“The tall, pale, bipedal being walked leisurely down the stone hall: his thick brown hair was combed back into an elegant flip, and a lengthened curl rested above his right eye. His brown eyes glinted through his shades, and a small mustache adorned his lip. A slim, patchy beard decorated his chin, and guarded a small, loose silver chain around his neck. This was our subject: a Seventh Level EVOLVE Agent, and Reconnaissance Expert. To those that 'knew' him outside of his work, he was merely a teenage social cast-out, and useful as a porter.

He took note of the dense vegetation that had grown among the cracks since his last visit. The countless mosaics of warriors set decoratively in the floor seemed to move about, doing the same embattled dance they had always done. And yet, the corridor seemed far quieter than the last time.

Once he came to the great oak doors at the end, and twisted the knob: they glided open with a silent groan, casting a small light on the room within. He then looked through the murky entrance; and up at a faint, swirling black shape that slithered up the circular walls. He felt along the mossy stones beside the door: searching for something.

'Maybe it got moved?' he pondered after little success. 'No… no, why would they move it? There’s no reason to.’

Soon, his groping hands struck something familiar.

“Aha!” he shouted when his fingers reached a small lever. He seized it with a light, yet firm, grip: and lifted it upwards. Instantly, the room was filled with a light that blazed from the center of the room, illuminating the opening from corner to corner. The light emerged from a great chandelier that hung from the ceiling, emitting an orange glow that flowed in spirals around the chain from which it hung. A large, corkscrew staircase rolled upwards along the wall, ending before a wooden trapdoor at the top.

He strode over to a large desk in the middle of the room, and sat down with an unceremonious plop. The desk had several papers in numerous colors scattered in sorted stacks on one side, and a Newton’s Cradle next to an aged black laptop on the other. He removed a small sticky-note from his pocket and read it aloud, as he had several times on the drive over:

He set the letter down with a breath that sounded a mix between a sigh and a shudder, and looked up at the swirling light in wonder: “What could the Prophet want with a Level Seven?” he questioned.

“Maybe he has an assignment for you, Mac?” A deep voice suggested.

Mac looked over to the doorway to see a large, brown-skinned centaur stepping into the room. His nose was like that of a boar: with small tusks forming on the sides. And his antlers were like a gnu's set on their sides. The coat on his horse-like body shone as amber; and the mane that wrapped around his face and ran down his back was of a similar color. His youthful muscles shifted as he leaned casually against the atrium.

“Well, Orion!” Mac exclaimed cheerily: “It’s been, what, two months since last we met?” he laughed, leaning back in his chair.

“Seems like three to me.” Orion said with a low chuckle, “How’s it been, buddy?”

“Good all around.” Mac waved his hands outward, “Family’s fine, Friends are fine.”

“Do they suspect anything yet?”

Mac’s smile didn’t even flicker as he answered.

“Nope, I told them I’d be taking a vacation. The lying’s getting easier.”

Orion’s smile did falter, however, at his friend’s indifference: “I was afraid of that.” He sighed. He continued bemusedly after Mac waved off his concerns with a confident smirk. “The Prophet wanted you to have this, and to report to him when you’re done in here.”

He tossed a large envelope with a flick of his wrist, hitting the Newton’s Cradle from the edge of the desk. Mac snatched both items before they plummeted to the stone floor: saving his desk toy from an early end.

“Do you have to do that?” he scowled.

“Sorry!” Orion laughed. “I guess I’m not as good an aim as I was.”

Mac rolled his eyes. “So, wait: the Prophet himself sent you?” he asked, turning a cautious tone to his old friend.

Orion shrugged: “Yeah.”

Mac raised an eyebrow: “Doesn’t he- oh, I don’t know –hate your guts?”

“Sure, but only because I don't trust his motives.”

“Careful…” Mac warned, “You never know when he’s listening.”

“He’s not,” Orion chuckled, “he said my ‘lack of an IQ’ gives him a headache.”

With that said, he offered a wave of goodbye and a small smile before walking out.

