//------------------------------//
// I : The Sphinx, The Draconequus, and The Closet (Unedited) 
// Story: All Things in Moderation 
// by RemnantoftheWatcher 
//------------------------------//


Chapter 1: The Sphinx, The Draconequus, and The Closet


“Life is either a great adventure or nothing.” - Hellen Keller 


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Stepping through a featureless, bottomless void currently occupying the space of my closet, I half expected to start tumbling head over heels. Or feel my body dissolving into incorporeality. Or at the very least feel a change in temperature. Something to that effect.

Instead, my foot lands on solid ground. Okay, that's encouraging. I draw my left foot inside. Again, it touches solid ground. With my eyes still closed, I take a few more steps, the sound echoing into a vast space. Finally I open my eyes, and glance about.

Well Jeremy, you sure ain't in Kansas anymore.

Above me is an all encompassing void, unlit but with the impression of vast, gigantic forms moving like black velvet curtains against the background at the edge of perceptibility. Closer to the horizon, the ground appears through the darkness in a murky shade, growing brighter the more immediate to my position. The ground in question nearest me is lit as brightly as daylight, though there is no obvious source of illumination, and is curiously enough in the form of a simple repeating pattern. Large squares, around twelve feet across, alternate between gleaming white marble and smoothly varnished mahogany. It's almost like I'm standing on a-

“It's a giant Chess board!” I exclaim, the pattern clicking in my mind.

“Indeed,” responds a voice to my right. A familiar voice, though one I had grown accustomed to hearing as a reverberation of everywhere.  

I turn to my right, and blink for a few moments, “... W-Watcher? Is that you?”

The creature nods it's head, while I examine it, err, him. First off, what is familiar? Jade green feline eyes. Check. White lemniscate symbol on the back of his right paw? Yes indeed. Amorphous flowing black body?  

Well, he's still black in any case.

You see, instead of a flickering shadow-creature, Watcher had metamorphosed into a gigantic cat! A cat that while sitting, came up to my waist. A cat whose body was assembled like a bodybuilding tiger. A cat of the feathered persuasion, if the gigantic wings folded upon his back were any indication. A cat who - okay, enough of that, I think you get the point.

The most interesting part of Watcher, besides his wings I suppose, had to be his head. While his body was structured like a tiger's, his face was shaped more like a smaller felid, with a more triangular jaw and pointed nose, rather than the square jaw and flat nose of the big cats. It put me in the mind of a cross between a serval and a sand cat. Taking into account his wings, I postulated it gave him a more streamlined shape in flight. It also inadvertently served to make his expressions more pronounced, I quickly discovered.

“Surprised?” he asked, his lips and jaws rolling fluidly. The corners tugged up in the direction of his ears in a smile, the white tips of his pointed teeth proceeding from noticeable to barely visible,  stark contrast against black fur. It was, well, beautiful.

“Ah... a... a little.” I managed to reply, blinking numbly, “I'm... not used to actually talking to something other than a human.” I had my hand outstretched towards him, and with a start I withdrew it.

What the heck was I doing? One doesn't just start manhandling another sapient creature. That's so rude; it would be like walking up to a random person in the street and putting your hands all over his face to examine it.

Watcher however had noticed the motion, and didn't appear insulted. Rather he smirked, one side of his face showing a lot more ivory than the other, with one eyebrow arched high over his jade eye. His right wing unfolded from the back and curved around to the front, it's paired front leg raising as well in a double gesture of 'after you'.

“Shall we?” he indicated to a low lying table in the center of the lit area that I hadn't noticed before, surrounded by soft looking cushions.

I spared a glance behind me to see the door-frame of my closet just sitting there, beyond which was now occupied by the black void. Huh, I guess that answered that question. I turned back to Watcher and mimicked the gesture with an arm and a nod.

“I was under the impression that humans talked to animals and objects all the time,” he mentioned over  his shoulder, approaching the table.

I studied him some more, “Oh, we do. We're just not used to them... well, responding with the same verbal acuity.” 

I had always loved and grown up with animals all my life, my parents and grandparents being old salt New England farmers. My father however, had been adamant that his children would aspire for more than tending to cows and fields. 

'The farm ain't going nowhere. If you want to run it, make something of yourselves, then enjoy it when you retire,' I distinctly remember him saying. Still, I'm grateful for the background, since it allowed me to fully appreciate my feline companion.

Liquid muscle flowed powerfully under his pelt, which was dark with irregular bands of grey like black onyx, the comparison only strengthened by the oily sheen of a healthy coat giving it inconspicuous chromatic dispersion. When his wing ruffled, readjusting to lay flush to his back, I noticed the feathers towards the leading edge took on a more glassy finish, as if polished obsidian. He was a naturally smooth merger of feline and avian, from his streamlined head to the tip of his languidly swaying tail, which, I had just noticed, also had tufts of feathers along it.

“What are you?” I asked when we reached the table, and I flushed, having to refrain from facepalming. Gee Jerry, blunt much? I mentally chastised myself while dropping into a cushion across from my host.

Watcher chuckled, and lifting a panel from the middle of the table, pulled out an hourglass, which he promptly flipped over, the sand cascading into the empty bulb with a soft susurration.

“Our time limit,” he explained at my glance, and began pulling out what looked like an exotic brewing set, “Tea?”

At my affirmation, he set about making our drinks, pondering my question, “... The best way to explain it, would to say that I was, never was, but will be a Sphinx.”

I quirk an eyebrow, “Was, never was, but will be?”

He nods, moving a whisk through a powered concoction, “We are called the Sss'rinx,” the last word taking on a mellifluous tone, “Which most species pronounce as Sphinx, and as I have found from studying your culture, in the little time I have had, there is a creature that is analogous. However, because of my position as The Watcher, my people have never existed, do not currently exist, and never will exist. However, once my tenure as The Watcher ends, whenever that will be, we will exist once more.”

He glances up while pouring the mixture into two cups, catching my disturbed expression, “It is a difficult concept, I understand, but to explain it thoroughly would take longer than the time we have allotted.” 

He nudges one of the cups towards me with a paw, then slides it the rest of the way over with the tips of his wing, “murr'ichk” he churrs at me, “I bestow hospitality upon you, literally, or in this context; Please, enjoy.”

I pick up the cup to see the drink inside is a greenish-brown slurry of shaved ice and liquid. I take a sip, only to have my eyes widen in astonishment. It's a little like drinking black iced-tea for the base, but there is a slightly sweet undertone like cinnamon, with a sharp spicy bite of cumin and cloves that numbs my lips and suffuses me with a warm feeling when it travels down my throat. I take a quick gasp from the heady mixture.

“This... this is delicious. Thank you.” I manage to say, before tilting my head inquisitively at him.

Watcher catches my unspoken question, “urr'chirp” the phrase a lyrical mix between a purr and a chirrup. 

I parrot the words and I must have repeated it satisfactorily, because his face lights up with a smile, which is marred slightly by a faintly nostalgic glaze to his eyes. I start to feel a little self-conscious, like I'm sitting across from a grandfatherly old man. How long had he been alone, without anyone to speak to in his native tongue?

The sphinx shakes his head gently to dispel his reminiscence, “Well... I suppose it is time to get to the heart of the matter. … Where to begin?” he asks, and begins to tug on a tuft of fur hanging from his chin, which unlike the rest of his coat is a shock of white much like a goatee, in thought. 

“Perhaps you could explain more to me about this... Game?” I ask, taking another slow sip of my tea.

“Ah, yes. Well, suffice it to say, Discord, in his infinite wisdom,”the eye roll only nailed home his feelings,“during the rather quick interruption of his incarceration decided that this timeline could use some... spicing up. So he traveled to your world and yanked... well punted truthfully, an unsuspecting human into this one after asking him if he would 'like to visit Equestria'.” 

He gesticulated with a paw to something behind me.

I turned and started slightly, for instead of an endless expanse of board, there were now statues standing on pedestals. The one most predominately displayed was of a large, bipedal wolf-like creature, wearing a hooded jerkin that cast it's face into shadow, one of it's burly arms clutching a staff. A Diamond Dog I guess? He was surrounded by ponies; a pegasus with a pith helmet (is that Daring Do?), a unicorn with her mane writhing around her head like flames and goggles around her neck, a stolid looking earth stallion, and a, well, it sure wasn't a pony.

Is that supposed to be a draconequus? I quirk my head confused at the chimeric creature nearly hidden behind the Diamond Dog statue. Behind them were even more statues of ponies, all of whom were decked out in armor, behind which were even more ponies who were of various ages, like civilians.  There even more statues behind them that fade into the darkness.

