Brothers part I

Ahhhh
>Nothing like a fresh cup of coffee in the morning
>It's probably the best part of your day
>As you sip, you forget about how bad the apartment you're living in is
>You temporarily cease to care about the fact that you're headed to a slave's job with slave wages
>You take this time out of every morning to calm down, and stop stressing about life
>It's calming, gives you energy, and keeps life from driving you insane
>After being framed for an enormous company scandal that involved somebody dying, the old desk job fired you
>After finally getting out of jail, work has been hard to come by
>You hate what your life has become now, but you'll be damned if you'll let it get to you
>This morning ritual helps prepare you for the day ahead
>Another day of back breaking labor at a train yard, where you stayed all day, and half the night before returning home
>Sunday was your only off day, because legal fees and debt now demand that you work every single day
>But on the plus side, intensive manual labor has made you strong, and thugs don't try to beat you up anymore, after you sent a couple to the hospital (which resulted in more debt because he sued and won)
>If things keep up, you could be out of debt in another thirteen years or so
>Good thing you haven't missed a payment
>You finish your morning coffee, get the last bit of sleep out of your eyes, and put on your work clothes
>Ready to go, you grab your breakfast and run
>Even public transportation costs too much for you, so you have a solid half hour run to work
>At the train yard, you don't slack off, because you've seen people get fired for that, and you can't lose this job
>Half hour lunch break, and you finish the brunch you packed yourself
>Hours later, shifts end, and you clock out
>Boss comes out today, pulls you aside before you leave
Anon! Just the man I wanted to see. Do you have a moment to spare?
>Even if you didn't you feel like you have to, because he's never put up with anything he doesn't like
>He leads you into his office, and tells you to take a seat
Anon, I've been watching you work, and I think you deserve a raise
>You must have visibly brightened at this, because he smiles at you
A two dollar raise will be effective starting next week
>You can hardly believe it
>With the amount of hours you put in a week, this is a big sum more than what you were getting
Thank you sir
>You reply with a professional attitude, barely containing your excitement
Is there anything else?
>He shakes his head
No Anon, you're free to go
>You nod, say thank you, and head home
>Things are looking better
>Maybe you can get out of this shithole sooner after all
>You hit the showers and go to bed, just to start the day all over again tomorrow
>...
>...
>...
*BEEP BEEP*
*BEEP BEEP*
*BEEP BEEP*
>You groan, and slam your hand down on the alarm clock
>Another fucking day living in this shit house, working in a shit job
>At least there's a pay raise to be happy about
>Yippee
>The morning routine is as dull as ever, and as the coffee machine works its magic, you you look around
>Nothing changes
>Just the same worn down, tattered apartment building, the cheapest you could find
>Only the basic necessities are here
>A bed, table, stove, coffee machine, and a microwave
>You keep telling yourself it's just temporary, and once your debts are settled, you'll move out
>Live in the suburbs and work in an office again
>A much easier life
>And just like every morning while the coffee finishes, you remind yourself that you have at least a decade before that happens
>You take your cup and sit down at the table, leaning back in your chair and taking the time to simply enjoy the bitter taste of life
>Your frustrations and anger start to clear up, just like every morning
>The routine is almost soothing, in a mind numbing kind of way
>You drink the last mouthful all at once, closing you eyes and letting the chair fall back forward
>But just as you swallow it, it turns into some sort of undercooked burger meat, making you gag and throw you eyes open
>But you aren't in your apartment anymore
>You're not even in a chair
>In fact, you're not even you
>You look at your jet black hooves, which are covered in blood
>Then you look past them to see a mutilated pony corpse, it's face frozen as if he/she (you can't tell anymore, it's that bad) were begging for you to stop
>You feel sick to your stomach
>Not just from the ghastly sight before you, but from the very feeling of wrongness
>You can't be here
>You're at "home" drinking coffee before work
>You're not here right now, you must be hallucinating
>You have to be
>You punch yourself in the face, but it does nothing except bring pain
>In a frenzy, you keep beating yourself in a desperate attempt to wake up
>This nightmare can't be real
>But it can get worse
FREEZE, SCUM!
>A commanding voice screams from behind you
>The command is so forceful and demanding that you actually stop mid punch and freeze
>Then you get tackled to the ground
>You don't know how they did it, but what's presumably a police pony manages to cuff your forehooves behind your back and drag you outside
>The sunlight is blinding out here
>By the time your eyes adjust, you  catch a glimpse of easily hundreds of other ponies, all of different colors, staring at you
>Then you're thrown into the back of a carriage, which is then shut, leaving you bound in darkness
No.. Please, no! This is a mistake! I'm not a pony! I'm innocent!
