//------------------------------// // Chapter 1: Piru // Story: FiO: Homebrew // by Starscribe //------------------------------// Ashton knew this plan would work. At this point, there was no way he could possibly fail. As the bus approached the convention center, he could see just how packed it had become. Thousands of people clogged the massive square outside it, spilling out onto the street. It didn’t matter—the area had been blocked off completely, to make a space for the dozens of food trucks. “I know how much you like this game, Emmet. Look how many players there are.” Emmet leaned past him to the window, taking in the crowd. He sat back another second later, looking down at his hands. “I never really… I mean, yeah. It’ll be great.” He didn’t sound like himself. He hadn’t sounded like himself since Violet died. “I got the tickets already. No, you don’t have to pay me back. I want to treat you, that’s the whole point.” They lurched to a stop, and the old doors hissed. Nerds of various shapes and sizes poured out, while those waiting to get inside thronged about just behind the queue line. They got up, filing out with the others. Suddenly it became hard to talk, hard to stay together with so many others pressed up against them. Equestria IRL was far larger than any event he’d seen, spilling out into the neighboring buildings and consuming everything in its path. True, plenty of those attending were the usual uber-fans of anything, wearing insanely elaborate costumes and screaming at each other about various aspects of the media.  But for everyone cosplaying today, Ashton saw half a dozen others who were more subdued. The convention wasn’t dominated by younger, internet-savvy people as AX or PAX might be. For everyone in college or high school, he could see someone who looked like they might be a housewife, a banker, or even retired. All the usual rules were breaking down. “I don’t actually know that much about EO,” Emmet said, once they’d shoved their way through the crowd into the will-call line. “I mean, I only started playing a week ago.” When your sister emigrated, Ashton filled in. “Yeah? Well, that’s fine.” He reached into a pocket, removing a map on shiny paper, unfolding it for him. “This is why we’re here, really. They don’t care how good at the game you are conventionally. We’ve always had better reasons for playing.” He pointed to one of the smaller exhibition halls, one labeled as “Modding and Homebrew Collective.” “I don’t get your nerd stuff,” Emmet said defensively. “My brain isn’t built for Runescript no matter how many times you talk about it.” His annoyance was the first real emotion Ashton had heard from him all day. If that’s what it takes to get you out of this funk, then I’ll keep annoying you.  The line was long, but also efficient. The convention didn’t even use paper tickets, but somehow identified any participant with a smart device connected to their EO account. Ashton wouldn’t have ordinarily had the money to buy tickets to something like this—his parents hadn’t left him a massive inheritance like Emmet’s had. But Equestria IRL allowed many of its visitors to buy tickets with bits, and he had those to spare. “Okay, so what do you want to do?” He thrust the map into his friend’s hands, grinning stupidly at him. “We’ve got a whole convention here. So long as you let me show you what some of the other modders are doing, I’m happy.” “I…” Emmet hesitated. “Do you really want me to say? Or just point at something randomly to make you happy?” Ashton hesitated. Emmet was almost never so sharp with him. For their first few years of high school, he’d been nothing but calm and collected, even after the accident. Apparently losing his sister was one straw too many. “I want you to tell me,” he lied. “Obviously.” Emmet pushed the map back. “I don’t see the point of any of it.” He gestured around them—at the oversized speakers, a nearby slab of glass with a life-size pony entertaining several children. A line of people passing in pony costumes. Ashton didn’t reply, just stared stupidly at his friend. “We have Experience Centers, and we have emigration,” Emmet went on. “So what’s the point of going halfway? If someone likes Equestria, they can move there. I don’t get the point of trying to be in two places at once. Either take it all, or…” They passed through the doors into the convention center. There was a security checkpoint waiting on the other side, along with dozens of bright posters. More of the glass-projection ponies, going through a loop of safety procedures. No, not a loop. “Welcome Arcane Word and Domino,” Muffins said, as the automatic doors shut behind them. A pair of tickets appeared in the air in front of her, and she stamped