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// Animal, Vegetable, or Mineral? 
// Story: Guessing Games, or, How Many Changelings Fit In A Breadbox? 
// by ErraticOverlord 
//------------------------------//

	The captured Changeling sits despondent in the interrogation chair. Looking up, he sees what can only be his interrogator enter the room. A one way glass window holds Celestia and Luna, or at least, that is what the Changeling assumes. The interrogator sits down, rather uncomfortably. Apparently, he has not had much experience in dealing with Changelings; who had? The Changeling surveys his surroundings. Three white walls and one with the mirror and door. A table waits patiently in front of him while a light shines overhead. The Changeling is bound to the chair by his forelegs and wings. A faint humming sound suggests some kind of magic dampening field. The interrogator is an Earth pony, or as the Changeling designation system states, a norm. The interrogator opens his mouth to speak but two green eyes glare him into silence; he is clearly afraid of the Changeling.

Overpowering his fear, the interrogator speaks. “I trust you slept well.”

The Changeling smirks. It seems the interrogator is very afraid. The Changeling remains silent, prompting the interrogator to speak again. “You have not eaten your food. We don’t want you to die so simply say what you want to eat and we will do our best to provide you with it.”

The interrogator pauses again, trying to induce a response in the Changeling. The Changeling blinks; he is hungry, but that can wait for later. The interrogator is very upset, now, and throws nervous glances at the glass periodically. So, it looks like at least one of the Princesses is in there. Having acquired the information the Changeling was after, he speaks. “It is very presumptuous to assume all Changelings speak equestrian.” He states, simply.

The interrogator visibly relaxes, then straightens again very quickly, shooting another glance at the glass in the process. The Changeling goes silent again and the interrogator speaks. “You have not touched your food. What will you eat?”

The Changeling smirks, again, causing the interrogator to become more nervous. “Dragon eggs, over easy, with salt and vinegar.” He replies, snidely.

Hearing a shift behind the glass case, the interrogator gulps. “You’re lying.” He states.

The Changeling’ smile lessens. “What if I am? I have no reason to desire life. Or do I? You have no idea; that is why I am here.”

The interrogator seems to have remembered his training and grows more serious. “Changeling’s have just invaded the capital of Equestria. We won’t simply let that go. We will get our information, whatever means necessary.”

The Changeling leans forward as much as he can in his bindings. “Sparrows bones will break and moan, your words are just as hollow.” He says in a sing-song tone, leaning back.

The interrogator grimaces. He exits the room for a moment, coming back with a white bag. Reaching into it, the interrogator retrieves a daisy sandwich and some water with a straw. He bites into the daisy sandwich, obviously in an attempt to provoke the Changeling.

“If I had anything in my stomach, your eating would quickly change that.” The Changeling says, leering at the interrogator. The interrogator sets the food down on the table, close enough for the Changeling to smell it, however, not close enough to eat it. The Changeling draws away from the meal, leaning back in his bindings.

“We’ve captured thousands of your kind. It won’t be long before we have all of you in our custody.”

The Changeling laughs. His laughs echo through the nearly empty room, reverberating off of every surface. After a minute, the Changeling stops, suddenly, and glares at the interrogator. “Why don’t you interrogate a different one of your ‘thousands’ of Changelings?” He asks, sneering.

The interrogator frowns and stands up. “Perhaps we will. Let me know when you want to eat something.” He motions to the glass and two guards trot in and carry the Changeling to his cell.



(*)



The Changeling sits in the same chair as yesterday, with the same interrogator across from him. “My, you still work here?” The Changeling jeers.

The interrogator frowns. “You still haven’t eaten anything.” He says, quietly.

The Changeling smiles. “The service here really stinks.”

The interrogator sighs. “What is your name? Do Changelings use names?”

The Changeling leans back in his chair. If he could cross his holed forelegs, he would. “No, we just use derogatory expletives when addressing each other. ‘Shitface, come in for dinner’.” He mocks.

The interrogator rubs his eyebrows with his hooves. “What is your name?” The interrogator repeats.

“Charlie Horse Chaplin.” The Changeling replies.

“Name?” The interrogator says through clenched teeth.

“Queen Chrysalis.” The changeling says, defiantly.

“Liar.” The interrogator yells.

