Extraterrestrial #51

by TundraStanza

Ch. 2: Empathy Sickness (Edited)

---

After utilizing my one-two-three-four leg moving pattern, I nudged the door that was ajar. This bug-like body must have had extra sensitive hearing, because the creak of the door sounded much louder than it had yesterday. My growling stomach, however, was louder than my door. I really hoped that this body I was now in could digest something other than pure emotion. With the door opened at a reasonable space, I walked out ("walked" is easier to say than "moved my legs in an awkwardly slow pattern" over and over).

I cannot sense my queen. Perhaps the distance is too great between us.

I stopped in place and blinked twice.

Where did that thought come from? I mentally asked. The only answer I received was another growl from my stomach.

"Wait your turn!" I hissed to the internal organ. Assuming I was just angry from hunger, I continued walking down the hall. Analyzing my mental stability would have to wait.

I was glad that the kitchen was just around the corner from the end of the hallway. I could only imagine the difficulty that a newly turned quadruped would have ascending or descending a staircase. Headaches and miscellaneous bruises were most likely. I had to cough to prevent myself from chuckling at the image. I gave my props to all the "ponified" people that were going to make a difference in the world. I was going to hold integrity and not laugh at their inevitable misfortune.

After all, I had a new challenge that some pony would probably laugh at me if they had the chance.

"Okay, Cier," I whispered, "It's just the fridge door. Nothing you can't handle."

I took a deep breath to psyche myself up. I attempted to jump up and grab the fridge handle between my hooves. That ended about as gracefully as anyone would expect... with me smashing face first into the refrigerator. This was immediately followed by me landing on my back, no doubt squishing my insect wings because of the two extra pains I felt back there. I quickly rolled over onto my stomach to relieve the pressure.

The pained groan that escaped my throat sounded kind of like what I remembered about the head crabs from Half-Life. That noise sent chills down my spine. My stomach was annoyingly reminding me that it still needed food. I briefly wondered if looking at certain websites would be faster than trying to raid the fridge. I then twisted my lips in a half frown at such a dirty thought.

I'm pretty sure that's not the kind of love changelings feed on anyway, I thoughtfully argued.

I shook my head with a sudden urge to take a cold shower. But the challenge of cleanliness would have to wait until after the challenge of nutrition was tackled. This time I took a different approach. Instead of running up to the door like an idiot, I tried crouching just barely in front of the fridge door handle. I jumped up with fangs bared.

Score! I thought as I managed to bite the handle, Wait... what do I do now?

First, it was the blown up doorknob and now my fangs were biting into the fridge handle. I was doing a pretty lousy job of controlling and properly using this changeling's body. I helplessly tried to swing my body to edge the fridge open, but to no avail. I then let my body go limp before opening my jaw wide enough to let go. Ironically, doing so let me sit on my rump like the ponies normally did in the cartoon.

At that moment, I heard a sound from back down the hallway. My black, misshapen ears perked up.

How did I forget about that? I thought. Unlike my college professors that were nice enough to recognize the messed up calendar, my dad's boss wasn't. He still needed to wake up and go to work... and the former was exactly what he was doing now.

Of all the days to sound like a smoke addict, why'd it have to be today? I thought as I waited for the footsteps to finally approach my position. There was no point in running or hiding. I'd get found out eventually, if not by my dad than by someone else somewhere. No pressure or anything. I mean, the worst case scenario was that I'd be a green puddle of roadkill.

"What on Earth... are you?" asked Dad in a genuinely confused tone as he looked down at the pony-shaped insect in the kitchen.

"Dad! It's me!" I exclaim-coughed. He didn't say anything more. He only tilted his head slightly to further express his confusion.

Here, try again.

"I'm Cier!" I cried out. I lifted a hoof to my lower jaw at the unexpected change in pitch. That had been... my voice. It was the voice I had as a human.

"Cier?" pondered Dad as he leaned down to take a closer look at me, "What... is this? What happened to you?"

"You remember that news report about all the extra days?" I asked.

"Yes..." he slowly answered, "But what does that have to do with... er, this?" He motioned an open palm at my condition.

"Funny story," I responded, "Well, not 'ha-ha' funny, but interesting to say the least."

---

By this point, Dad and I had moved to sitting in chairs at the table.

