It was an ordinary night in a Skype instant messaging room. The various inhabitants complaining about their lives, boasting about their skills or simply arguing with each other. This room in particular was normally a chat room for the inner circle of sorts for a rather odd sprite based series called “Ed, Edd n Eddy Z”. And much like just about every other fanbase on the Internet these days, it had a large Brony makeup. This often tied into the aforementioned events, usually artists showing off their skills in creating pony vectors or writing fanfiction and whatnot. However, not everyone wanted to join the My Little Pony bandwagon in this group, either because they wished to be obstinate or simply couldn't care less. Either way, this is a 'story' about three of the chat room participants.
The first was a staunch Anti-Brony who we will just call Mike. Mike was a talented artist and competent writer, but was deeply annoyed by his associates attachment to the show based the colorful plastic ponies we all know and love. The second, a rather easily agitated fellow who we will call Commander Meanman Shepard, while not some complete zealot, had a vested interest in Bronyism. No, this was technically not the Commander Shepard, but instead just one of the countless Commander Shepards there are in the galaxy - all one of them.
Despite the difference in taste, Mike and Shepard were reasonable friends, and like friends usually do; end up arguing over trivial matters and fighting each other with increasingly ludicrous attacks until the universe is destroyed a dozen times over then restored to exactly the way it was immediately before the fighting commenced. I know, I know, it sounds groan-inducing to hear such overpowered manure, but that is what suspension of disbelief is for, right?
Anyway, the coming of Christmas was imminent, and already was everyone riled up. At least, they would have been were it not for the fact that Christmas was long over. Shepard walked into the room, quoting some cheesy sci-fi game as he stepped through the sliding metal door.
“Fear ensures loyalty, where do you need me?” He asked to his associates, most were too busy idly staring blankly at the walls or were not present.
“I need you to go down to the fiery pits of hell and get me the blood of Satan.” Mike spoke up, clad in a solid orange T-shirt and a pair of jeans, he then proceeded to block a obligatory punch from Shepard.
“I was just there though,” Shepard sighed and with his bare hands opened a rift into hell. The fissure spewed gurgled screams into the room, and a few minutes after jumping down, the Spectre crawled back up the hell-hole with a moonshine bottle tied to his back. “He wasn't there, so I got you the blood of Santa instead.”
“Oh no, now Christmas is canceled.” One of the other chat members stated in the dullest, most uninteresting manner they could.
“Close enough,” Mike took the jug and set aside on the wooden table in the middle of the room. He tried to say something but was interrupted by the most fanatical of the Bronies. So fanatical was she that after using the powers of the Internet that Mike and Shepard took for granted to kill each other, she turned herself into a light brown unicorn.
“How about them ponies?”
On impulse, and without any sense of organic transition in the least. The conversation entered a mandatory discussion of “Cupcakes”, the oh-so-scary and oft-imitated creepypasta. Even Mike was pulled into the debate.
“I wonder how many cupcakes Pinkie makes with each pony she kills.” The fanatic spoke, twitching.
“Four dozen,” Shepard flatly said, using his powers of being a Spectre to estimate.
“The cupcake to meat ratio would be way off...” Mike added, smirking at how conservative his companion's answer was.
Shepard shot back. “You are forgetting that Pinkie Pie would likely add an ungodly amount of sugar and stuff to mask the flavor of the meat.”
“Even so, four dozen is just too few. Maybe when she makes a batch she skimps on the cupcakes her friends eat, then spikes a leftover for her next victim?”
“I want a dress made out of cutie marks too!” The fanatic yelled out, using her magic to make a hologram of such a patchwork dress of various generic symbols to emphasize her point.
“I would take the leftover wings, break off a piece from each and make them into those Roman olive branch things the emperors wear.” To showcase his point, Shepard used his omni-tool to project a video on the wall of him showing off his badass dance skills-bobbing up and down while swaying slightly-surrounded by the various attractive females of the Normandy, and Dr. Chakwas. All the while wearing the crown of wings.
“I'd rather let Pinkie kill all the ponies then you know, kill herself or something so that they are all dead.” Mike smirked again, forcibly reasserting his hatred of ponies.
That was when Shepard realized something, he took so long to respond that the text form of Mike's line appeared in his field of vision. The Commander squinted sharply and grinned as much as he could, causing his glowing red Renegade scars from killing Santa to stretch. “Mike... you are participating in a conversation about ponies...”
Mike yelled out in anger at realizing his grievous error, punching the wooden table made out of wood in the center of the room and causing the jug of Santa's blood to spill on the floor. Creating a peppermint aroma throughout the room. “Why the hell did I do that?!”
