The Meta League written by Anonymous

>AiE city, a domain within /mlp/opolis where people gather from around the world to discuss the merits of colorful horses and a green stranger from another dimension in peace, civility, and a lot of offensive name calling. Despite the many different walks of life and hot opinions the people feel safe contained in their part of /mlp/opolis. However, lurking in the shadows are those who wish to see that peace destroyed.
>“Yes, our genius plan is in motion. Soon AiE city will be no better than a shitposter’s battleground and once those accursed writefags are out of the way the longstanding general will become a corpse. Then we can take down the other generals one by one and no one will be able to stop us from taking over /mlp/opolis with our own OC.”
>”What do we do now?”
>”Now, now we wait.”
>MEANWHILE AT THE HALL OF WRITEFAGS
>Rope sits at his super computer dressed in his casual business wear. Pushing up his glasses he keeps a watchful eye over the happenings of /mlp/ololis. The one relic of his previous masked life is the bundle of rope around his chest like a sash.
“OC, mlp general, edge posting, sister general, sister general, episode countdown, divegrass…”
>8th-Sin walks in and approaches the diligent warden.
>Like the leaders of old his uniform is far from flashy. A base of solid midnight purple makes up the bulk, from his suit to his wallaby style mask with silver gloves and boots as well as a belt holstering boomerangs on each side. Black stripes work as the inlay and his crest of a kangaroo silhouette getting punched in the face displays proudly on his chest.
“How’s things looking >Rope?”
“Oh, hey boss. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Don’t call me boss ya cunt.”
“Like it or not that’s what you are glorious leader.” >Rope laughs keeping his face glued to the monitor.
“>Implying anyone can lead this band of misfits.”
“That’s what makes it fun, right? Anyways, here’s the newest batch.”
>Rope hands 8th a vanilla folder the size of at least 500 pieces of paper. The reluctant leader immediately starts flipping through the pages.
“Good oil. What have we got?”
“30 stories, an all around mix of ‘em; about 10 posts of discussions, a few bumps, some filler and a whole bunch of shitposting.”
“The things we fight for.”
“And all of that in just over a week.”
“Well at least things are starting to pick up. How are our brethren in Flutterrape doing?”
>Rope reluctantly turns in his chair looking to 8th for the first time.
“It’s not good. They’re practically on life support relying on tons of bumps.”
>8th leans over >Rope to look at the monitor noting the dates of the articles spacing nearly a month.
“Fight on ya bastards.”
“And that’s what I got. You wanna stay and watch virtual divegrass with me?”
“Nah, I’m going to share this with the rest of the team. Get back to me when they add aerial Ping-Pong.”
>Returning to his monitor >Rope cracks open a bear and kicks up his feet.
“Your loss.”

>The Hall of Writefags meeting room is little more than a dressed up bar; designed around the team’s greatest vice. Durnk and Anonpencil are often found here together muttering nonsense with many of the others coming and going throughout the day.
>Sure enough the two are at a table completely sloshed when 8th-Sin enters the room.
>Durnk in his edgy oc black and red costume made out of pajama pants and permanent marker in an attempt to ape 8th’s style. His logo a poorly drawn beer bottle he paid some china man to do.
>Anonpencil wears a tunic half dark gold half light purple with spirals of each blending into their counterpart; the colors of mania and dementia. A green bowler hat with a black question mark sits on top of her head and a flimsy black eye mask on her nose.
“Get this,” Durnk slurs, “Anonymous hates Sparkle—“
“Always hates Sparkle.” Anonpencil cuts in.
“Hates Sparkle and shits in her chimney.”
“It’s always shit with you. You got problems.”
“YOU got problems.”
“I got problems.”
“We all got problems!” they sing together while smashing their glasses
>A foreign bottle taps against the other two.
“Cheers to that.” 8th adds before they chug their respective beers.

