She’d first suspected something was wrong about two months ago, though that time-frame may have been altered: She was given a mission by [i]somepony[/i] that she was to go to Baltimare and contact [i]somepony else[/i]. There had been a creature sighted that was, by all accounts “truly terrifying”. She had gone, and she had spoken to [i]somepony,[/i] and she had then followed the creature’s trail from Baltimare to Filly Delphia, then to Manehatten, to Hollow Shades, to Canterlot, and finally [i]it[/i] had tracked [i]her[/i] to her home in Ponyville. She still knew she worked for S.M.I.L.E. That wasn’t lost. But she only remembered one pony other than herself who worked there, and that was the janitor; Squeaky Clean. If she wasn’t able to remember him, she’d have to doubt she actually worked for S.M.I.L.E. She remembered the corridors, the walls, the paintings, and the overall layout of the place, but she couldn’t remember anypony who worked there. She remembered her training, her first mission, and her first injury. She even remembered the very first snazzy S.M.I.L.E. suit she had been given, but she couldn’t remember the pony who had given it to her. When she had been assigned the mission, she knew she wasn’t the first, but she only knew that because of the official S.M.I.L.E. document, signed by [i]somepony,[/i] with photographs of witnesses with blank names attached to blank photos with dates on them. Anything that was a pony picture or name was gone, leaving the documents dotted with holes throughout, long before she had been assigned it. There was just blank space wherever a name should be, and backgrounds where photographs were. There were still some ponies in a few photographs, but it was clear they weren’t supposed to be the focus of the picture. Place names were fine. Baltimare had definitely been the first recorded sighting, that wasn’t in doubt. But despite S.M.I.L.E.’s insistence on careful record-keeping, the pony who had been first witness for the field crew was blank. It had been signed, and approval had been written in by [i]somepony else[/i], but the name of both the pony and the pony keeping the records were blank. Sweetie Drops wasn’t sure if the ponies were missing, dead, or still alive and merely forgotten, but if they were capable of contacting her, they hadn’t, so she had to assume the worst. Everything that indicated any pony associated with the mission still existed was just gone—photos, names, memories—all gone. Noise came from downstairs, and Sweetie Drops looked up from her bulletin board of records to the as of yet empty hallway just outside her bedroom door. Nothing was there yet, so she looked back at her weak attempt to salvage her own memories somehow. The bulletin board contained empty photographs with scrawled ink next to it, trying to help her remember the ponies and telling her where and how they could be contacted. But despite her careful efforts and written records, she’d never managed to find anypony. Or if she had, they didn’t remember her, and she certainly didn’t remember them. She was the last pony who knew about the creature and attempts to stop it. She heard thumping on the stairs, and knew it was only a matter of moments until it found her. She picked up a photograph she had been keeping next to her with a frame that said: “Best Friends” in rainbow lettering across the top. In the photo, it was herself, hugging air, with her hooves wrapped around nothing and a huge smile on her face. It was obvious there was supposed to be somepony else in the picture, but they were gone. Even if they were still alive, they wouldn’t remember her, and she didn’t remember them. As the creature’s steps came to the corner of the doorway and its awful face came into view, Sweetie drops felt a surge of terror and had one final, bittersweet thought: “At least nopony will remember me to mourn when I’m gone.”