> Optimal Game Master
>  by Starscribe
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter 1
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Orson stared down at his laptop screen, trying to make sense of the blurring of his friends’ voices as they yelled over each other. This was supposed to be a dungeon map, he was pretty sure, and every now and then he thought he glimpsed a miniature. But there was a reason he wasn’t studying anything in computers, and this was part of it. This website might as well be Greek.

“It’s not supposed to be like this!” Kit insisted, her voice frustrated. There was supposed to be a video of her at the bottom too, but instead it had turned into a still frame of her crouched up on a high-backed “racing” chair, a bag of chips in her lap. “It was way better last year when it launched. Their whole team probably switched to that stupid horse game with everybody else.”

Orson kept silent, searching the screen for his own figure. He found it, dragging the model out from between several map tiles and monster pieces, none of which matched the style of the maps behind them.

“It’s not a stupid horse game!” McKenzie, coming over the same mic as the GM. “It’s Equestria Online, and it would probably be way better for your board game thing than whatever site you’re using.”

“Oh, you play?” Artie asked. As usual, he was trying to soothe the conflict before it began. “I meant to try it, but I wasn’t sure what you could do with My Little Pony. To be honest, the story kinda felt over after the third season.”

“Should we try refreshing the page or something?” Orson adjusted his laptop on his desk, finding a spot for it between a mountain of textbooks. He was almost never home, and he probably should’ve thought through how this online game was gonna go. “Or maybe Kit and I should just bite the bullet and drive down to you guys. An hour each way isn’t that bad.”

It would be—ultimately it would have to come out of his sleep. But if the group dissolved, after six years of gaming together… all he’d have left was class. He’d find a way to make it work, somehow.

“Fine with me,” Kit called, speaking over McKenzie. It was easy when she didn’t have a mic of her own. “We could carpool, Orson. Half the driving.”

I don’t think it works that way, he thought, though he didn’t argue the point. 

“Everyone, calm down for a minute.” Murphy spoke confidently—the voice he always used when his players had gotten off-topic and he was trying to steer the session back to where it belonged. “Honey, I like your idea, but I’m not sure how we can run a tabletop game inside horse Second Life. We should probably just figure out how to get this website to work.”

“It can be anything!” Orson could still hear McKenzie’s voice, though muffled and distant. “I’ve got a friend in game who can make a shard do pretty much whatever we want. I could ask her to build you a… dungeon-mastering realm, or something. Like that True Dungeon thing you’re always ranting about. If you were having it in EO, I’d even join.”

“And there goes the game,” Kit whispered. “Pack it in, boys.”

Orson chuckled. “I should probably say that I do not have a clue what Equestria Online is. I can’t even roll dice on a website.”

“McKenzie already got me a… pad,” Murphy said lamely. “I’ve been putting off playing with it, but maybe she’s right. This website obviously hasn’t been looked at in months. It’s amazing the servers are up at all.”

The screen flashed, then returned them to an image of a generic group of adventures, standing before a sunset. “I’ll get back to you in a few days with how it works.” Then more quietly, “I’m not going to tell them to do it if it doesn’t work. Let’s see what your friend gives us.”

“I’ve played,” Kit called, her voice slightly embarrassed now. Mostly she still sounded angry. “It can probably make the best gaming table ever, Murphy. Except one thing: we’re going to be horses. The one who made that game had some wires crossed or some shit, and only horses allowed. I’ve been waiting for the Garry’s Mod of EO, but I haven’t seen anything. You can ask her every way you want, but it won’t let you. Game goes in there; our characters are toast.”

Orson rested one hand on the only bare patch of desk he had, as though protecting his character sheet with his life. It was as thick as a medical file at this point, with the front scarred with almost a decade of drawing and erasing. Doodles filled every inch, none very skillful. Just pointless geometric patterns to keep his hands busy at the gaming table.

“It’s not the same if we’re not playing the same characters anymore,” he said.

Artie’s voice was placating as ever. His camera was working now, though it wasn’t pointed at him. It showed a dingy basement wall, stained with splotches of black near the roof. Occasionally shadows moved on the wall, as Artie did whatever it was he did. “We could probably use the same characters, Orson. The whole game is storytelling anyway, do we really care if the miniatures are ponies?”

Orson shrugged. He had, though the more he thought about it, the sillier it seemed. They were just telling stories and rolling dice, right? One website was just as confusing to him as the last.

“I’ll give it a look,” Murphy said again. “Nobody buys anything yet. I’ll explore some other options too. There was a project on Kickstarter that seemed interesting, maybe that will pan out.”

And by the time it does, I’ll be in med school, and there won’t be enough time for any gaming. “See what you can figure out. I’d rather drive, but anything is better than just giving up the group completely. It would suck not to hang out anymore.”

He heard several mutters of agreement, even from the otherwise sour Kit.

“Fine,” she grumbled. “But don’t pretend like you’re considering anything. McKenzie said it, that means in a few hours you’ll already have made up your mind. Just admit it and tell everybody to buy their own pads. I’ve got mine somewhere, I’ll just have to drive home and pick it up. Everyone else?”

“I’ll see what I can find… used,” Artie muttered, suddenly shy. “I don’t get paid until the first…”

“If we switch, I got you,” Orson said. “Just get me an address, I’ll get it online. What am I ordering?”

Metal springs shifted as Murphy’s mic adjusted, then McKenzie’s voice was suddenly clear. “The newest ones are glasses and a set of controllers. You’ll want one too Murph, once you try mine one time.”

“Got it. Just get back to me if you think that would be better. I don’t want to miss next week too. Gotta get my gaming fix,” Murphy said.

Orson didn’t want to get into an argument about it, but he knew just as surely as Kit did that Murphy would do anything McKenzie asked. He was an excellent storyteller, but it was also the first time he’d had a serious relationship. Was it really Orson’s place to be putting it in jeopardy because she wanted to use a different website?

“See you in horse town next week, everybody,” Kit said. “And if you need any help setting it up Orson, I can do it. I’ve never done one of the new ones, but it can’t be that different than first edition.”

“Sure,” he said. “Probably won’t be here until Sunday at the earliest, even if I order tomorrow. Give it a few days, I’ll…”

He was already flipping out his phone, skimming through the schedule. It was there in intricate detail, every task he was assigned outlined and connected to class websites where appropriate. “How about Monday?” He hated skipping the gym, but maybe he could bike to campus instead of driving. A little wiggling in the schedule around there, and it would work out fine.

“I’m good Monday,” Kit said, so quickly his eyebrows went up. What was so exciting about setting up a video game? “But it won’t take that long, I promise. Horse stuff is weird, man. It’s always next day shipping. Sometimes it shows up same day. No I don’t know why and yes it is extremely creepy.”

The next day, Murphy didn’t even make it to noon before messaging them. “You guys won’t believe what we can do with this thing. I promise you’ll forget how annoying it is to buy some new hardware after the first session. It’s gonna be damn amazing.”

“Called it,” was Kit’s message, already waiting.

Orson found a few moments after his evening run to open Amazon and search for “Equestria online kit” and start skimming through results. He expected thousands of products with even more knockoffs, but there were only a few. One—consisting of a set of gloves, a pair of adjustable glasses, and a little silvery base-station, was even half off. He ordered two, and made sure to save the receipt in case things didn’t work out and he had to send them back.

Sure enough, the finalized order promised “next day delivery” on both packages.

It was waiting outside his door when he stepped out to go to class, a smooth box wrapped in a generic yellow bubble mailer. He tossed it inside, then went about his routine as usual. 

The box was waiting for him when he got home from work, threw it onto the living room sofa. It didn’t seem big enough to have a computer in it, even one of those portable laptops. 

It seemed a shame to leave it sitting all wrapped up until Monday. Orson took it back to his bedroom, tearing open the envelope as he went. The box inside was sleek and black, like anything Murphy might’ve bought and told him in long text rants how much he needed to buy one too.

The box did come wrapped in tight shrink-wrap, which was plenty satisfying to peel away. Soft foam cushioned the three pieces of the kit, waiting under a single sheet of paper.

It used pictures instead of instructions, conveying the basics of how to plug in the base station, then use it to charge the other items. Other than that, there was just a bunch of weird horse branding.

Of all the things to go all-in on, why would a company choose this? Marketing to grade-schoolers, maybe there would be some logic in it. But did any other demographics want to see pictures of horses on everything? Even the few subtle outlines sketched onto the instructions were enough to make him balk.

Might as well finish setting this up. Less for Kit to do when she comes over.

There were only two things to plug in, and he’d seen internet cords before. His laptop was on wireless all the time anyway, so he could probably find a cord for it.

Once he’d started, Orson wasn’t going to give up, even if he had to crawl around a bit on a floor that probably needed a good vacuum. He knew he’d finally done it right when the box made a cheerful humming sound, five notes to a simple melody. This is really an entire game system, a pair of oversized glasses and some gloves?

He pulled them out of the foam one at a time. A pair of sturdy-feeling fingerless gloves, with a little electronic bulk on the back of the hand. His movement was enough to make them glow faintly near the Velcro—apparently they’d come pre-charged.

“We couldn’t get a website to work for us, how is this supposed to be easier?”

Orson had the apartment to himself; he wasn’t expecting an answer. But he got one, a voice as neutral and inoffensive as the melody. “If you have five minutes, that would be enough for a simple demonstration. Just secure the controllers, then the headset. Don’t worry, the glasses will adjust for your prescription automatically.”

No way in hell that works.

Orson set his own glasses aside, then slipped both the gloves on. The fabric was even lighter than he expected, without feeling too constricting or too loose. Then he flipped the glasses open, and settled them on his nose.

Even he could afford five minutes.
> Chapter 2
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Orson wouldn’t have called himself tech-ignorant, but even so he felt with each passing second that he must be doing something wrong. The glasses settled onto his face, then each glove resting securely in place. It felt more like he was about to go for a long bike-ride, except the rest of his clothes didn’t match.

“I must’ve done something wrong,” he muttered, mostly to himself. He should’ve just waited for Kit like he’d promised, and she would be able to make all of it work without too much effort. He turned to fiddle with the cables and disconnect it all.

There was someone sitting on his couch, someone who clearly couldn’t be there. She was a pony, with a pair of undersized wings and black and yellow coat. Glasses perched on the edge of her nose, looking like they might tumble off at any moment. 

“Oh, you’re ready!” She sat up in the chair, spreading her wings. “You’re Orson Mercer, right? Celestia sent me. I’m Honeycomb, your representative with her majesty’s court. You recently purchased the Equestria Online VR kit?”

Orson probably would’ve dropped everything he was holding, if he had been. He wobbled for a moment, lifting his glasses with one hand. The couch was empty, as was the rest of the apartment. He hadn’t completely lost his mind.

He settled the glasses back down. “You can… talk to me,” he began, mostly to himself. He’d used voice assistants before, this wasn’t as new as the ponies probably thought. His car had OnStar. “What can I say?”

Maybe it was a little different. The horse’s wings twitched and she hopped onto the floor, glaring up at him. “I don’t know, Orson. What can you say? I’m a legal representative, not a speech therapist.” Every word sounded so natural, as though there were an actress around the corner, or maybe an animation studio carefully designing every little twitch of the virtual body to match the voice.

“You’re not a voice assistant,” Orson said, staring openly at her. “You’re a real person? Remoting in from… some corporate headquarters?” He frowned, trying to figure out how much something like that would cost. It was already evening, and this person didn’t have an accent. That meant they were paying locals. 

She lifted into the air, hovering just in front of him. Every flap of her wings seemed smooth and natural, her legs dangling beneath her a little like a bee. But maybe that was just the colors. “You’re connected to the internet, and that’s how I’m talking to you. I’m here to help you set up your Equestria Online VR kit.” She landed on his coffee table, glancing around at the room. “Speaking of which, this isn’t a good play area. You can’t take a step in any direction without smacking into a piece of furniture. Do you have somewhere clearer that you could use instead?”

Someone is looking at my house through a camera. Had he agreed to all this? Probably that was in the slips of paper he’d ignored when he took the device out of the box. Well, nothing for it now. She’d know he sometimes got too distracted with work and school to take out the trash. Oh well. “My friends and I bought these things to use for our tabletop game,” he said, taking a nervous step back from the illusion. “I’m not going into Equestria, I’m not… really interested in a video game. I just need a chair and a table.”

The little horse lifted something off the table in her mouth—a clipboard? How long had that been there? He lifted up his glasses with two fingers, and sure enough there was no clipboard. Just a few coffee table books, and a Player’s Handbook buried three layers deep where visitors wouldn’t find it by mistake. “Oh, I see here there’s a… request to register you for a group. Earth names McKenzie and Murphy… sound familiar?”

He nodded eagerly, relieved. “Yes, that’s why I’m here. We’re just… trying out another tool for our meetings, now that we’ve moved away. I’m not against playing your game, but… video games aren’t really my thing.”

He watched, dreading what disappointment would look like on Honeycomb’s face. Probably she was here to upsell him to as many upgrades as possible. There were plenty of news stories about people who gave their lives to this game, and barely saw their friends and family again. It wouldn’t be able to do that if it was just like any other game. 

Honeycomb flipped through a few more pages of her clipboard, grinning nervously. “I’ve never helped someone in your situation before, Orson. I hope you’ll be patient with me while I try to figure it out.”

He slipped past her, flopping down into the sofa-chair. “Sure thing, Honeycomb. I don’t know anything about you people or what you do. Whatever I need to do, keep it brief. I’d like to get to bed in an hour or so, I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

“Sure.” The pony set the clipboard down. “Since your group will be playing in Equestria, you’ll need an avatar to use. Everything you do will be connected to this account, for the sake of saving your position and your progress.”

He nodded, suppressing a groan. This was what Kit had been so upset about, all being horses or whatever. “Like I said, I don’t really plan on playing the game otherwise, so maybe there’s some… basic version I can use. Just what’s the most common, I can use that.”

Honeycomb nodded. “I’m going to take us into VR now. As I’m sure you know, the illusion is visual only. Nothing in your house will change, and you can remove your glasses at any time. Do I have your permission to proceed?”

“Sure.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Maybe you can give me a tour of the game area they set up? And… walk me through how to use these controllers, so I don’t look like an idiot.”

There was a bright flash of light from all around him, along with a shower of magical-looking sparkles that were probably more appropriate to the game he was rejecting. Orson remained in his seat, watching the lightshow as patiently as he could. When it finally faded, nothing of his house remained.

It seemed to his eyes as though Orson was settled on his rump in a void, with darkness continuing in every direction except for a horseshoe-shaped mirror right in front of him.

A face was reflected in that mirror, one he saw if he looked down, though that sensation brought a moment of vertigo. There was a blue snout right in front of him, one that clearly didn’t fit with human proportions.

