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// is dat cornstarch in yo ass coz dat plot is thick 
// Story: The Replacement 
// by VeryConfused 
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	Barnyard Bargain's drug dealings continued on as if nothing had happened. It was simply a shift in management, Filthy Rich was nothing, just a replaceable leader. He didn't matter.

Except he did.

He was a father, and a loving one, it seemed. He mattered to his daughter, relatives, and friends. 

I didn't brood over that fact for very long, despite realizing fully the implications of taking such a life. I rationalized it, I thought it was the right thing to do. I kill ponies anyways, and they have families and friends who care about them. I guess I've never actually seen the results of my actions in person before that. I don't know what I learned. I don't know if I learned anything. I just know that I should have.

Damn.

That was feckin' bleak. I never want to have a character defining moment ever again.

So, there was this heist thing.

I was the inside pony, naturally. I took the identity of a guard who was 'mysteriously' overcome with a bad case of the pony pox, and manipulated ponies until I would be stationed in front of the right exhibit at the right time. 
Sirens blared, it had begun.
Guards ran past me towards the painting that was triggering the alarm, pushing museum visitors out of the way, who were running towards the exit upon hearing the alarm. I didn't follow, my job was here. I smiled to myself a little, it was kind of funny. The glass case in front of me shone, polished to near perfect clarity by the cleaning crew, the exhibit was made to be seen. I walked around and quickly found the little metal security panel on the back. I guessed it was for opening the case if the exhibit needed to be moved, but I didn't care. I punched in the code and the magical device glowed a dim green, accepting the code. The other ponies involved in this robbery met me at the exhibit and began carefully removing the glass panes, they didn't want to damage the precious object inside.

What were we stealing, you ask?

A feckin' skeleton.

A big, mean-ass looking skeleton.

Why? I didn't feckin' know.

They took apart the skeleton and carefully placed all the bones into bags, making sure that it looked like they were carrying a bunch of camera equipment. When they were done, I changed into a museum visitor I saw earlier and followed them out the museum doors. I squinted at the sun that was suddenly bombarding my eyes with its blinding rays of light. The others yelled for me to get into the carriage that was parked outside. I ran and got in. The ponies in front galloped forward, taking us away from the museum.

"That went smoothly." I said, leaning backwards and undisguising myself.
"I suppose it did." One of the thieves agreed.

A few minutes passed with just the sound of galloping hooves and spinning wheels. I grew bored quickly.

"Why did we steal a prehistoric fossil anyways?" I inquired.

Another thief groaned and looked at me wearily.

"Isn't it obvious?"
"No. Should it be?"
"Why won't you just be quiet? Your mouth flapping is giving me a headache." She quipped, rubbing her temples in an exaggerated manner.
"I'm curious and bored."
"Shut up, changeling!" You would not believe the amount of time in my life that is taken up by people trying to shut me up. I am proud of my achievements in the fine art of annoyance.
"I'm not talking that much!"
"I could easily kill you."
"So could I. Kill you, I mean. Not myself. Although I suppose that would also be easy-"
"What can I do to make you stop?" 
"Answer my questions."
A groan.
"Think, you dimwit. Why would any sane group of criminals have a need for a museum exhibit?"
"You guys are sane?"
That elicited a facehoof from the my interlocutor. 

Wait, sorry, I'm the interlocutor. I get my terms mixed up occasionally, my apologies.

"I dunno, to take the exhibit hostage?" I guessed.
"We would just take some gems or a painting if we wanted,"
"Then why the bloody skeleton?"
"Somepony else wants it,"
"Who would-"
My question was suddenly cut off by the booming sound of gunshots suddenly erupting from in front of us and the abrupt deceleration of the carriage. The horrid sound resonated outwards, sending ponies scattering away hurriedly from its source. The ponies inside the carriage, including myself, tumbled towards the front end, scrambling up and dashing out of the now toppled vehicle. 

I pushed the pony who was talking to me earlier off of me, her pained eyes staring at the hole in her forehead before glossing over. 

I didn't know her. I don't care.
I'm dying inside.

We ducked as gunshots came from the weapons our pursuers carried, shoving our way through the crowd of terrified ponies. I don't like guns. They're  too loud to be effective at killing somepony and getting away with it.

One of the group tripped on the sidewalk ledge, his hooves falling under him and crashing into the cold ground.

I didn't look back.

A scream, a gunshot, and a wet splattering noise. It probably wasn't someone dropping food.