Mac shook his head with a grin, and opened the envelope. As he glanced over the note, however, his eyebrows shot up. He leapt out of his chair and threw open the door, running after the centaur.

“Orion!” he screamed, “Who the heck are you trying to kid with this?”

Orion stopped and turned his head. “What?” he growled, raising an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“This, this is what I’m talking about!” Mac said, handing the note to Orion. “You don’t seriously think I’m going to fall for this joke, do you?”

Orion took it and held it up to his blunt nose, before giving an equally shocked face. That gave Mac cause to worry: for he know Orion well enough to know he was never an actor.

“Sorry,” Orion shrugged, “no joke, I got this straight from the Prophet himself! Along with a few unpleasant insults, I might add."

He examined the inscription again, before handing it back. "It's certainly… peculiar, though.”

Mac clenched the note and read it once more: wondering why the Prophet had sent Orion to deliver it rather than one of his plodding personal pupils. He then apologized to Orion, and walked past him.

“Do you think it’s time?” Orion asked cautiously from behind. Mac stopped, and could’ve sworn he saw a flash of silver and ruby in the centaur’s hand.

“Maybe…” The boy started, “Maybe later. But not… not just yet.” He sighed, before turning around and walking off.

When Mac had gotten to the large opening marked 'Main Hall', he was still in a state of shock over what his latest memo contained. He was so occupied by his own mind that failed to notice the tall, snake-like creature walk up behind him on three pairs of stubby legs.

“Out of papers to file, little boy?” it hissed, causing Mac to nearly jump when he heard the susurrating voice. But the lad was clever, and quickly turned around with a confident smirk:

“No, did you run out of flies to chase, scaly?”

The creature sneered. And with its red eyes squinted, he hissed: “Why, you repugnant little…”

The hideous creature drew back one of its arms: “This may be your native world, but that doesn’t mean that I cannot enjoy playing a game of slice-and-dice with a gel-for-brains creature like yourself!”

It was about to use its left claw to slash Mac’s head open when the boy held up the note he was carrying: which clearly bore the signature of the serpent's master.

“Now, I imagine our boss wouldn’t be too impressed with a decapitated operative showing up for his assignment, especially not when he clearly request me in one piece…” he said, studying his fingernails. “…and we both know who he’d immediately figure is responsible.”

He leaned forward into the snarling creature’s face and smiled wickedly: “You,”

Mac quietly snapped his fingers between the creature's eyes before turning around and trotting away, leaving the serpent to stew in its own hatred.

'I love tormenting those no-good snakes!' Mac laughed inwardly as he walked through a throng of different creatures. He soon approached a large, circular desk, and slapped the note onto it.

“Mac Senseipoe, Seventh Mark Operative. The Prophet has requested my presence for a select meeting in the Gateway Chamber.” He stated in an almost military tone.

Another peculiar creature, easily told as one of the clerks, walked up to the boy: and examined the document closely.

“You sure? It has to be a misprint.” It declared in disbelief. After examining the note, however: it hissed disgustedly at the confirmation, and looked at him.

“You’re to come here at 12:30, chimp, and no sooner.” It murmured.

“I’ll return to my quarters, then.” Mac said, before turning on his heels and strutting off.

After another walk, Mac had returned to his office, and ascended the spiral stairs to the large door. He pushed it upwards, and looked around. There were several barred windows along the rounded walls of his chambers, and an old curtain decorated each. He sat down by his bed and gazed out the window: out there he saw a vast world of jagged stones, mist, snow, and every once in a great while a clearing through the clouds that permitted him to see the rest of the mountains beyond.

“The Cascades…” he whispered to himself, “they never fail to take my breath away. It’s almost a pity I’m the only one in Darkstone that gets to see the above-ground.”

He sat there: thinking to himself in peaceful silence for a minute, before he walked over to the fridge and grabbed a small sandwich. With a content sigh, he flopped down on the bed in the corner.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this? Can you commit to this program?” Asked a deep voice from behind Mac.

The young man was standing in the middle of what looked like an abandoned warehouse: with a dull grey carpet, and neon lights decorating the ceiling.