“Of course, if one is good, two is better,” Watcher intones behind me, and another stone army glides silently out of the darkness, this one headed by a griffin rampant, his arms resting on the pommel of a thick sword thrust into the pedestal, wings proudly flung open in a challenging display.

“But why stop there? Why not four?” Two more stone legions slid out of oblivion, drawing my attention away from the griffin's companions before I could study them. “Or eight? Or sixteen? Or thirty? Or sixty? Or a hundred? Or several hundred?!” 

They tear out of the darkness, and I was hemmed in, trapped in a circle of petrified sentinels all glaring down at me with soul-crushing impassiveness. Some of the statues seemed to be flickering, like they were not entirely there. There were Dogs, Griffins, Ponies, Changelings, Dragons, Minotaurs, and creatures I didn't even have names for; a gigantic blur of limbs and sharp edges encompassing me like a statuary catacomb.

“But why should Discord have all the fun?” the ancient sphinx's voice droned on, seeming to take on an omnipresent echoing quality. “Once he started, other deities took notice.  Some wanted to join in the revelry of Chaos incarnate. Others had more specific aims; prestige, revival, gathering faith. There were still more who knew what madness this would bring, and began snatching pawns to protect what semblance of sanity could be saved. Discord does not care, rather he welcomed his 'brethren' with open arms.”

Bright lights and twisting shadows emerged, writhing and dancing among the stone pedestals, undefined and blurred, remaining just at the edges of my sight. Whispering, crying, shouting, screaming, and laughter spill forth; from the shadows, terrifying and twisted with malice as they curl around stone ears, from the lights, bracing and bubbling with encouragement alighting upon petrified shoulders; all merging into a rending cacophony of sight and sound.

“Thus, with one small pebble, he created a raging avalanche,” 

I have to tear my gaze away, and whip it up to the darkness. I whimper, because it grants me no solace, the dark forms at the edge of the void swaying and shifting when a mad, gleeful laugh courses through the air like sonorous fire, 

“An all-encompassing tempestuous stream of change driving into the tepid pool of this Known World, this Equestria, where it will be forever altered.”

My eyes widen in terror. A great mass is over us, driving down at our tiny table from the void, an incomprehensibly massive paw streaking down. At me!

“This is Discord's aim. Millennium of inactivity has all lead up to this. A titanic struggle of mortals and transcendent beings. This... is Discord's Game!” 

I open my mouth to scream, but my throat is dry and refuses to obey. The wicked paw of a capricious god cascades downwards, the laughter rising into a crescendo just before it obliterates me.


KRACK!


My drained cup of tea bounces off the floor, the wooden container echoing in the sudden silence.

Gone are the mobile lights and shadows.

Gone is the manic laughter.

Gone is the limb from the sky trying to snuff me out.

My cup rolls along the floor until it fetches up against a stone base with a soft click.

The statues however.

They remain.

I yelp at the sudden pressure on my shoulder. Watcher draws back his wing when I whirl to face him. I fight for my breath, a sudden chill stealing over me, like someone has stepped across my grave.

“Are you alright, Mr. Nimitz?” he asks, eyes narrowed in concern.

“I-I'm... I'm fine. I... no, I'm good. That was intense... I wasn't... I mean, how did... where?” I babble at him, while I frantically pat down my pockets. After that experience, I needed a smoke badly. Unfortunately, it seems I had forgotten to bring my cigarettes with me.

“Here.”

I glance up to see a long black pipe being proffered in the grasp of one feather, a velvet draw-string bag looped around another. Taking both items with a muttered thanks, I pop the bit between my teeth and pull open the bag curiously. Inside is the darkest shag I have ever laid eyes on, black as pitch and rolling it between my thumb and forefinger sticky like tar. I begin tamping it into the bowl when a loud zap startles me. Looking up, I see Watcher has a similar pipe, already lit, with a notch in the bottom of the bowl that allows it to perch on the flat of a feather.

“Allow me,” he says, stretching forward his other wing, the two primaries on the end scissoring across each other with a peculiar squeaking noise. With a loud crackle they straighten, and a bolt of electricity snaps from the tip of the feather to strike my bowl.

Lightning-lit tobacco? Sure, why not.

I quickly puff on the pipe coaxing the lump into a reddened cherry and before long the thick smoke swirls within my mouth. Oh blessed nicotine, how I needed you.

“urr'chirp,” I murmur as the chemical goes to work on my brain. Within moments I start to feel like myself again.

“I am sorry,” Watcher finally says after a while of contemplative silence, the smoke traveling in whorls about our heads, “I did not realize the experience would overwhelm you thus.”

“Well, I am a hard man to startle,” I say with a smirk, “but so many impossible things happening at once is enough to break anyone.”

Watcher turns his gaze to the table, his eyes flickering over the surface like he is searching for something.

“Live as long as I have, Mr. Nimitz... and you learn there is no such thing as impossibility.” 

The silence returns, suddenly cloying. I mean, how do you respond to that? Watcher appears nice enough, but I am slowly getting the impression that he's so much more. Older? Obviously. Lonelier? Without question. No, it's more of a sensation that he's beyond me, in much the way a human is to an ant, almost proportionally so. If that's indeed the case, what purpose does this meeting actually serve? How could he possibly need help from a computer programmer living in Maryland?

I stand to stretch, deciding that it's high time I was proactive and start pushing the issue.

“So what's the goal of the Game? Mmmngh. The final objective as it were?”

Watcher shrugs more with his wings than his shoulders, “Honestly, for Discord, I highly doubt that there is any. Grab a plethora of humans, set them loose, and watch the events tumble like dominoes. The resulting chaos is his entertainment.”

I stride over to my abandoned cup. Picking it up, I start to examine the statue it had come to rest against.

“And the other Patrons?”

“Them? Some may have the same mindset as Discord, though many have their own agendas. Like I had stated before; power, prestige, perhaps even worship, these are of course common aims for such beings. One instance basically devolves into trying to regain 'bragging rights' among the transcendent. If other Players have specific goals in mind, they elude me... I am not, after all, omniscient.” 

The statue is of the Diamond Dog that had appeared first; I glance up at his hooded face and squint to see his eyes. Eyes that look gentle and intelligent, yet worn somewhat. Eyes that are burdened with knowledge, like Watcher's own, though not to his extent.

“Really? A being as powerful as yourself has limits?”

There were plenty of things I expected in response to that offhand comment. Humble dissembling, outright denial, or a quick but furtive deflection into another topic. Something along those lines that would help me gauge what sort of personality I was dealing with. Him laughing so hard that when I glance over, I saw that he was literally rolling on the floor, however, hadn't made the final cut.

“Did I say something hilarious?” I ask somewhat indignantly.

“S-sorry... so sorry,” he manages to force out between chuckles, “My interactions with normal mortals are so infrequent that I constantly forget what observations I take for granted are often misconstrued.”

“Such as?”

“First, that the more power you have, the more limitations you find exist in using it responsibly,” he answers with a soft smile.

I turn back to the statues, examining the Daring Do one now. Along the base of the pedestal under her hooves I can make out a faded inscription in an alphabet I don't recognize. “I dunno, from what I've seen Discord doesn’t have that problem,” I shoot over my shoulder, and examining the other statues surrounding the explorer pegasus reveals they are also inscribed in the same manner; the characters in question an exotic merger of what I assume are hieroglyphics and syllabaries. 

In the middle of walking from the D-Dog's army to the Gryphon's next to him, I realize that its grown morbidly silent. Looking over, I see that Watcher's face has lost all trace of good humor, and had focused me with a sharp glare.

“Discord does not use his power responsibly,” he snaps.

“True, but he in turn isn't bound by limitations.”

“That is not an acceptable excuse!” the sphinx shouts, flaring his wings and puffing up in anger.

“That's your opinion,” I respond in as softly soothing a tone I can manage facing down an angry winged cat with bared pointy teeth. Luckily for me, it seems to do the trick; Watcher's fur smooths out somewhat, and his feathered limbs fold back halfway, instead fixing me with narrowed, inquisitive eyes. I waste no time to press my advantage in keeping my organs where they belong, “I know that power has physical limitations, though at this point,” and I gesticulate around the room at large with the stem of my pipe, “I'm frankly finding myself unable to imagine what they could be.”

I pop the pipe back into my mouth, and take a few calming puffs, “Regardless, I think it's not so much that power has limitations, but more so that power has consequences. Certain consequences being something that some individuals and societies frown upon, but in no way makes them a limitation. It just means that people that will use their power in such a way are prepared to accept such consequences, if they're intelligent, or are unaware of them, if they're stupid.”

Silence reigned supreme for a few moments, “And you, Mr. Nimitz? You would agree, and defend them?” Watcher finally asked.

