Dusty Trails

(https://youtu.be/1UMNoaefIp4?si=lfcqkJ_Gkgaf5sA_) Inside a dim, dry, dungeon, far below the quiet little town of Appleoosa, a man hangs against the back wall of a stone cell. There is little light to illuminate the cell. Only the residual light from an oil lamp affixed to the wall outside of the cell. A cloud of ancient dust permeates the air, and the man's lungs. Every breath he takes feels like he's sucking in dust directly off of an old piece of furniture. Worse still is the strain of being hung by his arms has put on his lungs. He wheezes, and gasps. Never truly feeling as though he's gotten enough air in a breath, but never passing out from lack of oxygen. He's been given just enough air to stay conscious, but just too little for his brain to believe it's getting enough. The man's eyes slowly shift upwards. He scans the room visually, but his eyes seem to pass over the majority of it. Instead, they come to rest on the lone unicorn sat in an old chair in the corner of the room. His fur is a mute-gray-purple, and his mane is a short, slick, deep purple. Much like those in the Lunars back in Canterlot. He wears a simple black suit with a purple dress shirt underneath, and a black bow tie, alongside a simple black bowler hat with a purple band. Atop his coat rests a badge in the shape of a crescent moon. For the love of the Lone Star. The man cannot recall how long he's been in this cell. It could have been days, or maybe even weeks by now. No. It has to have been less than 3 days. Otherwise he'd have died of dehydration by now. The agent who brought him here hasn't given him so much as a drop of water, or crumb of food since he got here. So it has to have been less than 3 days, right? No. That agent is a unicorn, and he knows magic. Maybe he's been using some sort of spell to keep him alive. Whatever the case, the agent is in the room with him. At first, the man believed the agent was using some sort of illusion to trick him into thinking he was always being watched. Then, the ones he thought were illusions started jamming instruments of torture into him. Now, the man's mind cannot distinguish between the real, illusioned, or imagined. For all it knows, the agent in the corner is real, but it could just as easily just be his eyes playing tricks on it. The man's head falls once more. He's so tired. So very tired. Yet, he simply cannot sleep. His body refuses to shut down for even a few minutes of rest. It knows it is in danger, and is adamant it be awake in case it needs to react. For a few moments though, the man manages to close his eyes, and pretend to rest. This false sense of rest is dashed by the voice of the agent. "Hey. I didn't say yous could go conkin' out on me now." The man then feels a sudden, cold, stabbing pain in his chest. He gasps, and his eyes shoot open. With what little strength he can muster, the man lifts his head. There, he finds the agent entering the cell through the doorway in front of him. His mind never even registers that he'd been sitting in the chair only a second earlier. It's then that the agent grabs the chair, and pulls it up in front of the man. "You know." The agent begins. "The King would do far worse to you than I am pal." He then sits in the chair. "Or, he'd just execute you. No questions asked." The agent shuffles in his seat, then leans forward. "You're a lucky guy, you know that? You happen to have something I want. So, I ain't just gonna kill ya. You know that by now though." The man does not respond. Even in his severe state, he remains defiant. "Hey, listen pal. I ain't askin' foah much here. Alls I need is yer name, and where you were stationed." The man's eyes widen as the agent produces a cup of dirty water, and a slice of moldy bread. In that moment, his body's survival instincts take over. All of his defiance quickly deflates, and the man's voice cracks as it rushes to be heard. "Jack Hammer. Camp. 2 miles south." Then, the man's voice croaks, and gives out on him. He attempts to say more, but the only sound he can produce is a rasping, wheezing, croak. The agent does not respond. He simply tosses the water, and bread to the floor in front of the man. The man's head drops, and he begins to lunge forward with as much strength as his body can muster.  While the man desperately attempts to reach the food, and water on the ground, he hears the agent speak. "Look at you." Then, the sound of stone being placed on stone. "Yoah pathetic. A 'proud outlaw', reduced to a wild animal, desperate for scraps of moldy food." The agent begins to laugh. The sound of moving stones becomes a constant, yet the man's focus remains on the spilled food on the ground. "I can't believe the Dawn Rangers didn't wipe yous guys out when dey had dah chance." At this point, the light which had been illuminating the ground begins to fade, obscuring the bread from view. Finally, the man looks up, and sees a wall of stone being built to block up the entrance to the cell. He cannot see the agent. The man begins to scream. He thrashes with all his might. Chains rattle against stone, and the man's body bumps against the wall behind it. A figure appears within the only remaining space in the wall. Only, when the man looks, he doesn't see the agent. He sees his own face, staring back at him. Then, the face speaks, using the man's voice. "Thanks for the info buddy." The face dips out of view for a moment before coming back into view. "Ain't no cask of Amontillado down here though." The man lets out one last scream, then a stone is slotted into the space, and the man is shrouded in darkness.