“Get away from the baby!” I hissed at the intruder, rearing up on to my back hooves and cycling my front legs in the universal gesture of horse displeasure, aiming to hit this mirror image of me with my chitinous hooves, praying they were hard enough to hurt. I genuinely cannot explain why I was so prone to acts of extreme violence up to intention of murder; perhaps I was an assassin in my past life, or perhaps this new life was instinctively dramatically aggressive. I didn’t consciously want this situation to escalate, but the impulse moved my body forward to protect the brood I had subconsciously labelled as my own.
The creature hissed back at me, thankfully immediately moving to cower instead of moving to defend itself, apparently more meek than I naturally was. “Stop- quit it!” It yelped at me, its voice just as wavering as my own, furthering my first analysis which was that this creature looked just like me. This submission opened up deescalation, which I was more than thankful to turn to, landing heavily on my hooves, snorting and bowing my head, again like an animal, or imagining that I could use my horn to attack if need be. “I’m not even doing anything!”
“Why are you here?” I asked through nearly grit teeth, doing my best to restrain my anger at this interloper. Really, it had not done anything yet to incur rage, but I did not want to let my guard down near an unannounced stranger when the little grub under my protection was here. I didn’t think I’d be able to handle it if this creature was here to harm the bug, leaving me alone except for the lingering guilt of failing to protect my charge. On the topic of the newborn, it did not seem startled by this new creature, nor the near fight we’d had- in fact, it seemed entertained, leaning up and waving its hooves around, babbling as if to encourage us to fight more.
“Why- why am I here?” The bug-horse opposite me stammered, exasperated. “Why are you here? I mean- what were you doing, attacking me? I’m- we’re both just changelings!”
My eyes widened and my stance relaxed as I realized this creature could easily be good company if I could mend fences. It knew what I was- apparently, a changeling- and it surely knew more about the world, important information I might need to survive. Its tone informed me that we were likely supposed to be friendly to each other as a rule, so I should be safe to backpedal.
“I’m- I am sorry,” I said immediately, bowing further to show physically my regret. It seemed surprised by this little motion, ears swiveling and blue orbs mirroring my own. “I’m, uh... Discombobulated, you see,” I fumbled trying to figure out how exactly to portray myself. Should I be upfront about my situation, about being a different species, transported into this new peculiar land? I was not sure if the full honest truth would be the best course of action, lest I be taken as a mad man and have this creature steer clear of me, so for now I would just not mention it, employing half truths until then. I was discombobulated. “I don’t recall, currently, uh... much of anything, really.”
“Oh, that’s just great,” it said dryly, eyes narrowing at me. “But you’re physically fine, right?” I blinked, looking back at my body to check. I looked absolutely flawless, my segmented joints all smooth and clean, my chitinous portions free of scratches or scuffs. I noticed now that, in contrast, this other changeling seemed a bit awful. What I had first written off as green markings splattered around its body on further inspection seemed to be depressions and cracks in the chitin, likely fresh wounds.
“I’m fine, except for the confusion,” I said, nodding, hoping this placed me nicely in this creatures mind as something both needing and deserving of assistance.
“Great. You know you’re a changeling, right? Don’t have any sort of... pony madness?” It inquired, scrutinizing me.
“No, no, it just... you just surprised me, is all,” I frowned, cursing my impulse towards violence once more. I kept doing things that I could not take back, and I was not sure why when consciously it seemed so out of nowhere. Anyways, this changelings dialogue clued me in that the other species I saw was likely the ‘pony’ it mentioned. “I know I’m, uh, a changeling. Not exactly sure if I know everything that means, though.” My ears pinned back and I tried to smile sheepishly to downplay my confusion. Again, I feared turning this creature off of me when I needed it to accept me as one of its own and treat me as such, hopefully kindly.
“I guess I understand the circumstances. You were probably caught in that damn Canterlot explosion...,” it raised a hoof to rub at its snout, a gesture I imagined was analogous to rubbing ones temples. “Though I don’t know how you got out of it without looking like me. Or...,” it gestured to the side. Only now did I notice what I first internalized as a pile of sticks and moss before realizing with a lurch that it was a creature torn nearly fully asunder.
