Prologue: Abstractions

When Discord was released into Equestria after many centuries of imprisonment, he wasted no time in wreaking mayhem on its equine inhabitants. Most of the effects were immediate and overt—comical subversions of the physical world to sate the mad deity's craving for amusement.

Soon enough, however, a group of six ponies confronted Discord with the Elements of Harmony, the only power capable of counteracting his own. The anarchic manifestations of Discord's will vanished when the embodied Elements unified and harmonized in their ultimate purpose. Serenity and security were restored to Equestria, while the self-proclaimed spirit of chaos was restored to a spot in Canterlot's sculpture garden.

And yet, as per the nature of chaos, unforeseen consequences came on the heels of victory.

Before the might of the Elements nullified the rampant Discord, Equestria remained saturated with his influence, even up to his last waking instant. Although the draconequus's fate had already been sealed prior to the final moments, the Elements continued to rebel against the chaos that continued to inundate their world.

What ensued was the result of nothing more than a spontaneous reaction. In an automatic attempt to balance the overabundant disharmony, the Elements collectively groped for the strongest, purest source of harmony they could locate. Here it must be understood that a rift opens briefly in the fabric of reality on those rare occasions when an abstraction—in this case, friendship—takes tangible form. Courtesy of this, the magical search quickly broadened in scope to include other universes as the ideas represented by the Elements manifested into energy. Seconds before Discord was defeated and the metaphysical rift mended, a very remote sense of love was perceived. To be discernible through the universal divide was a testament to its value.

Existing inherently as a concept and thus not existing alongside the physical principles of speed, distance, or even time, the bond produced by the Elements didn't cross the void between universes so much as it simply recognized itself on the other side.

Nopony in Equestria had ever had the faintest knowledge of such a phenomenon. It was as unnecessary as it was unfamiliar, of course, since Discord's recapture was inevitable at that point anyway. But the spirit of true friendship is vigorous and is, for better or worse, sometimes accompanied by its own brand of chaos.

Like a magnetic lightning flash, but faster and more irresistible, the magic of the Elements seized its far-removed targets.

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The progress that Earth had made in such a short period of time never failed to amaze WALL-E. Just a few decades earlier, the planet had been a literal wasteland, smothered with refuse from the old human civilization that had occupied it. This was the way WALL-E had known Earth for the better part of a millennium.

Now, trundling up to the edge of a forest of apple trees speckled red with their ripe bounty, the trash-compacting machine had a greater appreciation for the sight than perhaps anybody else in the world.

WALL-E glanced at the sleek white figure floating a couple inches off the ground next to him, the only one whose wonder could possibly match his own at that moment. His companion, a plant-retrieving probe acronymically named EVE, reflected his feelings in her round eyes as she gazed into the boughs of the nearest tree. She drifted up toward a particularly low-hanging apple and hovered about it for several seconds, examining its glossy skin from all angles.

Eyes suddenly arching upward in a gleeful expression, EVE looked over to WALL-E and pointed the tip of a finlike arm at the fruit. "Directive?"

Playing along with the joke, WALL-E popped open the front of his chassis and motioned to the empty chamber inside. EVE's giggle, as well as her resulting midair bobble, sent a surge of joy through WALL-E's circuits—as it always did. Equally delightful was the fact that he alone was able to complete the act, a private routine based on shared experiences.

EVE gave the apple a delicate stroke with her fingers (ancillary appendages that smoothly separated from the end of her arm) before gliding back down. Watching her, WALL-E was reminded that it was because of her as much as him that such beautiful things had come to exist at all. He hardly needed to jog his memory of their cooperative efforts, but he liked to replay the events in his mind from time to time.

Settling back into her position beside WALL-E, EVE reached for his hand. It joined hers halfway. The movement, so extraneous to both robots' original functions, had become very natural for them: EVE's four digits splaying out to make room for WALL-E's three to fit between them, WALL-E's three digits then folding at their motorized joints to interlock with EVE's four. What had once been a deliberate mechanical process was now fluid and familiar, but never taken for granted. After all, WALL-E and EVE had discovered a higher significance in one another than they ever had in the mundane tasks they were designed to carry out—a higher "directive," as EVE always so succinctly put it.

Hand-in-hand with the one who had given his life so much meaning, WALL-E recognized that moment as the legitimization of nearly 700 years' worth of futility. He knew that EVE fully reciprocated the feelings. She caressed the rim of one of his binocular eyes with her free hand, crooning softly.

The orchard forgotten, WALL-E extended his neck straight up just as EVE lowered herself to the soil, the combination putting the two at eye level with each other. They rested their heads together, WALL-E's twin lenses against EVE's curving faceplate.