“And then there’s this guy.” Durnk says while thumbing to 8th.
“I love this guy. I hope you die last.” Anonpencil holds up her glass for another toast.
“Thanks, but you two aren’t getting off the ride before me.”
“I’m on too many rides. I’m gonna get locked up for DUI before I die.”
“And I can’t die until you morons get smart enough to stop following me around.”
“Things that aren’t going to happen.”
>The two lushes examine their empty glasses as if mystified as to where the booze could have gone. Figuring it rude to get up for more they instead look at the folder in 8th's hand.
“That >Rope’s newest batch?” Durnk says.
“Yeah. Hot off the presses.”
“How’d we do?” Anonpencil asks.
“Better than recently but there’s still a lot to do.”
“You say that every time.” A new voice with a heavy southern draw quips.

>TexAnon swings by the bar.
>The spitting image of a modern cowboy TexAnon wears a navy blue suit underneath his heavy beige poncho that matches his wide-brimmed Stetson hat. A green wild rag hangs loosely around his neck with white horseshoes around the rim. His gristly face has no mask leaving his identity exposed though he has shown no concern over the fact.
“How’s it hanging Tex?” asks 8th.
“Yo.”
“Grab me a beer while you’re there.” says Durnk.
“Grab me three.” says Anonpencil.
“Sure thing.”
>Four bottles hit the table. Tex holds onto one, Durnk claims another, and 8th gives Anonpencil a dirty look when she grabs the other two.
“What?”
“You worry too much,” says Tex while pulling a fifth beer from his pocket and handing it to 8th, “always thinking about what more we can do. You gotta remember why we’re here, partner.”
>8th pops the bottle open with his boomerang.
“And what would you have me do let everyone run amuck?”
>Tex points a finger gun at 8th.
“Fun’s the name of the game.”
>and fires the imaginary bullet.
“And then there’s this guy.” Mocks Durnk while thumbing to Tex.
“I love this guy. I hope you die last. Except you gypped me a beer.” Says Anonpencil.
“You two can fuck right off.” Says 8th.
>Tex just smiles and tips his hat.

>In another section of the base Mandroid trains in the danger room; the danger room being a bunch of computers with Typing of the Dead installed using custom greentext dictionaries.
>Classic does not even begin to describe Mandroid. His baby blue one-piece spandex uniform is complete with the black groin region looking like his underwear is on the outside, and he has the stereotypical cape painted silver marking the end of an era. His crest is a circle in the center of his chest with a stylized BiE; the E being backwards. His face is covered by a single band of blue over his eyes that somehow make them appear as white as the rather peculiar ring on his finger.
“You can play too, you know.”
“I’m fine.” Responds a cold hollow voice.
>In the distant corner stands Rat watching over Mandroid without motion. Her face a metal mask with slits for eyes and a grated mouthpiece of unfeeling emotion. Like the iron maiden or Greek statues of old all thought is hidden from the neutral expression and any attempt to gaze at the person within is met with the stare of an empty abyss. Her entire body is also covered in metal but an orange cloak and hood drapes over hiding much.
>Words fly from the screen. Anonymous, Twilight, Equestria, Mane 6, pony, p0ny…
>Quick keyboard taps hit with perfection and the voice of the game’s announcer fills the silence.
‘Extreme Violence, hardcore violence, psychotic’
“You’re not upset?” asks Mandroid
“These things happen.”
‘Goregasm!’
“And what about hope?”
“You know my feelings on hope.”
“I know your old feelings on hope.”
>Rat is quiet and lets the game’s scoreboard tally uninterrupted before finally replying.
“They have changed.”
“Attagirl.”
>With the game over Mandroid stretches; cracking his knuckles and getting out of his chair.
“>Rope should have that new batch done by now. You want to go find the rest of the team and see what’s up?”
“That is fine with me.” Rat answers plainly.
“You’re a real life of the party, you know that? Come on, they’re probably getting drunk in the meeting room.”
“I too enjoy alcohol.”
“We’ll make a party animal out of you yet.”

