It is another day of boredom for Thunderlane. He gets up for the morning alarm, brushes his already disciplined mane and puts on his uniform. The uniform is supposed to be a symbol of pride for any who wear it. It takes a lot to be a soldier, and even more so to wear the uniforms of the elites of Equestria’s military. Whether they be Palace Guards, the Frontier Watch or the Wonderbolts, they all serve the same purpose and fuel the same pride to any and all who wear such uniforms belonging to the top tier guardians of Equestria.

All but Thunderlane, that is.

No matter how much he desires it, how much he tells himself that he feels proud and accomplished of what he has done, he is still empty. His words of self-praise are as hollow as the void in him. To Thunderlane, his jacket is just cheap blue cloth with gold cuffs and his graduation pins are glued on decorations from the one bit store. Even his very limbs and joints feel like they are made of cheap, painted wood as they creak from bending to adjust his cuff. But Thunderlane does not care about the fading paint or splinters poking up from his hoof. Nor does he care about the noticeable wires hanging from the sky, screwed into him and guiding every step he takes.

It is a fuzz, but Thunderlane still remembers when he graduated the Wonderbolts Academy. He remembers the hours of drills of the days before and the hours of cleaning and preening before the ceremony. All that preparation to stand fours hours at attention in block formation with the sun cooking him alive in his dark coat, just to see his parents and Rumble. After twelve weeks of Hell, his father finally said what he has been wanting to hear even before he got his cutie mark.

“Good job, boy, you are one step closer to being a real Hurricane.”

Those words made Thunderlane’s day, and he remembers the smile and thanks he gave to Gale because that was the proper thing to do. After all, a real Hurricane always treats his elders with respect and fulfills their wishes. A real Hurricane throws their life away to please their parents and to make sure the family stays strong.

“And then he goes out the door for another adventure,” says the Grand Puppet Master who is controlling Thunderlane’s limbs to make him walk out the crayon colored cardboard door. The puppet master strangely sounds like Gale and Thunderlane can hear the ghostly giggles of children resonate from the air, but he does not care. He is not afraid or angry. He is content because he must be.

The strings guide Thunderlane down a hallway decorated with bright colors and pictures. There are pictures of Rumble, Gale and Amber Grain, but a picture of the him is nowhere in sight. When Thunderlane goes into his living room, furnished with cheap, glue heavy doll furniture, he sees Rumble in the middle of the room. His younger brother has his back is to him, so he cannot see his face, but his shoulders are buckling from how hard he is chuckling.

“Let's look at your biggest failure,” says the Grand Puppet Master. His voice rumbles through the ceiling like thunder from a vengeful god, causing everything to shake. Then Thunderlane's limbs are tugged forward, making him wince and shed clear, oily tears as the screws on the hooks tug at his wooden body. “Look and see why you are unworthy to carry my name, boy!”

Thunderlane is tossed to the ground, just barely out of reach of Rumble. He crumbles to the ground, painless limbs bent in ways that should not be possible and the strings coiling around him. Thunderlane is unable to lift his wooden head, move his body or swallow anything as he stares at his young brother.

“Do you see?” rumbles the Grand Puppet Master.

At first sight, it appears that Ruble is sitting on a circular, red carpet, looking as real as he should be. Only, instead of his coat being a clean, light gray, it is torn with oozing scars that feed into the carpet. His wings are skeletal with barely any burnt feathers hanging on his charred wings, and the chuckling is actually a sob.

“Rumble?” whispers Thunderlane, his voice low and raspy.

Ruble does not answer. He slouches in his spot, crying louder with every breath bringing excruciating pain to the young pegasus.

“This is not your fault,” says the kind stallion Thunderlane heard in the bombing's aftermath.

Thunderlane's painted eyes roll around in their sockets to search for the voice, but all he sees is a white void with green bleeding from the cracks where the strings meet the sky. Thunderlane feels a faint heart beat in his hollow chest, and he grinds his teeth as his puppet limbs straighten themselves with great strain to make him stand. His head remains bowed as he looks at his wobbly legs, silently hoping that they will hold him. Thunderlane looks back at Rumble when his brother whimpers something incomprehensible and collapses to the ground.

