Sunset hated these metal box transportation machines. Between the continuous vibrations, cramped space, dim lighting, and her awkward grip on the Chalkboard, Sunset was becoming impatient for the box to hurry up.
Oh, and to add insult to injury, the music.
That. Damn. Music.
It was okay the first few times it played, but by the fifth repetition, it had become infuriating. A lazy upbeat tune with the same few chords played endlessly that seemed to embody waiting.
This had quickly become one of her most hated tunes just behind most Hearth’s Warming carols and the Equestrian National Anthem — the latter primarily due to having to sing it every morning at school.
After what felt like hours, the box stopped its downward movement, dinged, and opened into an empty room.
Wary of what awaited her, Sunset stepped into the room surveying her surroundings. It was a perfectly cylindrical room with high vaulted ceilings that stretched off into space and evenly spaced sconce lights around the perimeter wall.
At the sound of another ding, she swung around and watched as the metal box sunk into the ground.
She was now trapped.
Flipping the Chalkboard around and holding it up to her face, slate side facing her, she formulated a clear question in her mind.
Now what do I do? Wait.
Is there an option that doesn’t involve more waiting? No.
You suck. No worse than you.
Before Sunset could think of a retort, a chime resounded through the room. A bright flash of light drew her gaze towards another part of the chamber.
Where once was only a sterile white wall was now a large show window looking into a brightly lit interior covered in square glass tiles from floor to ceiling. To the right of the window was a massive steel door that presumably led inside.
She awaited further instructions, and, when nothing happened, she turned to the Chalkboard once more to pose another question to it.
What do I do? Hang me on the wall inside.
Furrowing her brow in puzzlement, she made her way towards the room with the Chalkboard gripped tightly to her chest.
As she came closer, the door swung open. Ignoring her growing unease, she made her way inside and took notice of several pegs on the wall opposite the window.
Hefting up the Chalkboard, she maneuvered the object onto the pegs. It clicked smoothly into place, perfectly centre on the wall. She tentatively let go of the Chalkboard, and, when it proved to be firmly in place, she stepped away.
Leaving the room, she walked to the show window and peered through the glass at the Chalkboard.
This room is drab, Sunset read.
Sunset glared. So? What do you want me to do about it? She thought.
Renovate. I want decoration.
“How exactly do you propose I do that?” Sunset said, annoyed.
Ask the Cabin. Duh.
She growled. “It’s a building! How—” she took a deep breath. “Okay. Thinking… rationally, it’s not out of the question that the building is like you. How do I ask the building for something?”
How do you normally ask for something? Sunset read.
“Cabin, give me something to decorate the Chalkboard’s room.” She called out. Despite the blank slate, Sunset could feel the board giving her a disapproving look. She rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine. Cabin, could you please give me something to decorate the Chalkboard’s room?”
A sound similar to scraping metal burst to the left of the show window. Wincing, Sunset looked towards the source and saw a slanted, metal, rectangular box extrude from the floor.
Inspecting the device, she noticed a plate of glass embedded into the metal. Hesitantly, she tapped the panel with a finger causing it to light up. A 3D display of the Chalkboard’s room appeared inside of the glass.
Curiosity winning over her caution, she tapped the Chalkboard in the projection. The display zoomed in on the object and displayed the text: “OOP 14: The Chalkboard”.
Tapping the new text, a document appeared. Skimming through, and after some difficulty figuring out how to scroll downwards, she found it had a summary of the events she had just been through. More importantly, she noticed a “Usage” section to the document.
Under a subheader labeled “Binder” was her own name, Sunset Shimmer, and past that was a summary of the Chalkboard’s abilities. It noted that the Chalkboard was capable of reading other beings’ minds and granted those abilities to its Binder.
The Chalkboard’s abilities were impressive as, even amongst the magically gifted of Equestria, mind-reading was a nearly impossible spell to learn — not to mention finding the spell in the first place was difficult as it was locked inCanterlot Castle's restricted vault. That she was now apparently capable of doing so freely with the aid of the Chalkboard was nothing short of incredible.
Definitely something to experiment for later, but for now Sunset had other priorities.
Scrolling further down, she came to a large red bar with the words WARNING in a bold, block font. Underneath, Sunset read: Bonded Agents are advised to never read their own minds as this can lead to a Fracture.
Another unfamiliar term and more information to look into later. For now, she fiddled with the screen for a moment before finally returning to the previous display.
She tapped the room this time.
A new screen appeared with several icons presumably representing various aspects of the room. She tapped an icon that looked like a wood tile and found a list of several types of flooring in alphabetical order.
Tapping an option at random, she watched as the glass tile floors of the Chalkboard’s room changed to light mahogany.
Sunset looked to the Chalkboard and read its response, Tacky. I prefer Red Cherrywood.
Scowling, she scrolled through the options and tapped the Chalkboard’s request when she came to it. The interior flooring, as previously, changed to match the new selection.
Nevermind, I don’t like this one. Change it back to mahogany.
