarity assured, finally looking away from the bios of the victims. She turned and looked at Spike in the eyes. Suddenly entranced by the beauty of the gorgeous mare, he decided not to argue.

"I guess so... All right, I'll be right back," he said, running out the door of the station.

Sighing deeply, Rarity turned back and looked at the newspaper clippings of the Hacksaw murders. "Who are you?" she muttered rhetorically, staring at a photo of the killer's doll in one of the clippings.

The doll stared back wordlessly, its psychotic grin deriding her frustration.