//------------------------------//
// Snap Call 
// Story: Changing Ways 
// by Comma Typer 
//------------------------------//

“Seize him!” Silverstar shouted.
All grabbed the struggling changeling, his legs bound and curbed by the many around him, stretching his hooves so he would not bend. He hissed, lashed his two-tailed tongue out at them, but did not achieve any escape.
Then—mouth gagged, eyes blindfolded, horn covered.
“Close all doors an’ windows!” Braeburn shouted, pointing at severl of them, and, already, ponies were heading out to do exactly that. “Nopony goes in, nopony goes out! You—Sandbar an’ that Gallus bird b’side you!—get with the rest of ‘em upstairs! I an’ Silverstar will warn the others!”
Fleeing the crowd, those two hurried up the stairs with a few others, Sandbar galloping and Gallus flying.
As the crowd panicked, brisked and ran around, breaking vases and pots as they advanced to anywhere they deemed safe for the moment.
“If there’s one changeling, there could be an army of them on the way!”
“No, what if there’s more than just one? What if half of us are changelings?!”
“That’s why we have Zecora’s mixture—“
“What if they replaced it with a fake?!”
Braeburn stepped in between the two arguing ponies. “It did reveal the chang’ling as an imposter; what we have is the real thing.” He looked at Swift, still shocked and now sweating on his chair. “You OK there?”
Swift shivered. He held up his hooves, looked at Braeburn with startled eyes. “I-I don’t know! I...I’ve never seen th-that happen before in all my life! I o-only heard it ‘round!”
Braeburn looked about, seeing the ponies gallop and jump around to find a good hiding spot—here, several mustached ponies not unlike the sheriff himself crouched behind a piano, hoping the instrument would save them from certain doom.
“Everypony, stop!”
All stopped at the sheriff’s call. Even the changeling ceased with his vain wrestling.
“We’re not going to do any overreactin’ with no nerves!” He cast a severe gaze upon the whole mass of ponies, his facial hair adding to his authority. “At the ver' least, we got this one in a bad mood an’ in bad time!”
“But, what if it’s a distraction?” a pony pointed out, biting her nails afterwards.
Murmurs rose, ponies nodding their heads and agreeing with her sentiment, the more timid ones slipping away back to their hiding places under tables and behind pianos.
“A distraction from the actual threat, ya’ say?” the sheriff said, rubbing his mustache rough. “In that case—round everypony up here ‘cause we’re gonna be sniffin’ out the traitors from the true ones!”
Eyed Braeburn standing by the wall, comforting a crying mare sitting on the chair by a window without moonlight.
“Go with Suri, and fetch the salve vat,” Silverstar ordered. “We’ll be seein’ who’s innocent an’ who isn’t tonight!”



Sandbar and Gallus waited at the intersection of the two hallways, listening to the sounds of ponies locking windows, closing cabinets and drawers, and finally locking doors as they saw their hysterical figures waver before the rooms.
“What’s the cue if there's a changeling up here?” Gallus asked, holding up a claw as the shouts and screams of the crowd below continued.
“They have a weird sound when they change,” Sandbar said, rolling his eyes up to think about how to word that sound. Then, looked at Gallus strange. “You’re telling me you’ve never seen a changeling...uh, change before?”
Gallus shrugged his shoulders. “Anyway, I wanted to stay alive, not ride at the edge of danger.”
Sandbar gave him a self-satisfied look. “Says the braggy griffon.”
That braggy griffon jabbed a pointed claw on Sandbar’s head. “There’s a difference between being proud and not being alive to be proud!”
Despite the peril he was facing with those sharp claws, Sandbar casually replied, “If you say so.”
Then, a pony slammed the door shut, brought his key into his mane, and trotted down the hallway—almost tripped into the chaos down there.
“Go down, quick!” Sandbar encouraged, raising his head a bit to see the last of him; maybe get a word or two out of the stranger.
But that stallion said nothing to him, galloping away with short breath.
Sandbar heard the commotion below. He gulped. “This isn’t good. Not good at all.”



Swift stayed there in his chair, in front of the table and in front of his pot worth fifty easy-earned bits. The cards had been scattered on the table except for his winning straight flush which stuck out conspicuous as they lay before that hill of golden coins.