both with an exaggerated metal tool. “Thank you, Muffins. We’re happy to be here.” Ashton took Emmet by the arm, dragging him away before he could say something unkind to the projection. “People don’t want to leave their fa—” He stopped, face falling. Emmet wasn’t just an orphan now, he was also an only child. He wasn’t fast enough, his best friend looked up with just a hint of satisfaction at his realization. But Ashton hurried to correct. “For me, the pony thing seems weird. Like, if we were just ourselves in there, I’d be digital already. But I don’t want to be a horse.” Emmet raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been playing this game since the beta. You don’t want to—” “No.” Ashton kept dragging him. Since his friend didn’t care where they went, he went straight towards the modding section. At least going straight there would give them the best chance of actually making it before his friend got bored of the convention and demanded they leave. It wasn’t like the bits really mattered. But Emmet was his best friend, and he wasn’t going to let go of him so easily. “Equestria is a game, Emmet. Yeah, there are plenty of people who take it more seriously than that. But I don’t. I like to play with it, tinker with it. That’s what the modders and tinkerers do. You wouldn’t believe what you can get the game to do with the right tools.” He yanked his arm free. He was still following, though. “My sister doesn’t live in a video game.” Live. It wasn’t like Ashton even disagreed, really. The philosophy of uploading had never really mattered to him. Maybe emigrants actually were alive, somehow. He didn’t think he’d know until he got there, and he wouldn’t get there until the AI caved on her stupid horse rule. “Right. Sorry, I think I’m explaining it wrong. More that… people assume you can’t ever understand Equestria. You either take it as it’s served, or you walk away.” Emmet didn’t look angry. Instead he made that same, disbelieving, semi-skeptical look. But so long as it kept him from storming off, Ashton counted it as a win. “You haven’t been tinkering with it since you started playing. You only started learning Runescript last year.” “And I’m a fast learner!” He grinned, pulling out his phone. Not a Ponypad, though there were probably thousands of them within fifty feet. Ashton turned it over in his hand, then selected one app among many. The screen flashed black, briefly filled with Runescript text, then changed. It was a little like any of the numberless live webcam feeds you could watch online, except this one wasn’t online. It showed the view from Wintercrest Castle in Ashton’s personal shard. Though compared to the way many people at this convention probably thought of the word, it wouldn’t be correct. Currently he’d gone with a Kingsport-esque fogbound gloom, where the feeble fires rising from each chimney were the only thing keeping off the strange creatures that rose up from the sea. From this angle it just looked like a charming newengland village by the sea. “See? And this is like, first day stuff. There’s no reason to emigrate to Equestria when the worlds are merging anyway.” Emmet laughed. “I might not know computers, but I know Ponypad screens look better than that. If looking at Equestria through a window was going to be enough, I’d do that. But I don’t feel like I can be with someone when there’s a screen in the way.” They climbed a set of escalators, then through a glass walkway overlooking much of the convention. This would take them away from the exhibitors’ hall, and one of the most convincing reasons to go to a convention like this in the first place. So much of what was sold there wouldn’t even be directly related to Equestria or ponies in general. “What about the Experience Center? Don’t you have enough money to basically live there if you wanted to?” Emmet looked away, his anger deflating. Apparently he’d touched a nerve. “Maybe. At least it’s better than a screen. But no matter how good it looks and sounds and smells, you can’t touch it. You aren’t really there. If I was really going to do that, might as well put my parents’ money into something useful and just get the emigrating over with.” You can’t really be in a place that isn’t real. “We’re here!” He yanked Emmet again, hoping faintly that he might be able to yank him right out of whatever dark corner his mind had wandered into. You’re not going into a computer game. I don’t care how awesome it is. “I hope you’re ready, because you’re about to be blown away. You’ll probably be writing your own scripts before we get out of this room.” Ashton half expected fog machines, blacklights, and dated 90s grunge he might’ve heard in the background of Hackers. But there was no sensory