"So, this kind of thing is happening all over the world," Dad paraphrased.

"Yep," I nodded.

"Yet, for some unknown reason, you became a different kind of horse?" he inquired.

"It's called a changeling," I explained, "The primary aspects of it is that it's a creature capable of altering forms and feeding off the love of ponies."

He looked deep in thought for a moment before asking, "If you can change shape naturally, why didn't you just change into something that could open the fridge?"

"I... haven't really figured out how that power works yet," I blushed (at least I think I blushed) while rubbing my neck with a hoof.

"Come to think of it, can you even eat normal food anymore?" he wondered.

"That's what I was going to find out," I replied.

"Well, alright," he shrugged as he got up and went to the fridge himself, "There's some leftover pizza in here."

"Sounds great," I confirmed. He brought over the plate with the slice of goodness.

"Do you need help?" he offered as he set it down in front of me.

"I should be able to manage," I answered, "Thanks anyway."

I reached out my open mouth and my left fang seemed to snag a bite of the food. Then, that bite slid into my mouth as I started chewing. I learned something about changelings' tastebuds first hoof. It seemed that their sense of taste is muffled, if that's the right word for it. Any saltiness or grease was noticeable, but not that strong. I swallowed what didn't get caught on my fang pretty easily.

"Is it as good as it was last night?" asked Dad.

"Short answer: no," I replied, "Long answer: it's still edible. I'm just not tasting all the flavors that I thought sausage, onions, and pepperoni were supposed to have. For that matter, the cheese doesn't taste as cheesy. Does that make any sense?"

"Yeah, it does," he responded, "It's sort of like how Mom couldn't taste anything while she had that cold."

"Yeah," I muttered. I continued fang-shoveling the pizza into my mouth in relative silence.

Mom wasn't exactly on speaking terms with us right now. The last I heard from her was when she told me personally that she just had to leave for a while. She and Dad had gotten into an argument and I just wasn't a proper pacifist to settle that dispute. I probably left a bad impression on her just before she left the house. That was over two weeks ago.

---

"You okay in there?" called Dad.

"Yeah! Just fine!" I hollered over the sound of running water. I was glad that the adjustments for the shower water were level with the tub faucet. I could just push the lever up or down to make more or less water come out. The bad news was that I had to settle for ice cold water since I couldn't turn the frigging temperature controls. All I could do was nudge the switch from faucet to shower and vice versa.

I decided not to bother with soap and shampoo. I wasn't about to trust my magic control after the doorknob incident. (Dad wasn't even mad about it. He said that it was amazing.) So, I had hopes that any bacteria that this changeling body gathered would freeze off or something. After about what felt like ten minutes, I shut off the water altogether.

As for towel drying, I plead the fifth.

"Alright, I'm done!" I called. The doorknob turned and the door opened to show my dad opening it.

"Thanks," I said with a small smile. Too big a smile would reveal too much fang for a gratuitous expression.

"Alright, I'm heading off to work," declared Dad as he walked around the house and gathered his stuff, "I assume you'll be fine by yourself today."

"Aren't I usually?" I asked rhetorically.

"Well, usually you aren't a... what did you call it?... changeling," he pointed out.

"Touché," I chuckled.

"Call if you need anything," he reminded me.

"Will do," I nodded, "See you later."

"See you," he echoed as he closed the front door behind him.

---

At first, using my laptop was a pleasantly challenging experience. I couldn't type with my holey hooves without hitting multiple buttons. So, I had to improvise by lodging a pencil into one of the holes. It didn't hurt, but it did feel a little uncomfortable. My typing speed was considerably slower, but eventually entering URL addresses became a feasible task for this changeling.

I had to do a little catching up on the news. Discord had set up a plethora of lookalikes. There was a real-world equivalent of the HLF called P.A.P.A. Lauren Faust and Tara Strong had gone missing yesterday. Yeah, I was a little worried about that, but there wasn't much that I could do from here. California seemed to live in its own little world pretending to be separate from the rest of the United States.

Playing most of the Flash games online was out of the question because they required precise hand-eye coordination. My pencil in hoof was hardly precise. All that was left to do was give another apology to all ten, er... nine of my watchers on FiMfiction that updates would be further delayed. I gave the subtle hint that I had become a creature of the badlands just outside of Equestria's border. Yeah, they'd understand or not give a care. I wasn't picky.

