//------------------------------// // Traitor // Story: The Lunatics // by SpaceCommie //------------------------------// There was something faintly absurd about this, Moonshine decided. Case had taken a minute to limp over to an ancient armchair—with Friend’s help; it didn’t seem as if she could have managed it otherwise. The entire room was illuminated just by a single candle, which cast diffuse, unsteady shadows across it, across the dusty wood floor and the bare walls. The changeling—Case—looked awfully small, crouched on the chair, legs tucked up neatly beneath her. “Moonshine and Soarin. Yes?” Case asked. “That’s us,” Moonshine said. “Um. Pleased to meet you.” Case looked up towards her. “Likewise. Perhaps we could get to, um, business.” “Sure,” Soarin said. “Friend told us—“ “Friend?” Case asked. Soarin gestured towards the other changeling. “Good name.” “I thought so,” Soarin said. “So, Friend told us you’re, uh, Chrysalis’s enemy. Is that right?” Case bobbed her head from side to side. “More right than wrong. Long story. Maybe sit down.” “I am ten years old,” Case said. “Was hatched to prepare for the, um, invasion. Chrysalis needed minds that were more... independent. For planning, analysis. I was the best. She gave me access to everything. Books, magazines, movies. Captives. Once, um, Friend was ready, he flew with me to Equestria. We, um, played tourist. You might have seen us.” “Had some idea of Equestria before I was there. Seemed strange in the books. But nice when I visited. Much happiness.  Much food. Two might be related.” Case pointed a shaky hoof at Soarin. “Have you ever ate, um, donuts?” Soarin started. “Uh, what?” “Donuts,” Case said, very seriously. “Um, pastries. With holes in them.” “Yeah, I guess so.” “I never did. Until then.” “Oh,” Soarin said. “That’s too bad. Hey, have you ever had pie? Because let me tell you—” “Ahem,” Moonshine said. “Case, can we get to the point?” Case stared balefully at her for a moment. “Yes. Chrysalis has stuck us in this—” A flurry of buzzes from Case’s throat. “Wants to say ‘bad’,” Friend noted. “Close enough,” Case said, bobbing her head. “This, um, bad hole in the ground for hundreds of years. Changelings have forgotten much. Nearly everything. Friend and I, hm, share goal with your Luna. Want to get rid of Chrysalis.” Moonshine considered that for a moment, her eyes widening. “Wait, how do you know about Luna? Do you know where she is? Is she—” “Alive, yes,” Case said. “Physically unharmed. Still a prisoner. Don’t know where she is.” “How can you not know where she is?” Moonshine demanded, her voice shooting up a couple octaves. “Um, sorry.” “Not wrong to ask. I found her in the hivemind. Chrysalis had been, hm, playing games with her. Nightmares. Same with the other two, I think. Haven’t found them yet. Luna is looking for them.” Case paused a second. “She has a talent, um, navigating the dreams. Strange in a pony.” Moonshine smiled, briefly. Soarin raised a hoof. “Okay, maybe this is a dumb question, but I’m just gonna go for it. You’re in contact with the, uh, hivemind or whatever, right?” “Yes.” “So don’t you need love to stay in touch with it? That’s how it works, right? How are you getting it?” “How?” Case asked. She gestured towards Case. “Him.” “So he...” “I feed from, um, Friend,” Case said. “Careful. No harm done.” “So does he get it from ponies and then, like, bring it back to you, or—” “No,” Case said, louder, although nothing else about her voice sounded different. “In, umm, love with me. In a way. Nothing sexual. Couldn’t be. Another thing Chrysalis took from us. It’s because I, hm, broke him from Chrysalis. She wraps around the drone’s mind, intertwines with it, strangles it almost to nothing. Took me a year to do it for Friend, snap her off from him piece by piece without her noticing.” “Huh,” Soarin said. "Well, that's good." Case didn’t seem to have any reaction. “Luna, the spy, Caballeron. Can free them. Friend and I will help. But need you to promise something.” Moonshine and Soarin glanced at each other. “I mean...” Soarin started. “That’s really something that the princess should be deciding...” Moonshine said. “Need you to promise that you ponies will, hm, take care of Chrysalis. Take her. Kill her if you can’t.” “We’re not exactly qualified to decide whatever—” “Know what her answer will be already,” Case said. “Will say yes. But you take care of Luna, yes? And Soarin protects her.” “I guess so,” Moonshine said. “I think I got fired,” Soarin said. “Need you two to promise,” Case repeated. “Chrysalis will do the same thing to your people she did to mine. Could be ten years from now. Could be longer. Will try again. The hive is failing. She is desperate.” “I don’t—” “Promise.” “I really don’t think that we can—” Soarin started. Moonshine interrupted. “Fine. We’ll do