overload—stepping through the doors into the modding section felt much more like walking onto the floor of a WWDC, or any number of other events that Ashton couldn’t afford to visit. Booths lined the walls, many of which were operated by guilds inside Equestria. At least, that was what he assumed. Equestria Online was about as hard to map and evaluate as the Internet itself, a mass of constantly shifting sections and layered visibility. They looked official, anyway. And for every important guild or individual developer, there was a company. Ponetics had a double-sized booth near the entrance, with a glass projection display depicting the inside of a sculptor’s shop somewhere in Equestria. Ashton slowed to watch as the old and shriveled pony craftsman exchanged a little statue of a bucking pony with a couple waiting expectantly near a large glass cabinet. The machine hummed, light flashed inside, and the fluid began to drain. There was the model, two inches tall and strikingly detailed.  What the hell kind of 3D printer works that fast? Getting objects out of Equestria was ever the conundrum for someone like Ashton, whose wealth in the game was only matched by his poverty outside it. “How is this not the coolest thing you’ve ever seen?” he asked, pointing. “I kinda want to try it. I’ve got…” But he trailed off. Everything of value Ashton had in the game was ephemeral. You could print something “enchanted,” but it wouldn’t bring the magic along for the ride. They passed that booth, onto a few less exciting displays. A few were showing things only someone already involved in the scene would appreciate. The technical achievement of hosting an Equestria Girls shard, even if there were no actual ponies inside it beyond the single user’s avatar, would escape Emmet. “Because I already saw the coolest thing. Second chances are the coolest thing.” He slowed, forcing Ashton to turn away from another awesome-looking booth involving some distinctly human VR goggles spoofed into Equestria. “She says it’s real, Ashton. The sky, the trees, the food, the people. Everything. If that’s true, then why wait?” “Because…” He was growing desperate now. Of all Ashton’s friends, Emmet was the only one who hadn’t moved away. If he emigrated before senior year even started… “Because you can finish things on this side and stay in touch with your sister at the same time.” He pushed them to another booth, this one not a haphazard jumble of SOCs and development kits, but smooth plastic and professional-looking parts. Everyone in the room knew that Loop weren’t really hackers at all. They were Celestia’s own answer to the community—easy to use, simplistic versions of the ideas that real people came up with first. They were also a luxury brand, which certainly had nothing to do with Ashton’s resentment. “Look at this,” he said, desperate. “You’ve got all the money in the world. You could get one of these… smart home integration kits. Your sister could visit from any screen you have. You could chat with her over dinner, watch her show off, uh… pony things. Whatever pony things she does. Then she could… control your lights?”  Getting into smart bulbs was probably a bit much. They weren’t even designed for that, but better integration between Equestria and Earth. Mating with the game for greater immersion, or something else that someone who really played might care about. “That sounds great,” Emmet said, stepping sideways into the line. It wasn’t long—apparently most of the attendees here thought of Loop as a luxury brand too. Or, like Ashton, they saw their entire presence in the makerspace as an insult. Probably both. Whatever argument Ashton had been preparing tuned to sludge in his brain. “Wait, what?” “It sounds great,” Emmet said again. He sounded genuine, leaving Ashton instantly skeptical. Something was obviously off if he’d caved so quickly. “If I bought one, could you set it up for me? I don’t trust the geek squad in my parents’ house.” “I…” Ashton looked away. “Sure, Emmet. They’re piss easy, but… I could set it up for you. I’m sure you’ve got enough flat screens in there to talk to your sister wherever you want. But…” He stepped suddenly away, out of the line. “Would you mind if I get back to you? A friend from online was supposed to be here, and I wanted to say hi.” Emmet sighed exasperatedly, nodding. “Get back quick. I guess I’ll just… buy one of everything. Should that be enough?” “Sure,” Ashton said, no longer really listening. “I’ll be right back.” Ashton could already tell his friend wouldn’t be staying much past whatever they did in here. But if he was interested in setting up smart home stuff, then that had to mean he’d reconsidered, right? Ashton found the booth he was