An apple snapped off a branch somewhere behind EVE. WALL-E didn't hear it hit the ground; EVE's humming had gotten louder and her eyes appeared to glow more brightly. It was difficult for WALL-E to focus on anything else while that neon-blue stare—as transfixed as his own, he could tell—dominated his vision.

"Wallee…" EVE whispered.

"Eeeva…"

Asking EVE to kiss him had never before occurred to WALL-E. Whenever she did so, it was of her own volition. Now, though, he found himself possessed by an unprecedented desire to articulate that very wish. The clunky opening syllables had barely begun to form in his vocal synthesizer when a spark flashed from EVE's forehead into the small gap between his eyes. WALL-E was overcome with a euphoric sensation, invigorating as well as intoxicating. He sighed and shuddered in contentment from the kiss.

To his thrilled surprise, EVE persisted, sending another spark inside his system. To his further surprise, she maintained the spark.

In a microsecond's time, the fiber of electric current running between them had become a two-way conduit—something else that had never happened before. Without really trying to, he fed her some of his stored solar energy while she fed him energy from her power cell; a series of beeps indicated the fluctuations in his charge level. WALL-E could feel EVE's presence within, shocking every circuit and every component of his metal frame. He couldn't even feel the dirt beneath his treads through the numbing electricity.

"Waaa… Wall… Wal-l-leeee…" EVE seemed to be having a similar experience.

As the buzz intensified, WALL-E grabbed her other hand and closed his eyes in bliss. The electricity crackled, rippling outward from their conducting bodies, permeating everything around.

Then, far too abruptly, it ended.

WALL-E parted the shutters on his lenses, revealing EVE's wide eyes a few inches away. He glanced down, curious as to why he still couldn't feel the ground below him, and jumped in alarm.

Instead of brown earth, what he saw was an imitation of the static that showed up on his television screen whenever his videotape's picture was disrupted. Minus the absence of noise, the frothing ocean of black and white spots was an almost flawless reproduction; it even looked vaguely two-dimensional. Its size was the only glaring discrepancy, as it stretched out in all directions to some immeasurable distance at which it formed a horizon of sorts with—WALL-E peered upward—an unbroken gray ceiling.

EVE had let go of WALL-E's left hand. She pivoted warily back and forth, her right arm's integrated photon cannon at the ready.

WALL-E didn't really feel weightless, nor did he feel like he was dangling in midair. The best way he could describe it to himself was as an invisible cushion gently supporting him from all sides, negating the gravity that might've been acting on him.

He experimentally spun his treads. They worked fine (to the best of his knowledge), but he was startled when he didn't hear their familiar whir. Mystified, he tapped EVE on the arm. No sound. EVE regarded him with an inquisitive tilt of her head. He pointedly tapped her again. She blinked, and then comprehended a moment later. Whatever place they'd wound up in was a silent vacuum, presumably enclosed by the scintillating field below and the solid blanket above.

Straining his visual magnification to its limit, WALL-E tried to get some sense of scale. At the exact time that he zoomed in on the line of contrast between "ground" and "sky," though, the view through his lenses slid backward. The same happened when he tried to magnify the agitated mosaic underneath him; its surface zoomed out as much as he zoomed in, preventing any perception of depth. He tested his telescopic capacities on EVE, whose image responded accordingly. With the confirmation that he had no optical malfunctions, WALL-E could only guess that the environment was generating some kind of illusion. What had initially appeared to be a flat, infinite expanse could therefore be a contained pocket of space, though he somehow suspected otherwise.

As he adjusted his sight back to default magnification, WALL-E caught a glimpse of something behind EVE's head. He suppressed a jolt and leaned to one side. There, just a few feet away—barring any optical distortions—was a bright red apple straddling the horizon. Not only did it look very random amidst the emptiness, but it also looked unusual to WALL-E because it was too illuminated, rather than darkly silhouetted as it should've been against the pallid backdrop. Upon closer observation—which was, in fact, possible—he saw a gleam on the apple's skin that came from no particular source of light.

EVE waved an arm in front of WALL-E's eyes and cocked her head. WALL-E pointed past her, at the apple. She turned and scrutinized it, then turned back to him with a shrug.

WALL-E swiveled his head around 360 degrees, scanning for any other tangible objects existing with them. There was nothing else at all. He pointed at the apple again and gestured for EVE to try propelling them toward it.

Still holding WALL-E's hand securely, EVE pulsed her thruster. The two robots experienced only a fleeting instant of acceleration before they were halted by some unidentifiable tug that, for whatever reason, left WALL-E dazed and disoriented.

After the vertigo subsided, he refocused his lenses and glanced at the apple, which hadn't gotten any nearer. EVE, he noticed, was blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear her own dizziness. She wobbled for a couple seconds, stabilized, and shrugged again. WALL-E's neck bent in disappointment.