>The carriage starts moving, and a gruff voice calls from the front of the car
SHUT UP! You crazy psychopath! We're taking you to the funny farm [spoiler]Where life is beautiful all the time![/spoiler]
>You start freaking out even more, the feeling of nausea steadily growing
>This can't be real
This isn't happening; This isn't happening; This isn't happening; I'm just going to wake up and it will all be a dream
>You start repeating this to yourself over and over and over again
>The pony in the front keeps yelling at you to shut up, but you ignore him
>Some time later, you've stopped repeating it out loud, and just said it in your head, curled up in a ball
>You aren't even trying to look at anything anymore
>Just quietly crying and telling yourself that it isn't real
>You don't even notice that you've been placed in a jail cell until hours later when food arrives
>You don't touch it
>You're betting that if you get hungry enough, the dream will end, because that's what this is
>Just a nightmare
>...
>Not much later, four guardsponies come as escorts
>One of them explains that you're going to be questioned
>You nod dumbly, still refusing to believe what's happening
>They surround you and push you on from behind
>Two of them are unicorns, and the other two are pegasi
>Not that it matters much, because you'll be waking up soon, you just know it
>they bring you into a questioning room, clearly the kind that you can be observed in
>They strap you to a chair, and you sit there alone for a few moments
>You're closing you eyes, trying to wake yourself up
>You even try biting down on the inside of your mouth and on your tongue to induce enough pain to snap out of this dream
>Nothing changes, though, but you keep going at it
>Soon a pony comes in, closes the door behind her, and sits down across from you
So, Mr Smoky Bolt
>What kind of name is that?
That's not my name
>She shakes her head
Honestly Smoky, we don't have time for this. I need some answers from you
>She pulls out a folder of papers, lays them out, and pushes them out towards you
>Among them are pictures of an orange unicorn
>Who you recognize as the mutilated pony back in that room
>You feel nauseous again
I hope you feel sick about what you've done. I need you to answer routine questions
>You don't look up, you're still trying to settle your stomach, as well as a creeping doubt
>It isn't working well
Now, why did you kill him?
>Without thinking, you answer
I didn't. he was like that when I got there
>Wrong answer, obviously
>But curiously, she doesn't comment on it
You say your name isn't Smoky Bolt. What is it?
>She's angry, but sounds genuinely curious
Anon
>Your stomach churns again, and the doubtful feeling is starting to grow
>This....
>This might not be a dream
>But fuck it, you're still trying to wake up
Well then, if you didn't kill him, who did?
>She asks, and something is becoming clear
I... I don't know...
>You say, looking her in the eyes (freakishly large eyes)
>You can see the gears turning, judging you
>And she's judging you insane
>You can tell that nothing you say will really help you
>Or even change your standing
>The only way to win a losers game
The victims blood is on your hooves. So I'll ask again. Why did you kill him?
>Is not to play
Jealousy?
>....
Money?
>...
A mare?
>...
Hatred?
>Her mission has been accomplished
Hmph. Hatred and revenge only breeds more of the same
>She got you to respond
>But she wasn't prepared for that
Then what was the motive?
>Still don't have to play
>They can't exactly force you
Are you going to say anything, or am I just wasting my time here?
>Then she mumbles something else under her breath
Still getting locked up for life
>You jerk your head back down from staring at the ceiling and stare her right in the face
>She notices, but does nothing, just gathers the papers back up and leaves
>The four gaurds come in after she leaves to escort you out
>And through them, you see her let out a pent up shiver of fear
>You now realize she'd been holding her composure in that room over her fear of you
>From her point of view, you can't possibly be anything other than a deranged murderer
>You feel bad for a second, but then you remember that she's probably a piece of your subconscious
>Because you won't accept that this isn't a dream
>That this is real
>But doubts are creeping in
>You can't remember when you've felt ill in a dream
>Or smelled the half cleaned prison
>With only one cell
>Yours
>When you get thrown back in your cell, you hear a guard mutter
Monster
>What could your subconscious be trying to tell you?
>Or maybe...
>...
>No
>You won't believe that
>Not...
>Not yet
>As you tell yourself this, you start to drift off
>Before you know it, you're dreaming
>You know you're dreaming because you're looking at a book and are reading words as you think of them to be read
>You don't recall dreaming within a dream, but you wouldn't be surprised if you just forgot about it
>Most dreams are like that
>At some point, the dream became an adventure through a forest
>Most of your half-lucid dreams turn into adventures
>This one is no different, and you let your subconscious take you along on the adventure
>Just as the miracle sandwich of spaghetti is within your grasp, a rattling and creaking noise wakes you up
>Wakes you up
>...
>You can't wake up from a dream within a dream like this
>And smell the floor
>And taste your morning breath
>And hear the shuffling of hooves
>And feel the weight and dirtiness of your body
>...
Fuck this gay earth
>You say out loud
>This isn't a dream
>This damn thing is real
>And it pisses you off
>You glare over at the cell door and find breakfast waiting for you
>...