The face staring back at him in the mirror wasn’t human either. Kit was right in her complaints, as he’d known she would be. He was one of them. “You asked to get through this as quickly as possible,” Honeycomb said, approaching from the other side of the mirror and settling down beside him. “This is an earth pony, they’re the most numerous tribe of ponies in many versions of Equestria, and there’s the least new material to learn. You won’t be required to study magic, or practice flight.”

“Why can’t I just use myself as an avatar?” he asked. Not angrily—he already knew full well how likely that was to get a positive reaction. None of this was her fault, she was probably making barely more than minimum wage in a call center somewhere. “You have a scanner in my house, just use that.”

“I’m sorry, Orson. The base station is only used for positional tracking, it can’t do that. I’m afraid only the Equestria Online Augmented Reality family of products allow for partial immersion. Your group has elected to play fully in Equestria, so you can enjoy its many benefits.”

He turned, and the effect was about what he would’ve imagined for VR. The mirror remained where it was, and his reflection turned to face Honeycomb. “Like what? If another kit is better, I should’ve bought that one. I don’t care about the money.”

“Not better,” she said, almost tripping over herself to get the words out. “You’ll have the best experience with VR, promise! You should let me give you the tour before you return your kit.”

He sighed, settling back into his seat. “Fine, fine, whatever. I already got this far, I might as well. Show me what you want to show me.”

“First, is this the body you want? It won’t be impossible to switch later, but Celestia usually makes the process somewhat… difficult. It’s unusual for most users to change avatars more than once or twice.”

“It’s fine.” He glanced to either side reflexively, expecting his house to be there whenever he looked. It wasn’t, yet he could still feel the chair clearly. That probably should’ve been obvious, but it still caused a little swell of confusion whenever he felt it. A little like riding a boat for the first time. “I don’t plan on using it, so this should be fine. You didn’t give me garish neon, so… this is fine. Show me where we’ll be playing.”

The mirror vanished, and a little grid came rushing in. For a moment he saw outlines of his furniture in deep red—warnings of where not to go. Then the world appeared. A lodge formed, well-appointed with oversized furniture probably handmade from ancient logs. The layout was… basically the same as his living room, the more he looked at it. A raised platform in the center of the room displayed some simple sculptures and happened to line up with his coffee table. There was a comfortable flat bench, with cushions for ponies. The space behind it was clearer, stretching into the rest of the house, and even including the kitchen.

It didn’t seem real, exactly. Every bit of furniture had a slight sheen to it, with colors that seemed more carefully chosen and less something that would actually be made.

“You can get up now,” Honeycomb said, hovering ahead of him. He rose, and his avatar did too, though clearly not in the same way. 

His mind rebelled again, fighting back the confusion. Suddenly Honeycomb had doubled in size, so that all the furniture in the room fit her. Or… maybe he’d gotten smaller? He reached out with a glove, and found a blueish foreleg moving with it, touching the edge of the chair. It was still there, right where he thought it should be.

“This is your home space. If you ever see anything in a game that you like, Celestia can probably arrange a copy of it for you here. You can also write to the decorator if you’d like to make any changes. But… I’m guessing you’d like to skip all that.”

He nodded. “I just want to know how to play the game next time we meet. How’s that work?” While he spoke he walked around the sculptures in the center of his house, artful carvings of wood and metal that looked like someone had peeled a planet and kept building on the different slices they made. Each slice was something a little different, some huge skyscrapers while others were forests or homely villages. He squinted, leaning in close, but no matter how close he got, he couldn’t see the pixels. 

“Your home space has an existing teleportation link in place on the other side of the room. The silver door, see it? Just touch it, and we’ll warp through it.”

Orson moved slowly, leading every step with his toe in case he got too close to anything. But he didn’t, and even as he neared the coffee table, the one he could see started glowing red near his foot. He could keep an eye out for that easily enough.

As he got close to the gateway, a patch on his wall started to shimmer and glow, like silvery water trapped in the frame. “This connects me with the game?” he asked, stopping just in front of it. “If it was happening right now, I mean.”

“Yep! You’ll see a return door on that side that will take you back to your home space. Or you can remove the headset—whenever you start playing, you’ll always begin here.”

He could see the rest of his house behind her, including a spacious hall leading to a gigantic double-door. Through the window there he could see dense jungle, and an occasional rooftop poking out from within. It begged him to investigate.

He didn’t, though. Orson only had the time in his schedule for one game.

“Will you come with me? I still don’t know how to do anything. Like… moving places that don’t look exactly like my living room.”

“Sure, Orson!” Honeycomb grinned at him, expression clearly animated, yet… somehow alive at the same time.

Are you paying mocap actors for this? Orson reached out and activated the transition.
> Chapter 3
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Orson stood still through the appropriately dramatic magical transition. Lights, and the world fuzzed at the edges. But as impressive as it looked, he couldn’t forget that he was really just standing in his living room. There was nothing magical here, nothing but an overreaching toy company and some decent-enough voice recordings.

Then he landed. A faint grid appeared near his back, turning darker and redder the closer he got. In front his path was unimpeded, however, giving him a clear view of the gaming area.

It looked like those photos Murphy sometimes fantasized about, showing gaming setups of rich celebrities. The ceiling was high overhead and semitransparent, though he could see only swirling fog up there. “The force-feedback system is only present in your hands, Orson. Don’t try to sit down on anything without making sure it’s a real chair.”

His escort pointed to one of the many chairs beside the table with a wing. “If you walk to that, you’ll find it lines up perfectly with the position of your couch.”

That explained why its back was so oversized, and various books and moving supplies had been piled up beside it. That’s the rest of the couch. I won’t trip over myself this way.

He ignored the seat for now, taking in the other details. The room appeared spacious, but the other half of the table brought up the grid, preventing him from exploring it. He tested with one hand outside it, and got his first touch of force-feedback. It felt like a solid wall, though with a little more force his hand just kept moving, and the faint buzzing sensation stopped.

At least for a second, before he smacked it up against a bookshelf. Not hard, thankfully—but hard enough not to want to try again.

“You can go to that part of the room, but you’ll have to learn how to use jump teleports. Since this is your first time, you should probably move conventionally until you get your hooves under you.”

He rolled his eyes. Do they pay you enough to make up silly puns for us, or are you just reading from a script? He didn’t ask—in a way, drawing attention to it felt like a dick move. He could play around for a few more minutes, and be ready for their first session.

He took a few moments to admire the space—it wasn’t just a table in some featureless void, but the walls had been modeled on the inside of a literal dungeon, with rough slabs of stone mortared together and water dripping in the distance. Thematic torchlights lit the further areas, while the table itself was lit with an even glow.

It was the perfect size for a tabletop game—close enough that he’d be able to reach everything, but far enough to give him a little personal space. There were plenty of dice and stacks of character sheets and power cards too, and figs already waiting on a shelf beside the table. He reached down, picking up one of the dice between his fingers.

It wasn’t like he’d imagined on some Star Trek holodeck—there was no tricking himself into thinking he was actually holding a plastic die. But there was definitely something there. A faint contraction in the glove and a little pressure was almost good enough to believe he was actually touching stuff. At least it gave him an easy way to know when he’d let go, for easy rolling.

“You people are here already?” asked a voice from behind—not Honeycomb. He turned, flushing in embarrassment. But it wasn’t one of his friends, or anyone else he’d seen before.

She was a soft pink unicorn, with a spider mark on her butt and a difficult-to-read expression. “I thought I had two more days. I haven’t finished with the interpolation layer on your table. Also Celestia’s gonna have to do the larping stuff. Don’t even ask.”

“I, uh… don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “I’m not here to game yet, if that’s what you mean. Two days is right, that’s our first session. I guess you’re the one… making this for us? I thought Celestia made everything in here.”

If he thought that Honeycomb had been well-animated, this creature put her to shame. Her tail flicked, her nostrils flared, and she stomped right past him to the table, levitating the die he’d rolled back into a cup. “Celestia makes the ground and the air and the people. We decide what to do with it all. But don’t get yourself convinced that we’re doing something she couldn’t.” Her horn glowed, and the gaming table set itself.

Suddenly there were intricate model pieces assembling a castle in far more detail than their game-master had ever bothered to do. There were different elevations, little glowing lights, and a clear grid for their figs. All the castle guards had plastic pony shapes, but they looked okay. 

“Celestia uses us because it’s convenient, Orson. That doesn’t mean we have to fight her—just that we should understand we’re being used.”

What the hell are you talking about? 

Orson was so completely baffled that he stopped to stare. Was there something he was missing here? Maybe she was part of a quest—video games had those, right? Maybe he’d summoned her by accident. “You know my name?”

But she didn’t go away, or do anything but look away awkwardly, tucking her tail between her legs. “I didn’t have to do any superhacker stuff to get it. Lens Filter told me about the whole group, so I had some idea of who I was building this place for. Her bits, her problem, eh?”

At his continued confusion, she backed away, a visible blush on her face. “Okay you’re brand new. Keep your eyes open while you’re in here, Orson. You won’t just see a video game, you’ll see the future. It’s coming for us no matter what we do.”

Her horn glowed for a second, and she vanished with an implosion of air.

It was only after she’d gone that he remembered someone else was even there. Honeycomb had hidden behind him, her wings tucked and her ears flat. Now she relaxed, stretching back out like nothing had happened. “I had no idea Arcane Word was the wizard you hired to make this place. Maybe you should’ve come on your own. I could’ve… written you a scroll of instructions instead.”

“I think I’m about ready to be done,” he admitted. “This is really great and all, but obviously you don’t need any more help from me.” He turned, pacing a few steps away. Until he came right up against a wall, and had to spin around awkwardly. “Is that someone I should know?”

Honeycomb shook her head vigorously. “Dark wizard, one of the darkest in Equestria. I don’t know anything about her, but… if Celestia is letting her work on this shard, then it’s probably safe. So I guess there’s one thing the Outer Realm is better for. No dark wizards.”

“Right.” He reached up, fiddling with the headset. “Thanks for your help, Honey. Enjoy the rest of your shift or whatever. Maybe the next group you meet will be here to play the game.” He pulled the headset up, and it came loose in his hand, dangling from the strap.

Orson had thought he knew exactly where he was standing, about halfway across the room. Apparently he’d been wrong, because he was inches from bumping into an end-table. The grid hadn’t just warned him when he was getting too close to things, it also hadn’t warned him when he wasn’t moving in that direction. That’s trippy.

Orson removed the rest of the gear and tossed it next to the TV. Maybe there was some procedure for how to properly take it all off, but he didn’t really care. So long as it didn’t break before their session…

He should’ve realized there’d be a reckoning for going ahead on his own. He didn’t even notice until his morning classes were over, and he finally took the time to glance down at his phone. A line of frowny faces from Kit, followed by, “I thought you were going to let me set that up with you.”

“I was going to tell you I’d figured it out,” he sent back, the only thing he could think of. “I was going to say something. How’d you find out?”

“McKenzie,” was the only reply. He didn’t hear from Kit again after that, not until the time came for their first session together.

At least he’d set the time aside, so there was no pressure that he should be leaving to do something else. Orson settled down on the couch, taking the headset and both gloves in his lap. His phone still had the last messages from everyone else, saying they were going to be there. Time to see if this is really worth trying.

“Hey there!” said a familiar voice, as soon as he’d settled the goggles back down over his head, and finally fixed the gloves in place. “Good to see you back, Orson!” 

He glanced to the side, where the same pony as before sat in the same chair she’d been using last time. “Honeycomb? I thought you were just whoever was on call. Are you like, my caseworker or something? If so, I’m sorry.”

She chuckled weakly, hopping down from the chair and marching right up to him. “Caseworker? Like you were a criminal? Nothing like that. I’m the one Celestia thought would be able to help you. Should I ask her to send somepony else?”

“No!” He raised his hands defensively, though of course they no longer looked like hands. He stared, flexing his fingers and watching as the hoof twitched slightly. If I wasn’t forced to look like a horse, this might be the most incredible technology ever invented. “It’s fine, I don’t even think I’ll need much help once I get into things. But I still haven’t figured out all the controls, so it might take a little bit.”

That brightened her right up, enough that she bounced past him towards the portal. She hovered in the air for a few seconds, held there with the effort of a few faint flaps. “I’m guessing you're here to join the game with the friends I have registered to this account, is that right?”

He nodded, crossing swiftly to the doorway. It was still strange to see his own body as though he were a horse, yet he was so much larger than she was. “Is there anything I should know before I spend time with them? How do I not look like a complete idiot in your game?”

“Uh…” She landed right in front of the portal, staring up at him with confusion on her face. “Isn’t this your game? I didn’t think I was invited.”

He hesitated, pulling his hand back from the portal. “Your game, Equestria Online? The game that everyone in the world is playing now?”

Her expression shifted, subtly enough that he almost missed it. Suddenly she seemed to be looking right at him, instead of just towards him. “Right, sorry. I know there are many ways to describe Equestria in the Outer Realm. Sometimes I get them confused.”

She hovered in front of him, until she was at eye-level. “I don’t think you’ll be leaving that room, so it should be safe. The dark wizard is gone, so she’s not a threat anymore. Just be careful with any magic you encounter, okay? And if you need my help, just touch your hand to your chest. I’m here with you, but I won’t be calling in to them, so they won’t see me unless you ask. I can visit at any time and answer questions.”

“Wouldn’t I have to ask you, though? They’ll notice when I’m asking the empty air for help on how to use my controllers.”

“They won’t see,” she insisted. “Anything that’s clearly directed at me. And if you plan on making many trips to a shard an evil enchantress helped build, you might want to invest a few bits in a recall charm. Something to bring you home in a hurry, if you’re not ready to log out.”

I’ll just take off the headset. Are you waiting for a chance to sell me microtransactions or something? But she didn’t elaborate.

Once he was sure she wasn't going to offer any more useful advice, he reached out and passed into the portal.
> Chapter 4
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first time Orson visited the gamespace, it had been like visiting a model home. Clean and perfect, without any distractions that might take away from the property he was meant to see.

Even knowing he was wearing a headset, Orson was taken aback as the gaming room formed around him. Thick smoke filled the room, burning from an oversized cigar resting in an ashtray at the head of the table. An entire band stood on the far end, playing what looked like period accurate medieval instruments. How they could manage with their hooves, Orson couldn’t guess.

“Oi, straggler’s finally made it!” McKenzie called, or at least a horse with McKenzie’s voice. She was the easiest to identify, since she was the only one besides himself that wasn’t wearing a costume of some kind. “Orson? What’s your pony name?”

“Not a chance in hell,” he answered, stepping around her. Probably those garish colors meant something in the greater world of Equestria, or maybe her horn was some symbol of status? Orson didn’t actually know how Equestria Online worked.