On top of having been deprived of all visual logic and all aural ability, he and EVE were immobilized as well—not to mention the rather perplexing fact that they were wherever they were in the first place.

Without warning, a large spike plunged down next to them from the grayness above, so fast that it seemed to just wink into being. On reflex, WALL-E retreated partway into his idle pose while EVE, also on reflex, drew her cannon and fired. Before WALL-E could even consider the wisdom of his companion's aggression, it was proven irrelevant. Her weapon-arm recoiled as expected, but no searing glob erupted into the void. She whipped the appendage up in front of her face, inspecting it.

WALL-E studied the spike cautiously, not sure what he planned to do if it made a move to harm him or EVE. It was a slim conical shape sporting the same static-like pattern as the region below. He found, to his surprise, that he could magnify the object. Although its scale continued to elude him, it gave WALL-E the impression of great volume.

Concentrating on the protrusion's tip was an oddly fascinating process. The farther in he zoomed, the sharper and more mesmerizing it became, almost beckoning for him to isolate the precise bottommost point. WALL-E didn't quite manage to do it; the tip kept refining itself until his vision reached its maximum depth. Only then, with some effort, did he pry his eyes from the inviting spectacle.

His gaze crawled up along the spike's length, following the slant of its left edge. He craned his neck to see where it originated from in the surrounding gray "matter." After a certain height, it faded away. WALL-E couldn't tell whether it was really vanishing or whether the grayness was obscuring its base.

As he regarded the structure, though, it became more difficult to stay focused. His vision began to feel impaired. An overload of information suddenly stormed WALL-E's optical system and addled his eyes. Through the visual deluge that he couldn't sort out, he was conscious of one lens slipping forward while the other crept back. His perception of substance alternated between the spike and the adjacent space. One instant, the spike was fully solid. The next instant, it was just a contour enveloped by material of incalculable density. The next instant, its picture fragmented into countless copies of itself.

Just when his optics seemed ready to fizzle out, WALL-E clamped his lens-lids together. He waited a few seconds to let his overtaxed eyes recover, then synchronized them.

His right arm trembled, bringing his attention back to EVE as she retracted her cannon and flicked it out again with angry, convulsive force. The cannon-arm pumped repeatedly as she tried—with mounting desperation, it appeared—to discharge its destructive blasts at the spike. This was, WALL-E realized, the first time EVE's weapon had failed in her entire operational life. She was understandably panicked, especially given the circumstances.

WALL-E applied extra pressure to the joints of his right hand, squeezing EVE's fingers more firmly.

She paused to look at him. WALL-E reached over and nudged the underside of her cannon. Her glare of frustration melting into a glow of affection was a welcome sight for WALL-E's sore eyes. EVE sheathed her weapon, head sheepishly sinking a little into its socket on her torso. WALL-E saw her squint toward the spike. He rapped on her arm and emphatically shook his head in response to her questioning stare. To clarify, he tugged on one of his eye modules, forcing it to realign with its counterpart. EVE nodded after a few moments.

WALL-E then detected a subtle movement on the left border of his vision. He glanced over and quickly averted his eyes when he saw that the spike was its source. Intrigued in spite of himself, however, he slowly rotated his head back toward it. Careful to keep the thing in his periphery, WALL-E watched as its edge became less and less distinct. Before long, the angled mass of black and white dots had smeared together, blending into the sheer gray background.

Once it was gone, EVE's eyes darted about as if she predicted another giant barb to come rushing at them. WALL-E couldn't help but share the concern.

Time passed, and nothing happened. Nothing at all. EVE had a built-in chronometer, but WALL-E couldn't figure out a way to mutely ask what it read (let alone figure out how EVE could answer). His power supply wasn't dwindling, so he couldn't use its cycle as a reference. For EVE's sake, of course, he was immensely glad that he wouldn't have to abandon her to enter Sleep mode—an inertia from which he wasn't sure he would've been able to return in their present location.

Thus, the stranded robots merely existed.

Neither the scenery nor their orientation to it changed much; static remained below them, grayness remained above, and the dividing line remained level from their perspective. Likewise, the apple that had made the inexplicable transition with them never shifted from its spot behind EVE.

The environment's only inconsistencies were the static-colored spikes of varying size—or maybe at varying distance—that periodically dropped from above. WALL-E and EVE learned that, as long as they didn't focus on them too closely, the protrusions weren't dangerous. They were no more than docile apparitions that lingered for short—but again, variable—spans of time before blurring into oblivion.

None of it was too aesthetically enjoyable, so sightseeing wasn't a sustainable method of stimulation.

