"Are you really going to lie and waste our time here? We're very busy men."

As much as it frustrates me, I've been forced to lay under a strategic pile of junk and just... watch. Watch as two men in immaculate black suits and sporting identical buzzcuts and black sunglasses stand at the counter opposite John. I've not been afforded a clear view of them, but just by their voices, I don't recognize them.

"What do you mean? How am I lying?" John asks, raising his hand with palms up as he pleads innocence.

The man on the right reaches into his suit for... something. He pulls it out too quickly for me to see what it is aside from what looks to be a paper of some sort.

"That photo was taken from a bar down the street," the other man speaks up, pointing to a specific area once his partner sets it on the counter. "That is you in the photo next to the specimen, isn't it?"

John leans forward, looming over the photograph as he studies its contents. I know he's playing dumb because I remember seeing the camera flash that night, just a few weeks ago. The first double date with Star and Teddy.

This is my fault – why did I think any of this was a good idea? What if this isn't just about me? What if these guys are looking into Starla as well? What the hell was I thinking? I'm still a fugitive, and I'm probably not that far from where I originated. Thinking it was time to get out more and be free... and even worse, I've put my friends in danger.

"That might be me – it's hard to say. The lighting sucks," John answers them.

"Of course it's you. Just by your reaction when I set it down, I can tell you recognize everything in that picture," the first guy grumbles, motioning to another section of the picture. "How about this – who or what is this?"

"Why didn't you ask the bar? I'm assuming they took the photo – they were the ones providing the weird photo op," John explains, shrugging away the situation. "I was drunk, I just went with it."

Dammit John, you can do better than that...

Almost in unison, both g-men wannabes sigh and exchange glances. It gives me another chance to view their faces – albeit a side profile at a distance, but I can't make out... really anything as far as features. They're very generic, seemingly cut from the same cloth to be as unnoticeable as possible.

"You do realize not cooperating with us just makes things harder for you, right?" the guy on the left says to John. "We have this photo, and we have eyewitness testimony that puts you there with... this thing."

"Do I get to speak to these eyewitnesses? Face my accusers sort of thing?" John suggests.

"Right, because we're going to give you an opportunity to intimidate them," the other guy laughs.

"You think I'm intimidating?" John asks, chuckling as he shakes his head. "Without ever seeing these witnesses, how do I know you aren't lying?"

"The burden of proof is on you, not us. You do realize harboring a biological experiment like this is a federal crime, right?"

"Oh thank God – here I thought you were with the EPA," John sighs with relief after his witty retort. "Not that I'm worried about them either, especially not the fifth row, all the way to the right out back. Totally not a buried chemical pit."

"We aren't interested in anything else but our current investigation but we'll be sure to pass on that information through the correct channels," the guy on the left tersely replies, his right hand falling to his side.

John deflates at his little misdirection that goes completely awry, while I'm left wondering what the hell he's doing. He's backed himself into a corner here – why doesn't he just give up? I told him not to worry about me... I don't want anyone paying for my fuckups; maybe I need to give in and jump out of my hiding spot before this gets bad.

"Should we just bring him in? I don't think we're going to get anything else from him at this juncture," the suit on the right comments.

"No, we will definitely get what we need quicker here than we will back at the office. We just need the right... technique."

John narrows his eyes as he tries to discern that cryptic little addendum. But without warning, the suit on the left jerks his right hand up from his side, clutching an object he uses to strike John across the face. As hard as it is, I fight back the urge to leap from my hiding spot. Meanwhile, reeling from the hit, John staggers back a step, holding his cheek as he winces and groans in pain.

Lefty raises his right hand and aims— he aims the gun he's holding in his right hand directly at John. "I'm done fucking around!" he now shouts. "We tried my partner's way, but I'm tired of your fucking jokes and your lies!"

"Hey, you said—"

"Shut up!" Lefty barks, interrupting his partner's attempt to intervene. "I told you we were wasting our time – you have to get forceful with idiots like this if you want to get anywhere!"

"You don't think it's a little weird being obsessed with a pony bot?" John wisecracks. "You know those are for little girls, right?"

