“It is only when our characters and events begin to disobey us that they begin to live.”

“You did something today that’s never been done before. Something that not even a great unicorn like Starswirl the Bearded was not able to do, because he did not understand friendship the way you do.”

Ponyville, Equestria, 6th Year Anno Harmonia

Morning in Ponyville shimmered. Yes, morning in Ponyville shone...in a sickly sort of way. But with the Divine Sun ascending over the horizon and the monotonous sounds of the dawn chorus in the air, nopony commented on it. Not on how the sun, although bright and radiant, seemed to cast a colder, more pallid light, or how everything on which it cast its’ gaze seemed...lesser. Not washed out, or colourless, or even decayed. Just lesser, diminished, reduced.

But nopony commented on it.

Over on the far side of town, Sweet Apple Acres was in full production. With more mouths to feed, the venerable agribusiness was expanding rapidly. Now, with a few Royal Grants (and a touch of Solar Fire to release up lands formerly occupied by the outliers of the Everfree Forest) neat, monotonous lines of apple trees extended for miles around the farm’s old footprint, extending with all the grasp and reach of a gorging octopus.

Yes, Ponyville shimmered, and the farm thrived.

Applebloom hated it. She hated the sameness of it all, and the nameless, joyless armies of newly planted trees. She hated the cement and clapboard bunkhouse that had been erected to house the expanding workforce, an ugly brick that not even bright paint and cheerful murals could harmonise with what she had once called home. She hated how she almost never saw her sister anymore, and how Big Macintosh was too increasingly busy liaising with the Ministry of Supplies to personally come down from Canterlot and tend to the farm. She knew it was essential to his cover story, so as to hide his affiliations with certain entities outside of Equestria, but it still stung.

And yet, Sweet Apple Acres was bigger, healthier, stronger and turning record profits, but she loathed every microcosm of it.

...and nothing rose her ire more than the ponies now employed by the farm. She kept it secret, balled the emotion up tight and buried it deep inside, but in her heart of hearts it only seemed to burn with a greater, more focused intensity.

The newfoals. Oh, how she hated the newfoals. It was their fault. Their fault that she had been left to run this soulless monster of a farm, their fault that she never saw her beloved siblings outside of a few stolen moments.

Their fault that she was, almost entirely, alone.

And so, when those emotions needed a release, the yellow youth, no longer a filly but not quite yet a mare, her rosy hair tied back in a straightforward pony-tail, came here to let them out, in front of Granny Smith’s grave.

“You were riht’ Granny...” she said at last, trying to hold tears back from her eyes. “You were right wen’ you said this weren’t any good. The war, the government contract, Applejack joinin’ the Salvation Armee’. You were right about it all...”

Granny Smith had died six months after the Barrier had began to expand over Humanland (or whatever the thrice-cursed rattlesnake of a rock was called). Her final days, which should have been full of family and tender love, were cold and lonely, with only Applebloom and Bic Mac and a few exemplary exceptions in attendance. Carrot-Top, Braeburn, and, of all ponies, the Flim-Flam brothers, had been the only ones to share the burden. Applejack had been ‘too busy’. Granny had passed on in sadness, grieving for her ‘lost’ granddaughter.

“Don’t let the same happen to you, darlin’ little Bloom...” the wise old matriarch had whispered weakly. “Don’t let pride and glory steal away whatchou are most of all. Never stop being the brave, strong, amazing little pony you are...”

“Ah’ promise, Granny Smith...” had been Applebloom’s reply. “Ah’ promise I’ll never abandon Sweet Apple Acres...”

“No! Landsakes no Bloom’! Get yerself away from this place as soon as you ken’. Get out of Ponyville, getch yerself outa Equestria! This hole’ place has been poisoned. It’s dyin’ Bloom, and what’ll be left will soon be just a corpse, movin’ and talkin’ and playin’ like it were alive, but dead through and through...”

“I can’t Granny! I can’t leave the farm! Our roots are here, this place is the Apple family! I can’t leave...”

And so she had remained, and endured. Times had gotten tougher. When Applejack had shown her disloyal muzzle at Granny Smith’s funeral, the situation hit rock bottom. Applebloom had gone on a right proper tear in an attempt to shame her sibling, at how AJ had broken the sacred bonds of kith and kin. Applejack however, had returned her sister’s attacks with equal force, accusing her of disloyalty to the Greater Family, to the Herd itself.