In the absence of any context beyond one another's company, WALL-E and EVE had to somewhat recalibrate their standards for survival. WALL-E, who had developed small ways to cope with centuries of repetition, was prepared to handle the tedium. EVE, who remembered her interminable confinement aboard the Axiom all too well, would've undoubtedly found this experience similarly maddening if not for the robot next to her. While the memories of monotony were vivid, the memories of almost losing WALL-E were terrifying.

EVE had lost him for a brief time, in fact. No vacuum that was fabricated around her could ever compare with the deadening abyss that WALL-E's reset had gouged into her frame, before her kiss rebooted him. She didn't dare release his hand as they hung in the void.

More time passed. WALL-E and EVE knew that they were both ultimately waiting for a recurrence of whatever act of nature had thrust them into this bizarre dimension. Meanwhile, they did their best to entertain themselves with the limited resources at their disposal. They unsuccessfully tested their devices—WALL-E's beam-cutter and audio recording, EVE's vegetation evaluator and cannon (again)—confirming that they couldn't expel any form of energy into the space they inhabited.

On an impulse, WALL-E opened his front hatch and motioned for EVE to do the same. She did so, but her interior compartment was vacant; WALL-E didn't honestly know what else he'd been expecting.

Eventually, WALL-E and EVE risked sensory disarray to try moving out of their fixed positions. After several vain attempts and bouts of vertigo, they slumped in mutual resignation. Annoyingly enough, the same force that had prevented them from reaching the apple also prevented them from getting closer to one another. Though both robots were thankful that their hands were at least joined without a problem, a greater degree of physical contact would've been a nice reprieve from the feeling of open vulnerability.

Long after they'd exhausted their means of staving off boredom, they settled into a complacent torpor. WALL-E had, by then, stopped fathoming guesses as to the amount of time they'd spent in the void. He flicked a lazy glance at EVE. Her detached head sagged low above her torso, nearly sitting in its socket.

WALL-E revved his right arm's rotor, spinning his and EVE's intertwined hands. She perked to attention and giggled inaudibly at the swirling medley of gray and white their fingers created. But too soon, her upturned eyes curved down again.

At the sight of EVE's despondency, WALL-E's eyes drooped as well and he stopped his hand's gyration. A free spirit like her didn't deserve to be trapped here. He narrowed his lenses in thought, fiddling with the notion that had been shadowing his consciousness for some—inestimable—time.

Reaching a decision, WALL-E straightened his neck resolutely and tapped EVE's arm. She gave him a languid wave.

He simultaneously retracted his left arm, withdrew his treads into the bottom of his chassis, and folded his neck into the top of it. With the exception of his right arm (which still held EVE's left), WALL-E had transformed into a box. He peeked over the wall of his body to gauge EVE's reaction.

She seemed confused for a moment, until her eyes widened in realization.

Whenever they entered their standby states, they effectively reduced themselves to inanimate objects, unable to perceive. Some external stimulus would be needed to reawaken them. While this practice was only mandatory to allow for the optimal performance of either robot, it could potentially be the utmost blessing for them now. From their points of view, they'd deactivate and reactivate almost instantaneously, regardless of the intervening timespan, sparing them (mainly EVE) the agony of whatever wait they were bound to endure. That was how Sleep mode usually worked, anyway.

WALL-E shifted both his arms upward along their tracks—his version of a shrug. EVE drummed her fingers against her faceplate with a worried expression. His spade-like digits almost doubling over as he tightened his grip on her other hand, WALL-E bobbed his head reassuringly. EVE nodded a moment later.

He gestured for her to shut down first. After a split second's hesitation, she complied; her free arm melded into its recessed niche on her side while her head slid into its socket. Her lovely blue eyes radiated warmth toward WALL-E even as they dimmed and faded into the darkness of her optical matrix.

Casting a final look at EVE's blank face and seamless ovoid shape, WALL-E lowered his eyes into his compaction chamber. One by one, his systems went offline.

He wondered how much time would go by before he regained sentience.

He wondered what would be in front of his eyes when he opened them.

He wondered whether something would happen to them while they were asleep.

He felt EVE's fingers between his own.

His microprocessor powered down.

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Even as six triumphant ponies were being lauded for their actions against Discord, the repercussions of the battle were echoing far beyond the conceivable boundaries of equine awareness—to a place whose reality Celestia herself could only have guessed at.

In that place, the long process set into motion by the Elements of Harmony was already underway.

The mechanical incarnations of that harmony, snatched from their native universe, were broken down into their fundamental parts: form and essence, the prerequisites of existence. These dual aspects had been isolated to facilitate passage into the surreal gap between universes, but now had to be reunited in order to facilitate existence on the other side.

Scattered across creation's template, the physical particles of the two robots slowly—so very slowly—coalesced and synchronized with their abstract projections.

Gradually, but inexorably, the crossover was brought to fruition.

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