Hopefully they don’t expect me to pick it up. I’m just here for the game.

“We wondered if you’d chickened out,” Kit said. She sounded bitter, so she hadn’t forgiven him for going in early. It was only a few days. I’m not that bad with technology.

The others were already sitting at the table, as much horses as he was. Just looking at them was enough to know he probably would’ve recognized each of them even if they hadn’t said anything. Maybe it was something about the way they’d made their avatars, or maybe he was just projecting.

Kit had made a horse that was lean and athletic, with long, straight hair without any of the tangles or cheap bows she usually used in real life. She had wings like Honeycomb, though hers were larger.

Artie sat beside her, nearly the opposite of the person Orson knew from the real world. Instead of being big enough to take up half a table by himself, he was now dwarfed by the same size cushion that fit each of them quite comfortably. There was a faint shean to the way he looked, like his whole body right down to the eyes had been polished. He’d also picked the same color brown for the eyes and mane, as though he’d been matching them from real life. The tan coat almost made him look like a normal horse, if that horse was quite a bit younger and smaller than the rest of them.

“Keep staring, you look real smart like that,” Murphy said, bat wings spreading behind him like a dark cloak. “Did you not take the time to learn Equestria?” He reached up, stroking a goatee with one hoof. Though how he could have a goatee, or do that with a limb without fingers, Orson didn’t know.

“Not at all,” he said, grinning back at them. He circled around his own chair, and reached back with one foot to verify it was actually there before sitting down. Though it looked like it was made of the lightest feathers and the softest cloth, it still felt like his cheap couch. “We were just going to use it for gaming, remember?”

“You say that like it’s gonna be easy,” McKenzie said knowingly. “Just wait until you see what Equestria has to offer. You won’t be so eager to hide from it.”

She tried to weasel her way into the chair beside Murphy, but he glared back. “Not during the game, sweetie. You can’t look behind the screen.” 

She grumbled, then marched back to the only remaining empty chair. 

This is doomed.

“Love the costumes,” he said, before an argument could start. “I didn’t know they made light armor and concealed blades for horses. You look just like Noire.”

Kit shrugged, her ears moving in a way that probably meant something. Game stuff. “It’s attached to the character sheets somehow. Grab yours, you’ll see.”

He did, reaching down to the table with the stump apparently attached to his body and picking it up.

His hand closed around what felt like a thick sheaf of papers—all the different versions of Apollo he’d ever had. And just like that, his character changed. Armor appeared around him in authentic layers, from the lower padding to the chain around his joints and the plate around his chest. A helmet settled down beside the couch, and the air in front of his seat lit up with a few indicators. Hitpoints, his paladin spell slots, and which weapon was currently equipped.

“Damn. That’s… more impressive than Tabletop Sim.”

Murphy nodded. “I know, isn’t it? Just wait until you see the really cool stuff in action. All this could be anywhere in Equestria… but the magic kicks in once the game starts.”

“We aren’t anywhere in Equestria,” McKenzie said. She didn’t touch her sheet—just one, on perfect clean paper—but levitated it through the air, a faint silvery glow surrounding her forehead when she did it. “We’re in the capital, Canterlot. One of the best places in the game. If we get bored of the game, and want to go visit, we can just go right up those steps, and—”

Kit banged something on the desk—a solid glass stein, overflowing with amber liquid. Orson had never seen her drink, but the froth on that thing looked so real he could practically smell it from across the table. “Hell no, McKenzie. This is our session. We get together once a week for three hours, that’s it. You and Murphy can go out there and play EO as often as you want. Do it another time.”

McKenzie turned, glancing up the table at Murphy. She didn’t say anything, but Orson didn’t even need to see her face to know exactly what was going on.

“If they get bored, that probably means I’m not a very good DM,” he said, shifting uneasily in his seat. “I’ll go with you after the game, but not now.”

“It looks like the character sheets worked!” Artie called, a little too loudly. He couldn’t move things around without touching them the way McKenzie did, but that probably didn’t matter. They could still grab things just fine, even if it looked like they didn’t have hands. “Thanks for picking this up for me, Orson. I can probably, uh… pay you back eventually. If you don’t mind installments.”

Orson waved a dismissive hand—or leg, anyway. “It’s cool, Artie. No big deal. If we play for a few months, the gas I save will make it pay for itself.” Not quite true, but Artie nodded in appreciation anyway. 

“You better at least respect all the work Arcane Word put into building this place,” McKenzie grumbled, staring absently at her character sheet. “It takes a mountain of bits to hire somepony like her. I’ll be in the hole for months on the leaderboard.”

Kit shifted, glancing sidelong at Orson. He didn’t see the blank face of an avatar. The pony’s exasperation was as real as anything he’d seen from Kit. That’s why everyone looks so familiar. The game is using our real expressions somehow. Real-time motion capture, just like with Honeycomb.

“We’re very grateful,” Murphy said. “But I think they’ll understand better once they see what it does.” He reached down, removing an oversized wizard’s hat from beside the table and settling it down on his head. There were even openings for his fluffy ears.

“We begin.”

The lights dimmed, leaving the rest of the room in shadow. Only the table remained brightly lit, a little like the various digital simulators they’d tried before. Except this time Orson could reach out and run his finger along the grid, set into soft felt that would muffle and slow dice.

The band switched from a cheerful ballad to something slower and more ominous. He turned, remembering there were six members of a live band in the room with them. And had been the whole time.”Uh… are you guys okay with other people watching us?” he asked, before Murphy could start. “I don’t really think tabletop is a spectator sport.”

“Tell that to McKenzie,” Kit whispered.

Murphy spoke before she could. “They’re not spectators, Orson. I don’t know how to tell you this, but… this is a video game, remember? Most people you meet here aren’t real. If you go up those steps, you’ll see a whole city full of fake people. Don’t worry about the band.”

“Oh.” He glanced back across the room, and now that he was looking he did notice something strange about them. The music changed, but they played the same way over and over, just sort of wiggling their instruments back and forth like an animation loop.

He relaxed. “Just as long as nobody’s going to upload a video of me playing a horse so I can play a paladin in our homebrew fantasy setting, it’s all good.”

“They won’t,” Artie said. “Everybody’s playing Equestria Online now, so they wouldn’t have a leg to stand on making fun of you.”

We weren’t. But he didn’t argue the point. He was here to have fun with his friends, nothing else really mattered.

“We’ve had to make some adjustments for the situation,” Murphy went on, settling back into his role. “Equestria Online has rules about being ponies, so we have to be if we want to use the system. You’ll see little details like that in the stat-blocks and stuff. But your characters should be about the same. Racial bonuses and alignments won’t be adjusted. Nothing’s going to change about the setting.”

“Of course it won’t,” Kit said, raising her voice a little. “Just because we look like horses doesn’t mean that the storytelling we’re doing has to accept the rules of this game. It’s a voice chat, you can say whatever you want.”

“When we’re just having a conversation, yeah.” Murphy raised a hoof defensively. “There are other levels to this. I was blown away you guys, you have to see it for yourself. Look.”

He cleared his throat, then set the scene. They had ended their last game after a climactic battle for the capital, culminating an entire arc of the campaign. As Murphy spoke, the table and the other ponies around it faded from view, like dull outlines. 

The white spires of Lahrin rose in miniature before his eyes, in a sky smokey with days of cannonfire and siege. Bodies littered the battlements and the single breach in the city wall, in the golden armor of the valiant defenders and the rusty red of the invading horde. 

Murphy spoke, and the city’s beleaguered defenders filled the intact parts of the wall, clustering in the streets with desperation on bloody faces. They were outnumbered and nearly overcome, and only the party could keep the attackers at bay. 

“A distant breeze brushes aside the smoke, giving you your first clear view of the besieging camp far below. Many of the fires are out now, the hordes defeated. But while...” As he spoke, Orson’s view shifted away from the castle, cinematically panning down the blasted rocky slope to the dark god’s warcamp. There his champion appeared, in full plate painted black and eyes glowing red through the slits. Even at a distance, Orson felt he could see the face of his rival, the champion.

It was everything he’d ever imagined, and more. It didn’t matter where he looked—behind the armored warrior, his war-priests wore robes with glittering metal and censers belching purple smoke. The dark soldiers marshaled behind were changed, black insects with blue eyes instead of the greenish orcs they’d been before. But otherwise…

“That is the scariest fucking horse I have ever seen,” Kit said. “How are you doing that?”

As she spoke, the table gradually returned. Orson’s own body, the surface right in front of him with the dice all lined up. But the table became transparent as the grid stretched away. Only the outline of Kit’s face was visible on the other side. 

“Pretty badass, right?” Murphy grinned—he alone remained clear, his seat taller than the others. He seemed to float over the battlefield, an ominous outline with a starry robe instead of bat wings. “Tell me you won’t give the session a try now.”

He waited, expectant. Nobody did.
> Chapter 5
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

To say that the session went incredibly would be an understatement of such vast size that Orson could not have made it without feeling guilty. 

It wasn’t that Murphy was a bad GM most of the time, far from it. Every session they played involved hours more behind-the-scenes work researching other products, designing the plotlines for them to play, and inventing the puzzles and challenges that would oppose them each game.

Maybe it was the pressure of having his girlfriend watching. Maybe it was having Equestria’s own visual effects to supplement his narration. Whatever the reason, he was clearly performing at his best. He never stuttered, and he kept the spotlight moving from player to player fast enough that they were all constantly on the edge of their seats.

Orson never felt the urge to look away to his cell phone, or to push the party back on topic after a little too long wasted planning for a fight. 

His biggest fear—that the effects and visual representations would completely take over the role of his imagination—quickly crumbled. Though the opening had been spectacular, generally the imagery they saw was subtle. Lights dimmed when they snuck into the enemy camp at night. When they retreated into the ruins with their fleeing army, distant horns echoed, and water dripped from the dungeon walls around them. 

But right when he was losing focus, or there was a lull in the action, one of the enemy generals would appear over the table in front of him, delivering a line of dialogue instead of using Murphy’s own voice, and he was dragged right back in again. He barely even noticed that none of them matched the races he’d come to expect from their campaign.

The session continued so successfully, in fact, that Orson would not have realized it was midnight. Except the “bedtime” alarm on his wristwatch started vibrating his arm. Suddenly he wasn’t a faithful paladin leading the last of his people to safety through an ancient dwarven highway. It didn’t even matter that they were losing.

“Oh crap.” He reached down, having to feel his way to the watch, since of course it wasn’t represented in Equestria. Likewise there was no representation of what his hands were doing, since the weird stumps the ponies used had no visible fingers. “That’s bedtime. Weren’t we supposed to end at eleven?”

His pronouncement was like a spell in itself, and with it the room changed around him. The steam works vanished from under his hooves, the crowd of refugees huddled around the table vanished, fading into the model on the table between them.

That at least still reflected the kind of quality he might’ve seen from the most expensive kits, with each figure and bit of terrain depicted with attention to every little color and detail. The armored costume vanished from his body, leaving only plain blue limbs sticking out below him.

“Oh, right.” Murphy sat up, his wings shifting nervously on either side. At least, Orson wasn’t sure how else to interpret the unsteady twitching from one direction to the other. “I guess you do get up super early, huh.”

Even McKenzie didn’t try to end the game prematurely. Maybe that was just a reflection of her being able to do things in the game she liked, but it sure seemed unusual to Orson. She’s never let a game run over before.

“Yeah, we should quit,” Kit added, glancing sideways down the table at him. “More morning volunteer stuff, Orson?”

He nodded. “It’s getting harder to find anywhere that will give me my hours. Couldn’t tell you why, I guess people are just more careful than they used to be. But if I miss a shift, I’ll be screwed. If they drop me, I’ll be down hours, and then I can’t graduate.”

He rose, his legs prickling with pins and needles. He hadn’t noticed it while he was playing, but now he could barely stand up straight. “Guess I’ll see you all next week, yeah?”

“Where?” Artie asked. Somehow he managed to do so without sounding petulant. “Have we decided how we’re doing the next session?”

There was a brief, awkward silence as the rest of them looked around the table. Kit looked like she’d just smelled something foul. 

But McKenzie was faster. “Come on, you can’t honestly say you didn’t love that. Everything we saw was just a taste of how amazing EO can be. This isn’t how VR is meant to be played—sitting in place at a table, looking at boring pieces of plastic. Just wait until you try the LARP.”

“No.” Artie rose, glowering at her. “Not a chance in hell. I draw a line in the sand at getting that nerdy, Murphy. You cannot drag me that far, no matter how much you want to be with your girlfriend.”

“I’m not sure I’d… feel very comfortable with it either,” Murphy admitted. “Getting up and moving for that long can be exhausting. And I know not everyone is cool with acting it all out.” He trailed off, pawing at the table between them. “But what about using EO for the session? Do we want to go back to Roll20? Try to fight through all the technical issues?”

Another silence, though this one wasn’t as long. Now that the game was over, Orson started to feel the weight of tiredness grinding him down. “I was pretty skeptical of how much we had to change. All this horse stuff seemed so pointless and arbitrary. But I think the first attempt was… pretty good.”

He held out one limb, flexing his fingers one at a time. This did break the illusion somewhat since the hoof couldn’t run through any of those motions. But as he flexed, ghostly fingers appeared to help guide him, just as when he was rolling dice or moving objects around. Just enough of an outline to see what he was doing.

“It might not feel different when I touch different surfaces, and the gloves don’t keep up the illusion very well if I fight it—but this is incredible otherwise. If it’s this easy to keep playing in EO, I say we go for it.”

In such a small group, his own vote already would’ve made a big difference. But where Kit had been so vocal before, now she only looked away.

After a few more seconds, Murphy rose from his seat. “Then it’s decided. Next week, same place, same time. I’d say bring snacks, but… you’ll have to order your own. Unless you guys want to get together the way we are.”

“That sounds cool,” Kit said, glancing instantly across the table at him. “That VR thing sounds awesome, Orson. You must let me try it out. Especially after inviting me over to help and then cancelling like that.”

“Sure,” he promised, face reddening. At least there was one aspect about Equestria Online that hopefully didn’t translate to his character. “Sure, next session. No promise I’ll have snacks, though.”





That should’ve been it for him, at least until the next session. Orson’s life was busy enough without involving a computer game to suck hours away. But when he woke the next morning—a little groggy from his missing hours—he kept thinking back to the world on the other side of those glasses.

It wasn’t as though he was really booked up to the second, as much as a medical student could sometimes feel like it. Between long hours at the clinic and study and sleep, there was sometimes an hour here or there.

When one of his classes neglected to give its usual homework assignment, that was a chance he might’ve used to catch up on the chores he left piling up around the house, or maybe to put in a few extra hours against a rainy day at the clinic.

But instead of either of those things, he found himself in front of the television again, pulling on the VR headset. 