“WHAT IN THE WORLD?” I yelped, jumping back in surprise, hitting the den wall with my back end. “Are they okay?!” I asked frantically, looking around to see if anything to help might manifest itself. The active, mostly healthy changeling didn’t seem alarmed by my reaction, nor the state of the near-dead changeling in the corner of the burrow.
“It’s not okay, no, not currently. It could be worse, really,” I doubted that. On further inspection, it seemed to have at least half of a head, split upon the sagittal plane, and only two limbs remaining, one on either side of the body and barely stuck on to a ravaged torso, doused in green. Overall it was more green than black, yet according to the changeling I was speaking to, it was still alive despite it all. Actually, now that things were calming down and I was feeling out the room more, I could almost sense that it was alive. It was not breathing, not moving at all, yet I was experiencing that extraordinary sense once more to feel out its consciousness. I could not investigate yet, still confused by the whole situation. “You can probably help. You’re filled up on love, you really need to pass some over.”
I blinked at the changeling, trying to piece what it was saying out into context and failing. “I don’t think a hug is going to help in this situation,” I said slowly.
“No, I...,” it facepalmed with a hoof. “You’re REALLY confused, aren’t you? Love, you know, what you eat? What we live off of?” Things were finally starting to connect in my mind. ‘Love’ must have been that wonderous substance I pulled out of the pony before, and it apparently could be given to others of my kind. I nodded quickly, hoping once more to not appear too clueless. “Your... ability to transfer love hasn’t been knocked out, has it? ... Are all your injuries internal?” It tsked.
“I’ll figure it out. I can figure this out,” I assured it, frowning a bit, internally doubting my ability to make good on my word. As I mentally tried to figure out how to distill this feeling and move it outwards, the creature suddenly raised a hoof to get my attention, fumbling over itself to speak.
“And, I should clarify, in case you forgot hive hierarchy, too-- you give the love to ME first, to heal my wounds, and then we figure out if this one is recoverable,” I blinked in confusion at this changeling, baffled that it seemed ready to leave the near-dead changeling to succumb to its injuries, before it spoke up again; “If it cannot be returned to workable condition, scaled to our present circumstances, then we recover what love we can from them through consumption.”
“WHAT?” I could not contain myself, absolutely horrified at the idea. Yes, I had killed and consumed a pony already, but I could not imagine doing that to someone that was supposed to be the same as me, apparently raised in the same society, who was clearly suffering before death. My former actions had been on impulse and a need to survive; as of current, we had love to spare through me, and I was fully conscious and present to analyze this situation. “We are not doing that.”
“Says who?” It huffed, looking around the cavern. “Are there any elites around with you?” It squinted its eyes. “Actually, scratch that. If there were, they would’ve just eaten you instead of bothering with this brain damage nonsense.” It seemed to roll its eyes, though I could not be certain with its compound makeup. “If you can muster up the love to fix it yourself, then so be it, waste your energy. But if you want me to keep helping step you through this, I need my injuries healed. My limbs are barely staying on my body.” It seemed fine to me, but I had no frame of reference for what was normal or healthy in our shared species.
Right, I had to figure out how to transfer love. I closed my eyes as I withdrew into my mind, trying to pull at the internal thread of this feeling, this ‘love’ within me. Especially without outside stimuli, I really could feel the consciousness of the creatures around me; the brick wall concrete consciousness of the mostly-healthy changeling before me, the malleable airy presence of the newborn, and the fizzling sparks of a creature near death, not to mention some sort of static cloudiness above- the extra eggs, I imagined. Actually, following this thread down and that direction, it seemed the eggs had been what was pulling the love out of me. I cut that off, for now, deciding that I would need to save some of my love for this injured changeling, not to mention given I didn’t have the resources to be raising multiple children right now. I’d ask later if this was healthy or not, but I hoped they could spend a day hungry. Now, I focused on pushing that love towards this other present changeling. Once the proverbial faucet had been turned on, it felt so easy, so natural, and I opened my eyes to watch that pink mist float towards it, disappearing inside of it. I swear I could feel how hungry the other changeling was, especially now; and it was damn near empty, apparently its injuries having taken a lot out of it.