He could hear the swirl of sounds besieging him—the flurry, the blurry flurry of ponies shifting around and crying and shouting and crying more—others falling on to couches, fainting there and even to the floor—cries for a doctor or a medic about, ponies with not a single piece of medical uniform on their bodies pulling out first aid kits, applying bandages to the prematurely wounded—alarmed stallions and mares holding out their weapons and over-excited ones aiming their spears or bows at whoever was closest—overturned plants with their fallen soil, overturned cabinets with their crumpled clothes and their shattered plates—lanterns flickering as pegasi’s flapping wings swayed them to and fro—Braeburn and Silverstar and a few others shouting, giving out verbal instructions to this and that pony.
A nudge on his shoulder. A poke on his face.
Swift blinked, looked at Press who was stretching out a hoof to poke him another time.
“You look like you’re lost!” Press said, a little surprised. “You need something? Bottle of water? Some crackers?” She levitated her measly paper bag, fumbling her hoof around for something. “I got some bread, too.”
Swift kept looking out there. “I-I d-don’t...know….”
Press groaned. “Swifty, you got to know. Do you feel hungry? Famished? Anything not normal? Come on—“ scooted with her chair to him “—I don’t want anyone here to die of hunger.”
As the noise of the crowd continued to rise with their shrieks and crashes—another vase fallen down and destroyed.
Knocks on the door.
They looked that way.
Braeburn dodged several running ponies to reach the door.
He opened it.
Feeling the night’s cold, he saw two guards with a few more ponies there who noticed his haggard face, the bags under his eyes.
“We’d like to tell you we have a few ponies who want to stay here for the night before moving on to Dodge,” the yellow guard said, holding out a list of their names with his wing.
Braeburn nodded, seeing the green salve patterns on their faces. He took the list, browsed it. “We sure do appreciate what yer’ doin, but...no good, though. We have an emergency in our hooves—discovered a changelin' in—“
“A changeling?!” the guard shouted.
His escortees shivered in place, trying to get a good glimpse of the anarchy thriving in the poker house.
Yet another vase broken with a heavy crack!
“Flash Sentry,” Braeburn said, going closer to his ear and shielding the open door from their view, “you got to get ‘em somewhere safer. You know where.”
Flash nodded. Then, turning to face his escortees, he stomped a hoof on the ground, opened his wings wide, and yelled: “You heard him! Follow us!”
They left, beating a path down to the backyard.
Braeburn saw them off, waving a hat to them.
Then, he took note of a young, nervous-eyed and freckled stallion muttering something to himself before getting out of his sight.



That nervous-eyed, freckled stallion lay on his bed of hay, eyes wide open in the darkness.
In this spacious underground room lay small heaps of hay—dozens of these heaps. Some had makeshift pillows, good for cushioning a head for five minutes before a bout of itchiness took place.
He spread his exhausted body there awake and quite alone. Three other ponies lay in their hay beds, all sleeping and snoring soundly.
His frazzled blonde hair shone in the lonely ray of light which peeped from the almost closed door.
Then, it creaked half-open.
He closed his eyes at the sudden brightness.
“Psst!”
He opened his eyes a bit, seeing the silhouette over there by the door.
“Psst!”
Rubbed his eyes, cleared up his vision. “Huh? Who’s th-that?”
“Hey, you gotta stay up!”
Rubbed his eyes again. “H-Huh?”
“I’ll show you around.” The mare cocked her head to the side. “Looks like the others are sleeping. Good for me—only got one to teach.”



Star Tracker scratched his freckled cheeks, moaning a bit from his broken rest as he trotted to the little room there, seeing its minimal furnishings: a table of snacks and powdered coffee, more maps tacked on to the stony underground walls, lists of ponies on maintenance and watchtower duty for each day of the week, and several lanterns lighting all these up. Over there was a notice in big words proclaiming, “Never go anywhere without a buddy! All single ponies will be interviewed on sight!”
Flash Sentry was there, too, keeping watch over Tracker and the unknown mare as the guard sipped on his own cup of hot black coffee, standing by the tunnel's ramp passageway to the higher levels. He knocked on his metal armor, hearing that clink!