“Because... you're a closeted Brony?” The fanatic followed Shepard's lead, also grinning at the apparent revelation. Fortunately for the fanatic, Mike had a sense of chivalry, and instead of punching her, he simply promised that he would commit suicide if the assertion was true.
“Seriously, Mike?” Commander Shepard was disgusted by his friend's joking use of a serious claim. “What could you possibly have to lose from joining the Cult of the Pony? Dignity? Sanity? Because I am pretty sure you already lost those somewhere or other.”
Mike stood his ground. “I haven't even watched one full episode of the series. I hold little to no interest in it, and the only contributions I've made to it are either graced with how much I curse myself for hearing about it or rage about what the content encompasses. For what reason should I be a Brony?”
“If you haven't watched an episode, how may you present judgment? You are judging a book by its cover more or less.”
“I have tried watching an episode, I just haven't sat all the way through it.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I am edgy, so edgy that I have better things to do than watch My Little Pony and you know it.” Mike smiled as if he was auditioning for a toothpaste commercial, giving a thumbs up gesture.
“That just makes you sound like a conceited asshole really.”
“Comma,” Chimed the fanatic, all the while looking downward into the still open hell-hole.
“Regardless, I should thank you for the blood of Santa, that is fucking spilled on the floor!” At this point Mike decided to reprimand Shepard's incompetence by smashing the Spectre's head in until his fists became cracked and caked with blood. Then Mike proceeded to grab and throw him down to the ocean and stomp on Shepard mercilessly, causing tsunamis all over the world and creating a hole which sucked in all the water. Lastly, Mike grabbed the Spectre again, and threw him to the sun, causing a supernova.
At least, that is what he wanted to do if Shepard did not trip him into the hell-hole. In a last ditch effort to punish his foe, Mike managed to grapple the Spectre's ankle, pulling him down into the hell-hole as well. Both half-halfheartedly screamed cries of horror and agony as they fell deeper and deeper into the circles of hell. Their own cries becoming increasingly drowned out by the sounds of unholy pain. The hues of red and yellow around them merged, split, scrambled and merged again in ways that would drive the hardiest of stoner minds to insanity. Deeper still the two went until eventually their surroundings grew more and more white to the point it seemed that the two mortals were on the verge of being lost in the bowels of Nihilism itself...
At least, until they took a small detour at Albuquerque.
Mike slowly awoke in a dark room, he absentmindedly tried to move as he was still too disoriented to know what happened, only to be held in place by something. Now a bit more conscious, the Anti-Brony struggled to see in the darkness, but managed to make out the silhouette of chains trapping his hands and feet to a rack; as well as odd, gray tendrils laced like a web over his abdomen.
Mike prepared to shatter the chains bounding him as if they were made of eggshells, but try as he might, could not make his restraints budge.
“Don't bother, Mike, that web on your chest is designed to nullify overpowered bullshit. You are not going anywhere.” Mike had to strain to see the shadow in front of him, but he recognized the voice of Commander Shepard.
It did not take Mike long to realize the predicament he was in. “Shepard, so help me if Pinkie Pie walks in here with surgical equipment, I will slaughter you.”
“You are in no position to make threats, my friend.”
“That was a promise.”
“I love it when people make that rebuttal, makes things more action-y.” Shepard stepped back, now completely invisible from Mike's view. The sound of cosmic ripping echoed throughout the room. “Crap, that will take hours.”
“What will take hours? Me to stop ripping out your innards?” The fettered Anti-Brony taunted, once again trying to break free, to no avail.
Shepard chuckled lightly, which sounded more like an awkward coughing fit. “Oh no, just how long it will take to get everything in order. Much planning to do. Now if you will excuse me, I have errands to attend down in Ponyville.”
“You will not turn me into a goddamn confection, and you are noti going to leave me here.”
“Of course I won't kill you. Trust me, this isn't what it looks like.”
Mike tried calling out again, but had no response, the bastard Shepard actually left.
Commander Shepard ambled down the streets of Ponyville, passing the Carousel Boutique without a second glance from anypony. It was taking the Commander some time to adapt to the bright colors of the world around him, but he wouldn't be stopped by a little higher gamma now would he? As he looked down at the vividly green grass, he noticed a very large and obvious blue stain splattered all over his lower left leg.
“Gosh darn spontaneous stains, what can you do with them?” The Spectre asked to Bon-Bon, who happened to be walking by. The mare shrugged and continued trotting to her destination.
After some more pacing of his own, Commander Shepard was now at the front entrance of Golden Oaks Library. He stared up at the literal tree house, and thought about entering. If he entered, he may end up learning something vital to his cause of getting things ready. However it was also possible that Twilight Sparkle might waste his time interviewing him, and beating the stuffing out of Twilight to end the interview early wouldn't bode well for maintaining positive relations. It was a difficult choice, but he opted to continue preparing everything, Twilight could wait.