looking for tucked away at the back, where instead of fancy graphics most people waiting just had a few screens showing recordings of what their spells could do in-game, or maybe showing what their in-universe shops looked like so people could find them. Ashton recognized the shop more than the one operating it, but that was partly the point. He’d heard that even the game’s voice-chat was manipulated to fit its internal narrative. “You’re Cold Iron?” he asked, pointing at the display. It showed a large shop in Canterlot, or at least one of the Canterlots that Ashton thought of as central to Equestria at large. His friends had seen the shop, anyway. It might be the largest “magic” shop owned by a single individual in all Equestria, right in Canterlot’s downtown with several stories and a constant crowd. The one behind the table was a mousy Asian girl with unkempt hair and an honest-to-god Google Glass over one eye. If it hadn’t looked stupid enough, she’d removed the casing and hotmoded a few wires into an external SOC, which she’d glued to the outside rather than concealing in a project box somewhere else. She looked up, gazing over him rather than at him. She nodded, seeming to withdraw a little into her seat. “I’m Arcane Word,” he said, extending a hand across the table toward her. “We said we’d meet today.” She seemed confused for a moment, one eye focusing on the little screen her glasses provided her. Then she relaxed, taking his hand. She whispered something in Korean. “She’s happy to meet you,” said a voice from the laptop on the tiny booth. Ashton looked down, at Cold Iron’s assistant, Guideline. “And that it seems we both decided to play a character instead of ourselves.” She doesn’t even speak English. Ashton tried to look at that tiny face and connect it to the powerful unicorn he could only describe as a “mountain man.” He failed. Ashton reached into a pocket, removing the USB-stick he’d brought for just this occasion and setting it on the table. “This is the spell you wanted,” he said, forcing himself to look at her and not the translator. That was what you were supposed to do, right? She reached out eagerly for the stick, but Ashton didn’t take his hand away, forcing them to meet. He’d never been brave enough to press Cold Iron in EO, but out here… now he wasn’t going to get pushed around. “60-40, like we agreed. Right?” She nodded, muttering something else. The pony repeated, “Cold Iron keeps his word. Or her word, if you prefer.” Ashton let go of the stick, letting her take it and insert it into her laptop. He went on, his voice coming out in a rush. “It’s right on the root folder there. Everything I said I’d give you. The power of a god, creation and destruction.” “Our own NPCs,” the translator said, after a moment. Then he hesitated, and from the way the girl looked down and said a little more, Ashton guessed he was confirming something. Finally the translator went on. “Do you think that Celestia is playing us for fools?” “Why would I think that? It’s my script, not hers. I figured out how to spoof her system. I found the flaws.” The girl smiled up at him, enough that he felt his face grow hot. It was harder to judge her age, but she couldn’t be that much older than he was, right? “You do sound like her,” the translator said. “But…” He waited a moment. “If this works, it’s just something Celestia is already doing, all the time. She could put us out of business if she wanted. So how do we stay open?” Ashton shrugged. He glanced over his shoulder, and sure enough Emmet was wandering again, with an oversized bag in each hand. It was time to go. “It’s not because we’re too small to notice, she notices everything. So it must be that she doesn’t care.” “Or she wants us to be doing it,” Guideline said. “Will you be here after the convention, Arcane? Maybe we could talk about this over dinner.” He stopped, his face dark red now. He wanted to say yes—but it wouldn’t be true. “My friend just bought everything in the Loop catalog. I got to get him out of here before he gets mugged or something.” He grinned back at her one last time. “I should be online tonight though. We can catch up then, once you’ve seen that script for yourself.” He left, feeling her eyes on him all the way back to the center of the hall. Emmet looked exasperated and annoyed to be kept waiting. “Sorry, sorry. Just… knew you’d probably want to go after this. Might not be able to see my friends again.” “From Equestria,” Emmet supplied. “The place you think is a game.” He shrugged, offering to take one of the oversized bags. “The place is a game, but the people are real. Or some of them are. The trick is knowing which is which.” Emmet obliged him, giving him the larger of the two with