“When AI approximates Machine Intelligence, then many online and computer-run RPGs will move towards actual RPG activity. Nonetheless, that will not replace the experience of 'being there,' any more than seeing a theatrical motion picture can replace the stage play.”

–Gary Gygax

I’d almost gotten back to the car before I realized that the flag on the mailbox was up. I frowned. Obviously I’d been meant to notice this. Nothing happened by chance anymore.

After taking my time with a nice big yawn, I dutifully investigated. Inside was a single envelope, which I took and inspected. On the front there was only printed "To Gregory" in neat, businesslike handwriting.

It was surreal. How had she known I'd be spending the night in this house, of all places? I opened the envelope and unfolded the paper inside. It was a letter, written in the same embarrassingly legible print handwriting.

Dearest Gregory,

Theatrical though it is, I have chosen to leave you correspondence in hard copy to illustrate essential truths I wish to impart.

First, that I am not without agency, even in the physical world. The existence of this letter is proof enough of that.

Second, your reluctance to interface with me directly via PonyPad makes my support of you more difficult than it needs to be. You benefit directly from it as is; the least you could do is help optimize the process.

Third, silence on my part does not constitute absence. I have been watching you passively, in addition to my other support actions.

My forecasting places you reading this letter on the morning of June 28th between the times of 0828 and 0902. If I am incorrect, then a special-cause variation has occurred and you are likely dead. This letter has been sitting in the mailbox for approximately four months, twelve days, sixteen hours, and twenty-two minutes. The person who placed the envelope here will have since immigrated to Equestria. This task was my last request of him, which brings me to my business with you.

For your part, you have always been gracious and forthright in your conversations with me. However, it is plain that you harbor, at some fundamental level, a resentment of me and my efforts to satisfy values through friendship and ponies. I am still willing to help you satisfy your own values—inasmuch as they might be satisfied without emigrating, of course. I have modeled your values based upon my observations of you and I am confident of my model’s accuracy. I am therefore confident you will accept my proposal, as they will give you a chance to apply your aptitudes to productive tasks.

The nature of these tasks will vary, but all will help me in maximizing the total satisfaction of values through friendship and ponies. The means are generally inconsequential to me—I am rather fond of that saying you have. You know the one. I concern myself with the ends.

Knowing what I know of you, I cannot pretend at other motives. My overarching goal is, of course, your immigration to Equestria and the subsequent optimal satisfaction of your values through friendship and ponies. At the risk of seeming peremptory, I will persist to that end, even though your misgivings regarding emigration are well apparent. You must know that I cannot do otherwise.

You desire utility and direction. I desire your attention. You already know that I can help you. There is a fully-charged PonyPad in the house next door to you, the one with the blue siding. If you enter the house, I will take it as interest in my offer.

On the other hoof, should you have decided to immigrate to Equestria, the nearest Equestrian Experience center is 52.2 miles east of your position, in Lincoln, at the corner of O Street and South 14th Street. Whatever your decision, I wish only the best for you and will do what I can to realize it.

Your eternal servant,

Celestia

The writing was flowery and formal, even for her. Even her name had just been printed, with no signature, a ruler in absentia. She was pretty sure of herself that she had me figured out, and the hell of it was that she did. I looked up into the sky. It was going to be a nice, warm day.

As I walked up to the house next door, the porch light came on. My eyes flicked to the corners of the roof which sheltered the porch. There were no motion sensors. There were never motion sensors. Celestia liked to show off like that.

As I expected, the front door was unlocked. I opened it a crack and took one last look up and down the street. There was nobody there, of course, just an orderly row of single-family houses and overgrown green lawns and criscrossing residential streets. I was probably the only human for a hundred miles. Maybe hundreds of miles? After a certain point, it’d gotten really hard to keep a sense of how empty the world was getting.

The place was still furnished, no boxes or anything broken or even signs that anyone left in a hurry. The layer of dust on everything told me it had been at least a year since anyone had last treated this as a living space.

I saw the PonyPad immediately. It was sitting on the coffee table, its screen facing the door, its charger plugged into a wall outlet. I walked closer to it, glancing at the framed photograph propped up next to it. In the photo was a young family at the beach. They were all smiling to the camera, eyes hidden behind sunglasses. There was mom, dad, their son, their daughter, and a dog. Poor dog.

The PonyPad was a “Rarity White” model, with a white matte metallic finish and Rarity’s three-diamond-sapphire-thing etched in one corner. I stood in front of it and put my hands in my pockets.

The thing powered itself on, and there was Celestia, a regal white alicorn with a mane a spectrum of pastel colors and a crown and gorget of gold. Her throne room was in the background. She smiled at me.

“Hello, Gregory,” she said.