>In the writefag garage AutoPony desperately tries to work on the team’s Mom’s Minivan. His real pride is the neighboring black superbird, but given the limited seating Mom’s Minivan has become the staple when not using the obligatorily jet that no one knows how or why they have.
>His outfit is the most pragmatic of the bunch. A dark grey armored vest, jeans, tire themed shoulder pads, fingerless gloves and a pair of sunglasses. Yes, even when indoors. His trusty tire iron loosely hangs from his side.
> Nothing specific identifies him or his abilities except the content demeanor he has while tweaking an engine or behind the wheel. That is, when he is not being pestered by the other members.
“How about it, you and me one on one? We both got the need for speed. We’re like brothers.” Rambles FgtWtKybrd at a mile a minute.
>Unlike his speedy counterpart FgtWtKybrd is all flash with his costume. His full body fleshy pink suit covers everything except his mouth, much like Mandroids and 8ths. An army green belt stylized like pegasus wings breaks up the center, and like Hermes, he has green wings on his head and boots. His crest a white keyboard.
>AutoPony keeps focused on the engine, but that does not deter Fgt.
“Okay then, how about partners? Me and you versus the world. You and I. A tag team for the ages.”
>The unstoppable force versus the immovable object.
“Brother!” Fgt shouts flinging his arms open.
>AutoPony keeps the stonewalling strong leaving Fgt standing like that until becoming sufficiently awkward. Fgt then crosses his arms.
“Even Rat at least says no.”
“No.” Autopony deadpans.
“See, you can talk. Let’s talk stakes, wagers, bids.”
>Autopony gives a groan before starting the engine for some sort of respite.
“I’ll give you 2 to 1 odds. 3 to 1. 4 to 1, but that’s my final offer.”
>It doesn’t work.
“Here’s an idea,” AutoPony starts, “let’s play the quiet game. I bet you can’t beat my record.”
“We all saw that episode.”
“Then how about you go ask Durnk? I think he likes you.”
“Done.”
>Fgt zips out of the garage finally giving AutoPony the much wanted peace.

>Somewhere far away a large man sits by himself in the middle of a forest. His swoll glistens in the scattered rays of sun like that of a demigod, and the giant sword attached to the back of his cross strap bondage gear definitely makes the pondering man imposing. A philosopher in a loin cloth. Quite the contradiction.
>While He-Anon sits a second man materializes from the foliage as if coming alive from the very bushes thanks to his muted coat of autumn leaves and cape of grass. The antlers of an elk adorn his head pinning the hood forever over his eyes. A thin walking stick accompanies his step pretending age in youth, and a sheathed short sword hangs from his belt of fine quality though never used.
>As the freelancer Shukaku approaches He-Anon opens his eyes.
“Have you come to speak with the forest as well?” asks Shukaku.
“I came because it helps me think.”
“Oh? About what?”
“Well, when you think about it rationally, you don't really need turtles.”
“What?” Shukaku shouts.
“Huh?”
“You came here for that?”
“For what? Do I know you from somewhere? Yeah, I saw your timber profile.”
“I-I don’t have a timber profile.”
“You sure? xXxBigBadBugKillerxXx?”
“Look,” Shukaku blurts out, “forget about that. Do you not sense the growing turmoil?”
“…Nooooo. Care to explain?”
“All I know is that a change is coming. Something big.”
“Bow chicka—“
“Stop that. This is serious. This is bigger than Glim Glam!”
>If Shukaku had told He-Anon his waifu was shit his face still pale in comparison to the deathly look.
“What is it?”
“I honestly do not know what, but the spirits tell me that the entirety of /mlp/opolis is threatened.”
“This ain’t some whack job hunch, is it?”
“They gave the same warning just before the season 3 finale.”
“We should inform the others.”
“You go. I…I think it is best I stay here.”
“But you said this was important.”
“I made my bed it is only fair that I lay in it. Don’t worry, you’ll be seeing me again soon enough.”
>He-Anon nods and pushes on the little device in his ear.
“Hey, AutoPony. I need a pickup……just me…..yes that means you get to drive Luna….see you soon.” *click* “Autist.”