Oh god – John, what the fuck are you doing? This is not the time for—

*BANG!*

John staggers back against the wall, clutching his arm in shock. Even through the pressure applied to his arm, crimson begins to seep through his fingers and down his wounded limb.

"How about another joke? I can probably plug another few rounds in you before you keel over," Lefty says, waving away the remaining wisps of smoke from the first shot.

This is going too far, I can't— I can't move. Why won't my legs work?!

My heart thumps even faster as I hear John start to chuckle again, no doubt lining up for another smartass comment despite the circumstances. "It would be a hell of a lot quicker if you just put one between my eyes, you know. Bullets for that are probably a bit expensive to be wasting on potshots, yeah?"

"It would make it easy for us – we can just bulldoze the whole place with you out of the way," Lefty chimes. "One way or another we'll either crush what we're looking for or flush it out in that case."

"And if you're wrong, what then? We just chalk it up to another Ruby Ridge? Or do we trying spinning it up a bit like Waco?"

"You're treading on thin fucking ice, smartass!"

John, for fucks sake!

"Aww, got you bent out of shape by prior fuckups? Did you get to be a part of those?"

"John, just stop!" I shout, finally regaining my strength to move. I shut my eyes as I leap free of my junkpile, ready to face...

Nothing happens. Not a sound from the scrap that should be clattering to the floor, or surprise from the g-men at my sudden appearance. I brace myself as I crack open one eye, fearful of what I might see. Maybe I'm forcefully shutting everything out or something...

Everyone is frozen. John is still leaning against the back wall, clutching his injured arm, while the suits stand on the other side of the counter, with the guy on the left still pointing his gun, ready to fire.

Confused, I take a step forward... and I'm able to do so with little effort and a slight click from my hoof. But everyone else remains absolutely still.

What the hell just happened?

"My sincerest apologies for allowing this to go on as long as it has," a voice echoes from... beyond. It sounds oddly familiar, a feminine voice I can't place.

"What?" I spout. It's all my mind can come up with as my head fills with questions and overwhelming what-the-fuckery at the current events. I feel a light breeze pick up from in front of me, which makes no sense; beyond the two men, the counter, and John lays a solid cinderblock wall. Yet one by one, the figures of the three men begin to dissolve, blown away like dust in the wind right past me until I'm left alone.

But my eyes do not stray from looking straight ahead; from beyond the counter and seeming to seep through the wall itself is a shadow. It twists and contorts as it draws nearer, before rearing to place hooves upon the stained countertop...

That darkened and worn linoleum stands as a stark contrast to the shimmering silvery-blue slippers this visitor wears – which themselves highlight her immaculate navy blue coat. From there, my eyes dart to the ethereal mane, billowing in a swirl of blues and violets and speckled with the light of stars. Yet as I meet her gaze, those turquoise eyes widen just a bit as we silently take stock of each other.

Now it all makes sense – everything makes sense. "Alright, so watching a couple of your episodes before bed was not a good idea. Still, I guess a fruity dream with Princess Luna beats... whatever godawful dream that was before this," I sigh.

"Y–yes. I have to say I am a bit overwhelmed myself by what I have witnessed," Luna murmurs in a low voice. While I've come to terms with this bizarre chain of events, Luna's disbelief holds out just a bit longer before she relaxes. But with that relaxed stance, Luna's eyes unfocus; rather than looking at me, she looks... beyond. Like I'm not even here now.

"So... am I lucid dreaming? Am I controlling this?" I wonder aloud. As I speak up, I feel the sudden urge to slap myself on the forehead. "Goddamn, I'm sitting here talking to myself in my own fucking lucid dream. This is stupid."

"My apologies while I try to understand this," Luna drones, as if in a trance. "Pray tell, what is your name?"

...my name. This is the first time I've ever been awake in my own dream and I'm asking myself my own name. How the hell does this shit work?

"John is gonna have a fucking field day with this if he catches me talking in my sleep about this," I mumble under my breath.

"Pardon?"

I may as well just go with the flow to speed this along. Apparently, I can't just change it. "Midnight," I finally answer, waving the proverbial white flag. "My name is Midnight."