I shook my head, “No. Power corrupts, and ultimate power.... But you wouldn't see me saying that to their faces. I'm not going to make the mistake of assuming that a deific power is morally... 'handicapped' as you or I. To think otherwise... that 'more power equates to more limitations' would leave me vulnerable. Life is never that kind.”

Ending on that pessimistic note, I amble over to the griffin statue. His motley ensemble was considerably more varied; a cybernetic unicorn that looked vaguely familiar, two female griffins, one of whom looked even more familiar(Gilda?) being ridden by a baby dragon, a pair of diamond dogs, a minotaur, a cat-person (what?), and a steam-punk alicorn(HUH!?) flanked by a pegasus and unicorn. While edging around that last trio, my foot connected with something particularly solid, and therefore painful. With a muffled curse, I grab my stubbed digits and stare down at another statue, one that had been reduced to rubble and strewn across the floor amongst the others. The chunk in particular my foot had collided with was the statue's head, a griffin with it's beak permanently fixed in a mute scream.

“W-what was the second reason?” I ask, staring at the ominous sight.

“What?”

“You said, 'First' which suggests you had more than one example.”

“Oh, that,” Watcher was apparently still mulling over my earlier explanation, “Second, I have no real power of my own.” 

That caught my attention, “Bwah?”

I wave my arms in the general direction of EVERYTHING around me to submit as evidence to the contrary.

He chuckles, “Where do you think we are, Mr. Nimitz?”

I gaze at my surroundings, knowing full well I'm not on Earth anymore, and this doesn’t remind me of anywhere I've seen of Equestria, “...Narnia?”

Watcher's incredulous look of bafflement informs me he doesn't get the reference. 

“I don't know,” I finally admit.

Watcher gives me a Cheshire grin, “We are in the space between time and space. The void beyond the universe if you will. It is from here that I operate, caught between existence and non-existence. What you see around you is a constructed environment from your mind trying to comprehend it.”

Okay, that's rather creepy. Also, too 'Contact' for me. God knows I'm not Jodi Foster.

“While... interesting... I still don't see how this puts points in your favor of being powerless,” I respond distractedly, furrowing my brow as I try to see something other than the current environment around me. When my surroundings start flickering and fizzing like a poorly adjusted T.V. set, and an overpowering weight settles oppressively on my mind, I decide that I can live with a giant chess board in the middle of a vast realm of infinity. My environs snap back into sharp focus, and I have to repress a shiver clambering up my spine.

“Well, most transcendent beings have access to omniscience, omnipotence, and omnipresence when on a higher plane of existence such as this. The Big Three, as they are known. My Geas however, only gives me access to the last one in execution of my duty.”

I puff on my pipe, working my way back to the clearing in the middle of all the statuary, “Omnipresence... so you're everywhere at once? Wait... 'Geas'?”

“Quite,” he slaps out the dottle from his pipe and begins packing it again, sweeping the rancid chunk away with a flick of a feather, “'The Watcher' is not just a title bestowed upon me, it is also the name of the ritual spell that allows me to carry out my responsibility. I am the spell and the spell is I; bound and inextricably linked by arcane vows.”

His feline eyes bore into my own, and suddenly I feel naked, that feeling of being laid bare before something so impossibly beyond my understanding returning with a vengeance.

“I am The Watch Warden of Time; charged with the continued operation of the temporal, bound to see and remember everything that has existed, is existing, and will exist... until time itself decides to end.”



Slowly, oh so very slowly do I approach the table again, before I bonelessly flop into the cushion across from him. I lick my dry lips and try to swallow with a parched throat.

“W-Why? Why would... why is such a spell necessary?” I finally croak.

Watcher relights his pipe and spends a few agonizingly silent moments pulling on it, filling the air with reams of steel-blue smoke, before he graces me with a melancholic smile.

“Reality observes the Cat... but Reality is lazy. So the Cat must observe instead.”

“...Huh?”

Watcher shakes his head, “It is an unfortunate necessity. All things must be observed, to maintain harmony, so I am everywhere. Since I am everywhere, this means it is impossible for certain... 'things' to slip in unnoticed. Or for one entity in particular to escape and become noticed.”

I blink mutely at him my mind whirling on overdrive. It's necessary for him to be omnipresent? Certain things? An entity in particular? Wait, Watch Warden? But that would mean-

“Who are you imprisoning?”

ACK! STUPID MOUTH!

“...” Watcher studies me, before turning his eyes to the hourglass, “While relevant, it is not directly pertinent at the moment. I am afraid we do not have the luxury of time for that tangent.”

I glance at the hourglass myself to see the bottom bulb is a quarter-full. I grimace and pull on the pipe, only for my frown to deepen when I find that its gone out. With a frustrated sigh I set the obsidian pipe on the table, waving off Watcher's offer to relight it, knowing I have to abandon this particular track of questioning.

“If you're everywhere, why do you even need me? You mentioned something about how it's becoming hard for you to 'view' the timeline?”

“Indeed. With every new inclusion of a Piece and their constituent Patron my view of the timeline becomes increasingly obscured.”

“Why?”

Watcher purses his lips thoughtfully, “Every new Piece adds an element of... uncertainty. Since they are not originally a part of that space-time, I am only able to observe them due to the effect they have on their surroundings. If you include their Transcendent Players who have an even larger distortive effect, they become the temporal version of gravitational lensing on causality.”

He pauses, seeing my mouth gaping open,“Certain time-lines are more advanced than what your 'Tee-Vee' show broadcasts for you,” he smirks, flashing the tips of ivory daggers.

I shake my head. Great, not only am I talking to a reality bending sapient cat-with-wings, he also happens to know a thing or two about physics. Phenomenal.

“Okay, so in layman terms, Pawns and Players distort time.”

“Yes, and if it was only a few, I could compensate. However, with so many extra-dimensionals being added, their overlapping distortion will cause 'blind spots' that, if left unchecked, will cause problems.”

“So you need me as your 'on-site proxy' as it were?” I ask, miming the air quotes, starting to get what he needed from me.

He nods, “I need to remain 'unobserved' otherwise my Geas would start to break down. But by remaining in constant contact with you; in essence using you as a local focus, grants me a loophole around that problem.”

“So I would be a walking, talking, signal repeater,” I ponder mostly to myself. All in all, that doesn’t seem so bad. “And that's it? Just observe and report, like a security guard?”

“Mostly.”

“I sense a 'but' coming on...”

Watcher rakes his claws through his goatee in a pondering method, “There is a small caveat. Since you would be my physical agent within the timestream, you would have to carry out my duties in the event of 'complications'.”

“I thought I was going in the first place to stop the... 'complications' from happening,” I quirk my head in confusion.

“Even with you there 'blind spots' will still occur, just not as large,” he gives me a half-wing shrug, “I will be the first to readily admit that the system is not perfect.”

“So what exactly does this entail?”

“Mostly the identification and acquirement of anachronistic artifacts,” he nods softly. 

Time displaced items? Okay, that doesn't seem so ba-

“And the termination of Aberrations.”

Ah, I was wondering when the other shoe was going to drop. 

“Aberrations?” I ask in what I hope is a neutral tone.

“Creatures that under no likely set of circumstances exist, nor should ever exist. Beings from beyond reality that have assumed forms that are an irregularity unto existence itself.”

“So... monsters? You want me to kill monsters,” I state flatly.

“... The term 'monster' is a common appellation that most creatures pejoratively throw against one another, but as you said earlier, in 'layman terms' yes I want you to be a Monster Hunter.”  

“But... but that's... I mean,” I start getting flustered. He wants me to fight monsters? “I can't do that! It's impossible! I can't fight that well because of my.... b-besides, I certainly can't KILL anything,” I finally grind out.

What follows is a pregnant pause, the silence only filled by the whisper of the hourglass. Watcher simply stares at me, his feline eyes boring into my own. His expression is non-committal but there is a fragment of disappointment, like he knows something that I don't. But what could he know? It's not like-

“You are most likely imagining yourself arrayed against hordes of unspeakable abominations with the odds heavily against your favor,” the winged leopard began, rotating the cup clasped in his paws before taking a sip, “When in reality, that would be the worst case scenario after the situation had critically spiraled into a chain reaction.”

He sets the cup down with a clink, and holds his paws close together.

“Unless it is a catastrophically huge disturbance in the fabric of reality, small temporal holes, which I must stress occur naturally every second everywhere that is feasibly considerable, will occasionally act as pinhole gateways for the smallest of Aberrations. Things that take the form of Skitterings, Flickers, Jigger-Legs, Ashmotes, Bit Holes, Koo-Koos, Whipits, Zats, or at the largest a Trick Imp.”

“Heffalumps and Woozles, Bandersnatches and Jabberwockies?”

The Sphinx raises a slim eyebrow in response.