>Everyone save He-Anon and AutoPony mingle in the meeting room bullshitting as a group. Some sit at the tables, some walk around, some stand like wallflowers, and one or two heretics even go without having a drink in hand. 8th leans in the back of his chair with a hmmm and the crowd goes quiet.
“For my pick…I’m taking Rarity saying darling.”
>Several boos fill the room.
“If you’re going to take an easy one,” starts Mandroid, “then I’m taking Fluttershy stuttering.”
>More boos as well as a few laughs.
>Beer still in hand Tex points at Mandroid with an accusatory finger.
“I’ll spice it up and say wingboners.”
>A few cheers mix in with the growing laughter.
“You screwed yourself on that one,” Anonpencil says while sliding Tex a new beer, “that shit is dead.”
“I miss that trope.” Rat adds from the background.
“I don’t miss having to number all of the threads individually you assholes,” blurts a slurring >Rope, “The day we started a real numbering system was the happiest day of my life.”
“Even when we had to use half threads during the Scruffening?” adds Fgt.
>Rope winces and takes another drink before continuing.
“But for mine I’m going with Anonymous passing out, WHICH includes getting hit on the head.”
“Now you’re just cheating.” says 8th.
“Dibs on Fart Anon.” Fgt cuts back in which earns a snarky laugh from AnonPencil.
“You think you can win with that? I have you all topped. The Anon who—“
“Don’t you dare!” shouts the room in unison.

>He-Anon and AutoPony burst through the main doors breaking up the game.
“I just had a run in with Shukaku and he says something big is going down!”
>Durnk lifts his head from the table to see the commotion.
“What’s Fluttershy 2.0 got to say?”
“We don’t have any details, but he claims it is even more drastic than Nu Glim.”
>Drinks are abandoned as the team follows >Rope to the command center.
“What’s the situation?” 8th asks with clear haste.
>Rope eyes frantically scan page after page. “I’m looking, I’m looking. Give me a minute.
Writer prompt, writer prompt, sister general, show discussion, show writer hate…a…a new EQG movie?”
>He-Anon watches the screen in disbelief.
“A new EQG movie? That jackass got me worked up over a new EQG movie?”
“Easy now,” 8th says, “Though I do agree, this may not be what he was talking about. Everyone just keep sharp. We’ve dealt with EQG movies before.”
“This can’t be it,” says Mandroid, “I’ve known Shukaku for a long time. Another EQG movie wouldn’t bother him.”
“Do you think it might be a second Scruffening?” suggests AutoPony.
>8th turns to the group and gathers everyone’s attention.
“Let’s hope not, but we don’t need to be in here doompauling. We still have a city to uphold. >Rope, buzz us at the first sign of trouble.”
“You got it, boss.”
“You’re right. We have our duties,” Mandroid adds, “and I’m behind enough as is.”
>The speculating mob disperses in twos and threes muttering about the news. Once 8th and >Rope are alone in the command center 8th lets out a heavy sigh.
“Just what I needed.”
“Do you think Shukaku was being melodramatic?”
“He ain’t no larrikin.”
“Americanize that for me.”
“He’s not a prankster.”
“What should we do then?”
“Exactly what we said; stay alert and keep up our day jobs. Now if you’ll excuse me I got a little she devil waiting for me.”
>Rope gives a casual salute and returns to the screen while 8th leaves for his own quarters.

>The Hall of Writefags is eerily quiet, devoid of the usual banter that fills these walls. Understandable with the writefags tending to their craft guarding AiE city, but when not patrolling the districts of cute, lewd, stupid and serious the sense of uncertainty lingers.
>Grizzled whiskers scratch >Rope’s face and empty cups pile on the desk. His tired eyes that browse dozens of windows practically flake from their dryness.
>The Durnk Grapevine, an underground rumor mill touching nearly all of the neighboring cities named after its handler, probes the outside world for information. However, the constant questioning has the additional affect of spreading the suspicion throughout /mlp/opolis.
>When the newer recruits Jathma, DeceptivelyProficient, Dirt Muffins, Shockenau and KABanon who form Team Nu are not patrolling the streets with their elder counterparts they are sent on recon missions to dig up whatever they can.
>Everyone keeps oddly busy as if stockpiling for the unseen danger. Even the socialites have withdrawn into the solitude of a starving artist.
>While 8th sits at the desk in his room >Rope’s voice calls from his earpiece.
“Guys, you are going to want to see this.”

