//------------------------------// // Chapter 1 // Story: Cutie Mark Crusader Changelings // by Smiley216 //------------------------------// The winds of Cloudsdale were cold in those wee hours of the night. Winter was fast approaching and the weather factory was running overtime to make sure they could manufacture plenty of snow for the upcoming season change. But here, deep in the residential district, everypony was tucked safely into their warm beds; meaning that none of them even had a chance to see the shadowy figure buzzing purposefully from cover to cover. Unlike their more Equine cousins changelings didn’t have the magic that allowed them to manipulate clouds and weather the same way pegasi could. They could walk on them well enough, but they couldn’t influence their movement unless they took the form of a pegasus or used some other very attention gathering magic. Grub insertionists weren’t permitted to take a pony form unless it were absolutely necessary, which made for a much more difficult job. The changeling didn’t understand why these grubs had to be planted within pony society. They would still be far too young when the invasion soon came. However the Queen’s orders were absolute. It wasn’t for the drone to understand his orders, but to complete them without fail. So complete them he would. An ear perked up as the changeling detected the sound he’d been searching for and buzzed up to the partially open second-story window. Holding onto the sill he hissed with pleasure and licked his tongue around his fanged teeth. It was such a delicious little bundle of raw emotion. Few drones were ever permitted the chance to experience the unconditional love and joy a newborn pony gave up so freely, so completely, but great risks offered great rewards for those most devoted to the goals of the hive. The changeling hovered for a moment and drank his fill, savoring the surge of fresh emotion that strengthened his dark form. The stirring in his saddlebag reminded him of why he was here and he set to work. Opening the window the rest of the way he climbed in. The horn on his head flared and carefully levitated the changeling grub from his bag. From a biological standpoint the creature wasn’t really a grub, but in fact a little grey changeling. Actual grubs were white, slowly developing their legs, wings, and horn for the first year until they were unmistakably pony-like. At that point their soft white skin slowly hardened into black chitin like the rest of their kind, a developing process that lasted about 8 years (depending on the grub). The little bundle of orange fur babbled and cooed at the mesmerizing green glow while the grey grub gave a throaty grumble as it was set down in the crib. The two creatures eyes met, looking each other over with equal curiosity and wonder neither having seen a creature of the other’s sort before. The elderling took advantage of their inactivity and touched his horn to the grub’s, manipulating its unrefined magic ability for his purposes. Pale green wisps emanated from the two horns and enveloped the young filly, who fell back and giggled, swirling the unthreatening mist with her hooves. The new joy in the moment fed the youngling its first taste of real emotion. The initial feeding normally took an hour for less experienced insertionists, but this elderling had refined his process down to thirty minutes. Just so long as they weren’t- “Well what’s got you all excit-…-ed?” ‘Well, buck.’ Of course the mare would wake at some obscene hour. ‘It's unfortunate that stupid emotional creatures can’t ever behave logically, isn’t it?’ Looking up the drone met eyes with a pale pink pegasus mare who stood in shock at the unfathomable sight. A black monster standing over two identical orange fillies with a messy purple mane (where there only should have been one) was not something a tired mind could easily register. Thinking fast, the changeling scooped the real infant from the crib and tossed it up towards the mare. This served the dual purpose of causing the mare to gasp instead of scream as well as distract her from the real threat in the room. ‘It's fortunate that stupid emotional creatures can’t ever behave logically, isn’t it?’ Knowing a spell would be too loud and flashy, the changeling sped across the room and lowered its horn. A satisfying -squelch- combined with the heat of blood on its forehead told the black drone a story it had heard several times before. He could almost feel the mare’s lung collapsing as blood gurgled in her throat, killing any chance of crying out for help along with her. However, something didn’t feel quite how it should have as he extricated his horn from the mare’s chest, and when the twitching body slumped to the floor he saw why. The filly’s unnatural silence throughout the ordeal was naturally explained by the horn shaped hole in its neck. The head hadn’t quite been severed, but the foal’s death had been instantaneous. Such was not the case for the mother. To the mare’s credit, she hadn’t intentionally used the baby pony as an ineffective meat shield for some sick, emotionally driven desire to live. She’d simply cradled the filly to her chest, completely unaware that the same location had been scheduled for an untimely mortal wound. This knowledge, however, did nothing to ease the rage that now consumed the changeling as it hissed curses at the soon to be corpse. He reared back and stomped on the insolent dying mare, breaking four ribs and fracturing her wing, and again, this time breaking her rear legs at the knees. ‘Stupid, unthinking pony; you killed your own offspring with your idiocy and for that your final moments will be filled with SUFFERING.’ After stamping her into the floor twice again her eyes rolled back and all pretenses of life within the mare ceased. The clouds beneath her were soaking up the red and raining thick warm blood down into the kitchen below. The cooing faux-filly brought the drone out of his ebbing rage and reminded him of the task still at hoof. The foal’s demise was a major setback, to be sure, but not an insurmountable one. A foal’s constant raw emotional output was usually the key to long-term grub insertion. Without an appropriately large and immediate source of love the disguise that had been set in place would fade within months, a year if she was lucky. After that the undeveloped magical abilities of a grub would mean that discovery was a certainty and after that … well … the ponies would have to worry about that. The drone’s mission however, had not yet failed. The copy had already been completed and would remain so long as the foal’s natural grey skin was permeated with a sufficient amount of energy. Once her skin completely hardened into the black chitin that was the changeling standard the image would have to be consciously maintained. Once mature a copy spell was a simple, desire driven feat. So long a changeling’s resolve held and love was consumed regularly a disguise could theoretically last forever. He simply needed to access a new source of love and transplant it so the youngling would live to maturity. Closing the nursery’s door he locked his eyes on the dead mare. A -whoosh- of green flame filled the room and he copied her form. He’d taken the mare’s child, her pride, her life, and her body. It had indeed been an interesting and eventful night. Reaching down to the dead mare he took the earring that signified her status as a married mare. Now it was time to take the last thing in this world that was hers … her lover’s passion. Though brief and transplanted for second-hoof consumption, that intimate expression of love would be more than enough to last the youngling’s disguise on into maturity. ~~~~ -Present Day- “LOOK OUT!” -crash- As the dust settled three fillies were revealed to be tangled in a pony-pile the likes of which only the infamous Cutie Mark Crusaders could seem to manage. Fortunately, they hadn’t managed to add tree-sap to injury this time. Though, the fact that they hadn’t been actively “crusading” was probably the only reason the sticky substance had remained absent. Beyond a few concerned glances nopony paid them much mind. This sort of thing was downright tame compared to their usual disasters, and on top of that they’d been wearing their safety gear. Apple Bloom, the first to recover, blew Sweetie Belle’s tail out from in front of her face. “Good gravy, Scootaloo. What happened back there?” “Yeah,” chimed the white unicorn, pushing the wagon from on top of herself, “don’t you nearly kill us enough when we’re crusading?” “Sorry guys,” she apologized. “I … guess I kinda got distracted there.” Apple Bloom hadn’t planned on saying anything, but the stunt-crazy filly crashing without doing any crazy tricks told her things were more serious than the orange pegasus was letting on. “You sure yer okay? You haven’t hardly said anyth’n since ya’ picked me up?” Scootaloo tried to dodge the question by hitching the wagon back onto the scooter. “C’mon, we’ll be late for class.” This, however, had the opposite effect on her friends. “Since when do you get hot around the collar fer sitt’n at yer desk all day?” “Yeah, you hate sitting in class.” Scootaloo shied away from their eyes, which caused a look of concern to wash over their expressions. She knew that it was now obvious she was bothered. As