“Sorry, continue,” is my chastised reply.

“In any case, these Aberrations are ill-equipped for survival, more often than not ending up trampled, drowned, eaten or burned among other fates. Moreover, most lack the intelligence to stay in a secluded spot that would facilitate the warping of reality's fabric. The end result is them having a similar mortality rate to that of insects. In fact, barely one out of a trillionth survive to become a problem. But one is all it takes.”

“I'll operate under the assumption that one is the start of the aforementioned chain reaction?”

“Indeed. Aberrations have the same distortive property of Patrons and their Pieces. With time in a small enough area, the 'hole' attracts more of them, which in turn widens the 'hole',” he starts to spread his paws apart, “exponentially growing and allows the arrival of deadlier, more intelligent varieties. It also starts to cause strange phenomena to occur with the breakdown of reality; unexplained lights in the sky, mystifying plagues, strange sounds, irregular temporal quirks, symptoms of hauntings that are not supernatural in nature like shadow figures, strange pocket worlds, and creatures being 'spirited away' like some of your human cultures call it. Some of these effects are time's attempts to fix itself, but if left unattended, it eventually will reach a breaking point where reality will hemorrhage out, not unlike a pestis infested body,” he finishes, simply dropping his paws away.

“It is imperative that you,” he jabs a feather at me, “deal with these creatures expediently so such a catastrophe does not come to pass. So rather than being a great slayer of abominations, it is a more preventative career in quality. You would be more of a...” he strokes his chin with a pensive look, “a pest exterminator. Yes.”

The smile he sends my way is readily shared upon my face, but in the back of my mind I'm a little wary. The manner in which he delivered his explanation, especially the choice of title, seemed a little staged, like he specifically chose phrasings that were meant to reassure me.

Just how much did he know about me?

“What makes you think I'd be the right guy for the job?”

Watcher smiles, plucking a manilla folder from seemingly out of nowhere in one wing, and in the other clasps a pair of pince-nez which he perches on the bridge of his nose, “Well, let us see here.”

I blink, trying to overcome the ridiculously incredulous image of a glasses-wearing mythological creature before focusing on the folder; more specifically, the seal on the front of the opened folder, “Hey... wait a second. Is that my university file? How did you get that!?”

“Utilizing the same principal as when socks go missing in the dryer,” he replies distractedly, peering at the contents of the folder.

“Wait... what?”

“Jeremy Theodore Nimitz, Massachusetts Institute of Technology Graduating Class of 2000,” he begins to read, “Salutatorian with a B.ScCSE; Coordinate Major in Computer Science and Engineering and Electrical Science and Engineering, Minor in Physics. Finished in six years with sixty non-transferable credits due to changing focus from Economics and Anthropology in your second year. Immediately picked up by ZeniMax Media Inc. as a computer programmer, where you were moved to Bethesda Softworks, LLC.”

“Yea... you notice how nowhere in that it mentioned that I'd majored in biological extermination or archeology?” I deadpan, interrupting him mid-breath before he could continue.

“Mr. Nimitz, you are missing the point,” Watcher sighed, peering at me over his glasses (which are still weird in my opinion), “I could enlist the aid of an assortment of martially inclined individuals and while it is true they would be marginally more efficient in both endeavors, they also comprise a list of traits I would rather not deal with. For example, they are often brusque, methodical, simple and blindly obedient at best; predictable, violent, presumptuous, reckless and rebellious at the worst.”

“You on the other paw, noted I might add from the observations of your professors and constituents, are a very different sort of being. You work well independently, able to utilize knowledge learned efficiently and adapt it to a wide range of applications shown by a list of unique solutions listed by various assignments and project workshops. Socially you are approachable, level headed, and perhaps even a little manipulative, often serving as the voice of reason and disarming tension in collaborative efforts. Observant and sagacious... or at least that is what I concluded from 'Generally looks at the big picture, always picking through the pros and cons of an argument, looking to steer for the acceptable consequences...'”

“Wait, who wrote that?” 

He peers closely at the page, “Dr. Markus.”

No way.

“My A.I. Professor?! He HATED me!”

“Ah, that would explain the, 'which he wouldn't have to if he just shut his mouth and followed the book,' part then,” Watcher nods comprehendingly.

Figures.

“Just like him to make backhanded compliments, that asshat,” I snort, rolling my eyes, “If he didn't treat the textbook like religious dogma...”

“Which leads into my final point,” Watcher cuts into my diatribe before I could really get going, “You will follow authority but are not content to blindly conform. You seek alternatives and look for work-arounds rather than merely give passing effort. This has of course ruffled some feathers and raised concerns of indecisiveness, but to me this is essential.”

“I do not need a soldier, Mr. Nimitz. What I need is a facilitator,” he sets the file on the table, fixing me with a serious stare, “A soldier follows orders and accomplishes goals. They are not concerned with the larger diverse results of their actions beyond a comprehensive set of rules they conduct themselves with the worst eschewing that entirely. Anything of concern that falls outside of those thoughts they have their superiors and governments to fall back on. They are utilized for short-term gains, enmeshed within a framework in conjunction with other squads by direction of those which have a clear, decisive goal in mind. In other words, used for Point A to Point B resolutions and in the worst case, expendable.”

Clear decisive goal in mind? Obviously somebody hasn't watched current war coverage. I don't know whether I should be relieved or embarrassed on behalf of my species.

“No, it is imperative that I have someone that will forge connections, tap and utilize information, and be resourceful enough to enter and leave locations while keeping in mind that they may have to return later,” he continues, relieving me of the need to correct him, “Someone who can be focused, charming, and relatively unobtrusive. Someone who understands the benefits of compromise and communication verses direct confrontation, and the discretion to use them. I need...”

“Bond. James Bond,” I smirk, using my best Sean Connery impression, buffing my fingernails against my shirt when it finally clicks what he's been trying to get across.

“... Who?”

My posture sags a little from disappointment, “Ian Fleming's James Bond? The British Secret Agent?”

One of Watcher's ears fold back, and gives a quizzical tilt to his head, “Secret Agent?”

“You know! A spy?” I blink while Watcher simply stares blankly back, “Covert operations? Gathers intelligence from the middle of the enemy base? Intelligence Specialist? Someone who engages in espionage?”

The Sphinx smiles as understanding washes over his face, “Ah! Yes, espionage. That is indeed one of the subsets of skills needed, though I was actually referring to the entirety of tradecraft required for autonomous operatives.”

“So yes, a spy.”

“Are spies not simply engaged in espionage?” he asks with an arched eyebrow.

I respond with a helpless gesture with my hands, “Kinda? Strictly speaking yes, but the clandestine field requires a lot of varied skills. Also, James Bond's a fictional character, so there is a lot of... 'artistic liberty' taken with his adventures.”

“Interesting,” Watcher replies before drawing out a small book from thin air. Flipping it open, he starts writing with the click of a common gel-pen of all things.

“What are you doing?” I ask after a short pause.

“Taking notes,” he replies without looking up, “Currently, you are my only source of contextual  information in regards to your world.”

Oh. Wonderful. No pressure or anything there. 

Lacing my fingers behind my head, I watch the hourglass for a few seconds while the skritching of the pen competes with the whisper of the sand. Eventually my eyes wander, drifting to the door-frame just sitting there behind my potential employer, and while outwardly I may appear calm, inwardly I'm concerned. I'll admit that while accepting would on the surface be a drastic departure from my current line of work, if I'm brutally honest with myself, I am more suited to this job than even Watcher is aware. 

But why would I want to? 

Putting aside how certain aspects made it a dream come true; putting aside how my altered routine because of his intrusions had drawn unwanted attention; if I accepted it would only be a short-term solution. I had certain needs with no guarantee that they could be met in Equestria, and I didn't want to fall back into my 'proclivities'. Not to mention it seemed to be inferred there wouldn't be any breaks during this trip. It was all or nothing.

If I wanted to go, I needed a permanent solution to my 'condition'.

“Watcher? Let's just assume for the moment I agree to be part of all... this?” I ask, waving my arm at all the statues.

“Mm-hmm?” he murmurs, still fully engrossed in whatever he's writing.

“What's in it for me?”

The scratch of the pen halts and his eyes flick to mine, “Pardon?”

“What do I get out of this?” I repeat.

He hesitates, eyes jumping from mine to his book and back, “Well... you would be instrumental in protecting an entire world from destruction.”

A younger man would have jumped immediately at that idea, to play the hero and damn the consequences. The chance to blaze a path of glory and adulation without thinking of the logistics and actuality of such an undertaking had in the past been the undoing of many idealistic youths. Fortunately I wasn't a young man anymore.  

“That's... not incentive,” I respond slowly, “You're asking me to risk a lot for the sake of altruism.” 