Shepard now stumbled upon the outer edges of Sweet Apple Acres. To the left off in the distance he could see the roof of the barn shining in the afternoon sun, the reflection getting into Shepard's eyes. Otherwise there were bare apple trees as far as he could see. The Commander's eyes sizzled like bacon inside of a star as he jogged to the building, but it didn't take long for the Spectre to realize that he was lost deep in the orchard, and that he actually ran to the right.
With no visual reference, and the fact that were it not for the Normandy he would have been running around in circles on his missions most of the time. Shepard erratically dashed throughout the orchard, hoping that he would eventually find a way out. It also didn't hurt that for some reason a pack of Timber Wolves were chasing the unarmed N7 operative.
After an overly silly but unremarkable chase montage throughout the orchard, Shepard evaded the Timber Wolves and reached the barn. There a red colt was busy pressing apples into cider. The Commander walked up and said: “Hey there, want an endorsement?”
“Eenope,” replied the colt, not withdrawing attention from his work.
“Are you sure?” Shepard grinned slyly, pointing the index fingers on both of his hands at Big McIntosh.
“Eeyup,” Big Mac finished pressing the current bushel of apples. With minimal effort, he lifted a new bushel up with his teeth, dumped the contents into the press and resumed working.
“Aw come on, I'm unique. I'm a human, bet you don't get many of those around here.” Shepard's spontaneously appearing Systems Alliance leather jacket fluttered in the autumn wind.
“Ya'd be surprised really.”
Shepard decided to take the more assertive route, he grabbed Big Mac's cranium and forced it into the press. “Listen you pathetic waste of glue! I don't have all day getting answers that consist of some bastardized version of hillbilly speech. So you're going to help me out, or I will turn your cider into wine!”
Big Mac kept his cool, looking up at the Spectre threatening him. “That'd be a poor decision to kill me. Mah sisters would get upset, everypony in town would never welcome ya again, and the Princesses would probably punish ya for murder. And nopony in their right mind would ever hire a murderer for a spokespony, eeyup.” The colt felt Shepard's grip loosen upon these words, but did not move to try not re-instigating the Commander. If all else failed, Big Mac was in the position necessary to kick Shepard in the groin with at least one of his legs. “So, how can ah help you?”
The Spectre relinquished his grip and crossed his arms, his heavily scarred face glowing a slightly brighter red than before. “How do I get to Sugarcube Corner? I have things to do, and if I don't hurry I might not make the cut.”
“Just walk down that path there,” The colt pointed his hoof to a dirt road leading away from the barn. “Keep goin' straight, turn left at the second street, if ya end up at the school ya went too far down, but Sugarcube Corner ain't too hard to spot anyway.”
“I should go,” Shepard tersely concluded the conversation and was on his way.
Mike sulked in his prison, still unable to break free from the chains restraining him. He couldn't really tell, but he guessed it had been at least a full hour since the Commander had ditched him to go chase ponies. Other than echoes of a low groaning - presumably from whatever Shepard was trying to do, the room was dead silent. His eyes had adapted to the darkness in that time, and he was able to make out more shadows.
Streamers and party favors of a myriad of dim colors were decorated throughout the room while a record player lay next to the wall on his right. The outline of what seemed to be a makeshift portable gas oven was on the far end of the room. Its door seemed taped on, the body was severely malformed by dents, and the propane tank - complete with accessories - rested next to the contraption.
I need to get out of here, no way I am meeting my end at this creepypasta bullshit. The problem was that the web didn't go anywhere, and therefore I'm still unable to really act. Unless, he thought, shutting off his surroundings and pondered on a freshly hatched idea. Every time that he tried to escape, he attempted to break all his irons at once. Therefore he distributed all his overpowered-ness too thin, allowing it to be countered by the web before he could really do anything. However, if I concentrated my power into one very small spot, I might be able to shatter the rack itself into pieces. I'm not looking forward to falling on my back into a pile of splinters, nor do I anticipate waltzing around hell, but if it means I can get out of here...
There, unfortunately, was another wrench in his plans. He was quite far away from the Internet; its energies too distant and too faint to make drawing upon them worthwhile. Meanwhile, his reserves were finite in nature, and he already squandered enough of it in his previous attempts of freedom. Therefore, there was little room for error. Mike decided that he would focus fifty percent of his remaining power into his big toe on his right foot. Concluding that in order to get maximum results, he needed to channel his energy as far away from the web on his torso as he could.