much as she wanted more time to think about it on her own, she also wanted to talk about it with her friends. “I …” she began, “I read a letter about me for my foster parents yesterday.” If for some reason there had been any vestige in her friends that hadn’t been worried yet, that had now disappeared. It was an unspoken rule in the schoolyard (and pretty much the town in general). Nopony talked about Scoot’s being a fosterfilly unless she brought it up first. It had been months of Crusading before Apple Bloom found out about it. Not even Diamond Tiara or Silver Spoon had even so much as alluded to the subject during their nearly endless bouts of teasing. There were some places you just didn’t go. The fact Scootaloo even brought it up now meant that something big had happened. “It … it was from the State Foster Institute.” Sweetie Belle immediately wrapped the pegasus in a desperate hug that nearly knocked the two of them back to the ground. “Noo, they can’t send you away. They just can’t. Your home is here in Ponyville with us,” she wailed. “It’s not fair.” Scootaloo scooped her up and tried to calm her now sobbing friend down. “Shhh, it’s not that,” she said softly. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” She glanced up to Apple Bloom who looked like she’d been just about to kill somepony. “The letter said that my dad is out of prison now,” she paused there to let the yellow earth-pony process that information, she’d never heard the whole story of how Scootaloo became a part of the system. It wasn’t for lack of wanting to know or that her friend’s past didn’t matter to her. It was just that knowledge of her friend’s past wasn’t necessary for them to be friends. “He’s … he’s asking for permission to meet me.” This news prompted Sweetie Belle to look up, her tears more or less under control again. “W-w-what?” she asked. She’d heard what had been said. Just somehow the words in her ears didn’t seem to make sense yet. “Umm … Scootaloo?” asked Apple Bloom, shuffling her hooves awkwardly. She opened her mouth a few times to say more. Trying to find the words to ask a question was a lot harder when you were afraid of the answer. “W-why’s … why was your dad … in prison?” ‘Fortunately she’s too young to remember…’ Scootaloo suddenly felt a very compelling urge to watch the caterpillar munching away on a daisy not far from where she stood and swallowed ‘…monster beat her to death right in front of the girl.’ She’d only ever had to tell a hoof-full of pony’s this before, and she never felt good about the words required for it ‘…the weapon he stabbed her with was never found.’ Her foster parents had asked the social worker about it after she’d started getting persistent about where her dad was ‘…bastard claims he never laid a hoof on her.’ None of them realized she’d snuck out and around to the open window ‘…it was an open and shut case.’ She’d just wanted to know so badly ‘…something definitely wrong with a stallion capable of doing that to his wife.’ She never suspected ‘…deserved worse if you ask me…’ never thought it could have been that bad. As she remembered that day her mouth contorted as she tried to swallow the lump forming in her throat. Apple Bloom took a tentative step towards her friend and leaned into her friend’s line of sight, but her eyes didn’t track. Scootaloo was back in those bushes learning the worst about the one pony in the world every filly wanted to look to as their unrealistically awesome hero. Tears flowed down her cheeks but she didn’t even care enough to wipe them away. The back of her mind was prompting her to keep it together. She could do it if only Sweetie Belle would just stop shaking so hard. Scootaloo drew in a deep ragged breath, but as she let it out her chest heaved once … twice … three times. A gentle nose on her neck made her finally admit that she was crying. She didn’t know which of her friend’s had her face buried in their chest. Frankly she didn’t care anymore, she just let her tears flow. She tried to answer Apple Bloom’s question, she really did. But even Scootaloo couldn’t understand what was coming out of her mouth. All she managed to do was wail at a varied pitch for the few words she wanted to say. She hated this. She hated feeling so weak and vulnerable, forcing her friends to protect and comfort her. She hated clinging to them like a piece of driftwood in the ocean of tears she was drowning in. She hated her father for what he did. She hated her mother for being with him so he could do it. She even hated herself for hating so much so easily. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. It just wasn’t who she was supposed to be.