Luna gestures with her hoof, beckoning me to come closer. Once I take my first step, the bar stool that usually sits on the other side of the counters suddenly manifests out of thin air, causing me to hesitate out of instinct for a brief moment. In addition, Luna's eyes have changed – gone are the familiar turquoise irises and black pupils, washed away by a gradual bright white that seems to glow more with each passing second. But I realize this is a dream – there's not much sense to make of things like this. Throwing away what remains of my wary nature for now, I hop up into the seat laid out for me.

Luna remains silent and virtually motionless at this time, just within hoof's reach now that I'm sitting at the counter. But seconds begin to feel like they are turning into minutes, with Luna still staring straight ahead, unblinking.

"So... what are we doing then?" I ask, unsettled by this long period of inactivity. "This gonna be a cute advice thing on dealing with nightmares or something."

"I must gather what I need..." she states in a monotone. As her eyes continue to gradually brighten and glow, the wall behind starts to shift.

Barely noticeable at first, the wall itself creeps closer toward us. At the same time, the shabby do-it-yourself shelf just above head height begins to warp – both multiplying in number to cover the wall and undergoing a makeover. Gone is the cheap plywood, left behind in a lustrous stained darker wood that shines under the light, highlighting the space now available, but barren.

Well, barren for a split second. One by one, bottles begin to appear, scattered in their manifestation, as well as their appearance. Tall, short, narrow, squat – it all starts coming into focus as a sort of bar, but none of the bottles have labels. But they all contain... something. Something liquid that moves and swirls in odd, almost organic motions within each bottle.

"By the stars," Luna gasps, barely above a whisper. The light from her eyes begins to dissipate now, revealing her normal irises and pupils.

With my eyes drawn away from the back wall by her remark, I notice even the counter I've been seated at has changed into a well–kept oak bar top, varnished multiple times to leave a slick, vibrant surface.

"Well... this is something. I don't recall you doing anything quite like this in the show – or taking that long," I idly comment.

"I am afraid things work a little differently in reality," she answers in an almost passive manner. Her attention has turned to the back wall now as she scans the landscape of bottles now inhibiting the numerous shelves.

"Uh... reality?"

"Reality is not the right word – my apologies," Luna quickly counters, turning to face me again right away. "This is how... you are imagining me in this way, and how I work. Your mind seems to prefer a more logical sort of path."

That... kinda makes sense, I guess. But Luna doesn't require nor wait for an answer before she's mulling about the shelves. One by one, a blue glow seizes bottles she decides to pick out. She selects several bottles of spirits and liquors with practiced memory, only putting back two 'incorrect' choices.

"Oh, that's what this is – John and I had a bit too much fun with the Captain last night and got a bit drunk," I say, more as a way of reassuring myself in this bizarre interaction rather than questioning Luna.

"Alcohol can have strong effects on dreams both positive and negative," she muses. "More often than not, the results are quite vivid and jumbled in nature." Luna spins around now with a final selection made; though that movement barely lasts a blink of an eye, she's now properly attired. A white button-up dress shirt graces her torso now, ending roughly between the end of her rib cage and her flanks. That base layer is accented by a charcoal grey vest, left open save for a button or two near the bottom to reveal a red tie.

I can't help but stare at the sight, as I can't say I've ever seen any pony be it bot or biological wearing clothes like... that.

"I may as well complete the look, no?" Luna asks, flashing a smile and emitting a slight giggle while she freezes to a pose.

"Sure, I guess. Kinda surprised you didn't go with something.... something more girly, I don't know."

"Well, it's your dream – everything remains fluid here," Luna remarks with a smirk.

I... don't want to be sending the wrong signals here. This dream is fucked up enough – I need to just keep my mouth shut.

"It's fine. Just surprised me is all," I assure her.

"Very well – then allow me to properly begin," Luna announces with a nod. Three bottles gently set down on the counter between me and her. "You have been through a lot, dear Midnight. Far more than I could have ever anticipated to see."

"What do you mean? See what?"