With a growl of irritation, she tapped the previous icon and returned the floors to their prior state.
Perfect. Now, change the wallpaper. I want something neutral but fun.
After a period of adjustments from the annoyingly picky object, the room had been transformed into something close to the room where Sunset had found the Chalkboard.
She raised a single eyebrow at the Chalkboard thinking her question at the slate.
Happy? Yes.
With that task complete, Sunset turned her attention inwards as she thought over her next move. She hadn’t considered much past getting as far away as possible from her mentor, and now that she had a moment of calm, she needed to decide on what to do next.
Her first option was, of course, to return to Equestria, but that required facing her mentor and defeated the main reason for why she even crossed through the mirror in the first place.
The second was to escape from this weird facility and live out in this strange world on her own. That had several risks.
Firstly, this world appeared to be ahead or at least on par with Equestria, which meant she would most likely require identification. None of which she thought to bring with her nor would be valid in a completely different world.
Secondly, she had been trying to ignore it for a while, but she didn’t feel the familiar hum of magic around her. Back home it was constant, a comforting embrace to all ponies. With it being absent, a feeling she thoroughly missed, there were good odds that she had no access to her magic, which meant her usual solution of “throw a fireball at it” wasn’t going to work here.
Both of those options didn’t appeal to Sunset in the slightest, which left her with a third option: asking the Cabin for assistance. It was a sentient building that could create rooms from nothing. It was not out of the realm of possibility for it to be able to help her live in this new world.
Sunset could only hope it was friendly.
“Hello… Cabin,” Sunset called out. “I’m a visitor to this world and was wondering if you could help me out.”
A rumble shook the room as a large panel similar to the one near the Chalkboard’s room rose from the floor before her. The panel lit up and displayed another document.
Written at the top in a bold font were the words “Terms of Employment as Head Executive of the Bureau.”
Sunset began to read carefully. The most pertinent clauses were that she would be required to find and contain “Altered Items”, “Altered Beings”, and “Objects of Power”, a second clause denoted that she would have to avert something called “Altered World Events” and a third clause, preempted by a red warning label, was about ensuring the continued containment of “Vault Restricted Items”.
She surmised that the unfamiliar terms were in regards to objects similar to the Chalkboard. Nothing she couldn’t handle.
At the very end and helpfully bolded — the whole document was pleasantly straight-forward and readable — were her “Terms of Release”.
It stated that she would be bound to this contract until the Cabin deemed the Bureau ready to be passed onto another, she died, or she was left in a state that made her unfit to lead.
Those were not good conditions for her.
Following that was a tidy paragraph stating that the contract was binding and upheld across any number of alternate dimensions, which removed her easy escape route back through the portal.
The benefits followed shortly after. A sizable paycheck including extensive health coverage, identification, and International Citizenship with the option to travel or live anywhere, and room and board for the duration of her natural lifespan within and outside of the Cabin.
It was tempting. Though she would be stuck in this dimension and bound to the Cabin, it wasn’t like she was planning on returning to Equestria any time in the near future. Plus, she would have guaranteed protections and the ability to do whatever she wanted so long as she fulfilled her obligations.
In addition, Head Executive Sunset Shimmer had a nice ring to it. A position of power the likes of which she could have only dreamed of under her mentor’s coddling wings.
By the time Sunset had gone over everything a second time to check for anything she had missed, it was hardly a choice anymore.
Using her finger, she signed her name on the dotted line at the bottom of the document in cursive script.
This was shortly followed by screaming as confetti exploded before her, covering her in bright, colourful strips of paper.
Once she had calmed down, she noticed that the document had changed to a list with the heading of Head Executive Goals.
Listed at the top was a goal to contain an altered item called the Celtic Dress. A blurb underneath noted the item to have been last seen in a place called the Everfree Forest outside of town and was due to appear on the next full moon.
Doable and well within the parameters of Sunset’s expectations.
The next item, not as much.
“Why do I need a partner?” Sunset asked aloud.
A second document overlaid the first with details about an item known as a Suppressor that could deactivate an Altered Item’s effect. Underlined, twice, was the condition that two Suppressors were required at a minimum on different sides of the target to activate them.
This meant a second person was a requirement to use them properly.
Extrapolating further, it also made sense. She was the head of a Bureau and that implied an organization, not a single person. She knew, and looked forward to, being the boss of a large group, but had hoped she could take some time to acclimate to this new world first.
“Fine, I’ll get a partner.”
Seemingly satisfied with her response, the screen returned to the previous document revealing the third item on her list.
Sunset resisted the urge to scream.
“No!” Sunset yelled, “absolutely not. I’ll go back when Tartarus freezes over.”
She refused to do this. She’d prefer to return to Equestria and beg her mentor to take her back.
Actually, that was incorrect, she would prefer to simply throw herself into an active volcano. That would at least be quick.
A new word was added to the sentence: required.
Sunset released an agonized groan.
She was going back to High School.