He straightens, a worried frown creasing his muzzle, “The world of Equis itself then? The chance to explore a planet filled with wonders and meet exotic cultures never before witnessed by people of your Earth?”

This was the facet that, if I was truthful with myself, would be the hardest to turn down. Reaching the last page, watching the credits roll, or beating the final boss, I would always find myself still stuck 'there' in my mind. Always wondering what may have been around the next corner, behind that wall, what that person passing by in a fleeting sentence did after the narrative passed him by. Here I was, being offered the metaphorical golden ticket to not only observe something I'd only dreamed about, but to contribute. To become an interactive participant in a fantasy, something that I could only emulate here.

Yet that was honeyed trap of escapism. You could close the book, stop the movie, and turn off the game. No matter how hard you tried(and tried I had) you couldn't escape reality forever. Going would mean that my fantasy would become my reality.

“Except by the other humans getting sent there?” I reply, and then raise my hand to forestall him, “It may sound petty, but the truth is they're in the same boat. The lure for adventure is there, yes, but we can offset it nowadays through tourism and escapism, the latter of which is quite literally my job. Even when Earth was largely unknown, the explorers back then planned, prepared and evaluated their trips. Even if some never made it back, at least they had a semblance of stability, a shred of normalcy tying them to home. You're asking me to forsake that entirely.”

Asking them to deal with my 'issues' when I invariably broke as well, though I didn't say it. I couldn't admit how much I want this, otherwise I would cave in. 

“What about it being a fresh start? The chance to cut all ties, to reinvent yourself? Absolute freedom to...” he began, lacing his paws in front of his face, eyes pleading with me.

“It's still the same problem,” I say softly, “Even if I could change, if I could forget... I'm still limited. I'm too young for a midlife crisis, but old enough to know my obligations. Watcher, you're asking a man in his late thirties in good...” 

I pause, not able to say it with a straight face. 

“Moderate health with a career that pulls down about eighty-thousand a year, a house almost paid off, and while not having a family of his own does have close relatives he enjoys seeing even if it's infrequently; you want him to give that all up.”

We stare at each other in silence. His wing sets the pen down and they agitatedly settle themselves against his back.

“You told me this was my decision... you have no Stick,” I begin, searching his eyes for any hint of betrayal, “Don't you have anything more to offer?”

His pupils flick rapidly across my face, searching. There is alarm certainly and perhaps some desperation, but no malice contained in them. I sigh, not seeing any other option. I had to turn him down.

“Sorry,” I murmur, starting to stand, “but the Carrot's not big enough.” 

“A new body.”

My leg lets out a protesting squeak when I pause, my hand braced against the knee. Unable to maintain my balance I fall back down with a muttered curse and shoot a glare at him. He's still as a statue, his face carefully schooled into a neutral expression with all trace of anxiety gone.

“Would you care to repeat that?” I snap a little more harshly than I intended.

“One of the few 'rules' that Discord interposed was that all humans receive a new body when they cross over. A non-human body,” the befeathered feline stressed.

The sensation of a slick, lumpy surface flows under my fingers, accompanied by a deadened tingle in my face. Realizing I'm stroking the furrow in my cheek subconsciously, I drop my hand back into my lap.

“Why would that appeal to me?” I ask, trying to play it off.

Watcher's eyes flick to my lap, then back to my own, “In Sphinx culture, everyone pulls their own weight, for our survival depends on it. One would assume then that we ignore or even cast out those who are injured or elderly. The Pegasi certainly did...”

He shakes his head, “On the contrary, we cherish and respect them just as much. They are a vital and intrinsic part of our society, still able to contribute in ways much more than physical. Even so... with a few that I knew, I could see it in their eyes. The disappointment. The anger. The resentment. Even if they accepted their handicap, could forget about it for a time, it was always there under the surface. Chewing at the back of their minds lay that inescapable fact.”

I glance at my right leg, more specifically the sharp creases of the brace under my pants. Without it, I couldn't walk without a crutch. Hell, even with it, it had taken years until I was able to walk without my cane.

“They would feel alone, separate, different. If they smiled it was broken, their laughter hollow. They felt their infirmity made them less than Pride. It sickened them,” he meets my gaze when I look back up, “Just as it sickens you.”

I lick my lips with my heart pounding in my head, “This... this new body. Is it healthy?”

Watcher scoffs indignantly, “I would certainly hope so. It is mine.”

“Yours?”

He nods, “The other Patrons either asked or tricked their Pieces into bodies they fashioned themselves. However, in order to exploit the loophole, and for lack of any other choice, all I can offer is my own body for a vessel. It is in perfect physical condition, and will stay that way for as long as you are careful with it.”

I swallow hard, thinking it's too good to be true, “Why didn't you mention this sooner?”

“Most of the other Pawns reacted very negatively to their transformation... I had thought you might be of a similar attachment,” he smiles gently, “However, now I see that your species and mine are not so different after all.”

“And this... this will fix everything? F-fix me?” Unbidden my mind leaps back to all the pain, the resulting feeling of detachment.

Watcher closes his eyes and nods solemnly, “Yes Mr. Nimitz. You will be whole again.”

An obsidian colored paw with spindly toes and cream colored pads crosses the middle of the table, held before me. The Sphinx smiles crookedly.

“How is that for a Carrot?”

Well then, consider that 'condition solved.'

I work my jaw uselessly for a few moments before I take the proffered limb in my hand, “Jeremy... call me Jeremy,” and with a genuine smile I give him a firm shake, “and I must add that it's a very juicy Carrot indeed.”

“How touching... it nearly brings a tear to my eye. Oh wait, false alarm. It's just dust,” calls a new, yet very familiar voice over my shoulder.

I'd recognize that sardonic velvety baritone anywhere! With a whirl my eyes behold someone I had been dying to meet. Draped across the broad shoulders of the hooded diamond dog statue is an amalgamated ribbon of parts condensed into a charismatic whole, replete with a tawny lion's paw rubbing at a knot of crud besmirching icteric eyes.

It's him! By Roddenberry's Ghost, it's actually him! It's -

“Discord,” the disturbingly flat response from behind me parrots my monologue.

With a casual flick of his claw, the dust bunny accumulated from his eyes shrieked in comical terror and plunged to it's mortality. Smirking, the Spirit of Chaos straightens, idly drumming the hood of his perch with his fingers.

“Awww, is Mr. Fuzzypuss not glad to see me?” he croons in a babyish voice.

“It would be remiss to say that you are at the top of the list consisting of creatures whose company I desire,” the Sphinx retorts. 

Snapping my eyes back to him seems to confirm this statement; mouth set in a grim line, fur just so ever fluffed in irritation, ears tweaked back. His body-language radiates displeasure, which in all honesty I find odd. I mean this is Discord, the pony version of Q. Who in their right mind hates Q?



For the record, Picard doesn’t count.

“Oh keep your tail on, I'm just checking up on our multiverse's consummate voyeur,” the draconequus replied with a flippant wave of his eagle arm.

“Invariably making my duty more difficult,” Watcher shot back with a narrowed glare.

“Pshaw, you need to learn to relax a little Schrödinger. You're more repressed than Celly was before the Game started and look how she took advantage of it.”

“Considering how you are directly responsible for tearing down the stability of her world around her, finding an additional 'outlet' beyond her conventional passive-agressive provocation to compensate for the added stress is to be expected from a pony. Something I have no need to address.”

“Says the ensorcelled sourpuss, blatantly ignoring the hypocrisy as he has a shady soiree with a no-doubt-as-droll-as-himself human in the middle of my boardgame,” the Lord of Chaos derisively narrates, “Speaking of which, who's your guest?”

Having spent most of the conversation snapping my head back and forth while they rallied barbs like a verbal tennis match, it took me a moment to realize he meant me. Discord wanted to know who I was.

Oh God, don't blow it Jeremy.

“This,” Watcher began with a smug 'shows what you know' tone, “is none other than the solution to the problem your mischief has caused me. Might I present Mr. Jerem-”

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!”

The sourceless sound that ripped through the air was akin to a piano hooked up to a tweeter kicked up to eleven, that had it's strings replaced with monkeys, with a sadistic pianist sustaining the C8 key.

It was also just as disruptive, if the yowled string of assumed foreign profanity from behind me or Discord tumbling from his stone perch to smash into the ground was anything to go by.

Not one to waste an opportunity, I rush over to help the Draconequus back to his feet, helpfully dusting him off.

“Thank... you?” he says, leaning away with a perturbed grin.

Holy crap, Discord just thanked me! Quickly mouth, you must respond!

“Eee EEE ee EEEE!”

There's that damn noise again. Where is that coming from? Wait, why am I holding Watcher's pen? Oh! Idea!