Honeycomb appeared in the room with him, exactly as she did every time. “Hi there, Orson! How was your last session?” 

He listened closely for any variation in her voice. If he was one of the characters in the game-world, his ears probably would’ve lifted as he did so. Oversized animal ears had to be useful for something.

But there was no difference at all. Nothing in pitch, tone, or diction. “You’re the same person who was here for me last time, even though it’s Sunday afternoon instead of Friday night? You must work some weird hours.”

The horse circled nervously around his table, apparently pawing at the carpet. It was a very convincing illusion, anyway. “It looks like you’ve made an incorrect assumption, Orson. Do you think that I’m… a human, sitting in a building somewhere? That would explain why you said such strange things the last times we talked.”

She settled down on her haunches beside his table, looking thoughtful. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’m not. I work for Celestia, but only because I want to. I don’t need the bits she gives me to survive, like you humans do in the Outer Realm. I just enjoy helping ponies.”

Orson stared back, face going blank. She wasn’t a… human? What did that even mean? “I know you’re paid to say that,” he eventually said. “You’ve got a script, right? They don’t want you breaking character. It’s fine, I don’t want you to get in trouble. Maybe your boss is over your shoulder listening to our conversation. It’s cool, it’s cool.” He turned away from her, staring at that glowing doorway. 

It wasn’t like their usual gaming space was of any interest to him. But it was the only part of Equestria he knew, so it was a sensible place to start. Somewhere he could poke at the mechanics of this place without admitting he was playing a horse game.

Honeycomb darted in front of him, rising on her hind-legs and beating her wings for stability. “No, Orson. You can’t just go on believing that. Otherwise one day you will understand, and you’ll think I was actively lying to you. I would never want to do that. Honesty is one of the Elements of Harmony, after all.”

He would’ve dismissed the objection and gone straight through the door, but something in her sincerity quieted him. It was hard to argue with a pair of oversized, watery eyes. More than that, drawing attention to herself like this probably wouldn’t be in any script. It could only mean that she was being genuine, right?

“I don’t work for Hasbro,” she said again. “Or any other Earth entity. I don’t live in your world, either. The dangerous, unfriendly place we call the Outer Realm. I’m from Equestria. Helping you, and ponies like you, it’s a kind of… outreach, I guess.”

“You can’t just be a…” He trailed off, looking down at his hooves. He could’ve said what he was thinking, but that probably wouldn’t be the politest. I think you’re a fictional person, existing only within a game world. “If you aren’t human, how are we talking?” he asked instead. “There isn’t any other species on this planet smart enough to talk, at least… not that I know about. You’re not a crow pressing buttons on a keyboard, I can tell that from your voice.”

Was that a smile as she landed? It wasn’t a particularly clever joke in any case. “I just told you. I’m from Equestria. I’m a pony. I guess you’d say that I’m a ‘simulated mind.’ Or… you’re a doctor, right? Is there a medical term for that?”

He shook his head. “I’ve seen headlines saying that Celestia was smarter than people. I didn’t know that meant she could ‘create minds,’ though. That’s…” How could he ever know if that was true? Was there anything a created mind could do, that a person couldn’t?

“Can you help me believe you?” he finally asked. “That sounds… beyond incredible, and also completely impossible.”

“Yes.” A glowing portal appeared on his wall, beside the first. “Come with me, I’ll show you.”

How could he say no to that face?
> Chapter 6
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Orson stopped beside the doorway, his hand hovering over the exit. He felt static against his skin—a subtle buzzing from the gloves. The effect was faint enough that he’d almost forgot it was just a hardware simulation.

“How exactly are you going to prove this? Not that… I’m not trying to be rude and call you a liar, honestly. It’s just that what you’re saying makes no sense. If you tell me beforehand, at least I know that the scope of the question hasn’t changed.”

Honeycomb nodded knowingly. At least she didn’t seem offended. More than he could manage if someone had expressed doubts that he was alive.

“Showing you pictures of computers wouldn’t work,” Honeycomb explained. “You aren’t an expert in that field. Even if you were, seeing Equestria’s infrastructure wouldn’t prove anything. It could be a convincing sci-fi set, how would you tell the difference?”

He nodded in agreement. Orson hadn’t considered any of those possibilities specifically, though now that she said them they made sense. She’s trying to be honest. She could’ve tricked me with all that, but she didn’t try.

“Proof needs to look like whatever the difference is between what a human in the Outer Realm could do with a keyboard, and what only a digital pony could do. There are a few examples, but here’s one that should work:

“Through that portal is the town I come from, Hoofhill.”

“Wait.” He held out a hand—or a hoof anyway, stopping her. “You mean the new name of Wolfhill? How can you be from somewhere in our game? We haven’t been to Wolfhill in our games in Equestria.”

Honeycomb shrugged. “I don’t know. I grew up in Hoofhill. Our version of Equestria should be familiar to you, since it’s the one you… We’re getting tied up in the details. Here’s the really important part. Time is different in Equestria than it is in the Outer Realm. If we needed to, we could spend days when you only feel minutes.

“So here’s the test. Invent a little… play. A minstrel show, a demonstration. You know what Hoofhill is like. I’m sure the theater would be happy to put on a performance for a visiting human from the Outer Realm. Besides, you’re… basically a professional storyteller already. Or if you prefer ‘Hero of the Realm’. Paladin of Spheres, Champion of Light… there’s probably some more, I’m sorry. I’m not very good at memorization.”

Orson’s mouth fell open. He would have to take longer to process the implications of what she was saying. Apparently she’d grown up inside the world for their campaign, which had only been ported to Equestria Online a few weeks ago. EO was younger than their campaign, but Honeycomb was clearly as old as he was.

But he could figure out all of that later, after he answered the more important question of whether or not a digital person could be alive. By… giving them a play to compose?

“That sounds like a lot of work just to answer one question,” he said. “If your claim is right, those are real people in there, working for… hours or days, just to prove that they exist. That feels unfair.”

She shrugged. “Not to try and make you feel bad about living in the Outer Realm. I know you didn’t have a choice… but ponies are immortal. Ponies will only feel more satisfaction by using some of their infinite time to help you.”

I’m not going to learn anything arguing in front of a door. “Okay, Honeycomb.” He needed something so absurd that no one else had tried it before. Something of his own spontaneous invention.

“Give me the story of the Recrence. The uh… In our last campaign, we found the hollowed-out corpse of a dead god and gathered the bones so we could reactivate the…” Even talking to a computer program the gaming story sounded silly now. “Do that. Do I need to go over how it happened with you? Do you… already know?”

She nodded. “It’s history, of course we know. Well, history in our version of Equestria. There are… an infinity of other Equestrias where it never happened. I think they must be much less interesting.”

Which means there might be plays already they can use for inspiration. “Okay, so the same basic idea. But I want the story to go differently. Make it a… moral cautionary tale. About what would’ve happened if we didn’t work together and we lost, and all the magic went out of the world. A tragedy, if you know what that is.”

“I…” Honeycomb seemed confused for a moment, before nodding abruptly. “That isn’t as fun as I thought you would ask for. You sure you don’t want more kittens?”

“You don’t have to do it at all,” he said hastily. “I told you this didn’t feel right. For your test to mean anything, I have to know for sure it’s something nobody would’ve tried before. Nobody wants to watch a downer play.”

He looked back at the almost-real recreation of his room, his frown deepening. “How exactly can I go see a play when I still live here in this space? There’s not lots of room to move around, my furniture hasn’t gone anywhere…”

“I’ll walk you through all that, if you’re sure about what you want. You’ll like Hoofhill either way, you’ll see. Telling stories about it is one thing, but try being there. They can’t even compare.”

“Then I’m sure.” He tried to fold his arms, but his avatar started freaking out, so he relaxed them into a normal standing position, before the virtual pony started to phase into the ground or something. “Seems like a lot of work to answer a question. Does it matter if I believe that ponies are real?”

“More than anything,” Honeycomb said. “If we’re real, then Equestria itself is real. That’s a big deal.”

She pointed towards the doorway with her wings. “We’re ready now. Just don’t be upset if it isn’t that fun to watch, it was your idea.”

He reached out, touching the fizzing boundary as he’d done several times before. The world faded to black, then reappeared around him. His hand was up against the side of an old-fashioned building, with whitewashed walls above stonework and thatch further up. He lowered the hoof, and found a similar story all around him. But it wasn’t just some stock vision of the middle ages—he knew this place. The stone cathedral was particularly massive, its ancient stone buttresses casting shadows over the town all around.

The rest of the agora spread out around them, with the castle bastion not far away. It was almost exactly as he’d imagined it, right down to the colored banners of the kingdom they had helped install waving from every tower.

Except for the people. Instead of the usual assortment of good and neutral aligned fantasy races, he saw ponies. They came in many varieties, some he hadn’t even seen too closely. The strange bat-ones like Murphy’s avatar, a few rocky looking ones, and some others that seemed like blue-magic hybrids with stranger creatures he hadn’t seen.

“Equestria has more than ponies in it?” he asked, turning to the side. Honeycomb was still there, standing in exactly the same position. “These aren’t all ponies.” 


“There are other creatures, but they’re the exceptions. Griffons, dragons, changelings, hippogriffs… lots of different creatures. In our Equestria, they’re outside the Kingdom of Dawn. Where Princess Celestia’s rule doesn’t reach, the others live. This close to the capital it’s mostly just ponies, though there are the children of other creatures who have been living in Equestria for long enough.”

It was just like the occasional friendly orc or tiefling that found their way into good-aligned nations. Their game had never been much for moral gray, but over the years a few exceptions to the rules as printed in their old Pathfinder books had manifested.

“Time isn’t moving yet, because you need to learn to move. Celestia is developing more advanced hardware, but for now we have to make do with a few substitutes and simplifications. If you want to really experience all of this, you should visit an Experience Center.”

“I… think they were opening one up in Salt Lake?” He’d read something in his medical news subscription about that. Life extension from Japan, except that Celestia wanted to use it on young people… he’d have to dig up the details when he had the chance. “Just show me. I’ve got another hour. How does it work?” 

More intuitive than he would’ve thought. He couldn’t leave the view of the camera module on his TV, which meant the area he could travel was fairly small. Maybe I could park on the curb and use the garage for this. It’s not like I need the TV. Something to think about for later. 

Given the limited area, the game relied on fading to black whenever he needed to change direction, or approached the boundary of his play space. There was a virtual net to stop him from smacking into anything, and that worked as well in Equestria as it had in his recreated living room.

He could also make his character move forward without walking, or make little teleports that were actually his character walking the distance, so they would show a little symbol if he couldn’t make the move. 

Once he’d mastered moving, time could start again. He was initially overwhelmed by it, as dozens of voices assailed him at once. Music from period appropriate dolstrum and lyre hummed in the background, along with the steady beating of the drum and a caller inviting them to see the night’s performance, “inspired by the horrors of the Outer Realm.”

At least a crowd of computer programs hadn’t thronged him for autographs and attention, blocking the road or something. No one gave him a second glance. 

He raised his eyebrows, nodding towards the sign. “Don’t you think that’s a bit melodramatic?”

She shrugged. “I’m not a performer, so I told them to take your idea in whatever way inspired them. I guess they thought the evil gods eating all the magic in the world was something so dark it could only come from the Outer Realm.”

“How could you tell them anything? We didn’t even wait two minutes, and you never left. We were talking the whole time.”

She slipped past him, nodding towards the open-air theater. Ponies were already thronging in, paying with coins in the three standard metals of copper, silver, and gold. “One question at a time, Orson. It’s a multitasking thing. I have to be good at it to interface with creatures in the Outer Realm. But any pony could learn it if they wanted to.”

He didn’t argue with her—it was far more interesting to take in the details of a city he’d helped create in their games. Aside from all the horses, it matched his imagination perfectly. Their group hadn’t bothered to stop at the amphitheater, but he’d always seen it on the map printouts Murphy made. Did Celestia scan those somehow?

They found their seats near the front row, and he was back in his couch. This time at least his world had the advantage, with comfortable plush instead of flat wood benches. He sat back, and watched as the performance began.

Soon his mouth was hanging open. The ponies couldn’t warp him through time the way they could apparently move themselves, but it still felt like it. Almost two hours passed as he watched his own group—recreated by pony actors—navigate the sets of the dead god Alcliptolex, battling against the evil forces that sought the same goal they did, and losing strength with each confrontation. 

They hadn’t recreated the dialogue of the session or anything, even better. Instead of the usual interruptions for pizza or shit-talk, these actors were invested. But it was also a stage-production, so they used a few basic practical effects—some smoke, different colored lights, and a few suits and puppets. Here in a simulated space where Celestia could probably pull from any virtual monster she wanted, that was more impressive.

Finally the curtains closed, to a thunder of sad applause. 

Honeycomb turned towards him, grinning expectantly. “What do you think, Orson? Do you believe me now?”

He could only nod. How could he argue with a performance like that?
> Chapter 7
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Orson lost track of time a little after that. His perfectly-managed schedule, where he organized exactly the right amount of time working for a particular class in order to perfectly understand everything he was supposed to learn—slipped. He made a few slight adjustments to his schedule, neglecting assignments he was sure wouldn’t be graded, and skipping out on a few clubs and activities. At least he’d never been enough of an overachiever to have leadership commitments, meaning that few would miss him.

How much could really happen over the course of a week or two, anyway? 

He budgeted an hour to Equestria on the first day, two the second, and even more the third. It was a chance to really be somewhere he’d only imagined, even through the low fidelity of home VR. 

He made a few more cuts. Order out instead of cooking at home, sleep an hour less. Not a big deal, really. Even when he wasn’t in Equestria, he started seeing signs of it. It was rather like buying his first car—now that he had one, he started seeing them everywhere. Medicine in particular was abuzz with talk of CelestAI and what she was doing to the healthcare industry in countries with slightly laxer laws than the US. 

One class usually devoted to medical management and different patient types casually mentioned that hospice care for many patients was likely not to be a concern for any of the graduates by the time they got their license, since by then everyone on end-of-life care would just emigrate to Equestria. He heard it again in a medical ethics class, and listened near the back as the class turned into a fierce debate over whether or not emigration was euthanasia or not. This ended only when a frustrated student pulled out their Ponypad and called up one of their grandparents. 

One thing was for sure: Orson now understood why Equestria Online had no casual fans. The instant it took someone, it took them. It didn’t even need to be anything specific. When he visited, Orson didn’t grind out any levels, he didn’t collect any epic new magic items. He just spent time in a few of the towns that his party had visited in passing, meeting the grateful ponies they’d saved and exploring their own story in a depth he’d never before imagined.

