In Which Sombra Grapples With an Apparatus as Evil as He

Form after form after form, dotted line after dotted line after dotted line. Slowly, the list of papers Sombra had completed filled up. Every eventuality was covered. Every last turn of the pen prepared for. Whenever it looked like the bureaucracy might have cornered him, Sombra fought his way out with a few well-aimed strokes of the pen and a trail of ink. (He would’ve preferred well-aimed strokes of the sword and a trail of blood, but eh. He’d take what he could get.)

When he finally filled out everything, he had a stack as thick as an encyclopedia. Still, he double-checked every last requirement, then triple-checked his double checks. If he had to write down one more thing… But whatever dark god oversaw bureaucracy had apparently deigned to take pity on him, and everything was in order. All of his papers had been filled out and he could get on with it.

After far too long, Sombra stepped up to Red Tape’s counter once again. It was a wonder how she could persist in such a draining environment. Still, Sombra grinned like a vampire as he held up his papers. “As requested,” he said in his most sinister voice, “I have brought-”

Red Tape held up a hoof. “Stop!” She reached under the desk and plonked down a sign that said “Out on Break”. “Lunch time.”

Sombra blinked. His capacity to be sinister was really taking a beating today. Stupid promise. “That is mighty coincidental,” he hissed.

“It is indeed,” said Red Tape blandly. “But look.” She pointed a hoof at a clock. 12:00. “Not my problem.” She pulled out a cold aloeburger and some overly-salty hay fries from beneath her desk and began loudly munching away right there, staring at Sombra with half-lidded eyes.

Sombra glared at Red Tape, pouring all of his hatred, his malice, his will that had sustained him for over a millennium into that stare. It had been known to wilt plants, to send even the most hardened of ponies scurrying for the hills. All those who saw it cringed away from his wrath. It was said that that glare alone could shatter mountains and curdle entire lakes of milk.

Red Tape stared back at him and chewed. Loudly.

“Listen,” Sombra said. He waved the papers. “I have the forms right here.”

“Listen,” Red Tape said. She waved the food. “I have my lunch right here.” She chewed. Loudly.

“I am the King of Shadows,” roared Sombra, “and I will not be ignored! You cannot stand idly by while your King has need of you!”

“Can and will. I am on. Break.” Red Tape chewed. Loudly.

“You shall regret those words.” Sombra’s form dissolved and expanded, billowing forth into the black mass of smoke that had terrorized the Frozen North for a thousand years, completely filling the room. The earth shook and lights flickered. Sombra released a keening, ear-splitting screech that went right down to the bone.

Red Tape stared at him and chewed. Loudly.

After a second, Sombra collapsed back into a pony. “Just where in the blazes did you get that poker face?” (Sombra was before poker, but he’d heard of it.)

“A boundless capacity to ignore ponies is another magical bureaucrat superpower.” Red Tape chewed. Loudly.

Which made far too much sense, Sombra realized. “So are you saying I just need to- wait here until you finish that… food-adjacent material?”

“Indeed.” Red Tape masticated. Resoundingly.

Waiting. More waiting. A vein bulged in Sombra’s head. He was going to lay waste to this place: burn it to the ground, salt the earth, then throw everything into the sun. He was already drawing up plans for it. And as for Red Tape herself, she would-

“Sombra.” Sombra found himself spun around to face Discord. “I know what you’re thinking, and not just because I can read your mind,” Discord said. “You remember what I said, don’t you? Do not mess with the bureaucrats.”

“I can still think it.” Sombra turned back around to glare at Red Tape as she chewed. Loudly. “I know she won’t respond. She has less flexibility than diamond.” He didn’t bother lowering his voice. It wouldn’t change her attitude, one way or another.

“Perhaps,” said Red Tape. “Or maybe I’m just one tough bi-”

“LANGUAGE!” bellowed Discord.

For the first time, Red Tape looked something almost vaguely resembling the general vicinity of kinda-sorta slightly miffed if you tilted your head and squinted and looked through binoculars and were biased. And, okay, lied. “I’m sorry, what?” Her voice was as uninflected as ever. “I can swear if I fu-”

“LANGUAGE!” bellowed Discord again. He cleared his throat and straightened up as much as he could. “You see, this is an E rated fic.”

“A what whatted what?” asked Sombra. (He was before ratings. Or fanfics.)

“And to keep it that way,” Discord continued, “you should refrain from using naughty words, unless you’re willing to fill out form 42-27b/6 and bump it to T.”

Red Tape pondered this. “I think you mean 4-D2-27B/Six: Post-Submission Ratings Update.”