The process of transferring his essence of overpowered-ness was slow and subtle, so subtle that the web didn't seem sensitive enough to respond to it. This only made Mike suspicious, it was too good to be true he thought, and upon rechecking his reserves for a brief moment, he realized why. The web was not as easy to deceive as it seemed, and while his attention was diverted to redistributing his power, the web was feeding on the reserves he was intending to store.
“Guess it's now or never,” He grunted, using every ounce of overpowered energy in his toe, he raised it up and slammed it down on the inside of his shoe. The energy created a shock wave that went from the shoe into the rack, causing the wood immediately around the foot to explode in a flurry of splinters. Without something else to wrap around, the chains slunk down enough for Mike to wiggle them off his his now free foot.
The board attached to his leg also connected to his right arm. Deep and extensive cracks in the wood raced up the board and reach the other end. The board was now splinted enough for Mike to snap off part of it with substantial effort. A large piece of the plank was still attached to his hand by the chain, and, underestimating his own strength, nearly smacked himself in the chin with it.
Despite that, two of his limbs were free, and most importantly, one of them was an arm. With the weight of a fairly large block of wood on his wrist, he reached at his abdomen and grasped the apparent nexus of the web. It felt fleshy, like a squid was taking a nap on his chest, but he did not let that distract him. He squeezed the pod, causing it to bleed a green serum made of tiny zeroes and ones from where his fingers were depressed and tugged outwardly, using all of his might to pull off the web.
Unfortunately, Mike encountered a new issue. As he struggled to remove the web, his hand was encased in a bronze aura of energy. Mike was unable to control the hand whatsoever and watched in horror as a new plank of wood fastened itself to replace the damaged section of the rack. What made the situation even worse was that the damaged plank was removed only for his limb to be reattached to the new board as the chains coiled around it. While his leg was still under his control for the moment, he knew it wouldn't be long before that was addressed as well.
“Whoever you are, show yourself!” The Anti-Brony howled out to the room, on cue a quadrupedal figure trotted forth. While it was still much too dark for him to see most details, he could make out a horn and recognized the hairstyle of the fanatic Brony. “Dasho Frainbow, what the hell are you doing?”
“Shepard gave me a cookie so that I would make sure you didn't escape and ruin everything.” The unicorn used a clairvoyance spell to create a soft light bright enough to hold up her half eaten chocolate chunk peanut butter maple apple pineapple mashed potato coconut (with lime filling) shortbread cookie with one light brown hoof. Mike winced at the sudden light, but he willed his eyes to quickly adjust.
“So, you were here this entire time, and not once did you think that what you're doing is immoral?” There were a lot of ways he wanted to scold the fanatic, most using liberal amounts of profanity, however his sense of chivalry prevailed.
“Of course I wasn't here, why would I miss out on a chance to explore Equestria? Besides, it's not like you are dying to get out, I only showed up when you broke the rack.”
“That's your excuse? You're going to let Commander-goddamn-Shepard leave me here to have Pinkie Pie gut me like a fish?” Mike struggled to restrain himself only because he didn't want to use up the remnants of his power.
The fanatic had just finished the last morsel of her cookie. “His name is Commander...” She paused awkwardly, “...Shepard. And no, he'll come back, he just needs to get everything ready.”
Mike smirked once again, “I still want to get out of here though.”
“Okay, I can help you do that.”
“Then do it.” Without further instruction, the fanatic conjured a mechanical pencil and began sketching in midair. The outlines of the picture were woven into a three-dimensional form as she rendered the image. “Oh you got to be joking...”
“Do you want to leave or not?”
Growling, the Anti-Brony begrudgingly accepted. “Fine...”
Shepard was now outside Sugarcube Corner, the Spectre looked up at the sweet-looking (quite literally) house, admiring the craftsmanship of a species without fingers but cartoon physics. Commander Shepard entered the bakery, nodding to greet Mr. Cake at the counter. As he paced about the room, he checked the time on his omni-tool, there was still some more time to kill before everything was prepared.
“Do you want an endorsement, Mr. Cake?”
“No, no, that won't be necessary. I have plenty of business as is.” The slender colt replied, definitely nervous by Shepard's proposal for some reason.
“I thought being the first human Spectre in Equestria was something special.”
Mr. Cake grinned uneasily. “Better luck next time?”
Shepard smirked, “I guess,” he picked a small sign depicting numerous sweets, and finding one that struck his fancy asked for it. “I would like a dozen of these.” He pointed to a picture of a cinnamon roll.
The baker leaned forward to get a better look. “Hmm, just a minute please, I need to get the old cash register.” With that, Mr. Cake went under the counter to search for the machine. Shepard waited, crossed his arms, leaned to one side and whistled elevator music.