‘Where am I?’ He thought to himself.

“I will do what I can, Darken.” Mac said in a near robotic tone. He felt tired, like there were a thousand anvils strapped to his soul, and every move that he made in obedience to the hated voice made the burden lighter… and yet heavier.

‘Oh, not this again: please!’ His mind grumbled.

“Good; your first test will begin.” Whispered the voice, sounding sickly as it faded out of his hearing.

Suddenly, two hooded beings dragged a bound man in from the opposite doorway.

“Let me go!” he screamed in protest. “You’ve got to let me see my family!”

He stopped his struggling when he saw Mac standing like a solemn statue on the other side of the room. His expression all but betrayed his surprise.

“What’s a human doing in your group? I always thought you creatures were against us!”

The whisper spoke up again.

“Kill him.”

Mac’s eyes widened in horror: “My lord,” he said in his normal tone, “what has he done against us?”

“Are you questioning your orders?” the voice shot back, thick with fury.

Mac’s resolve dissipated: for he was 'convinced' that he should never second-guess his orders. He still wore the bruises.

“But this… this is murder!” he thought aloud in disbelief.

“Your orders are to kill this man!” the voice roared.

Mac quaked slightly, before he slowly picked up a bow and quiver from the corner of the room.

“NO!” the prisoner yelled as the hooded ones dragged him to a chair in the opposite corner; “YOU MUSTN’T LISTEN TO HIM! FIND YOUR HUMAN-!”

he was cut off as a gag was shoved in his mouth, silencing his screams.

Mac hesitantly drew an arrow back on the string, and had leveled the bow towards the man’s pleading face.

“Do it.”

Mac closed his eyes and looked away, though unsure of why.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered before releasing his grip. There was a twanging noise, and a sound as if someone punched a bale of hay, and all fell silent. Mac opened his eyes and looked back at where the man had been, but in his place he saw an old scarecrow with its hands tied behind its back. And an arrow was stuck between its eyes: quivering with unspent energy.

“Very good,” the voice jeered, “our first test is complete.”

“It was only a dummy?” Mac asked, stunned in disbelief.

Mac shuddered at the memory: stirring violently from his sleep. He looked around, gladdened to find himself back in his old quarters. He sighed after a moment of silence, “Thankfully I’ve never had a field assignment…” he paused in thought, “…until now.”

“Indeed, I’d forgotten how long it’s been since you joined this abomination.” A voice said from behind Mac.

He whipped around: only to find Orion looking at a file near the back wall, “You really shouldn’t sneak up on people, buddy.” Mac said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I didn’t have to. You were so deep in your little nap, I just waltzed right in.” Orion chuckled. "Also, I took the liberty of cleaning your fridge. You're welcome."

Mac chuckled before a dark look overcame him. “We’ve got to destroy this... somehow!” He mused as he pounded a fist into the table.

Orion smiled slightly: “To kill a weed: you go to the roots.”

“But, how are we going to do it?” Mac asked.

“The Prophet never sends his men out on missions without someone back here talking them through it, Mac. If you can weasel me into that position on your assignment: we’ll work out the details from there.” Orion stated plainly.

Mac could’ve sworn he saw another flash of silver and ruby in Orion’s brown hands, but he told himself that the lights were playing tricks again.

“You know what to do.” Mac said pointedly, tossing the envelope back to the clerk.

The reptilian hissed bitterly, and pulled a lever: revealing a hidden door that fell downward from the floor behind Mac, and unveiled a stairway leading into a thick abyss.

“You take care, now.” the clerk jeered, glaring at Mac. “You never know friend from foe in the dark.”

Mac smiled bitterly: “You apparently don’t know one from the other in the light.” He scoffed.

Soon, he was sauntering down into the darkness: his insides churning in curious frustration.

It wasn't long before he got to the bottom of the steps, however, and he could hardly see anything in the space beyond except for a couple of dark shapes. Suddenly he was blinded by a bright light, and he heard the door slam up the corridor behind him.