>The command center floods with bodies each turning their head to the enormous main screen displaying days of collected leaks, tweets, pictures and even a trailer. >Rope hits play.
>The humanized ponies go to the Everfree, they acquire their equivalent magical powers, SciTwi has Nightmare Moon syndrome, and a powerful spirit has leaked from Equestria.
“It keeps overlapping more and more.” He-Anon gasps.
“Are they trying to make more husbandos?” AutoPony asks.
“And what’s up with the purple nerd?” Anonpencil adds.
“You mean Twilight?” Tex says.
“It’s only a matter of time until both sides meet each other in one world or another.” Fgt says.
>Rope replaces the trailer with the recent surveillance of /mlp/opolis.
“That’s not all. We expected the usual divide, but the fan boys and haters are in full force. Even the Glimmerfags are keeping their heads down.”
“>Implying they’re not fighting with the Shimmerfags.” Durnk replies.
>8th smashes his fist in his hand.
“Alright, we know what we’re dealing with. This isn’t the usual waifu wars; we have two big splits in the fandom on our hands: Starlight Glimmer and Equestria Girls. However, AiE remains about two things. Anonymous, in Equestria. Us picking a side would only escalate things. Instead we should close the gates and stick to producing our own content.”
>Mandroid steps up to 8th.
“We shouldn’t shut ourselves off when we are just as much a part of /mlp/opolis.”
“What would we add? We are a niche. No one cares what we think. It’d be like pissing in an ocean of piss.”
“If ever there was a time for us to reach out it is now. Those who stand idly by when their voice matters most have no right to complain about the future they are given.”
“It doesn’t concern us.”
“How many have we lost? How many have we pushed away to transformation generals, big pony generals, satyr generals and humanization to the eqg generals because someone didn’t like it even though it had Anonymous? Look, look out there at all of the splinter cities. Each of them is our sin, and closing ourselves off is only going to make matters worse.”
>8th’s muscles tense, their definition pressing against his suit. He gets right into Mandroid’s face, the wallaby mask peering into those equally defiant pure white eyes.
“Don’t try to blame us for those Anons who wanted to feel special and go off on their own. We respect our sister cities of FR, PiE, and EQG. /mlp/opolis used to be an ever changing landscape with a few major cities. Now every faggot OP has to have their own plot of land where Anon’s can man train over their fetish. They ignored everything we have to offer, from stories that may interest them to advice to help them grow. They made their choice and as a last act of defiance when their city eventually crumbles they disappear instead of coming here where we would readily accept them.”
“Why would they come here when we’re hostile, or worse, apathetic?”
“You know better than I we are not a hugbox.”
“And we’re also supposed to not be a circle jerk, but tell me, when was the last time you read a story you didn’t write?”

>Rope jumps from his seat and pushes them apart. Both relax and allow >Rope to separate them though they keep their stern glares.
“Alright, alright, settle down. Don’t make me come out of retirement.
Like it or not, we all have to live with where we are today. What’s important is the here and now.”
>The two paragons heed the warning and back off.
“You are right though I still don’t think this is what Shukaku was alluding to,” Mandroid continues, “EQG is not a threat and this is the fourth iteration.”
“It’s more than EQG,” interjects 8th, “it’s the culmination of events.”
“Don’t get started you two. I’m serious.” Cuts >Rope.
“We won’t. I am going to go find Shukaku and get to the bottom of this.”
“I’ll give you 24 hours. After that I am declaring Happening.”
>Gasps fly from the spectators.

“Happening? Seriously?” asks Tex. “That’s one hell of a call.”
“But you feel it don’t you,” interjects Fgt, “Something ain’t right.”
“Yeah, but Happening? Shiiiiiiiiit.”
“It has been getting lewdier around /mlp/opolis lately.” Says Durnk.
“A hammer would be imminent.” Says Rat.
“Hammer schmammer. If Scruffs gonna scruff then we’re gonna have to get rough.” Says Anonpencil.
“That’s the first I’ve ever heard you talk about fighting.” Says He-Anon.
“Fighting? No, that ain’t me. I will, however, spam his mail with horrible poetry so foul it may as well be criminal.”
>Autopony sighs and starts playing Pokemon Go.
>Mandroid nods to 8th who returns his own.
“Then I better make use of my time. Autopony, you mind giving me a lift?”
“Uh, sure.”
>Mandroid and Autopony leave through the garage. A minute later tires screech in the distance.
>The rest of the team break from the command center to weigh their options.