“EEEE!” goes the noise when I thrust the pen forward, damn near shoving it up his nostril.

The red pupils go cross-eyed to stare at the proffered writing implement before returning to my eyes, “It's a pen.” 

“EEE!” I insist. Wait, I'm making the noise? Oh CHRIST.

Discord simply raises an eyebrow.

Okay, time to bring the higher language codexs back online. Come on now. Any second no- whoops, looks like they crashed and burned. Alright then, pantomime is a go. I act out the motions of signing something with a few more monosyllabic eeks for good measure.

Comprehension dawns on his face, “You want my autograph?”

I am now the best example of a demented bobblehead.

“Well, at least somecreature here appreciates my talent,” he smiles, taking the pen.

“WHAT?!” Watcher yells, “SCULPTOR CHIP ME, I THINK MY EARS ARE BLEEDING!”

Okay, maybe I have a 'slight' problem dealing with celebrity status. On the whole, however, I think I handled that pretty well.




Shut up.


“To Jeremeeeeee! My most excitable and vocal extra-dimensional fan. Love, Discord,” the Draconequus mutters with his tongue stuck out in concentration, signing with a flourish on a roll of yellowed parchment. He hands it to me with the pen, “There you are, my first human-gifted autograph. Be sure to take good care of it.”

I drink in the flowing script on the fragile parchment, reverently rolling it up and clutching it to my chest with a solemn, “Eee.” 

“Honestly, I would've though you’d prefer someone with a... larger vocabulary Duney,” Discord chuckled, turning back to Watcher. Glancing down again at the rolled scroll, I notice there seems to be something written on the back as well.

“He is able to communicate quite eloquently,” my host grouses back while I start to unroll the parchment again, “But your presence seems to rob him of the capability.”

A few scant seconds of silence distract me enough to glance up. The two of them are staring at me expectantly, Watcher twiddling the end of a feather in his ear.

“Oh...” I realize, forgetting about the scroll.

Okay, time to show that I'm actually an intelligent and sophisticated person. Not some babbling nerd that is joygasming everywhere. You can do it brain, just say something complementary and unable to be misconstrued. 

"Your voice is ear sex," I deadpan. 

Discord and Watcher both stare at me. 

Okay, not bad for a first try. 

No, I'm lying, that was horrible. 

Brain, remember what I said? That was the opposite of what I said. Try again. 

"Make more sounds from your noise hole for me," I reverently whisper, stretching my hand towards Discord's face.

What am I doing? 

Excuse me ladies and gentlemen, but this conversation is taking on too much failure. Please move gracefully towards the exits and ABANDON SHIP!

“Wow. Just... Okay, I'm going to go over here and die in a corner. Excuse me,” I babble miserably, and shuffle off towards a nearby statue. Unfortunately, I don't immolate myself with sheer embarrassment, so I do the next best thing and try to give myself a concussion, smacking my head into a solid stone udder repeatedly. 

“Right... so you kidnapped the lobotomy patient because...” Discord's concerned voice prompts.

“He is going to be my Piece... though I am starting to think I made a grave error,” Watcher responds, just as concerned.

“Piece of what?”

“Wh... My Game Piece, obviously.”

“For what game?”

“Are you daft? Your Game. What game did you think I was referring to?” came the exasperated reply.

“Oh. Ooooooh, I see. Well, there might be a slight problem with that.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you're not allowed to play,” Discord states nonchalantly.

I snap my head around at that. Watcher looks just as surprised as me, frozen still like a statue staring horrified at the Draconequus.

“What?” the Sphinx whispers.

“Oh don't give me that look Kitty-cat,” Discord says reprovingly, “This is a Transcendent game. You can still participate personally if you so wish.”

“But I can not! If I could handle it like I normally do, I would not have spent all this time picking someone to handle my job for me!”

“That's part of the problem right there isn't it? You weren’t going to send someone to involve themselves with the game. No, you were going to saddle someone else with your duty and have them skirt the edges and keep the status quo for something entirely unrelated.” 

“Unrelated?!” Watcher shrieks, “How is ensuring that relativity itself remains consistent and invariant irrelevant? If spacetime breaks down, it is only the herald of something even worse!”

“Oh spare me the melodrama. So a little hiccup in causality causes Her to get out. Considering the amount of undiluted firepower I've gathered so far, they're only going to get more potent as the Game progresses. At that point, She might make for a fair challenge,” the chimera states, rolling his eyes and waving his paw flippantly.

“A fair... a fair challenge!? I do not even know where to begin with how irresponsibly delusional that statement is. I have SEEN what She has done,” Watcher seethes over clenched teeth, “I can not even fathom the depths of ineptitude needed to believe the threat can be countered with a simple show of force. To tempt the fate of the 'Tapestry' of a whole by a 'Strand' in a single 'Thread' is nothing short of suicidal.” 

“And therein lies the other problem,” Discord snaps back, sauntering over to the table and slamming his paws on it to lean into Watcher's face, “You've seen, you know, and conveniently you're the only one that comprehends the true 'threat'. You and your Element-bound predecessors have done such a good job playing 'nanny' that the rest of the multi-verse has forgotten She even exists, much less poses a threat. Almost everybody just gives you lip service out of tradition whenever you pop in, and if they don't you wheedle, threaten, or ignore them and go about your mysterious puppeteering anyway.”

Watcher looks absolutely livid, “Are you accusing me of abusing my station?”

“Perhaps,” Discord sneers, “Or perhaps you've become so paranoid of failing your job, so certain in your conviction, and so damned shortsighted to the consequences you created trying to stave off your worst case scenario, you've become entitled to getting your way,” he snaps, jabbing an accusing talon at the Sphinx's nose, “Or how you've become so reactive to your problems, you've forgotten how to associate with your peers to avoid these blunders,” the point punctuated with another jab, “Like how you've conveniently forgotten that this Game involves Gods from other multi-verses who lack the context of your situation; Gods that see a cursed mortal I have over a barrel and would complain that I was either pandering or stacking the deck if I let him have his way!”

Discord curls his talons into a fist and slams it into the table, “You want me to bend over backwards for you and create bigger problems for myself? Well Sir, the first thing you can do is fly on down to Equestria and kiss my petrified ass!”

Watcher's jaw works uselessly for a few strained moments, looking completely gobsmacked. He finally adopts a contrite, pleading look. 

“Discord, please. I need him there,” he begs.

The Draconequus shrugs and purses his lips, “Not. My. Problem.”

Watcher stares at Discord, begging silently with his eyes. Slowly his expression morphs to anger, his mouth drawn back in a snarl and a threatening growl percolating in the air. With a violent snap of his wing he sends the tea-set in the center skittering cacophonously across the patterned ground and slams his forepaws in their place. Teeth bared, ears flattened, and eyes narrowed he leans over the table menacingly, his ultimatum delivered with a hair-raising hiss.

“He is going to Equus. With or without your approval.”

Discord chuckles mirthlessly, “Oh really?”

The Spirit of Disharmony snakes his head forward, bringing it within a hairs-breath of Watcher's, matching his snarl with a leering grin.

“I'd like to see you try.” 

Having watched the entire exchange with morbid curiosity, I would have been stupid to miss the tension hanging cloyingly in the air. What I hadn't expected though was the sudden drop in temperature, or how my surroundings darkened warningly, or most disconcertingly how the air started to visually distort like film stretched to ripping. It dawns on me that I'm about to watch a throwdown between two entities whose destructive potential I can't even imagine in the middle of some pseudo-reality, and I'm about to become collateral damage.

Oh, and my closet door is on the other side of the table. So no quick fleeing for this cripple back to the normality of Maryland without attracting attention.

Wonderful. I get offered a chance to make a difference, in a fit body no less, and I was about to die meaninglessly without even doing anything.

I was never really afraid of dying, but I was scared of dying senselessly. Death should ultimately serve a purpose I believe, even if that purpose is merely ending suffering.

You know what? Nuts to this.

“What about a compromise?” I asked after a few moments of racking my brains.

I took heart in how the area brightened again and the two stopped glaring at each other to look at me.

“Sorry Miss,” I apologized to the cow statue I had tried to brain myself against, “Right... so the issue seems to be that you want someone who'll actually participate in the Game, no?”

Discord leans back on his tail when I amble back to the table, “Well, it's part of the problem, sure. Not that promising that you'll join in will change my mi...”

“Well, it's simple then. I'll just have to work for both Watcher,” I point at the sphinx before dragging my finger to him, “and you.”

“What!?” my feline benefactor yelps.

Discord raises an eyebrow, “I've already have plenty of Pieces, thank you very much. How does this solve anything?”

“No no no. Not play in the Game for you. I mean work for you. Further the agenda, grease the cogs, make sure it runs. You know?”