“Good, good- you’ve done it all right,” It said, satisfied as I cut off that internal thread. Now it seemed to hold itself up a bit more confidently, and it took a moment to survey its own body. “How’s the situation, anyways?” It noticed my confused expression and continued, “Where are we, what’s going on? Where’s the nearest pony settlement and do we have any ins?”
“There are ponies nearby,” I said slowly, once more trying to fit everything it was saying in to context. “Close enough that traveling here on f- hoof is easily possible, but far enough away they no one would wander here without reason, that they consider it a whole ordeal. We, uh... Does a dead pony count as an in?” Part of me feared divulging that I had killed, though the rational part of me reminded me that this creature was fine with killing and consuming its peer.
“Maybe?” Its ears perked up. “Did you get any information out of them before death? Or can we pull a memory loss?”
“I don’t know,” I was a bit overwhelmed with the questions, and gestured with a hoof at my head as if to indicate my rattled mind. “I didn’t, or, don’t know anything about the pony, so... memory loss, probably- actually, can you tell me what we’re supposed to be doing?”
“It’s... basically the only thing changelings do,” it seemed exceptionally annoyed at my confusion, as this was apparently a major concept I needed to cement in my brain (did I even have one of those?). “Taking over the appearance of ponies to harvest their love.”
“Oh... Ah.” I was unsure how to feel about that; apparently, my violence was baked into my being, and this was base level, expected, and condoned changeling behavior. The human part of me was revolted, still steeped in regret for my actions and horrified at the prospect that I’d do it some more. The animal part of me, this changeling half, was comforted and quelled, assured that my actions had furthered my survival and were not out of the ordinary whatsoever. I was just doing what was expected and perhaps needed of me; the love I gathered from that pony had helped heal another of my species, so it had to be good, some part of me argued internally. “I guess I could easily pretend to have memory loss based on my real... experience- actually, I don’t think I should be doing that. I don’t want to do that.” I backpedaled, realizing volunteering myself might throw myself directly into danger as I still was not fully conscious of the world I now inhabited, regardless of my personal feelings on the matter.
“You don’t have much choice,” it said, tilting its head. “I’ve never heard of a drone denying infiltration work! Don’t you want to just go out there in the fields, do some easy work and get some love straight from the source?”
My mouth practically overfilled with drool at the thought of it, the very vivid memory of yanking unfettered love out of a pony ever so tempting, before I shook my head to clear my mind. Again this schism made itself known in me; this was disgusting! Distilling a feeling of adoration into a consumable substance felt inherently cruel, dirtying, disrespectful to the concept of love, yet I hungered for what distressed me. It would be so easy to set aside my morals to fit into this mold presented to me, but... I had lost my body and most of my mind, I felt the need to firmly grasp what little was left of my human sensibilities despite my recent failings. This was where I drew the line in the sand; confronted with an individual to disagree with, my morals were now making themselves clear to me.
“You should be doing the infiltration work, you know better than me,” I said, crossing my front hooves meekly.
“You’re not wrong, but I don’t like your attitude about it.” It snorted.
“You don’t have to, I guess. Can I help the... Actually, what’s your name?” I asked, realizing I had gone through a lot of dialogue without even getting this other changelings name. It blinked at me, surprised at the contents of my question.
“I am designated VKC-258,” it was not letters enunciated but instead chirping and hissing in quick succession implying short notation followed by numbers. I narrowed my eyes, frowning, though I feared making my confusion known once more, lest I finally find myself at the end of VKC’s rope. Still, it was perceptive enough to notice my expression, and elaborated, guessing the source of my befuddlement; “That’s typical changeling stuff, alright? Labeling what egg batch we’re from and the order we hatched in. What about you, don’t you remember your own name?”
“No,” I shook my head slowly, “I really don’t remember much of anything at all. I just woke up here.”
“I’ll just call you Drone,” it sneered. I did not have the context to take this as positive or negative, nor did I have enough presence of mind to sift through my brain and decide if this was a good, accurate name or title for myself, so I just shrugged.
“Okay, alright. VKC, can I please feed the...” I gestured at the downed changeling near-corpse in the den with us, “... do you know their name?”
