Episode 01: N:compr343nsible J.//bberish
The camera, set in a public park with a fountain surrounded by neatly curated bonsai, pans up slowly until the rays of the sun create a lens flare. Hard cuts to blurred stills showing blood, explosions, an aerial photo of Akihabara, and finally, the shocked reaction of our protagonist, Twiraitou Sparkaruu—then cut to black, where a single word is whispered:
"...Pinkako."
Cue the theme song and go to commercial.
One fine day, friendless college student Twiraitou Sparkaruu, obnoxious philosophy major, sat in on a guest lecture, notebook at the ready. Professor Randal Thorpe, a renowned metaphysical aesthetician, was wrapping up the presentation of his thesis.
"...And so, we can say that the narrative of duality implicit in every act of distinctuating cognition is, in praxis, incorrigible. Which finally puts to bed the realist theory of the hypopersonal, and shows that, intersubjectively speaking, the realm of the somatic has no noumenal content, but is pure phenomenon, and yet that—and this is the crucial part—this fact does not belie the folk conceptualization of the precognitive ego, but rather, underlies it..."
Twiraitou fumed. She had stopped taking notes halfway through the lecture, and now she was reduced to glowering and gripping her pencil tightly. She felt like the only unicorn in a room full of humans—probably because she was, in fact, the only unicorn in a room full of humans.
Her pencil snapped, and she stood up sharply.
"Excuse me, Professor," she began, "but do you really expect us to just sit quietly and listen to your racist diatribe without saying anything?"
The room fell silent, and all eyes fell on the unicorn.
"Oooooaaaahhh", said the slanty-eyed Professor Thorpe. "So-a, Miss Sparkaruu, you a wanna talka buncha crap, hahhh?" From his side, he unsheathed his family heirloom: an ancient and magical yoroidoshi, passed down from his ancestors' days and inhabited by their spirits.
Twiraitou gave a snort. "Resorting to violence already, hmm? Just what I'd expect from a dirty red softhoof chink," she said, as she stared him down and brandished her horn. "You fuckin' racist."
"You muddafuccccka!" shouted the Professor. "I kirra u! I KIRRA u!" Then, tucking his elbows in and pointing his knife forward, he charged.
Twiraitou struck a grandiose pose, flourished her tail, and advanced.
A flash, and the fight was over. In a single swift motion, at lightning speed, Twiraitou parried a vicious kick, forced her way inside the Professor's guard, and pounced, landing flush on top of—the deadly magical knife.
Twiraitou gasped from the sudden shock, and her world faded to black.
Twiraitou awoke on a cloud, surrounded by floating fragments of golden light. An ethereal aurora illuminated the endless flat surface of the world. Below her feet, she saw the stars of the night sky.
"Where am I?" she whispered. "What happened?" Her wide eyes wavered and glistened.
"You've died, Miss Sparkaruu," said a familiar voice, from behind. "Welcome to Purgatory."
Twiraitou circled around. From out of the fog of the aurora, bathed in a golden halo of light, emerged none other than Princess Cerestia.
"Princess!" Twiraitou ran up and gave her a big nuzzle. "I've really died, then? It feels so unreal... I'm so glad you're here with me, at least." Twiraitou gave a big grin.
Princess Cerestia frowned slightly. "I am not dead, Miss Sparkaruu. Just visiting."
"...Oh."
"Walk with me," said the Princess. "We have some important matters to discuss."
Commercial break #2.
"So," said Twiraitou, "I'm going to have another chance at life?"
"Under one condition," said Princess Cerestia. The two of them were staring into a calm marble fountain, through which they could see Earth. "You will be sent back to Earth temporarily to complete a certain mission. If you succeed, you can keep on living, but if you fail... you'll be sent straight to Hell."
Twiraitou swallowed her fears, and acted like a big pony. "What do I have to do?"
The Princess straightened her collar and closed her eyes. When she re-opened them, they were filled with intensity, and flashing action lines appeared around them.
"Twiraitou Sparkaruu! To reclaim your life on Earth, you must have sex with five girls!"
"I... uh... w-what?" Twiraitou shuffled her hooves nervously. "Isn't there... I mean... I don't... I'm, a, um..." She blushed a little and it was very kawaii. "I'm a... v... a virgin."
"The terms are not negotiable," said the Princess. "This is just how it is."
"Wait a second," said Twiraitou, uncertainly. "Isn't having such promiscuous sex, like, bad karma or something? Won't I just go to Hell anyway if I succeed?"
"No," said Princess Cerestia, flatly.
"Oh, okay then," said Twiraitou.
"You have six months," said Princess Cerestia, as she shoved Twiraitou into the fountain. "Siiiiix mooooonths," she added, spookily, while Twiraitou's soul transmigrated back to Earth.
As soon as it had started, it was over.
"Well," said Cerestia. "That was fun... Now I've got nothing left to do."
Silence.
"Guess I'll take a nap..."
Fade to white.
"...And so, we can say that the narrative of duality implicit in every act of distinctuating cognition is, in praxis..."
Twiraitou awoke in class. She was sitting at a desk, gripping a pencil. Her notebook was open. Professor Randal Thorpe, the celebrated metaphysical aesthetician, was wrapping up his guest lecture.
As her consciousness returned to her, a flood of memories from Purgatory seemed to pour all at once into Twiraitou's mind. She jumped, and immediately started feeling herself up, making sure she was all there.
She looked down at her stomach, but there was no stab wound.
"I've... I've come back to life!" she said out loud, rather more loudly than she had intended. The outburst drew a few eyes, including the Professor's.
"Oh, did you have a question, Miss...?" Professor Thorpe said, in his unflaggingly open and friendly way.
"Spark-ull," responded Twiraitou, in her best English accent. "Twilight Sparkle. Yes, I have a question concerning the transmigration of souls?"
"Oh, well, then the answer is easy," said the philosopher. "The transmigration of souls is metaphysically impossible and empirically unverifiable. It's totally indefensible."
"Oh, well, about that..." said Twiraitou. She could feel the eyes of the room. "It just happened to me. Like, a few minutes ago."
Some scattered giggles crossed the lecture hall. The philosopher gave a puzzled look of mild intrigue. "You're telling us that you have personally experienced your... soul... migrating out of, and presumably back into, your body?"
"Yes!" said Twiraitou, enthusiastically. "My soul went to Purgatory when you killed me, and now I've come back to Earth in order to have sex with a lot of girls!"
The Professor looked around at the room, bit his lips, and looked down at the floor and up at the ceiling. He took a short breath, opening his mouth briefly before closing it again.
Then the room burst into laughter.
"That's quite some daydream," said Professor Thorpe, smiling, as the bells rang. "And I think that will make a wonderful coda to the day's philosophical excursion." The students put away their notes and picked up their bags. "All right, everyone, I'll be selling signed copies of my newest book, Excavating the Hypopersonal, in the Student Center from two to four. If you already have a copy, I'll be happy to sign it for you..."
The motion around Twiraitou faded into noise, and she sat motionless and perplexed in the eye of a whirlpool.
The camera zooms so far into Twiraitou's face that only her eyes are visible.
"Could all that really have been... just a dream?"
Cut to black. Ending theme and credits.