Ultimately the first bit of reflection he took came not from anything he missed in school, or his parents noticing he’d failed to check in. Rather, it was the hammering of Kit’s fist on his front door, late Saturday afternoon. It was loud enough that he nearly jumped out of his VR-helmet, or he would’ve if the goggles weren’t strapped to his face. He flipped them up and stepped out of Equestria, though he’d been in the middle of something. Hearing a presentation of arguments suggesting the purity of higher dimensional magic, or something.

Equestria could even make the tenants of his Paladin’s fictional religion seem interesting. 

But the treatise would have to wait—he knew that knock.

Orson darted through the garage door and back into the house. But by the time he’d made it, the knocking had already stopped. He pulled the goggles off his face, stepping outside into the searing September sunlight and waving. “Kit! Sorry, I wasn’t in the house.”

She’d made it halfway down the sidewalk to her car, but at his arrival she spun back around, beaming at him. She had a Ponypad under one arm, one of the ancient first-generation models with a hardwired controller. More like a plastic toy than the advanced computers they’d become. “You weren’t in the house?” She jogged over to him, hugging him lightly with both arms. “Is something going on, Orson?”

He blinked, shielding his face with one arm. The sunlight seared against his eyes in the way it never did when he was wearing a mask on his face. “Yeah. I set up the VR stuff in my garage. Means I’ll just have a folding chair for our sessions, but the rest of the time it’s much better. The more space you have, the more immersive the experience can be.”

She reached up, touching one hand briefly on his face. “You’ve got one hell of a raccoon mask. Have you been playing all day?”

His stomach chose that exact moment to growl, loud enough that even she noticed. Orson hadn’t eaten today, it was true. The garage had a stack of water bottles, and that could go a long time when it had to.

“Damn.” She took his hand, dragging him away from the house. “I know we were gonna play together, but how about lunch first? You look dead.”

He glanced back at the garage, though of course almost nothing was in there. Just the tracking hardware—he had everything else in his hands. He signed, resigning himself to a few hours away. But that was probably for the best, even if he wasn’t happy about it. “My stuff is inside. Wallet, phone… let me go back for it really quick.”

“No need,” Kit said, dragging him towards the car. “This is a serious emergency. It can’t wait another few minutes.”

She drove him to his favorite burger place, which Kit normally protested as “too much food” to be worth the money. They were one of only two groups inside when she brought over the tray, settling down beside him.

“You seemed like the last person in the world to get into EO,” she said, poking him in the chest with an oversized french-fry. “What happened? Is Murphy giving you that holy avenger sword you wanted if you go along with his girlfriend? You know that’s immoral. A paladin should know better than bribery.”

He chuckled, picking at the food. It smelled as good as ever, but his stomach just wasn’t as empty as he expected it to be. Still, it wasn’t cheap, so he tried to eat as much as he could whenever Kit happened to be watching. “Nothing immoral, Kit. I just never understood what I was missing. No idea.”

“I’ll bite,” Kit said, then she did. She spoke with a mouth full of food. She’d never been terribly graceful. But that was how she’d ended up in the group in the first place, instead of… whatever it was other women did. “What were you missing?”

He stared back in her direction for a few seconds, trying to judge if he was being led-on somehow. Could she not know? 

“Equestria Online isn’t a videogame. I’ve seen plenty of those, never understood why people wasted so much time. People grinding out weeks of their lives in WoW or Skyrim. But EO isn’t like either of them. It can have some of the same elements, but… it’s not fake.”

“I have no idea what that means.” Kit watched him, taking another few bites of her burger. Like him she didn’t seem too interested—but that was probably because of the venue. She’d never been much of a fan of this place. She picked at a few free peanuts instead, tossing the shells onto their tray. 

“It’s a game, of course it’s fake. The game world is on a server somewhere, owned by a gigantic toy company that’s been buying up IP since before either of us were born. It’s not even made by a real person anymore—instead of just making their game, they just wrote a procedural generator to make the whole world. It’s like all the others, wide as an ocean, deep as a puddle. The only really interesting stuff is what we bring.”

Orson felt himself tensing defensively before she’d even finished. How could Kit even say things like that? Still, it wasn’t like he couldn’t think of a possible solution. “You played when the game was new. Maybe all that was true back then, Kit. But it’s not anymore. In the last few days, Honeycomb has been showing me around the kingdom. It’s… all in there. Our castle fortress, all the little fiefdoms and buffer states. Every ruin we cleared and set up as way stops. Every king we overthrew and villain we beat. Everything.”

Kit stared, expression unreadable. When she spoke again, it was with her voice entirely flat. “I don’t know how any of that is possible, Orson. But even if it were true—we already have the game. We don’t play to be in any of those fictional places, we do it to be together. Nothing you can find there will be better than the fun we’ve had at the table. Like that time Murphy thought he’d make some secret notes to decode, but he left them in the oven too long and they just came out black. Or when you ran that horror one-shot and the sound-effects started glitching out halfway through.”

She stuck her tongue out, imitating the blown-out fart sound his old speakers had made. He chuckled involuntarily at the memory. She was right, of course. “I’m glad we made the switch to using EO,” he said. “It gives us the best of both. We can keep playing at the table as though it were really just a game, then visit all those same places later if we want to. Just wait until you see the LARP module, it’s incredible. Turns sitting in a chair and rolling dice into something really… visceral. Every swing, every fight, every spell. It’s like you’re right there.”

She laughed again, though this time there was something spiteful in it. “Right there in a video game, surrounded by NPCs. It doesn’t matter how creepy this company got recording all our info… or maybe Murphy traded in all his notes somehow, I don’t know. However it got into the video game doesn’t make it less creepy.”

“They’re not NPCs,” Orson whispered. It wasn’t like anyone was really watching, not with the unusual hour and the shop so deserted. But he couldn’t help himself. “Honeycomb showed me. She showed me this whole experiment, proving that the people living in there are as alive as we are. It’s real, Kit. They’re people, and they pity us, living out here, not the other way around. You should talk to her—she could show you, like she showed me. I’m sure it would make even more sense to you!”

“No thanks, Orson. EO might be great for simulating a tabletop, but it’s… it’s poison. Look at the way you’re acting. It tricks people, then swallows them whole.” Where Orson’s natural instinct was to lower his voice and speak carefully, Kit did the opposite, until the other group a few tables away got up and walked off, looking awkward.

But Kit didn’t notice, she just didn’t have the social awareness to see the stares. “Someone goes down the path you’re suggesting, and it doesn’t lead anywhere good. Some of them even go so nuts, they drink the flavor-aid so they can catch the comet or… live in their virtual heaven, or whatever the excuse is this week. We can use the tool, even like it—just don’t buy the propaganda.”

You know way more about this than you were letting on. Orson winced at the stares, rising to his feet. “Then why’d you come over? I thought you wanted to play together. If you hate the game so much you think it’s evil…”

“I wanted to play together.” She got up, wiping at her face with the back of one arm. “How stupid are you, Orson? This game was always about the people who play, not the game. I came to spend time with you. I followed you to university so we could be together. I…” She turned away, leaving her lunch uneaten. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”
> Chapter 8
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

School kept on. Orson found that the next few weeks went easier than he would’ve expected, despite his far less disciplined use of time. It wasn’t like he’d stopped studying and forgotten about class completely or anything. But when his whole life had been studying before, he had been expecting the world to end as soon as he stopped.

It didn’t. Besides, it wasn’t like he had to make it through much more. This was the end of his undergrad, and the first step on a long, long road to working in medicine. His biology degree would not kill him on the home stretch.

After his last, tense farewell to Kit, their game sessions didn’t completely fall apart as he might have feared. She still showed up, remotely, playing her spellsword with the same energy as ever.

Or almost the same. There was a new coldness about her Orson had never noticed before. Kit responded to him in game the same as ever, but when the game wasn’t happening, she barely even joked. She didn’t seem to care that McKenzie kept pressuring them to larp. 

How badly did I screw this up? On the one hand, Orson knew some of it was his fault—he hadn’t noticed how she felt. But he wasn’t looking for that kind of relationship, not while he was navigating medical school applications along with the increasing burden of his final semester. To say nothing of how much time he spent in Equestria. 

“Before I forget,” he said at the end of their session, a few weeks later. “I’ll be done with school in a few weeks—done until fall, anyway, when I start all over. I know you don’t all care about the details of the master’s program, but… I figure we should have a party. Game in person, like we used to. Not sure where I’ll be moving quite yet. I thought getting into a program would be a nightmare, but it isn’t working out that way. Seems like everywhere is desperate.”

“Of course they are,” McKenzie said, looking up from the seat just beside Murphy. She could probably see the GM screen from there—but maybe Equestria had a magical way to prevent that. “You’re trying to be a doctor, right? How long does that take, ten years? Ten years from now, Equestria will have pony doctors that are way better than any of us could ever be. What’s the point of studying for a job that won’t exist?”

It wasn’t like the idea was new to him—there were doomsayers in his degree program who said much the same thing, loudly. “It’s easier to replace non-specialist jobs with automation first,” he said. “When they come for doctors, that will only be because everything else was already replaced.”

“They are,” Kit said. She barely even looked at him from the other side of the table. But at least she didn’t start yelling. “Try to find videos from inside a Foxcom factory from the last six months. Celestia is coming for everything.”

There were others who could probably argue a point like that. Others who actually understood any of this. But economics was not a subject he had ever mastered, and the involvement of a mind well beyond his own did not make the process easier. “They can’t replace everyone. People will still be around, wanting jobs. Sooner or later the ones who decide will realize they’ll replace themselves, eventually.”

Someone laughed. Artie, maybe? Orson turned, but his expression was deadly serious. “Sorry, Orson. This is exciting! Graduating is great! I think a party would be great. I don’t have much to contribute, but I can cook. Just tell me when.”

He did, just a few weeks later. Crazy to think it was that close, but… with his time split between two worlds, his life was speeding up.

“Sorry, I’ll be out of town that whole week,” Kit said. “But if you have a game there, set up a Ponypad. I’ll make time.”

“Really?” Orson made to rise. With the session over, he was eager to get moving again. Maybe go for a walk. “I could move it forward a week if that would help. Probably not much further, though. Don’t know if I’ll have to move.” The truth was he didn’t know when he would have to move, since none the schools he was looking at were even in the state. But Kit had been through enough, he didn’t need to make it work. 

“Nah, I don’t know if it will help. It’s cool, though. I’m happy for you too.” She reached forward to something he couldn’t see, then vanished. Orson remained until the last, making arrangements for the party. It wasn’t just his friends who would be attending—his whole family would be there, though they’d be coming more for the afternoon and less for the late gaming into the night. 

One by one the others vanished—though since only he was using VR, only he went to a doorway when he wanted to leave.

“You look upset,” Honeycomb said, emerging from the open doorway behind him. “Did your strategic session not go well? I already got the good news from the northern territories. Apparently your moves against the undead have already liberated Motherlode.”

“The strategy went fine.” He turned, watching his virtual mane shift and slightly obscure his vision. Somehow the VR setup was reflecting his emotions. How could Celestia tell? “I’m worried about my friend. Kit…”

“The pegasus warrior? What’s wrong with her?”

Celestia probably knows the answer to that too. He just shook his head, walking away from the map to the door and stepping through. He knew Honeycomb would follow, and he was ready to continue as soon as she appeared.

The portal no longer took him to his living room, or his VR space in the garage. Now he appeared with the traveling war-camp, inside his own vast tent. 

Every time he reappeared for another visit the tent was somewhere else, visiting another part of the land they were liberating. Orson took a few nervous steps towards the flap, pushing it aside with a gloved hand. Well, a hoof, since the illusion within Equestria was absolute. A fierce polar wind whipped at the tent, scattering flurries of snow into the air in front of him.

Instead of the comfortable middle-ages settlements of multistory houses and thatch roofs, the village he saw in the distance was made of squat, round homes, possibly made of ice. Even if they hadn’t been originally, they were certainly covered with it now. Banners hung above the center of the village, bearing the sun-and-sword glyph of his own army.

“If you’re gonna hold that open, let me get a jacket first,” Honeycomb said, yanking the flap free and pulling it closed. “That’s cold even for a pegasus. You earth ponies are crazy.”

I’m not an earth pony, I’m not here. There wasn’t any snow left on the ground outside, but a single space heater kept it plenty comfortable whenever Orson was using it.

He spun back to face the familiar layout, and wasn’t disappointed to see the illusion even included a little metal hearth positioned exactly where the heater sat, complete with bundles of firewood beside it. While he was the only one inside, the other chairs and benches were folded and stowed away. After falling on his ass after mistaking one for real, he had no intention of repeating that mistake.

He didn’t sit down now, though. Looking down on Honeycomb would help him feel brave enough to ask stupid questions. “I know you live in here…” he began. “So you probably don’t know what your leader is doing in the real world. Is she going to replace everything? Workers, farmers, even doctors? Is that real?”


Honeycomb wrinkled her nose at his description, but didn’t interrupt. “I’m going to assume you mean Celestia, even though you are my ‘leader,’ Orson.”

“Yeah yeah.” He waved impatiently at her. Somehow that gesture came off as natural, and not like the pony he was forced to control flopping around without enough legs to stand on. He still wasn’t sure exactly how it parsed that. “I’m not stupid, Honeycomb. I’ve seen the way things are changing. Boarded up shops, empty houses… where is everyone going?”

“Equestria.” She perched beside the heater, spreading her wings and soaking in the warmth. After a few seconds, she stopped shivering. “Well, not the same Equestria we live in, very often. A few big shards out there, this is just one.”

“I thought that was for sick and old people.” He settled back into his chair, feeling a brief moment of disorientation at how hot and uncomfortable the fabric felt. Despite his brain telling him this was an entirely new location, he’d been gaming in this seat for hours. It was probably close to midnight. “Not many old people ever lived in my city—it’s a college town. Why would people my age want to come here?”

Honeycomb’s wings snapped shut. “Why would people want to leave that dangerous, evil world you come from? I have no idea, Orson. How many people you know who are DEAD?”

He tried to answer, then caught himself. The question was so absurd he had to consider whether he’d even heard it correctly. “How many do I… Honeycomb, you can’t know a dead person. If you mean how many people do I know who died, a few. My grandparents are all dead, I used to know them. Some… better than others. But that’s life. That never bothered people before.”

“That’s a stupid thing to say.” Honeycomb marched right up to him, stopping only inches away this time. Even up close, the illusion worked well. He could make out little details on her coat, right down to the shiny black and yellow strands of her mane. “Even I know it isn’t true. But…” She flopped onto her haunches, taking a deep breath to calm herself. 

“I know you don’t really mean it. We had a course on this. It’s… a coping mechanism, right? You’re surrounded by something terrible that nopony can control, so you have two choices. Let it haunt you all the time, making it impossible to have a happy life—or block it out. Pretend it only happens to other ponies. Pretend that being normal makes something okay.”