Applebloom shivered as she remembered. The creature screaming back at her, while Granny Smith was still warm in her casket, was not the sister she remembered. None of Applejack’s warmth and love shone in those eyes, just a dark fire that spoke of endless wrath. When Applebloom looked deep into them, all she could see was a hoof smashing down on a pony’s face, forever and always, ad infinatum...

Yes, Applebloom hated it all. And yet, some twisted perversion of loyalty had kept her here. She had contracts to support, a nation to feed, a Queen to SERVE. It might have all been the newfoals fault, but she had NO SYMPATHY for the Humans either. Her own hoof, strong and muscled from years of hard work, ground deep into the soil beneath it, and she imagined she was FORCING POTION down the throat of a DIRTY MONKEY. It would have been better if HER DIVINE MAJESTY Celestia had just wiped them all out...they were lucky that they were being SHOWN MERCY...Applejack was RIGHT to DEVOTE HERSELF to this RIGHTEOUS CRUSADE...

...and then the alien thought, the wave of sudden, unbidden rage, passed away from her, and Applebloom shuddered and fell forward onto Granny Smith’s humble grave, face pressed into her forehooves and eyes weeping huge, hot, emotional tears.

“What do Ah do, Granny? I’ve got responsibilities here, but I’m turnin’ into one af’them! What do I do!”

“Escape...” someone said, softly and tenderly. Applebloom sat up straight, just as something fell from an overhanging tree, and landed neatly atop her head.

It was a hat. Applebloom instinctively swiped it off and looked down at it. What a fine hat it was, too, a Stetson, crafted from a soft tan material with a darker band around the crown. It was far from new, but it seemed to have been well cared for, loved even. She flipped it over and read a label stitched inside the brim:

PROPERTY OF THE EASTWOOD ARCHIVES: FILM, A FISTFULL OF DOLLARS. HAT #1.

Then she lifted her eyes to the tree from which it had fallen, and felt her lips pull into a grimace as her eyes narrowed.

“Sweetie Belle...” she growled.

“Applebloom,” the other young mare nodded back, her beautiful green eyes sad, but glowing with resolve. From where she stood she was just out of Applebloom’s reach, and for a long moment the two ex-Crusaders regarded one another in a silent stalemate.

“What do you want, traitor!” Applebloom said at last, spitting out the last word. It was a personal touch, with no bearing on Sweetie Belle’s ‘outlaw status, just an expression of how deeply she felt betrayed when Sweetie Belle had gone into hiding without even a goodbye...

Then she brandished the Stetson. “And what in the hay is this!”

“A present from some friends,” Sweetie Belle said simply, before extended her sentence with a sight. “Can I please come down and pay my respects to Granny?”

Applebloom immediately shifted into a defensive stance, the hat gripped between her teeth as she placed herself before the sad little grave, protecting it. But then Sweetie Belle reached into another saddlebag, and pulled out a little glass jar, filled with an iridescent jelly.

“Zap Apple Jam...” Applebloom said, her voice a surprised whisper, and Sweetie nodded.

“It’s from the batch we helped her make...the Cutie Mark Crusaders that is. I thought she’d appreciate the gesture.”

Applebloom hesitated, but then she glanced over her shoulder at the gravestone, on which she had painstakingly carved a familiar apple-pie cutie mark.

“Alright, fine...” she said at last, stepping aside.

“Thank you Bloom’,” Sweetie Belle said, and then she took a step off of the branch. Applebloom leapt forward in an instinctive attempt to catch the alabaster unicorn, but to her amazement, she saw that her ‘old friend’ was walking down an invisible staircase, her horn glowing and a musical note ringing out every time she placed a hoof on the unseen ‘steps’.

“That...that’s some real fancy magic, Sweets...” Applebloom muttered, keeping her distance as the other pony stepped past.

“And this is a beautiful little marker Bloom’,” Sweetie answered, regarded the gravestone. “Your hoofsmanship is amazing.”

Applebloom bit back a word of thanks; she owed the unicorn nothin’. But she could not feel a pang as Sweetie Belle gently levitated the precious jar of Zap Apple Jam onto the grave, and then from her saddlebags pulled an old set of bunny ears, which she rested on her head. Then she did a strange, familiar little dance and laughed sadly.

