>The first night was hell.
>After Pinkie's session, you passed out from the pain.
>You woke up in a small cell.
>Rations were sitting on your bed.
>Your wounds were mostly healed, which was odd to say the least.
>They still hurt like hell though.
>The cell was small, with a door made of iron bars.
>No window on the opposite wall.
>Just dirt.
>There were other cells across the hall from you.
>You could only really get a look at three of them.
>At first glance, it didn't look like any of them were filled.
>Upon closer inspection, however, you notice the shapes of more small horse-things.
>The one in the room across from you was hiding under it's bed.
>The other two from the adjacent cells were peeking around the corner.
>They looked... worn.
>Beaten.
>And much smaller than Pinkie or Twilight.
>They were scared, dirty, and bruised.
>And, apparently, children.
>They seemed terrified of you.
“It's alright. I'm not going to hurt you.”
>Silence as the three of these young ones disappear from sight.
“I'm a friend. My name is...Anonymous.
>Something's not right here.
>One of the small ones -faded orange in color - walks forward a bit, showing itself completely.
>It seems to have small wings.
>There's a collar around it's neck with a red light on top.
>The light's not on at the moment.
>It looks terrified.
>You crouch down, attempting to get closer to eye level.
>You are still much taller than the poor creature.
“Can you talk, little one?”
>The horse being shakes its head slowly.
>You point at your neck, then at the horse.
>It nods it's head slowly, tears rolling down it's cheeks.
>Apparently, whatever has you here doesn't want the others talking to you.
>You smile at the little horse.
>These creatures apparently suffer as much as you do.
>How many more are here in these cells?
>You don't have much time to ponder before you hear hoofsteps coming down the hall.
>At this sound, the orange horse ducks back into it's cell.
>”Were the fillies giving you any trouble, Subject 23?”
>You stand up to your full height.
>You remain silent.
>Twilight stops in front of your cell, facing away from you.
>”Well, they can't possibly be causing anymore trouble than they already have. Can you, girls?”
>Twilight procures a remote from her lab coat, pressing a large sized red button.
>Screams emanate from the three cells.
>”Perhaps you shouldn't communicate with the subjects, Scootaloo. You know what happ-”
“Stop!”
>You shout, filling the halls with the echoes of your command.
>Twilight pauses, letting the girl's screams turn into steady, low weeping.
“Whatever you want from me, whatever your quarrel is, take it out on me. These children did nothing wrong.”
>Twilight turns to look at you.
>”What makes you think that, Subject 23?”
>Without goggles on, you get a good look at her face.
>Gray? You could have sworn that before, she was purple...
>Is it a trick of the lighting?
“They're children, for Christ's sake! How could you torment them like that? What could they have possibly done to-”
>”They released the beast, Subject 23.  And they are the reason YOU are here.  I keep them across from my subject's cell to remind them of that fact daily.”
>You have a hard time believing that three children placed you in this cell.
>You have a harder time believing that strange horse beings are torturing you.
“This blood is on your hands, not theirs. Do not twist their minds any further with your lies.”
>”They all start off like you. Soon, you will relish in their pain. They all do. They all learn.”
>Twilight grins at you as her horn begins to glow.
>Then you appear back in the chair.
>And day two starts.
>Then day three.
>Then day ten.
>Twilight, as is her apparent name, would take notes and “condition” you during the day.
>Pinkie would take out whatever strange cosmic frustrations she had upon you at night.
>Day after day, week after week, you endured the cuts, the shocks, the beatings, the torment.
>You would come back to your cell and try to tell the little ones stories about your home.
>Tales of old heroes, fairy tales, books you'd read.
>Anything to give them some sort of hope.
>But as time wore on, this... this torture began taking its toll on you.
>Twilight would run tests on you during the day.
>Physical tests, mental capacity tests - no two tests were ever alike.
>It seemed random to you, as though there were no real rhyme or reason to these tests.
>Like they were just being done to see how long it took until you couldn't do them anymore.
>And the nights...
>”What is your name?”
“Anony-”
>Your head goes into the ice water again, this time being held under for a minute before being let out.
>”You need to speak louder, Subject 23! I can't hear you!”
“Anon-”
>You'd often black out during these sessions, only to wake back up to do it all over again.
>One night, you almost did it.
>It was your one hundred and sixtieth day in Equestria.
>Day one hundred and sixty in your own little slice of hell.
>From what you gathered from Twilight, you had lasted longer than all of the other subjects had thus far.
>Apparently being cut up at night and shocked during the day took its toll on most people.
>You weren't most people.
>”Oh Subject 23, you have to be my favorite subject so far! I've never been able to have so much fun with just one of you before!”
“Glad to know.”
>”That's why I'm going to go easy on you tonight! You just have to do me one eensie weensie favor.”
>You knew where this was going.
>You humored her anyway.
“What's that, Pinkie?”
>”Well, I don't like not knowing a... person's... name. And you still haven't told me yours! Just say your name, silly filly!”
“We do this every night. I've told you my name.”
>”You did? I must not have heard it.”
>Will she really go easy on you?
>Months have gone by.
>Months of being cut, losing limbs, bleeding out.
>Only to have it all be “better” the next day.
>Just to have it all start again.
>Your cracking mind begins to race.
>What would it hurt to be called Subject 23?
>Hurt your pride?
>No sense in having pride if you're dead.
>Why not just give in?
>Why not just...
>In your mind, you see images of the three fillies you've begun to grow attached to.
>You give them stories of better days.
>You give them stability.
>You give them hope.
>And if you give in now, where do you stop giving in?
“Alright. I'll tell you my name.”
>Pinkie leans in, grinning.
“My name.”
>You can't be Subject 23.
“Is.”
>You need to be Anonymous.
“Anonymous.”