Rather than give me a verbal answer, Luna's hoof taps of the bottle furthest to my left. The murky liquid inside that has been swirling and roiling like the other spirit bottles begins to calm and slow, and now—

Colors begin to divide to their respective homes, forming images in the liquid. Images I recognize as they play out like numerous moving slideshows – for they are in fact my memories. Somehow, even as multiple scenes play out at once and continue to flitter about in this liquid form, I'm able to keep track of them.

This bottle is unpleasant to view – it contains memories of the lab I came from, starting at the first images I can recall and into the... the tests and experiments I had to endure. A chill runs down my spine, and I force my eyes away from the scenes, unable to bear reliving those awful moments.

"You have overcome frightful obstacles and beaten the odds despite what you have been dealt in life," Luna continues. "Perhaps it would have been easier to give in, but you did not – yet even moving beyond that terrible beginning, you have had to face further challenges..."

The *tink* of glass draws my attention forward, where Luna's hoof has tapped into the next bottle in line. Within the fluid mixture inside, more palatable images begin to come through. I can see the first visions of the junkyard through my eyes, and feel the same confusion and wonder I felt at that sight. I spy the early days of hunting and finding proper shelter and hiding spots when warranted. Finding manuals and books amidst the scrap heaps and setting to read all about the automobiles around me.

"It is safe to say you were born a fighter, Midnight. You have not once let the odds dissuade you from persevering and eventually overcoming anything left in your path."

And now— I see John. That first day we came face-to-face. Perhaps the most anxious moment of all the memories while living out back. My hoof was forced, and I had planned for that moment – but I knew it could go wrong. What follows is the myriad of battles and arguments between us as we try to endure sharing a living space with each other.

"Yet look at what has become of your fighting and the risks taken in that time," Luna cheers, tapping on the last bottle.

In the same process as the prior bottles, Luna's touch steadies and focuses the liquid, allowing the images of bringing the junkyard back to solvency to come through. But it's more than that; I can see the interactions between John and me becoming softer and more amicable... and even beyond as we start to connect. Through those moments, I see Starla and Teddy make appearances, all of it flashing by quickly, but I'm able to absorb it all.

Regardless of the inspiring little slideshow, I do not quite understand the point Luna is trying to demonstrate. "That's pretty neat, I guess," I speak up, unsure of what else to say or how to proceed any further.

"Indeed – I am quite taken aback by your tale if that had not been clear before. But through those trials and triumphs and now being on the other side, I sense a great fear that lingers in your heart," Luna explains, her voice growing cold.

It's a startling change, only magnified as the bottles on either end of the line suddenly jerk upward into the air. The caps fly off with force just as the bottles begin to tip over, dumping their contents— down into a stainless steel drink mixer, which just happens to manifest before the liquid hits the bartop.

"Your concerns are understandable – the past and present converging upon one another," Luna continues. The two bottles emptying their contents into the mixer disappear, followed quickly by the third that has remained on the bar during this time. But now, the stainless shaker sprouts a cap into existence, and the vessel begins to shake at a feverish pitch. "You have moved on from the past by laying your ire to rest, but you cannot let go of the fear – the fear of what unholy concoction could be brewed by the past rearing its head if you let go of it all to look purely forward."

On cue, the shaker stops its motions in the air, firing off the top like a champagne bottle under pressure. The vessel falls to the counter with little restraint, teetering for a moment until it inevitably topples and spills its contents onto the polished wood. Pitch-black ichor seeps out like a viscous oil – and within it plays dreams and images I have seen in my head, and in my dreams.

Like the one from tonight – terrifying thoughts of my past roaring back to afflicted those that I love and care about, my friends – my family– being caught up in my mess.

My mess, because I'm still a fugitive. That is one thing I cannot escape no matter what I do. Every time I go out beyond these gates, every interaction I have in the public – those are chances of being discovered, one way through another in a seemingly endless web of possible connections. I squeeze my eyes shut to shut out those thoughts that are playing out in the growing puddle on the bar, but it doesn't shut them out...