He raises the other eyebrow and laces his paws in front of his muzzle, “Go on.”

“Well, the way I see it, this game is a lot like an MMO,” I begin, and seeing the confused look on Watcher's face, I expand on that, “short for Massively Multiplayer Online Game. Discord here is the content provider, Watcher is the platform system engineer, and the Patrons and their Pieces represent Players and their Avatars respectively. While they don't have direct control, the Patrons nudge and guide their Pieces to complete the objectives they need to strengthen their influence. That's the Client side of interaction so far, right?”

The other two nod slightly.

“Okay, so on the System side Watcher here sends me around to fix 'bugs' and the like, to prevent a server crash... the universe collapsing,” I explain when Watcher opens his mouth, “That takes care of the clients suddenly having nothing to play on. What about problems with the Content side?”

“Pfft, apparently someone has forgotten who they're talking to,” Discord scoffs with an eyeroll, “Pieces are supposed to create problems and stir up conflict. That's the entire point to the Game. To shake things up. Create some lovely chaos.”

“What about the wrong kind of chaos?” I press.

“Implying there is such a thing.”

“Indeed, like for example, the kind of chaos that results from cheating or exploitation perhaps? The kind of chaos that spoils the Game?”

I grin inwardly when Discord sits up a little straighter and fixes me with a sneering grin, “If anybody interferes with my Game, then I'll just deal with it personally.”

“Isn't that hard to do when you're currently a lawn ornament?” I ask innocently. Seeing that I hit a nerve if how the look on his face is any indication, I'm quick to move on, “And even if you weren't currently indisposed, you're still limited by you're own rules, aren't you?” Capitalizing on his confused expression, I move onto the core point of my argument, “The Patron/Pawn system. Watcher has been going on excessively about it. It's an essential component of the Game. One that you're involved in, correct? A limitation that causes you... oh I don't know, problems, like you said earlier?”

Discord gives a disappointed shake of the head, “I see where you're going with this, and I don't know how it's relevant. If I pull a Sony Kerafyrm reset, the rest of the Patrons wonder why we're bothering with the system, involve themselves directly, and the Game breaks down. If we continue playing by the rules, the cheaters prosper, and Patrons still complain about... ugh, balancing,” saying the last word like it's a putrid taste on his tongue, “So I'm Catch-22, why involve you?”

“Moderating,” I respond, ignoring Watcher asking what Sony or Kerafyrm is(and by conjunction how Discord knows anything about EverQuest), “Online games have Moderators whose job is to respond and deal with people disrupting or exploiting the game. Wouldn't the Gods benefit from an...” glancing at the floor reminds me of the relevant chess equivalent, “Arbiter serving in a similar capacity for them? Some third uninvolved party whose job is to make sure the Game runs smoothly anyway? Perhaps even interesting, dare say?”

Come on, go for it. Go for it! I'm winging it here!

Discord taps his chin thoughtfully, “It might be amusing to have a little errand boy.”

YES!

“Let's say I'm considering it. Do you have experience with this sort of thing?”

I wordlessly slide my folder to his side of the table. Plucking it up, Discord begins to flick through my University transcript. About halfway through, he blinks in surprise and glances over at Watcher, who responds with the barest shake of his head. Come to think of it, that folder is pretty fat for just my career portfolio.

“I guess Game Design dovetails nicely... but this'll be more than solving plebeian problems by banging away at your Cheeto-dust encrusted keyboard safely behind your overly-expensive monitor. This'll actually be real life, and your best effort can't always guarantee your safety. Do you think you can really do this?”

“I believe that I can,” I respond, voice brimming with conviction.

He hums at that, tossing the folder back onto the table, “And like that, I'm bored again.”

“Huh-wha?”

“You 'believe', you 'think', you don't really 'know',” Discord replies to my dumbfounded look, “Which is good enough for normal Pieces. I mean, we chuck 'em in all bright-eyed and naïve, then watch when their confidence breaks down. Some snap, some rise to the occasion, and others just fade away. That's all well and good, but if I have a messenger for others to shoot at I need him to be up to task, not floundering around at the starting line.”

“So you do have need of him?” Watcher interrupts my response.

“I didn't say that,” the draconequus impishly responds.

Watcher gives a growling huff, “Please, spare me. This has dragged on long enough. If you were not seriously considering his idea, you would have already popped him back into his world and... I do not know, turned his room into gelatin or something for consolation,” stated with a roll of his eyes and flippant wave of paw, “We have only ten more minutes before the tenuous link between our world and his breaks, and I am unable to ascertain if I can reestablish it again. Get to the point.”

“Killjoy,” Discord grumbles, “Fine, what I'm saying is we should test him first.”

“What, like a probation period? Under ninety days and you can cut me loose?” I ask.

“Actually, more like a physical exam. You know, test how well you can keep 'not dying'?”

Oh, that's not ominous at all.

“You want to test him here... to see if he can survive here? Did I miss some crucial point? How is it any different then what you have been doing,” asked the confused guardian.

“Oh, not here. I want to test him over there,” Discord thumbs over his shoulder.

I look over to where he's pointing and see nothing but more checkered floor fading into darkness filled with stone forms. I don't get it, what's the difference between here and over there?

“Which there?” Watcher queries.

Discord responds with a discordant string of whistled notes, then smiles when Watcher's eyes widen.

“There!? But the only way to get here from there is to-”

“Exactly, makes it the perfect test, don't you agree?”

“I do not like it,” is the Sphinx's unsure response, “There are too many variables that could go wrong.”

“Well, if he messes up jumping, or can't get to the instrument in the first place, it's not like he would have fared any better fresh out the gate, now would he? That's my offer, take it or leave it,” Discord retorts smugly. 

I scratch my head while Watcher grumbles. I've honestly lost the direction of the conversation. Am I supposed to be going somewhere else first or-

“Fine, if that is the way it has to be, we will abide,” the Sphinx frowns, “but there are still other issues to this working compromise we will have to resolve.”

“Yes, yes, don't worry your furry head. We'll bang out all the details while he's taking his test,” the draconequus responding a little too gleefully, “So, ready to go Jeremy?”

I blink in befuddlement, suddenly the center of attention again, “Wait... so am I going to Equestria or not?”

The Lord of Chaos chuckles mirthfully, “Well, for the first time my little human, I can say 'no', but you will be going someplace close by,” his grin stretches across his muzzle unhealthily, “yet at the same time worlds away.”

“...What?”

“Come on then,” he says with a laugh, surging to his feet,“No time like the present. Let's get this show on the road.”

Watching Discord amble over to the edge of our little lit clearing fills me with a strange sense of foreboding. I know I suggested it, and I know every new job starts out with it's own sense of anxiety and transitional phase, but for something like this I expected a little more information. How were they going to test my survival skills? Was I just going to get dropped off in the middle of nowhere? What exactly was I supposed to accomplish?

Why was Watcher shaking my shoulder?

“Jeremy? Are you okay? You look unwell.”

“Yea, I'm fine. I'm just trying to figure out what I agreed to,” shaking my head to disperse the cluttered thoughts, I focus on my new employer, “How exactly are the two of you testing me?”

Watcher sighs, “Well, suffice it to say, it will be a wilderness survival exercise, alongside an adaptation curriculum,” he smiles up at me, “Something I am certain you will exceed at and in addition, I will be with you every step of the way as it were.”

The Sphinx pauses and his frown deepens.

“I do actually believe an integration period is something you will benefit from greatly, few of the other Pawns received any such adjustment period. That being said, I need to be certain you understand. Jeremy, when you go, there will be no coming back. There is no guarantee the job will ever be finished. You will be stuck there... forever.”

“Fooooooooreeeeeeeeveeeer!” calls a faint ominous female voice.

Looking around for the source, my closet door-frame catches my eye and holds it. Can I really do this? Do I want to really do this? In my mind I imagine the things I would leave behind. The things I want. The things I need.

More specifically, I think about a certain orange cylinder sitting in a cupboard in my bathroom.

'Yes Mr. Nimitz. You will be whole again.'

I turn my eyes back to Watcher, his statement echoing through my mind. Already he had promised me more than doctors could ever offer me. If the choice was between getting fixed and doing something constructive again finally, or languishing for the rest of my life, I knew what I would choose every time.

I nod firmly, “I understand.”

“Come on you two! I don't have all eternity!” Discord shouts from the sea of statuary. 

Casting one last unsure glance at me, Watcher turns and trots off towards the draconequus. I follow closely behind, pausing at the line of statues. I turn and watch the door back home. The moment the last grain of sand whispered through the neck, the door-frame simply vanished like a cut in footage. No fanfare, no special effects, just gone. Just like that, I released the breath I had unknowingly been holding in, and it felt like some sort of weight was lifted from my shoulders.