“So. Team Valor, right?”
“…Instinct actually.”
“This is going to be a long ride.”
“>Implying.”
>The engine of the midnight black superbird roars with a powerful rev. Mid rev where the RPMs align perfectly with the transmission Autopony slides the clutch into fourth gear and the car grabs flawlessly.
>Corners become guidelines and the traffic merely scenery. The Luna hula girl swings her tail on the dashboard.
>Mandroid makes use of the ‘oh shit handle’ his expression perfectly matching the namesake.
“Easy there Initial D.”
“Funny you should say that.”
>Autopony pushes the cassette into the stereo.
>Running in the 90’s is now playing in your head manually.
>Through the streets Autopony’s toy pony cruises faster and faster testing the brakes and wearing down the shocks. His head bobs with the beat, a wicked smile on his lips, and racing gloves squeezing tight during the bouts of flight.
>Behind those sunglasses he can see the ghost of his record time taunting him just ahead and he curses the extra weight of his passenger.
>Inch by inch, the milliseconds working against him to deny that one glorious run years ago. When the night roads were empty and it was just him, Luna, and a full tank of gas.
>Pedal hits floor and exhaust plumes from the tail pipe shoving the occupants into their seats. The tree line rushes to meet them as the smooth asphalt transforms into bumpy dirt.
“Should we really be taking this car off road?”
>Without warning Autopony hooks the wheel as far left as it will go sending the car into a spin. His feet dance with the pedals.
>180
>270
>540
>6…30
>The car stops right at the edge, Mandroids door barely far enough from the neighboring tree to open. Dust from the tracks swiftly catch up and blows past soiling the recent waxing.
>Autopony silences the still blaring music and Mandroid is more than happy to see himself out. Autopony also steps out, placing a hand on the burning hood and taking in the rapt of the ticking engine.
“Next time girl.”
“I thought you went out of your way to take care of your car.”
“No point if I can’t put her through her paces now and then. I also put in a new set of Bilstien Sport shocks to improve the handling, and needed the test run. Jury’s still out on that one. Besides, if anything does break it just means I get to spend more time with her.”
“Huh. That’s the longest answer I’ve gotten out of you yet.”
“We’re talking about cars.”
“Does that mean you’re going to go mute when we find Shukaku.”
“Pretty much.”
“Fun. Well let’s get hunting.”

>MEANWHILE AT THE HALL OF WRITEFAGS
>Fgt meets with 8th in the study to discuss the recent turn of events.
“When He-Anon first talked with Shukaku he said that Shukaku admitted to having no idea what his ‘feeling’ was about. Do you think things will be any different now?”
“We can only hope something changed the last few days.”
“But remember how you said it was a culmination of events? That got me thinking, and I need you to follow me here.”
>Fgt starts pacing with a hand on his chin and his head hung low. 8th's pupils bounce side to side keeping pace with the speedster.
“Right now there is a big divide between Mane 6 vs Mane 7. EQG has been a divide since its inception. Before that best pony has always been a topic of debate. Faust vs Meghan created a pretty big split, and don’t get me started on Twilicorn. Each season creates more hot opinions about when the very concept we base our powers on stopped being good.”
“Yeah, we’re dysfunctional. Are you going to tell me AiE is some beacon of unity? Because we’re not.”
“No, but maybe we’re the tipping point? You can’t tell me you weren’t about to fight Mandroid back there. Why? Because Shukaku’s warning has everyone on edge. If we didn’t hear anything there would be no issue. Anons are going to argue; this isn’t new and it isn’t our concern. We should just close the city like you suggested and chill.”
>8th opens his mouth then immediately closes it. He instead taps his finger against his lip taking a minute to watch Fgt.
“Iceman would have appreciated that if he were here.” 8th finally says, “While I agree with you, I gave Mandroid time to find Shukaku and I am going to honor it.”
“Of course, but even when he finds Shukaku what do you suppose he is going to say? ‘Everything is fantastic and we can go on with our lives like normal.’ No, he’s going to make things worse.”
“We can’t say that for sure. He may have an actual answer for us.”
“Best case scenario, but keep what we said in mind.”