"I never thought I could get sick of the internet," I muttered, "But I suppose I can surprise even myself."

I decided to leave my computer on for the time being in case I needed it later. I hopped down from the chair and took another look in the mirror.

"Hm," I thought out loud, "Maybe it's time to test the extent of this body."

Attempting to alter forms on the spot was an unfamiliar action (obviously). At first, I tried to just picture different ponies in my head. This did not produce any better results than the magic I had tried earlier that day. There was no coat of green flames, no sound effect, or anything else that indicated that I was even remotely tapping into the one power that changelings were known to have. I still looked like a pony-beetle hybrid with fangs.

On a whim, I decided to close my eyes again and breathe.

Changing forms is pointless right now.

"Huh?" I asked as I opened my eyes.

---

"Who said that?" I added as I looked around the empty space that should have been my room but wasn't.

I have no name. It matters little in serving my queen. I am the fifty-first drone of her majesty Chrysalis.

"Well, that's disheartening," I responded while crossing what felt like my arms, "Mind if I call you Fifty-one?"

It makes little difference what you call me. My title is of no importance.

The voice sounded a lot like the half-coughing voice that I had when I first woke up today.

"Where are you anyway?" I asked.

Here. It seems I am in your mind. It also seems that you are in my body. This confuses me.

"Yeah," I chuckled, "You and me both."

From observing some of your mind's corridors, I have found that common courtesy requires that I ask for your title as well.

"Cier Dylan, community college student," I said while reaching out a hand pretending that Fifty-one would actually shake it. To my intrigue, something actually did shake my hand.

"So, how does this existing in the same time and space thing work?" I wondered, "Are we looking at a complete mind merge or one of us slowly fading into the other's subconscious?"

I do not know. But you seem to be a creature that does not rely on altering their shape for the sake of appearances.

"I try to keep things consistent, yes," I confirmed.

In that case, it would make optimal sense for you to maintain dominance.

"Really? Why's that?"

You have more personal experience with this world inhabited by humans. In your immediate area, there is no threat or mission that presses the necessity of changing forms.

"Did you not see what happened with the door knob, fridge, and towel?"

Improvisation appears to be one of your strengths, human.

"Are you sure we're still talking about me? I choke under pressure and I hardly ever take the initiative."

But you held your ground to face your father. While my race considers such action foolish, your race seems to view that as admirable and bold.

"So, what do you view that as?"

My view matters not. I just feel at liberty to let you know what it is.

"So... I can assume that there will be no random bursts of sucking the love out of the people that I care about?"

It wouldn't matter since my queen is not around to absorb it. If such actions will only serve to make you suffer, then I shall avoid feeding on love.

"One last question: how did you change my voice back to normal?"

A changeling can alter his or her voice to whatever they desire. Their form, however, is dependent on seeing an actual lifeform. Therefore, it will be impossible for you to assume the forms of the ponies you know just from memory.

"Oh... That makes sense, I guess."

Someling has to make sense when chaos is destroying the fabric of reality.

"True."

I suggest reassuming consciousness.

"How do I-?"

---

"-do that?" I asked as I blinked. Once again, I was looking at the changeling in the mirror. The daylight peeking in through the windows had already changed drastically. I looked at the analog clock on the back wall.

"I was in my own mind for three hours?!" I said in an exaggerated volume.

Geez, I thought while rubbing my head, Calm down, Cier. It was a learning experience, right?

My ear perked up at the sound of a knob turning. I assumed it was the front door. I awkwardly walked out of my room and into the hallway.

"Hey!" I hollered.

"Hey!" echoed my dad as he closed the door, "I thought you might be waiting for lunch considering the lack of hands to open stuff. So, I decided to stop by and check on you."

"Now that you mention it," I started.

I never got to finish that statement. The front window just randomly shattered. No, seriously. The glass just frigging shattered out of the frame.

"What the heck?" Dad and I shouted simultaneously. Curiosity getting the better of us, Dad opened the door again. He took a step outside as I followed him, miraculously not tripping over my hooves.

"What in the world?" I whispered at the sight.