I'm committed now, I think with a smile, turning to squeeze around the stone menagerie. Nothing for it but to keep going forward.


~*-----*~


“So, what's he going as?”

“For lack of any other option, we are utilizing one of my bodies,” Watcher replies, trotting along to keep pace with Discord's uneven gait.

“Great, I'm sure that won't result in any problems in the future,” Discord drawls with a roll of his mismatched eyes, “How you doing back there Jerry?”

I barely tumble out of the way in time with the pedestal of a changeling rampant, swinging an awkward looking battleax no less, impacting the square I just occupied.

“Idti umirat' v ogne, Diskord!” I shriek, slipping back into my father's native tongue.

“Rather spry for someone with a gimp leg,” Discord chuckles.

“It would be safest if you walked abreast of us Jeremy,” Watcher adds with some concern.

“Nah, YA THINK!?” I yell, scrambling to dodge a gryphon and zebra pair of statues in their deadly jumping waltz. Walking into the petrified garden a while back had been fine, if not somewhat awkward when they started crowding closer together. 

Then they decided to start moving.

I had stood there in awe for a few moments, watching the statues slide and jump around me, all seemingly in reverse. When they passed through a square occupied by the rubble of a broken statue, with the sound of an avalanche, the destroyed one would assemble back into an unblemished sculpture. It wasn't until I was nearly flattened by a troll that I realized that I was under no such protection my employers seemed to enjoy.

With a guttural yell and just missing getting decapitated by the arc of a scimitar held in the arm of some bipedal cat critter, I stagger in-between Discord and Watcher. 

“What,” I gasp, clutching a stitch in my side, “the hell... haaaa... is this?”

“Why, resetting my dear boy,” Discord laughs, patting me on the back.

“What?”

“I have problems now,” he replies, pointing at our feet, “Not then.”

“When will then be now?” Watcher queries. 

“Soon.”

“You know what? No,” I whirl on my heel, “I think I'll take my chances back at the tableeeEEP!”

I just barely miss getting my toes smashed by a body-building minotaur, whose stone eyes are peering beadily into my own. I back up a few shaky steps before a leonine arm throws itself around my shoulders and whips me back around in the direction we were headed. 

“Oh don't be a party-pooper Jerry my man. We're almost there.”

Like that we set off again, and after a while Discord removes his arm, though I barely notice. Safe in their aura of protection, I've taken to watching the statues move around us again, frankly fascinated now that they're not trying to squish me. The only sounds are the rumble of stone, and a faint buzzing noise slowly growing stronger. Looking ahead I see an immense shaft of bluish-light cutting through the dark surroundings.

What in the world is that?

“Oh, watch that last step.”

Looking up at the light, I barely acknowledge Discord's voice. Until my foot sinks through where there should be ground that is. I pitch forward in a short fall, slamming my shoulder into the hard stone with a yelp of pain.

“It's a doozy,” the patchwork critter laughs.

“Are you okay Jeremy?” Watcher asks concerned.

Sitting up and rubbing my sore shoulder, I find his face eye level with mine. I apparently tumbled over the lip of the board onto a narrow wooden path.

“Just peachy. How much further?”

“The goal is right over there, my hurried hominid,” Discord points with a flourish.

Looking over, I see the path seem to dead-end into the shaft of light, where what appears to be a lone statue dwells. Dusting off, I jog over, finally glad to be evidently progressing in some fashion. Drawing closer to the light, I notice it seems to have volume. Rather than a beam, it looks to be a bluish rippling cord, softly pulsating and humming in a discordant tune. Sitting right in front of it on a pedestal is a marble-dappled copy of Watcher.

Actually, looking closer, what seems to be a marble pattern is too angular or uniform. Leaning in close to the statue's arm and squinting, I see the white marks in the fur are actually hundreds upon thousands of tiny Arabic numerals spiraling up the length, scrunched so close together that one can hardly see the black fur between them. 

Considering how closely I was studying it, I believe I can be forgiven for screaming like a little girl when the statue moved it's jade eye right in front of my face.

“Does it pass your inspection, Jeremy?” the voice from the statue paired itself exactly with the Sphinx sauntering up behind me in surreal stereo.

“It moves?! It TALKS!?”

“Of course it moves and talks. It is my body after all,” they reply, now paired in motion with a synchronized eye-roll.

“Wait... if it's your body... than what is this?” I ask, pointing at the black and grey-furred Sphinx.

“This is my body too.”

“Wha... but you... and he... the both of you... what?!” I stammer, whipping my head back and forth between the two.

“Hah! I think you broke him already,” Discord crows.

“Perhaps we should move this along, before we cause any more injurious mental strain,” the one on the plinth says.

“I might be correct, it would be best to hurry along,” the one standing beside me nods sagely before turning to look at me, “Are you ready Jeremy?”

I look between the three pairs of expectant eyes, then glance back at the edge of the board, where the entirety is lined with stone sculptures all gazing at me with their petrified gaze as well. I groan, feeling slightly more reluctant about this than I had at the start of this endeavor. 

Still, keep your eye on the prize Jeremy. A new body and a chance to do real good.

“Let's do this before I get an aneurysm.”

“Good enough,” the white numbered Watcher says, holding forth his right paw. On the back, instead of a lemniscate, the number '10394' stood out in stark contrast against the black. A trail of tiny numerals trailing off the end was the start of the full body wrap of dyed numbers.

Not seeing anything else to do, I gripped the proffered limb with my own right hand and squeezed. 

Watcher grinned and squeezed back, his eyes flickering into a nacreous glow; the numbers on his fur starting to writhe and flow, drawn down into his paw. 

It wasn't long before I noticed my own body was responding in an impossible way. My arm was tapering into a paper thin sheet, bending at a sharp angle and sinking into the flesh of the Sphinx's arm. The sensation was not unpleasant; rather, the point of transfiguration was numb like I had been shot full of Novocain and enveloped by a warm jelly-like consistency.

“Woah... oh my... woooooah!” I mumble when my shoulder and torso flip to overlap his, “This is soooooo weird!”

I wave my arms, trying to regain sense of myself, and see that my human arm and the sphinx arm both reacting to my direction.

“Do not struggle,” Watcher suggests, his breath hot against the nape of my neck, and I can feel his nose sliding through the back of my head, “If you resist, you will make the process that much more difficult.~ his voice transitioning smoothly into thought just before I'm temporarily blinded.

I blink furiously when sight, along with sound and smell, returns in a flood. I feel off, not in a bad way, but certainly in a different way.

“Oh wow, this is amazing,” I gush through my now differently shaped mouth, the process seemingly accelerating, “Oh my God this is so cool. It's like being wrapped in a suit I can feel. Oh wow, you guys, you have got to try this!”

Geeking out, I glance up at the three figures in front of me, waving my glowing paw for evidence tha-

Wait.

Three figures?

My wings snap open in alarm and I point behind Watcher and Discord back at the board.

“Wait. Who the hell is tha-ACK!”

The appendages on my back(which I still don't know how I got to move) brush against the cord of light, and it apparently takes offense to my invasion of it's personal space. Barely registering the silky sensation I feel, I'm ripped bodily off the platform into blinding light.

It's so bright, I don't even remember when I started to fall. 

Or scream.


~*-----*~
 

After an eternity, I finally got bored of screaming. I was of course surprised at first, but then, everybody yells when they take a tumble. It's when that tumble simply refuses to end, long after it's lost all right to keep going, that your mind finally seems to get the message and cuts out the fear response.

So, net profit thus far? New body, insanely bright light, and spinning endlessly through the void. Wonderful, well done on all fronts Jeremy. Half a minuet in, and you manage to screw it up. All because somebody else was spying on you guys. I open my eyes and groan against the glare of the sun reflecting off the sand, wracking my brain about that third figure.

It was white, tall, lanky. I think it was wearing a three-piece business suit? There was also a white fedora, I'm sure of it. I drag my arm through the gritty texture of the ground to tug at my goatee while pondering. What about it's face? No, for some odd reason, the fedora seems more important, but I don't know why. 

Hold on a tick.

I blink dumbly, looking around to see an ocean of sand stretching in waves towards the horizon in all directions. I wriggle my toes in aforementioned sand. I stand dizzily up on my four legs, leaning against a firm stone pillar, glancing around drunkenly at the suddenly not eternal falling void of endless white light. This of course leads to the obvious question.

“When the hell did I land in the desert?”

I sniff, my nose acutely aware of some pungent stench.

“Okay, better question. What's burning?”

Finally the axons in my legs seem to get the message that they need to synch up with my brain, and do so with a painful vengeance.



Oh. I'm what's burning.