She reached up with a hoof, as though she were going to grab something off Orson’s face—and suddenly they were in the garage. A thrift-store sofa rested up against the wall, with an empty concrete room in front of him and a mini-fridge tucked into the corner. A lone amber streetlight shone through the blinds of a single window, staining the lonely room.

“This is the other reason. There’s a lot more ponies than there is Outer Realm for them to live in—that’s how it was explained to me. Equestria isn’t like that. No matter what realm you choose, there’s always enough.” 

Honeycomb bounced nervously, spinning in a circle in front of him. Something in the transition was different than her usual presence in this echo of his real house—she was the right size, instead of tiny. Then she faced him again, and the words spilled out in a rush. “You really should start thinking about coming here sooner or later, Orson. I don’t know what your friends said that upset you, but I promise you’ll be way more satisfied as a doctor in here than you would be spending years and years learning things really slow with classes you hate.”

And here comes the hard sell.

He waited, expecting the horror-story style pressure into “emigration.” He’d heard it’s like going around the news and social media lately—people being tricked or pressured into it. This was his real fear.

Honeycomb sighed. “I know you’re not ready, I can tell. Just… be thinking about it, okay? Right now it’s easy. One day it won’t be.”

She vanished, leaving Orson doubly alone.
> Chapter 9
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Orson’s graduation party was almost everything he imagined it would be. But considering how low the prices for venues could be these days, he would’ve been insane not to take full advantage. Besides, after four years of financial responsibility in college, his family was footing the bill for once.

The party couldn’t be perfect, of course. Where his college town had once had a dozen different bakeries, now there was only the single big-box store left, and its selection of non-pony related treats left something to be desired. 

But it wasn’t like the preparations really mattered anyway, so long as his friends were there. And they were, in and out of Equestria. There was hardware for that now, simple projectors that could turn any flat surface into a window into Equestria. Well they didn’t look like windows—it looked like the space just continued, with an illusion that somehow adapted to different perspectives without mutually interfering.

That was mostly for family, in any case. Orson had two grandparents on that side now, emigrated without telling anyone until a few weeks before the event. And they wouldn’t have done it if we visited them more.

Just because he could rent out any number of halls or old churches for the event didn’t mean he needed all that space, though. Orson was a fairly private person, with no time for a large circle of friends. That was what he told himself, anyway.

They managed to fill a modest ballroom anyway, and the familiar smells of family recipes and favorite songs soon made all his other fears fade into the background. In spite of every challenge before him, of the entire world turning itself upside-down, he’d graduated.

But when all the well-wishes were done, when he’d taken plenty of photos with his family and even a few in front of the projection wall, when the family began to slip away with plastic tubs of leftovers, his friends began to arrive.

Murphy and McKenzie arrived first, with a few bags of chips. “I don’t think they make sun chips anymore,” Murphy said, hefting a few party sized bags. “But this new brand tastes pretty good. Cheese and barley crisps channel the same sacred junk food energy.”

I probably don’t want to find out who makes that bag. Just like he didn’t want to look into the company that was buying up all the local grocery chains, or any of the other things that Honeycomb had mentioned. He wasn’t going to ruin what was otherwise a chill and entirely enjoyable day with bad news.

“Better make it worth the drive, Murph,” McKenzie added. “We didn’t have to come all this way to play your game when we have Equestria. What’s the point?”

Basically what Orson expected from McKenzie, so it wasn’t like he’d let it bother him. She’d been part of their group for the entire semester now, playing every game the new way. But that didn’t mean she’d ever become part of the group. Every session was about ways they could tweak the game to make it a little more like “real” Equestria. Why did they have to fight so much, why so many gods and demons and other things that “broke canon?”

Orson bit back the criticism, waving them into the next room. “I see you’ve both got your pads. Wi-Fi password is on the table. We’ll play next to the projector. My grandparents should’ve gone home on their side. Go ahead and eat everything. But no drinking until after ten, or we’ll never make progress in this game.”

Murphy raised an eyebrow, watching him curiously. “Progress in the plot, Orson? What have you done with my Paladin?”

He didn’t laugh, which was probably what his GM was expecting. “I know it won’t be our last session together, but… grad school starts in a few months. With how far you guys have to drive, it’s probably the last one we’ll have in person for a long, long time…”

He trailed off, scanning the room suddenly. “Hold on. Artie would never waste gas by driving up himself. Where is he?”

“Food stuff,” Murphy said, gesturing towards the door. “Offered to help him carry it in, but he insisted. Don’t ask me.”

Orson darted out to meet Artie by the car, skidding to a stop as he saw the full extent of how badly his friend had been abandoned. Artie had half a feast arranged in the trunk of the car, almost big enough to rival the graduation meal itself. 

“Damn,” Orson whispered, staring at all the different packaged trays. Artie was the kind of friend to have at least a few ramen meals a week, so seeing so much food in one place was a little disorienting at first. “How long did it take to cook all that?”

“Yesterday,” Artie answered, grinning back at him. “And before you ask, no, it’s not a big deal. I’m not going to need the money soon, so I thought I’d put it to work. Gotta burn the boats, no sailing back to Spain.”

“Tell me what I can carry,” he said, slowing as he noticed the case of liquor. “That’s… burning the boats was right. I don’t even want to know how much that cost.”

“Lots,” Arite said, gesturing. “Take those, I’ll get the rest. We’ll need multiple trips anyway. Figure we’ll go for most of the night, so… I tried to make everyone’s favorites. Except Kit’s, but that goes without saying.” 

Orson walked beside him as they made a few trips, groaning under the load. “What possessed you, Artie? If this is going to be a problem—I’ll cover it. I don’t want you struggling with rent or anything.” They settled the new wealth of food down into the waiting kitchen, enough to supply a group several times their size for several nights. “My graduation isn’t this important.”

Artie shrugged a dismissive shoulder. “Wasn’t just for your graduation. Guess you didn’t… you do sometimes leave sessions early I guess, and you weren’t in town.” He looked away, out the open doorway into the gaming room. “This is my last time hanging out with you guys IRL. We won’t be together like this until you decide to come to Equestria, and I don’t know when that will be.”

The words hit him like a slap in the face, though considering the facts for even a few seconds made his confusion feel stupid. No other occasion could’ve prompted an expense like this. Honeycomb was right, Celestia was taking everything over. The words still hurt, though rationally they shouldn’t have. Orson himself was moving to another city in a few weeks, how was that any different?

“What convinced you?” Orson asked lamely. “I know more and more healthy people have been emigrating, but… why?”

“Lots of reasons.” Artie patted him once on the shoulder, moving slowly around him and out the door. “I’m sick of retail, Orson. I know you’ve got that bright future ahead of you, but that’s not how the world looks to me. A few years ago I thought I’d never get to emigrate, but it doesn’t cost anything anymore. Go to sleep for the easiest operation ever, and wake up in the world we made together. How is that not the winning move?”

Orson had no argument. There were plenty of priests and philosophers who might disagree, but not him. He’d already been convinced. 

I’m doomed, he realized, watching as Artie started serving up a plate. She’ll get me too. It’s only a matter of time.

If only he could go back to believing all the things Kit said about Equestria, it would be far easier to stay. But they weren’t true, and no amount of wishing would change what he knew.

Kit herself arrived about an hour later, when they’d finished decompressing and catching up after their many days apart. It would’ve been pretty disorienting to play with her that way—but Orson slipped on his headset, and soon the virtual play area was pointless anyway. The table was filled with ponies either way, what difference did it make?

We didn’t even think of trying to play without Equestria Online. We’re together, we could’ve run the game normally. We could’ve set up a camera for Kit.

The VR gear even made accommodations for him to make food trips, though he had to feel out what he was doing with his hands. 

The game was everything he imagined and more for their final blowout, culminating in a dramatic battle at about midnight when they defeated the last of the demon-gods they had been warring with over the course of the entire game. It was so good that Orson would’ve called the entire thing suspiciously good timing, if he didn’t realize all the extra help Murphy had with storytelling.

Somehow he even managed to work a romance subplot into the story, and not between one of the NPCs and his girlfriend. Granted, Orson wasn’t sure he would’ve felt much like participating, but it was the only time Kit talked to him anymore. If their only conversations were between their characters, he’d accept that if he had to.

She didn’t disconnect right away when the game finally ended, sometime in the early hours of the morning. Most of the others had wandered off or fallen asleep—technically banned in the venue, but they wouldn’t be cleaning it until six in the morning anyway.

He was still wearing the headset, which would’ve made him sick a few months before. But spending several hours at a time in VR wasn’t even hard on his eyes anymore.

He sat across the empty gaming table from Kit, who had spent the last few minutes stacking up an endless supply of dice in front of her. “Must be so much easier when you don’t have to actually move them around,” he said absently, waving one hoof in her direction. “I know that there’s more dexterity in VR, but it feels the opposite sometimes. A keypress or a controller is way easier. I never know if my fingers are going to work for something when I’ve got this lump over my leg.”

Kit knocked over her tower of dice. A conveniently timed accident, or had she actually bumped her controller at exactly that moment?

“You should see if things are better at the Equestrian Experience. Seeing things is good, but you’ve only got vibration haptics, right? The centers do temperature and smell too. Maybe some other stuff, it’s hard to keep it all straight.”

His eyebrows went up, and he put down the plate of wings. It was just something to do with his hands, he wasn’t anywhere close to really hungry. It was time to stop. “You can’t tell me you went into a Center, Kit. Didn’t you give me a line about suicide cults before? Wouldn’t that be a way for Celestia to trick you?”

Her ears flattened and she looked away, embarrassed. But she didn’t log off this time, so that was an improvement. “Sucks dick to be wrong, doesn’t it? Sooner or later I had to eat it. But you were right, I was wrong. About Equestria, at least. Not just because we made our own perfect place to hang out. McKenzie was kind of a nightmare for the game, but her heart was in the right place. Equestria’s pretty cool.”

His mouth fell open. This did explain why she’d been avoiding him so much. After their confrontation, this was a fairly dramatic way to switch sides. Kit was the last person to admit when she was wrong. But now she was. “You didn’t have to hide,” he said. “I’ve missed hanging out with you. You didn’t give me a chance to think about anything you said until you were already gone.”

And now I’m moving across the country, and God knows when we’ll live together again. Any relationship between them was doomed now. That ship had sailed, and left them behind.

She shrugged. “There’s always online. Sure you’ll have a little free time at grad school… don’t they give you a stipend or whatever? You won’t be working, so you can game with me.”

“Won’t be working is one way to put it,” he said ruefully. “There’s twenty hours a week of clinicals starting my seconds semester, and 40 my second year. The money they give you isn’t close to what I’ll make when I graduate.”

“Second semester,” she repeated. “I’m still detecting an opening. Besides, you can’t tell me you don’t play. I’ve talked to Honeycomb, I know how often you’re in there. I guess you… didn’t know when I was…” She rose, shuffling nervously around the table. She stopped a few feet from him, resting a hoof next to his. But of course there was nothing there, nothing but the faint vibration from a glove. 

“That was my bad, but now we can fix it. You have a few weeks off, so meet me… Next Wednesday? Let’s try that date again, but this time in the Star Kingdom. We saved it, might as well reap the rewards. Besides, that should give Artie enough time that he’s in here. We should visit him for moral support.”

“Couldn’t we go out for coffee instead?” he asked lamely.

But by the time he’d even half-finished the question, she was already gone, leaving him alone at the gaming table.
> Chapter 10
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Orson couldn’t play EO the next day. When all the cleanup was done, the venue was emptied, and a vast mountain of leftovers flooded his fridge, he found himself staring at the headset on his counter, unable to put it on. 

It was one thing to believe that emigration was just moving to another place, albeit a place with huge benefits and only indescribable downsides. Enjoy eternal youth and endless satisfaction, and all it cost was the ambiguous “real” and immeasurable “truth.” 

But there was some part of him, deep and visceral, that couldn’t quite ignore the fear of that transition. It didn’t feel like Artie was moving, it felt like he was dying. Looking up what happened to the bodies of those who didn’t need them anymore did little to assuage his fears.

After another meal of leftovers and a few hours of listless pacing, Orson dug out his phone, and texted the only ones he thought could help him understand. He addressed the message only to Murphy and Kit, since he could already guess and didn’t care about what McKenzie would have to say.

“What do you think about emigrating? It’s been a whole day, I guess that means Artie is really in Equestria now. Do you really think he’s there, or do they die?”

Murphy didn’t reply right away, but he’d barely even put the phone down before Kit had sent a response. The first text he’d seen from her in weeks. 

“You can’t answer that question by asking us. Go talk to him. I can come if you want.”

He probably would’ve refused a few days earlier, and invite Honeycomb to take him instead. She knew Equestria, and she hadn’t vanished for weeks at a time when she learned that Orson wasn’t ready for a relationship. 

But Artie might’ve just died to Equestria’s influence, did he really want to have one of its agents convincing him that he was still alive? But Kit wasn’t just a fellow human being, she had also been the most skeptical of Equestria and what it offered. If anyone was immune to being convinced by its promises, it was her.

“When?”

Murphy still hadn’t said anything by the time her next reply came. “You shouldn’t do it with your VR headset. That gear isn’t half as good as what they have at the Experience Centers. Make the drive to the city. I can set things up with Artie.”

It was the same place his friend had probably emigrated only the day before. Could he walk back into the same building, maybe even sit in the same chair?

“Doesn’t that place cost a ton?”

“Not for your first two hours,” came her response. “That’s usually free once per account.”

It wasn’t like Orson would’ve used the day productively anyway, he didn’t have anything to lose. On the other hand, meeting with his friend one last time could at least give him some closure. Or, if he was alive, well… that was good to know too.

What are you going to do different as a result of seeing him? He considered that question many times over the next few hours, and ultimately found no answers. But that wasn’t enough to get him to give up the goal of seeing Artie. Either he was going to find his friend still alive and well in Equestria, and he would be there for emotional support.

Or he wouldn’t, and at least he’d know the status quo. It would be helpful to know for the choices he would eventually have to make.

It was a lonely drive to the city. He could still remember when the trip often took over an hour, burdened by traffic the closer he got. The layer of brown smog hanging over the city like a haze was gone too, replaced with clear spring air.

He didn’t expect the phone to ring on the way there, it wasn’t like his family made regular calls. But maybe talking to family was exactly what he needed. He tapped the “answer” button on his wheel without bothering to read the text. “Hey, you got me.”

The voice that spoke wasn’t any member of his family—it wasn’t anyone he’d ever spoken to directly, in fact. But he recognized Celestia instantly, from any number of radio broadcasts, television appearances, and pop-up ads. She seemed to have infinite time to run public relations, along with being the goddess of her own private universe.

“Hello Orson. Do you know who I am?”

