The phone was ringing.

Which was odd because he didn’t remember having a phone, or why he knew it was ringing, or why it was on his desk, or why he knew it was called a phone in the first place.

Logistics lifted the phone with his hooves, unsure of what to do with it. He moved it up and down, shaking it as it continued to ring. Like most ponies with degrees in higher education, he did the most reasonably thing a pony of his clout and sophistication would do and chucked the contraption out the window.

He shut it and went back to his desk and stared back at the financial reports and ledgers, reviewing the numbers from the accounting department. He saw that both numbers on the bottom of the left and right side were the same and hoped that meant he didn’t need to do any more thinking on the subject. He hoofed through more of the reports, scrutinizing some of the spending in advertising from the marketing department, before something began to buzz on his mahogany desk.

The phone was ringing.

The CEO put down the reports, stood up and prodded at the object with a hoof. On the main rectangle, a comical picture of a strange creature was leaned up against the screen as if it was about to burst through the glass.

Without warning the phone whispered menacingly, “unlimited breadsticksss.”

His eyes widened in horror as the phone started floating in the air and grew larger and larger, a dragon claw and a deer leg sprouting as a griffon talon and a lions paw erupted, the entire mass congealing into a strange antlered monster.

“Unlimited breadsticksssss,” the creature spoke, its eyes taut and glowing, mismatched hands writhing.

He gulped before addressing the creature still amalgamating before him, taking courage in his position and authority.

“I’m sorry, but if you would like an appointment, you will have to go through my secretary.”

“Unlimited breadstickssssssssss…” hissed the creature.

“Sir,” Logistics assumed it was a he, “While I am proud of Equestria’s local demons advertising our restaurant chain, there are proper channels to go through before entering my office.”

“You… do not understand the magnitude of the offense your company has committed to the name of chaos.”

“And what offense is that?”

“Unlimited… “ the creature huffed as he twisted his neck closer at Logistics, “breadsticks.”

He frowned, “How about you take this up with Equine Resources? They can help you.”

The creature’s eyes furrowed, “I’ve already stepped on every rung of the ladder, and it looks like you're on the top.”

“You didn’t actually step on them, did you?”

“You tell me,” said the creature, producing a portal in front of him, a horrifying, delicious, scene playing out among many of his employees.

His director of Equine Resources was absolutely drowning in—“LOGISTICS! IS THAT YOU!?” she screamed into the portal, “You have to save us! This,” she sniffed, “this is too much!” He looked closer and saw that her entire office had been stuffed to the brim. They were all over the desks, the floor, the walls, the ceiling, overflowing out of every single filing cabinet and nook and cranny: soft, pillowy, heavenly, chewy — smelling like they came fresh from the oven — garlic breadsticks.

“Please! Do something Logistics!” she cried, grabbing more breadsticks and chewing on them as more seemed to multiply before her. “They’re too good! If they don’t stop coming they’ll go straight to my thighs! I have a family, Logistics!”

Logistics flicked his eyes away from the scene, and to the monster before him. “Why are you doing this!?”

“Me!?” said the creature. “I’m simply allowing you to see the consequences of the promise you have touted all across Equestria.”

“You mean our advertising campaign? Look, it’s not that big of a deal. When ponies go to our restaurant they can have all they can eat breadsticks.”

“That’s not what it says on the sign, Logistics,” he hissed. “You promised ‘Unlimited’ breadsticks. Unlimited—infinite—never-ending—eternal—you do not understand the caliber of the term you have so unwittingly promised to your customers.”

“Look, this has gone on enough,” said Logistics, straightening his tie. “We spent months in focus groups to select those two words, and we have already spent millions of bits on this advertising campaign. I want you to remove the breadsticks from our offices and get off our property.”

“You haven’t learned your lesson, Logistics,” the creature snapped his talons.

His office and everything around him disappeared except for himself and the creature. His eyes adjusted and he could see stars and galaxies all around him. “Stars are magnificent things, Logistics. When you think about it, all matter in the universe is hydrogen. And yet these little chaotic element factories gloriously fuse hydrogen into every other element. Their noble purpose creates everything you have ever seen around us. However…”

A few of the suns started to blink out.

“If the breadsticks at your restaurant were truly unlimited, every last sun in the universe would only fuse a few select elements: oxygen, carbon, nitrogen, sulfur, zinc—

“I get the point!”

“Do you?” the creature’s eyes narrowed. Logistics took a step back as the creature crept closer. “Every scrap of existence would turn into breadsticks! All life will cease, all of chaos will be consumed into order because you made the monstrous mistake of touting that your breadsticks were ‘unlimited.’”

His back leg brushed up against his desk in the darkness. He felt around with his hooves and reached for a buzzer on his desk. "Hot Cocoa!?”

He heard static before he heard his secretary’s voice. “Mmm hmm?” it sounded like her mouth was full.

“Could you send in Filibuster from the legal department?"

He heard a gulping sound. “Can do, sir!”

Logistics rubbed his eyes with his hooves and sighed. "Alright, we’ll change the sign.”

The creature grinned, all of his sharp teeth glinting white.

“Do you have any idea how much I hate asterisks?"

---

Discord smiled at the new sign near the restaurant, which had a smattering of legalese in fine print at the bottom detailing that the breadsticks that they served were, in fact, finite. And Unlimited Breadsticks* emblazoned on the top.