it. Where’s Luna? “Told you, I don’t know yet. Drones have been noticing something in the center of the hive. Might be Chrysalis and Luna. Will try to make sure.” Colgate’s head is pounding hard, the way it always does after a long time-warp, as she steps back into the safehouse. Safehouse. She smirks humorlessly, pushes her mane back. The electric lights are still blazing away into the night, shining onto the cheap carpet, glittering off the thin spray of blood on the door. Something besides the pain nags at the back of her mind, besides the talon scratches on the floor and the silence inside the house. She pokes her head around the corner, scans the room. Nothing dangerous. Just the beat-up couch, the table that looks like it’s been through a war and a half, and the dead pony splayed out beneath it, his eyes staring blankly towards the door and towards Colgate. Colgate retreats around the corner, lets out a long breath that comes out as a shudder. Shit. They got Inkie. She walks back in, still looking around for any hint of motion. The kitchen’s been destroyed; the cabinets are smashed to shit, and the floor’s strewn with ceramic shards, probably the remains of those cut-rate plates they had. Silver’s slouched in a corner, eyes closed. He looks sort of peaceful, even despite the garish bruises half-visible underneath his fur. They must have thrown him around, not even bothered with using their talons. Colgate steps gingerly through the broken plates, around the half-dozen knives still on the floor. She puts a hoof to Silver’s neck, feeling for a pulse. Nothing. She sighs, makes her way back to the other room, peers around again, looking for griffons. They’re not there. She had the feeling—dangerous, irrational, untrustworthy feeling—that they wouldn’t be. Unreasonable, but hard to shake. She pauses a moment, listens. It’s as quiet as it ever is, despite the noise of the city. Probably quieter than usual. It feels familiar. It shouldn’t, she’s never even been in the field before coming to White Peak Eyrie, never seen anything like this. But at any rate, the ground floor is clear. So Colgate heads to the stairs, peers up, starts to climb. They don’t creak, of course. She’s too careful for that. The lights are off up here. No point turning them on; if there are still griffons, they’ll know she did it. Although, come to think of it, griffons have poor night vision. Surely they’d have turned on the lights, if they were still here. So she heads, more quickly, into the next room. Ink’s room. It’s got a nice view of the city: big window, with moonlight shining through it. The room looks the same as usual, with papers strewn everywhere, a dozen books on everything from botany to ancient history left open on Ink’s desk. Colgate walks to the desk, opens the drawer. It looks like it hasn’t been touched. Inkie usually keeps—kept?—the sensitive papers in here. She pulls them out, flips through them, raises an eyebrow. Nothing’s missing. She’ll have to deal with the papers somehow, of course. She looks through them again, skimming, trying to commit as much of it as possible to memory. Reports, profiles. It takes a few minutes; not enough to properly go through the better part of a hundred pages. The papers are shaking too damn much, anyways. But that’s just her, spooked to hell. Colgate pulls over a trashcan, fumbles for a lighter. She turns around, slowly. “Shit. Con.” Con Mane—her boss, nominally anyways—is standing at the door, looking even less debonair than usual, which, classy tux notwithstanding, is saying something. Con’s a mess at the best of times. Colgate backs towards the window, almost unconsciously. He's silent. Now that she can get a better look at Con, Colgate might have to revise that impression downwards. He looks like hell. There are about a dozen different gashes, just that she can see. Sol, that’s a lot of blood. “Uh. Are you okay?” she asks. He shakes his head, a slow, deliberate motion. “You don’t remember.” “Remember what?” He’s silent. Wait. I left White Peak Eyrie, after... “You’re dead,” Colgate says, backing away from him. “You died.” “You let the team down, Minuette,” Con says, stalking forward, legs moving in an unnatural, fitful lurch. “Cutting losses and running. Just what I should have expected from you.” “I couldn’t have—” “You could have tried!” Con roars. “Not worth trusting. You never were.” He’s closer now, and leans towards her, touching her, the iron stench of blood in the air, its sticky warm moisture dripping onto her chest. “Traitor.” She can’t push him away—can’t, won’t—her arms don’t move even an inch, except to crouch—fall, really—to the floor and so she shuts her eyes, tight, tries to block it all out and it seems like an eternity as Con stares at her, lukewarm breath in her face, the scent of fresh death in her nostrils.