>A plate of dandelions
>Seriously?
>Hunger from not eating earlier takes over and you down the whole thing
>It didn't taste bad, but still tasted like flowers
>Pony anatomy?
>Speaking of, you have hooves
>Not hands
>But hooves
>So....
>How
>The fuck
>Are you holding this bowl?????
AAAAAUUUUUGGGGHHHHH!!!
>You throw it against the wall
>That does nothing to answer your questions or blow off much steam
>You are a murderer here in this body
>Just fucking wonderful
>Now people will never trust you or try to be close to you again
>You punch the wall with your hoof
>It makes a satisfying noise, and didn't really hurt
>So you keep thinking about all the stupid shit you'll have to put up with
>And hit the wall as hard as you can for each one
>You'll be in jail again
*Punch*
>They probably believe you to be a freaking lunatic
*Punch*
>That's going to mean freaking unnecessary therapy
*Punch*
>Probably going to be diagnosed with some bullshit because you don't fit with what they think you should be like
*Punch*
>You hooves are starting to hurt, but your anger isn't even close to leveling out
This bullshit....
*Punch*
>And you probably aren't even on earth anymore
>Earth doesn't have talking ponies, dammit
*Punch*
>Even if you wanted to see your parents or coworkers, you can't
*Punch*
>Not that it matters, they're all a bunch of dicks
*Punch*
>You've left one shit life behind for a shittier life
>Is there a god?
*SLAM*
>You finish your set of blows by slamming both hooves into the wall
>Cracks are now evident
>You can see through some of them, and you feel satisfied with that release of steam
>Now it's just a low simmering anger
>You know, the kind that's easy to put a cap on
>Or, they would be, if the noise hadn't summoned the guards
What's going on in h-....
>The combination of your glare (byproduct of being pissed) and the clear view of your recent feat shut them up
>They start whispering to themselves
>But you can still hear them
That  crazy monster just broke the wall!
>...
How can we lock it up if it can do that??
>It grates on your nerves
>A lot
What's to stop that thing from... killing again?
>*Snap*
You shut your DAMN MOUTHS!!
>You scream at them
>They lock up and remain silent
Go somewhere I can't you hear you, shitheads
>You grumble, and go back to the warm sunlight
>The guards stand there in shock
What are you waiting for?!
>That sends them scrambling away
>You were right
>These bastards don't even see you as the equivalent of human
>It's almost enough to make you punch the wall again
>But your hooves hurt
>For now, you just stare outside through the cracks
>Gradually getting angrier at your lack of freedom
You can see a distinct void near the actual building, but in the distance you see the normal ponies
>Just going about their business
>Some of them are even stopping to lay down in the grass, soaking up the sun and staring at the sky
>God damn, you haven't had the chance to do that in many, many years
>And just fucking perfect too
>Now you just may never get that chance
This damned place...
>You mutter to yourself
>And you keep staring outside, trying to get a glimpse at the actual sky
>But all you can get are slivers of blue, and snippets of grass and ponies walking by
>Eventually you just stop letting it anger you and stare instead at the ceiling
>Which doesn't really help, but it doesn't make things worse
>So you sit, waiting
>Waiting for the next retarded thing to start happening
>It doesn't take too long
>Some pony comes down the hall and up to your door
>It's a unicorn mare with a blue coat and yellow mane, with a satchel on her back
>She has the guards open the door
Smoky Bolt, come with me
>Yeah, no
No
>She doesn't expect this
I'm sorry, what was that?
>Wonder why
I said no
>The anger bleeds into your voice, and you can tell just by the reaction of her and the guards
Well, it's been determined that you need therapy, and I was told to come and get you and
>She starts gushing out words, clearly nervous
>You hold up a hoof and silence her
I said No
And don't try to make me
>You left that threat open ended
>That did it for her, and she closed the cell door, scuttles backwards, then briskly trots away, clearly eager to leave
>Which is fine by you
>Solitary confinement is better than therapy for shit that never happened to you
>You half heartedly wonder what they've diagnosed you with
>If murder isn't common here, and that's why they call you a "crazy monster," then there are a few possibilities
>They might just think that you're broken, and delusional
>Or maybe that you angry at yourself for murdering the pony
>God damn, either way it would mean stupid therapy sessions that wouldn't get anything done
>You lie around like this for what must be hours before nightfall and dinner come and go
>You fell asleep a some point, but you don't care
>Only rage is on you mind now
>While you slept, somebody managed to reseal the cracks and strengthen the door
>Probably magic
>There are unicorns around here, after all
>Looks like they don't want t take chances on you escaping
>Just fucking wonderful
>Now you can't even see the outside world that you may never be a part of
>Another bowl of flowers comes in, through a slot
>Another grumpy morning with nothing but a freaking bowl of flowers to "enjoy"
>You still can't understand how the hell you can grab shit without fingers, but you don't pay it much attention
>This hellhole is already terrible enough without trying to rationalize that
>But lo and behold, It can always get worse
>Just as you finish eating, that same pony comes back, this time with three more guards
Smoky Bolt, it's time for your therapy session
>Ha
I thought I told you already. No
>She doesn't hesitate this time
Well you're going, weather you like it or not
>She has the guards come into your cell and try to herd you out
>But you did warn her
No.