The slender colt resurfaced, looking down at one side to the sound of a hydraulic press. Rising up from the floor was some kind of man, a very, very large man - perhaps heavy was the best word. The large beast of a human soon towered over Shepard and Mr. Cake. His red shirt under black body armor snugly befitting the person, his stetson hat reminding Shepard of his favorite pony, Applejack. The press stopped, and the man, with a look of absolute brutish anger on his face, announced the price of the cinnamon rolls with a thick Russian accent.
“Costs four hundred thousand dollars.”
The heavy man fell backward, slamming into the floor with a loud thud without so much as moving a muscle.
The Spectre was puzzled, completely at a loss for words regarding how necessary that was. Nonetheless, he didn't have any hard cash on him, so he was unable to pay for the rolls. Just when he was about to discard his order, luck smiled on him. A small, triangular piece of citrine lay on the floor, and he decided to see what that would get him.
As he picked up the gemstone and was about to set it on the table, he was abruptly flung across the room, crashing into the wall. Baffled on what just happened, he was vulnerable to a flower pot hitting him square in the face. The table sent after him failed to meet its mark once Shepard realized what was going on. He began to glow a shade of purple and deflected the furniture hurled at him. It was then he identified his assailant.
A pewter gray unicorn colt with a puffy black mane and flowing tail stood on top of the counter, glaring at the Spectre with profound hatred. A sizzling ash-colored aura of magic emanated from his horn, the same aura that the table flung at Shepard was coated in. On the unicorn's flank was a picture of a watermelon, its meaning was not clear but it was enough for Shepard to identify his foe. Elsewhere, Mr. Cake was in the corner, currently in an intriguing state of mind known as death.
“How the hell did you get out, Mike?!” The N7 operative barked, extremely angry at such a thing. Mike did not reply, and instead threw a chair at Shepard, which exploded just before contact. The Spectre chose to go on the offensive, using his own powers, he tugged Mike towards him violently and punched him in the face at the last second. Sending the unicorn crashing into the counter. “I'm going to ask you again, how did you get out?”
“You left the door open,” Mike pointed his tail to a door leading to the basement, sure enough it was wide open for anyone to pass through. “You better have to good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now.”
“Um, well you see,” Shepard said in a mockingly idiotic tone as he paced up to Mike. “You made a promise there, yeah, you said you were going to promise killing me and all. And now you are not going to?” He returned to his normal speech. “Come on, Mike, I thought you were supposed to keep promises.”
“You're not helping yourself you know.”
“That was the point, I believe my objective there was to act like an obnoxious jerk with the intention of inciting anger in you.” Shepard said matter of factly.
“And that is the best you can do?” Mike leapt up and prepared to pierce Shepard in the eye with his horn.
“Nyet!” With a burst of agility that utterly shocked the two, the heavy man jolted up from the ground and slammed his each of his humongous fists into their respective abdomens. The two were brutally launched out of the store through the wall at high speed.
The Cutie Mark Crusaders' ongoing mission was to discover their special talents, but today they decided to take a break and play some basketball outside the school. Apple Bloom and Babs Seed were on one team, with Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo on the other. Sweetie Belle was flanked by Apple Bloom to her left, with Babs preparing to intercept Scootaloo, who was ready to slam dunk the ball. In the midst of Sweetie Belle's daring pass across the court, the Spectre and the Anti-Brony flew by at just the right time to deflect the ball back speedily towards the filly.
Before the poor unicorn knew what hit her, the basketball struck Sweetie Belle in the face. Fortunately, her nose was not broken nor was she seriously hurt, but the stinging of the ball was nonetheless agonizing. The filly began to whimper slightly, beads of tears welling in her eyes before she finally broke into sobbing.
“Rarity!” Sweetie Belle ran off crying to find her sister, the other Crusaders not far behind. As luck would have it, the Element of Generosity was not too far away, having just returned from another gem collecting expedition with Spike. And hearing the cries of her little sister, immediately rushed to her aid.
“Sweetie Belle, are you all right?” Rarity ran up and caught her sister in a caring embrace, stroking her back gently to get the weeping filly to calm down. “What is the matter, Sweetie Belle?” Her voice was greatly concerned but remained soft and soothing.
“We were just chilling out, maxing and relaxing all cool...” Babs began to answer.
“So we decided to play basketball outside of the school and then these guys flew through the air...” Apple Bloom added.
“They were up to no good and then they hit Sweetie Belle in the face with our basketball.” Scootaloo finished.
Out by the court, the fashionista pony could see Shepard throwing a box of soap with his magic at some unseen opponent, pointing and laughing in some indication that he had a successful hit before being clotheslined by a segment of fence. The chunks of concrete attached smashing the walls of the house behind the Spectre. The gray unicorn Shepard was fighting now shot forward with a karate kick, only to be sent into the air by more magic from Shepard. Mike dived down and the two morphed into a whirlwind of barely visible punches and kicks.