the giant soundbar sticking out. So now I look like a tool to everyone. It was a good thing all the people who mattered wouldn’t recognize what he really looked like. Even Cold Iron hadn’t, but he—she—had no higher ground on that score. Despite his worries, they made it back to Emmet’s place without too much difficulty. They only rode the shuttle to the parking lot, where Emmet’s red F-150 took up enough space for a small army of sedans. Emmet climbed into the driver’s seat, and soon they were off. “You know I would’ve waited if you were…” He looked away. “If you wanted to go home with that girl instead of me.” You could see her through the crowd? “I wouldn’t do that to you. This was our trip.” Even if you left after an hour. Emmet smiled weakly. “In-N-Out?” “Obviously.” Ashton had been right in his guesses about Loop’s gear. It all came in efficient packaging, protected in those smooth plastic bags that smelled like Shenzhen. That glorious new-electronic smell. And maybe he looked down on the tech for being made by a shill company that was completely owned by Celestia. But damn if they didn’t make good kit. Once you linked it all with an Equestria Online account, it just worked. “Alright, so… this should do it. That’s the last of the smart speakers. According to this… your character in game should’ve got a new item you can use to… of course they’d make you do it in game. It’s all about pointing you back to the Ponypad.” “I don’t mind,” Emmet said. “Show me how it works. How can I call Violet?” Emmet’s place had once seemed like a vast playground, three stories of adventures Ashton never could’ve had at home. But then he’d grown up, and then Emmet’s parents had died. Now it seemed like a vast, empty museum. He still paid housecleaners, or else it might’ve been overwhelmed with the accoutrements of a young bachelor. As it was, there was still a stack of funeral programs on the kitchen table. “You have to give her one of those…” He leaned to one side, glancing in at Emmet’s Ponypad. “There, that book you’re holding. You’ll find another one tomorrow, according to this. Give her that, and you can call her with it. She can call you. It’s tied directly to your house, uses whatever screen you’re in front of. Of course it does. Why would you want to actually control your own hardware?” “Seems wonderful to me,” Emmet said. His character didn’t actually leave the cozy Equestrian apartment on the screen, though. He shut the pad off, turning it down. “I’ll do it tonight.” He didn’t want Ashton to be there when he talked to his sister. Does he really think I’m going to be mean to her? She’s just a kid. He didn’t argue, though. They played a few stupid games instead, on the huge projection screen in Emmet’s home theater. Then it was time for him to go. Either that, or miss the last bus home. “Wait.” Emmet caught him by the shoulder as he slipped out the door, pulling something out of a pocket. “Take this with you, Ashton. Read it when you get home.” He nodded, slipping the letter away. Did you really have enough time to write all this while I set up your new hardware? This thing is gigantic. “See you tomorrow morning for the con?” he asked. “Those were three-day tickets.” “Nah.” Emmet looked away. “You go. Hook up with that girl. You can call and tell me how it goes.” Ashton didn’t argue. There was a long walk out of Emmet’s gated neighborhood, then around the corner to the bus stop. He could’ve asked Emmet to drive him back, but he always felt guilty about that. He could see how guilty it made his parents. The ride gave him plenty of time to open the letter. The first page was only a single sheet, hastily typed and printed. There were a few typos and obvious mistakes, but Ashton hardly cared. His blood went cold as he read it. Thanks for taking me with you today, Ashton. I know what you were doing, but it didn’t work. I’m going to Equestria. If you’re reading this at home, I’m probably already there. I’m sorry I couldn’t go through senior year with you. I just don’t see the point. I’m never going to college. I’m not going to get a job. Even if I stayed behind, there wouldn’t be a point. That Loop stuff you set up seemed pretty awesome, though. We can use it to stay in touch. -Emmet Ashton turned the page, revealing official-looking legal documents with a fancy seal printed on expensive parchment. It was a will. He couldn’t make sense of most of it—legalese was French to him. But the gist of it was clear enough. Emmet had no relatives, no family, and only a few friends. When he emigrated, he was leaving everything to Ashton. He jerked out his phone before he finished reading. “Don’t do it, Emmet! I don’t want your money! She’s only been gone a month!” He never got a reply.