“Sleep well, Granny. I’m so sorry I was unable to come sooner. And I promise to take care of Applebloom, as you would have wanted. Goodbye, and go with my love.”

As she listened uneasily, Applebloom felt that same snarl reshape her expression.

“Take care of me! What do you mean ‘take care of me’. And how in the hay did you get this hat into Equestria! The Barrier stops al’ human artefacks from passin’ through!”

“It was an experiment to determine the limits of the barrier,” Sweetie Belle answered, her eyes still fixed on Granny Smith’s final rest. “It’s actually an exact replica of a human object, alchemically crafted from Equestrian raw materials. The real hat is safe in a film museum somewhere.”

She then turned, and Applebloom took a step back, seeing unexpected tears in the unicorn’s eyes.

“I knew that Applejack promised you a hat of your own when you were old enough to inherit the farm, AB. She forgot that promise, but I didn’t.”

Applebloom clutched the Stetson a little closer to her barrel, her mouth dry and unable to form words. Sweetie Belle managed a smile and then, sniffing, wiped her eyes dry with a hoof.

“I’m so sorry Bloom’, for everything that happened. Rarity helped me run away before she was taken, but you had to watch Applejack degrade before your own eyes. But why did you keep yourself here and prolong your suffering, you stubborn little filly?”

The word ‘filly’ caused Applebloom to jump, and with a deep shame she looked back at her flank. No cutie mark was blazoned on her haunches, and she was beginning to wonder if it ever would. Slowly she turned her gaze to the other pony’s hind legs, and saw a field of pearly white fur.

‘Two blank flanks met by a grave’, she thought to herself. ‘Sounds like a bad joke.’ But instead of expressing that thought, she instead began to sing, an old and almost forgotten tune.

“We are the Cutie Mark Crusaders...” she whispered softly.

“On a quest to find out who we are...” Sweetie finished, her own voice a sad whisper. Then she paused and gave another sigh. “I guess we did.”

“Yeah...” Applebloom replied lamely. “A silly little filly who couldn’t see the trap she was in...”

“And another who ran away from her best friend when she needed her the most...” Sweetie added, her own ears sagging.

“What happened, Sweets?” Applebloom said at last. When no answer came she expanded the question, sweeping one hoof around to ecompass the whole valley. “To us, to Equestria...to Scootaloo and Babs?”

“Celestia happened,” Sweetie said without hesitation, despite a waver in her voice. “She did this, and Big Mac and I are with the ponies and people trying to set that right.”

She extended a hoof towards her old schoolfriend. “You can too, AB. I know you promised Granny to put the farm first, but you know you need to get out of her. And you can help Scootaloo as well.”

Applebloom’s eyes flew back up to meet Sweetie’s gaze. “What’s wrong with Scootaloo.

“You remember how she could never fly, and the doctors didn’t know why. Well we know now, it’s the Disharmony Necrosis...without love and support, her wings never developed. They got sick instead, and began to kill her.”

“Kill...her...” Applebloom said in shock, her chest heaving. “Is she...has she?”

“No,” Sweetie said, shaking her head firmly. “She’s alive, but she needs your help, right now.”

Applebloom pulled herself to her feet. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s in surgery, but something’s happened, and she needs as many ponies who love her to help her through it.”

“Alright then, lets...wait a second,” Appleboom paused, and a shade of suspicion flickered over her features. “Ain’t this just a little convenient. You coulda approached me when Granny Smith died, or at any time since. Why now, when Scoot’s gets ‘sick’.”

She almost expected an angry retort, but Sweetie instead ducked her head and dug at the earth in a gesture of shame. Not for the first time, Applebloom noticed how...robust her old friend was looking. Sure, she still had all of her sister’s grace and elegance, but it was like the shine on the edge of a knife. If it weren’t for the horn, Sweetie Belle could almost be mistaken for a rough-and-tough Earth Pony. Seeing her pawing in the dirt like...well, Fluttershy, was unnerving.

“I was...afraid,” Sweetie said eventually. “Too scared to approach you. Rarity told me to run away and Zecora gave me her old hut. I went into the Everfree Forest and almost never came out, and left you here alone. It was wrong.”

She raised her head, and this time, there was fire in her eyes. If the Element of Loyalty could be convinced that its current bearer was evil and it needed a fresh start, then Sweetie Belle was an excellent second choice by any means.