“Well, now you’ve hurt my feelings.” The Changeling remarks, sarcastically. The interrogator slams a hoof on the table, crushing the daisy sandwich placed there. “Your cruelty to vegetable matter knows no bounds, I’m sure.” The Changeling says.

“What will you eat?” The interrogator barks.

“Screw you.” The Changeling replies.

Unintelligible gurgles erupt from the interrogator’s mouth. Two guards carry the Changeling away, back to his cell.



(*)



The Changeling looks about the interrogation room, dreadfully hungry. The interrogator trots in and sits down, setting his forelegs on 	the table.

“I’ll bet anything you’re getting pretty hungry, right about now.” The interrogator says.

The Changeling looks away. “If I was, there’s nothing you or the Princesses could do about it.”

The interrogator raises an eyebrow, surprised. “Why is that?”

The Changeling apathetically rolls his head to look at the interrogator. “Because-not to put too fine of a point on it-you’re not a Changeling!” The Changeling screams the last part at the interrogator, causing him to flinch. The Changeling rolls his head to the side, again. 

The interrogator leans closer to the Changeling. “According to the file, you need love. Unfortunately, that would be very hard for us to provide. Is there anything else you can eat?”

The Changeling laughs at the interrogator. “My, you don’t know anything. Don’t bother trying to ‘acquire’ love for me; I can’t collect it, even if I wanted to.”

The interrogator leans back in his chair, pondering these words. “What do you mean?” He asks.

“Bite me.” The Changeling replies-still looking at the wall. There is a silence while the two look away from each other. The interrogator rubs his eyes with a hoof and looks back at the Changeling.

“Just, tell me how to feed you.” The interrogator says.

The Changeling turns his head to look at the interrogator. “Let me go.” He says, simply. The interrogator looks down at the floor. “I didn’t think so. See you in Tartarus, asshole.”

The two guards trot in and take the Changeling away, back to his cell.



(*)



The Changeling sits in the chair in the interrogation room. He has been there for several minutes and the interrogator is still absent. Hunger gnaws at the Changeling’s stomach, weakening his resolve. The interrogator trots in after a few moments with two guards and another Changeling in tow. The other Changeling is bound just like the first one, with his wings and forelegs behind his back. Correction: her back. The Changeling’s blue eyes glistened with tears at, what seems to be, her recent incarceration. The first Changeling briefly links with the female.

Are you all right? He asks, through the mental link.

My exoskeleton is cracked on the side. I am leaking life. The Changeling replies.

He nods, looking up at the ceiling and listening to its familiar hum. It seems, the magic suppresser doesn’t work with linking. The Changeling smiles at this very useful piece of information.

The interrogator speaks. “We captured another Changeling. Can you eat now, somehow?”

The Changeling smirks. “I’m sure it’s irrelevant to you, as you’ve captured thousands of Changelings. But, this Changeling is dying.”

The interrogator is taken aback by this. He sits, dumbfounded, trying to decide what to do. Eventually, he decides to stand up and trot towards the new Changeling. She shirks away from him, but he moves with an astonishing degree of grace and purpose. He inspects the cracked carapace, carefully running his hoof along the wound. He motions to the window and the two guards come in. “Get a doctor. Make him dress this and wrap it up, very tightly.” He commands. When they leave the room with the female Changeling, he sits down and wipes his brow. The Changeling seated across from him makes no sound, choosing to sit in silence.

After a few moments, the interrogator turns to the Changeling and sighs. “Is there some way you can eat because we have him?” He asks.

The Changeling replies, unmoving. “It’s a her.” He states.

The interrogator nods. “What about you?”

The Changeling looks away, hunger biting him. “I’m a he.” He says. They sit in silence for a few minutes until the two guards return with the female Changeling.

The male Changeling links with the female one again. How do you feel?

Not too well. The guards were chasing me and my friend. I was the only one captured, but, there was no more running for my friend. She says, through the link.

I am sorry.

I know.

The male Changeling changes the subject. I am in need of sustenance. Have you collected, recently?

Yes. Take this. I have plenty, now. She says, as sadly as the link can project.

The male Changeling mentally consumes the love energy, quickly. With some of his hunger sated, he leans back in his chair. The two guards take the female Changeling outside, presumably, to her cell. The Changeling turns back to the interrogator. “You have one question, no more.”

The interrogator nods. “What is your name?”

The Changeling hesitates then gives in. “Edward, my name is Edward.”

The Guards pick Edward up, and take him to his cell.