Rarity gasped, “I cannot allow such hooligans to be around my sister! Fortunately I had mother and father prepare a contingency plan just in case something like this was to occur.” The unicorn gently let go of the still pouting filly, and spoke so softly that it might have made Fluttershy sound brash. “Sweetie Belle, pack your things, you are moving in with your aunt and uncle in Bel-Mare this instant.”
The young unicorn sniffled and looked up to her sister. “But Rarity...”
“No buts, I know you do not want to abandon your friends, but this is for your own good.”
“Aw, come on, miss Rarity. We still haven't found our cutie marks together yet.” Apple Bloom countered, briefly looking at her flank.
“I will ensure that you still see each other often, now we should return home right away before these barbarians get ideas.” With that, Rarity paced off to the Carousel Boutique, Sweetie Belle reluctantly in tow.
“Bye, guys...”
The aforementioned whirlwind of attacks eventually drifted over to city hall, completely ravaging it as the gusts whipped doors and furniture around the structure, ripping the hall asunder and causing the entire building to collapse.
“I have had enough of your snide insinuations!” Shepard said in between a flurry of jabs.
“I have had enough of your ponies!” Mike replied, landing a kick in Shepard's gut.
Both now flipped back, breaking the stalemate of strikes. The two looked each other in the eye with profuse hatred.
“You know what? This is taking too long, everything is just about to begin and here I am fighting you, the guest of honor.” With that, the Spectre conjured eight modified M-98 Widow sniper rifles that were held by the triggers in each of his fingers. The result was two columns of guns when his hands were turned vertically. Shepard wiggled his fingers one by one in each hand, creating a rapid volley of sniper fire that quite frankly turned the Anti-Brony into Changeling Cheddar.
Mike was not dead, Shepard just knew that he was fighting an avatar Mike created to try and escape. If he was correct, the Anti-Brony was still fettered to the rack.
And now it was time to get the party started.
Mike snapped back to attention, having failed to defeat Shepard. The last vestiges of his overpowered essence were drained, and he was truly helpless to whatever Pinkie Pie and the Spectre had in store. There were now voices chattering in the dark and the room a little bit brighter, allowing Mike to see the guests.
The first was a hodgepodge of animal parts fused together into a serpent like figure, Mike easily recognized this as Discord. The second was a black man in olive green battle armor, a camouflage undershirt, and a cigar in his mouth. If Mike wasn't mistaken, he was looking at Sergeant Major Avery Junior Johnson of the Halo universe. The third and final guest seemed to be a young adolescent, about five foot nine give or take. He wore a sage green jacket with a red and white striped undershirt and dark blue jeans - all looking like they were never washed. On his face was a goofy smile complimented by a unibrow. Before Mike was Ed, of Ed, Edd n' Eddy fame.
Mike was unsure of what was happening outside his limited field of vision. But from the sounds of it, Dasho Frainbow was organizing the music, completely disregarding the record player. Apparently she was ordering a certain 'Octavia' and 'Vinyl Scratch' to begin playing some 'Marshall Jeffercolt'. On cue a piano began to play an upbeat tune, shortly followed the tapping of a cymbal and a bass-y drum, presumably from a synthesizer. It was the kind of tune that one would just want to get up and dance to, at least, if they weren't about to become sugary 'hors-e d'oeuvres' to characters from across the multiverse.
Mike's time was running out, he had to think of a way to flee, but how was the question. He had no more energy, and even if he did, he would have to fight a Chaos being, a Spartan and an indestructible moron first. There were simply no viable options remaining for him to try.
Wait, Ed's a moron, that's perfect! Mike thought to himself, he knew for a fact that Ed was a gullible oaf, rarely questioning Eddy's orders and always acting out on them. Perhaps he could use reverse psychology to convince Ed to free him. It worked before on the oaf and surely it could work again.
“Hey, Ed!” Mike called out, the monobrowed visitor walking up to him.
“What's up, boss?” He smiled blankly as his eyes lost focus, he made a surprisingly crisp salute but the silly demeanor prevented him from being taken seriously.
“You know how Shepard says he doesn't want me out?” The Anti-Brony inquired, Ed nodded in reply. “Well, turns out that he was only half-right, he doesn't want me out until you all showed up. So once he returns with Pinkie Pie, you remove these chains, got it?”
“Yesiree doodle!”
“Good, remind me to get you some Chunky Puffs later.” Ed squealed in joy at “Chunky Puffs”, his favorite low-fat breakfast cereal.