"And what if it does happen? What if these things come true?!" I demand as my heart begins to race – and my breath momentarily catches in my throat. "How would I live with myself if I bring that on them? If I'm even still ali—"

It's a headrest I suddenly feel dizzy and disoriented. Balance is only a suggestion as my moments start to feel uncoordinated and sluggish. I feel... I feel drunk, and I can't hold onto my own seat! I open my eyes as the vertigo becomes unbearable, and I find myself falling backward. I reach for the counter with a feeble motion, but I can't catch myself, as suddenly, all the lights start to look dim...

But Luna appears in the vignette that's begun to form, offering me her hoof as she rests her barrel over the bar to reach me. I'm able to grab hold and halt my fall.

"Indeed – 'what if?'" Luna whispers. Her eyes suddenly flash with that blinding white light from before – and everything snaps back to the way it was just a moment ago. I'm sitting comfortably on the bar stool again, while Luna leans on the counter. However, the drink mixer and dark puddle continue to tarnish the wood on the counter but thankfully, it seems to be just plain, normal liquid now.

"'What if?' is exactly what it sounds like, Midnight. What if you had failed in your escape? What if your first meeting with John had gone awry? What if Teddy had turned out not to be friendly?"

"Well... those are a bit different," I mumble, checking my seating just to be on the safe side after that brief experience. "I didn't have anything to lose in those situations – I had nothing. But things are different with where I am now, you know? It's not just about me anymore."

Luna gives a slight nod, but her expression remains serious and stoic. Certainly, my argument has done nothing to sway her mind to my side of things. Without a word, she turns her back to me, once again perusing the shelves for something... specific.

This time, she's zoned in and picks out three more bottles without mistake. She turns back around to face me, allowing that cold expression she had been sporting to melt away into a more welcoming, thin smile.

As she sets the bottles down one by one, I notice these not only appear empty, but they actually have labels on them; the first one, a green bottle, is emblazoned with John's face on the front. The next one to set down beside it is a clear bottle displaying Teddy's visage, shortly followed by the last one – an amber glass bottle, graced with Starla's smiling face.

But no sooner does that last one touch the bar, it rises back up to face level with Luna. She studies it for a moment in silence, her eyes taking in the details. "I must say, there are certainly some strange parallels at play here," she murmurs, just barely audible to my ears before the glass sets back down beside its mates.

"All three of these individuals know of your background, Midnight. They know what being with you and interacting with you entails. You've not hidden anything from them, and shared what you know of your past," Luna announces. As she speaks, the three empty bottles begin to siphon up the dark puddle that remains on the counter. Little by little, the liquid is drawn through the glass and filtered into clear spirits once again until the counter is spotlessly clean.

"While I am limited in my scope to just what you have experienced – I cannot sense a single ounce or instance of regret or uncertainty in befriending you. "'What if' does not cross their mind – or if it does, it does not do a thing to sway them or their opinion away from you."

"But that doesn't mean I should throw my cares and concerns away, right? Doesn't that mean I should be more careful?"

"My point is the 'what-ifs' will always be there. It's natural to have concerns – and even healthy, in order to balance out decisions," Luna explains, levitating the bottles back onto the shelf behind her without needing to look. "Risk is a part of life – I life without it is just as detrimental as one based solely upon risk. Trust your heart, but do not fear taking the steps before you. You have come so far, and I suspect even greater heights can be achieved. Through your negative experiences, you have been able to spin them into positive changes for those you surround yourself with, enriching their lives. And your ideas, though they may carry some measure of risk – I suspect Starla and Teddy are grateful for what you are offering them."

I— In a way, I want to argue, feeling like she's somehow missing the significance of laws and regulations surrounding my kind. About how things can go awry at the drop of a hat.

But...

Any risk I've taken is calculated – that's never changed. I don't throw caution to the wind, nor do I think I am even capable of that. But moving on to Teddy and Starla – in a sense, I never pushed them to be more outgoing. My appearance has caused them to rethink their position, and indeed, even recall the original goals they had lost along their journey.

No, I suppose I can never be truly safe – but that goes beyond just capture by the lab. So many other things could happen, just as events can happen to others. Lest I lock myself away in a room, there will always be risks...

"It's all about keeping balance. Being mindful and weighing things out, but not letting what-ifs hold me back."