“Rumble!” cries Thunderlane.

Thunderlane's steps are awkward, and his wooden exterior splinters away to reveal his dark coat that covers his flesh. The closer he gets to his brother, the larger the pieces of wood that fall off of him, and the red around Rumble shimmers in the glowing green light.

“This is your fault! booms the Grand Puppet Master.

The strings that control Thunderlane are ripped from the sky and float to the ground as he gallops towards Rumble, and now thin streams of crimson ooze past the hooks and travel down his legs. Thunderlane keeps his wet eyes locked on Rumble, and though the world around him fades from the teary haze, his brother is still clear. He can barely hear a bell toll in the distance over his brother's tortured sobs, but he does not care about the bell. He has to get to Rumble! He has to save him!

Thunderlane slides in front of Rumble, and grabs his brother's shoulders right as he is about to collapse. His breathing is quick like his heart, and his eyes are red and puffy as his brother slides his dark purple eyes open.

Thunderlane forces a smile. “It's okay, Rumble. I'm here.”

Rumble sniffles and pieces of his skin and muscle fall off to reveal burnt, broken bone underneath. “Why didn't you protect me?”

Thunderlane's eyes widen and his hooves slide off of Rumble's shoulders as the light gray pegasus lifts his own hooves. His fur peels off and chunks of his muscle drip to the floor, where they land on the ground as charred meat, and his eyes shrivel in their sockets, which become filled with blood.

“Rumble, I...”

Rumble latches on to Thunderlane's shoulders and wails: “WHY DID YOU LET ME DIE!?”

“It is because he is incompetent,” says an emotionless voice from behind.

Thunderlane turns around and sees the Painter standing right behind him with his mechanical baton. The trio of small Tesla coils surrounding the sharpened gem spark, giving the tip an electric glow with bolts slithering from the coils, to the gem and down the baton. Thunderlane leaps up and stands in front of Rumble, shaking, but with his wings expanded and muscles coiled for a strike.

Thunderlane, and the edges of the pegasus's teary vision become red as the Painter stares at him from behind the goggles. He can see his narrowed eyes, gritted teeth and ruffled feathers in the reflection of the goggles.

The two stare at each other, with the Painter calm and Thunderlane quivering from fear and rage. He wants to charge him and beat him down, but he has also seen what he is capable of and knows that he is at a huge disadvantage.

“What are you waiting for?” sneers the Grand Puppet Master. “End him for Rumble!”

The Grand Puppet Master is right! He has to do this for Rumble!

“No! Stop!” shouts the mysterious stallion.

Thunderlane ignores him, though, and charges the Painter with a ferocious scream. The disguised unicorn stands his ground as Thunderlane zooms towards him, and when Thunderlane swings at him, snarling viciously, he steps aside, breaks off Thunderlane's wing from the joint. Before Thunderlane's nerves have a chance to register the pain, the Painter punches him in the side. Thunderlane's lungs burn and his throat feels like it is going to tear itself apart as he howls in agony and collapses to the ground while the dismembered wing twirls in the air, spraying the two ponies with crimson dots.

Thunderlane collapses to the ground, on his back, panting with tears trailing down his cheeks as each breath feels like a dozen boney knives are stabbing his lung. Thunderlane tilts his head to Rumble and sees that his destroyed brother is lying on the ground, motionless. Thunderlane extends his hoof and screams for him, despite the blood drowning him. Then his hoof stiffens, his eyes snap wide and his pupils shake as the Painter brings his weapon down on him. This time stabbing his good lung.

The gem tipped, electric baton easily pierces Thunderlane's skin and shatters his bone. The fragments rip apart the lung and the intense electricity burns it to ash. Whatever blood isn't fried in his lungs bubbles out from the open wound and up in Thunderlane's throat, and the pegasus keeps his hoof pointed at his brother.