“Yes, yes, that’s what I meant. Which one did I suggest?”

“I can’t say. This is an E rated fic.”

“What are you two talking about?” screamed Sombra.

“Minutiae, the most important thing in the universe.” Red Tape chewed. Thoughtfully.

“Oh, don’t worry!” Discord patted Sombra on the head. “She’ll be done in twenty-eight minutes and nine, eight, seven seconds, and you can go back to being properly pouty.”

Sombra didn’t even brush the claw away.

Red Tape was still eating at 12:29:59. At 12:30:00, her food was gone and her “Out on Break” sign had vanished. Sombra headed her off by dropping the papers on the counter. Everything shook like he’d slammed an anvil. “I’d like to submit a 9941-M and its prerequisites.”

“Sir, you don’t submit those here.”

Sombra sucked in a breath through his nose. He let it out through his mouth. He ignored the way he could slit her throat with his pointy, pointy horn or pointier, pointier crown. “Where. Do I. Submit it?”

“Right over there, sir.” Red Tape pointed at a door off to the side: Mass Form Submission Office. “If you enter the line, a representative will be with you shortly.”

Sombra snatched up his paper pile and stalked away, shadows spilling out from beneath his armor, his cape billowing behind him. Barbarity. Pure barbarity. This was why authoritarianism was so much better. All decisions were handled by one pony: him. He settled them as he saw fit and that was that. None of this running around for approval and permission and preparation and- Oh, sweet him, he just wanted to rule an empire with an iron hoof; was that too much to ask for?

He shoved open the doors to the office with a practiced drama. (Technically, Sombra was before flashy entrances, but only because he’d invented them, he told himself.) “I have a 9941-M I’d like to submit,” he boomed to Red Tape. “I also have its-”

He blinked and stared at the pony sitting on the opposite side of the desk.

“Yes?” Red Tape asked. “Continue, sir.”

“What manner of farce is this?” yelled Sombra. “I was- I was just-” He pointed back outside, spluttering like a ruler on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“An ability to selectively multitask is another magical bureaucrat superpower, sir,” said Red Tape. “How may I help you?”

“You may not.” Sombra’s voice was going so low so often that his throat was beginning to hurt, but he forged on. She needed to know that he meant business. “I will not entertain this- this charade any longer. You have me running around, chasing my own tail-”

“It’s not my fault you’re doing this by trial and error, sir.”

“Do not condescend to me! I will not give you the satisfaction of being your lapdog who heels when you ask, who barks when told to speak-”

“Then can I be a lapdog?” Discord asked from behind him. “Please? I have a nice stack of dead trees that could use some sanguine ink.”

“If you insist.” Sombra couldn’t even be surprised anymore. He waved Discord in. Let the Lord of Chaos do as he was told. Not the King of Shadows, certainly. “Now, hear me, Red Tape. I will not stand for this-”

“Sir, I’m busy, please leave the room.” And Red Tape shoved him back out the door, closing it behind him. Sombra blinked and tried the knob. Locked.

Discord’s eye snaked out from the crack, and when he spoke, it was impossible to miss the smile in his voice. “Oh, no take-backsies!” he said. “You let me go first, and that’s that. You really need to think ahead more. And when I’m the one saying that…” Wink, gone.

Sombra turned away from the door, snorting. Whatever. It was fine. He’d said so himself, he wasn’t going to do what they said, just because it would return him to his rightful place… with no trouble from the other princesses… physical or legal… even after he’d already done so much work… and suffered through the indignities of this system, one that seemed poised to defeat him more completely than the princesses ever had…

His sigh wouldn’t have sounded out-of-place coming from a deflating balloon.

Very well. A lapdog he would be, if that was what it took to get his empire back. He dropped his stack into one chair, his body into another, and his mouth into a pout.

He could still hear Red Tape’s voice. “Now, then, Mr. Discord-”

“Actually, could you call me Ms.? I’m feeling contrary today and would prefer to be called that instead, please. Thank you.”

“Now, then, Ms. Discord-”

“I meant that literally.”

“Now, then, Ms. I’m Feeling Contrary Today and Would Prefer to be Called That Instead Please Thank You-”

“Much better.”

“-did you have any specific questions regarding your forms? Or were you just looking for a quick checkup to be sure everything is correct before submission?”

“Just a quick checkup. I don’t want to have to go through all those queues again.” Discord shuddered.

“Being careful never hurt anypony.”

“Also, it means I get to waste half an hour doing meaningless busywork to annoy Sombra more.”

“A noble goal.”

