When you hear the numbers 'One hundred forty thousand, then eighty thousand three days later', what do you think? Odds are, nothing. Those numbers are probably meaningless to you. However, if you're of Japanese descent, and you had ancestors who hailed from Hiroshima or Nagasaki, you'd know that those numbers are the rough estimates of how many people died, and how far apart, when the first atomic bombs were dropped.
Right, sorry, I forgot that one member of our audience is a pony, not to mention my little changeling here. Let me explain, for the two of you, so you'll understand the basics. The atomic bomb is one of the most powerful, and most terrible, weapons ever made. It can wipe out an entire city in the blink of an eye. Worse, it leaves a blight upon the land that it hits that lasts for decades, one which can kill anyone who ventures into that region if they do not wear the proper protective gear. On August 6th, 1945, one such weapon was dropped on the city of Hiroshima. Three days later, a second was dropped on Nagasaki. While a third one did not exist at that time, the threat of one being dropped on the city of Tokyo ended World War Two.
Why am I starting with that little tidbit of trivia? I'll explain.
My name is Hiro Ecks (Yes, it says that on my birth certificate. Don't look at me like that: My parents thought they were doing me a favor). Two months ago, I single-handedly killed two hundred and fifty thousand people, more than both bombs combined. Well, not people in the conventional sense, but they were sapient creatures with hopes, dreams, lives, and families. Some of them might have been evil and deserved it, but the overwhelming majority of them didn't deserve what I did to them. And yet, two months ago, while sitting in my chair, holding my controller, directing what I thought was a digital warrior wielding an equally digital sword and fighting digital monsters, I slaughtered more 'people' than both Fat Man and Little Boy put together... and at the time, I thought it was good, honest fun, and that I wasn't hurting anyone. And yet, because I was after an achievement in a video game, I hunted down enough living creatures to make even the most prolific serial killers in human history look like a bunch of of wannabes.
The achievement's title? Really? Fine. The achievement was named 'Kill Everything, Everywhere, Forever. Twice.' Took me a total of forty-seven hours to complete. That was In a game that normally tops at twenty hours, including fighting the bonus bosses. Yeah, I really didn't have much of a life outside of video games...
Anyways, moving on!
A week later, Agent Smith over there (No, I know that isn't his real name, that's just the nickname I gave him when we first met. He got the reference, and thought it was funny as hell. It's one of the reasons why I like the guy: In spite of looking like a Smith, he actually has a sense of humor), he walked into my house, sat me down, and we had a long talk about what I had done. See, I was a... cat's paw in a very powerful entity's play for becoming the absolute ruler of another world. The world, incidentally, my little avatar was running around on, murdering enough people to fill a football stadium thrice over. I won't bore you with the details, and if you do want to be bored by them, Agent Smith can give you a copy of the official report, I'm sure. Why did he seek me out? Well, that's a funny story.
Smith is part of what is called a Non-Existant Agency, or an NEA for short. That's an agency that does not officially exist, but actually does. The purpose of Smith's NEA is smoothing the way for when magic, and everything else that flies in the face of what we humans accept as reality, comes back in full force. Please note that I said 'when', not 'if'. It is expected to finally happen, if not in my lifetime, then in my childrens', if I ever have any. As Smith once told me, 'You can't stop the rain, all you can do is make sure everyone has an umbrella'. It's kind of like a version of the MIB that handles magical stuff: They let the cool ones in, and keep the bad ones from wrecking the place. Oh, and yes, the MIB are an actual thing, according to Smith. I'm not sure if he's just fucking with me or not. With him, it's hard to tell.
Anyways, back to why Smith sought me out: See, there are three major categories of people who encounter an event that involves magic, inter-dimensional contacts, or anything else consider bizarre by human standards. Smith could tell you more, but the category you fall into has a lot to do with suspension of disbelief: The ability to believe in something unreal, at least temporarily, is a major factor in whether you can actually 'see' it. If you're willing to believe in the fantastic, at least temporarily, you'll perceive it, and believe it, when it happens to you. Otherwise, you'll never see it for yourself.
