Thunder Strike blinked. His room was dimly lit by a lonely, shallow light flickering with half-life from a lantern on a corner table. The pathetic illumination was insufficient for most ponies of good sense, but he had long since been accustomed to it. The knock came again and the warning was repeated. He huffed in dry amusement, a smile threatening to tug at the side of his mouth. Bizarre, so bizarre. Whatever could the guard want with him?