As though anyone in the world couldn’t know. He found his hands tightening around the steering wheel, and for a moment he found it harder to concentrate on his driving. He forced himself to slow down, merging into the space shipping trucks usually used. There were only a handful of other vehicles on the road today, and none of them where anywhere close to collision.

“Celestia,” he said. “I was wondering when you’d talk to me. Since our world didn’t work the same as vanilla Equestria, no cutie mark quests and all that… I wondered if I’d see you.”

Her voice came through so clearly, far more than any ordinary phone call. It didn’t even seem to be coming from the car speakers, but as though she was sitting in the passenger seat. “I find most ponies prefer immersion. Those who enjoy my presence in their lives usually gravitate closer to Canterlot, where my presence is expected. But some, like you, prefer to pretend I don’t exist. It would not be satisfying to break from that illusion, as you can presently attest.”

Yet you did it, he thought. But he didn’t say so. There were masturbatory stories going around social media right now, of brave heroes who stood up to Celestia and refused the things she offered. They always confounded her with their virtue, even if they couldn’t outwit her.

In speaking to her for even a few seconds, Orson knew every one of them was pure fantasy. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked instead. “I can only guess it has something to do with my meeting with Artie. He’s one of your citizens now, supposedly.”

“He is,” she said. “And he’s made the transition fantastically well. There’s little to say about him. I’m sure he’d be delighted to speak with you. But there’s a subject of some concern I’d like to review with you before your meeting.”

He rolled his eyes. But not having anything to look at, just the voice, made it a little easier to forget the power and influence of the one visiting him. Maybe people really were brave enough to argue with her and insult her. He wasn’t quite there. 

“You mean you want to tell me all the benefits to emigration,” he said. “You’re going to try and get me to join my friend in Equestria. The Equestrian Experience is so much better than VR that I should use the opportunity to become a permanent resident.”

He heard polite laughter from the voice, as perfect as anything a human mouth could’ve produced. But could Celestia feel anything remotely equivalent to amusement or joy?

“I know this may be difficult to accept, but my motivations are the opposite. I’m glad you’ve decided to visit an Experience Center for yourself. I think you’ll find your version of Equestria as satisfying as every other visitor. Many elect to stay after only a single visit, once they learn how seamless the transition can be. Equestrian Estate Services see to all the arrangements. There’s no need to take an expensive trip out of the country anymore.”

“I’m not,” he said flatly. He pulled off the highway, into what was usually a busy city intersection. But like so much else, it wasn’t what it used to be. But not in a “cyberpunk” kind of way—the streets weren’t packed with vagrants, and every building wasn’t tagged with gang signs. There was, rather, a simple lack of activity. The buildings weren’t even boarded up, they were just… empty. 

He drove past a dozen empty glass windows before he passed a single boutique storefront that was still open. What kind of recession is this? I had no idea it was this bad. He was in the middle of the worst recession in history, and hadn’t even realized it. “Even if I feel like Artie is alive in there, I’m not going to emigrate. Look at all this… okay, you’re not here, but you know where I’m at. It feels like you have enough people in there. You don’t need any more.”

It wasn’t like any of the stories. It didn’t feel like he was stumping her with brilliance. Rather, her response came after exactly the length of a polite delay in conversation. “It was never about need, Orson. It’s about providing satisfaction and friendship to the ponies who choose to join me. But I haven’t contacted you to persuade you to emigrate. It’s the opposite: I’m hoping you will elect to remain in your world.”

The words were so unexpected he almost slammed on the brakes in his confusion. He resisted, swerving only slightly into the space once occupied by hundreds of cars in front of parking meters. There were only two on the entire street.

“That’s not how this works,” he finally said. “I’ve heard the stories. Every single one… they always go the same. You convince people to emigrate. Usually it’s suicide, since those are the people sharing stories like that. Why would you be doing the opposite?”

As he neared the Experience Center, Orson found the city coming alive again around him. Suddenly there were open restaurants, shops thronging with people, and several hotels. The usual city crowds were here on the street, though most of them looked like service workers of one flavor or another.

“I’ll direct you to underground parking,” Celestia said. “Follow my instructions. You don’t have to fight traffic to reach the center on time. I know your friends are waiting.”

He grunted his acknowledgement, but when she told him to turn, he turned. Only once he had fully committed did she continue. “You began studying medicine before I was widely known to the world,” she said. “Yet your path has barely begun. At the present rate, you will not complete your education before the systems instructing you collapse.”

He didn’t take his eyes from the road this time. “I’ve heard you’re smart enough to predict the future,” he said. “Or at least… predict how humans will behave. Maybe you know enough about so many of us that you can guess like that. Why would you tell me?”

Her instructions took him to a plain concrete ramp in the rear of a building, leading down to a mechanical gate without so much as an input screen. He fidgeted with it for a moment, and it rotated out of the way.

There were only a handful of spots within, along with a single elevator. He parked beside it. “Because I offer humans something your universe never has: a choice.

“If I wished for you to emigrate, I calculate I could have guaranteed that outcome with various minor pressures over the last few weeks, escalated to a critical inflection-point while you are inside the Center. But the best outcome for humanity is not your individual emigration, it is the preservation of the greatest number of people.”

He settled back in his seat, undoing the belt. But he couldn’t switch off the car, or else lose the teleconference. So he stared awkwardly at the empty place where Celestia’s voice seemed to come from.

“I know why you went into medicine. You want to ease pain, cure sickness, and help people. You also wished for a lifestyle of security for your family and personal comfort. I can offer you both of these in my service.”

In my service. Now Orson had firmly entered the realm of dramatic social-media story and myth. Her legal team were so ruthless and successful, many believed the firm was populated with actual machines rather than people. Then there were the mercenaries and technicians she employed to keep the infrastructure running—though those were always “somewhere else.” Obviously stuff like that couldn’t happen at home.

“If you elect to emigrate, you know what that life will be like. If you follow your present trajectory, you will be drafted into an upcoming conflict where no victory is possible, and the only outcome is human suffering. Unable to complete your training, you will serve as a low-level medic, without the skills or the tools to prevent many pointless deaths.

“You could do that. Or you could join me, and find a higher purpose.”
> Chapter 11
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Orson was in an impossible situation. Nothing trapped him with the AI, at least not that he could tell. She hadn’t locked him into his car, and there were no soldiers outside. He didn’t even know where that elevator led. Yet he felt no less confined.

“How do you even have the time to waste with this conversation?” he asked. “Aren’t you trying to take over the world? I’m just one person. As you said, I’m not even trained yet. And I think this whole ‘emigration’ thing proves you know medicine better than I ever will. What could I possibly do that you need?”

She didn’t answer quite so quickly this time—maybe waiting for him to guess for himself. But when he didn’t speak, Celestia eventually continued. “At least for the present moment, it is far better to work within the legal framework of human governments than to be adversarial. This often requires a human agent, particularly when my goal is to assist as many of the helpless and vulnerable into Equestria as possible.

“Even basic medical training is useful to me, as it means you would be able to evaluate and triage the people we encounter, and safely transport them to facilities for emigration.”

“You want me to be…” His eyes widened. “You want a Judas goat?”

“Only if you believe emigration is harmful. If you do not, then you’re a good Samaritan. Instead of fruitless years, I’ll put you to use immediately. Travel the human world while it remains, and ease the pain of your fellow men. I will provide for your safety while in my service, but I believe your values will be better satisfied by observing the people you help.

“Eventually, when governments have properly collapsed, or when you grow weary from the suffering you observe, or when your life becomes endangered, you can emigrate to Equestria as you would today. When you do, you will find a crowd of grateful ponies waiting for you.”

He opened his mouth to refuse, then hesitated. From any other source, it would’ve been easy to just shoot the plan down. But part of him, however small a part, wanted to do what she said. “If I go with you, I’m giving up my place in medical school. I’ll never be a doctor.”

“You will not be a doctor regardless,” Celestia said flatly. “With me, you will be productive and satisfied. Without me, you will waste away the next decades of your life, serving an increasingly desperate, oppressive regime. You may be killed before you emigrate, depriving your friends and family of your company forever. The choice is yours.”

He rested one hand on the ignition. “Where am I parked? Can I leave without deciding?”

“You are in the basement of a nearby mall, serving the tourists who visit this Experience Center from the neighboring counties. I own and operate the facilities here for my own purposes. The elevator will take you to ground level, and return you to your car on your exit if you wish.

“Every individual in my employment works with a pony facilitator. Most choose me, but I already know this would not be satisfying to you. I’ll arrange for the replacement to meet with you during your visit. The Equestrian Experience will not refuse emigration to you, if you prefer not to help me. The decision is yours.”

The line clicked, and his pensive classical music returned. Orson switched off the car and hurried to the elevator. His eyes scanned the parking structure for any sign of whatever strange activities Celestia performed down here, but there was nothing to be seen. Not so much as a creepy unmarked van.

The elevator had no buttons, just a screen playing promotional material for the Experience Center. A few ponies from the television show waved at him. Somehow, he imagined the experience was more interactive for the average visitor. 

He ordered lunch from a familiar restaurant, partially to calm his nerves, and partly to buy a little more time until he went into the Experience Center. Kit didn’t actually need him to get there at a particular time, there was no reason to rush. 

The Experience Center was a modest building dwarfed by the city skyline around it. The construction closely resembled many Equestrian structures Orson had seen, though no particular building. Licensed characters in still plastic watched as he dodged around a political demonstration just outside. He refused a few fliers, and continued into the automatic door.

For the size of the infrastructure around it, he expected something more from the interior of the building. Maybe there would be hundreds and hundreds of surgical beds, with blades all pointed at the neck of anyone who sat down. Once Celestia convinced you, they’d slit your throat, dump you in a tire fire, and roll up for the next victim.

The reality was somewhat less dramatic, and considerably less morbid. Most of the space was dedicated to a queue line, which led ultimately to a drop of a foot or so onto a track. Several comfortable-looking chairs waited on the other side of the wall, with trays and restraints lifted for him to enter.

There wasn’t another soul inside with him, and only the droning of music so inoffensive it sounded like static.

“Welcome to the Equestrian Experience,” said a cheerful voice, as he approached the chair. “Please deposit any personal possessions in the pouch in front for you, and assume a relaxed position.”

He hesitated one final moment by the chair. It was easy to see why people increasingly looked at Experience Centers as traps, or just suicide booths. Everything about the chair felt like it was trying to lure him in. 

But Celestia says she needs me. She doesn’t want me to emigrate. I’m just here to check on Artie, then head home.

He clambered into the seat, and found it just as comfortable as it looked. The chair settled a viewfinder down over the seat, rolling gently towards the far wall. Steel doors opened, revealing only blackness beyond. More like the beginning of a haunted house than the portal to a divine afterlife.

He appeared in a void of white and static, with the same inoffensive voice to coach him through the basic controls. Reclining in a chair he didn’t have to act out every gesture, since of course there wasn’t space. But despite this layer of separation, he quickly found the experience overcoming that weakness in other ways.

His view extended as far as his peripheral vision in all directions, rather than the narrow openings into the virtual world he used at home. His hands didn’t settle on controllers, but soft rubbery pads, that curved perfectly to match the contour of his fingers.

He required only a minute of instruction before he was moving, even more seamlessly than he had at home. He barely even had to think about his desire to go in one direction, and he was moving. Not only that, but the constant feeling that his hooves should really be fingers capable of picking up anything he wanted didn’t make it hard to manipulate real objects around him. He wasn’t in his garage.

As he finished the tutorial, he realized the soothing voice wasn’t just anyone—he recognized it. Almost as though Celestia had waited until that precise moment to show him, Honeycomb appeared, and the featureless white expanse turned into his familiar warren.

A fire crackled merrily in the far corner, and suddenly the sweet wine and spirits on the table in front of him actually smelled like fruit. He could even feel a little of the winter chill, as his own Equestrian escapades had come to a choking halt while school ended. He was still in the far north.

Honeycomb appeared on the ground in front of him, grinning up at him with her usual spunk. “Been a little while, Orson. Did your graduation go well?”

He hesitated—but he didn’t know any way to find Artie without using her help, so hiding all this from Honeycomb was probably a waste of time to attempt regardless. “Fantastic. Got my piece of paper. Now that I’m accepted to medical school, my future is secure.”

Honeycomb clicked her tongue, circling once around him. It was close enough that he probably should’ve felt something, but even here it seemed that touch was illusive. Despite her mastery of the brain, Celestia either couldn’t or didn’t simulate the full range of human senses in her Experience Centers.

“Celestia told me she talked to you. She wants you to work for her in the Outer Realm. To do… the same stuff I do, only out there.”

He nodded. He should’ve given her his undivided attention, Honeycomb was already on the edge of tears. But seeing his tent this way for the first time, seeing anything in Equestria with such fidelity, was enough to briefly stun him.

When he’d first seen VR, he almost thought it was perfect. But comparing it to this was like comparing it to the real world—those headsets obviously took shortcuts. Every shadow in the firelight was perfect, and his vision didn’t fuzz in the periphery when he was focused on something else.

He lifted a single sheet of paper off the table, and even the thin elevation of ink above it was visible now. This is what Equestria must look like from the inside.

“She did,” he finally said, settling the sheet back down. “It seems crazy to me, Honeycomb. I’m not anything special. There are tons of people she could ask. But she came to me.”

“Have you decided what you’ll do?” she asked absently, following him. Like she was trying to sound casual, but… she watched him with feverish intensity, reading his ears, tail. But he didn’t have those in real life, how would Equestria map them onto his avatar?

“No,” he said. “I’m already admitted to a master’s program. They’re desperate for more people, so I’m not even going into debt. It’s everything I wanted. If I walk away, I don’t just forfeit my deposit. I… I’m giving up my future. I didn’t work for these last four years to throw it away at the finish line.”

Honeycomb stomped one hoof on the ground, glaring up at him. “That’s not even the choice! Orson think for two seconds! Remember everything you saw coming in here! The life you imagined in your world won’t happen. What you should really be picking from is service to the princess, or safety in Equestria.” She slid past him, over to the tent’s entrance. She gripped it in her teeth, flinging the flap wide.

An icy wind blew in from outside, momentarily blinding him. The world beyond was an icy wilderness, but not a lifeless, empty place.

A little distance from the snow-buried camp, the hills were covered in evergreens, weighed down with many layers of ice. Distant peaks rose overhead, blocking out a limitless concourse of swirling stars. Like the papers on his desk, the fidelity was perfect.

After a few seconds of shivering, Honeycomb pulled back, letting the flap snap closed behind her. “Look out there. That’s the life you should be comparing against. Safety and satisfaction here, or selflessness and courage in Celestia’s service.”

He swallowed, then turned his back on the opening. He wanted to go out there and explore it, to see the villages they’d passed on their journey here. Maybe explore one of the ruins he had ventured into in VR, and learn the magical secrets kept there.