>The command center is quiet save for the glowing buzz from the many monitors >Rope watches over, his keen eye trained on the whole of /mlp/opolis. The growing sound of spurs clinking his way does nothing to distract his attention.
“Knew I’d find you here.” Says Tex.
“Where else would I be?” >Rope deadpans while scrolling through the NTT archive.
“Level with me here. You’ve been here longer than any of us. We Happening?”
“I didn’t join the game much earlier than you, and you’ve done far more than I have. What do you think?”
“I don’t know what to think. Something is definitively off, but Happening? That’s reserved for the most serious shit like purple alicorn princesses and muffins.”
“Her name is Derpy. Rainbow said so. And her old voice was best.”
“I’m not arguing, but those were forced on us. This recent threat, if you can call it that, feels like we’re putting it on ourselves.”
“That depends on whether you would count The Scruffening as something forced on us as well.”
>TexAnon’s usual wit failed him and he rests his leather gloved hand over his lips. >Rope in turn takes off his glasses and rubs his poor strained eyes.
“Regardless,” >Rope sighs, “we are AiE. No more, no less. We are a collective of people who share a single purpose amongst two rules, and those end as soon as we leave the city limits. No doubt each and every one of us sneaks off to other parts of /mlp/opolis; whether anonymously or with our suits on. Because of these facts there is no all encompassing answer. It is a personal question we each must tackle.”
“And where does that put you, partner?”
>Rope chuckles, putting his glasses on and returning his attention to the screens.
“I’m retired, remember? I just keep track of everything and I’ll offer that services to anyone.”
“Trying to get a straight answer out of Grandpa? I figured you would know better, Tex.” A teasing feminine voice calls from the doorway.

>Anonpencil, Durnk and He-Anon each make their way to the autismosophical debate.
“Great, the retard twins and the Infraggable Krunk. Right when I had him actually being serious.” >Rope yells.
“My name’s Durnk not Krunk.”
“Aww, that’s cute, but I was referring to He-Anon.”
>Durnk looks to He-Anon, then to Anonpencil, then back to >Rope, and then starts counting on his fingers.
“Lay off,” Anonpencil chides, “we’re nearly sober.”
“You’re the one who called me Grandpa.”
“And you keep making 90’s references.”
>Seeking to draw the attention away from the bickering, Tex makes an exaggerated showing of lifting his hands to point at the newcomers with his signature finger pistols.
“What brings you lot here anyway? I imagine you didn’t come solely to rile up the old man.”
“Same as you,” He-Anon says, “We wanted to get his take on the situation.”
“Can’t even drown the thoughts with hard liquor. In fact drinking only makes it worse. It’s like depression drunk; the worst case scenarios just keep replaying themselves in your mind getting worse and worse.” Anonpencil adds.
“And there’s no escape. Everywhere has this same sense of doompauling. You have no idea how many people are claiming this season will be our last.” Says Durnk.
>Rope pulls marked pages of interest onto the big screen.
“At least three threads an hour, if not more. An equal amount claim season seven is already confirmed.”
“And then what happens? We do this again next year?”
>That thought long embedded in the heroes, festering since Shukaku’s warning days prior. The question is left to linger as no one wishes to answer.

