Even the game room was transformed. Right down to the grain of the wood and the flicker of the exaggerated fantasy torches that lit their “strategic planning sessions.” He stepped out of the portal and stopped beside vast shelves of figures and miniatures, each one rising far overhead. Their GM had wings after all, so he could just fly up to reach anything he wanted.
“Took me a long while to realize what was going on,” Kit muttered from behind him. “It wasn’t Murphy buying more miniatures. Everything we see in our game sessions appears here.”
“Still seems annoying to set up games with all of it,” he said, reaching in with a hoof and lifting one of the miniatures. They were pewter figures, and only got their color once on the table. But somehow his character held it without much difficulty. “Lots to remember and organize. You’ve seen Murph’s place, he doesn’t do ‘organized.’”
Kit chuckled. “I’ve seen him plan his sessions out, too. The enchantments on the room take care of bringing the minis when he needs them. He just brainstorms his notes, and the magic takes care of the rest.”
He tossed the mini back into place, then turned.
Architecture and landscapes within Equestria had been significantly upgraded with the Equestrian Experience hardware. But he should’ve paid more attention to the ponies when he was with Honeycomb, because if anything they’d received even more attention. Those unnatural eyes and almost-human faces should’ve tripped the uncanny valley, but the repulsion he expected just didn’t come.
He could still somehow see Kit in the equine features of the pony just beside him. Some of that was probably the tee-shirt and sweatpants she was wearing, with some generic gamer slogan printed onto the fabric. She wore her glasses too, and even the eyes seemed similar. But having them be so large gave ponies a bit of an unfair advantage in that sphere.
Her ears folded back at his expression, wings opening slightly to either side. She shuffled awkwardly, looking away from him. That was more the Kit he was expecting.
“It’s too bad these centers cost a fortune, and the drive is so long. Having a game in here would be fantastic.” He would trade the simulated movement for this level of fidelity. He could even smell her, that familiar mix of Kit’s cheap soap and a touch of something more human.
“More than you’d believe,” she said. “There are lots of versions of Equestria where tabletop is a thing. But for this shard, two things are true at once. It’s a game where we sit at the table and roleplay through the stories, but to them we’re the movers and shakers of their world, planning and carrying out our campaigns against evil.
“Then there’s the second half you already know about. When we’re not gaming, the world is still there, and we exist as players in it. Less able to effect change, but with a more meaningful impact on the individuals inside it.”
Which you now accept are alive. She’d actually admitted she was wrong about all that. “Are you in the Center too, Kit? This is wild… I can see why people pay so much for it. I’ve got everything but touch, and I feel like Celestia could do that too, if she wanted to.”
Kit nodded. “I’m here. But we should focus more on Artie right now. Should I call him?” She fished around in a pocket, which she somehow managed to do with a corner of a wing, coming up with a glowing crystal necklace. She tossed it onto the edge of the game table, grinning. “We didn’t know if you were gonna be cool or not.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, nudging the necklace with a hoof just so he could hear the sound it made as it slid across wood. The echo was perfect, just like everything else. But I’m not here. I’m reclining on a chair in a dark room somewhere, with a hood over my head.
Thinking about it made him hesitate, adjusting his head a little to try and see the edge of the headset. But Celestia had apparently thought of that, because there was only blackness beyond. He could shift so the placement of the screens was more visible, but not so he could see anything outside. Equestria was the entire world.
He settled the headset back into place, and it felt more like adjusting a set of glasses. The world was still there, it was only his view that became clearer. “You remember what you texted me?” Kit asked, without skipping a beat. “If you came in here just to tell Artie he’d an heroed himself, I wasn’t going to call him. It’s either I’d stop you, or Celestia would lie to you and make you think you were talking to the real one, just so you could get it out of your system… but working through all the ‘what ifs’ just makes my head hurt.”
He nodded. “I wouldn’t tell him that. I don’t know if it’s true, I meant what I said. I know the ponies in here are real, but there’s a difference between something created here and something that used to be human. I just don’t know what that difference is.”
Kit watched him. There must be eye-tracking in the helmet, because her face was a complex swirl of emotions he’d never seen from Honeycomb. She hadn’t been created a year ago, so there was a lot more baggage. “Just so long as you’re polite. You can ask questions, and I think he’ll figure out what you’re doing. This may disappoint you, but figuring out if loved ones are dead or not wasn’t your original idea. It’s like… the first thing anyone does the first time someone close to them emigrates.”
He shrugged. Somehow the gesture translated perfectly, even if he hadn’t touched the controllers. “Just want to talk, like I said. It’s not scientific, it’s not something I can measure. Like talking to you. I know you’re here now, that Celestia isn’t tricking me. That took like two minutes, and it’s what I want to do with him. I know it’s not scientific. But that’s why I never planned on going into research. Someone else figures it all out, I’m just there to diagnose and treat.”