The front door slammed open so hard that it was knocked off its hinges and sent on a collision course with Discord. The draconequus did not move, and upon impact the door deflated like a balloon, flying erratically around the room.
Commander Shepard walked into the room, carrying a terrified Fluttershy over his shoulder. He closed the backup door behind him and set the pegasus down, who wasted no time in cowering in the corner.
“You know you could have just let me invite her, there was little need to foalnap the little thing from her home.” Discord said, biting his lip with his fang. He bit too hard and caused strawberry pudding to ooze from the wound, of which he promptly licked up.
“And you would really do the sensible thing, Discord?” The Commander replied, smirking a face of doubt.
“Why of course not!” The Chaos being chuckled, “You should have seen the look on your face.” He took out his puppet controllers and spawned a caricature of Shepard that jerked awkward at every word he spoke. “'Oh, Discord's a hypocrite, he's gone soft. He doesn't know how to portray himself anymore' No, just friendlier.”
“Anyway, so Slendy's a no-show?” The Spectre inquired to Sergeant Johnson.
“His buddy Jeff is going through rehab, and he needs to drive him there. He says he might show up later, but we should assume he won't.”
“Ah well, we'll just have to start without h-- Ed! For crying out loud let her breathe!” Shepard rushed over to keep the lumpy Ed-boy from squeezing the life out of Fluttershy.
“Aw, but Shepard, Fluttershy is best pony!”
“Amen.” Johnson added.
“Ed, let her go, she still needs to do her part.”
“Aw okay... there you go, Fluttershy.” Ed let go of the timid pegasus, who was now coated in a layer of grime thicker than most dragons skin.
Mike just stood there in disbelief, where's Pinkie Pie? And why would she let all these witnesses be here... In the bluntest, most facepalm worthy moment of his imminently ending life, Mike realized that he wasn't in Pinkie's basement, nor was she the murderer. He was in a shed, Fluttershy's shed.
What didn't add up is that according to conversations on Skype between Shepard and the fanatic over the PONY.mov series, Fluttershy was supposed to be a psychopath who repeatedly warned everyone not to enter her shed. Yet, the pegasus was trembling in the corner, and seemingly oblivious to where she was. Another indication that something was awry was that Discord wasn't a fifty foot tall monster, but that was besides the point.
“Looks like she needs some motivation, you gonna do something about that?” The Spartan elbowed the Spectre in the arm.
“Why do I have to do everything?”
Johnson shrugged, “You're the host.”
“Can you at least lift her up to eye level or something?” Shepard fidgeted with his omni-tool, pressing a set of buttons and blinking a few times. “We're good.”
“Psst, Ed, come here.” Mike whispered to his pawn, the lump walked up to him and leaned one ear next to him. “Are you going to let me out?
“But Mike, you said I wasn't supposed to let you out until Shepard showed up with Pinkie Pie.”
The Anti-Brony's eye twitched, and he was practically screaming in frustration inside his head. He turned his attention to Johnson picking up the pegasus and having her look directly at Shepard
“So, are you in the mood for bloodletting yet?” The Spartan asked.
“Oh no, I could never do such a thing... But I can still help you untie him, if you want.” Fluttershy hesitantly responded, clearly uneasy but already forgiving the emotional trauma Shepard had wrought.
“But this guy,” Shepard pointed to Mike. ”Wants you and everyone you know dead.”
“I'm sure he isn't that bad once you get to know him. Just ask Discord.” The pegasus turned her head to the draconequus, who scratched the back of his head nervously before chewing on a Popsicle forged from his dandruff.
“Oh for crying out loud, man. Can't you just get this over with so we can continue?” The Spectre impatiently asked the Chaos being.
“Friends don't hurt friends,” Discord had finished eating the Popsicle stick and tossed the actual sherbert aside, which quickly melted a hole into the ground.
“Alright Ed, guess it's your turn.”
The lump elevated his arm and fanned out his fingers in preparation for a backhand strike. Mike braced himself for a world of pain when he heard the words: “Pink belly.” Ed's arm dived like a hawk finding its prey, with one arm he could lift a house, and with that same arm he could absolutely disintegrate Mike.
“Stop!”
Ed's hand froze in place just centimeters from Mike's stomach. He turned to face the source of the order and dropped his jaw in horror. Fluttershy was giving him the meanest look he ever saw, in that one moment, she was more intimidating than his stalker, May Kanker could ever aspire to be.
“I thought you were supposed to be a shining example of comedy, but you are just a bully who makes us laugh out of fear!” Fluttershy's statement was far from true, but Ed was not in the position to disagree.
“Nice job, Ed.” Shepard applauded briefly before he too became the victim of “The Stare”. It was every bit frightening as it was implied to be.