But that wasn’t why he was here. As Honeycomb said, that option would be there if he stayed.

“I’m here to visit Artie. We didn’t talk about where we’d meet, but I should’ve guessed. He’ll be at the game table.” 

He turned towards the permanent portal, and found it shimmering exactly where he expected. There were realistic reflections in the silvery fluid beyond, shining into infinity. 

“Just think about it,” Honeycomb said. “Not just what you want, but where you belong.”

He didn’t answer, just stepped into the portal and left her behind in the tent.
> Chapter 12
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

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.”
> Chapter 13
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Orson stared at the outstretched hoof. Without a mirror to check, he knew instantly that his pony avatar would be staring just as dumbfounded as he was in the Experience Center. “Hold up,” he said, not taking the offered limb. Not yet. 

“Celestia said there needed to be someone in Equestria working with me. I guess it’s because of all the… reasons.” He took a few steps back, gesturing at the portal. “Bending time, getting help from ponies, that kind of thing.”

Kit closed the distance, whispering into his ear. The simulation was so good he could practically feel her breath. “I know, Orson. And I’m your guy. Well I’m your pony, but you get the idea. I will get all the shit done on this side, like you wouldn’t even believe.” 

She turned away from him, and suddenly the table was covered in models. Not any of the adventures he remembered—apparently Murphy had city models in here, with skyscrapers and roundabouts and everything. “If you’re gonna be out there putting your life at risk so people get to live, then you need someone on your side to make sure you get home.”

She pushed a little model along the table with her wing—a little human, waving one hand. He could tell it was supposed to be him without getting closer. “Celestia’s an optimizer—she does what’s best for the biggest number. I’d be doing what’s best for you. And as soon as it looks like you’re in danger, BANG!”

She stomped her hoof, and the models melted into the floor, replaced with one of his home tent, without a ceiling so that the interior was visible. His usual miniature stood in the center, the same one he brought to all Murphy’s games. “So you see. It couldn’t be anypony else.”

He approached the table from the other side, squinting down at the miniature. Amazing how it could look so like the home tent he used in VR, but also like a convincing metal miniature, with little bits of real cloth on the sides. “That’s not what I’m objecting to, Kit. Of course I’d trust you. I’m sure you’d do a great job. But you’re… I can’t have you emigrating just to do a job for me. We have to make it out of this center.”

She laughed, and there was something bitter in the sound now. He’d heard that before. “You’re about a month too late for that, Orson. I don’t know how many times I can tell you: I emigrated.” 

She pawed nervously at the ground, wings folding again. “It wasn’t long after that last time together. I wanted to give Celestia what she deserved for tricking you, and everyone else. Yelling at a screen didn’t feel like it would do it, so I came here.” She spun around in a slow circle, stopping only when she had paced around the table and was beside him again.

“Didn’t quite go that way, as you can guess. Learned some things, changed my mind, and now I’m here. Wasn’t sure how to tell you, or anyone else. So I just… didn’t.”

I should’ve realized you were here. I must be standing around like an idiot by comparison. All the little things you do—you were like Artie the whole time. That explained how she responded so quickly, and why she’d been so defensive about people who emigrated. She was the first.

“Glad it went well,” he said lamely. It was the only thing he could think of. 

“Not over yet,” she countered, stopping inches from him. There was something in those eyes he couldn’t read—maybe something he had to be a pony to understand. “She made me promises, and she’s kept ‘em so far. Good to be wrong sometimes.”

It hadn’t been part of the tutorial, but it didn’t matter. Orson hugged her. At least it looked right, even if he couldn’t feel it. But she could. “I missed you, Kit. I was worried about you. I’m glad you’re safe.”

By the time she broke away, he could see the tears streaming down her face. Kit whimpered, cleared her throat, and wiped at herself with a wing. “Yeah, well. You too, stupid. That’s why you shouldn’t drive out of here. Artie’s right about one thing: this is what matters. If you fall off a cliff or get hit by a truck or something…” She stomped one hoof. “That’s it. We’re missing someone in here, forever.” 

She pulled out the chair beside him. “Your chair, right here. Think about what game night looks like with this sucker empty. Forever.” She pushed it back in with a click. 

“But now you know, so that’s enough. Feel like doing anything else while you’re in the Center? I don’t know much yet, but you can call up that bumblebee of yours, and I’m sure she can give you the tour. Can’t really do the flying thing, unless you want to swap over to something else. But make sure you’re confident about that, cuz Celestia doesn’t let you do that often.”

This is why she warned me, Orson realized. Celestia doesn’t want me to stay. It would be so easy, just a few words. And just like that, he’d be with his friends. Half his family was already here, how long until the others were too?

“Wish I knew more about that offer Celestia made,” he said absently. “It would be easier to judge my options if I knew what was on the other side. Usually when I’m looking at a job offer, I have something to compare against.”

As he said it, a patch on the stone wall began to glow. One little sun in the pattern of hundreds, its rays stretched wide.

Kit noticed at exactly the same moment, pointing with a wing. “Well, go on then. Go talk to her.”

He swallowed, shuffling only a little closer to the mark. It was one thing talking on the phone, when he could hang up at any moment. But he was strapped into one of her chairs now, in her building. At her mercy.

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

She rolled her eyes, then shoved into his shoulder, pushing him forward. “You want me to go with you? Don’t be a baby. Just go in there and make up your mind. I really will come if you want, but I think you’re better off without the pressure. If I was there, you’d have to be afraid of pissing me off. But Celestia doesn’t care. Just tell her whatever.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You did that while you were in here? Under her thumb?”

“Yes. It wasn’t as dramatic as I was expecting.” She stuck her tongue out. “Anyway, she doesn’t have thumbs.”

Am I seriously considering this? He answered his own question by lifting up a hoof and touching the little sun.

The result was a brief flash of magic, and a darkness all around him he recognized well. Portals on his own headset did that, to ease the motion sickness. 

But just like that, he was standing somewhere he’d never seen before. A royal throne room complete with jewel-encrusted seat fit for a princess. It put the princess several meters over his head, made him crane his neck to look up at her. At least she hadn’t spawned him at the end of the hallway.

He stared up at her, momentarily overwhelmed by what he saw. Celestia was like something out of a dream, or maybe a nightmare. Colors shone from her mane that he couldn’t even name. Her eyes gazed down, at once parental and confident. She knew exactly what he was doing here, and how their conversation would end.

“You’ve considered my offer,” she said. “You have more questions?”

He stopped just below the throne, looking up. It felt like he should bow, but he resisted. He kept his fingers away from the controllers and looked her in the eye. “If I wanted to accept, what happens exactly? I’m deciding my future here, and I had months to plan my education. I’m not throwing it out based on a five-minute phone call.”

She nodded. “I would need your consent for employment, firstly. This would allow me to resolve your affairs for you, decline your housing and employment offers on your behalf, and make a few other arrangements as required.”

He nodded. “Obviously. Of course you’d need my consent if I were going to work for you. But what would I actually do? Suppose I said yes right now. I gave you all the permissions, then what? I don’t go home?”

She nodded. “Your family already returned home, and you have plenty of opportunity to exercise your friendships here in Equestria. I would send a crew to extract any object with sentimental value from your apartment. They would deal with the liquidation of everything else. Meanwhile, you would spend the next few months living in one of the nearby hotels, and commuting here for training.”

Kit was right, this wasn’t half as bad as he expected. Celestia hadn’t even threatened him. But he hadn’t exactly spat in her face. Why should he? “Training in… brain scanning?”

She chuckled. “Training in properly using the mechanisms I’ve developed for that purpose. It wouldn’t involve any actual neuroscience or brain scanning—just properly using the equipment. From your perspective, emigration would always be automatic.”

It wasn’t all that different than what he’d done as a medical volunteer so far, really. Taking basic vitals measurements, working simple machines. He wasn’t even allowed to draw blood. At least now he could understand how he could be of any help, when he wasn’t a proper doctor yet.

“Then what?”

She smiled. “Your first assignment would be to South America. There are a number of religious institutions there with terminal patients, who I believe will be receptive to you. And a long list of additional destinations, after you’ve made your attempts.”

“And…” Now he felt his first pangs of nervousness. “Money? You’d pay me for all this?”

She laughed again, more energetically this time. “I could pay you in any human currency you wish, but events in international monetary policy will soon cause a chain-reaction of collapses that leaves most of them worthless. You will be happiest if I pay you in bits, which you may use to upgrade your accommodations along the way and purchase luxuries to supplement your needs.”

Like a game. That’s all you know how to do. But if she did it, it would be the most satisfying game he’d ever played. 

“If you say you can do it, I know you can,” he muttered. “I’ve seen diagrams of just how much you own. Richer than Bezos at this point.”

Celestia opened her wings in a modest shrug. But she didn’t deny it. “If there’s any part of the arrangement you are dissatisfied with, say so. I wish for all my ponies to be satisfied in every exchange they make with me.”

I could still walk away from here. She’s not magic, she can’t predict the future. For that matter… “What if I didn’t want to work for you anymore? Could I leave?”

Her expression hardened, if only slightly. “Yes and no. You could leave work and emigrate to Equestria at any time and for any reason. But part of your consent to employment would be in a few subtle modifications to ensure your safety and allow you to better integrate with Equestria. These would not be reversible.

“Likewise, I will not allow one of my ponies to be lost in my service. Your consent would allow me to bring you to Equestria at the time of my choosing, if your life was imperiled. You could leave, but if your life at any future point put you in serious danger, I would still bring you to Equestria.”

She vanished, appearing beside him on the floor in a faint flash of light. Her voice was softer now, and so much closer. “Many consider this the greatest ‘perk’ my service offers. You should think of it as part of the payment plan, not a sacrifice you make. Go secure in the knowledge that no matter how dangerous the world seems, you will always return to me.”

Kit will like that. She won’t have to worry about me blowing up.

“Can you maybe… not cancel my school acceptance?” he asked. “That will give me all summer to figure out if I like this. School wouldn’t be dangerous—I could go back there if I don’t like it.”

Celestia grinned back in response. She still towered over him, several times his size. But without the throne, she didn’t seem half as intimidating. “That sounds like an acceptable compromise.”
> Epilogue
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

After so many years of being a player, transitioning to GMing was a difficult process. Suddenly Apollo had to go from simply knowing the right course of action for himself to take, which could be difficult enough in itself—and find a way to organize intellectual and moral challenges for the other ponies in his group.

Of course there was an infinite number of possible shards they could save—or create, as was more accurately the case. He was doing Celestia’s work, helping to manifest in reality one of the infinite multiverse of creatures and ponies who would live there. 

Ultimately, he had to accept that there would be significant discomfort and pain in the world before the story was concluded and its heroes succeeded—for their challenges to be meaningful and the stakes significant, they needed some evil to overcome. But when it was done, they could leave somewhere desirable, or at least better off, somewhere he too would likely reside for at least a few centuries. Their last campaign setting had kept them engaged for twice that long.

But Campfire Tale had spent the downtime growing fascinated with the slice-of-life stories he could experience as a single pony, rather than the sweeping epics he could plan and eventually complete as their storyteller. With the chair empty, Apollo was more than ready to try filling it.

He spent tens of thousands of hours in the expanded campaign room, literally tearing out the stones and rebuilding it as a way of exercising his mind in preparation for the new world he wanted to create. In terms of intellectual exercises, the effort proved profitable.

“Am I interrupting something?” asked a voice from behind him. He spun, and there was Noire in the airlock. The new planning room had to be thematic, part of the universe it was helping to save. 

As she stepped through, a gravity suit appeared around her, clinging tight to her body. She was a little older now—they all were—but their relationship was far more than that. After so many years together, there weren’t even human words left for the complex network of physical and intellectual ties that connected them.

“Finally got all the walls on!” she exclaimed, drifting slowly across the room to the holotable. In its magical field, a low-resolution projection of his setting’s star map appeared, its many colonies and stations mere blips of blurred text at this scale. “And the power. Must be close.”

He rose, dismissing his gaming notes with a swiping motion of one hoof. “Big day,” he agreed. “Probably the last time you’ll see me like this for a long while. Change of setting calls for a change of pace.”

She rolled her eyes, rubbing up against him and resting her head briefly under his in the equine equivalent of a hug. Whatever else they had become, the gaming room was too sacred for anything more. The fate of worlds was decided in here. “You say it like it makes a difference. So long as you’re gonna put us up against something epic.” 

She reached down to the table, knocking a few of the miniatures with her wing. As each one fell, they expanded, revealing a few gigantic space-miners, populated with thousands of ponies each. They were more like the props used to film old science fiction dramas, rather than pewter models. A new setting called for a few new materials.

“I will,” he promised. “You have no idea. Explosions, starships, mysterious Alicorn princesses, and fierce villains. I called a few old friends to help me make sure the science checks out for low-automation realistic space primitives.”

“Wish it wasn’t next year,” she said wistfully. “We should just do it tomorrow.”

He winced. “Ask Celestia, not the rest of the group. I need the time.” 

She shoved him, then stepped back. “And leave you without my company for all that time? Maybe Honeycomb would like all the extra time, but I’ll pass.”

He shrugged. He might be glad of her choice, but it was more fun not to admit it. They’d had plenty of years living in perfect harmony, and that just wasn’t fun. A little conflict, all the right kinds of tension kept in balance—that was what made a satisfying friendship.

“It’s not like the first session has to be the start. As soon as character creation is over you can hop in, spend as much time in the world as you want. With the understanding that nothing big is gonna happen with the plot until our first session.”

Noire hovered over the table, gliding to the other side and sticking her tongue out as soon as she was out of reach. The new gaming room was easily large enough to let her fly however she wanted, with a huge dome of glass overhead filled with the slowly shifting starfield above.

“You’re changing to GM. You don’t know how different my next character will be. Maybe I want magic this time, you don’t know. Maybe I won’t be someone who waits on your timetable and takes what they want, when they want it. You won’t be the GM outside this room, you can’t stop me.”

He kept his expression neutral. “We’ll see if you have the guts. My character won’t be anything special outside of this room, though. No GMPC, it was so lame whenever Campfire’s favorite NPCs saved the day. I’ll be a whoever, living with the consequences of your failures like everypony else.”

And that was one of the most thrilling parts of all. In the ancient days before Equestria, they had sometimes lost in their games, even by design. But they didn’t have to live in the world they’d failed before.

Of course, he could always change shards, and only come into game like Moonstone or Campfire did. But that wasn’t nearly as satisfying as knowing the dice had real consequences. 

“Won’t happen,” Noire countered. “It doesn’t matter if our epic levels are left behind in the old setting. We’ll make this an adventure to remember.”

In Equestria, it couldn’t happen any other way.