"Brian?" said a soft voice
The operative woke up, and scanned the cell. But no-one was there.
"Hello?" he called. There was no answer. Brian got up, and went towards the window. Shining down on him, was the moon, in all of its night-time splendor. Looking up at it, the trooper could almost feel it looking back at him.
Like many a person before him, Brian had once imagined the moon and the sun as sentient beings, with their own feelings and emotions.
"Lady Maan1 must be feeling lonely," mumbled Brian, in an innocent way.
The operative stayed there, looking at the moon for a few seconds, before making his way towards the table and reaching out for his tobacco pouch. But it wasn't there. He looked under the table, besides it, but couldn't find his pouch. He also checked his bed. It wasn't there either.
Feeling a cold breeze, Brian looked around to find that the door was open. Light was shining in from outside. It wasn't the sort of light produced by a lamp or by sunlight. Rather, it was the kind of light that you see shining through a window at night.
Deciding he had to check it, he went towards the doorway, and stepped outside.
Brian found himself standing on a paved road. He looked up, and saw the towering figure of the Elizabeth Tower, Big Ben.
For a moment, Brian rejoiced. He was home.
The immense tower's bell chimed twelve times; it was midnight.
Brian looked around. He could faintly remember being here before, but he couldn't remember when. At a corner of the street, there was a man, dressed in a leather jacket and jeans, bent over the pavement. He seemed to be vomiting. The operative walked towards the man, to see if he was fine. It was then that the sick person straightened up, and turned around.
There, looking back at him, was... himself.
About thirty years younger, no scar on his face and two perfectly working eyes. His mullet was already there, it still not having outstayed its welcome in this world back then.
The younger version of Brian wiped his mouth on his sleeve, sat down on the pavement, and took a swig from a bottle of whiskey in his right hand.
Older Brian suddenly remembered what had happened on that fateful night. He didn't want to remember it, yet here he was. He closed his eyes, and tried very hard to change the scenery with his mind, but it was no use.
"Why am I here?" he thought. "I don't want to see this. I don't, I don't I fucking don't!"
Older Brian opened his eyes just in time to see himself toss the bottle into the air.
What was this? A dream? And if it was, how come everything wasn't... surreal, as dreams often were?
"FUCKING CHRIST, MAKE IT STOP!" he yelled. A river of tears was flowing from his only eye.
Younger Brian froze in place. Older Brian reached out, and tried touching his younger self. But his hand just went straight through the figure.
All of a sudden, a dark and winged horse-like figure appeared in the sky. Though from Brian's perspective it could have been a light shade of pink and he wouldn't have seen the difference. It soared down, and touched down in front of Older Brian, next to Younger Brian. It raised its head, and looked at Brian.
The mare was entirely blue. Her coat was midnight blue, and her mane resembled a star-spangled night. It, just like Celestia's, seemed to sway in the wind, even if there was none. She had a penetrating light-blue gaze, and that smile on her face...
That smile was the kind of smile that you rarely come across in your life. It was the kind of smile that seems to understand your pain the way you'd want others to understand it. The kind of smile that hands you a cigar and a glass of vintage port, invites you into the sitting room, and asks you to talk about your problems, in such a way that you cannot possibly refuse. A smile that will soothe you in every possible way. A smile so rare that every single fake friend and opportunist tries to emulate. THE smile.
Brian's tears stopped flowing. He was going to ask "who are you?" But he realized that the mare had wings and a horn, just like Princesses Twilight and Celestia. By process of elimination, that left only Cadance and Luna. So it all came down to an educated guess. Well, educated guesses weren't always that complicated.
"Princess Luna?" asked Brian, finally. He bowed his head while trying and failing to hold back more tears.
The mare nodded, and spoke. Her voice was just as soothing and nice to hear as her smile was nice to see. "Captain Brian Havelock," said the Princess. "Your dream called me."
"So this is a dream," thought Brian.
"Although," started Luna, "I think it is more of a nightmare. Is that right?"
"I suppose it is," sniffed Brian.
"If I was called to your dream, it means that you need help, Captain."
"It's okay," said Brian, finally getting a hold of himself. "I'm sure I can manage." He was trying to get the conversation over and done with quickly, just in case Younger Brian started moving again.
Princess Luna considered Younger Brian, before looking at the real thing.
"Is there something about this memory that you find traumatic, Captain?"
Brian didn't answer. Instead, he looked down at the pavement.
"I can tell that you have regrets tied to this memory."
Still, Brian didn't answer.
"You should show it to me," said Luna, bluntly. Brian was trying very hard not to look at the smile he couldn't say no to.
She trotted over to Older Brian, and rubbed her cheek on his arm.
"I've made my own mistakes in the past, Captain." She put a hoof in his hand, and soothingly said "I won't judge you."
As it turned out, the Princess's smile wasn't the only thing you couldn't say no to. Something in her voice told Brian that she wasn't lying. He nodded. They both took a step back, and Brian said "Go on."
The scene continued. The bottle that Younger Brian had thrown into the air suddenly fell to the ground, and broke into a million bits. At that moment, a man walked by. He was wearing a white shirt, some combat trousers, and had a black duffel bag hanging on his shoulder. His skin tone was black.
Younger Brian looked up, saw the black man, and in a fit of alcohol-induced rage, sprung up.
"What do you want, ye fuckin' tossah?" Brian's Rhodesian accent was much more pronounced, then.