>And when the first guard went to push you, you leap to your hooves, giving an uppercut blow along the way
>The other guards back up a bit, looking to the therapy mare for help
>You stand calm, ready to deck whoever tries to make your already shit predicament worse
>The mare actually runs off!
>You and the guards are baffled for a moment, until she returns with more guards
>Then the fear goes out of the first group, and they all come forward to drag you away
>This reminds you of the fights you got in back in prison
>Back when you were still angry at everyone
>And they tried to group up on you
>Their mistake
>And it's about to be replicated
>You don't know pressure points of this anatomy, but you do know where the joints are
Come with me, Smoky. Don't make us use force...
>Ha!
>What a riot
Ditto
>You reply
>Then the command is given to drag you out
>And all hell breaks loose
>Popping sounds are audible as you swing low and take them out at the joint in their front leg
>And when they figure out how to avoid that, you you aim for the shoulders and back of the neck
>All with the same rage fueled strength that you had breaking the wall
Somepony do something!
>One of them yells, before you hit the back of his neck, rendering him unconscious
>Even as more arive, you find that their bulkiness from armor, while protecting them, is making them a little too slow
>On top of the fact that you're on your back feet, standing up
>Using punches and kicks to deliver blows
>Soon, all of them are down
>All 20 or so of them
>You take a moment to get back on all fours and catch your breath
>As you do, you see that therapist mare come rushing around the corner with something
>Is that...?
*Shoomp*
>In the split second you have, it registers that it is indeed
>A dart gun
>It hits you right in the left shoulder area
>And now everything is
>...
>Colorful
Ahhhhh
>You just sink down onto the floor
>You must be loopy
>You don't even care that the guards have started getting back up and taking you out and down the hall
>You are strapped into a chair
Hmmmmmmmm?
>You regard the restraints with a fun curiosity, before moving on to the little dust particles floating around
>If you connect the dots, they make shapes and squiggles!
>This is getting fun!
Hmmmmmmmmmm....
>You start humming
>It turns into the song "What becomes of the Broken Hearted" by Jimmy Ruffin
>You sing it in your head
As I walk this land with broken dreams
I have visions of many things
Love's happiness is just an illusion
Filled with sadness and confusion,
What becomes of the broken hearted
Who had love that's now departed?
I know I've got to find
Some kind of peace of mind
Maybe
>As you hum, you keep connecting the dust spec dots into the people who abandoned you in your past
What.. um... What are you singing?
>You don't reply to her, you just start singing
What becomes of the broken hearted
Who had love that's now departed?
I know I've got to find
Some kind of peace of mind
>...
Maybe.
>The therapist mare doesn't know how to react when you finally stop singing that song and just stare at the dots
>Still letting them take the shapes of people you used to know, love, and trust
>When she finally finds her voice, she speaks
What do you mean by that?
>You don't answer
>You don't want to
>Even through whatever drug she shot you with, you know that this won't get anywhere
>She takes your silence as her cue to start talking again
Well, you're a special case. You're all over the papers
>She slides one in front of you
Equestria's first murderer in over 1000 years
>You don't even hesitate to shoot back your reaction, as much as it makes you sound in denial
I never murdered anybody
>But what catches your attention is that you can't read the paper
>At first you think it's the drugs making you loopy
>But even with concentration, you can't read it
>The letters are some sort of hieroglyphics
I can't read that
>She looks at you curiously
No, really. What does it say?
>She doesn't answer you
>She just magiks a spinner with a multicolored swirling pattern onto the table
>You feel something force your head to look at it
>Then it starts moving
>And you can't look away
>The loopiness from that dart and the hypnotic spinning colors are too much
Now, let's start with the basics
>You just nod your head, still in a half-aware trance like state
What is your name?
>
Anon
>She jots something down
Tell me, Smoky, where did you work?
>
At the railway station
>More scribbling
How did you get fired?
>
A scandal
>More scribbling
>The therapy session contines like this
>She asks a question, you answer while staring at the spinning hypno wheel
>And then she corrects you
>And your half glad she does
>You can't believe you forgot that you worked in a press room
>And you don't know how you forgot that you resigned
>But at the same time, another part of you is trying to answer these questions
>What part is that?
>Where are these... other answer coming from?
>At the end of the day, you are sent back to your cell, confused
>Who's memories are whose?
>Who are you?