Gun laws were strict in the state of California. So naturally, I was surprised when I saw the man standing just outside of a Corolla while wielding a semi-automatic pistol. The guy that came out of the driver's seat looked like he had a baseball cap with the initials "P.A." on it. He wasn't armed. The one in the front passenger side looked a bit out of place wearing a pair of brass knuckles. The fourth guy actually took out a Swiss-army knife. This group's weapon chemistry was way out of sync.

"What do you know?" chuckled the gunman turning to look at his colleagues, "That anonymous tip we got was right on the money. There is one of those ugly horses here."

"This is a private residence," Dad told the group, "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Sure, gramps," called the driver, "We'll leave... just as soon as we put down that dumb animal next to you."

I am not a dumb animal!

Calm down, Fifty-one, I managed to mentally leash him, That guy's got a gun.

"Maybe you didn't hear him, pops," said the knife man with a voice that sounded like a smoker's, "That pony's gotta go."

"That pony," I interrupted, "Just so happens to be a changeling."

"Meh, all you mutated dogs look the same to me," shrugged the gunman. Remembering that this guy had a gun, I immediately resumed my tense shaking in place where I stood.

"So what's it gonna be gramps?" repeated the driver.

"You can't have my son," stated Dad flatly.

"Your loss, old man," the gunman shrugged again as he slowly moved his index finger.

I lowered my eyebrows (if I had those), "You wouldn't dare-"

*BANG*

My dad let out a yelp. I watched him clutch his left shoulder as the shirt started to turn red from what I could only assume was blood. My eyes went wide.

"Dad!" I yelped in trembling before turning back to the man who had fired the shot.

You... are my enemy.

It felt like I had been shunted behind a screen door in my mind. I could still see and feel what was happening. But beyond that, there was nothing. I heard the changeling growl escape my throat. I saw the green bolt of magic blast the pistol right out of the man's grasp and watched it fly across the street. Another bolt blasted the knife out of the smoker's grasp. I wanted to feel shocked, but my face was stuck in an expression of anger.

"I didn't sign up for this *es*t!" yelled the driver as he got back in and started the engine.

"Hey!" called the now gun-less man, "You don't leave until I say so!"

It was then that I heard a police's siren coming awfully close.

"Like I said," rushed the man opening his door, "Step on the gas!"

The other guys hastily followed their leader's example. The Corolla's tires screeched and the vehicle sped off just as a police car arrived on the scene and began chasing them. The screen door in my mind was lifted and I let out a gasp. Meanwhile, a motorcyclist officer drove up and stopped just on the lawn's edge.

"Excuse me," she stated, "What happened here?"

"Officer!" I hollered, "My dad's been shot! He needs an ambulance like right now!"

---

I was getting some rather cautious looks from various folks in the waiting room. I let out a sigh as I stared at the floor. I couldn't blame them for their fear. I looked like a giant bug after all. I looked up to see someone in white uniform.

"How's my dad?" I asked directly. She looked at me in the same manner as the other people in there.

"He's doing much better," she replied after clearing her throat.

"Can I see him, please?" I begged while simultaneously wishing for smaller fangs. No luck was found in the latter.

"I... suppose," she answered. No doubt, she was wondering if exposing patients to pests was against health protocol.

My awkward walking probably wasn't earning any brownie points either. But, it was the only way I could move these four legs without falling over. I really needed to ask Fifty-one how my wings worked. His wings. Whatever.

Turns out, Dad was sitting upright with bandaging all around his shoulder and a bit around his waist to hold it all in place. He winced a little, but he was a trooper. That bullet had scraped his skin rather than going in and staying there. I was relieved to hear all of this.

"I'm just glad you're alive," I sighed in relief. He smiled and nodded.

"I...I thought... I was going... to lose you," I choked as something dripped from my eye.

How are you crying?

True men aren't afraid to cry! I mentally declared to Fifty-one.

No, I mean how are you crying? My race is incapable of shedding tears.

I hopped up on the table that Dad was sitting on and gave the best hug I could with holey hooves. He slowly returned the hug.

"I'm here," he affirmed.

I thought I was immune to it, but... it seems you're contracting Empathy Sickness. Very curious.

I let my tears stream out like there was no tomorrow. If having emotions meant that I was sick, then I didn't want to be well.