Type Ones are called Deniers: They literally deny, unconsciously, that whatever is happening, is happening. You stick them in a room with a magical monster, their minds will overwrite what they see, replacing it with something normal. In extreme cases, Smith has told me that there were folks who literally ignored the monster chomping on their entrails, making no attempt to defend themselves against the monster killing them because, in their minds, nothing was there, and that nothing bad was happening. Like I said, extreme cases. Deniers are much less common than you might think: Fantasy and science fiction are opening a lot of eyes to the magical and fantastical. Yes, that and the fact that man-eating magical monsters tend to weed them out from the proverbial herd. Evolution in action: Ignoring threats is not exactly a beneficial trait for long term survival. Deniers make up a fraction of one percent of one percent. Very rare.
Moving on, Type Two is called a Marginal: They can sort of see what is going on, enough to be curious about it, but unless they encounter these events on a regular basis, they'll shrug and move on with their daily lives. They're the type who say 'I'm sure there's a logical explanation for that', then move on without trying to find out the truth. There's a lot of marginals out there. Ninety-five percent of the world's current population, in fact, sits on that line. Funny thing is, unlike Deniers who cannot change their ways at all, all that a Type Two needs is a solid push, and they move into the next category.
I'm a Type Three, a Digger. When we see the impossible, we know something is wrong, and we start investigating. We dig for the truth, even if we'd be happier not knowing it. I saw something impossible when my game console exploded two months ago, and I immediately knew that something was going on. When my involvement in the incident came to light, Agent Smith checked, as a matter of protocol, to see if I'd done any investigation into what had happened. He was surprised to see that not only was I investigating what had happened, but I had also posted a few of the conclusions that his own team had reached on a forum that I frequent. I knew that something physically impossible had happened, I just hadn't realized that there's more than just the 'Physically Possible' out there.
Smith decided to pay me a visit, and give me a briefing. Standard procedure with a Type Three: Diggers can't be bargained with or reasoned with, see? Once we get started, we won't stop until we hit pay-dirt or die trying, and a natural born Type Three is considered too big an asset to kill, even if the NEA was in the murdering business. They're the good guys, believe it or not. Besides, once a Category Three knows that magic is real, and knows who to call when strange shit goes down, we can basically work as spotters for the guys in the suits and sunglasses. Smith himself was a Category Three in his youth. Long story, you can ask him about it later. It's funny as hell.
Anyways, I'll save you the boring details of our conversation: It isn't really all that important to this discussion. The basics were that yes, magic was real. Yes, something magical happened, and it destroyed my gaming console. Yes, there's more to the story, he said, and I can brief you on all of it. However, he warned me, it won't make you any happier, knowing the truth. He was right. Heaven help me, but he was right.
He told what his own agency had found out, and what it had meant for the people on the world involved... and how it all ended. He did his best to make sure I understood that it wasn't my fault, that it was just a one in a million chance, and that I was no more guilty that the dozens of other players who had done similar things, all unaware. Oh, and that it wouldn't happen in any other games that I played. He understood how important that last part was to me. Didn't help much, honestly, but I'm grateful he tried.
In the aftermath of what happened, I had... attacks when I played games. Blame it on an overactive imagination, but I had 'flashes' when I did things in violent games. Imagine, for a moment, if every time you did a Zerg Rush, you had a vision of living Terran marines getting shredded by alien monsters. Imagine if every time you hopped on a goomba, that you were killing a living creature whose only crime was being easily squished. Imagine if every time you scored a headshot in a first person shooter, you killed a living human being. And merciful heavens... you'd never look at 'No Russian' the same way, ever again.
No, I'd rather not go into detail on what that last part means, dear. Not today.
Under other circumstances, I might have sworn off video games forever, or stuck to nice, safe stuff like Cooking Mama, Harvest Moon, or dating sims. Safe stuff where no one gets hurt, and everyone lives peacefully and happily. Any sane person would react in a similar manner, I think. Sadly, I had obligations: I was part of a team of competitive gamers... and we had a major tournament coming up in a few weeks. Could have put us on the map, maybe get us in the nationals or the internationals. That would be a massive payday for all involved. What, don't believe me? In the first League of Legends World Championship, the winning team, Fnatic, took home a prize of $50,000. Fnatic had only five members. Do the math. Every championship afterwards has had a prize of a solid million. Yeah. E-Sports is getting to be a major thing. Me and my team had big dreams, being the first Americans to take home the grand prize.