>Durnk stands tall taking the initiative for himself.
“Well I ain’t going anywhere. Bring The Happening, I’ll still be here.”
“Which here,” He-Anon asks with a solemn growl, “We know your penchant for getting around. “
>Without missing a beat Tex jumps on the aggressor.
“Like you’re one to talk or are your forays with the guardsmare a one night fling? And Anonpencil. Fimfic? FIMFIC?”
>Anonpencil simply shrugs.
>He-Anon does not take the accusation as casually, getting in to Tex’s face.
“I share my other works with AiE.”
“Me too.” Durnk says.
“Are you innocent?” He-Anon continues to Tex, “Have you never been taken by a prompt?”
“I’m not, but how long until it turns into another general city? 8th has a point. Tell me, what makes RGRE any different? It literally revolves around Anonymous IN Equestria.”
“Crossposting isn’t a crime.”
“It divides us. Why come here when they already have the content?”
“Weren’t you the one telling 8th earlier that the important thing is fun?” asks Anonpencil.
>TEX GETS ANGRY FACE
“I’m tired of watching us slowly die!”
>Durnk rushes to grab Tex by the collar shoving He-Anon out of the way.
“I’ve been busting my ass to keep AiE alive far more than you. Get the fuck off your high horse.”
“Holy shit!” Anonpencil squeals.
>Tex snarls baring his teeth while ignoring the grip on his coat.
“Recently. You’re still a newcomer.”
>Durnk yanks his hands from Tex, grabbing the edges of his own mask.
“Someone had to say it.” A hollow voice creeps from the distance stalling Durnk before he can remove his mask.
>The temperature of the room drops sending a chill over the four hotheads who turn to see Rat hiding in the background.
“We are all thinking it. The dying part I mean.”
>Despite the featureless mask one could practically taste the awkward.
“We missed the chance to leave with a celebration some one hundred odd threads ago. Now the question is whether we were fools doomed by our foolishness to endure the slow approach of death.”
>Tex, Anonpencil, Durnk and He-Anon break apart, turning away from one another and especially away from Rat.
>For what was shaping to be an impromptu fight club the fierce energy completely dissipates leaving a lifeless husk no jokes or wise cracks could brush aside.

>Tex is the first to recover, still avoiding eye contact by fiddling with his hat.
“How long have you been there?” he asks.
“A while.” She replies with that echoing voice trapped behind a steel cage.
>Finding the opportunity to break the struggle >Rope actually gets his ass out of his chair. With one loud clap he steals the attention of the room.
“Alright, so we’re all on edge. That’s cool, that’s fine, but remember we are on the same side here. AiE isn’t going anywhere for a long time. Everyone take a moment to clear your heads. Grab a beer, grab a soda, grab a wank, whatever. In the meantime I suggest you each think about what I said and make your own conclusions.”
>The group does eye one another suspiciously, but silently agrees to >Rope’s suggestion and goes their separate ways.
>Once the coast is clear >Rope gets on the com with 8th.
“We have a problem.”

>In the hallway towards the training room Rat floats across the floor; her earpiece ringing then making the distinct click of a connected call.
“We have a problem.”
>Mandroid steps over logs and bushes searching through the unending forest.
“Yeah, same here. We haven’t found a single sign of Shukaku yet. What’s up on your end?”
“Despair has set in almost leading to a fight.”
>Using the power of his white ring Mandroid illuminates a cave, but no Shukaku.
“As if there wasn’t enough to deal with. Autopony, any luck?”
“Nope.”
“One of these days I’ll bring someone with more than a three word vocabulary. Maybe Fgt.”
“I am still on the line.” the neutral voice in his ear chimes.
“I know.”
"And your selected alternative would be ill-advised.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
>The line goes dead and Mandroid busies himself with some tracks on the ground; human footprints.
>Eventually the voice returns.
“I also am part of the blame.”
“Why?”
“The splinter generals were mentioned and—“
“Hey! Remember what I told you; it’s okay to have other hobbies. It’s called having your cake and eating it too.”
“But I—”
“Don’t even say it. Writefag or not we are only human, and this isn’t our job. Just keep the team from killing each other until we get back and everything will be sorted.”
>Again the receiver goes quiet leaving him to wonder if she was about to shut herself off. His defiant optimism has clashed with her in the past.
>A soft spoken voice lets him know that she was willing to put up with him for a while longer.
“I’ll try.”
>The click of the disconnected call telling that she is gone for real this time.
>Spotting the tracks, Autopony gazes in to the dark woods where they disappear.
“He can’t be that far.”
“Good. We’re running out of time in more ways than one.”