Title: Brothers part I Author: shrimpasta Pastebin link: http://pastebin.com/Lf2WLLKT First Edit: Wednesday 6th of August 2014 11:03:11 AM CDT Last Edit: Wednesday 6th of August 2014 11:03:11 AM CDT 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?