The soldier stopped, and looked at Brian.
"You're drunk, lad," said the soldier in a deep, booming voice. "You should go home." And he continued walking.
"Less than- you! Tossah!" shouted Younger Brian. "Hey! I'm talking to you, you... You fucking Nigger!"
At these words, the man stopped, and turned around. "What's with the insult, mate?" asked the soldier.
Brian, taking the latter quip as an insult, drunkenly approached the serviceman.
"Yeah, you heard me right!" he shouted. "Ye bloody kaffir!"
"Please don't say that," the soldier answered.
"Ye negro bastards killed me fathah!" Younger Brian shouted. "And now ye think that ye bastards can walk around free? You... YOU..."
Whatever Younger Brian was about to say, he didn't say it. Which was probably for the best, come to think of it.
"Do you see me walkin' around and calling white boys crackers?" the serviceman asked, justifiably angry.
Brian laughed. "Ye know why ye negroes call us crackers? 'Cuz we used to have the whips crack over your backs!"
The serviceman started breathing very heavily. And when he spoke, his voice seemed to be made of ice-cold venom. "You're treading on thin ice, you little shit..."
Younger Brian reached for something in his pocket, and extracted a switchblade. The blade came out, and Brian started running towards the soldier, holding the knife like a sword. He tried stabbing the soldier in the abdomen, but the latter blocked Brian's attack, and judo-threw him over his shoulder. As Younger Brian hit the ground, the scene became black, and both Luna and Older Brian seemed to be standing above a black void.
The pair stayed silent for a while.
"So this is your painful memory?" asked Luna, after a while. She didn't really know what else to say.
"You don't know the half of it," answered Brian. "That guy. I insulted him. I tried to kill him. I tried to punish him for something he didn't do. You know what the worse part of this is?"
"I don't," said the Princess. "But maybe you could show me."
"Very well." Brian thought very hard of what had happened, just about an hour later. And just like that, the scene changed again. Younger Brian was in a prison cell, lying on the bed. His shoes, jacket and necklaces had been taken away from him.
A constable walked into the custody suite, and went up to Brian's holding cell.
"Hey," he said. "You've got a visitor."
Brian straightened up, and said "I'm not in the mood."
"He's paid your bail. Maybe you should show 'im some respect," retorted the police officer.
"Alright," answered Brian, bitterly.
The black serviceman entered, and went up to Brian's cell, gripping the bars. He was wearing a sand-coloured beret, with a winged dagger patch. Though Younger Brian was a degenerate and generally an idiot, he could still recognize that flaming excalibur anywhere. His father had worn the same, back in the day.
The soldier was looking slightly amused, although he had a hint of sadness in his eyes. He was about the same age as Older Brian. When the soldier spoke, he had the same voice as earlier, albeit more croaky. What surprised Brian the most was that he spoke Afrikaans.
"Afrikaner?" he asked.
"Half," said Brian.
"I'm very sorry about your father."
"I am too, in case you missed that fact," answered Brian.
"You do realize that what you said was wrong?"
"Maybe." Brian hated every single feature of that man. From his skin, to his camouflaged trousers, and even to his beret, which, in Brian's mind, the soldier didn't have the right to wear.
"I'm from Rhodesia," said Brian. "Do you know what it's like to be forced to leave your country?"
"I do," said the serviceman. "I'm also from Rhodesia."
Younger Brian stayed silent and looked down at his knees, defeated. He heard the soldier's boots walk down towards the door, and stop there. Then, as if the soldier had changed his mind about something, he turned around, and approached Brian once more.
"I decided not to press charges," the serviceman said, in English this time. "Because I know what you're feeling. I know that you hate my guts, and I know that you resent people of my kind for what happened to your dad. You know why? Because I've been down that road before. I don't call white people names, but I've done it before. And I'm telling you, I got more than a measly hour in a prison for what I said. And no-one came to pay my bail. Bails didn't exist for my people. Because of that, I learned that hating people who look vaguely similar to my friends' and family's killers was never going to bring them back. Once you're out, I want you to think of what you've said and what you've done."
Brian nodded. "I will," he said.
"But I promise," said the soldier. "That if I ever hear about you doing this again, and that means to anyone at all, I'll come looking for you."
There was a long silence.
"Understood," said Younger Brian, finally.
The scene went black. Brian and Luna seemed to be standing above a void of black. Brian sat down.
"I'm sorry, Captain," said Princess Luna. "As much as I'd like to see more, it so happens that immersing myself in others' dreams is physically taxing. For the dreamer and for me."
She came towards Brian and sat down next to him. "Do you want my take on the situation?" she asked.
"Yeah," answered Brian.
"Very well. You have regrets over this memory. Did this person... inspire you to enlist?"
"Yes."
"So that ordeal set you on a better path," commented the Princess.
"Yes," said Brian. Before Luna could comment further, Brian continued. "I see where you're going," he said, carefully avoiding Luna's gaze. "I suppose my regret comes from the fact that I used to be such a horrible person."
At that moment, all of the danger and fear that the ponies of Ponyville had associated with Brian wasn't understandable. Indeed, Brian didn't seem very dangerous, now. He seemed somewhat pathetic. Somewhat harmless. A sad, broken man. But to Luna, there was more to it. It became clear to Luna that this memory wasn't in of itself what Brian regretted. But rather, this memory was tied to his regret, somehow. Not directly responsible for it.