“Rumble...” wheezes Thunderlane, blood now dribbling past his limps and the stump that was once his wing as the Painter leans towards him, applying more pressure.

Thunderlane squeezes his eyes shut and grunts weakly as the Painter's weapon digs deep into him.

“Look at me,” commands the Painter.

Thunderlane's eyes reluctantly open. In the Painter's tinted goggles he sees his blood soaking his paling dark fur and the red streams traveling to his pupils as trails of tears clean what little they can.

The Painter leans forward, and when their snouts are almost touching, the charcoal pegasus's vision is pulsating from darkness to blur. He can barely see the demon in the painting suit standing above him or the growing flames of Hell rising around them. With the rising fires, Thunderlane hears tortured screams of the dying and the tolling bell stop in an instant, but all this is faint against his weak whimpers, desperate gulps for air and failing heart.

“You will always be incompetent,” claims the Painter.

Then he yanks out the mechanical baton at an angle, snapping more bones and shredding more of Thunderlane's lungs and muscle. Thunderlane's eyes bulge and he-

wakes up screaming inside a hospital room strapped to beeping sensors that are printing out an endless stream of vital readings. A sandy coated and brown maned unicorn stallion doctor with glasses and a group of earth pony and unicorn nurses of both genders burst in seconds later. This only serve to panic Thunderlane even more. He tries to get out of the bed, but he is pushed back down by the doctor, who is ordering a nurse to get a relaxant.

“Where’s Rumble!” yells Thunderlane. He growls and throws the doctor off him against the equipment. They break against the tile and die with a show of sparks, screeches and hums. “WHERE'S MY BROTHER!”

The nurses try to push Thunderlane back to his bed, but he doesn't care if he's shoving mares. He needs to find his brother!

“Will you relax!?” grunts a male nurse who is pushing against Thunderlane.

He is promptly cold clocked by Thunderlane. While the nurse collapses to the ground like a wet noodle, he hops over the nurse and makes a break for the door, ignoring the horrified gasps from the mare nurses. He almost reaches the door when he feels a tingling aura around, followed quickly by a lack of floor and weightless feel as he is flung back on his bed, stomach down.

The five mare nurses pile on top of Thunderlane and barely manage to hold him down as he thrashes and screams at them to let him go. He is only held down when the unicorn doctor's horn glows again and weight him down with a spell.

“I HAVE TO FIND RUMBLE!” screams Thunderlane with tears in his eyes and lungs in pain from how heavy his panicked breaths are.

"He punched Frank!" cries one of the nurses

“Where is Soft Bandage!” shouts the doctor, completely ignoring the nurse. Then to Thunderlane. “It’s okay, you’re safe! Just relax!”

“I don’t care about me! Where’s Rumble!?”

A unicorn nurse runs in levitating a small container of liquid medicine and a syringe, and as soon as Thunderlane sees the tiny needle ready to impale him, his eyes shrink to dots.

“Oh! Oh, heck no! No!” shouts Thunderlane, his heart rate now at exploding point and his movements more frantic and desperate for escape.

The doctor has to put another layer of spells on him to keep him still enough for an effective injection. Just to be safe, though, the nurses put all their weight down on Thunderlane, ensuring that he cannot move. While this happens, the nurse hums a cheerful tune as she fills the syringe, and Thunderlane swears she gets a maniacal smile when she approaches him with the fully loaded torture device.

“Get that thing away from-” One prick later, his eyes dilate, his muscles relax and his heart steadies while a stupid smile spreads across his muzzle. “Meeeeee.”

“Works every time,” says the doctor proudly as the nurses treat Thunderlane like a pony-sized rag doll when they put him in the proper position and cover him with a flimsy blanket. “Give him a few minutes. That stuff is going to derail his train of thought for a while.”

Author's Notes:

As you can see, I decided to make the dream sequence of Aftermath a standalone chapter. The chapter that this was originally part of should be finished with the first phase editing soon.

In the meantime, thank you for your patience and let me and my editor, Cade YYZ, know how we are doing with the changes.