The mare smiled as he hoofed Tracker a warm cup of coffee, then, with her horn, adjusted her hat to properly align with her head. “This is the part where we hang out sometimes. The big hang-out room—“ she giggled “—you already saw that upstairs; first big place you saw. But, if you want something quieter and more relaxed, you could just stay here and be in the company of more familiar friends—when you do make friends with them.”
Star Tracker groaned, rubbed his head pounding with something like a fever. “I don’t feel that good...why’d you have to get me out?”
She dragged out the pause in the conversation a little. “You know...to get you some fresh air for your lungs! Can’t let that thorax rot with underground filth for long!”
Tracker bared his teeth, quivering right there and letting drops of his coffee spill onto the ground.
“Uh, but I need to rest my eyes, y-you know...uh, what’s your name?”
She nodded. “The name’s Press Release. What’s yours?”
He gulped. “Uh, Star Tracker!”
Flash Sentry sighed and trotted to the still open door.
He closed it.
Flash turned to the ponies by the snack table. “It’s not like anyone’s gonna hear you.”
A blue glow came upon him and revealed the changeling there in his place.
Press looked at Tracker, smiling. “I didn’t expect the change of plans, but you sure do know how to do last-minute changes well. Your brother would be so proud once he gets over how you didn't stick with the original program.”
A glow enveloped her, revealing Ocellus when it went away.
Tracker sighed, and, with that same glow, changed back to his old Thorax self.
Now, three changelings in the room, with Cornicle sipping coffee. “To be honest, I prefer soda ‘cause its sweet and has that fizz. All those bubbles, too—you could watch them rise and pop when you’re bored, but whatever works for me.” He returned to sipping his coffee.
Ocellus smiled at Thorax, even let out a little giggle again. “So, you told Ortho to go in first and swap the salve vats with decoys and let himself get caught? I don’t know what to say about that.” She tapped her chin, concerned. “Do you have an escape plan?”
Thorax’s ears drooped at that. “I was thinking of, uh, bailing him out when Chrysalis comes this way.”
Ocellus arched her non-existent eyebrows. “Did you bring in any jailbreak-friendly equipment? Like, ropes or...even blankets would do!”
“Isn’t their prison underground, too?” Cornicle asked before noisily slurping his cup of coffee.
Ocellus sighed, pressed her head. Paced the room, passed the maps and lists. “OK...we managed to get the four of us inside, and one of them’s a seventh guard. That’s better than failing the mission outright.”
Thorax sighed. “What else do we have? I’m assuming you just got here.”
She shook her head, stopped pacing. “We got a slight change to the mission from Queen Chrysalis herself.”
Cornicle stopped drinking his coffee. “I don’t like the sound of that ‘slight’.”
Ocellus nodded. “Chrysalis told me before I flew that we’re going to try a new strategy: assimilate at least ninety percent of Appleloosa. That means bringing in at least about a hundred changelings into the base undetected and unnoticed.”
“It’ll be easier the more we have here, right?” Thorax asked, sounding somewhat optimistic.
She frowned, her eyes shining under the lanterns. “It’ll be harder. We need to prepare for any contingency. What if the bases farther South try to build up an inspection team? Our strength is only that of the weakest link—one trip, and they’ll start getting suspicious of us.”
“If it’s harder than just taking over like what we did with Ponyville,” Thorax said, trotting to her, “why are we doing this?”
“Because, Thorax—" she scrubbed the fins on the back of head "—if we pull this off, they’ll never know we’re right here.” Ocellus pointed to a map of Appleloosa, displaying all its overground and underground structures. “In fact, we could have Appleloosa giving us all the resources we need and nopony would know if we conceal them well. After we take enough ponies, we can launch a surprise attack on every remaining major Equestrian base simultaenously. They wouldn’t have the time to react or call in back-up.” With that, she smiled at the sound of that strategy.
“Does my job change?” Cornicle asked, putting down his cup of coffee. “Will I have to stop being Flash Sentry?”
She shook her head again. “No. It’ll stay the same. Just gather as much information as you can from the stations and relay them to me.”
“Preferably with a changeling who could actually get to Swift,” Cornicle said, motioning to Thorax with a hostile glare.
Thorax grumbled, stretching his ears in rage. “What?! I wasn’t chickening out!”
“Shush!” and Ocellus grabbed him by the mouth. “Do you know how loud tunnels can be?”
Thorax nodded with his covered mouth.