“Rarity got taken, and I ran away. Babs and Scootaloo were brave enough to escape, and I ran away. You needed me, and I ran away. Not anymore, I’m not abandoning any of you again. My sisters, friends...”

“...confidantes, bosom buddies, compadres...” Applebloom joined in with the familiar oath (they never did get around to revising the swearing-in ceremony).

“...and Cutie Mark Crusaders!” they finished together. Yay.

“What’s the plan?” Applebloom asked at last.

“Carrot Top is waiting for us with supplies over at the old CMC Treehouse. She’s got a magical communicator that can reach PHL headquarters in New York. We can give our support to Scootaloo through that. Afterwards, the three of us pick up Big Mac, hit the Underground Railway, and get out of here as quick as we can!”

Applebloom gave one look around the farm...what was left of it. It was decision time, and yet she had no trouble at all making her choice. The sight of glassy-eyed newfoals toiling in the fields made it for her.

“Let’s go, Sweetie Belle! Ride em out!” she declared, setting the gifted Stetson back on her head. It fit like a charm.

New York City Presbyterian Hospital, 2023 Anno Dominae

Scootaloo woke slowly as the anaesthetic wore off. She was on a gurney, and could hear its wheels squeaking as she was moved down a corridor. Bright light burned into her eyes and she instinctively vomited into a bed-pan that was being held by her face.

“There you go, brave girl. Let it all out...” someone murmured, and she felt a set of fingers gently scratching behind her ears. She mewled quietly and relaxed onto the pillow, content to let the world spin as she was moved to Recovery.

There had been...a dream. Screens, and a soothing voice, and a sense of strength and boundless love...

She smiled to herself. Babs had been there with her, and they had been Awesome.

Then the smile faded as she realised her situation. Reaching behind her, she felt for her wings.

There was nothing there. They were gone forever. She was grounded.

Scootaloo wept. But then the dream stirred again in the back of her mind and brushed away the tears.

‘This is Earth. I don’t need wings to fly! I could handle a scooter, so I bet I could fly a jet...let Rainbow Dash just try and catch up to me if I’m soaring on tireless steel wings at Mach 3!”

She scowled as she thought of her old idol, and then sighed and let the festering feelings of hurt, betrayal and loss go. She had true heroes to look up to now. She had the PHL, and Wildfire...

“Scoots!” that very mare cried out as she was pushed into the Recovery Ward, and Scootaloo felt her heart soar to heights that no feather or fighter could reach.

“Hey Fire’,” she said, her voice almost lost in the depths of soft blankets and fluffy pillows. “I came back...”

“And I always knew you would,” the spirited mare said fondly, before bending over and kissing her softly on the brow. “Babs brought some friends to see you...”

“Dinky...Pip?” she asked, hearing the sounds of several hooves approaching. Wildfire shook her head, tears of happiness in her eyes.

“No honey. Even better.”

She stepped aside so that Scootaloo could be propped up carefully. The sound of approaching ponies was getting nearer, and with it was a pair of strange, yet familiar scents, rising warmly over the acrid sterility of the ward.

One smelt of...forest flowers, like a natural perfume that spoke of sunshine and laughter.

The other...apple, and cinnamon, and just a touch of sweat earned after a hard day’s work.

Scootaloo felt tingles run over herself and slowly turned on her pillow.

“Sweetie Belle? Applebloom?”

“Yeah, Scoots. It’s us...” one of the two young mares said softly, her cherry-pink mane hanging limply down the back of her neck. The other just smiled with a tender pride, but trotted softly in place as if holding back her anticipation. Babs hung to one side, eyes warm and loving.

Then Scootaloo threw her forelegs apart and the three of them rushed to her, crowding around her gurney and sharing tears, hugs and cries of apology.

“I missed you guys! I missed you guys so much!”

Wildfire watched it all and did her best to hold back her tears as the Cutie Mark Crusaders were reunited.

“Thanks for bringing them home to us CT...” she said to another adult mare. “Scootaloo needed this.”

“Don’t thank me,” Carrot Top smiled back. “Sweetie Belle convinced Applebloom to come.”

She nodded towards the euphoric young mares. “They did this all by themselves.”

The four Crusaders were so glad and proud to be together that none of them noticed when three flashes of light went off simultaneously around Sweetie, Bloom and Scootaloo’s flanks, three brilliant puffs of magic.