My... attacks (Okay, yes, I'd get sick, vomit, curl up in a ball and whimper pathetically for an hour. Happy? Good. Moving on!), they interfered with my ability to play, to perform my role. Since I was my team's best player, my being unable to perform meant that the entire team would suffer. Worse, given the time remaining, there was no way we could find a replacement and break him in before the tournament started.
Had I not received an email, giving me a free 'alpha' for a game in development, I'd have been left an emotional cripple for the rest of my life, in regards to my favorite past-time. Instead... well, we'll get to that soon enough.
Sugar, if you like, you can take over for a bit. My throat's getting sore. Thanks.
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My birth designation was 8163264128. I'm a changeling, and the world I called home was the same one that our pony friend here hails from.
The word 'changeling' comes with a lot of baggage, back home. It's a word to describe an entire species of migratory creatures that feed on love. But there is a great deal that is left out of that little description. Our... unique diet has forced my species to do some bad things, so that we can ensure that everyone gets enough to eat. Well, that, and an amoral, heartless, and power-grabbing leadership. The aristocracy keeps the common class down by keeping a stranglehold on the love supply. Everybuggy knew it, that there was enough love energy in even one aristocrat's house to keep the entire swarm alive for decades, maybe even centuries. Good luck getting it, though.
The aristocrats wanted to maintain their hold on power, and keeping us hungry was just another way of doing it. Even the fact that we were given numbers instead of names at birth was a way of keeping the common class down: We weren't raised by our own parents, but instead by the swarm as a whole. That way, we wouldn't have any ties of loyalty except to our fellow changelings. We weren't even allowed to know who our parents were.
It's the same everywhere, I've heard: The one percent holding ninety-nine percent of the wealth, am I right? My society was just a little more... direct about how that status quo was maintained. We were given little choice in how we could live: Desertion was punishable by... well, it wasn't pretty, and the aristocracy was of the opinion that anyone who ever whispered of changing the way things were should be silenced in the ugliest and most spectacular way possible. The nail that stuck out was not simply hammered down, but every nail around it would be given a few good whacks for good measure.
Your own world has more than a few countries who live under that kind of tyranny, as I understand it. Now, now, I am not judging. I knew, coming here, that it wasn't all sunshine and roses. No place is. While Equestrians like our little pony here might be more idealistic, my upbringing has left me with a more realistic attitude. Yes, yes, and left me bitter as hell, yes. No one is denying that. I thought you were going to let me talk for a bit. Are you? Okay, good. As our friend here likes to say, 'Moving on!'
After the failed Canterlot invasion, I was thrown a long, long way. I landed in some sort of a... palace. Well, the ruins of one, anyway. No, not that one, but a good guess. Pleasant enough place, though. Or it would have been, if not for the scores of deadly creatures outside... and the fact that my wings were bent out of shape. No, that was not a figure of speech: My wings were folded at right angles halfway down their length, and would stay that way until I moulted. With my wings out of whack, flying was not an option. Worse, I was low on love, and there was no way I could fight through the monsters outside.
I was... well, let's not mince words: I was useless in combat. Worse than useless. I was a liability: I'd just as often get someone on my own side hurt as myself. So, instead of being a soldier, I was little more than a maid, polishing armor, carrying water to injured changelings, and whatnot. Stuff that was necessary and could free up a... competent changeling for other work. The reason why I was low on love was because, when a battle was pending, the folks who couldn't fight would have to give up what they could spare so the soldiers could fight more effectively. As a result, I'd only been left with enough juice for a few weeks after Canterlot, and before we reached the moment when Hiro and I met, I'd come within a few days of running out...
Had I known what was waiting for me under that palace, though... Well, to be honest, I wouldn't have had it in me to risk it, given what was waiting between Point A and Point B. I'd never pretended to be brave, and it would still be a little while before I would be able to grow a metaphorical backbone. Still, if I had known, I still might have been tempted to try, anyways.
...After all, a Wishing Star, a relic that can make a single wish come true, is a pretty fantastic prize.