Ocellus shoved him away. “Let’s hope nopony heard that.”
A voice echoing from the top of the tunnel: “Did you guys hear that?”
Then, hoofsteps coming down.
Thorax shuddered. “Oh, no.” He turned to his irritated comrades. “I’m sorry!”
Cornicle and Ocellus glowed and brought themselves back into their disguises, ignoring Thorax’s apology; Flash straightened up and put down his coffee while Press sipped from hers.
Throax shivered, watching the ponies’ shadows grow larger at the end of the tunnel’s first turn.
“What are you doing?!” Press whispered straight at him, yanking him by the shoulder this time.
“Agh!”
Thorax glowed and went back to being Star Tracker. He got his cup of coffee, drank from it.
Two ponies appeared at the end of the tunnel: Swift River and Perfume Hearts. The former had his mane worn out but, otherwise, he was not badly affected. Perfume Hearts stayed mostly the same, which was unfortunate for Tracker and Sentry who hastened to defend their nostrils from her fragrances—the latter was close to vomiting.
“Good, Press Release!” Swift yelled, galloping up to her and shaking her hoof. “You’re here! And, ah, that must’ve come from...” and looked at Star Tracker, his smile fading. “Who are you? Sorry, but we haven’t met.”
Star Tracker laughed nervously. “Uh, yeah. We haven’t.”
Perfume Hearts trotted to the table and prepared her coffee cup, leaving Swift River by the foot of the tunnel.
“So, what’s your name?” Swift asked.
“Star Tracker, sir!” he replied fast. “It’s Star Tracker! Manehattanite...uh, used-to-be one.”
Swift sighed. Closed his eyes and let it stay closed for some time. “It’s sad, isn’t it? Doesn’t matter if it’s the greatest city in Equestria, in the world—they ruined it like it was some small-time village!” He stomped on the floor, then punched himself on the face.
Press made an awkward expression. “Is that normal for you?”
“No, it’s not, but it is!” roared Swift.
Everyone else turned to him, astonished at his outburst.
Swift then checked himself. “S-Sorry for that. E-Excuse me, but...Press, I guess you know about it.”
She nodded.
He turned to Tracker, also bringing Flash and Perfume into his vision. “I’m sorry that happened right in front of you, but...Manehattan...” shook his head, as if chastising himself for a crime, “that place...that Manehattan...” sniffed, “was where the fire began. She perished there—“
“Who?” Tracker asked.
Press nudged him with a hoof. “Don’t be so rude!”
“My dear Lady Gaval!” Swift cried out. Then, bringing down some tissue—“She was a beautiful mare, possessing a beautiful brain that can withstand the test of time. I could remember like it was yesterday—“
“And, here we go with a long romance story,” Flash Sentry blurted, taking up another cup of coffee to busy himself with.
But Swift went on. “I could even remember the exact number of days before the changelings came to us: Four hundred and sixty-one days before she died!” He sniffed again. “We met by chance at a law firm because I wanted to sue somepony for spreading libel about me. She became my prosecutor, I got my thousands of bits in damages, and...we just...clicked or snapped or whatever!”
Tracker looked at his wrist to check the time. Except he did not have a watch.
Perfume gave all her thought to Swift's unfolding tale of lost love, enamored by it so far.
Press sat down on the ground and watched him speak more.
“I didn’t know why she liked me, why she adored me—what did I ever do to deserve her love?” He spread open his wings. “Was it because I was a pegasus and she was a ‘mere’ Earth pony? So, it went on—me, suffering in agony about questions rolling in my head, and then, one day, she went to my apartment and confessed her love to me and I confessed my love to her and...and...we became engaged, we sat together in fancy restaurants, we treated each other to long walks in the big Manehattan parks,...”



“…and then, that’s when it came upon me like a ton of bricks! They were coming, and so we had to go! To get out of there!”
Star Tracker and Swift River lay in the dark on adjacent hay beds, the both of them quite alone in their wakefulness. The few other ponies there were still sleeping. Star just laid there inside the sleeping quarters, back turned against an energetic Swift moving his hooves about and adding another magnified gesture to every word.