Idon'tcareIdon'tcareIdon'tcare

We ran, trying to find a place in which we could hide from the ponies who so rudely interrupted our carriage ride. We made a sharp turn into a nightclub, running by the bouncers and momentarily losing our pursuers.
It was disorienting, the sudden transition from the relatively quiet outside to the throbbing, bass-heavy, strobe-lit inside. The crowd of ponies were dancing their hearts out to the electronic music. It seemed to shake my innards with every beat, and I was suddenly glad that I was not epileptic. Our pursuers followed us inside and started searching for us, a pegasus one flying up to get a better look. The ponies who were chasing us were dressed in tight black clothing and wore plastic face masks that were white and featureless, save for a large black dot in the middle. The guns were attached to belts that were strapped over the shoulder of each pony. We moved into the crowd, hoping that we were obscured by the dancing ponies and colorful strobe lights. We hoped that they would not notice us, and just look elsewhere.

Nope.

The pegasus told something to another of the ponies, seeming to be their superior, and they nodded to the others. The ponies fired into the crowd, muzzle flashes lighting up the dark, sending chunks of metal into the flesh screaming partygoers. Sparks flew up from the lights above, and they came crashing down to the floor, the bulbs shattering on impact, sending glass flying in every direction. I dove behind the DJ's table and held my head under my hooves. That's when I noticed the DJ looking at me, I must have been undisguised. She was paper-white with an electric blue mane and obscuring sunglasses. Her back was against the table. Even though her eyes were covered, it was fairly easy to read her because of her body language. Her name was Vinyl Scratch, better known as DJ-PON3, her first album would be released in a week. I would become, for a lack of better terms, well acquainted with this mare later on.

The music stopped with an electric crash.

"Bad night, huh?" I understated, hiding my own fears under a smirk. Why did I say that? I don't know to this day.
I flinched as a bullet ricocheted off of the metal table behind me. Vinyl just stared at me. I just realized that I was undisguised.
"What? Never seen a changeling before?" Stuff was just coming out of my mouth without me wanting to say it. Soon after I spoke, she was on top of me, squeezing my neck as hard as she could. When she realized that strangling me wasn't going to work on account of my rigid exoskeleton, she resorted to bashing my head against the ground. 

I know what it feels like to be an egg.  I am turned off of eggs for life. I used to like eggs before Vinyl Scratch. Now whenever I see one, I think about my head cracking, and I throw up.

All of a sudden, it was quiet. The rest of the ponies had left the room, it was just the oddly dressed gang members' hoofsteps, and the rhythmic thudding of my head against the tiled ground. They were coming to kill both of us, and they were taking their time. 
Vinyl lifted me up one more time, and I gabbed her by the neck, pulling her towards the ground. She was quite stronger than me, so it was just a matter of time before she would get back up and start banging my head against the ground again.
"If you want to get out of this alive, you have to stop." I whispered harshly.
She looked at me incredulously through her opaque shades.
"And you expect me to believe this?"
"Kinda, yeah."
She pondered for a moment before answering. 
"I s'pose I'd be dead either way."
"Just stay here."
I shapeshifted into one of the masked ponies, I was able to mimic the clothing due to its tight-fitting nature, but the illusion would not stand up upon close inspection. I was glad it was dark. I stood up and pulled the turntable set off of the table towards me, it crashed to the ground and Vinyl glared at me. I came out from behind the table and walked towards the masked ponies. 
On the ground lay around twenty dead. Six of which I recognized as my teammates. None made it out. One was still alive, dragging himself along the floor, leaving a trail of blood behind. One of the masked ponies laughed and walked over to him. He dropped his weapon and turned the half dead pony onto his back. The masked pony laughed at the broken pony's pained attempts at squirming away. It was the most pathetic thing I'd ever seen. The masked pony picked the weapon up again and bashed the pony in the leg where a bullet had hit it. He shrieked, but continued trying to escape. The masked pony, seeming content with the pain caused, aimed at the victim's head and ended his misery.
I gulped and cleared my throat. All eyes were on me. 
"All clear. I got the changeling."
I looked at the rest of them and half-faked fear.
"Wait a minute. Weren't there five of us?"
They looked around, counting themselves. They turned their heads towards me. One of the ponies pointed at me.
"Get it."
Well, that went perfectly.
This has happened before. I have been chased by ponies with firearms countless times. I knew how to lose ponies by then. That's the story of my life right there. Being chased. All the bloody time.
I get a feeling that everything that I do, somepony has done it before. As if I'm not unique. Well, I'm not, but that's not my point. What is my point? I dunno. Why did I even say that there? Damn, I'm starting to ramble. 

So yeah, I got away eventually. 

That was my first encounter of many to come with this particular criminal organization of masked ponies and with Vinyl Scratch, who, as you will come to know, was much more than just a simple DJ. From here, strange things began to happen, and not the kind of strange where you found an old toy you had fifteen years ago on the ground of some restaurant you went to for the first time. More like when you picked up the toy it exploded and a train ran into the side of the restaurant, and in the train, there weren't any ponies, just identical copies of the same toy that exploded in your face... and they all exploded. Twice.

No, this doesn't actually happen.

Or does it?

DUN DUN DUUUN