Luna nods her head, breaking into the biggest smile I've seen from her in this whole interaction. "From what I have seen, you have a level-headed view on how to balance your life which has formed and matured with every step you take – and now tied in with your heart. What-ifs will always be there, but you cannot let them consume you. The best you can do is be mindful of them and use them in your steps forward. Let mind and soul guide you – they are the best tools we have at our disposal."

It's a bit silly that this is all in my own head, but I feel... lighter. Everything Luna has discussed with me in this time feels like it clicks into a proper place now, with thoughts properly filed and stowed away.

Luna thumps her hoof upon the counter – and in the blink of an eye, the garage surroundings come back into existence. The bar is gone, the wall has moved back, and only that single plywood shelf inhabits the space.

"As much as I would like to stay and partake in a more vested discussion, I am afraid my time here is rapidly coming to a close," Luna laments, her face momentarily displaying the same forlorn sort of tone her voice has. Her attire suddenly disappears now as well, shifting back into the regalia familiar from earlier – and the show. In addition, her smile has returned; Luna drops to all fours and circles around the counter, offering up one of her hooves for a shake.

"Uh... thanks," I say, awkwardly, now realizing I actually have the slightest height advantage on her now that we're face to face. Nonetheless, I accept her gesture marveling at... well, how real it feels.

"Take care of yourself, dear Midnight," Luna croons, snapping open her wings as she lets go of my hoof and takes a step back. "I'm overjoyed to see what has become of you."

...

"You mean how far I've come?"

*BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP*

A blaring alarm clock answers my question, jolting me out of sleep in an unsatisfying moment of clarity. Cracking open my eyes, John's face fills my vision as we both lay in bed on a bright, early morning. But his eyes are still closed as he somehow slumbers through the electronic noise emanating from the end table on his side.

I gently prod at his chest with my hoof. "It's for you," I mumble.

"...mmm, tell em to call back?" John murmurs, stirring just enough to emit that wisecrack.

"I'll throw the alarm if you don't get it. I know they're cheap but—"

John relents during my rebuttal, turning over and slapping the alarm clock into snooze for now. "I'd call your bluff, but I hate doing drywall. Not worth the risk," he says, allowing a chuckle to escape.

"I never said I was gonna throw it at the wall. Give me more credit than that."

John rolls back over to face me. "Sounds like you're already firing on all cylinders. Good sleep, or alarm scare you awake?"

"Eh, weird dreams. Guess that's what I get for tapping the bottle before bed, huh?" I quip with a smirk.

Instead of the laugh I expect to get, John's smile vanishes. In it's place, a queer, concerned expression takes over, scanning my face.

"What's that look for?" I ask, taken aback by the sudden change.

"You must have a secret booze stash kept from me if you're serious, because this house is dry. I killed the last bit of rum we had early last week."

"...Oh."

Well, shit – there goes that theory. I've had vivid dreams, but nothing... nothing quite as bizarre and vivid as that. Not sober, anyway. But despite that, the same feelings I had at the end of the dream linger. I feel lighter and renewed. There's a discomfort I hadn't noticed in the back of my head for some time – and it's gone now. I guess the hows and whys don't matter – I've gotten a clearer mind and brighter outlook moving forward.

John sits up in bed, still beside me. "You said it's a weird dream – need to talk about it?" he asks.

"Nah, not that kind of dream," I say to calm him. "Just bizarre – a good bizarre. But I don't think I can share it without sounding nuts anyway."

"But you don't have a secret stash of booze?" he asks, putting on a sad face.

"Oh, shut up, stupid."

Author's Note

This was originally a one shot that in retrospect and rewwriting, I decided to include as part of the story as far as chapters, rather than a sort of 'standalone' like the flashbacks have been – hence the named chapter.

But what does this dream mean? Is it just a dream? Is the chip in Middie's head projecting Luna into her dreams to solve her own issues in a sense? Or is it something much more than that? Even I don't have an answer – this was written on a whim with little planning or thought – it was only afterward I sort of realized the significance. Inevitably, you have to draw your own conclusions – none of which are right or wrong.