“We had to get to the ships—excuse me, the non-pegasi ponies had to get to the ships. I saw all my pegasi brothers and sisters fly out of Manehattan minutes before the changelings entered the city grounds, some of them with their pegasus spouses. But, me? I wasn’t strong enough to carry a mare on my back while flying, and I didn’t think we could last long inside a changeling-run Manehattan! So, I had to get to the ship with her—but, they were coming, and they were coming fast!”
He paused, took a long breath.
“Everything came by instantly! Changelings shooting their shots at us, the ship becoming damaged, they were already throwing off the lifeboats—what more could I not ask for?! My instincts told me, ‘Go!’ but I can’t! Then, the captain of the ship told all of us pegasi to leave for our own safety—he was going to stay with his sip and die there, try to see if he could bring in resistance ships to his aid. I tried carrying Gaval out to the sky, but I just couldn’t!”
He stopped, breathing long. Tracker could hear the sniffling from the wet nose the storyteller had.
“Do you know how hard that is to somepony?! You are young, a youthful stallion—here I am, outside of my prime, never to return. I was a romantic kind of pony—that guard said something about me—but, I never, never got a mare to love me! I knew the tricks and the tropes for it all, and still it didn’t work except for this Gaval—and it’s with her that she would be my first and my last love!”
Another pause. He looked away from Tracker, looked around the dark room and saw those sleeping ponies still sleeping. He turned back to his only audience.
“I guess you know what happens next. If I tried to fly with her, I would not have enough stamina to get the both of us to safety.” A choke. “I tried calling out to the other pegasi, but they were too far away and they were blasting our ship. There were lifeboats, but the changelings didn’t care about that—they were blasting the lifeboats as well, carrying their prey into the air and back into the city for food! Before I knew it, I was the only pegasus there, and the captain told me to get out or he will make me get out...and, that’s...that’s when I knew that dear Lady Gaval was lost.”
Star Tracker felt a tear trickle down his cheek.
“I told her my last words of love, my undying love for her, and she did so for me, too! Finally, I flew, and...before it was all gone, I saw the ship sinking, and the changelings boarding the ship, and the changelings capturing many, including—no, especially—my would-be wife!” He placed a heavy hoof to his chest. “We were planning to get married away from Manehattan because of the warnings, but we’re too late. I knew I couldn’t save her—the captain told me that I’d be better off being useful to the other bases. They carried her off, disappeared behind a skyscraper, and...that’s the last of it.”
All was quiet inside the dark room.
“All over...all over...that’s how it was for me, for her!” Cut short by a quiff of breath. “I dread our reunion...it’d better off if we’re both dead, or if we were both captured! But, the captain’s words...” a groan. “What are they doing to her right now? Stealing the love from her? The love she has for her parents, her siblings, her friends, and, worst of all, for me?” Eyes wide open, bewildered in their appearance—reddening and wet. “We were so romantic, so caught up in the moment—too late I realized...my love for her and her love for me was helping the changelings!”
A sigh. Then, another sigh. He finally rested his head fully on his wool pillow.
“I’m trying to move on. I’m just trying to have friendships now, close ones but not romantic ones that lead to marriage, and a family of our own...oh, a family!”
He broke out into weeping.
Star Tracker kept lying down on his uneven hay bed, though his mouth was wavering and his eyes were about to spill with tears of his own.



Flash Sentry and Press Release got out of the shed, trotted out of the backyard, and walked up to the poker house which was now protected by several guards. It was quieter, too, though several ponies were speaking loudly from within.
“OK, that isn’t good,” Flash said, giving her a nudge. “Press, what do you have in mind?”
“They’re about to announce something for Banknote,” Press observed, peering into the windows. Then, her eyes lit up—“Look, over there!”
Through the windows, a deal of movement about. Then, out the front door, shackled in chains, was dragged a changeling, still snapping and hissing at his restraining guards, Braeburn and the sheriff following him from behind.
“We’ll have the executionin’ right away!” the sheriff shouted. “Can’t let this go at dawn! Too much schemin’ time for an escape plan!”
Behind him, a horde of indignant ponies hurling insults at the changeling, calling for his death while raising pitchforks and torches along with their traditional weapons—all these coming out of the house brandishing these things and shouting their vitriol against him, their voices drowning out the peace of Appleloosa.
Flash and Press looked at each other, both concerned as their faces reflected a bit of the torches' fires.
“I wish I wasn’t so mad at my brother back then,” Flash confessed.