Sombra banged on the door. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he yelled, “could you raise your voices a little? I can’t hear you talking behind my back!” (Sombra was after talking behind ponies’ backs, although he never did it himself, considering it cowardly.)

“Apologies!” said Discord from inside the room. He cleared his throat and bellowed, “ALSO, IT MEANS I GET TO WASTE HALF AN HOUR DOING MEANINGLESS BUSYWORK TO ANNOY SOMBRA MORE.”

“A NOBLE GOAL,” bellowed Red Tape.

Sombra moaned, smashed his head against the wall, and pulled his cape over his head.

When Discord finally flounced out of the room an eternity later, Sombra was called in. He staggered in, dropped into a chair, and glared at his nemesis. His nemesis didn’t deign to respond.

“I have a 9941-M and its prerequisites,” he snarled. He dropped the stack of papers on the desk between them with a resounding thud. “I’d like a quick checkup before submission.”

Red Tape wordlessly began taking papers from one stack, scanning them, and moving them to another. If she had any questions, she didn’t ask them. Slowly, slowly, slowly, the In stack grew smaller and the Out stack grew taller. By now, Sombra had trouble even mustering up the energy to be hopeful; hope had decided it was done being kicked around for a while and gone off to get wasted. (Drunk or killed? Either was possible at this point.)

And then, suddenly, the In stack was gone. “Every form is present and accounted for,” she said. “You still need the monarch’s signature, but as you filled out form XR/𐐘3-ת, your 9941-M can be pre-approved.”

“So am I done?” Sombra grunted. “Or should I do flexibility exercises to impress you?” (Sombra was before the term “yoga”.)

“Thanks to form H7L56, that won’t be necessary, sir. You merely need to wait so we can get all of these recorded.” Red Tape passed a small piece of paper his way. “When your ticket number is called out, you can pick up your approved form.”

Sombra muttered something that was a lie in the general vicinity of “thanks”, snatched up the paper, and stomped back to the main room.

There were chairs there, for waiting. Sombra dropped into one of them. This particular chair had found it in itself to be just uncomfortable enough to be annoying, but not so uncomfortable as to merit actually getting up and changing something or moving. The sort of uncomfortable where any adjustment would just change how it was uncomfortable, not how much it was. Already, Sombra knew he was in for a long wait.

A voice rang through the room. “Ticket number 26?”

Sombra idly looked at his paper. 46853. Joy.

“Ticket number 26? Ticket number 26? Ticket number 26?”

Whoever was calling it had their voice turn into a sort of white noise. Sombra settled in, letting that white noise wash over him like the tide, and waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited.

Gradually, events blurred together. Ponies came and went. Ticket numbers were hollered out. The queue moved (technically). Sombra was never called. An eternity seemed to pass; every second was the same as the second before and the second after. Time increasingly became meaningless as minutes slipped away, never to be found again. Sombra’s own memory dissolved into a miasmatic haze as he waited and waited and waited. Space itself seemed to congeal, to limit his movements. As time failed to progress, the universe shrank to his chair and shouted ticket numbers.

Suddenly, he twitched. He felt like he was waking up for the first time in his life. He rubbed his chin and was shocked to feel lengthy stubble. “How long have I been sitting here?” he asked himself. He hadn’t moved his lips in so long, they were stiff.

“Ehm…” The pony next to him glanced at the clock. “Ten seconds.”

“Ten-” Sombra hadn’t felt this out of joint since the first time someone had spoken back to him. “Ten seconds?” he growled. “That is- That is impossible. I have grown. I have held mass executions that were carried out more quickly than this! To claim that- that I have been sitting here for nothing more than ten seconds-”

A look of glee painted itself across the pony’s face and he rubbed his hooves together. “Ooo, you fell into a bureaucratic time warp, didn’t you? Maybe my wine’s finally aged!” He was off and returned soon after, rolling a keg. “You know, those time-dilatory effects of bureaucracies are a pain, aren’t they? But they’re really nifty if you know how to exploit them.” He stood the keg up and patted it affectionately. “I’ve aged this wine a hundred years in the past three months.”

“Excuse me, sir!” yelled Red Tape. “Do you have-?”

The pony whipped out a stamped form. “Right here, ma’am!”

“Carry on!”

The pony popped the top of the keg, sniffed, and shuddered. “Ooo, yeah, that’s gooood. I’m getting drunk just smelling this. WHO WANTS WIIIIIINE?”

Every hoof in the room went up. Including Red Tape’s. And Sombra’s. If he was going to wait this long, he’d do well to not remember it.