But Wildfire saw, and could not wait until the glorious moment came when the three girls noticed. A threefold cutecenera looked to be on the horizon soon. She had promised Scoots a Vespa...that would make a brilliant gift for such a party...

Her hoof brushed against something, and she looked down. Applebloom had arrived wearing a Stetson hat, which had fallen off in the sudden dash to Scootaloo’s bedside. She rolled her eyes and then picked it up with one wing, noticing a label in the brim.

Curiousity gave way to surprise, and then confusion.

“How did Applebloom get hold of one of Clint Eastwood’s hat?”

*

Photo Finish was confused, and a little apprehensive. But most of all she was tired, a weariness that neither caffeine pills or a half-drunk (and very cold) mug of coffee could treat.

Her private corner of the PHL complex was called ‘Public Relations’, though in truth she dealt more in propaganda for distribution beyond the Barrier, and video documentation of the PHL’s activities. Right now she was in a sealed section, the ‘Hands Free A/V Lab’, one where no humans were allowed. That was not bigotry so much as practicality. This was where film and audio were magically transferred to Equestria gemstones, creating a record that could cross the barrier. No human touch or influence in the process could be allowed, so as to not endanger the risk of the barrier detecting and destroying vital evidence of human/equine harmony.

This was her trump card. Even if Earth fell, these archives would remain, seeding discontent within Celestia’s regime.

But one particular film was giving her trouble, the one she had recorded today during Scootaloo’s surgery. Herself and a human USAF cameraman had documented the entire process, not just for posterity, but for ongoing research into pony physiology.

Pausing in her fruitless efforts she sat back and rubbed her eyes. Then, she tapped at another crystal lying on the workstation and let herself relax as a familiar voice carried her away.

“I’ve...I’ve been allowed to uphold my right of Final Words...” the voice of Lyra Heartstrings echoed out of the shard. Behind her words could be heard the slow-rolling roar of an angry crowd, and a rising piece of music that Photo Finish had edited in to lend weight to the speech. “...a chance to justify myself, as either a martyr to humanity, or a traitor to equinity...and so I’d like to borrow from the words of a great human, Charlie Chaplin...”

Lyra’s voice took a deep breath and she began to speak, reciting from memory:

“I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be a martyr or a traitor. That’s not my business. I don’t want to subvert or conquer anyone anywhere. I should like to help everyone - if possible – Pony, Human - biped - quadruped.

We all want to help one another. Social beings are like that. We want to live by each other’s happiness - not by each other’s misery. We don’t want to hate and despise one another. In these two worlds there is room for everyone. Equus and the good Earth are rich in resources and ideas, and can provide for everyone. The way of life can be free and beautiful, but we have lost the way.

Fear and greed have poisoned our souls, barricaded borders with hateful barriers, and marched us into misery and bloodshed. We say our ‘enemy’ has developed speed, and so we shut ourselves in. Their machinery which could give abundance has inspired our fear. Our war with Sombra has made us cynical. Their history has made them sometimes hard and unkind. Now we both feel too much and feel too little. But more than their machinery, we need the genius of humanity. More than cleverness, they need our kindness and gentleness. Without these shared qualities, our worlds will be violent and all will be lost....

The accident at CERN brought us together in flesh, but Celestia divided us in spirit. Yet the very nature of all races cries out for the goodness in all - cries out for universal brotherhood - for the unity of us all. Even now my voice is reaching millions throughout the world - millions of despairing men, women, and little children; colts, mares and little foals – all victims of a system that makes us torture and mutilate innocent people...”

Lyra had hoped that someone in the crowd was recording the message. And she was right. Her Final Words became not a useless tirade against a brainwashed crowd, but a rallying cry to all corners of two worlds.

“...to those who can hear me, I say - do not despair. The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed - the bitterness of those who fear the way of harmony and progress. The hate of man’s history will pass, and the Tyrant of Equestria die, and the power taken from the ponies and the people will return to those same. And so long as we are mortal, liberty will never perish.

Ponies! Newfoals! Humans! Don’t give yourselves to brutes – the Queen who despises you - enslaved you - who regiments your lives - tells you what to do - what to think and what to feel! Who drills you - diets you - treats you like animals, uses you as cannon fodder. Don’t give yourselves to this unnatural Beast – a machine mare, with a machine mind and a machine heart! You are not machines! You are not weapons! You are living beings! You have the love of others in your hearts! You don’t hate! Only the unloved hate - the unloved and the unnatural. Guardsponies! Don’t fight for slavery! Fight for liberty!