She grinned stupidly at him. That look would’ve cut the time down to about ten seconds. “You could’ve waited for our next session, it’s not like he’d miss it from Equestria.” She tossed it up into the air, somehow managing to catch it around her neck. What combination of controller inputs could do that?
No sooner had she touched it then they saw the characteristic flash from the portal by the wall, and Artie appeared beside them.
At least looking down on him wasn’t new, since he’d been doing that in VR since they first made the transition to playing in Equestria. But this was different, somehow. Artie hadn’t decided that his mage would be short for a meme, he was actually seeing the world from down there. “Hey.” He waved with one awkward leg. “Is there a proper greeting for a time like this?”
Arite didn’t make it far. He looked up at Orson, eyed Kit nervously, then shrugged. “The usual, I guess. ‘How are you feeling, Artie? How was your trip?’”
Like it’s something you can come back from. “Right.” He shuffled nervously, getting a look at Artie up close. But he probably should’ve expected this—Artie played EO more than anyone. If he wanted to make any change to his avatar, he probably would’ve made it years ago. He was still a crystal pony, still incredibly small, exactly as he remembered. “Good to see you, Artie. I guess I’ll have to adjust to this. How’s it feel?”
The pony grinned back up at him. “Great, Orson. Better than you can imagine. It’s everything it said on the tin and a lot I never even guessed.” The nearby chair glowed, and it levitated out. Enough for him to hop up into it, spinning around to face him. It was enough to make him taller, though not by much. It helped.
“But you know what’s better than not being short of breath all the time? What’s better than being able to go anywhere in the world whenever I want?” He gestured, forcing Orson to lean in closer to hear. “Listen to all those anxieties. Am I making rent this month? Do I have enough hours to qualify for insurance? What breaks this month?”
He stopped, meeting his eyes. “Exactly. Dead silence. It’s all gone, Orson. All bucking gone. I don’t care who wins the next election. I don’t care what so-and-so did on social media. Buck ‘em all.”
He hopped off the chair, grin widening. “Oh, and I don’t have to shop for ingredients here. Kitchen’s always stocked. I would’ve made you something, but…” He gestured absently. “Not here yet, so you can’t take it. I still have to repay you for that VR headset.”
Yet.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” he said. “That sounds great, Artie. But does it still feel like you? I guess there’d be no way to know if it wasn’t. What does it feel like not to be yourself?”
“No idea,” he answered, circling slowly around the table. “And now I’ll never find out. The hardest thing you’ll ever do is making it in here, Orson. I didn’t realize it until I got here… but now it’s obvious. This is where you belong, nothing else matters.”
Finally there was some of the hard sell he’d been expecting. It was apparently the way most ponies who emigrated acted, leading to the popular assumption that they were forced to say so. But there was an easier, simpler explanation. They all said it because they all agreed.
“I know the benefits, you don’t have to try and convince me,” Orson said. “But you have to admit, if you break down what emigration really means, it sounds insane. Letting my body die so I can wake up inside a video game.” And as he said it, he realized he’d been convinced. Artie was far more energetic in here, without the constraints of his old body. But this was no NPC, repeating phrases he might’ve said through rote or algorithm.
“We work for years to make something of ourselves,” he continued. “I’m not even half done. If I emigrate, it’s all for nothing. My degree is just a piece of paper that probably goes into an incinerator with everything else I own.”
Artie stopped beside him, nudging him with one leg. He hadn’t stopped moving since he’d arrived, as it happened. Of course Orson couldn’t feel it, though he still moved slightly as though he could.
“That’s all it was anyway. The things you learned don’t go anywhere. The person you became, you take him with you. Be a doctor in here. Or be a paladin, or anything else. Personally, I think I’m going to try school over again, studying things I actually care about. More Hogwarts than high school.”
“I haven’t seen you smile this much since high school, so it fits,” Orson said. “I’m glad you don’t have buyer’s remorse. Have to be sure about a move like this.”
Artie hesitated, then glanced abruptly towards the portal. “Speaking of which, I should probably get going. You’re in a Center right now, aren’t you? You can talk to me on a screen later. You should do something more interesting. And let me know when you move in, I’ll cook a feast so incredible our last session together feels poor by comparison.”
Orson lifted a hoof to stop him, ineffectually. Artie vanished through the portal. “Sorry Kit. Were there questions you wanted to ask?”
She shook her head. “Nah, it’s cool. I did this dance with my dad already, no point going over the steps. But Artie might’ve had a point. Might as well make your time in the Center count, whatever you want to do.”
He nodded. “Right. Well I know one thing I’ll have to deal with. Celestia said she’d be introducing me to a pony contact, the Equestrian side of the work I’d be doing for her. Should probably get that out of the way before I start planning my vacation.”
“Good idea.” Kit stuck her hoof towards him. “Equestrian contact Noire. Guess we might be working together.”