“No, we’re not expected to know every changeling in the hive. And you don’t need to do all that ‘please’ crap, like a pony,” its tone was thick with bitterness, making it clear that this was definitely an insult, though it would once more fly over my head the reasoning for. “But, yeah, sure, knock yourself out. One of us will have to go out, probably pretending to be whatever pony died, and gather up some love before we hoof it.”
“Hoof it?” I asked a bit distractedly, closing my eyes once more as I focused on moving the love in my core to this fizzling presence before me. Transferring it to VKC had been easy, like turning on a spout of water, but this was more like opening up a waterfall as this other changeling was a vast hungry abyss. Pouring love in felt as if it was doing nothing, barely incrementing this other changeling’s own meters, and soon I felt at about a quarter full, to which I stopped, leaving the other barely above none. Apparently the injuries were demanding a lot out of this creature, and as I withdrew I could sense what little I had spent already dwindling down.
“We’re here because of the Canterlot explosion, right? Separated from the main hive- under Chrysalis? If she’s still alive, we need to return to her. Bar none, we die without her.” VKC explained. I stared at it now in surprise, watching it idly play with the little grub, moving its hooves in the air for it to bat at. It sensed my confusion once more and continued; “A drone, a warrior, and whatever that almost-changeling scrap pile is isn’t an awful makeup for a patrol, but we have to return back to her to get orders and manage our love intake and output. On our own we might make more mistakes like, well, whatever you’re getting up to with that lost cause. And, well,” its ears went horizontal and it looked aside, “I’ll waste my own time and energy listening to you and leading you as best I can, but it’s not very smart, I don’t think. Definitely not Chrysalis endorsed, and we need Chrysalis’ approval to be confident in anything we do.” It nodded to itself.
This was a lot of information to absorb. There was a Canterlot, and some apparent disaster that had thrown these two out in horrible condition. There was a Chrysalis, who VKC apparently revered. I was not sure how much of a reliable narrator it was on the topic; it seemed awfully cultish to me, and though I depended on it to inform me of the world, I doubted we as a species were totally and wholly dependent on this figure, though I could not be certain of the intricacies of how our little lives functioned. Perhaps my choices were stupid, but could Chrysalis really be judge, jury, and executioner on everything?
Of course, I did not voice this for now. Instead, I commented on something I was curious about; “We shouldn’t leave, because of the eggs.”
“The what?” VKC asked, tilting its head.
“The eggs,” I gestured vaguely upwards, though I was only pointing towards the dirt and root roof of our burrow and not directly outwards to where the eggs actually drooped on their branches. “Can’t you feel them? Or... see them at all?”
“... Well, now that you point it out- and, hey, don’t rag on me for missing them. They’re intentionally camouflaged for a reason, you know,” VKC mused, rubbing its chin. “That’s so weird- it’s just you out here, no elites, no queen? I’m no expert on egg production, but I really don’t think eggs should be out here. I thought the one grub here was just a fluke- like, it grabbed on to someone’s tail before we flew out to Canterlot or something,” It stared back at me, frowning. “This changes some things- damnit, I wish you’d told me this before. I’m sure Chrysalis would be more than happy with us if we brang a whole squadron of changelings back to the hive to replenish numbers after that, ugh, disaster... But it’ll take a lot of love to incubate all of them.”
“They don’t need love, like, constantly, right?” I asked, wincing, preemptively regretting pouring out so much for a creature who was barely moving- even after filling them up, they just laid there looking dead.
“We’re a hardy breed, changelings- they’ll be fine, they just won’t be growing until you feed them again. But the growth of this little splinter group we’re making is now high priority. One of us will have to go to the nearest pony settlement and get as much love as we can.” It tapped the ground idly with its hoof. “Shame we don’t have any big thinkers here, so I can’t say exactly what we should be doing to maximize love output, but I’m sure we’ll figure something out. We kind of have to. For our survival.”
I grimaced, descending once more into my thoughts; one of us would have to do a truly awful thing, taking on the appearance of a young pony I had killed with the express purpose of draining love from their family, but I had no choice. I was not only doing this for myself, but now for two other changelings, a grub, and perhaps for whoever Chrysalis was.