Chapter 3.9: The Fall of the Fourth Wall & the Rise of Billy Mays
*Two Hours Earlier*
As revealed previously, the fourth wall is an actual metaphysical object, capable of incurring structural damage to the fabric of the universe. This raises some interesting questions. Can the fourth wall be seen? If it can, what color is it (Obviously pink, right?)? What is it made of? What does it feel like? Smell like? Sound like? Um… taste like? How can it, a four dimensional object, exist in three dimensional space? Do they rent advertising space on the fourth wall? More importantly, who are they?
I only bring this up now, dear reader, because it was at this point that the fourth wall gave a final terrifying shudder.
Cracks snaked their way along the ethereal surface, jumping between the ones that had already formed from Pinkie’s earlier antics. Small shards fell from the splintering barrier, glinting through the air like snowflakes before shattering on the cobblestone in front of Town Hall.
Slowly, the entire structure sagged, imploding slightly as it seemed to curl in on itself. The mysterious wall split and twisted, warping and groaning from some yet-unseen force.
Suddenly the wall expanded outwards, bulging obscenely as it stretched at the seams. The cracks tore open and yawned like jagged, gaping maws.
Light began to glow behind the openings, softly at first. Like blood leaking from a fresh wound. The pure white grew blinding, blazing through the holes and cracks like a spotlight. The wall continued to creak and protest, straining as the final vestiges of structural integrity fled from it.
The sky blackened as Celestia's non-existent sun seemed to dim down. The fourth wall exploded outwards in a blinding array, showering the centre of Ponyville in metaphysical dust.
-----
Director Michael Bay shot up in bed, the soft sheets clinging to him in a cold sweat.
Something wasn’t right. He felt it.
Somewhere, somehow, he knew there had been a massive explosion.
Normally, this would have been wonderful. You see, Michael was in the business of explosions. Some would say that Mr. Bay was in the business of making films, but Michael knew better.
You see, Michael knew that the key to great filmmaking wasn’t the source material, writing, script, actors, audio, crew...or anything of the sort.
Michael knew that a great film required explosions.
Explosions were the best visual effects, versatile enough for any situation. The acting prowess of high explosives was legendary. The roaring shockwave of an explosion could act as the most inspiring soundtrack for any scene. In fact, it was Michael’s opinion that explosions should win Academy Awards. All of them.
Yes, truly Michael was in the business of explosions. But this is where the problem stood.
Somewhere out there, an explosion had taken place. An explosion of such epic proportions, it had obliterated a trans-dimensional barrier.
And Michael had not directed it.
Slowly bringing his knees to his chest and curling into a ball, Director Michael Bay began to weep.
-----
Ponyvillians gasped in awe as the somehow colourless yet prismatic remnants of the Multiverse’s now shattered barrier drifted like snow toward the earth, glinting brilliantly in the sunlight, before settling on the ground and quickly dissipating.
One curious mare broke from the crowd surrounding the city centre, slowly approaching the glittering rain, which seemed strangely content to fall only within the confines of the square.
The crowd held its breath as the mare walked toward the epicentre of the existential disaster, slowly extending a hoof beyond the intangible barrier that seemed to be holding the shards of the fourth wall in. They watched, enraptured, as one of the ethereal flakes floated hesitantly over the mare’s hoof, seemingly debating whether to continue to the ground with the rest of its discarded brethren or take the opportunity which had literally extended itself unto it.
Suddenly, the shard shot forth with frightening speed, enveloping the hoof and beginning to spread along the rest of the foreleg.
The mare shrieked, retracting her arm in the hopes that whatever mysterious wall had held the shards at bay before would save her now. To her dismay, the now nearly gelatinous material followed her appendage through the barrier, still creeping up her leg until it reached her shoulder.
“It burns!” the mare screamed, breathing heavily as the crowd intently watched the gelatin begin to seep into their compatriot’s skin, a vapour like steam rising from her fur.
As the crowd watched, enthralled by the eldritch horror unfurling before them, the afflicted mare froze, her face contorted into a mixture of fear and pain as the colour drained from her face and her joints seemed to stiffen. Eventually, her coat faded to grey, her skin like stone as she stood rooted to the spot by the ghastly wrongness falling from the sky within the square.
As the crowd stared at their frozen friend in terror, they failed to notice the immense, well shined black leather loafer that had stepped through the rift until it fell to the ground, shaking the earth and cracking the flagstones paving the square beneath its weight. They watched silently as this loafer was followed by a giant, khaki clad leg, extending into the air for dozens of metres before coming to a halt at an ironed waist. The being’s cotton leggings were held up by a thick, flexible faux leather belt buckled at the front with a professional iron loop. Above the waist the figure was just as impressive, covered by a neatly tucked in blue shirt with a crisp collar.
What amazed the townsfolk most, though, was the thing’s face. It sported a thick, short trimmed black beard, in which rested what could only be described as the most charismatic smile anypony in Equestria had ever been subject to, its teeth gleaming white in the sun.
“Hi, I’m Billy Mays,” it said, its gargantuan smile widening as the booming sound echoed through the plaza. “And for you, Equestria, I’ve got a special offer.”