“And you, first you imprison this misunderstood individual, destroy city hall when he tries to escape, and have the nerve to steal me from my own home for your sick witch hunt. And now you are congratulating your friend for being mean?” The Spectre shook at each syllable the pegasus uttered, his will to continue was draining fast. He could only take his vision off Fluttershy's eyes for the quickest of moments, and saw the look of Johnson's face. The stern but concerned demeanor was all but outright saying that it was now or never.
He had to do this, he didn't cower when he hunted down Saren Arterius, he didn't run and hide when he went through the Omega-4 Relay, and he definitely could not give in after all of this. “Embrace...” Shepard muttered through grit teeth, he channeled every last ounce of his formidable will into this moment. He strained to open his eyelids as wide as they could go, his pulsing crimson irises struggling to lock onto Fluttershy's. With one final push he forced himself to finish the phrase. “...Stupidity.”
Fluttershy's mind was assaulted by images, all red as Shepard's glowing eyes. These images were atrocities enacted upon her friends and flashed so quickly that she had the good fortune of being able to remember only a few of them. She saw a picture of Pinkie Pie smiling with empty eye sockets, then the Cutie Mark Crusaders running from demonic figures riding upon torrents of hellfire. The bloodcurdling screams of ponies, both of her friends and of strangers roared throughout the montage.
For a few seconds, she saw nothing, as if her mind was finally merciful enough to grant her blindness. This was not the case, the cries of her friends continued to screech in increasingly distorted bouts until eventually it mutated into a hellish moaning accompanied by a thundering drum and some unidentifiable musical instruments. A new image began to flourish in her vision. A picture of a chestnut-colored pony, no, a full-sized horse running in a track. This horse however, to her immense terror, had only two legs and it looked as if it was born that way. The moaning slowly descended in pitch as the abomination ran down the endless path before shifting into an unintelligible language that seemed to utter the same two words.“Chacarron Macarron” After repeating the phrase several times, it returned to moaning in a decreasing pitch again.
Shepard discontinued the imagery, what was held in Johnson's hands before him was no longer the same Fluttershy that stood up to him. Instead, a gibbering pegasus with a sickly faded coat, deeply pink mane and solid, scarlet eyes was in her place. Her teeth were as pointed as toothpicks, and sharp as daggers, the parts of her face under her sunken eyes was pitch black. This version of the Element of Kindness knew only the suffering brought on by watching a YouTube meme. Her/its only meaning in life was to make somepony even more miserable than she/it, only then could Fluttershy know what it means to be kind again.
Johnson threw the mare out the open door and closed it behind her/it. “Don't worry, she'll sleep it off.” Shepard just stood there at the Sergeant, completely flabbergasted at why he just did that. “Dasho managed to talk Mike into giving the show a second chance in exchange for letting him go.”
“If I like it, so be it, but I still don't want to be labeled a Brony or something just because of that. If I do not, at least I tried.” Mike walked up to Shepard, stretching from being fettered for so long.
“Would you like me to send a letter to Princess Molesti--err I mean Celestia about what you two learned?” The fanatic asked, lending her pencil and a piece of parchment to the two.
Both looked at each other, then back at Dasho. “What did we learn?”
“Do unto others as you would have fresh buttered toast.” Ed answered, munching on a dry piece of sourdough bread.
Discord added in. “I believe that he meant 'respect your friends opinions on things instead of arguing over them'. Though I will admit the little fights you two have are quality examples of Chaos at work.”
“Okay,” Mike took the parchment.
“I don't see why not.” Shepard snatched the pencil and the two went to the gas oven, each taking turns writing.
“Dear Princess Celestia,
Today we learned that just because you and your friends have an interest in something, does not mean all of your friends also share that interest. And that if you try and force them to convert to your thinking, you only instill a further bias against it when they do try it out. The same applies for those against the interest, opposing it with hostility only begets arguments that accomplish nothing other than instilling additional bad blood. In short, you need to respect others viewpoints on something. Even if they might seem arrogant, or overly obsessive, at first.
Your favorite Spectre, and his friend.
-Meanman Shepard
~Mike”
The two rolled the letter up, put it in the stove, turned the appliance on and off the letter went to Canterlot. The music started up again, and everyone began to square-dance to German pop-music.
Just then, the door opened up again, and a tall, faceless man in a fancy black suit stepped through. “Hey everyone! Did I miss everything?” Everyone responded affirmatively, and with one of his hands behind his back, Slendy gave a thumbs up gesture to an approving Princess Luna hiding in the bushes.
Author's Note
Special thanks to TheMelon93 and dashofrainbow235 for their part in the conversations that inspired me to write this.