When his vision adjusted: he found himself suddenly standing in the center of a circular platform. Which, in turn, levitated above a large metallic ring. A great, cloaked being stood behind a desk: holding a large lever with a heavily armored fist.

“Well, what do you think of the Gateway Chamber?” it asked, a seemingly hopeful tone shining through its voice.

Mac looked back at where he thought the doorway should have been, only to find that he was standing in a circular room with neither windows, nor doors. He then turned his attention to the hooded creature in a mixture of awe and respect: for the deep hood covered its face in a peculiar shadow, as the cloak did for the rest of the body. Two tall shapes like a crown stood out from the creature’s head: though still covered by the hood, and blazing crimson eyes with fierce, yellow slits shone out from under it. It was similar in shape to a centaur- as far as Mac could tell from the outside of the cloak -but was far bigger than Orion by several feet.

“You’re... th-the Prophet?” Mac said in honest admiration. He had an odd intuition that this was going to be his worst enemy on this quest, but there was something about this being that invoked respect for him from all that beheld him. Even those that had spoken against him openly respected him, to the end of their shortened lives.

“One and the same, so good to finally meet my first human face-to-face." The Prophet said in an eerily warm tone.

Mac wished to speak, but the Prophet raised an armored claw for silence: “Tell me, 'Mac'. How do you feel about your first field assignment?”

“I’m eager for my mission…” Mac said honestly. But he trailed off, his smile fading.

“But...?” the Prophet questioned.

Mac looked him in the eye. “Well… I’m greatly confused about the origin of this assignment, it doesn’t make any sense to me: I’m supposed to go into a separate dimension, to replace the ‘me’ in that world who’s gone missing?” he asked, mind clouded by the mere thought of it.

“You’ll understand in the end…” The Prophet said knowingly. Mac could’ve sworn that, for a split second, he saw pain in the creature’s eyes.

“Fair enough, but what’s the name of this world, anyway?” Mac added. He had his assumptions, but he still did not fully comprehend it all.

The Prophet looked back up at him and his voice blazed like a choking fire. “It is a world you know very well, and one you always wished was real...”

A dark look returned to the Prophet’s eyes: “But be wary: you will find it more savage than you had ever hoped, and more brutal towards our organization than I would like.”

Mac’s eyes widened. “You mean..?” he started.

“Yes.” The Prophet said grimly, handing Mac a small device; “You’ll need this.” he said simply.

“What is it?” Mac said, looking at the object carefully.

“It’s a communications device, so that someone can oversee the operation from here. Place it in your ear, and I’ll find someone to work it soon enough.”

Mac grinned: “Orion?” he suggested slyly.

The Prophet’s already glowing eyes suddenly burned with fury, yet his tone was still strangely calm: “Maybe, though I don’t trust that mutated fool. But, if I don’t find anyone else… yes. Yes, it will be that pitiful excuse for pond scum.”

Mac nodded, and walked back to the center of the platform: placing the device in his ear as instructed. The Prophet pressed a small lever: causing the large, metal ring beneath the boy to spin rapidly. The device rose up until it was in the air, directly in front of Mac. A swirling, transparent vortex of amethyst and ruby flowed inside the ring, lighting up the room when the lights fizzed out.

Mac turned his head back to the Prophet, and froze in fear from what he saw: the light from the portal was shining directly into the Prophet’s hood, showing a brown, crocodilian face with two thick, twirling antlers sticking out the top. Lion’s paws peered out from underneath the cloak of the beast, and a toothy grin spread across its putrid mouth. The eerie light cast from the portal threw intense shadows across the beings’ face; intensifying its already horrendous features. It shoved the lever into a gear marked in bright red letters: Equestria.

‘Congratulations, Mac!’ its voice hissed in his mind. ‘You’ve just become either my most loyal servant…’

Its eyes suddenly blazed again as it stared at him with intense warning.

‘...or my worst adversary!’

There was a blinding flash: instantly Mac felt something hit him with a thud, and all went dark. Next Chapter: Chapter One: Uncharted Territory. Estimated time remaining: 4 Hours, 9 Minutes