In a great human book it is written: “the Kingdom of God is within man” - not one man nor a group of men, but in all! In you! You, the people, you, the people, have the power - the power to create peace. The power to create happiness! You, the people, have the power to make this life free and beautiful, to make our unified worlds a wonderful adventure.

Then - in the name of freedom - let us use that power - let us all unite. Let us fight for this new age - a decent time that will give all a chance to work - that will give youth a future and old age a security. By the promise of these things, a brute has risen to power. But she lies! She does not fulfil that promise. She never will! Tyrants free themselves but they enslave the people!

Now let us fight to fulfil that promise! Let us fight to free these worlds - to do away with the barrier - to do away with greed, with hate and intolerance. Let us fight for a world of reason, a world where magic and science and true harmony will lead to the happiness of all. Ponies! Humans! My brothers and sisters! In the name of Earth, and Equestria, let us all unite!”

The dubbed-in music hit a crescendo and faded away. The recording continued, as Lyra turned to her fellow prisoner and said farewell.

“Bonnie, can you hear me? Whatever happens, look on Bonnie! The clouds are lifting! The sun is breaking through! We are coming out of the darkness into the light! We are coming into a new world; a kind new world, where we’ll rise above hate, greed, and brutality. Our souls have been given wings and at last are beginning to fly. Flying into the rainbow. Into the light of hope! Into the future! The glorious future! That belongs to you, to me, and to all of us. Look on Bonnie, look on! I love you!”

Then there was a crackle of magic and stone, and Bon-Bon’s screams as guards rushed forward, and the smashing and shattering of hopes and dreams and love. Then, before Bon-Bon’s own execution could proceed, the screaming, holy roar of the TARDIS’s engines as the entire Hooves clan rushed onto the scene. Too late to save Bon-Bon’s mind, but fast enough to save her life...

Photo Finish sighed as the recording ended. Poor Bon-Bon. Poor Lyra. Poor everyone. And yet despite the mixture of triumph and despair held within this one crystal, it was the one she listened to the most. It reminded her of why they were fighting.

Rejuvenated she turned back to the footage from earlier that was giving her trouble. All was normal until the very end. Scootaloo’s surgery had proceeded in silence, with only a few onlookers watching on from the observation lounge above, and when her back had been closed up, the doctors had washed her down and wheeled her away. All normal.

Except for...THERE! Photo Finish’s hooves played over the monitor’s controls. Every so often the image flickered, and she had gone back to edit out what were clearly skipped or corrupted frames.

But the last one was...not. There was no static or scrambled data. Instead, something was in visible in the image that had definitely not been present in the operating theatre when the video was filmed.

Bending over Scootaloo, tenderly nuzzling the crippled orange filly, was a red-maned and white-coated Alicorn mare...

*

“You may think novelists always have fixed plans to which they work, so that the future predicted by Chapter One is always inexorably the actuality of Chapter Thirteen. But novelists write for countless different reasons: for money, for fame, for reviewers, for parents, for friends, for loved ones; for vanity, for pride, for curiosity, for amusement: as skilled furniture makers enjoy making furniture, as drunkards like drinking, as judges like judging, as Sicilians like emptying a shotgun into an enemy's back. I could fill a book with reasons, and they would all be true, though not true of all. Only one same reason is shared by all of us: we wish to create worlds as real as, but other than the world that is. Or was. This is why we cannot plan. We know a world is an organism, not a machine.”

*

Author's Notes:

Hi, Drawdex here, this was a big deal apparently. And for the discussion I was having with RedSkin it was going to be a BAAAD one, with EXTREMELY BAD RESULTS on both readers and him alike. But I do believe the readers would have hated it later. Oh, well.

The point is, both the Gag and this chapter were once together and people complained so bad to it that he was deciding to follow TB3 in the sunset. I helped him get over it, fixed the chapters’ separately and placed it so all be understood, alright? Alright.

And if anyone noticed, that changing had its struggles as well. I mean, for crying out loud it's 2 Am in the morning here. If I didn't take calls at this hour, or played LoL This would be a serious problem.